The Winter Olympics

Just about the only time I read the sports page is during the Olympics. It's hard for me to muster enthusiasm about golf, spring training or anything related to NASCAR, but I enjoy the Olympic stories. Of the thousands of competetive athletes, journalists pick a few faces to hype prior to the games and closely follow their progress and behavior through the events. Although most articles focus on the young American athletes most likely to win gold medals, I don't think hearing the Star Spangled Banner is the most important part of the Olympics (besides, they play it enough at every other sporting event). The Olympics generate worthy underdog stories in which athletes from smaller or poorer or otherwise unexpected countries win medals or simply fulfill personal goals. The sports page then occasionally becomes filled with dramatic tales of accomplishment, sacrifice, and luck.
These people spend their lives perfecting their skills in sports I've never even heard of and have no chance of even attempting. It's amazing to watch the athletes perform and celebrate being one of the world's best in their field. It's fascinating to think about the cultures and histories of the participants even while being mesmerized by their agility.
Athletes have a natural desire to excel, and their countrymen and women want to share that victory with a high rank in the medal count, but the Olympics are also supposed to foster world peace and cooperation. When people around the world can watch competetors from different cultures shake hands or hug and earnestly congratulate one another on their efforts, it creates a little spark of hope, turning me into a temporary sports fan.

A Manatee Spa

Apparently, manatees don't fully appreciate the Florida winter. I guess that even in the sunniest state, living under water can get a little chilly at times, so these strange creatures have decided to take advantage of the human effect on the environment. Using the industrial revolution to their advantage, some sea cows congregate near a coal power plant and soak up the warm water emitted from within. This virtual hot tub attracts manatees (and curious people like me) throughout the winter.

I felt quite skeptical about going to see manatees in an industrial location, but I was impressed with the effort at education and conservation that was presented at the viewing center. The need for safe areas for these threatened animals outweighs my unease at the human effect on the water temperature. The manatees still have to feed elsewhere--their vegetarian diet doesn't grow in the power plant inlet--so they remain wild, foraging and fending for themselves. They then can return to their spa and nap in the warm water, giving people the unique opportunity to view these creatures without taming or harming them. It's a good example of the necessary compromise between environmental protection and modern development.

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Thoughts At Sea Level

It's been over six months since I've hiked up a mountain. That statistic probably doesn't mean too much since it's February and worthy mountains are completely snow-covered. I should say instead that it's been over six months since I've seen a mountain. The past half year has contained no hiking, no skiing, no scenic drives with picturesque viewpoints. I've left the west far behind.

I can walk on pleasant beaches, see alligators in the wild and bask in the sun year-round, but nothing compares to the beauty and peace of an alpine hike. Climbing a summit brings a calm feeling of accomplishment along with the fantastic views. The fresh air rejuvinates like nothing else. I miss stepping over roots and rocks, smelling the pines, feeling the spongy moss along the trail, and rounding a bend to discover a beautiful vista.

My photo albums of the past few years are filled with pictures of mountains. I have pictures of nearly every hike, and it's hard to find a bad shot (unless it's of me, dirty and tired and trying to cross a river). What should I photograph now? I can only have so many pictures of my cats (even though they are precious treasures), and I've already snapped plenty of photos of pelicans, lizards and sand.

I like the Spanish moss dripping from the trees and the exotic birds near every stream. I appreciate sunny beaches and lazy rivers. I delight in seeing dolphins and manatees playing in the open water. I enjoy riding my bike for miles without getting winded. But I still miss the mountains.

Chocolate Conundrum

I'm in need of some chocolate, but February is causing trouble. I don't want heart-shaped chocolate or chocolate with pink foil wrapping. I have no interest in mystery chocolate containing fluffy goo or fruity liquour. I want smooth, dark chocolate without nuts or caramel or nougat. And I don't want to wait for February 14.

I've always felt Valentine's Day to be a stressful popularity contest. As a kid, receiving Valentines from friends was fun, but getting one from someone uncool risked making you look uncool, too. Since my mom made sure I gave a Valentine to everyone in the class, I was unable to show my true feelings except by giving the ugliest ones to the kids I didn't like. I'm sure no one but me noticed, which defeats the cruel spirit of Valentine's Day.

As a teenager, to get no flowers or presents was highly embarrassing: it meant no one thought you were special. To get tokens of affection from an unwanted admirer was worse. Could you accept the gift but not the giver on such a day?

The only good Valentines I remember came from my dad. Those were kind and chocolatey and without hidden meanings or agendas. It also meant I got a present and my brother didn't, ha ha. (See how nasty this holiday is?)

As an adult, I find the mandatory tokens off-putting and tacky. Valentine's Day seems simply a day for show-offs, with men staging elaborate displays in order to score points. Sending flowers to a woman's work may look like a gesture of love, but it is really a political move. A public display provides proof that she is important and allows her to gloat over her co-workers.

Valentine's Day is all about status and pride, not romance, and I am just going to try to ignore it. I neither need nor want anything promoting such a vicious holiday.

Besides, I hate pink.

Anyone wishing to show their affection for me in chocolate and flowers is welcome to do so any day except 2/14. Especially on 2/8...

Groundhog Day Means Nothing in Florida

Does anyone really celebrate Groundhog Day? I've never heard of Groundhog Day parties or presents--except for Bill Murray humorously trapped by tourist festivities in Puxatawney, PA--and it makes absolutely no sense in a place like Florida. When winter days can be sunny and 80 degrees, who would want a rodent to predict an early spring?
I do find it interesting that Grounghog Day appears on calendars as a day to be remembered, yet I never even can remember if I'm rooting for that manipulated beast to see his shadow or not. I am, actually, rooting for him to clamp his nice big chompers down on some reporter's nosy finger and escape into the hills (again, something that would never happen in Florida, because, besides the lack of winter, there's no such thing as a Florida hill. Come to think of it, there are probably no Florida groundhogs, either. They should have Lizard Day or something where the lizard emerges from under the palm tree, and if he feels the need to do a push-up, it will be a long, humid summer. If he runs straight across the path, there will be a risk of hurricanes.)
Well, at least it's a holiday without much commercial value. At least I'm not expected to send Groundhog Cards or attend a Prairie Dog Parade. I'll save my ire for Valentine's Day.
Happy February.

Blog Leeches

I'm getting a little tired of this "Stig" fellow stealing my thunder. I've graciously allowed access to my blog, and I am pleased to have friendly comments posted. I do not appreciate, however, clever little weasels posting responses that are far more funny than anything I have contributed. So, to Stig I would like to say: I started this blog, you wretched little traffic kone, and if you have so much entertaining nonsense to spew, please create your own site. Parasites like you make me want to spray pesticides all over the place, and I am a proponent of organic farming.
Incidently, Stig, you seem remarkably like a pathological liar.
There. I feel better now, getting that off my chest. Now I can spend time writing entries on my experiences fighting off Yeti attacks in Nepal and chronicling that year I excavated both dinosaurs and mummies (and a few mummified dinosaurs--very cool Pharoah Pterodactyls) in central Greenland. Not to mention the time I spent cultivating the Venus Cockroach Trap species of plant (also known as the "Venus Palmetto Bug Trap" in the Southeast) as a natural alternative to bug spray. Well, more on all of that later.

Sidewalk Worries

I have always had plenty of normal, everyday fears. I've felt afraid of drowning when on a boat, frightened of creepy lurkers in dark alleys, and panicky around wasp nests or swarming bees. These fears, while potentially embarrassing in public, may simply be survival instincts and onlookers and friends seem to forgive them quite easily. One fear, however, seems to bring only cruel, endless mockery.

I try to hide it. I nonchalantly skirt to one side of the sidewalk, pretending to look in a store window or check out a parked car. I kindly stand aside to let others pass by. I tie my shoelaces loosely so that I can move out of the way to retie them. In the end, though, no matter how hard I try, walking in the city reveals my secret fear: sidewalk grates.

My logical mind understands that the chances of a steel door crashing down when I step on it is highly unlikely. I'm sure newspapers would report tragic sidewalk grate accidents with enthusiasm if they were to occur. I must admit that I've never passed a kollapsed grate to see someone below krumpled and krying, but that fact does little to komfort me. I simply cannot bring myself to walk on any metal doors in the sidewalk unless I have no other option.

What are they hiding behind those steel doors? Do rats, bugs, and monsters lurk just on the other side? How far would I fall if the grate didn't hold? Do they really need so many openings in the sidewalk? No one will help me find the answers. If I confide my fear, I simply get pushed onto the nearest sidewalk grate in the vicinity. Oh, very funny. How would you like it if I filled your bed with spiders or shoved you into shark-filled waters?

"K" Aint Takin' No More Krap

I've always thought that "k" has been forced to take an undeserved backseat to the smug "c". "K" has so much more potential and strength than boring, average "c". Doesn't the word "klang" fit the sound much better? (Yea, onomatopoeia!) "Kake" would better fulfill its sweet destiny with two layers of "k", and "kozy" would be worth more in Scrabble. "Krispy Kreme" and "Krusty the Klown" (or is that still Clown?) have got the idea that "k" just looks more interesting. Kris Kringle, not Chris Cringle, got all that mail delivered on 34th Street. While the English Major in me automatically kringes at the use of some "k"s in advertising--"Kiddie Kollege" and "Komfort Kamper" come to mind--I think some of our standardized spellings should be revisited. I'm just saying.

Kute Kats ---------------------------------------------- Kaskade

Okay, Now What?

Now that I've started this blog, I have to try to come up with new and exciting topics: Moses supposes his toes(es) are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously. Discuss.
I like the corniness of old musicals. Life would be a lot more fun if events paused for a song and a little silliness. Most of us sing out of key and lack any skill in dancing, but I still think an attempt to convey ideas and emotions through a musical number might alleviate some of the tension and boredom of everyday activities.
I'd like to have the nerve to attempt this course of action, but I know it wouldn't be appreciated. Besides the risk of losing job and friends and being placed into protective custody, many people would just be angered by this deliberate waste of their time. They would probably even stop Fred Astaire mid-routine to insist that he get to the point. To them I say, just think: would you rather be Gene Kelly singing in the rain or the grumpy cop who treats him like a criminal nuisance?
The best things happen while you're dancing.

Joining the Crowd

My literary friend has finally plied me with enough compliments and guilt to force me to go along with this blogging nonsense. Having always been harshly critical, especially of my own life and creations, I have felt hesitant about posting my thoughts to the internet world. My journal attempts of the past have always ended up shredded or destroyed in available fireplaces, so I do have some legitimate concerns for the safety of my computer. I've decided to graciously go along with this idea in the smug comfort that all computers eventually crash and my words will soon end up in some internet black hole.

Therefore, I will attempt a healthy catharsis by foisting my opinions on the unsuspecting reader.

Some opinions hereby foisted: People should stop dressing animals up as humans. Leaf blowers are useless and annoying. Americans would benefit from a daily siesta or tea-time (or both). Watching lizards do push-ups is a worthwhile activity.