Today's joke from the mailman:
Q: When do you know a politician is telling the truth?
A: When he calls another politician a liar.
_
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Camping and Poetry
So it's summertime. It's hot in the valley, and I'm wishing I was camping in the mountains. My wife and I haven't been camping yet this year. We usually try to go a few times in the spring, summer, or fall, but this year we've been kinda busy. Hopefully we'll get a chance in a few weeks or so.
So what does the fact that we haven't been camping this year have to do with poetry (as my subject might suggest)? Not much, actually. Except that often when I think of camping, I think back to when I was a Boy Scout and we would go on a week-long camp every year at the East Fork of the Bear River in the Uintas. At this camp every year on an evening of his choosing, our Assistant Scoutmaster would gather us around the campfire and recite a poem. It wasn't some fruity "roses are red" kind of poem -- it was definitely a "manly poem." He always told us the same poem, and it has become one of my favorites.
Here it is for your enjoyment.
_________________________________________
The Cremation of Sam McGee
by Robert Service
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
_________________________________________
So what does the fact that we haven't been camping this year have to do with poetry (as my subject might suggest)? Not much, actually. Except that often when I think of camping, I think back to when I was a Boy Scout and we would go on a week-long camp every year at the East Fork of the Bear River in the Uintas. At this camp every year on an evening of his choosing, our Assistant Scoutmaster would gather us around the campfire and recite a poem. It wasn't some fruity "roses are red" kind of poem -- it was definitely a "manly poem." He always told us the same poem, and it has become one of my favorites.
Here it is for your enjoyment.
_________________________________________
The Cremation of Sam McGee
by Robert Service
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
_________________________________________
Monday, July 14, 2008
Monday Jokes
Here are some jokes for your Monday morning. They might not be politically-correct, so if you are easily offended, maybe you should just keep on surfing.
Are you ready? Here we go!
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs hanging on the wall?
Art
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs on the front porch?
Matt
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs floating in a lake?
Bob
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in the bushes?
Russell
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs trying to waterski?
Skip
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in your mailbox?
Bill
What do you call a girl with no arms and no legs in a stream?
Brooke
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in a pot of water?
Stu
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs who also has no head?
Chester
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs who fell in a meat grinder?
Chuck
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in a hole 6 feet deep?
Doug
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in a hole 3 feet deep?
Douglas
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in the restroom?
John
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs on a piece of paper?
Mark
I'm so immature.
~
Are you ready? Here we go!
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs hanging on the wall?
Art
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs on the front porch?
Matt
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs floating in a lake?
Bob
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in the bushes?
Russell
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs trying to waterski?
Skip
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in your mailbox?
Bill
What do you call a girl with no arms and no legs in a stream?
Brooke
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in a pot of water?
Stu
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs who also has no head?
Chester
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs who fell in a meat grinder?
Chuck
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in a hole 6 feet deep?
Doug
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in a hole 3 feet deep?
Douglas
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in the restroom?
John
What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs on a piece of paper?
Mark
I'm so immature.
~
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Happy Birthday!
Today is my birthday. I am 31. This means that I now have to check a different age group box when I take surveys. That's pretty much all age 31 means anymore.
Do you know what's really cool about having a July 3rd birthday, though? Aside from so many firework celebrations across the country in my honor, July 3rd is also the birthday of Quebec City in Canada. Quebec City is 400 years old today! I guess all across Canada today bells were ringing out in celebration of Quebec City (and myself, of course).
On this day in 1608, French explorer Samuel de Champlain founded a fur trading post named after the Algonquin work Kebec, meaning "where the river narrows" (referring to the St. Lawrence River). According to the Canadian Tourism Network, Quebec is the only walled city north of Mexico and is also home to the oldest inn of North America. I hear it's home to the oldest road in North America, too.
I was a missionary in Quebec from 1996-1998, and really love that place. I wish I would have known about this celebration sooner than today. Maybe I could have planned a trip there. Oh well.
Bon Anniversaire, Ville de Québec!
Do you know what's really cool about having a July 3rd birthday, though? Aside from so many firework celebrations across the country in my honor, July 3rd is also the birthday of Quebec City in Canada. Quebec City is 400 years old today! I guess all across Canada today bells were ringing out in celebration of Quebec City (and myself, of course).
On this day in 1608, French explorer Samuel de Champlain founded a fur trading post named after the Algonquin work Kebec, meaning "where the river narrows" (referring to the St. Lawrence River). According to the Canadian Tourism Network, Quebec is the only walled city north of Mexico and is also home to the oldest inn of North America. I hear it's home to the oldest road in North America, too.
I was a missionary in Quebec from 1996-1998, and really love that place. I wish I would have known about this celebration sooner than today. Maybe I could have planned a trip there. Oh well.Bon Anniversaire, Ville de Québec!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Dentist
Today I went to the dentist for my semi-annual cleaning. Good news! No cavities. I've got a couple of areas that "we will be watching," so I just need to be sure to brush and floss extra good in those spots. I got the standard bag of swag as I left, which is good, because now I get to use a safety orange-colored toothbrush. That thing is so bright, that I could tie it to my head and go hunting without worrying about being shot. No joke. It's cool, though, because orange is one of my fifteen favorite colors.
I like my dentist. He used to live in my ward when I was growing up, so he's kind of a family friend. Also, I've known his hygienist since before my mission (like about 13 years or so), so I guess we're old friends now. That said, I learned something today while I was getting my check-up. If ever your dentist or hygienist says, "We have a new tool that we'll be using on you today," you need to be very afraid. That is dental-speak for "We've been getting complaints that our other tools are too kind. This one is specifically designed to cause the maximum pain allowable without a prescription." I was only there for a cleaning, but this new tool really felt like they were removing portions of my gums in order to expose the root and use my nerve endings as a banjo.
It's all good though. Soon I'll be able to eat solid foods again. And I really love that smooth, just-polished feeling that you get after you've been to the dentist.
Monday, June 23, 2008
The wait is over...
The wait is over (see this post). I finally have my results from my last section of the CPA Exam. I needed a 75 and I got a 68. Yeah, I'm pretty bummed about it.
So now I get to pay another $300, study a bunch of boring crap for many more hours, and try to take that section again before the end of July when my score expires from the first section I took. If I can somehow manage to pass that section before the end of next month, then I will get a letter in the mail that says, "Congratulations! You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggonit people like you." Otherwise... well, at least it's Monday.
So now I get to pay another $300, study a bunch of boring crap for many more hours, and try to take that section again before the end of July when my score expires from the first section I took. If I can somehow manage to pass that section before the end of next month, then I will get a letter in the mail that says, "Congratulations! You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggonit people like you." Otherwise... well, at least it's Monday.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Jokes From the Mailman
The mailman that delivers to my office always has a joke to tell as he drops off our mail. Usually I don't get to hear them, since my office is in the back corner, far from the front door. Sometimes I get lucky, though, and I'm up front when he comes in.
Here's a couple of jokes he has told lately:
They recently completed some drug testing at the Post Office. Do you know what drug they didn't find in any of the employees? Speed.
Q: Why do single men live longer than married men?
A: Because they want to.
A blonde just got her first cell phone. A couple of days later, she was shopping at the mall and her phone rang. She answered it and it was her boyfriend calling. After a few minutes of conversation, she said, "I didn't tell you I was going to the mall. How did you know to call me here?"
Funny funny mailman.
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