Treatise on a Boring Saturday

The worst enemies of a blog like this are boredom and mediocrity. Unfortunately, today is rife with both. A day to drink water, get a headache and contemplate the depressing silence enveloping you. It’s bland, blasé. Dare I say stagnant?


Yes, comrades. I dare.

Although it’s sunny out, it’s one of those windy days you’d just as soon not be a part of. You know it’s cold. You don’t have to go outside or look at the weather. Crispness is seen in the air by those in the know. That in turn keeps you inside … where absolutely shit bloody nothing is happening.

It’s that time of year in the 2T. Especially during March and April, southern Idaho has a hard time remembering what the hell season it is. One day it’s an idyllic spring wonderland. The next, your internal barometer wonders if the Idaho State Bengals lost their football game yet, or if the ass-whipping this week has an evening kickoff. Many other places experience this phenomenon, but it’s here where I grew up and therefore here I write about.


It used to be worse.

Back in the 80s a day like this was made to watch golf, mainly because nothing else was on. Also because to this day that’s pretty much all Dad watches on the weekends. Yes, even now I can hear the announcer’s forebodingly soothing intonations as Craig Stadler‘s ball finds the water hazard on 16. “Deep into a watery grave.” So much for his chances at that year’s Bob Hope Desert Classic.

After the United Airlines golf sign-off the day invariably degenerated further into the likes of a bad TV movie or worse, The Love Boat followed by Fantasy Island. There are very few specific memories from these ordeals. It’s all a blur of Charo, polyester and toothpaste commercials.


“Abandon all hope, ye who sail with Gopher.”

Later on I’d try to break the monotony with bike trips to the neighborhood Circle K and/or 7-11. But Big Gulps only go so far in terms of entertainment value. Barring something unexpectedly cool such as a hailstorm, the day would lethargically and mercifully.

Sunday might be a better day, but after Saturdays like this the odds were never good.


No Tanning

So much for a productive week. I still need to take out the recycling, get a haircut and do something about this nasty ER bill. The Pyramid Brothers have been allowed to run amok and I still haven’t made it to the gym. Maybe later today, maybe tomorrow. There’s definitely a sense of procrastination around here, but I also think it goes deeper than that. What the hell is the word I’m looking for?


Stagnation! That’s it! Thanks, Leon.

In my defense the week hasn’t been a total loss. I managed to pay all my bills and file my taxes, although the latter was a terribly disappointing experience this year. I’m getting a whopping $10 back. Woo. I’ve also kept up on my laundry. It may surprise you to know I’m quite adept at laundry. Think Jersey Shore, but in Idaho, with about 100 more IQ points and absolutely no tanning.


I use bluing like a boss, y’all.

Obviously I don’t have anything terribly profound to say today. I suppose what I should do is get off the blog and make a to-do list of all the mundane crap that needs to be done. Spend my tax refund on bleach, yeah ….

I can’t believe I made it this far in the blog without a Dead Milkmen reference.

A Strange Sobriquet

I’m a bit rushed this morning. My daughter is in town and we’re fired up to go to breakfast. However, I want to make sure to take care of my loyal readers before the day gets too crazy. You’re welcome.

As you’ve probably noticed by now, I refer to my daughter a lot here. Indeed, it’s getting to the point where constantly referring to her as “my daughter” is becoming cumbersome. For a variety of reasons I don’t want to refer to her by her real name on a silly-ass WordPress site. I also don’t want to refer to her by the nickname I gave her when she was a baby. The former for obvious reasons, and the latter because she doesn’t want that disclosed to the general public. It’s nothing bad, she’s just kind of sensitive about that. Consider it our personal shibboleth.

So, the time has come to update the glossary and bestow a pithy pseudonym for her. So being my adorable eight-year-old daughter, naturally she wants to be named after her favorite cartoon character:


What? You were expecting My Little Pony or something?

Now, since the whole point of this exercise is to agree on something less awkward than “my daughter,” replacing that with “Dr. Weird” really doesn’t accomplish the goal. Left with this quandary I was forced to get creative. With that I turned to my old friend Google Translate.


Now with 30 percent less stagnation!

I ran the word “weird” through its various translations. The best one came from everyone’s favorite language isolate, Basque. This fits pretty well. I have a Basque uncle. Idaho in general has a pretty strong Basque influence. So the Basque word for “weird” it is.


NOTE: Not a Union Jack for the colorblind.

Oh yeah, according to Google Translate the Basque word for “weird” is “bitxi.” So from this point forward on SB she’s Bitxi. Hopefully that doesn’t have some horrific double meaning or something. If it does please let me know.

Anyway, bacon is a-calling. Agur oraingoz, y’all.