High Plains Panhandler

The Finger

After a brief respite from posting any new stories of our adventures here in the bitter cold Texas Panhandle, I'll pick up where I slacked off with a story about two motorcycle police, Indian food, and The Finger.

I met Suzanne for lunch at our token Indian restaurant today. Right outside the restaurant's parking lot, in the turning lane of a busy street, sat two motorcycle cops. They looked pretty serious, creepy in a way, like that police metal-robot from Terminator 2. I thought they both had Charlie Chaplin mustaches, but it was only their fuzzy Madonna-style microphones that gave the illusion of upper lip facial hair. Occasionally one of them would peel out from the turning lane and chase down an unwitting law breaker, but most of the time the two of them simply sat there, looking intimidating.

A few minutes after we sat down and started eating, Suzanne pointed out the window and told me to take a look. Across the street, on the far sidewalk, was a very curious fellow. He stood on the edge of the curb and, with violent shaking motions, kept thrusting both middle fingers in the direction of the police. I think he must have had too much coffee because he was frantic, his motions spastic and wild. At first I thought he had something on his fingers and was trying to shake it off, but after a minute it became pretty obvious that this guy just liked flipping off the police, vibrato style.

For ten minutes this is how it went: he would pace up and down the sidewalk, never going more than five feet in either direction. Then he'd stop, express his frustration with law enforcement by demonstrating his talent at holding up both middle fingers at the same time, then he'd pace again. You know those old Westerns where the clerk has to get a Morse Code message out on the telegraph in the nick of time? His finger rattles off code quicker than you can say "Jack's a granny." Well, take the telegraph, put it in the air, flip it upside down, and tap away on it. That's how fast this guy was shaking his middle finger at the police.

The restaurant manager declared that this guy wasn't right in the head. The manager even made the finger-swirly motion next to his head to demonstrate insanity. Alas, though, when the police were done with their rounds, Crazy Mr. Fingers flipped them off as they drove past him, and then, with nothing more to be angry at, he shuffled off, his pants a little droopy around his waist, and disappeared behind a dumpster at the Imperial Chinese Buffet a block away.

I found out when we were leaving that the police always hunt speeders in that spot every Thursday. The restaurant guys think it's great sport to watch them. They said 20 people had been pulled over in the last hour. So here's a hint: if you're in Amarillo on Thursdays, be careful around the intersection of I-40 and Paramount. You might get a ticket, or you might get Mr. Tall shaken at you. Either way, it'll ruin your day.

Sledding

Saturday it snowed, not a lot, but enough that we all thought it'd be a good idea to get Megan's brand new, birthday sled and try it out on some hills at Medipark (this is a goose-filled park in the middle of a complex of hospitals, parking lots, and The Discovery Center).

So after lunch we bundled up and headed out. I didn't think the temperature was too cold until we got to the park. Then we felt it, the skin-ripping frosty wind rushing down at us from the arctic. I think it was close to zero degrees Kelvin. Since I was wise enough to leave any kind of hat at home, I yanked the collar of my coat up over my chin so I looked like Mort from Bazooka Joe, and everything I said came out mush-mouthy and incomprehensible.

We went alone on the semi-snowy hills. Other kids had already gouged paths with their snowboards and cardboard boxes, but we were able to find some fresh places, and we tore into them with yeehaws and whooo hoooos until we were all frozen just enough to waddle back to the van and head home for hot chocolate.

Dad's Night Out III

Last night was our third and most successful attempt and Dad's Night Out, a confederation of Mom's Club husbands whose constitution is still being ratified. This time, unlike before when three of us showed up, we had six dads (six!) all meet up at the right time, at the right restaurant, on the right day. It's very unusual for that many dads to coordinate that closely on anything, so I'm going to sell our story to Ripley's Believe It or Not for an awful lot of money and then share it with no one.

We met for dinner at Logan's Roadhouse, which I think is a chain restaurant because every eating establishment in Amarillo, except for our kitchen, is a chain restaurant. Logan's is one of those places where the staff is giddy to serve you big hunks of meat, every table has a couple of buckets of peanuts, and you can throw all the peanut shells you want on the floor without feeling guilty.

After dinner, five of went to the theater to see The Last Samurai, which is a movie perfect for Dad's Night Out because it combines swords, kicks to the head, arrows, burning bales of hay, gatling guns, and ninjas. I was particularly curious about this movie since a lot of the techniques we do in Aikido class are derived or inspired from old Samurai practices. Of course, we don't really go in for the whole ritual suicide knife stab in Aikido. If we had to kill ourselves because we've been shamed, I'd have to end every class with a knife in my belly.

I think our next Dad's Night Out might include pool, bowling, or (as someone has threatened) poker. I'm afraid of poker, mainly because I have no interest in it, but I have great interest in using my puny magic skills with a deck of cards to cheat. Of course, I'd have to tell everyone that I'm tempted to cheat and stack the deck. I'd like to see if I could do it under pressure of a real card game, which is worlds different than simply doing a magic trick. When it's high stakes poker and we've got pennies and nickels on the line, people might be a little intense. The whole night might end up with people punching each other, and that might end up with Samurai-style kung-foo action grip beheading, and then we'd have to get the ninjas involved, and . . . oh, it'd be a mess. We should stick to bowling.

Megan Turns Six

Megan started 2004 the right way: with some cake, and indoor pool, and presents, presents, presents. She turned six on Monday, a day she had been ready for since October. Since Monday was a school day and utterly no fun for a birthday party, we had her shindig on Sunday at the Amarillo Indoor Community Pool. Suzanne, fully realizing that a mass of dripping wet kindergartners would make for a nasty, soaking mess during cake-eating time, decided wisely to eat first, open presents next, and then move to the pool for a grand finale of splashing, dunking, diving, and watersliding.

"My favorite part of my birthday party was when I went swimming with my friends and when I went down the slide. When I opened Mckay's present that she gave me, it was a Rice Crispy Maker. First we put it in a roller, then it turned into a shape and then we had to wait for a long time and then we put chocolate icing on them and then we put sprinkles on them and then they were ready. I also got an art kit and a Strawberry Shortcake flowerpot plant and a new dress. Andrew and Kathleen gave me clothing for my American Doll." (Megan then rushes off, eager to play with her Ello set, not so eager to talk to me anymore.)

Megan picked a Nothing But Noodles for her special birthday dinner, which was really quite good. Don't be fooled, though. Nothing But Noodles had other things besides noodles, namely bowls of cotton candy that mystified us and black Caribbean tea. Nothing But Noodles was a good dinner choice. It sure beat Colleen's restaurant choice in November, which was one of those buffet-type restaurants where you make your own salad and potato. I had been complaining that those kind of restaurants are always messy because people spill their food all over the bar and no one cares about being clean. So then I went to the potato bar, poured a ladle-full of chili on my potato, and then immediately spilled the chili all over the container holding the shredded cheese.

You can't spill the chili when you're eating nothing but noodles, that's for sure!

This evening, after baths, Megan waited until we were along and then said, "Daddy, I don't want to get any older. I want to stay six years old." When I asked her why, she said, "There's too much you have to do when you're grown up. You have to drive your kids around everywhere and go to Mom's Club." When I told her that might be true, but you also get to ride ponies whenever you want, so that makes it all okay. She thought about that for a minute and then said, "Ok. I like that." Then she dashed off, running through the house like a maniac.

Click here for pictures of Megan's sixth birthday party.

Cell Phone Cyborgs

Here I am in Las Vegas for my yearly pilgrimage to CES, the Consumer
Electronics Show, where I have learned (once again) that a gigantic
glowing computer server in the laundry room will control your
entertainment life. This is funny because most people I know can't even
get their VCR to record Curb Your Enthusisam without accidentally
recording Skinamax instead. The kind of server I want at home is a guy
named Jeeves who comes with an Austin Martin.

This year the big thing at CES is Borg couture, which consists mainly of
oddly shaped wireless (aka Bluetooth) ear clamps that let people make
cell phone calls without holding a phone to their head. So here you have
all these people running around talking to themselves, wearing weird
curvy on the sides of their heads, while they're attending one of the
biggest electronics shows around. It's a little creepy, especially
around the Microsoft booth. I'm being assimilated by these cell phone
cyborgs!

According to all the sales women in skin-tight leather at CES, everyone
in the world now has 64 inch high definition plasma screens, and
everyone is using them to watch Finding Nemo. I would be jealous of
these people, if only I knew who they are. In Amarillo "plasma screen"
means getting your blood checked out so you can collect your seven
dollars on donation day.

Tonight: Lance Burton, Master Magician. I'm very excited, especially
after seeing how fast he made my $75 disappear when I bought the ticket
over the internet.

The Houston Wrap-up

Well, we're back after a glorious short-sleeve week in Houston for the holidays. As always, I was ready for any surprise arctic blasts by being bundled in all sorts of warmly-woven sweatery stuff, but to my dismay (as the dismay I felt last year, the year before that, and the year before that) the temperature never dropped below 140 degrees. So, the slow learner that I am, I roasted, just like I do every year.

It was great to see everybody. Sean, our nephew, is now old enough to ignore everyone. At some time in the past year, he had a cell phone surgically implanted into his head, so now he walks around the house muttering to himself like a homeless medicated teenager. Shannon, his sister, is still groovin' to Advil Lavigne, but she and our other nieces from Austin conspired against all the adults and ran off to rooms upstairs, constantly giggling and giving everyone the skunk eye.

Andrew, Kathleen, and Joseph were great to be around. I made quite a bit of headway with little toddling Joseph by calling him "Dude!" all week. I thought he enjoyed it until the last day we were there. He came up to me and said, pointedly, "No dude!" which I guess either means he's no dude or for the love of all that's mighty, stop saying that word. You're driving us all crazy.

High points of the trip:

Nasa Space Center. I hadn't been there since Middle School when astronaut ice cream was all the rage. Now it seems to have been taken over by Dippin' Dots, Ice Cream of the Future. We're afraid to try it. Nasa was great, but the prices were out of this world, baby! Lunch for the five of us, which consisted of a cheeseburger, fries, two hot dogs, one grilled cheese, animal crackers, and a salad cost more than the entire Apollo program.

A Walk in the Woods:

Normally, you'd be foolish to walk around outside in Houston. After all, Houston is why God invented air conditioning. But on one particular day when the weather seemed almost bearable, we went for a walk in a state forest near the Woodlands (most of Suzanne's family lives in the Woodlands, which is a large faux city hidden by very large trees. We are proud of our trees in the Texas Panhandle, but in Houston they call our trees toothpicks. The Woodlands has many, many walking and biking paths. It's very nice. Here in Amarillo our paths are also known as "Interstate highways." You're not really allowed on them unless you're driving a pickup truck).

Out walk in the woods was just about perfect. I tried to make a couple of Blair Witch jokes, but no one really paid attention. It was the end of December and the trees in Houston were just turning colors, so it was good timing to see them. Trees in Amarillo lost their leaves at about 5:30 in the afternoon on October 23. It all happened very fast. It was easy to miss.

Big Family Gift Exchange:

Free presents. Bunch of cookies. Uncle Dan and I playing Battlefield 1942 on his laptop. Internet Chess Club subscription! That was a good day.

We were sad to leave, especially since Colleen and Megan were having such a good time with Andrew and Kathleen, but our home on the range was calling and we couldn't refuse, no matter how many Double Dave pepperoni rolls tempted us to stay (I ate enough of those rolls on this trip to fill a Volkswagen. Yet, I crave them still. I think I'll enroll in a program).

Ten hours later, we got home in time to see in the new year, and it rushed at us with a biting wind blown down from Canada, stopping for nothing while it came across the purposeful emptiness of the high plains. Even though The Woodlands has trees everywhere, there is something majestic (although it's an acquired taste) about the wide, empty, open plains. After a week, it's something that's easy to miss.