tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18153433896711513372024-03-13T20:02:21.681-07:00Neu's RamblingsBy Cory Neumiller, columnist for The Leader News and The Underwood News.Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-26798223748565814822013-09-23T06:53:00.001-07:002013-09-23T06:53:28.171-07:00The last time<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
I love dead authors because they rarely disappoint you. For
instance, you will never turn on your television to the morning news and find,
for instance, Ernest Hemingway was arrested last night for walking around in
women's clothing while being drunk in public. Frankly, he hasn't been arrested
for that in over 50 years. I also love dead authors because you can quote them
all you want without any fear of legal retribution. For instance, if I just retyped
the first five pages of <i>Following the Equator</i> by Mark Twain, nobody
would even notice, except for the fact that it would be much better written
than anything I've ever penned. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
But instead of stealing the first five pages, I am just going
to steal the very first line in my copy which is found under a picture of a
Twain looking out on the ocean from the poop deck of a steamer (I honestly have
no idea if it is really the "poop deck" - I just really wanted to use
that term).</div>
<div class="bodytext">
The line, in Twain's own handwriting, is, "Be good and
you will be lonesome."</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mlS8M6yLsjc/UkBHvXf8CLI/AAAAAAAACVg/V0-toZLFIao/s1600/goodbye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mlS8M6yLsjc/UkBHvXf8CLI/AAAAAAAACVg/V0-toZLFIao/s320/goodbye.jpg" width="320" /></a>For the past seven years, we have been anything but good here
at <i>Neu's Ramblings, </i>and we never felt lonesome. We have avoided writing
about subjects that had to do with good taste. Instead we discussed used
underwear. We spent time at horse races and cattle sales, walking home from broken
down pickups, removing gallbladders, standing in Polish firing squads, angering
the executives at the IRS and Blue Cross Blue Shield, chasing cows, buying
minivans, selling minivans, trapping mice, cutting holes in floors and walls, running
used diapers through a snow blower, and in a hospital delivery room. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
When this column started, Nicole and I were basically newlyweds
who had just moved to Washburn hoping to build a farmstead and enjoy country
life. Now we are a battle-hardened married couple with two kids, a bunch of
cows, goats, horses, and a Belarus tractor. Times have really changed.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Which leads me to this: This is my last column.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
It seems that after seven years I have run low on ideas and
theories and strange ramblings. For the last six months this column has been
really difficult to write, and life has been busier and busier. So instead of
fighting it, trying to carve out a few minutes to write what I used to be able
to dedicate hours to, I've decided to hang it up. I hope the four of you still reading
are not too disappointed.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
For the record, I did not get fired. Surprisingly. I would
like to thank BHG owners Mike and Jill Gackle and editor Michael Johnson for
letting me write utter nonsense for all this time and never even once saying
"You do that again, and you're outta here!" And also for paying me,
which was nice. Unless you are reading this from an IRS office, in which case
they never, ever paid me, but I sure had a lot of expenses that were all
completely legitimate. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
I also want to thank Nancy Hillerud for proofing this column
from the very beginning, making me look smarter than I really am. And for only
occasionally complaining about how many sentences I end prepositions with.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
To end this last column, I went back to some of my earliest
work and found six random quotes that I still found funny. I truly hope you
enjoy them.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
6. By “We” I am not referring to us Germans because I know
that people of other nationalities, such as Norwegians, also make their homes
here, bringing their dead, smelly fish to town to try to convince us Germans
that it is real food.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
5. If you have frozen pipes and you decide to cut a hole in
your floor to access the pipes, you end up with frozen pipes AND a hole in your
floor.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
4. I would be very disappointed if I stopped by a local
mechanic and he lopped the head off a chicken because I had bad plug wires.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
3. I am not all that sure what Lamaze is but from flipping
through the brochure it looks like a beautiful weekend of sitting in a boat
fishing for Canada’s largest northern pike while…wait, wrong brochure.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
2. I think it was mostly because while the women were inside
sharing deep, personal feelings on the shade of paint Nicole used on a living
room wall, us guys were outside saying, “What if you used 4 shot instead of 6
shot? Would zucchini pieces fly further? How about a .30-06? I bet a .30-06
would really explode one.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
And the final out-of-context quotes from <i>Neu’s Ramblings</i>
is:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
1. Since it was our anniversary, I felt compelled to point
out any used underwear for sale in strange people’s garages.</div>
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-46406018809971620612013-09-04T07:47:00.001-07:002013-09-04T07:47:55.362-07:00End of summer<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
All the signs point to fall. The Twins have completely fallen
out of the playoff race, students are about to start complaining about
teachers, teachers are about to start complaining about students, and sheep
riding is all but finished.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Now before you start thinking about Montana jokes, let me clarify
that is not what I am writing about. I’m writing about the sport of sheep
riding.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Summer meant boredom on the farm unless we came up with
something to do, and that something turned frequently to sheep riding.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
I competed heavily in the amateur circuit, mostly at my own
private arena, known to the rest of my family as the “corral.” I also drafted
my little brother Casey into the proud ranks of the ASRA (the Amateur Sheep Riding
Association), where I wasn’t just the president, but also a member. Casey was
vice-president, and was the first and only member to break his leg during the
brief run of the ASRA. The club consisted of all two of us, and an occasional
friend from town who usually only rode once and then demanded his dues back.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Our sheep ridings were always held on days when our parents
weren’t around. Once the folks would leave the yard, we would lure the sheep
into the corral with a bucket of feed and then proceed to rope our stock for
the first go-round.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
We had two different events: bareback and saddle. Bareback
was more convenient because we didn’t have to mess around with pulling our
cinches tight on the sheep, which can be pretty tricky. Our “saddle” consisted
of a pad that mom had sewn stirrups and a cinch on for riding horses in the
winter. One of us would hold the rope, while the other put the saddle down on
the sheep and tried to jerk the cinch tight.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
The next step was probably the trickiest: You had to persuade
the other competitor to crawl onto the sheep. I repeatedly had to tell of fame
and glory to get my little brother on top of the woolly. When that didn’t work,
I threatened bodily harm, which always worked.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
When the rider was in place, the rope was loosened and the
ride would begin. Unlike most rodeo events, in sheep riding you don’t use spurs
for fear of them becoming permanently affixed to the wool, dragging you along
after you fell off (our equivalent of being “hung up”).</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Only once did I compete professionally, and it was at the tender
age of eight. At the big rodeos they called my event “mutton bust’n,” but
nothing could be further from the truth. They should have called it “kid
bust’n.” I don’t ever recall seeing one of the sheep’s mothers running out
there to pick up her bawling kid. Nevertheless, parents thought this was great
fun, and mine paid my entry fee. I drew a bad one, whose name alone still
propels fear through me to this day.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“Son,” my dad said with a sound of panic in his voice. “You
drew Wilma. Now watch her coming out of the chute. They say she spins hard to
the left and after she gets the rider off, she comes back to eat him. The last
kid that tried her had to be rescued by his mom.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
This kind of speech was not one that adds to a young man’s
confidence, but regardless, I got on that sheep. Actually, somebody put me on
the sheep. The rest is history.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“Are you ready kid?” the chute boss asked.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gzsXj50iclA/UidIC5hXJ9I/AAAAAAAACVQ/9NYCiZ8NXdk/s1600/zing1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gzsXj50iclA/UidIC5hXJ9I/AAAAAAAACVQ/9NYCiZ8NXdk/s320/zing1.jpg" width="320" /></a>“Get me out of here!”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“Whatever you say kid,” and he jerked the gate. I think something
was lost in the translation.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
I tried to remember what dad had said about the sheep. Something
about it going hard to the left, or was it to the right? It didn’t really
matter. I found out later that sheep don’t spin. As a matter of fact, most
sheep have taken a geometry class in their high school days and know that the
shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Wilma was an honor
student. She took off for the opposite end of the arena at a sprint.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
I had heard all of the stories about famous eight second
rides and how the old timers stayed on even after the whistle sounded, but I
considered myself an innovator, so I tested out my theory of a two-second ride.
I bailed off the sheep, some would dare to say fell off, breaking the fall with
my head, which is probably why I am how I am today.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
As I tried to get my directions straight, Wilma turned in the
arena, pawed dirt, and came back for me. Some in the crowd claimed my second
ride was longer than my first, but the judges deducted points for style.
Something about holding on to the sheep’s ears and my legs wrapped around her
belly seemed to take away some of the elegance and grace of my ride.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Just a short week later I was back in school, the Twins were
two and a half games behind the White Sox, and summer was but a memory, at
least what little I could remember with the concussion and all.</div>
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-41144165284727871702013-08-27T06:41:00.002-07:002013-08-27T06:42:32.683-07:00Time flies<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
This past week has been an eye opener for me. It seems the
past five years have slipped by, mostly while waiting for the Dell Computer
Repair Man who says he will be there tomorrow, but actually means "three
years from Tuesday but you need to sit in your house and wait just in case"
(but that's another story). </div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DbCHJ3l9GYM/UhysgnZbQBI/AAAAAAAACVA/TOp46fbaVi4/s1600/index.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DbCHJ3l9GYM/UhysgnZbQBI/AAAAAAAACVA/TOp46fbaVi4/s1600/index.jpeg" /></a>My first realization that time has flown in the past five
years came when Nicole and Elizabeth the Lizard came home from school shopping.
As I dug through the recipes, I inquired if all this money spent covered the
Lizard's first year of college tuition. It didn't. Apparently it only covered
the very basic supplies a school kid needs, even though MacGyver built flyable
aircraft with fewer provisions.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
The second realization came on Monday when Elizabeth was
officially signed up for Kindergarten. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
Wow. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
That went fast.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Our little girl is moving on to the next stage of her life,
which I predict will be held mostly in the principal's office because she loves
to talk. And talk. And talk. And then talk some more. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
So forgive me if I dig into some old material this week, but
three years back when she was just two I wrote a column about all the crazy
things she said, and I want to reuse some of that material so the teachers,
administrators, lunch ladies, custodians, coaches, and random delivery people
at the school know what to expect.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Here it is:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
About four months ago I started jotting down things our
daughter, Elizabeth the Lizard, said out of the blue. Each one of the following
nine quotes she honestly, truly, 100 percent said to us.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 9: One day we were driving down Highway 83 and a lady
in a big station wagon passed us. Lizard asked me what was in the lady’s car
and I felt like saying something stupid:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“17 bowling balls and a banana,” I told her.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“No Dad, she’s not having a picnic.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 8: Lizard always helps me feed her goat, Floppy, but
Floppy gets a little excited when we bring the feed bucket and tries to eat it
out of the bucket before Lizard can pour it. One day Floppy was being particularly
aggressive and almost knocked Elizabeth over as she tried to get the feed from
the bucket to the trough. Lizard got very mad and yelled this at Floppy:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“The feed is for pouring, not eating Floppy!”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 7: I’m not going to set this one up any, but she told me
this a couple weeks ago:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“Your feet are smelly because I haven’t combed them yet.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 6: Nicole strapped Lizard into her car seat and then
Nicole and I jumped in the front seats, started the car, and heard this from
the back:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“When I get big I’ll drive the wheel and you and mommy will
sit in the back seat.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 5: The last Sunday morning of deer season:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“God doesn’t go deer hunting, Dad.” </div>
<div class="bodytext">
I think her mother put her up to that one.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 4: I was so proud this week when Lizard said this. I
could tell that she is not only my daughter, but thinks just like me.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
We were in the house and I looked out the window and saw a
nice big rooster walking past. I called Lizard over and showed her.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“A chicken!” she said.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“No sweetie, that is a pheasant.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“You better shoot it Dad.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 3: Lizard explained to Nicole’s mom the truth about
the fertilizer on our garden.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“Is that manure on your mommy’s garden?” </div>
<div class="bodytext">
“That is not manure. It is cow poop.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 2: Elizabeth is running around the house with a paper
cutout of Jesus on a stick that she made in Sunday school, when she sprints up
to me sitting at my desk and says:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“Jesus wants to see you Dad.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Number 1: Really, there is no explanation needed for this
one, but let’s just say it was the end of cartoon watching for the day:</div>
<div class="bodytext">
“I can’t hear the TV when you’re talking Dad.”</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Anyway, I have got to run. I have pheasant in the frying pan
and I think it is burning.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<br /></div>
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-18175758942866437842013-08-23T06:39:00.002-07:002013-08-23T06:39:14.201-07:00The year of Ewing<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
Some birthdays are big milestones. Every youth knows turning
18 means the courts can officially try them as adults. Turning 21 gives people
the right to enter a bar and spend $7 on a drink that is worth about 85 cents.
The 29th birthday is always a big one, and I have been told my grandma
celebrated that birthday at least 25 consecutive years. Of course turning 40
means two things: First, you are now officially old and second, your kids, who
are probably teenagers, think you are not only officially old, but officially
lame, officially embarrassing, and officially dumber than they are. That is a
lousy birthday.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ccehskNfDTE/Uhdl39SudmI/AAAAAAAACUw/f6dExJvaV4E/s1600/patrick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ccehskNfDTE/Uhdl39SudmI/AAAAAAAACUw/f6dExJvaV4E/s320/patrick.jpg" width="320" /></a>But this past week I had a great birthday. I turned 33, which
we officially deemed "The Year of Patrick Ewing" as the legendary
Knicks big man wore number 33. Next year will be "The Year of Charles
Oakley," but the following year I'm going to ignore my birthday altogether
because I refuse to live through "The Year of Clarence Weatherspoon"
considering at least 98 percent of his shot attempts were blocked and his teams
always, well, sucked. He would have been better suited playing for the
Milwaukee Brewers where sucking is expected and nobody attempts to block your
at-bats, but if they do, you can simply take drugs like a dirty, dirty cheater (Ryan
Braun) to make yourself better.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
(That last sentence was in response to a column written in
the <i>Leader-News</i> a couple weeks back by a Brewers fan that discussed
Baron Davis, a former Knicks point guard who claimed to have seen an alien
while in Las Vegas. I would simply counter anybody poking fun at that claim by
saying if you have been to Las Vegas and NOT ran into an alien, you never left
your hotel room.) </div>
<div class="bodytext">
Anyway, to celebrate The Year of Ewing, we needed to do
something big, something grand, something exciting, something we had never done
before. So we loaded up the family in the Jeep and headed to Wing for a movie
night. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
You may not have realized it, but Wing has a movie theater.
And it is awesome. Tickets are $5 for adults (our kids were free), popcorn is
75 cents (you read that right - 75 cents!) and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>pop is 50 cents or a buck, depending on how big of a cup you want. We
wanted the big cups. It was the Year of Ewing after all.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
If you have not been to the Wing Theatre, it can best be described
as a simple little building with crumbling steps out front and plain padded
chairs lined up in front of old church pews on a hardwood floor. There is a
chance the big screen at the Grand Theatre in Bismarck is bigger than the
entire Wing Theatre, but then again you have to mortgage your house if you want
popcorn while you watch the feature there.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
On Sunday night they were playing <i>Monsters University</i>,
which seemed like a great idea for a family film. At least until you consider
the movie is all about monsters learning how to scare small children, which is
why Dan the Broken Leg Man quickly moved from his seat onto my lap about 27
seconds into the movie. But the movie wasn't really that scary for the little
guy, and I expect he will start sleeping again by the end of the week.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
This was the first movie theater experience for both
Elizabeth and Dan. Elizabeth was pretty confused by what was going to happen,
especially since in the Wing Theatre the screen sits on a stage. She kept
asking "When are the people dressed like monsters going to come out?"
She was expected a full-blown Broadway theatric stage experience, but since
most Broadway shows have a cast bigger than the population of Wing, that seemed
unlikely to happen.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-COYxpMqhmfo/Uhdl3mqdQBI/AAAAAAAACUo/KCwHf1Br1Aw/s1600/55519271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-COYxpMqhmfo/Uhdl3mqdQBI/AAAAAAAACUo/KCwHf1Br1Aw/s320/55519271.jpg" width="320" /></a>But when the lights went down and the movie came on (which
Elizabeth realized once she got back from the first of many trips to the
bathroom), the kids' eyes were locked in. I don't think Elizabeth blinked for
an hour and a half. Dan snuggled into my lap while clutching his popcorn box.
He basically forgot to eat popcorn for 90 minutes, but he never put it down.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
When the movie ended a woman came out of the ticket booth and
announced the winning ticket numbers for the evening. I checked out movie stubs
and our numbers were not the winners, which is probably good because I have no
idea what the prize was. There is at least a 50 percent chance the winner had
to sweep the floor and stack the chairs.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
On the drive home everybody agreed it was a great start to
the Year of Ewing. And as we tucked the kids into bed, both of them still
talking about the movie, I did what any good 33-year-old father would do. I
told them I loved them and then, without hesitation, promised them the Knicks
would win the title this coming year. It's what Patrick would have done.</div>
<br />
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-14521191417902125142013-08-23T06:36:00.000-07:002013-08-23T06:36:28.262-07:00By George<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
It was not very fair of me in last week's column to use the
new royal baby to take a shot a the British peoples' poor dental practices. If
I wanted to pick on those cheeky folks, it would have been better to have
simply pointed out they eat foods horrible foods like "Tripe" and
"Haggis" which are basically the parts of the cow and sheep that
hotdog companies reject, their royal guards wear giant q-tips on their heads, or
that they produce sitcoms so boring they get canceled by PBS. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mbK1aCTO3jw/UhdlQCqyHYI/AAAAAAAACUY/9bmFX0OnEhs/s1600/congratulations-royal-baby-commoner-womb-congratulations-ecards-someecards.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mbK1aCTO3jw/UhdlQCqyHYI/AAAAAAAACUY/9bmFX0OnEhs/s320/congratulations-royal-baby-commoner-womb-congratulations-ecards-someecards.png" width="320" /></a>I know this first hand from a month Nicole and I spent there
during college studying Shakespeare. Yeah, we were nerds. No doubt about it.
And my digestive system is still trying to heal itself 11 years later. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
Regardless, I'm not here to pick on our British brethren (the
same guys whose tea and crumpet butts we kicked back in 1776). I am writing
today in an attempt to bring us closer. In a move that could only further
strengthen the United States and England's relations, today Neu's Ramblings is
presenting tips to Prince William and Princess Kate on raising their new baby
boy. Mostly we will focus on what they should not do because it is easier not
to do something than to actually do something. And I like easier. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't name the kid George. Every single headline in the British
tabloids is going to say "By George!" whenever he accomplishes
something or "Buy George" if he ever takes a bribe or "Bye
George!" whenever he goes somewhere or "Bi-George" if, um, never
mind.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't let the baby hang out at all hours of the night with Parliament.
Those guys in the wigs get CRAZY.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't set expectations too high for the baby. For instance,
tell the little one that he can grow up to be anything he wants, from a garbage
man all the way up to and including (but only if he wants) the king of England.
Pretend like you would prefer he be a garbage man.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't hock the crown jewels for anything less than genuine Pampers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't expose the baby to sunlight, don't get the baby wet,
and don't feed the baby after midnight or he will turn into an evil monster.
Wait, that might be the plot of <i>Gremlins</i>.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't let him drive around with James Bond. Even if 007
straps him into a government approved car seat, chances are it will not be a
safe ride.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IeaC-lU6seo/UhdlQDH_1_I/AAAAAAAACUc/DA1jGl1pp7c/s1600/20081103_doubleobaby_560x375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IeaC-lU6seo/UhdlQDH_1_I/AAAAAAAACUc/DA1jGl1pp7c/s320/20081103_doubleobaby_560x375.jpg" width="320" /></a>Don't tell him Jack the Ripper is dead. That way, when it
comes time to potty train, you can tell him Jack the Ripper is looking for
little kids who wet their pants. Problem solved.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't let the kid watch British sitcoms. It will depress him
something terrible if (and this is a big IF) he is able to understand what the
actors are saying. I don't care what anybody says: What they are speaking is
not English.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don't tell little Baby
George that you are going to a "Football game" and then make him sit
through a soccer match. That's just cruel. He is going to want to see the
Patriots play the 49ers.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't feed the kid British food. Ever. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't spend money on one of those baby monitors for the nursery.
Instead, ask Scotland Yard to bug the room.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't just assume you can drop the little one off at
Great-grandma's house whenever you need a night out. She is a little busy.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't tell him bedtime stories about his
Great-great-great-great Aunt Mary Queen of Scotts. The beheading thing at the
end might give him nightmares.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Don't use the Tower of London as the kid's Time-Out punishment
spot. Even though that would be really, really sweet.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Finally, do buy the kid a toothbrush. Right away. Even before
he has teeth. It can't hurt.</div>
<br />
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-67905223560387556752013-08-13T05:49:00.002-07:002013-08-13T05:51:32.991-07:0073rd annual plagiarism column<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">We are in the dog days of summer. It seems the recent heat
wave has the world slowed to a stop, and the only excitement revolves around
the fact that two non-related people with good teeth in England are having a
baby. That hasn't happened in better than 30 years.</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">In these days, my ideas for columns also slows down. I could
write about the new royal baby, but the lame teeth joke in the previous
paragraph was the only one I could come up with, so that would make a short
column. </span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Instead, I'm falling back on an old gag: the comedy quotes column.
This is something like the 73rd annual comedy quotes column I have plagiarized.
So without further ado (I think we can all agree these has been enough ado in
this column already), here we go.</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">When you enter a room, you have to kiss his ring. I don't
mind, but he has it in his back pocket (Don Rickles).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My wife said to me, "I want to be cremated." I
said, "How about Tuesday?" (Buddy Hackett). </span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">There are worse things in life than death. Have you ever
spent an evening with an insurance salesman? (Woody Allen) </span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">They say such nice things about people at their funerals that
it makes me sad to realize that I'm going to miss mine by just a few days
(Garrison Keillor).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in
the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day (Frank Sinatra). </span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="bqquotelink"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I distrust camels and anyone else who
can go a week without a drink (Joe Lewis).</span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I know a man who gave up smoking, drinking, women, and rich
food. He was healthy right up to the day he killed himself (Johnny Carson).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Why do people in ship mutinies always ask for "better
treatment?" I'd ask for a pinball machine, because with all that rocking
back and forth you'd probably be able to get a lot of free games (Jack Handy).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My parents didn't want to move to Florida, but they turned
sixty and that's the law (Jerry Seinfeld).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="bqquotelink"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be thankful we're not getting all the
government we're paying for (Will Rogers).</span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="bqquotelink"><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All people are born alike except
Republicans and Democrats (Groucho Marx).</span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I hate housework! You make the beds, you do the dishes and
six months later you have to start all over again (Joan Rivers).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Although golf was originally restricted to wealthy,
overweight Protestants, today it's open to anybody who owns hideous clothing
(Dave Barry).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RFLH_GiEYgs/UgorTOKw2sI/AAAAAAAACUI/P1y4bp7BWHM/s1600/1335556996728_2134392.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RFLH_GiEYgs/UgorTOKw2sI/AAAAAAAACUI/P1y4bp7BWHM/s320/1335556996728_2134392.png" width="320" /></a>When I was a boy the Dead Sea was only sick (George Burns).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I don't need you to remind me of my age. I have a bladder to
do that for me (Stephen Fry).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">What I find most disturbing about Valentine's Day is, look, I
get that you have to have a holiday of love, but in the height of flu season,
it makes no sense (Lewis Black).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My daughter wants to throw a stone at a bad man. I stop her
from throwing, shaking my head and giving her a little slap. My disapproval is
complete. You think: 'That's right, she shouldn't throw a stone even at a
villain.' Then I hand her a brick to throw (W.C. Fields).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Women now have choices. They can be married, not married,
have a job, not have a job, be married with children, unmarried with children.
Men have the same choice we've always had: work or prison (Tim Allen).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I don't like country music, but I don't mean to denigrate
those who do. And for the people who like country music, 'denigrate' means 'put
down' (Bob Newhart).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said I want a
second opinion. He said "Okay, you're ugly too" (Rodney Dangerfield).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My wife's gotten really lazy, or as she calls it, 'pregnant.'
(Jim Gaffigan). </span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">He was a dreamer, a thinker, a speculative philosopher. Or,
as his wife would have it, an idiot (Douglas Adams).</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">And finally, just to tie it all together like a good writer
who hasn't run out of ideas would do:</span></span></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">When you look at Prince Charles, don't you think that someone
in the Royal family knew someone in the Royal family? (Robin Williams).</span></span></div>
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-43540957375339367212013-08-06T05:26:00.002-07:002013-08-06T05:26:47.752-07:00Summer: A Retrospect<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="bodytext">
Now that the 4th of July is done and gone and your eyebrows
are just beginning to grow back after that Roman Candle incident, summer is pretty
much over. Retail stores are setting up Christmas displays (the Back-to-School
Sales ended back in March) and the Miami Dolphins have already been mathematically
eliminated from the NFL Playoffs. About the only thing that has not taken place
yet this summer is the Game and Fish running the deer lottery and giving out
tags. Apparently they are not planning on getting around to that until mid
November.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems like a good
time to look back at the summer that almost was here before it was gone with a
brief multiple choice quiz to see how your season went.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b>1) For a vacation after the long winter, you went:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TAVRJqv8F9E/UgDrYICLkAI/AAAAAAAACT0/U68RMPtqfts/s1600/funny-medical-advice-emergency-room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TAVRJqv8F9E/UgDrYICLkAI/AAAAAAAACT0/U68RMPtqfts/s320/funny-medical-advice-emergency-room.jpg" width="320" /></a>A) On a relaxing family vacation to the mountains.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
B) To the islands on a cruise with your significant other.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) To the emergency room. Several times.</div>
<b>2) The best book you picked up this summer was about:</b>
<div class="bodytext">
A) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>The Ocean at the
End of the Lane</i> by Neil Gaiman.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
B) <i>Happy, Happy, Happy</i> by Phil Robertson.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) <i>Parole Handbook for the Newly Released</i> by the State
of North Dakota.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b>3) You took your boat out on the lake or river:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
A) Five times.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
B) Ten times.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) Just once, and it is still out there somewhere.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b>4) This summer, you fired up your grill to:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
A) Cook dozens of steaks to perfection for friends and
family.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
B) Mostly heat up hotdogs for the kids.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) Attempt to collect on your homeowner's fire insurance.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>5) If neighbors
were to describe your lawn, they would say:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
A) It is neatly manicured. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
B) There are a few dandelions growing, but nothing too bad.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) I think there is a house in there somewhere.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b>6) After your best round of golf this summer, you:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
A) Bought a round of drinks for everybody in the clubhouse.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5vZEGAEmbBQ/UgDrX02eu4I/AAAAAAAACTw/MS4kpJN3s7c/s1600/Sharknado_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5vZEGAEmbBQ/UgDrX02eu4I/AAAAAAAACTw/MS4kpJN3s7c/s1600/Sharknado_poster.jpg" /></a>B) Framed your scorecard.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) Only had to pay to replace two broken windows and one
guy's eyeglasses.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b>7) With the abundant rain and warm weather, your garden
produced:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
A) Some of the best lettuce and tomatoes ever.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
B) Corn on the cob so sweet you would swear it was covered in
sugar.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) A couple funny looking plants that caused the local authorities
to secure a search warrant.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b>8) The best movie you watched this summer was:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
A) <i>The Lone Ranger </i>- A remake of the classic
television show about a masked hero and his Native American sidekick set in the
old west.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
B) <i>Despicable Me 2</i> - The sequel to animated hit <i>Despicable
Me</i> where a charming villain adopts children and turns into a good guy.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) <i>Sharknado</i> - A movie about a tornado filled with
sharks. Seriously. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b>9) Your favorite sports team:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
A) Spent the summer cutting guys who are in jail (Patriots).</div>
<div class="bodytext">
B)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spent the summer
trying to convince MLB that its best player didn't take performance enhancing
drugs (Yankees).</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) Spent the summer losing (Twins).</div>
<div class="bodytext">
(Yeah, none of those options <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>were really very good. Just pretend you didn't
answer that question.)</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<b>10) To stay in <i>Baywatch</i> type summer swimwear shape,
you:</b></div>
<div class="bodytext">
A) Spent time swimming laps at the pool.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
B) Ran in several 5K races around the state.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
C) Often, but not always, got your own drink out of the
fridge instead of sending your kid for it.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Now, to score this quiz, if you answered A or B for most of
these 10 questions, you had a spectacular summer. If you answered C to these
questions, you are a completely normal human being, and, with good behavior,
may be out of jail in time for summer 2014.</div>
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-2149353003225891902013-07-15T13:42:00.000-07:002013-07-15T13:42:18.133-07:00Fine things from Eastern Europe<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
This may come as a surprise to you, but it is possible
country music superstar Kenny Chesney and I live very different lives. For
instance, while he is mostly bald and covers his bare skull with a cowboy hat,
I have all my hair. Not to pick on the poor guy or anything, but that is just a
fact.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Another difference is his girl thinks his tractor is sexy. He
sang a whole song about it. "She thinks my tractor's sexy," he repeats
about a hundred times in the chorus. She even brings him fried chicken and
sweet tea during the song to try to convince him to take her for a ride.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_sN27BQokws/UeRekAaqCuI/AAAAAAAACKQ/OXCZpVV1h7o/s1600/Kenny_Chesney_-_Sexy_Tractor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_sN27BQokws/UeRekAaqCuI/AAAAAAAACKQ/OXCZpVV1h7o/s320/Kenny_Chesney_-_Sexy_Tractor.jpg" width="320" /></a>My wife, on the other hand, hasn't made fried chicken since
we were dating and finds very little romantic about tractors. I have found this
repeatedly over the last seven years we've lived here on the ranch. Take for instance
last week when I called her from an auction sale.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
"Hey Honey!"</div>
<div class="bodytext">
"Yeah?"</div>
<div class="bodytext">
"Wow, you sound particularly charming this morning. I
wish I was there to stare into your beautiful eyes."</div>
<div class="bodytext">
"What did you buy?"</div>
<div class="bodytext">
"Why do you think I bought something?"</div>
<div class="bodytext">
"Quit stalling. What is it?"</div>
<div class="bodytext">
"A tractor."</div>
<div class="bodytext">
"ANOTHER TRACTOR?!?!"</div>
<div class="bodytext">
There was more to the conversation, but this is a family
show, so we will end right there before things get rough. Let's just say that
she did not start frying chicken and brewing sweet tea when she hung up the
phone.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Yes, I did buy another tractor. In the last seven years, this
is the fifth one I have drug home (notice I did not say "drove" home.
A vast majority have been drug home). But I had a good reason to purchase this
one, which I explained to Nicole. You see, I have a Polish wife (maiden name is
Jastrzebski) and a Russian rifle (a Mosin Nagant), so it seemed a good idea to
buy a Belarus tractor to bridge the gap as Belarus is the only thing standing
between Poland and Moscow. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
That explanation sounded better in my head, which is where I
should have left it. Especially since my Polish wife starting eyeing my Russian
rifle after I brought home the Belarus
tractor.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
This new tractor has many features my Oliver 1555 tractor
doesn't. For instance it has a cab, which for the past few years doubled as an
apartment for a small but growing family of mice. It has a heater that has kept
me nothing but warm this past week while loading bales, even though the 90
degree sunny days have probably helped with that too. And it has brakes. I have
never, not even once, owned a tractor with working two brakes. I probably won't
use them anyway, but it is nice to know they are there.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
A while back I wrote about the Russian rifle I bought and how
when you need ammunition for it, you simply send a bottle of vodka to a fellow
named Ivan over in Chernogolovka and he would dig around in the ground for old
military ammo, and when he found some, if he sobered up, he would send it to
America. With the Belarus, there is no
such reliable system for finding parts. As a matter of fact, it is downright
difficult to find new replacement parts.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mPY3FRdU_Pg/UeRej2xUVPI/AAAAAAAACKM/Xt2xyge8KuA/s1600/Belarus+everywhere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mPY3FRdU_Pg/UeRej2xUVPI/AAAAAAAACKM/Xt2xyge8KuA/s320/Belarus+everywhere.jpg" width="320" /></a>Since the Belarus
tractors are factory made out of the finest recycled beer cans available, you
pretty much have to custom fabricate your own parts. I even came up with a simple
three step program for building parts.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Step 1: Buy a case of Budweiser.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Step 2: Pour it out. No sense drinking anything as awful as
Budweiser. Seriously.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Step 3: With a hammer, roughly form the part you need. That
is how they do it at the plant, so it should work for you.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you can tell, parts
just take a little work and a little imagination, but cost less than John Deere
parts, which you cannot buy for $18.99 a case at any gas station in town.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Finally, and maybe most importantly, my new tractor has an
AM/FM radio. I have spent several days in the tractor searching the stations
for old Kenny Chesney songs, which none of the stations play, because none of
the radio stations in this world have played a decent song since I graduated
high school. I bet that has happened to you too. But that's another story for
another day.</div>
<br />
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-45328704061381615392013-07-02T05:00:00.003-07:002013-07-02T05:00:51.864-07:00The end of a journey<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
If you think this four part series on our trip to South
Dakota is long, you should have been in the Jeep for
the return trip with Dan the I'm Very, Very Mad Baby Man.
But we better talk about the wedding first since that was the whole reason we
went.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WkYRDvMUlXQ/UdLAwooulOI/AAAAAAAACJ4/Tcwv_SNEKCc/s500/4004_5867_Sylvan_Lake_Custer_State_Park_md.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WkYRDvMUlXQ/UdLAwooulOI/AAAAAAAACJ4/Tcwv_SNEKCc/s320/4004_5867_Sylvan_Lake_Custer_State_Park_md.jpg" width="320" /></a>My good buddy Dave got married Saturday night in Custer
State Park at Sylvan
Lake. We did not get there
until a couple hours before the ceremony so we missed the morning's activities
(Mostly on purpose. You will understand by the end of the next paragraph).</div>
<div class="bodytext">
You see Dave is a runner and an adventurer, so for his wedding
day, he planned a triathlon right there in the park with a several mile bike
ride, three miles of running, and a swim across Sylvan Lake. In my book, that
is the definition of insanity. But in Dave's world, that is a pretty regular
Saturday. He told me he was going to seat the wedding guests according to what
place they finished the race. I told him I have no problem sitting in the back.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
So yeah, we missed that. But we got there a couple hours
early and Elizabeth and I were able to go rock climbing in a place her mother
definitely would not have approved of while Nicole watched Dan throw most of
the rocks in Custer State
Park into the lake. Unless, of course, South
Dakota State Parks prohibit the throwing of rocks into the lake, in which case
Nicole and Dan did something else more legal that I will think of later at the
court date.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zYXdrHY_fjA/UdLAwLL752I/AAAAAAAACJs/MKOoHEsKQ0o/s253/smore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zYXdrHY_fjA/UdLAwLL752I/AAAAAAAACJs/MKOoHEsKQ0o/s253/smore.jpg" /></a>The ceremony was very nice, and had everything. For those of
you scoring at home, a good wedding ceremony needs A) a groom, B) a bride,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>C) a short-winded preacher, and D) a ring boy
who has to go the bathroom during the ceremony. This wedding hit on all categories.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
After the wedding there was a big supper and dance. Every
place setting had a little bag with graham crackers, marshmallows, and Hershey
bars. Mix that with the candles on the table, and we were all chowing down on
s'mores before the meal. This is by far the greatest idea in the history of
wedding receptions and should be made a wedding law. I for one will now refuse
to RSVP until I find out if s'mores ingredients will be provided.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Then the dance started. The last time I danced gracefully
was, um, never. I can't even remember the last time I danced awkwardly. But Elizabeth
had the moves. She danced slow songs. She danced fast songs. And she danced
them all the exact same way.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Elizabeth danced
until she shoved a piece of glass up her foot, which slowed her down until I
dug it out, and then she was dancing again. She showed toughness and endurance
on that dance floor. I'm fearful that she is the kind of kid who will grow up
to be in triathlons or something crazy like that. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
Anyway, all good things must come to an end, so we packed up
and headed to our hotel for the night, and then took off early the next morning
for home. This is where it all went downhill.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1VJOWQGp7Nw/UdLAwbY6XRI/AAAAAAAACJw/Lbk4plGr5TI/s350/cvr9781442366114_9781442366114_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1VJOWQGp7Nw/UdLAwbY6XRI/AAAAAAAACJw/Lbk4plGr5TI/s320/cvr9781442366114_9781442366114_lg.jpg" width="320" /></a>First, I decided to take a short-cut from Custer to Deadwood,
which has 7,000 short little corners and a very reduced speed limit, if you pay
attention to things like reduced speed limits, which I don't. Since Dan doesn't
talk very much yet, he did not notify us of the fact that the 7,000 short
little corners were making him car sick. Until he threw up. That was our
notification.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
After that, he was mad. Very, very mad. And he cried and
cried and cried and cried. Sometimes he yelled. For a brief while he fell
asleep, but that was just so he would have the energy to cry harder once he
woke up. I'd estimate that of the eight hour trip home, he cried about 137
hours. It felt that way.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Then we got to Washburn and turned east towards our place. At
Washburn he stopped crying. On Highway 22 he started smiling. When we turned
onto gravel he laughed. As we rolled to a stop in our yard, he was on cloud
nine. I opened his door, unbuckled him and set him on the ground. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
"Happy! Happy! Happy!" he yelled as he ran around
the yard. He was just like the old father from <i>Duck Dynasty</i>, except with
much less facial hair. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="bodytext">
And I agreed it was good to be home. Based on the success of
our family vacation, we are already planning another trip. In the year 2028.</div>
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-62275890360948705032013-07-02T04:54:00.004-07:002013-07-02T04:54:48.788-07:00Seeing the four faces<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
You may be thinking, "Oh great, Neumiller is STILL writing
about his lousy family vacation. Can't he find something else to lie about this
week?" </div>
<div class="bodytext">
The answer is, sadly, no I cannot. You see it all comes down
to accounting and the IRS. Since I did not
vote for President Obama in the last election, the IRS
has been directed to make sure I write at least three to four thousand words
about a topic before I can deduct any of the expenses I accrued researching
that column. However, any writer who voted for Obama only needs to write a
small paragraph to qualify for deductions, and every sentence in that paragraph
can end in a preposition. You don't even want to know what you have to do to
qualify for a deduction if you write articles for the <i>American Tea Party
Against Illegal Immigration, Recording of Phone Records, and High Taxes (But
Loves Guns)</i> magazine.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FAWmjZCxnH4/UdK_YVTdYdI/AAAAAAAACJY/EgLPSRz-ZDg/s281/mount+rushmore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FAWmjZCxnH4/UdK_YVTdYdI/AAAAAAAACJY/EgLPSRz-ZDg/s281/mount+rushmore.jpg" /></a>Anyway, last week we ended this column by leaving Cabela's in
Rapid City. From there we headed to
Mount Rushmore because, as those of you who have been to
South Dakota know, it is the law.
If a South Dakotan finds out you were in their state and didn't go to Rushmore,
he is allowed to drive to your home, abduct you, and take you back to his home
and force you to watch reruns of Tom Brokaw newscasts (South Dakota's only
famous person) from the 80's as punishment. They take their Mount
Rushmore seriously.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<i>Flashback alert:</i> The last time I was at Rushmore I was
almost arrested, but this time went better. Back in 2002 when Nicole and I were
dating, we went down there for a weekend of camping in the Black
Hills over spring break. Some people go where it is warm. Others
of us go to where the black bears are just coming out of hibernation. Since we
were camping in a little tent (the smaller the tent, the better when you are dating)
I took with a .44 magnum handgun just in case a bear decided we looked delicious.
</div>
<div class="bodytext">
After camping for a night, we went to Mount
Rushmore where we were met by a Highway Patrol who asked if
we had anything dangerous in our car (this was a few months after 9/11). I said
there was a gun in the trunk. He was not impressed. At that point he asked if
he needed to bring in a drug dog. I made the mistake of saying, "I don't
think so." </div>
<div class="bodytext">
Apparently the only correct answer was "No, sir!" Pretty
soon he was digging through the trunk of the car and calling for backup. The
next officer brought this big mirror thing to inspect the underside of the car.
When it was all said and done, he gave me a good lecture about firearms (even
though I was 100 percent legal) and made me take the air freshener off the
rearview mirror because apparently that was against state law. I was relieved
he didn't take me to the state penitentiary to watch Tom Brokaw for three to
eight years.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HQFSo4gI0vo/UdK_YIWAt4I/AAAAAAAACJU/PUf4u37EChc/s450/mount-rushmore-rear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HQFSo4gI0vo/UdK_YIWAt4I/AAAAAAAACJU/PUf4u37EChc/s320/mount-rushmore-rear.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>Fast-forward alert:</i> This time the only person who
talked to us before we entered Rushmore was the lady who needed $12 before we
were allowed to park our car. She never once asked about guns or drugs. Since
it was the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend, there were approximately 73,000
other people there (72,950 of whom were from east Asia) so she must have
decided to cut out the friendly chit-chat we received last time.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Both Elizabeth the Lizard and Dan the Broken Leg Man were
pretty impressed with the stone faces. Lizard wanted to get as close as we
could to the base of the monument so she could look up the presidents' noses
and see if there were any boogers. That's my daughter.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
We did the "Strenuous Trail Loop" which was only strenuous
if you get winded walking to the refrigerator from the dining room table and
did the touristy thing of taking lots and lots of pictures where it looks like
one of us is picking the nose of Abraham Lincoln (And you wonder where my
daughter gets it from).</div>
<div class="bodytext">
From there we headed to the final destination of our trip, which
was my buddy Dave's wedding. But we'll save that for next week. Take that IRS.</div>
<br />
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-44744747700460658342013-07-02T04:52:00.001-07:002013-07-02T04:52:10.828-07:00The Mecca of S.D.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="bodytext">
When I last left you (that sounded like the opening to a
country song) we were on a family vacation and had just arrived in Spearfish, South
Dakota. This is the first town our daughter Elizabeth the Lizard
made a friend, mostly because it was the first town we let her out of the Jeep.
</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5NR0GEzNciI/UdK-wV_0k_I/AAAAAAAACJM/Rim2zh4ZWHM/s1166/Cabelas-0111+-+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5NR0GEzNciI/UdK-wV_0k_I/AAAAAAAACJM/Rim2zh4ZWHM/s320/Cabelas-0111+-+2.JPG" width="320" /></a>We stopped at a restaurant to eat where she quickly explained
to the lady running the till that we were from North Dakota, we lived in the country,
we have a horse named Hot Dog, one of her goats just had babies, we were going
to a wedding, she was going to dance, she brought a pretty dress with, she
hoped to see a boy named Gentry, her little brother Dan is still one year old
even though she is five, her mom teaches Spanish and her dad coaches
basketball. The lady at the till simply wanted to know if we wanted medium or
large fries. And if you think that was a run-on sentence, you should hear Elizabeth
talk.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
It was like that everywhere we stopped. If anybody simply
looked her direction, she gave that individual a quick rundown of her life
story. At one point during the trip she asked a waitress, "Do you know my
grandma?" Surprisingly, the waitress did not. But about five minutes later
she had a pretty good idea about grandma.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
On the other hand, Dan the Broken Leg Man just smiled. That
is pretty much what he did for four days, except on the way home, but we'll get
to that later. As a matter of fact, he was often so quiet in the Jeep I would
ask, "Is Dan in the Jeep?" just in case we forgot him somewhere. I'd
look in the rear view mirror and he'd smile back at me and still not make a
peep. It was wonderful.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
We didn't do much in Spearfish other than sleep, but bright
and early I got the family up the next morning because we were only an hour
away from what I consider the Mecca of South Dakota. That's right: Cabela's.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
(You maybe thought I would say Mount Rushmore.
It is a nice place, some would say historic, but just try to buy a trolling motor
there.)</div>
<div class="bodytext">
I had been selling Cabela's pretty hard to Elizabeth
for the past couple months. If you use an excited voice and act like something
is the coolest thing in the world, pretty soon your kid believes you. Except
Brussels sprouts. That trick doesn't work on any vegetable that nasty. But
Cabela's has chocolate and stuffed animals, so it was a pretty easy sell.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
When we drove into the parking lot, Elizabeth
was almost foaming at the mouth with excitement. I was for sure foaming at the
mouth thinking of guns and fishing rods and knives and cast iron fry pans and
thermal underwear (It was a cold spring).</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y0nfpFTDVj4/UdK-wB0w56I/AAAAAAAACJE/nUoYSWq61qI/s702/4d924f04ca1b1.image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y0nfpFTDVj4/UdK-wB0w56I/AAAAAAAACJE/nUoYSWq61qI/s320/4d924f04ca1b1.image.jpg" width="320" /></a>Lizard and I were immediately off, leaving Nicole and Dan in
the dust. We went to the mountain, we went to the fish tank, then we circled
the store six or seven times. But here is where it got weird: While we were
checking out the sites and Elizabeth was telling family
secrets to any Cabela's employee who happened to ask if we were looking for anything
in particular, Nicole was filling up a cart. She was doing some serious shopping.
</div>
<div class="bodytext">
I've been on the outs with the Man Card committee ever since
I bought and quickly sold that minivan, and just when I was about to get my Man
Card back, I was outspent by my wife at Cabela's. Now I have three more years
probation before I can reapply from this little incident. But it was worth it
because if Nicole likes Cabela's, there is a chance I get to go back there
again. At least once the credit card quits setting off smoke alarms. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
From there, we headed deeper into the Black Hills
to find the one place Nicole really wanted to go. But that was boring and we're
about out of space, so never mind about that.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Anyway, next week we will continue on with day three of this
rambling vacation story. Just be glad I can't somehow fit a slide machine in
this newpaper.</div>
<br />
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1815343389671151337.post-62456010885960399502013-06-13T18:09:00.001-07:002013-06-13T18:09:22.114-07:00On the road again (finally)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6bku_TKMpyk/UbptHtJjbCI/AAAAAAAACIQ/K97AH-hA7iQ/s1600/51ECA03AQKL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6bku_TKMpyk/UbptHtJjbCI/AAAAAAAACIQ/K97AH-hA7iQ/s320/51ECA03AQKL.jpg" width="222" /></a>Just like famed explorers Clark, Ellen, Rusty, and Audrey
Griswold, we decided it was time to load up the Wagon Queen Family Truckster
("You think you hate it now, but just wait until you drive it.") and
head out on a vacation. The only two differences between our vacation and the
Griswold's family vacation are that 1) at no point did we have to strap a dead
aunt to the top of our vehicle and 2) our vacation isn't rerun on cable television
47 times a month.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
So about a week ago we packed up and headed to the Black
Hills of South Dakota. The purpose was two-fold. First and foremost, we were
heading to a wedding for my good buddy Dave. I'm all about a free supper, even
if I have to drive 400 miles and stay in hotels for three nights to get it. Second,
we wanted to take our very first family vacation for the same reason everybody
takes family vacations: we are apparently insane. There is no other rational explanation
and since we've returned I have been considering both therapy and prescription
drugs. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
We drove out of our yard at the crack of dawn Thursday
morning with my old friend Sarah leading the way. Sarah is the name I gave our GPS
a few years back because it has a woman's voice that tells me repeatedly,
"Perform a legal U-turn at the next available opportunity." Nicole
says the same thing, but not in as gentle of phrasing. After a couple days on
the road it is nice to hear a friendly woman's voice, and the only way a
married man can have that is if he buys a GPS.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cx_XCn44Suw/UbptH56rDtI/AAAAAAAACIg/rRnUgwg-0hE/s1600/NATIONAL-LAMPOONS-VACATION.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cx_XCn44Suw/UbptH56rDtI/AAAAAAAACIg/rRnUgwg-0hE/s320/NATIONAL-LAMPOONS-VACATION.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>Digression alert:</i> When you get to the destination
Sarah was programmed to get you to, she says "You have arrived," which
is fairly boring. Actually, everything Sarah says is boring. It didn't take
long for us to come up with the idea that celebrities should lend their voices
to the GPS companies. For instance, whenever
you cross a state border, Judy Garland should say, "I've got a feeling
we're not in Kansas
anymore." Or when you disregard what the GPS
tells you and turn the other direction Jack Nicholson could yell, "You
can't handle the truth!" or Strother Martin could snarl "What we've
got here is a failure to communicate." If at one point you zig instead of
zag on a bridge, Roy Schneider would say, "You're gonna need a bigger
boat." Or if you decide to take a road that's not in the GPS,
Clint Eastwood could demand, "You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do
I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?" Of course, when you get back home Judy
Garland would speak again saying, "There's no place like home. There's no
place like home."</div>
<div class="bodytext">
<i>Digression complete:</i> Sarah led us past Hensler,
through Center and Hanover, south
to New Salem, and then west to Dickinson.
This is farther from home than I have been in three solid years. The kids were
both still happy, thinking we must almost be there. Nicole was still happy,
mostly because the kids were still happy. I was worried wondering about how
many years it took for those old warrants in South Dakota
to expire.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
From Dickinson we headed
straight south into a land where, as one person who took the same route told me
at the wedding, there are still wagon trains lost. It is some desolate country.
Once we got five miles out of Dickinson, we
didn't see any cars for miles. For a while we didn't even see cows. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M8Fgt8ZtoAw/UbptHt37MuI/AAAAAAAACIU/eR1Y3RbfULo/s1600/tumblr_mm8wehzaIb1rvzbdgo1_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M8Fgt8ZtoAw/UbptHt37MuI/AAAAAAAACIU/eR1Y3RbfULo/s320/tumblr_mm8wehzaIb1rvzbdgo1_400.jpg" width="320" /></a>But then we hit the mostly metropolitan state of South
Dakota, and, much to our surprise for a long while didn't
see people, cars, or cows there either. There was an occasional stray sheep
wandering about, which is hardly a sign of civilization. </div>
<div class="bodytext">
But finally, after hearing "Are we there yet?"
nearly 6,000 times (To tell the truth, I was the one who kept asking. The kids
were content with the trip. On the way down. Not so much on the way back. More
on that later) we arrived in Spearfish. Compared to the two hundred miles north
of Spearfish, the city looked like New York
or Paris. Then again, Hensler would look
like New York or Paris
compared to the desert north of Spearfish.</div>
<div class="bodytext">
Anyway, that's all the room I've got for this week, so we
will continue this trek in next week's paper. As my Arnold Schwarzenegger GPS
would say, "I'll be back."</div>
<br />
<br />
Cory Neumillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15064462648396375401noreply@blogger.com0