So anyway, today was my brother’s 40th birthday party. We had brunch at a nice place in Auburn. I think there were 14 of us. Then we all went bowling.

I haven’t bowled since about 1981, when it got me past the PE requirement at SB City College, so I could transfer to a University, where you don’t have to take PE to get a degree. Before bowling, I’d tried Golf and Fencing. Passed golf, dropped fencing. I didn’t like the way all that thrusting and stretching made parts of me feel. And it wasn’t nearly as fun as I pictured it.

The bowling classes had intramural teams — I think that’s what they were called — meaning teams within the college played each other, not other schools. I was bowling around 160 and each member of my team got a little trophy in some sort of tournament. I think I still have mine; I should get a photo up. It’s pretty cute. Engraved with one of those cheapass adhesive label guns.

Today, we bowled two games and I didn’t come terribly close to breaking 100 either time. Something like 69 and 87. What a difference a mere quarter century makes. The stupid rental shoes wouldn’t slide, so every frame was a controlled near-disaster. I got one strike and a couple of nice spares … I’m lucky I didn’t drop the ball or plant my nose right in the middle of the lane.

Well, a good time was had by all. I hope brother J remembers his birthday with happiness. Forty is only as big a deal as you make of it; of life’s milestones, nothing compared to getting married and having a child.

Oh, the title. “Super What?” Yes … we didn’t watch the superbowl. And you know what? I didn’t miss it. I guess watching the game has always been about being with family, and I was.

Want to see some cool pictures of small dogs? Here you go.

I forgot to mention that my folks celebrated their 49th wedding anniversary a few days ago.

Love you, Mom & Dad. Next year … big party … Disneyland maybe.

Watched A Day Without a Mexican with la famila tonight. If you haven’t seen it, I recommend it. It’ll get you thinking.

I have long believed, just based on what seems like common sense to me, that the economic contributions of immigrant workers from the 40 countries south of the border vastly outwiegh the costs to society of their pressence. I didn’t need convincing. Come to think of it, if you believe the implaccable lie that they are a great burden, you’re probably beyond the hope of any rhetoric; you won’t like this movie.

Well here we are. Having spent the day on the road, my folks and I have arrived in the Deep Woods of northern California, for a visit with my bro, his wife, and my nephew, T. Of course, T was a’bed long before we arrived.

It was a fine February day. California can be beautiful this time of year, and if you have any affinity for the San Joaquin Valley, it’s good to drive it when everything is green. In one vast field, they appeared to be picking carrots. I didn’t know they picked carrots this time of year, but that’s what it looked like. A whole fleet of huge trucks lined up to bear them away. Good for your eyesight, you know.

Lots of grape vineyards, dormant for winter but unpruned. Early strawberries were being picked along the Santa Clarita River. Oranges still on the trees and falling; why aren’t they picking them? Strange. No market?

More news to follow.

Don’t you just hate a blank Word window? When you set out to write something, and you’re not sure what its going to be, so there it is, big and white and empty, that insipid cursor blinking in the corner … there oughta be a law against it.

So my dad and I are still at the concrete job; got 75% of the slab poured; three sections of four. I’ve stacked and lifted, moved and lifted and dumped about 5500 pounds of concrete mix. I did a little mixing today. Dad has lifted, mixed, poured, floated, screed, and finished it. We’ve both inhaled and worn quite a bit.

Concrete work is hard, dusty, messy work. I’m glad other guys do it for a living and not me. I feel like Gumby after a serious rear-end traffic accident.

Hopefully, we finish tomorrow.

I guess Mr. Bush is speaking right now. Here’s what I think.

I haven’t posted in a couple of days. I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m thirsty.

My Dad is building a 12’x12′ concrete slab in his back yard, as the foundation for a new garden shed. I’m helping. Among my helper duties is to bring the 60-pound bags of Quikrete from the front yard, where it was delivered, to the back yard. We’re half done, and in two days, I’ve moved 3480 pounds of this stuff. I’ve inhaled about a bag and a half. … Pictures, maybe, in a day or two.

Oh look! It comes in 40 pound bags too! Those insegrievious buttlickers at the lumber yard couldn’t have delivered those instead… nooo! Just kidding, they’re OK guys. But that reminds me of a joke:

A house is being remodeled, in which lives a sweet little 6-year-old girl, with her Mommy and Daddy. The little girl is fascinated by the men on the contractor’s crew, their tools, and the work they’re doing on her house. They all think she’s very cute, and they let her hang around, be their helper. They even give her a “salary” of a dollar a day. And her Mom doesn’t mind … Until one day.

When the job is half done, the little girl has 15 dollars saved up and her Mom takes her to the bank to deposit it. Her own first savings account! The teller thinks she’s a doll and listens to the story about her new job.

“Do you think the project will be done soon?” the teller asks.

“Well,” the little girl replies … “It shouldn’t be too damn much longer, if we can get those assclowns at Home Depot to send us some drywall that’s worth a shit.”

So I was driving down the hill towards town yesterday, when I met a group of four motorcycles, coming the other way. Out for a Saturday ride, just for the general hell of it. It was a beautiful day; later it got windy and cold, but stayed clear and self- aware. I thought People used to take drives in the afternoon, just for pleasure, in all sorts of cars. Now, it’s mostly just the bikers. This made me think about trends in human interaction, which began long before even my time, and I can remember rotary phones and five digit phone numbers.

People used to go visiting unannounced, and nobody minded much because they weren’t all that busy. Coffee was made, or tea, or cold drinks produced from the fridge. Then we got busy. Visiting was done subsequent to a phone call. Then, since folks were on the phone anyway, the call replaced the visit. When was the last time you spent time at a friend’s house for no good reason but conversation – to catch up on the news of her life?

Life got busier again, and we all got answering machines. And over the years, the epistolary tradition, in which some of us happily participated, became as much a burden as the unannounced visit. We stopped writing letters. We got together on the phone, usually after the obligatory game of tag with our machines, and forgot each others’ faces.

I like writing to people because I can think of a lot more to say when I’m alone and not trying to think of things to say. I like e-mail because it goes now, gets there now, and there’s no paper, envelopes, and stamps involved. Which is a shame if you think about it. I have some nice stationery, fountain pens, bottled ink, just sitting there. Back before we all got computers, my Mom had some good stationery made for me, with the silhouette of a sea bird rampant. See it on this blog? … I know you get it.

Well, now e-mail’s less fun, huh? There’s so much spam and believe it or not life is even busier. I know this because some of my e-mails to good friends are going unanswered. None of my friends are assholes, so they must be busy. We have instant messaging, but who has time to sit there while the other person types? We’re all married to our cell phones, but the new will wear off of that too. We’ll get bored with it, and busier, and short of having com chips implanted in our cerebral cortices or evolving Web-enabled telepathy – powered by Google – what’s next?

Listen, if you’re thinking of stopping by unannounced, stop at Starbucks, OK?

With a solemn mouse and great reluctance, I have removed Buzzstuff from my blogroll. I hoped Buzz wasn’t sincere when he quit blogging, and I waited a while in case he changed his mind … but it was not to be.

Can you tell I don’t deal well with change?

Today is the 19th anniversary of the destruction of the space shuttle Challenger, which exploded 73 seconds after lift-off, and plunged in shattered sadness into the Atlantic.

It’s hard to believe it’s been that long, and it makes me feel a little … old. But I remember where I was when I first began to hear about it. I was in the student union, in the bookstore specifically, on the campus of Cal State Chico, my alma-mater. I heard just scraps of conversation between other students, about something exploding, crashing. And it wasn’t until later, when I got back to the apartment I shared with my roommate Mark, that I learned what happened.

I also remember exactly where I was, 9 years later, when I got the call that Mark had died in San Jose. Two weeks after his 30th birthday.

Well, I hadn’t planned on Mark showing up when I started typing this post. He was a good guy, a good friend. He was working on his masters when he got sick, and would have been a fine historian and teacher. I miss him … well, really more than I miss the Challenger or anyone on it. Life isn’t fair, death less so.

So where were you when the Challenger went down, and what about your memories?

Here’s a cool short story about … us. It’s a quick read, just a few minutes and entirely dialogue, but pretty entertaining.