Odometer

So I hit this milestone in my car the other day:

Yep.  77,777 miles in my little car.  Not all of those miles are mine.  I bought the car from my dad, and I think about 24,000 are his.  But still... I was pretty excited to have all 7s on my odometer.  I was also excited when it showed 70,000 miles earlier this year.  I get excited about stuff like that.  I'm very easily entertained.

Oh, and I may or may not have pulled over in my other car on the way home from Mount Rushmore last month to take this picture:

I might have a problem.

Election Day

It's municipal election day in my town. There are three people running for mayor, and about a dozen people running for a couple of spots on the city council.

It's been said that the small, local elections make more of a difference in your daily life than the big Presidential ones. I can see how that could be true. The mayor and city council have direct control over how things work in my town, and they are much more accessible than the yahoos in D.C. If I have a complaint, I can go to the mayor's office and talk to him face to face. I can write a letter to a councilperson and get a reply from them, not from some lackey who sends a form letter and signs the senator's name. I can even go to church on Sunday and talk to one particular councilman directly. They are that accessible.

That's why it's a shame that more people don't turn up for local elections. It was great that I didn't have to wait in a long line to get my ballot this morning, but there really should have been a greater turnout. Maybe more people will come during the day. Let's hope so.

I've noticed that voting sites for municipal elections are often located in places other than your usual general election voting site. I guess they do this because fewer people turn out to municpal elections, and it's easier (and cheaper) to have one or two voting sites staffed by a handful of people, instead of the many normal voting sites staffed by many, many people. The changes can get confusing to people, I'm sure.

Speaking of people that get confused about location changes, there was this one guy who added a bit of humor to my voting this morning. I got to our city rec center and went to the appropriate table. As I was presenting my ID, an old man walked into the room, and started yelling, "How do you expect us to vote when we can't find you? I went over to the school this morning where I usually go and they told me to come over here! I tells ya, it's getting to be a pain just to find where to vote!" We all just looked at him, and then a poll worker showed him which table he needed to go to.

So then I voted, and it took me all of about a minute to check the boxes I wanted to.

As I was leaving, that same old guy was apparently also finished, and he made it to the door before I did. When he got there he stopped, turned around and said, "How do you expect us to vote when we can't find you? I went over to the school this morning where I usually go and they told me. . ."

I just hurried out of the rec center, chuckling to myself and thinking, "This is a re-run. I've seen this show before."

God Bless America.

So long, Satrun.

You were the first car I ever bought, right when I was fresh home from my mission. You were just a year and a half old, with about 14,000 miles on you. Your saleswoman's name was Merelyn, and you were our first atypical colored car.

You took me to school each day, first at Weber State and later at BYU. You took me to work at Teltrust, then Macey's, then Kennecott, and then to my current job.

You took us on our first road trip as husband and wife. You also took us to Lake Powell, to St. George, to Park City, to Disneyland, to Steamboat Springs and Denver, and many times you took us camping.

You were our first major purchase paid in full, and we were so happy when we paid off your loan.

Although you helped us get a couple of speeding tickets, you were never involved in an accident in all of your 198,000 miles.

In your last year with us, you nobly sacrificed your tires so that your silver cousin could continue to drive. Now, as you begin your new life with the Kidney Foundation, we take heart knowing that you will help someone continue to live by providing dialysis or a transplant.

You ran a good race and fought the good fight.

So long, dear Satrun. We will remember you always.

1997-2009

Small town life.

Yep. I live in a small town. I saw this going on last fall.

Yes, it is the 21st century, and no, we're not Amish.

I love living in a small town. I like being able to go outside at night and see stars. I like that I drive past farms and horse pastures as I drive home from work. I love that there are a couple of ponds a stone's throw from my house, and I love that they freeze in the winter so I can ice skate on them. I like that my neighborhood is quiet (even if I have a couple of moronic neighbors). I like that deer sometimes wander through my neighborhood. I don't like the skunks that so often get hit on the street, or the occasional smell from the mink farms when the wind is right, but I can live with that.

Even though my town is small, I just found out that it's about double the population of South Dakota's capital, and more than triple that of Vermont's. So... um... wow. I can only imagine the number of horse-drawn carriages in those towns.

Failures

The great philosopher, Homer, once said: "You tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is 'never try.'" Okay, so that was actually Homer Simpson, and not some profound philosopher, but he still says some really good stuff.

So, here is an homage to people everywhere who try... and fail.

Maybe he's not all that bad...

I don't agree with much of what President Obama has done since taking office: corporate bail-outs, forced CEO resignations, increased socialism.

However, I'm pleased with his record against pirates:

Everybody has a redeeming quality or two, I guess.

Gifts That Say You Care

The other day I went into the local Army/Navy Surplus Store with some friends. It's really kind of a fun store. They have all sorts of... stuff.

One corner of the store has some new clothes that would be great for camping or hiking. Another corner has used military clothing like Army digital camo jackets and Navy pea coats and Air Force flight suits. The center of the store has all sorts of camping gear and supplies. Then you turn a corner and there are stacks and stacks of Israeli army duffle bags next to the British navy wool blankets.

In a bin next to the duffle bags and wool blankets, they have these full-head military extreme cold face warmers that look like a cross between a Jason hockey mask and Hannibal Lechter face mask. Imagine combining one of those with some used military clothing and you can have a pretty freaky (and really warm) Halloween costume.

I plan on going back and spending a few bucks.

Anyway, as we were leaving the store, I noticed they had this display case that showed some pretty cool vintage military gear. On the bottom shelf there is a clip of some large-caliber ammo, a grenade-looking thing, a pretty wicked-looking knife of some sort (which is actually a Vietnam-era LC-14-B Type IV Survival Ax - thanks Google!), and a little propaganda booklet that says, "He's due for a hole in the head, are you?" That picture might be Hitler... I can't quite tell.

The middle shelf had some more cool stuff: a medal, a patch, some random ammo, a booklet or calendar-thing, some aviator goggles, and a really cool-looking helmet and facemask with a filtration canister (Speaking of freaky Halloween costumes). Imagine coming upon a guy wearing that thing in the dark... or daylight. Wow.

The top shelf had some books, a couple more patches, and some old miltary hats. Then I noticed what was written on the side of the display case:

"Gifts that say you care."

Really.

Because nothing says you care more than a scary gas mask, a grenade, and a LC-14-B Type IV Survival Ax.

By the way, who's turn is it to get me presents for Christmas?