Chickens on the radio

In case you missed it, John "Little Jackie Chicken" Moe, who in addition to being the now former singer of Chicken Starship is also a reporter on public radio's "Weekend America". John, as was recapped on his blog, has moved from Seattle to St. Paul to be closer to all things Public and Radio, and is doing a series about the move. The first installment, his farewell to the band, aired yesterday. But if you missed it, here it is!

Happy Birthday, Sparky!

Today is Mrs. Sparky Chicken's birthday! So send her an e-mail and wish her a happy one. Or just comment here and I'll pass it on...

Any tent suggestions?

On the off chance any of the small handful of people that read this knows anything about backpacking tents, I'm looking for a recommendation. As I mentioned in the camping recap post on Monday, Logan's now a boy scout and will be doing some camping (almost said "more", but that would imply that there had been some previously). And I'm planning on going with him, 'cause it's fun.

So the dilemma is we've only got one tent, the old early '80s Eureka Timberline that I used back in the day. Well, it's a fine tent, and new poles are on order so setting it up will get easier. But that doesn't solve the dilemma of who sleeps in what tent when we're both on an outing. 'cause the Scouts are supposed to be pseudo self-sufficient on these outings, with the adults camping slightly away from them. So we need two tents.

Add to that the fact that tent construction has improved since 1981 or whenever the Timberline was purchased, and with the wonders of second- and third-world production the prices are relatively cheap. So we come to the ultimate question: any recommendations for a decent, affordable moderately lightweight tent? I'm thinking 2 person rating, 'cause I like to spread out, and it would let the boy take it if I weren't going (what, you didn't think I'd give him the new equipment, did you?), but still be light enough for me to carry solo without weighing me down too much.

Right now I'm looking at the Cabelas XPG, but the only reviews I can find are on the Cabelas web site, and that makes me suspect...

Breakfast for dinner

Man I love that. And no, not the old bachelor standby of a bowl of cereal, I'm talking actual cooked breakfast. We used to have waffles for dinner on Sundays when I was a kid (at least that's how I remember it...), and for a while we continued the tradition. Then we kind of slacked off, and now it's more of a treat than a standard piece of the dinner repertoire.

So tonight I come home, soaking wet because I rode my bike and it was (surprise surprise) raining like hell, to word from Maya Chicken that "we're having little pancakes!" A statement which Paige corrects to "no, we're having Little Itty Bitty Alan Greenspan." Which was the name Tina (I think it was Tina...) entered in the "Name the Big Puffy Pancake" contest at John's house about, oh, 10 years ago.

We're pretty sure they're actually called Dutch Babies, but we like the Greenspan name better.

Thank you, Mary Anne!

What with all the Elliot "you can stop calling me Elliot Ness" Spitzer stuff in the news, the tale of Dawn "Mary Anne from Gilligan's Island" Wells getting pulled over with a bunch of pot kind of slipped through the cracks. Which is too bad, 'cause it's a much more entertaining story.

First off, the Spitzer thing is right out of Greek theater. What's the saying, Hubris ahtay nemasis? (sorry...never took Greek so I don't know how to spell "ahtay" and went phonetic on it...) A fancy way of saying "pride comes before the fall". We all secretly hoped that he'd screw up somehow, and it's nicely poetic that he gets hoist on the petard that he created (I should probably find out what a "petard" is so I know if I'm completely butchering that metaphor...should, but won't).

Ms. Wells, on the other hand, is one of the great all-American sex symbols of my youth, 'cause really, Ginger was way too unatainable. Mary Anne, though, you thought you might have a chance with. And now that we know she's a big ol' (alleged) stoner the whole coconut cream pie thing makes hella more sense.

Why I don't drive a Rally car

'cause then I'd be on a video like this...

Ouch!

Yeah, I know, I've used that headline before. But this time it's about me, not some dude losing an arm.

So as I may have mentioned before, by brother-in-law roped me in to riding the STP this summer, which means I need to get my butt in shape. And my legs, arms, back, neck, etc. And a great way to do this is to do the ol' bike commute. Good for me, good for the environment, blah blah blah.

Today was the first bike commute of the year, and I wanted to break it in easy. So rather than riding both ways I loaded the bike on the bus in the morning (which was great, since it was like 40 and raining out...), then rode home this evening. Which is where the "ouch" comes in.

So I'm sitting at the intersection of 8th Avenue and Westlake down by Lake Union, trying to cross Westlake to continue my ride north. Problem is, there's no light there. And there's a lot of traffic. Well, finally an opening in the traffic appears and I stomp on it. Problem is, I'm in the wrong gear. Waaaaaay too high a gear. So the crank moves slowly, and isn't where I think it's going to be when I stomp down with the right foot to get things going faster. So I hit the pedal with my toe rather than with the ball of the foot, and since I use SPD clipless pedals I sail right off the thing and stamp the ground instead.

But not just the ground, no, that would be too easy! My leg's momentum is forward...I'm expecting to hit the pedal and keep rolling in a circle...and my left foot is on the up-swing...so when I slip off the pedal there's no pressure keeping the crank going around and, naturally, it backs up. Right in to my shin.

Now, at this point, I'm thinking "ouch." I'm also thinking "I'm half way in to the first lane of a busy road and there are cars coming...crap!" So I stomp again, a bit more carefully this time, and make it safely across, swearing at myself and gravity.

Luckily I was wearing tights, so I didn't see the extent of the damage to my leg. It hurt, but I've had similar scrapes before and know that half of the battle is ignoring it. And it's much easier to ignore a wound if it's not bleeding at you. And besides, the tights are, well, tight and so provided a nice compression bandage. And they kept chunks of skin from jamming up my cleat...

Anyhow, it stopped hurting after a few hundred yards, and didn't start hurting again until I got home and had to take off the tights to find...a pretty minor scrape, actually. Probably got some protection from the tights, 'cause it's not as long or deep as I might have expected. It also, thankfully, didn't glue itself to the tights when it scabbed up, so I've got that going for me.

I'll take tomorrow off anyway, though, and let it rest. Then Thursday is the slightly bigger test, riding both ways - in the dark in the morning, no less!

Camping recap

Well, what with all that book meme nonsense yesterday I slacked off on the recap of the boy's first step to adulthood (or at least adolescence), so here it is. At least, here's the recap of a) the part I witnessed, and b) the parts he's told me.

First, the location: they stayed at the Bowman Bay campground at Deception Pass State Park up where Whidbey Island almost touches the mainland. The weather was totally cooperative, with the rain falling over by the foothills and not on the sound. I'd been to the park, but never to this side - and I think we'll have to go back 'cause it's dang purty:

This part of the park has an interpretive center that focuses on the fine men and women of the Civilian Conservation Corps, the sister org. of the PWA that focused on parks and conservation rather than building sweet bridges. But based on the statue they were in good shape and knew how to use an axe:

Anyhow, after a brief stint on the beach, it was time to set up camp, and I got a great deal of enjoyment watching the troop's Senior Patrol Leader (who, at around 15, is half the age of the tent) try to set up this tent that had no flexible poles and no relation to the now standard dome. But they got it up, with a little help from me and a lot of grunting (apparently one of the things the CCC did when they built the camp ground was pack as much rock and gravel in to the tent sites...)

And lastly, before I drove off and left him with the Scouts, I took this shot of some kayakers out enjoying the bay, thinking Bonnie would enjoy it. Didn't switch lenses, though, so you can't really see what they're paddling.

As for the aftermath, he seemed to have had a good time, although as expected he didn't eat much. Why? Well, because while the chicken looked good, they then "put this stuffing on it" ("why not scrape the stuffing off like you do at home?" I asked...and got no response). He had some lunch left over that he ate at dinner, but breakfast was basically hot chocolate because he didn't take to fried spam in a bun. Silly boy...

Meme time

I've officially been tagged with the "123 book meme" by Ms. Frogma. And apparently if I ignore the tag I'll have bad luck for 10 years or something. And since I don't have anything else to write about today (well, not this afternoon, anyway...) I'll play along.

These were the instructions:

1. Pick up the nearest book.

2. Open it at page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence/ phrase.

4. Blog the next four sentences/ phrases together with these instructions.

5. Don't you dare dig your shelves for that very special or intellectual book.

6. Pass it forward to six friends

So, let's see...the nearest book at this moment is the 1978 classic "Kiss" by John Swenson who, if we are to beleve the cover, is "the greatest rock show on earth". Not to be confused with the Most Important Rock and Roll Band in the world, which as you know is Chicken Starship. Anyhow, the book is from the "Headliners" series, and was a parting gift from John Moe, mailed the day he left town to move to St. Paul.

So, opening to page 123 and following the instructions we find...a picture of the band rocking out. Hmm. This is a problem...page 123 falls near the end of a set of grainy black-and-white photos. So I have to either roll forward to pae 129 or roll back to 105. I'm going to opt for the "go to the closest number" and round up:

"Kiss is a band that's easy to hate," wrote Steven Gaines in the February 2, 175 New York Sunday News. "At other times in the show the band members toss themselves around like madmen in a padded cell...Gene's bloody spout is the goriest moment I've ever seen on any stage, and it has the distasteful sharp edge to it that Alice Cooper never came close to."

Simmons, however, defended the band in his comments to Gaines. "All these critics come and see us and give us bad reviews," he said, "but what they don't say is how much our fans like us."

Well, that's certainly true. And it's good to be reminded that Gene has always had a very healthy ego...

I'm going to modify step 6, since I don't have that many friends who blog, and since one of them tagged me I will tag the other two, Tina and John. John mainly because he gave me the dang book and has so much else going on in his life that he needs a break like this. And Tina to give her something to distract her from the whole election thing.

To the guy next to me at the Alanis Morisette show tonight:

Hey, man, I'm glad you're such a huge Alanis fan. She definitely rocks. Great voice. Good hooks in the songs.

And I'm really glad you've taken the time to listen to all her albums and memorize all the lyrics.

But seriously...your voice sucks donkey. You have no sense of pitch and couldn't carry a tune if I put it in your backpack and stapled it to your shoulders. You've got the volume thing down, though, and that taxi whistle is ear-splittingly impressive, so perhaps a career in professional sports fandom is in order.

The dawn of a new era

Young Logan Chicken takes a bold step tomorrow...he's off on his first Scout camp-out without Dad. Well, I'll be there for some of it...I'll drive him and whoever else up (to Deception Pass State Park), and I'll hang out through Lunch. But then, some time around 1 or so, I'll hop in the car and split, leaving him alone in the wilderness. Only not really, 'cause he'll be surrounded by other Boy Scouts. But kind of, since none of his buddies are going and so the only person he really knows is Nick, who is like a Freshman in High School.

So, why am I abandoning him like this? 'cause I've got tickets to Alanis Morisette, that's why. And really, isn't that more important than the boy's first camp-out?

Actually, while that sounds calous, and while I'd love to stay and spend the weekend up there, in a way it's good 'cause a large part of the Boy Scout thing is teaching independence and self reliance. And that's hard to do when Dad's there, and it's hard for Dad to let go. I still remember my first trip with the Boy Scouts - although it involved actual hiking, rather than just car camping...we left Bellevue on a damp Saturday morning (I think...might have been Friday afternoon) and drove out I-90 a ways, parked, and hiked the whopping 2 miles up to Talapus Lake.

My main memory of that trip were the tents - Troop 638 at the time had tents that were really more of a rain fly...two poles - a tall one in front and a short one in the back - with a couple ropes and a bunch of plastic pegs. If you set it up correctly the bottom of the "tent" ended about 3 inches off the ground. You slept on your ground cloth and hoped that none of it was sticking out under the edge of the tent. They worked fine if you did it right, but if you were on a hill, or it was windy, you were going to get damp. They also didn't keep the critters out, as the guy I was sharing a tent with found out when a chipmunk came in, ate through his pack, and ate a good chunk of his candy bar.

I also remember the poncho. That was the first time I'd worn a rain poncho, and since Dad liked to buy things I could grow into it was huge (well, to his credit it was supposed to be big enough to cover me AND the backpack). We looked like bats wandering around the camp site under the dripping trees.

And I remember that that was when I learned that if you're standing around a camp fire and the smoke is blowing in your face, if you say "I hate rabbits" it makes the smoke go away. Or it's supposed to...it never really worked for me. Wonder if that tradition continues? I guess I'll find out on Sunday when I drive back up to pick the boy up!

Any ideas how I get a new gig?

Not a full-time thing or anything...here's the story: The Seattle PI, the paper I've read since I was a kid, has no TV reporter. They had one for a long time who was great, then he decided to become a Sports reporter or sports columnist or something. Well, that clearly didn't last, 'cause he's no where on the site now.

He was replaced by Melanie McFarland, the "TV Gal", who was also great, but she has since left to work for IMDB or someone. And she's been replaced by, well, a series of syndicated columnists.

Now, there are few things I enjoy more than TV. A diet coke on a hot day, possibly. Sleep. A roast beef and cheddar sandwich on a baguette from the Three Girls Bakery. But I do loves me some TV. But the question is, how do I turn that love of TV in to a paying gig?

Again, I don't want to do it full time...for one thing, I don't think the newspaper industry pays well enough for that. But maybe a freelance column a week? Heck, I do "Scott Chicken's TV Party" on Indy Radio every freaking weekday (except when I'm too tired to record it...), and transposed that into a Blog for a while, so how hard could it be?

Anyhow, if you've got any ins at the PI, let me know!

Quinine, anyone?

Seattle Biomedical Research Institute is looking for volunteers who don't mind a little malaria. And they'll pay you for it, and put you up in a hotel while you get the shakes. Not to mention the headache, nausea, sweating, and weakness. But hey, did I mention you're getting paid and put up in a hotel? Sweet!

Kittie hats?

Who knew? Here I had lived my life thinking that, since they're generally covered with fur, cats didn't nead the kind of headwear that bald guys like me must wear in the winter. How wrong I was...

Small town news...

Back in college I worked for KTEL Radio in mighty Walla Walla. KTEL was a country station, spinning authentic 45s of the greatest Country hits of the mid-80s and earlier (not being a country fan I stuck to the standard hit rotation and routinely threw in Ray Stevens, Jerry Reed, and cross-over acts like the Eagles and CCR). As the youngest member of the air staff by far (I was all of 19 at the time) I also drew the crappiest shift: 6 to noon Saturday and Sunday mornings.

 

Part of the weekend routine was to stop off at the Police station on the way in and pick up the overnight Police Blotter. Then once I got to the station I'd call the two local hospitals and find out who, if anyone, croaked over night. These would then go, along with various national news stories torn (literally) off the AP wire printer, in to the morning's 10-minute news casts, also known as the most terrifying part of my morning.

 

Why terrifying, you ask? Well, the average listener of KTEL was, as far as I could tell, 80 years old and awake at 5:30 listening to KTEL to find out how many of their friends were still alive. So the "Weekend Deathwatch", as I came to call it, was high-pressure. Because 19-year-olds don't know how to pronounce everyone's names. And when they get Aunt Millie Sasperilly's name wrong, Ida Mae Sasperilly will call in and complain. But don't think that the Police Blotter part was any easier...I got reamed once for saying that "a car hit a bicycle at the corner of 2nd and Alder..." because clearly I, a bike rider, was assigning blame to the car. Far better to say "a car and a bicycle collided..."

 

Anyhow, now that I do a canned, voice-tracked radio show that airs 200 miles from my house, I'm far better at reading AP news stories (although thanks to the Internets I no longer have to tear anything...). But I do miss the police blotter. Which is why I was happy to stumble across this, from the Flathead Beacon. Nothing like small-town crimes...a few choice entries:

 

8:41 a.m. A cat crawled under a Willow Glen resident's porch after a car hit it.

4:54 p.m. A 14-year-old girl needed counseling by deputies after she threw a fit and threw her food all over the kitchen floor.

5:14 p.m. Two Coram residents got into a fight over a saw.

6:10 p.m. A woman called in because her 16-year-daughter was threatening to remove her nose ring. (I'm not sure if this means the girl was going to pull out Mom's nose ring or her own...)

Holy crap!

I am definitely glad I wasn't on this flight...

 

 

Not sure what this is an ad for, but it's cool...

And yes, I'm aware that I was going to post a "final show" recap, but I haven't gotten around to it. Too much biking and beer today and now I'm spent. Spent, I tell you!

So instead, here's this ad for something. Hair product, I think...

And one other thing...

Jill Homer (she of the "Jill's Subarctic Snow Biking Blog" link over on the right) finished the Iditerod Trail Invitational this afternoon at 4:20 Alaska time with a total time of 6 days 2 hours 20 minutes. Her report from Nikolai, the checkpoint before the 50-mile push to the end is here...I think this paragraph sums it up well:

Cold weather has been a struggle. I bivied just below Rainy Pass one night as I pushed my bike through the knee-deep snow for 45 miles. My thermometer bottomed out at 20 below. I bivied again last night at Sullivan Creek when I kept literally falling asleep and falling off my bike. I woke up after three hours and set out to pack up, but it was so, so cold. Everything was frozen solid. My chemical warmers had turned to ice bricks and I couldn't make them go. I crawled back into my bag and waited another couple hours before attempting again. Again, couldn't quite handle the cold. I finally just decided to wait until daylight and stayed in my bag until 10 a.m., but didn't sleep much. I woke up to a 35 mph headwind and single digit temperatures. Ground blizzards were out of this world. Again, glacial pace.

I can't even imagine what that must be like. And here I was thinking I was all cool for having run a marathon!

The show recap will have to wait...

Too much going on today to write it up, the thumb still hurts when I hit the space bar, and I'm tired. Yeah, yeah, excuses excuses. But you do have to admire this sweet photo my brother-in-law Tim took of us...looks like we're beaming down from the Chicken Starship. Which we were...

Getting by on a technicality...

Since I haven't been to bed yet I'm not counting this as missing Friday...I have an excuse, honest. I was playing rocky roll music with the band for the last time. Well, the last time for a while, anyway...More details tomorrow. And some pictures as well.