Money where your mouth is

If you read Dave Rose's regular column in the Brighton Blade this week, you noticed that Herb's BBQ Shack, 201 S. Main St., here in town is contemplating closing later this summer if business doesn't turn around. I've always been a big fan of Herb Findley and his restaurant since they opened a few years, so I don't mind giving him a little plug. I'd hate to see him shut down. But to local residents and anyone for that matter, I say it's time to put up or shut up. We spend a lot of time paying lip service to the importance of local businesses and how important they are. "We've got to fight Wal-Mart-yada, yada, yada. Here's a chance to support to support a local restaurant that brings a unique flavor to Brighton. I hope you do it – http://www.herbsbbqshack.com/.

Our jail envoy

Just as former Prime Minister Tony Blair begins his work to bring peace to the Middle East, it appears Paris Hilton is on the path to other important social work. After hearing bits of her Larry King interview last night, I think she should be appointed as our prison envoy. She was talking about how bad the food was and the horrible humiliation of being strip-searched, guess it's different when it's your boyfriend conducting the strip search on a widely-distributed Internet video. But wouldn't Paris' jail exploits and all the suffering she went through be enough to scare kids straight or at least maybe, rich, spoiled, snotty kids. Good luck in your second life, Paris, you can make a difference.

Gene Sears, this car is for you

OK, I'm no dummy. I know by sticking Gene Sears' name in my blog subject – I guarantee a thousand extra hits and visits from anti-Union Pacific folks and maybe a special guest appearance by a pseudonym known as Mike Cooper. Nevertheless, I was thinking of my co-worker when I ran across this beautiful automobile and a story about it.
NEW YORK - A steam-powered car, billed as the oldest car in the world that still runs, will be sold in a Pebble Beach, Calif., auction in August. The car was built in France in 1884, about a year before Gottlieb Daimler and Karl Benz of Germany built their first experimental gasoline-powered cars (The two were working independently of one another.) Henry Ford, the man many Americans mistakenly believe invented the automobile, built his first car 12 years after this one. The four-wheeled De Dion-Bouton et Trepardoux, nicknamed "La Marquise," was originally buit for the French Count De Dion, one of the founders of the company. The car has had only two other owners since, according to auction house Gooding & Company, which is handling the sale. In an 1887 demonstration drive, the car covered a 19 mile course at an average speed of 26 miles per hour. The following year, it won the world's first car race, according to Gooding, beating a three-wheeled steam-powered De Dion-Bouton. Fueled by coal, wood and bits of paper, the car takes about a half-hour to work up enough steam to drive. Top speed is 38 miles per hour.
I love that it takes a half hour to get going. Perfect for anybody waiting behind a train.

Go home, Nancy Grace

Last night was a tough night for Nancy Grace of CNN fame. For what had to be the 10th night in a row, she was reliving the tragic murder of a pregnant Ohio woman. At one point, I actually thought she was going to break down as they discussed how the woman's 2-year-old son had been left alone with a soiled diaper. Not break down because emotionally it was just too much, break down from exhaustion because its just so hard to feign that much sympathy. Nancy Grace is a fraud if I've ever saw one. I don't think she could cook up enough crocodile tears to even fill a bucket. I get nauseous when she acts outraged or devastated – she lines her bed sheets with other people's tales of woe and misfortunate. Nancy Grace is all that's wrong with TV. She could possibly be all that's wrong with America. Oh, by the way, Nancy, they've haven't found Natalee Holloway either!

Use caution

OK, what the heck is going on? Last week, some lady got attacked by a rabid coyote. I always presumed they only chased roadrunners with shoddy mail-order capture projects. Then, a poor little girl in Denver gets attacked by a fox. A freakin fox. If this was a Fox TV show – they'd call it "Attack of the Benign animals." Since when do foxes attack people? What's next? Heat-packing rabbits, vicious robins?

New hospital nearly ready

Hey, I've been goofing around this week. Hope there are no complaints and keep your own driving commandments coming, I love 'em. Did want to drop in some real news. I'll be busy the next few weeks as Platte Valley Medical Center get's ready to open its new campus. This is a beautiful facility and really a testament to the support of this community. Look for a special section in next week's Blade and other articles leading up to the July 10 opening. Stay cool and we'll see you back here on Monday.

Straight from the Pope's Mouth

Double-blog Wednesday, kids, to bring you,
on the heels of the Vactican's 10 driving commandents, the commandments that didn't make the cut.

11. Hey, thine child, puttest down thy melting ice cream cone.

12. Thou shalt not pass me when I'm already going 15 mph over the speed limit.

13. Thou shall blink their lights to inform me of a pending speed trap.

14. Thou's buttocks shall not be exposed and used as a form of taunting.

15. I shall slow traffic behind me as I emphasize a point during my cell phone conversation.

16. Thou will exclaim "If you're in such a damn hurry, then I'm going to pull over so you can go around me." (Hi Dad!)

17. Thou will continue at a reasonable speed and not endanger others while driving by an accident scene.

18. Thou shalt "Stop it right now or thine will pull this car over." (Again, props to my Dad)

19. Thou driver will not eat fast food in the car until McDonalds has invented the hands free Big Mac.

20. Thine old lady will be able to see over dashboard to get thine license.

21. Thine SUV shalt not conceive stupidity during winter driving conditions.

Enjoy. Feel free to pass on any additional needed commandments.

Space junk

So the Space Shuttle pulled away from the International Space Station Tuesday to begin it's trek home and then some junk flew off from somewhere. Obviously, this is not a statement from an official NASA press release. Now, we have to find out what this junk was flying around. (Also, not an official NASA position) It might have been ice, might have been a booger, who knows? Seriously, folks, you're rocket scientists – why can't we figure out a way to keep the shuttle from seemingly self destructing every time it moves. You're spending billons of dollars. If I had this much junk flying off my car – they'd take me off the road or give me one of those vintage license plates. It's almost to the point that the NASA voice, you know the guy who announces liftoffs and sounds like a 13-year-old boy who just noticed girls, should say, "And we have liftoff, liftoff of the Space Shuttle Discovery on a mission not to break or have junk flying off and making other stuff break. And maybe, in between stuff breaking, we can actually do some science stuff like make more Tang." Astronaunts jobs must be stressful – it must be like heating up your frozen burrito in the microwave for lunch each day and not knowing if the whole building is going to explode. I can see why driving cross-country in a diaper to pop your lover's wife seems so appealing to an astronaut. It's probably a nice respite from flying around in a piece of junk. Yeah, take that NASA! Disclaimer: These views do not represent those of MetroWest Newspapers, people who oppose harm against fellow people who are jilted in love triangles or individuals who think the space shuttle is really cool!

Me expensive lucky charms

And, just in case, you didn't think the world was coming to an end, there is now word that the price of cereal is going up. Gas, milk, cereal – the holy trinity of human existence. As I spoke to my Dad over the weekend, we both agreed that making cereal more expensive is quite a feat since the price of cereal is already quite a boondoggle. You might attach the rising cereal cost to increasing milk prices – a little conspiracy theory there for my loyal conspiracy visitor. But the truth is, we are ponying up to support the lucrative retirement packages of some of cereal's most famous stars. Yep, that's right, Lucky (above) Tony the Tiger, those three Rice Krispie weirdos and Trix the Rabbitt have all called it quits and now we're supporting these clowns. I know they all brought us joy over the years but, now they're gone, and we're suffering from their absence and in the pocketbook too. But don't put on the pity party for us. Life is hard for former cereal spokespeople. T the Tiger was repeatedly rejected for American Furniture Warehouse spots, Count Chocula is serving a prison term for a nasty incident on the Sesame Street set where he tried to strangle the Count and hit Maria with a baseball bat, and things aren't so silly for Trix the Rabbit who has been in and out of rehab trying to kick a meth addicition. The kids should have just let him have the cereal. So, before you complain about cereal prices next time, remember you're not the only one hurting here. R.I.P Cap'n Crunch – killed when his dingy was sunk by a cow who landed in his boat after a vicious tornado – oh the bitter irony. That is him, above, shortly before the accident – time was not kind.

Off with their heads

A brief history of the origin of Homeowners' Associations. Long, long ago (possibly even the '70s) a man painted his house pink. The neighbors were outraged and came to the man and said "Hey, dummy, you painted your house pink and now are property values have plummeted. Paint it back."And the man said "Screw you, I can paint my house any color I want." Then the neighbors grabbed their pitchforks, burnt down the man's pink house and hung him from a tree in their quaint, community park. And, thus the beginning of the modern HOA.
The HOA is a good thing, if you're on the right side of it, your property values stay up because people who do stupid things get punished, often with death in the ritzy Cherry Hills area. There are no junker cars idling in front of houses and children who make too much noise are immediately shipped to a home for bad children in Torrington, Wyo.
Lest, you get on the bad side of your HOA. I tremble even writing this because we're in the midst of getting a jungle gym approved and this could severely damage it, if not lead to a midnight raid where our TV is stolen and our cars vandalized.
Our HOA, the ominipotent God who knows when you plant a new bush in the front yard and even if you pee just a little in the shower, sent out a letter a few weeks ago. Apparently, no one passed on to them the axiom that sometimes life just isn't fair. The letter groused about how some people we're just blowing the HOA off and weren't responding quickly enough to fix problems. So they decided, in the same little room where they watch me, via surveillance camera, move a little pebble in my backyard and disturb the rotation of the Earth in the process, that they we're upping the fines and shortening the warning times. The letter stopped just short of quoting Kurt Russell from the movie "Tombstone." You tell em' I'm coming and hell's coming with me."
The HOA has taken on mythical proportions in recent years. Thanks, in no small part, to the rogue agencies that have burnt American flags in front yards because they don't meet size requirements and sawed tree houses to the ground with children still inside of them. Don't get me wrong. I like the idea of the HOA (mostly for the aforementioned property value protection part) but all an HOA really is a convienent, impersonal way for the neighbors to tattle on you. Think playground rules – "Billy just planted a Spruce Tree – ooooooooh, Billy you're in trouble." This is because we don't care about each other anymore. We can't respect each other and not paint our house orange with blue and green stripes just for the sake of the neighbors. So, we need an intermediary. Enter the HOA. Put some power-hungry people in charge of that and look out. Hide the children.

Singing a different tune

Above, actor Steve Schirripa who played Bobby 'Bacala' Baccalieri on the popular HBO series "The Sopranos." Not even the finale of the show has been able to stymie criticism.
Soprano's critics assail anti-stereotypes of finale

New Jersey – Italian American groups, long critics of the way they say the popular HBO series "The Sopranos" stereotyped the Italian culture, are blasting the series' June 10 finale, indicating it again has again done a disservice to their culture.
"'The Soprano's'" has long perpetuated Italian Americans as nothing more than thugs, goons and mobsters," Anthony Cicarelli, chairman of People Against Stereotyped Television Association. "Now we find the much-welcomed ending has again left us with lingeromg fallacies to overcome."
Most of the concerns from PASTA, a group that works fervently to protect the Italian American image, center on the show's already controversial final scene set in a popular New Jersey ice cream parlour.
PASTA's complaints start with Soprano's choice for the jukebox song that scored the final scene "Don't Stop Believing" by popular '80s band Journey. Cicarelli said the song didn't fit the scene or the tone of the show.
"If we must portray Italians on screen, we must put them in a proper muscial context," he said. "Anything by Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin or even "Mack the Knife" by Bobby Darin would have been much more appropriate."
Further, Cicarelli said Tony Soprano's decision to order onion rings was an affront to the Italian community.
"I don't care if they weren't in a traditional Italian restaurant or not, you order some fried Calamari or breadsticks," he said. "It was a travesty to see the family eating such a non-ethnic food."
Also cited in the PASTA press release was concern that daughter Meadow's inability to parallel park would show that Italian women are poor drivers which he says is an over-generalization.
"All women are poor drivers," Cicarelli said. "To have just an Italian women struggling to parallel park perpetuates a myth that any women can properly parallel park."
One criticism did deal with another aspect of the show. PASTA officials were concerned about the gruesome death of rival mob boss Phil Leotardo who was shot in the head and then run over by the wheel of his own SUV.
"The perceived, but unseen, insinuation that this character's head was seemingly split open when the tire ran over him would seem to indicate that Italians lack the skulluar fortitude to survive such an incident.
"Italians have a history of thick heads and we are proud of it," he said.
Series creator David Chase was said to be vacationing in Paris and has made it clear he won't be responding to any of the missives issued by groups such as PASTA or other groups angry about the show such as WWCPT (Women Wishing Cars Parked Themselves) or TIWCGD (Tires Irritated With Causing Gruesome Deaths).

Trouble down below

The biggest challenge of parenthood is protecting your feet. I, again, learned this the hard way as I stepped on short, squatty, plastic Farmer Jed as I climbed into our shower. He was passed out in there – drying out (so to speak) after a hard night of drinking at Murray's Tavern. Life on the farm is hard when you can't tend to your crops because an 18-month-old is trying to feed you to the dog. I'd be drinking too. Children are savages when it comes to your feet. My daughter strategically places her plastic giraffe – a zoo reject - at the bottom of the stairs and I've narrowly avoided that more than a few times. My dad, while we were growing up, broke a foot on two separate occasions. Surprisingly, both times were actually work related and not the result of a elaborate trap of toys set in the dining room. Our favorite trick as kids was to lay a minefield of the tiny Nerds candy across the dining room floor. I can still remember my dad howling, "They're like damn little rocks!" Perhaps this is the beauty of children being small – extra encouragement to look down. Oh, by the way, that's Larry Hughes of the Cavaliers in the picture – must have just walked through my house.

Ronald McFreakin Donald or making the best of a bad situation

I hate fast food. OK, wait, I didn't mean that. I swear I just heard a vat of hot fries cry. I hate my addiction to fast food. Yeah, that's better. I can only assume it's lot a like smoking. You know it's bad for you but it feels so darn good that you do it anyway. So, like smoking, you need to find some sort of justification for it ie: you go light up near a forest fire (the "hey, there's a lot of smoke here anyway" defense.) Or, in my case, I get off my rapidly expanding cheeseburger butt and actually walk into the restaurant rather than going through the drive-thru. In actually going in, I feel like I'm actually exercisng and can avoid the guilt of downing a Flame-broiled Double-Nickel Triple Stack Mushroom, Bacon Cheese Woppy Burger with a super-duper fries and a milkshake. (insert burp here) I know, I know I'm pathetic and I promise I'm going to quit ... tomorrow.

Can I get a refund?

News from Hot Springs, Ark. where a dozen riders on a roller coaster spent half an hour hanging upside down -- 150 feet above the ground -- after a power outage shut down the attraction. It took about 30 minutes for the city fire department to rescue the riders using a ladder truck Saturday evening, according to a park spokeswoman. Spectators cheered when the riders were brought to the ground from the highest point of a loop on the X-Coaster, but one passenger threw up after reaching safety.
I wonder what you think about hanging upside down for that long besides the obligatory "this really sucks" and "ouch" when your cell phone falls out of your pocket and bangs you in the head.

Loyal blog readers (all two of you)

I looked down today and saw I had surpassed 1,200 hits on my blog visit counter. This is a milestone. Let me just give you some quick math to help you understand what it means. It means: that subtract about 600 hits for me checking to see how many hits I have and to check if I've gotten Camden Farmer's attention yet, 300 hits from wife checking to make sure I'm not putting some erroneous information about her up there, 100 hits from my Mom who is probably grossed out by the barf photo and wondering how two normal people could raise somebody so warped (Hi, Mom), 50 hits from Smith who just can't wait to see what I say next or maybe he can. And 50 hits from my two respective bosses – reaffirming that maybe this blog thing wasn't such a good idea.
Those are the obligatories.
That leaves about 100 people who have ventured to my blog out of the goodness of their heart. They include one so-called MilkyMommi who I made laugh about the dangers of prescription medication commercials – I'm glad, a certain fire chief who tried to recruit me to Fort Lupton and at least one person, yesterday, who believes I'm a conspiracy theorist because I believe all the details about Union Pacific aren't out there. Wait, till I blog about the phony moon landing.
And to the rest of you, stick around, it's only going to get better. I mean, it has to ... right?

Train debate on fast track to hyperbole

If you read the assorted opinions in this week's Standard Blade and Fort Lupton Press regarding the imminent relocation of a intermodal rail yard to this area, it's not hard to reach a conclusion of doom and gloom. Of course, the respective letter writers don't hurt this argument with threats of carcinogens, runaway trains and hazardous waste spills. True, the property owners and surrounding residents have reason to be concerned about this rail yard. Heck, I only work here and I have reason to be concerned – the thought of increased truck traffic alone makes me shudder. So you can imagine how people who will have this in their backyard feel. And they're desperate. So like the folks sending up all the fireworks in a flurry as the rain approaches, they're throwing everything out there. If you read those letters this week, you'll find that you're probably better off sucking on the tailpipe of your running car than to be within a 1,000 miles of a train. And their opinions take my focus off the rail yard and make me wonder – if trains are this bad then shouldn't we have taken up this fight a long time ago. I mean, honestly, if train engineers are really stealing first-born babies in the dark of night, if people have a 500 percent increased risk of cancer if they even hear a train whistle and if these trains are a veritable demolition derby then why are we worrying about where they're going to park. I say, we as a community, strap ourselves down to the train track and stop these cancer-carrying wagons now.
But you might be surprised at who I blame for the hyperbole growing from the opposition – Union Pacific. Because, you see, we fear what we don't know. UP is comfortable to sit back, let rumors run wild, throw out a scant detail here and there and, essentially, let people panic. So residents, like an attention-starved 2-year-old who knows negative attention is better than no attention at all – are throwing out a bevy of facts. Some very well could be true, some of them – God help us – I hope they're not.

Who's Camden Farmer?

I pose the question in my subject line because the aforementioned Camden Farmer is cutting a impressive swath across the community of Brighton. This week alone in the Brighton Standard Blade, you will see Camden hanging out at a benefit concert at Valley Bank and Trust (left) and read about him pushing the need for a disc golf course in Brighton. And just a couple months ago, Camden was talking to one of our reporters about the increased need for security at the Brighton Recreation Center following some thefts. Music buff, disc golf fan, community activist? Who's Camden Farmer?

Take that, Comcast

Today is a blessed day in my household. Today, we escape the evil clutches of Comcast and are warmly embraced by the soft, gentle hands of another. Today is the day we get satellite TV. Tell you the truth, I didn't even see this coming up until late last week when Comcast decided it was time to put the scroogie to us. They started taking away channels under the guise of not being able to offer them anymore because they were digital. They were not major channels, CSPAN -2 and TV Guide Channel. But, hey, it's our $50 bucks. It was a ploy, a cunning ploy, much like the Major League Baseball umpires who went on strike a few years back. But, just like many of those umpires, Comcast got fired. Faced with the choice of digital cable or changing services and, after weighing prices, we decided to make the switch. But don't cry for Comcast, cheer for me. I get the NFL Network and 249 other channels. Yea! Now the challenge, finding other things to do, like go outside and play with the baby so we're not glued to the TV. Oh, the bitter irony!

Pretty fly for a white guy

Hello there and welcome back from your weekend. I know, I know – always the bearer of bad news. Had the pleasure of going on my first fly fising expedition yesterday (or any kind of fishing expedition). This was courtesy of my FBIL (future brother-in law) who is blessed with both a love of fly fishing and God-given patience that didn't make him strangle me with fishing line when I lost his wooly bugger. So what was my big catch? Well, I know fisherman are prone to tall tales, but I'm proud to say I hooked a 180-pound Caucasian journalist (he was a feisty devil and it took forever to get that hook out of his T-shirt). I also managed to snag a large boulder but, alas, it got away. How great would that have looked on my wall? Almost as good as a co-worker's suggestion I mount my T-shirt in the den. Nevertheless a great experience that I'm anxious to try again but perhaps with lesser expectations. As my FBIL aptly put it, "They don't call it catching. They call it fishing" Couldn't have said it better myself!