More like copper

My dad could be described as financially conservative. If you were trying to win Understatement of the Year. Very averse to risk and debt, he and my mom didn't buy much extra when we were kids. All their friends had boats and nice cars and whatnot, but they didn't care. In fact they scoffed at all these people "living beyond their means".
One time, not too long ago, Ojo asked dad about this philosophy versus the spend-spend-spend philosophy. His question was basically, at what point does denying yourself these things become worth it in comparison to those who were buying things when they wanted them rather than waiting for the time they could afford them. Dad's answer was pretty glum. "If you're us, it never pays off." My dad, Eeyore the mortgage lender.

my brain doesn't mind at all

About a year ago my dad called me. This has happened probably 8 times since I moved out of his house 13 years ago. Anyway, he was calling because he had a medical question. It turns out his doctor had recently started him on a medicine to reduce his cholesterol. Those medicines can potentially damage your liver and doctors usually warn patients about drinking while taking them. So my dad calls and asks how bad it would be. I told him somewhere between no problem and fulminant liver failure where his only hope would be solid organ transplant but that it was probably okay. I mean, millions of people are on these medications and I bet most of them drink a beer every now and then.

You think you're pretty smart

Snake will hopefully fill in some details on this one, because it's a great story when he tells it. Snake was, I'm guessing, a sophomore in high school, probably 5'9", 120. My dad was working on a car, it might even have been the Datsun 280-Z of Farquar fame, and he needed some help. He had to get to a really tight spot underneath the engine to replace something structural on this car. In order to do this he had rigged a chain around the engine, yes the whole engine, that ran through a pulley. The idea was that Snake would lift this 800 pound engine into the air while my dad worked on replacing the part, his head position for certain death should his youngest son prove not up to the task. Anyway, I actually wish I could have seen the expression on Snake's face when he heard dad say, "You hold this engine up ... " I mean, you thought giving him the wrong size socket was a capitol offense? Try death and/or complete cranial dismemberment. At his most bitter moment I think I've heard Snake refer to this as a missed opportunity.

It's nice to see what's going on

After Ojo moved on to college and was out of the house for a few years tensions between dad and him really eased up. They were able to relax a little and share certain joys of life, like cigarettes. One night when Ojo was home visiting he and dad went to the back porch to smoke. Ojo hadn't yet gotten his best Christmas gift ever, or maybe he was just out of Zippo fluid. At any rate, he asked my dad for a match. To which my dad replied, far too quickly, "My ass and your face. That's a match." Ojo was stunned by this middle-school sweet burn.

a pretty face

I'm pretty sure this comes from our trip to the San Antonio zoo when we were kids. I remember two things about this trip: 1. It ended in a deluge with us taking shelter under an interstate overpass like a bunch of Katrina refugees; 2. This quote. We were going through the primate exhibit when we got to a baboon cage. My dad says, pretty loudly, "That monkey's got a bad case of redass!" My mom was embarassed, but we laughed our asses off at that.

Don't say it!

Married men seem to be almost required to have a friend of whom their wives, and in ssome cases society at large, disapprove. James Record is probably that guy for Ojo. Will Waghorne will be that guy for Snake. Snake is that guy for me.* And Jackie Farquar (spelling?) was that guy for my dad.
White trash, redneck, lousy, choad-nibbling meth-addict is too kind a description. One time dad went out with Jackie and came back with a broke-down 1970-something Datsun 280-Z. It sat in his garage for months, brewing a rift in my parents marriage with every passing day. My dad eventually triumphed by getting the piece of crap running pretty good with a new paint job. I think he got to drive it about three times total.
Anyway, one of the last times dad hung out with Jackie and his band of redneck roughians they were out in somebody's pasture tossing back Milwaukee's Best or Natural Light, maybe a couple Bud Lights that dad took himself. I imagine there was a bonfire, or at least a little campfire fueled by ample lighter fluid from a bottle placed far too close to the pit. The stars were probably stark in the country brightness, with a 3/4 moon shining down so everything was just visible without a flashlight. One guy in his second-best flannel hunting shirt (the red one) asks if anybody needs one while he digs his 13th brew out of the ice-chest. A chorus of affirmation rings out into the still night. Somebody farts. The men laugh.
Then the BBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!! of a high-powered semi-automatic weapon rips the night apart.
Now, my dad used to love to start his morning picking off gophers with a .22 from the back porch, but I'm not sure he was down with military-grade arms. When he told the story about his last night out ever with Jackie Farquar he ended with this quote. "Uzis, buddy. That's how they party."

I apologize for nothing

Sorry for no post last week. I spent 10 days wallowing in the throes of swine flu. Or lymphoma. The jury's still out. I recovered just in time to start working my skinny ass off for people who don't give a shit. I'll have a post tomorrow and should get back on track after that. BTW, there have been 39 posts to date, so only twelve more to go. Two are in the bag and there's only 10 left. It's getting down to it.

Also, read the title of this post in the voice of Norman Dale.