While growing up, the only reading I was allowed to do was from the obtituaries in our local newspapers. Mom and Dad said it would build character. Mom and Dad split their residence between Northeastern Indiana and Central Florida. They are survived by three children and eight grandchildren.
This is one of my best pals. He's part robot and has a dog named "BudE." I took this photo of him while he was dancing in space. He can really put on the fancy dance moves. (I'm handy with PhotoShop)
It's a slow blog day--sorry. I've spent most of the daylight at four different baseball/softball practices.
WARNING: GRAPHIC PICTURE BELOW!!!
(click on it for a slightly larger view)
Recently, a cowardly neighborhood robin decided to "off itself" via some string and the young red 
oak tree in our front yard. I'm not sure what events led to his decision. There was no note left behind and I don't remember any of the other robins speaking (or, chirping) about how difficult his life had been. Perhaps there was a shortage of worms or maybe his house had been destroyed--I don't know. Actually, just the other day I found a robin nest in the our garage (we leave the door open too much, I guess) and threw it out into the yard. Did I have something to do with this?
Anywho, I apologize for the graphic nature of this image. We are still dealing with it in our home.
On a more serious note, I really don't know what happened here. This is a real picture that I took a few years ago. I think we had some twine caught in the tree and this poor guy got stuck in it. Anyone that knows me knows that I'm a bird watcher. The more I think about it, this looks like (brace yourself for the worst pun ever) FOWL PLAY!
My wife is a prolific writer and editor. I encouraged her to start a blog of her own and now I'm not sure what to think. I love her writing, but it looks like most of our dirty laundry will be aired out for everyone to read online. This means I may need to devote some of this page to damage control or just flat out lying about things that happened.
I have a link to her blog on the top corner of the page, but just in case you cannot move your neck muscles that far due to some sort of odd, perhaps tragic amusement park accident here it is again:
Miss Sniz (or Mrs. Big Doofus)
Here in Indianapolis, we're rebuilding a six mile stretch of I-70 on the east side. They call this project "Super 70" and even created a logo and promotional events to crown the event--what an incredible waste of tax payer money. When I repaint the wood trim on my house (something Mrs. Big Doofus has been hinting at this summer), I don't give the job a fancy name like "Rapid Repaint" and have my neighbors contribute money to promote the project...but I digress.
Anyway, the speed limit is normally 50-55 on this road, but they've lowered it to 45 for the construction zone. That's reasonable. However, police officers love it because it's an easy target to meet their speeding ticket quota for the day. Seriously, the Indianapolis Star did a story recently bragging about how much money the city is making by enforcing the speed zone. I drive on this stretch regularly and the company doing the work gets a bonus for finishing early. This means that that there are almost always large crews working in the area--another good reason to SLOW DOWN (these people have families, too). But every FREEKING day I get at least one person that inches up so close to my bumper that I can see their nose hairs in my rear view mirror. To make matters worse, when they finally get around me (I'm usually doing 45-47 mph) they give me a dirty look or even FLIP ME OFF. Arrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!
Memo to the Guy That Flipped Me Off Yesterday:
You really need to trim your nosehairs.
During my morning commute to work, I was behind a burgundy Pontiac. While waiting at a stop light, he opened up his window and threw out a handful of used (I assume) Q-tips. That's about the grossest things I've ever seen. Since spring is nest-building season for the birds here in Indiana, you just know that some poor sparrow or robin is going to have an interior wall that smells like this guy's earwax (or worse).
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