Southern Missouri Weekend

Over MLK weekend, we decided to take a road trip to one of our favorite spots - Van Buren, Missouri.

This place takes me back to my younger years when my dad would pile us into the gold 1969 Cadillac Sedan de Ville with the white vinyl top and, as he would say, "take a nice, slow ride to VB." There was no Disneyland or Wally World for the Nolda family - only Van Buren. The man wasn't joking when he said nice, slow ride either. Somehow he would stretch a 3-hour drive into 40 days and 40 nights. It took so long to get there with Bob Nolda at the wheel that I swear I saw a dove with an olive branch in its beak before we'd arrive.

Sometimes we'd stop at Elephant Rock State Park or Johnson's Shut Ins on the way down, but it still took us a million years to get there even if we drove straight through. Remember that nice, slow ride thing? The man lived by that rule. I can't count the numbers of drivers that passed us while cursing in my formative years.

We'd stay at the cabins at Big Spring State Park or the Starlight Motel, which was operated by Rev. Chuck Browning and his family back in my day. We played Family Feud many a time out on the lawn with Chuck, Jr. at the Starlight... Ah, the memories...

Me, my mom and brother in a cabin at Big Spring State Park.
Notice the raging inferno in the background. Sometimes I don't know how  I lived.

Well, the tradition continues. Julia and I head down 55 to 67 to 34 to 21 to 60  at least once a year to bask in the former glory of the Nolda Family Sacred Vacation Land that is Van Buren, Missouri. We might opt for 55 to 60 if we want to hit Boomland near Sikeston or avoid the near death experience of the curves of 34 near Piedmont. There might not be a lot going on in town during January, but it's great to be there nonetheless. The Jolly Cone might be closed, but the Float Stream Restaurant is always open for business and Skip's got the cabins ready and warm at the Rising Sun.

When I called Skip to make the reservation, he said that he had added some cool things since our last visit, so that, of course, piqued my interest. When we arrived we saw that  a former oak tree had been carved into a tower of various animals, about which Skip was quite pleased. I, however, was much more excited by his other new additions - two "mammoth" donkeys named Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn. My God in heaven, these animals rocked! They came running when we walked up to the fence and they were so friendly that if the didn't weigh half a ton, they would make nice lap donkeys. If I didn't own four Dings, I'd have mammoth donkeys, which I prefer to call Los Burros. I really wish that Skip was my neighbor.

Los Burros

So if you're looking to get out of town, head down to Van Buren, Missouri. Stay at the Rising Sun, feed the burros an apple or two and pet the farm kitty, but watch out for his Freddy Krueger-like finger knives (aka claws). Check out the Rising Sun by clicking HERE.

See more photos of Los Burros HERE.

Jesus at College Church

Night view from our room

2 Cheshire Cats

My niece, Fartpee, at The Disney Store on Michigan Ave.

Lang in our palace

View from our room at The Tremont in Chicago

And our tree topper...

Christmas time is here...

Agreed...

This is a great story that pretty much sums up the Albert Pujols departure:
http://www.cnn.com/2011/12/09/opinion/pearlman-pujols/index.html?hpt=op_t1

It's That Time Again

Pink Elephant Antiques: Livingston, Illinois

Okay, so we've made the 300-mile drive from our zip to Wrigley Field at least 2,949,218 times and, thus, have seen this parcel of land off of Interstate 55 near Exit 36 in Livingston, Illinois 5,898,436 times. I've always thought one of two things:

What kind of crap is that?
or
Someday I'll stop to see what kind of crap they have there.

Recently, a friend of mine, Preem, posted photos of her visiting the spaceship, which made me think "if Preem isn't above stopping at the Pink Elephant, surely I can too." Sunday, July 24 was it...the day we finally chose Door #2 and exited the highway to see what kind of crap could be had. Because how often does one enter an alleged "antique mall" and find exactly that...crap? I'm guessing 98 to 99.9% of the time. Not that I'm a frequent antique mall visitor, but the few times I've actually made a choice to enter one, my expectations of flea market type crap were met and exceeded. Not today. Or, I should say, not so much today.

We pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Pink Elephant Antique Mall and took photos and self portraits of the unexplained items littering the grounds. We then entered the doors of one-time gymnasium and school and were met by the surprise of not complete crap. To be accurate, there was crap to be had in but not in quite the chaotic, unorganized hoarder-type piled and stacked fashion to which I'm accustomed...tea cups with either super glued or missing handles; a few cards from the 1982 K-mart set of thumbnail reprints of real baseball cards that had obviously been used in place of Cheerios for a rural Illinois toddler at some point; various and sundry indescribable crocheted items...you know, piles and stacks of crap. But this place had a method to their crappy madness. It was seemingly organized with actual cool things to be had. Unfortunately, I was not bright enough to take a single photo during our  hour-long visit, so those I took outside will have to do. See the HERE.

So kudos to Preem for taking a chance and posting it on Facebook to inspire others to stop and look around once in awhile, Ferris Bueller style. Now I'm off to listen to some Sigue Sigue Sputnik, English Beat and Yellow.

Pre-Blog Old School Photos

If you've paid any attention at all, which by Lucifer's beard, you better have...you know that we created this blog in 2008 and have been adding photos and shizz ever since. What about pre-blog old school photos, you ask? It's funny you brought that up...

Since many of our older photos reside at Shutterfly.com, we've created a share site to view them instead of reposting them to Google Photos. There's no reason to recreate the wheel, as they say. We're even dipping into our photo vault to post things we've never uploaded. It's sure to bring back memories of travels past...

Our first-ever Baseball Road Trip self portrait from 2004

If you care to see them or are ever just bored out of your mind, you can see the old school stuff HERE. I'm not sure that viewing them will actually cure your boredom, but good luck to you.

Enjoy!

Super Special Thanks to Jenny G!

Jenny G rocks. Pure and simple.

She was our Ding sitter, visiting twice a day to feed and beat them while we were in Alaska. She was also our ride to and from the airport and the list goes on and on. The woman knows no bounds.

And for that, we thank her!

And so do The Dings!

John Denver Is a Liar

Well, he was a liar.

The round-spectacled, bowl hair cut wearing, country western/folky-type singer told me in 1974 that, "Hey, it's good to be back home again." If he hadn't crashed his plane into the Pacific Ocean in 1997, I'd track him John Locke style and punch him in the nose...HARD.

I beg to differ Mr. Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr. Actually, it sucks to be back home again for these reasons:

1. I'm not in Alaska.
2. I'm not in Alaska at Denali National Park.
3. It was 55 degrees when we left Fairbanks.
4. It's 44 degrees warmer than that in this God forsaken cow town.
5. I have to go back to work tomorrow, which does not happen to be in Alaska.

Thanks for nothing John Denver. While I hate you for this song, overall, I do love your music. Call me a hippie. It will not faze me.

And there is a good reason to be back home again...four actually.

That is all. As Prince once said, peace and be wild. But he says stupid things sometimes, so take it with a grain of salt or glacial silt, whichever you have available.

Days 12-13: July 18-19 – Denali Sled Dogs, the Rock Creek Hike, Fairbanks and Homeward

We woke early, to another rainy day, to go pet the sled puppies and see a demo of their sledding prowess. These dogs rock like a Jovi concert. You’ll see the photos and know that I do not tell falsehoods.

After the pups, we headed out on the Rock Creek trail, a three-mile hike with some 20% grades that would end up leading us back to the Visitor Center. My cousin, Phil, and I did this very hike two years ago and it was awesome. I’m fat and old so that 20% grade at the front end of the hike was an arse-kicker. Julia had the choice to do the Rock Creek or the Roadside, which as the title suggests, follows the side of the road. Translation: it’s a weak ass hike meant for three-year olds and elderly folks on the rolly-seat walkers, but not for THIS GUY. She chose wisely, but as it was for me following behind the eternal outdoorsman, Phil, Julia lagged behind and thought she’d soon fall face first into the greens along the path where she would expire and inevitably become moose feed.

I knew from experience that this hike was rough, but I also knew that once you got past it, it was mostly downhill from there. I’d really hate to tackle that path from the other end. I would take my last breath in the first 45 seconds. Poor Julia struggled, just as I had, for the first 15 minutes to the point that after the millionth time I gave her the old, “We’re almost there…” line, she uttered in hatred and disgust, “F**k Dave!” This simple phrase became the official quote of the day and, perhaps, of the trip.

After the hike we had lunch and got back to the Denali Railroad Depot and headed north to Fairbanks for the night. We met some Irish folks on the train who were also staying at our hotel, so I called for the shuttle for the four of us. They sent a single cab for four peoples and eight pieces of luggage. But wait…that’s not all. Once we arrived at the Springhill, the Irish folks were told that their room had been given away because tour buses pulled up and they needed the rooms! We assumed we were also moving to different lodgings, but they had a room for us. None of it made sense, but we got up to our room, dropped our stuff and ran outside to get a taste of the nearby downtown Fairbanks area.

There was only one store open around the hotel and the woman in there was selling Billikens, the beloved impish creature/mascot of Saint Louis University. Including my time as a student and employee at SLU, I was there more than twenty years, so I know the history of the Billiken quite well, or so I thought. This woman told me that she had seen and sold Billikens older than 1908 when Florence Pretz, an artist in Kansas City, created and patented him as the "god of things as they ought to be." She said that it really is a good luck charm for the Eskimos (her words) and that they got it from Russia. I asked her to do a little research on that one and get back to me. Until then, my story stands. So even says the her own Alaska State Museum website HERE. Take that Fairbanks lady with outrageous Billiken claims.

Our shuttle was outside at 6:30 a.m. and took us to the Fairbanks International Airport with all six of its gates. The flight was relatively boring except for the super ridiculously awesome fact that Mt. McKinley/Denali was completely visible from the plan as we passed and I GOT PHOTOS! It was pretty sweet to see it from above along with the glaciers extending from it to the ocean.

And thus we continued our journey to Seattle and a five-hour layover. Ain’t no way I was sitting around until my eyes dried waiting for another flight. This is Seattle…home of the Mariners, the Space Needle and, most importantly, Ebbets Field Flannels, my favorite store on planet earth, her eight siblings and all of their moons. Not only does Ebbets boast an awesome selection of old school minor league jerseys, they also have Paco the dog. What could be better?

So we skedaddled out of the airport, jumped on the Link and headed downtown. We visited Ebbets and maybe a purchase was made. And if such a purchase was made, perhaps it was something like this 1942 New Orleans Pelicans (a former Cardinals farm club) jersey.

I just can’t remember. It all blends together now.

Before we left 408 Occidental, Paco was petted and we both drooled about our current location. Me and Paco, that is. Julia’s gotten much better about her drooling. We then made our way back up Jackson, had $5 awesome Thai food next to Union Station and got back to the airport at 4:22 p.m. with loads of time to spare, hence the penning of this post.

And here I sit waiting to board our flight to Chicago before making the final leg to St. Louis in the morrow where I will probably tell my work friends all about the trip since they probably didn’t check the blog. I’m sure I’ll also do a fair bit of moping that I’m not in Alaska and that I’m melting away like a glacier in the Hades-like heat of my home town. I can’t wait. That is all.

See photos of cool stuff HERE. I hope you like trains…

Fairbanks, Alaska - 11:05 p.m.

Day 11: July 17 –White Water Rafting and Other Denali Joy

Up at 7 for our 7:50 shuttle to Denali Outdoor Adventures for our 25-mile, half-day white water rafting excursion on the 38-degree waters of Lake Minnetonka, I mean, the Nenana River. (A super awesome prize for the first person who gets the Minnetonka reference. Not really, but I’ll be slightly impressed.) What we didn’t know (and neither did the girl at The Salmon Bake Restaurant who booked our trip) was that their office is one of those long New York City blocks away from where we boarded the shuttle. I felt like such a tool when he drove for twenty seconds and stopped. I thought he was waiting for more peeps to board until he rounded the van and opened the door.

 

We entered the place to don our dry suits and boots before heading up the road to the drop in point. These aren’t the easiest items of clothing to throw on and there are tight rubber gaskets for your neck and wrists, so professional help Is required for dressing. My first dry suit, yes I said first, fit fine until he pulled it over my head and the gasket clinched around my carotid, jugular and larynx rendering my speechless and unable to swallow, breathe, speak or turn my head. For those of you that enjoy embarrassing me until my ears turn red, this method was much more immediate, but could have easily caused permanent damage. It felt as though The “Nature Boy” Ric Flair slapped on a sleeper hold and I was ready to tap out like a school girl. If I had kept the first suit, I would have cut off all blood flow to my brain faster than the Road Runner says “beep, beep.”

 

Once I got out of that grand mal seizure inducing garment, I was blessed with a seemingly brand new dry suit whose neck fit snugly, but did not have asphyxiation on its mind. The boots, however, were not as nice to me. Thanks to the dime-sized hole in the left one, my foot was a bit chill-chill for the duration.

 

The only thing that sucked was that I couldn’t bring my camera along on the river. I’m glad I didn’t since it was white water rafting and doing so would have been a dim-witted move on my part, but there were many photo ops that went untaken such as my beloved Alaska Railroad passing on the bluff above. They did, however, have folks stationed along several points of the river taken photos to sell to you once you were on dry land again, Busch Gardens Tampa style. And so is the tale of how I dove into that trap. I couldn’t take my own photos, so I, all tourist-like, bought their overpriced CD of shots. It was worth it.

 

There are a few interesting thing about glacial fed rivers:

1. Just two days ago, the water creating this WWR experience was ice on a glacier, hence the 38-degree temperature.
2. Due to the glacial nature of glaciers, they do glacier things as in crushing rocks to “silt flour” and carrying said baking ingredient downstream.
3. And the final and, perhaps, most important fact for a WWR trip –  what Jeff failed to mention was that when one is about to take one’s white water rapid Category IV wave smack dab in the chops, one should keep one’s mouth closed as it tastes like ingesting a pint of freshly mixed concrete. On the bright side, it makes for a very refreshing, yet heavy, wake up call. Thanks Mother Nature.

At one point on the river, Jeff, our super awesome guide and native Alaskan, said, “This is one of our swimming holes. If you want to jump in, you can.” Since Jeff had cracked several corny rafting jokes slathered in puns earlier, I naturally assumed that he was pulling the proverbial leg. That is until I saw six heads of folks formerly in the rafts ahead of us bobbing in the water. It was then that his non-joke registered and I, who does not know how to swim, jumped over the side into the 38 degree ice bath known as the Nenana River. It kicked all possible ass, but it was the coldest water in which I’ve ever knowingly/willingly immersed myself.

And that awesome feat was not just a one-time occurrence. Jeff made the same offer downstream at which point the father from an Alaskan native family of four jumped in and just let himself float about ten feet away from the raft. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to monkey-see-monkey-do and did. Pretty sweet for a guy who can’t swim. But, alas, there is no photographic evidence, so did it really happen? Does a bear defecate in the tundra? Now that is something of which I do have evidence. So take that Plato.

On another subject…

Have you’ve seen the movie, Into the Wild? It’s about Christopher McCandless, who gave his $24,000 life savings and hitchhiked to Alaska to live in the wilderness, got trapped on the other side of a river, ate the wrong shizz after which he died on the bus he stumbled upon 11 miles into the park. There’s your synopsis. Anyway…that bus is still 11 miles into the park and you can even hoof it out there, which isn’t recommended since a woman drowned last year in the very same river that trapped Christopher. But the movie prop bus that was used in the Sean Penn-directed flick from 2007 now sits on the property of the 49th State Brewing Company and can be toured for free. Its extreme attention to detail is remarkable and if I hadn’t read otherwise, I wouldn’t know it’s not the real deal plucked from the tundra for my own morbid curiosity.

Long story short (after a 154-word build up)…we went there and took photos. Now we’re back and getting ready for a 10 a.m. sled dog demonstration followed by five miles of Denali hiking. It’s either five miles or whatever our old and worn bodies allow. After that, we’ll me the Alaska Railroad to head to Fairbanks for the night before the homestretch on Tuesday/Wednesday.

That is all.

For photographic evidence of everything but me floating down the Nenana River in a dry suit, click HERE.

Day 10: July 16 – Denali to Kantishna

So this post is a couple of days late. Sue me. Your case will be tossed out.

We took the 7:45 a.m. Denali shuttle to Kantishna along the park road – all 92.6 miles of it. This means that we parked our buttocks on a green school bus driven by Young Santa or Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart (aka Thomas) for a round trip that took twelve hours, four hours of which were spent in the a nice driving, chilly, Alaska rain. Compared to the 66-mile road to the Eielson Visitor Center bus I took two years ago, this one sucked and here’s why.

Technically, the shuttle bus is just that, a shuttle bus. It’s similar to taking the city bus from Point A to Point B, but with a bit more interaction with the driver. But it is not the driver’s job to stop to point out a moose doing the lambada with a caribou at 10 o’clock or ground squirrel sling shotting a pine cone at the forehead of a grizzly David and Goliath style. That would be a nice benefit, but you’re paying to drive 92.6 miles and back, not to be entertained by Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Rogers doing the moonwalk. I get that.

HOWEVER…

As mentioned previously, in June 2009, my cousin, Phil, and I boarded the Eielson shuttle driven by one John Allen – naturalist, poet, artist, bus driver and all around awesome guy with an out-of-control Rollie Fingers mustache. For you non-baseball fans, Google it and be ashamed of yourselves. VERY ashamed. Denali is awesome, but Mr. Allen added depth, humor, knowledge and memories to an already amazing Alaskan journey. In a nutshell, I was spoiled by that experience, like an only child on Christmas.

That being said, Young Santa was at a disadvantaged from the get go and he hadn’t even pulled up to our stop at the Wilderness Access Center. Add to that the nasty, rainy, chilly weather, and poor Thomas the Train was toast from the outset in the court of Dave opinion. While John Allen he was not, he could have dropped the monotone voice and not said, “I’m not even going to be looking for wildlife.” Thanks Thomas. Good morning to you too. I’m so pleased I have the privilege of spending another 11 hours and 59 minutes in your engaging company. Did you remember to lock your trash can when you left Sesame Street this morning, you jack wagon? And what was with the lead foot through the park? Did you have a hot date with Louise the Lumberjackette that you had to make before she toddled back into the forest for a night of logging? Jeez, dude.

Actually, in his defense, which I hate that I’m saying, while it felt like he was doing 45 on the park road, when I sneaked a look at the speedometer, the most I saw it register was 20 mph. But I bet Young Santa rigged it for the sake of appearance. He seemed shady. And what do you do with a beard to your naval when you aren’t playing the role of Gandolf and the market for a young Santa is slim? It can’t be for the sake of fashion or the overall hotness quotient (OHQ).

I know that John Allen retired, but accept the responsibility of following in his bus tracks and attempt a shred of his awesomeness. For a native Alaskan, you tarnished my soul and made Julia’s experience almost piss poor and for that, I hate your beard and the face to which it is connected. And, Mr. Young Santa/Jim “The Anvil” sir, if you ever stumble upon this post, please don’t hack me up with your ulu knife in my sleep. These are only words. Sticks and stones, Anvil, sticks and stones.

That heavy criticism being lobbed, he was knowledgeable and would speak when spoken to, but it wouldn’t have taken much for him to be A LOT better. The other issue, out of Santa’s control, was Mother Nature and the lack of wildlife sightings or, I should say, up close and personal wildlife sightings like those of June 2009. John Allen must have channeled St. Francis the 4,993 from his final resting place in Assisi because animals sprinted out of the tundra frantically waving, shouting John’s name and holding up signs crudely written in their own feces (they don’t have Sharpies) reading, “Hey John…Look at me!” Needless to say, such an experience is not guaranteed nor is it a usual occurrence, but that was my experience and, as I said, I was spoiled by John Allen.

Once the trip concluded, we waited for our ride back to the Crow’s Nest for dinner at The Overlook. I checked my messages to find out that our white water rafting trip for Sunday at noon had to be cancelled because we were the only two registered. So we were now on the 8 a.m. trip. Bye bye sleep! And, thus, the reason Day 10 is a day late. Too bad…so sad…tell your mom…tell your dad. Yes…I am eight. Deal with it.

And while you’re deal with that, check out the Denali National Park (and other) photos HERE.

Day 9: July 15 – The Alaska Railroad to Denali

Long story short... We took the train from Anchorage to Denali and saw lots of cool shizz. See the photos HERE. The End.

Now, for the rest of the story…Dave-asized… In a nutshell, I’ve noticed that people suck. It might be the ever-present pessimist in me, but people suck and I hate them. Here are just a few examples of how/why people suck:

• Some Methuselah looking gentleman with a sweet front to back comb over, decided that the queue in which we were patiently waiting was merely an obstacle for him to traverse and went around it to saunter up to the window John Wayne style. I decided then and there that he sucked and that I hated him.
• Once the train got moving, I spent 95% of the time outside on the observation deck, which most folks thought was too cold, thus they spent 95% of their time inside. And that’s fine if that’s your preference. I want to be outside as much as possible in the great 49th state and breathe in as much diesel exhaust as possible as the cottonwood tree cotton thingies pelt me in the nose. Well, Methuselah’s wife, Edna, spent her .000001% out on deck only when Mt. McKinley/Denali came into view and deemed it necessary to position herself in my back pocket or hovering on my shoestrings to take her photos. Really Edna? Really? I didn’t see this 20,325 foot beast at all in 2009 due to fog, and they say only 20% of the folks who come to see it actually get to, so lay off Edna.
  
  At one point, when I was actually NOT snapping one of 573 photos, but was still taking up space at the railing where I had been standing for three hours, this 968 year-old wart on a bump on a frog on a log at the bottom of the sea had the passive-aggressive nerve to inquire, “Are you going to take a picture?” I answered sharply, “Occasionally.” That was old lady code for, “Hey sonny, move so I can use my $2,500 Canon Super Awesome Way Better Than Yours to zoom in on the booger in the left nostril of that caribou at 18,023 feet.” Lady, I ain’t playing your reindeer games and I sure as H ain’t moving my caboose, so use your x-ray eyes feature on that beeyotch to snap that shot through the hull of this rolling boat for all I care, but back away before you become an appetizer for moose at the Track Side Café. I will toss you faster than a skee ball. No lie.
• $7.49 for a bag of Doritos at the market down the mountain from our cabin. The reason...you’re in a canyon outside the entrance to Denali National Park and you need to haul your own nourishment into the park or you’ll starve and die. The closest real non-price-gouging grocery store is 10 miles away. They’ve got you and they have not yet taken ownership of souls. That’s fine. I will guffaw a bit as I watch them do their little dances in Hades. Anyone who charges $4 more for the same thing I’d get at Schnucks, sucks. Any arguments? I thought not.

There was a happy ending to our day, however. The shuttle driver my cousin, Phil, and I had on our drive through Denali in 2009 sat three tables away from us at dinner. He just retired from the shuttle driving gig, which is the disappointment of a lifetime. Now, he just walks around the park picking up trash on his own time. What a card carrying bad ass.

When we finished, I went over and told him how awe-inspiring he made the trip for us and that we’ll never forget it. After a minute or two of showering him with praise and laud, John Allen choked up and seemed to fight back tears, Dick Vermeil style. It’s cool to let someone who actually doesn’t suck know it for a change.

John Allen and Dave - June 21, 2009

Well, I’m done for evening as we have a 13-hour Denali tour scheduled for tomorrow and it’s time to have more vivid dreams about work friends riding up to me on bicycles to save me from impending earthquakes. True story.

If you made it all the way through that, your prize if that you get to see the photos HERE.

Day 8: July 14 – Seward, the Alaska Railroad and Anchorage

We docked in Seward at around 6 a.m. this morning and grabbed some quick b-fast eats on the boat before getting into queue to disembark the ship to board the Alaska Railroad for Anchorage. The cruise is over, but Denali awaits.

I visited Seward two years ago with my cousin, Phil. He had a hankerin’ for some fishin’, but it was rainy and frigid and fishing sucks like the Tootsie Pop owl, so I stayed in the car jamming on the pod, while Philly donned his wetsuit and caught nothing. We had a much different view that day, but one that included a cruise ship much like ours as seen here from June 22, 2009.

Again, Alanis rears her ugly Canadian head. For the record, I do not find Alanis to be ugly. I could have just as easily cited Anne Murray, Geddy Lee, or Kim Cattrall as Canadian references, the latter of whom I actually do find to be Medusa in Canadian form. I am repulsed by her very existence. Bless her heart.

We boarded the train for the journey to Anchorage. We got the joy of sitting across from a couple of New Yorkers, whom our NC friends had the pleasure of hearing talk dirty - Bret Michaels style - at the table next to them at dinner last night. Poor NC friends. I, on the other hand, had the joy of sitting across from Boobs McGhee. She was probably 77 years-old and, a few nights earlier, decided to wear a dress with the neckline down to her navel to reveal the results of her latest procedure. Fortunately, my back was to her and her girls, so I did not have to partake in the visual joy that would only have served to haunt me in my deepest REM sleep. However, at the relentless urgings of my NC and Peoria tablemates, I peered to my right as she left the dinner table and caught a glimpse. She may as well have had a neon sign beaming atop her forehead with, “Boobs below” and an arrow pointing down to her sternum. There was little left for the imagination and I just know she was praying for a wardrobe malfunction, which, thankfully did not materialize. And, of course, I saw her everywhere after that attempting to beckon me with her withered old siren song. I think God likes to mess with me for his own amusement. And I never slept again…

So after 135 photos and 4 ½ hours, we made it to Anchorage and went to the Moose’s Tooth, which the locals boast has the best pizza in town. I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind, precious Anchorageites. It was better than virtually all of our boat food, but didn’t compare with Giordano’s in Chicago or Hernando’s in Fraser, CO. That’s right Magill’s…you get a shout out. Boat food is bad. Mmmmkay?

Now we’re chillin’ in the hotel before boarding the Alaska Railroad again tomorrow morn at 8:15 a.m. en route to Denali National Park. That is all.

Peruse today’s photos HERE. I double dog dare you. Don’t make me triple dog dare you, Schwartz/Christmas Story style.

Day 7: July 13 – Hubbard Glacier and on to Seward, Alaska

Today’s portion of the voyage took us to Hubbard Glacier, which measures six miles across. Pretty sweet, huh? Two problems: 1) We had to be up at 6:30 a.m. to see it and 2) we had to stay a few miles away because of the ice field the glacier has calved into the water. Apparently, Captain Stubing didn’t want a Titanic moment. Good call, Merrill.

Speaking of the Captain, I’ll take this moment to address a couple of things we don’t like about his ship. First, all I’ve ever heard about cruises since the first time I laid eyes on Gopher, Julie and Isaac, was how awesome the food is. I would like to dispute that as complete fiction. Honestly, I’d rather have Carl’s Jr./Hardee’s…not gonna lie.

The service has always been awesome, almost annoyingly so…I don’t need every single crew person I pass to greet me. My tongue hurts from responding the 7, 347 times it’s happened in the last week. Enough already. But the food leaves A LOT to be desired. As I said, give me a chicken club from Carl’s and I’m set. The presentation of the food has been cool, it’s the taste that’s been missing. It’s nothing to write home about, yet here I am typing for the blog. As Alanis would say, “Isn’t it ironic?”

Secondly, there is a willful lack of communication on the ship in matters of sightseeing. For example, let’s say that a gaggle of whales suddenly appears off the port side juggling flaming harbor seals while smoking crack off the head of an Inuit baby. No announcement would be made to make one aware of such an unnatural phenomenon. They wouldn’t even announce when we were approaching the Hubbard Glacier this morning, so if you were catching a few extra winks of shuteye, you were SOL (and that ain’t Spanish for sun, honey). WTF? You’re on the water for seven days and they can’t throw us a bone if they see cool shizz? Would it kill them to tell us that? Maybe they are saving their words for the overabundance of greetings they smear us with throughout the day. Whatever the reason, it sucks moose buttocks. Fo’ real.

Finally, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the concept of “Gentlemen Hosts,” aka travelling whores. These are men whose job it is to saddle on up next to lady folk to encourage them to join them on the dance floor for the old bump and grind. Patrick Swayze these tools are not. They are thousand year-old fossils in bad clothes doing the Uma Thurman Pulp Fiction to ridiculously cheesy karaoke sung by the ship’s “entertainment” staff. While it makes me quiver, and our NC friends liked to see my disdain for the practice, it did actually provide much entertainment to those of us who like to judge the actions of those with the courage, liquid or otherwise, to participate in such shenanigans…bless their hearts.

That’s it for my ship critiques, except for the touching of my stuff, which I’ve already mentioned. Should I think of anything else, I will post at another time. For now, we’re at sea until tomorrow morning when our cruise ends in Seward and we move on to our next leg, the Alaska Railroad to Denali. Our ship friends made it fun…Hank and Martha from Peoria celebrating their 35th wedding anniversary, and Katie and Alice, the mother/daughter dermatologist and economist (and fellow luggageless) friends for NC… and have helped us close the restaurants almost every night. Thanks friends. I don’t know if I’ll ever catch up on sleep. But I’ll sure as hell try.

Now, on to Seward and Denali…

Oh yeah, see today’s photos HERE.

Day 6: July 12 – Sitka and the Sea Otter and Wildlife Quest

We arrived in Sitka Sound this morning and docked in the middle of nowhere due to the fact that the water is too shallow closer to shore. They send you down to the third deck and send you off on tenders or small boats that look remarkably similar to the shuttle crafts in the original miniseries, V, in the 80s. Hmmmm. Mousey! Robert Englund rules! But I digress…
This is our fourth, and final, stop on the cruise after Ketchikan, Juneau and Skagway. We’ve seen some great stuff so far, so we were hoping for more on today’s Sea Otter and Wildlife Quest. This is the second of our excursions that guaranteed sightings or they’d refund $100 cash, so they must be pretty certain to make such bold statements. Cocky bastards.


There’s not much to put into words that the photos don’t capture, so without further ado, view them by clicking HERE.

Day 5: July 11 – Skagway and the Chilkat Bald Eagle Preserve and Fjord Cruise

We woke up to Skagway, had breakfast and headed out for our day-long excursion to the Chilkat Bald Eagle Preserve in Haines, Alaska. After meeting our guide for the day, Steve, it was a short drive across the harbor to the awaiting boat to take us on a 45-minute fjord cruise to Haines. Again, the weather was amazing as you’ll see in the photos.
We weren’t out of the harbor ten minutes when Captain Dick Rice spotted a family of mountain goats on the mountain above. The trip was already satisfying. Steve, a young punk of 24 years from Vermont was the best guide we could have hoped for. I wish everyone was as excited about their jobs as this guy, who at one point said, “I can’t believe they pay me for this job.”


Once we docked in Haines, it was a 35-minute ride to the Chilkat Bald Eagle Preserve. There we boarded an eight-person inflatable raft to take in the sights, which included nearly 30 sightings of bald eagles. In a word, it was ridiculous.


I really don’t have any more descriptive words to drop, so just look at the photos HERE.

Day 4: July 10 – Juneau, Whale Watching, the Mendenhall Glacier and The Prodigal Son Returns!

Day 4 began when I opened the darkness repelling drapes at 6 a.m. as we passed the Sawyer Glacier and saw more natural Alaskan beauty than we deserved to see. And that was just from our suite window. We then went up to the observation deck to gaze upon the Alaskan glacial joy. Seeing these types of natural wonders makes even the most evil me realize that a God. I can’t say whose god for certain, Benny XVI’s, Martin Luther’s, Joseph Smith’s, Siddhartha’s or Muhammad’s, but who among us could envision this stuff? Not I, says the heathen.

We docked in Juneau and disembarked for our whale watching cruise and Mendenhall Glacier visit. It was an unseasonable warm 70 degrees in Juneau today. Sweaters and layers were virtually unnecessary, especially for my hyperhydrosis inflicted body. Oh how I wish I had a stash of Botox on hand for just such an occasion to self medicated, but those pesky “gotta have a licensed physician involved” laws get in the way. Come on, legislative branch, create a bill School House Rock style to lock up the real criminals…like OJ and Casey Anthony, bless their hearts. That, I was informed by my NC friends, is the Southern way to glaze over an insult – just add a dollop of “bless his/her heart.” Try it. You’ll feel better!

And just take a peek at what was waiting in Suite 414 when we returned. The faux Alaskan god of good luck, the Billiken, must have been involved. Either that or American Airlines got tired of the disparaging comments I’ve been posting on the blog and Facebook. Special thanks to Saskia, Carl, Gary and, as always, Pat Connolly, for working their magic to have my bag finally meet up with me. After Wednesday, I honestly never thought I’d see it again. On a related note, our bagless NC friends also got their bags and a bill from American for $56 for delivery to the boat. As of now, we’ve gotten no such charge and if we do, I may have to invoke my second amendment rights and do some convincing by popping a cap in someone’s arse. And, FBI, if you’re trolling for interwebs chatter, that was not a legitimate threat. Thanks guys.

Off the subject for just a moment… I officially hate our room fairies. They visit to make our bed in the morning, turn down our bed and close the drapes at night and at least one other visit to stock the fridge, etc. during a single revolution of our home planet. They don’t steal anything, for if they did, they’d be fed to fishes, but they do something MUCH more irksome to the OCD person, like me. They move my stuff. I don’t know if they’re doing it to add to the frustration of the luggage saga or if they just want to “f” with me, but OMG, I hate them so much.

I know they think they are cleaning or tidying up the joint, but for the love of Jehovah room fairies, DON’T TOUCH MY STUFF! Thanks to the RF’s, we almost missed our super awesome whale and glacier adventure yesterday. I put the tickets out where I would remember to retrieve them. When I came back for them, they had been moved. And who puts excursion tickets up on a shelf beneath other crap? I’ll tell you…the RF’s! And now I can’t find my pen.


Dear room fairies,
Please stick to making the bed and leaving clean towels and for the love of all that is good in this world, PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH MY SHIT!
Very truly yours,
Dave


Well, as the saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words and I’m already eclipsed 600 with this post, so I’ll hush now. I took nearly 1,000 today (no lie) of humpback whales breeching, fluking and bubble eating; harbor seals hanging out in the sun and a bald eagle eyeing us from above. I’ll just let you get to a smattering of them now by clicking HERE.

For Sweaters...

Mendenhall Glacier: Juneau, Alaska

Day 3: July 9 – Ketchikan and the Clover Pass Bike Ride

We pulled into port at Ketchikan, Alaska this morning at 8 a.m. Our friends in luggage woes, the NC mom and daughter, jettisoned immediately from the ship in an attempt to procure adequate running footwear and other fun things that they shouldn’t have to buy. Thanks again to American Airlines for sucking!


We showered and then had breakfast before disembarking for our Clover Pass Bike Ride, which boasted a “gently rolling paved road.” Gently rolling, my arse. This thing “scenic and invigorating” ride was an education in human punishment. If presented with the choice between the Clover Pass and being waterboarded while being forced to listen to a Ke$ha playlist on repeat, I might choose the latter.


The description warns that, “This tour is not recommended for pregnant women (check), guests with back and/or necks problems (check), guests with limited mobility (okay, that sound like me after the Clover Pass Bike Ride).” I should have known when the description also included, “A signed waiver is required to participate in this tour.” I’m dead.


It was a struggle and I made the entire 11-mile trek, but my legs we wobbly at the midpoint when we did a short nature hike in the Tongass National Forest. As we headed down the path, I honestly thought that I wouldn’t be able to ascend. I thought I’d die and be left as a nice meal for a grizzly. Needless to say, my legs we even more wobbly once the ride was over, but I’m alive…for now.


As for Julia, she made it for about 8 miles of the journey, but decided to bow out when Jared, our tour guide, explained the “ups and down” of the rest of the ride and reiterated the “gently rolling hills” thing. Gently rolling hills, my arse Jared. I’m certain she thought that I’d have to be medivacked out of Ketchikan to the nearest hospital or mortuary facility. But, alas, we are both alive, although maybe not well.


Keep your fingers crossed that all lost luggage meets us in Juneau in the morrow. To borrow a line from Montresor (in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado”), I have my doubts. Thanks for the quote Ed. It came in handy.


By the way, the postings have been few and far between due to either limited cell or internet availability and the fact that the interwebs cost 50 cents per minute on this vessel. Thanks American! Oh wait, that one’s not their fault.

See photos from today HERE.

Day 2: July 8 – At Sea

I woke up at 7 a.m. and opened our drapes to see green mountains off the port side out of our window. It almost made the luggage trials and travails worth it! We had breakfast and then went out on deck to see porpoises, drive a few golf balls and watch Julia’s Cardinal hat go for a swim with the fishes thanks to a gale force gust of sailing wind.


Other than that, we did a lot of napping while sailing in the open water. I guess we’re catching up on the sleep American Airlines has stolen from us over the past two days.


Speaking of American Airlines…We’ve now been told that the flight to Ketchikan was either cancelled or never existed and that my bag is now on its way to Seattle en route to a Sunday delivery in Juneau. Stay tuned to see if American Airlines perpetrates Lie #7.


While American sucks, there is much to be said for the artwork on the ship. There are original works by Salvador Dali, Marc Chagall, Joan Miro and Picasso and they are all for sale from $5,000 to $95,000 (the highest price I’ve seen yet). There is some amazing stuff that I covet. See the photos and enjoy.


And another thing, there are people constantly cleaning things. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s gonna get cleaned every day by someone.


See Day 2's photos HERE.

Day 1: July 7 – More Luggage Joy, Vancouver and the Silver Shadow

Insert loud buzzing alarm clock noise very nearby my left cochlea here at 4:30 a.m. After a shower only to dress in yesterday’s clothes, we boarded the shuttle back to the ORD and arrived at 5:30 for The Luggage Sage: Episode II. Our intention was to board our 8:17 a.m. flight to Vancouver to catch the Silver Shadow. One must be on board the ship, hopefully with one’s luggage, by the time it leaves shore at 6 p.m. The Jones Act states that a ship leaving a foreign port (Vancouver) cannot pick up passengers once it enters American waters. Nutshell – miss the boat and screwed you are.

Instead of writing a humorous paragraph about the lies and conflicting information we endured from poor listening and overall non-helpful American Airlines staff, I humbly submit these bullet points:

• Lie #1:
Julia: “Our luggage got lost and we’re flying to Vancouver today to catch a cruise.”
AA Liar: “Go to the International counter…” The International counter was apparently not the correct place to inquire about luggage as we learned from JoAnn’s demeanor.

• Lie #2:
JoAnn at the International counter: “Your luggage is not here so I’ll change the delivery info in the computer.” She banged away at the keyboard in an elaborate ruse to convince us she was helping and even provided a new claim number, but we would later learn that all of her hunting and pecking was for naught as it was not changed.

• Lie #3:
JoAnn at the International counter: “When your luggage gets here on the 7:50 flight, “they” should see what I’ve put in here and get it to your United flight.” She added, “American is only responsible for getting your luggage to Chicago, not Vancouver since you are flying United there.” Apparently, that’s not a lie.

• Lie #4:
JoAnn at the International counter (after a co-worker gets a phone call and talks to her): “Your bag is here. Go down to carousel 6 to get it.” Woo hoo! Stress is lifted and we head downstairs.

We made our way to the counter as the minutes ticked away only to get in line behind a couple whose bags were also lost by our favorite luggage transporters. If only American had action movie star, Jason Statham, on staff… After another 15 wasted minutes, we reached the counter and the very dim, JoAnne – not the International counter JoAnn, but baggage idiot JoAnne with an “e.” In my last job, when training our student callers, we stressed “active listening,” which really means actual listening. Listen to what the person says so that you actually hear them instead of incorrectly trying to finish their thought. So it was with JoAnne. She didn’t listen to Julia's story; she just jumped right in to say that our luggage wasn’t there.

Julia: “JoAnn told us our luggage was down here.”
JoAnne: “I’m JoAnne.”
Julia: “JoAnne at the International counter.”
JoAnne: “I don’t know her.”

Great. So since you’ve never met your co-worker who works 1,000 steps from you, we suffer. Thanks American.

• Lie #5:
JoAnne: “So you want it delivered to the Four Points?”
Julia: “No. We checked out of there and JoAnn changed it and put the Vancouver delivery information in.”
JoAnne: “No she didn’t.”

So what was JoAnn doing for the 20 minutes she tapped the keys like Barry Manilow? Interesting. By that time we finished with JoAnne with nothing resolved and even more confusion added, it was 7:05 and we had to go from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1. A semi-smart/helpful AA employee advised not using the airport tram to get there since it goes the opposite direction to get there. So we walked 2 miles uphill in the snow barefooted with 72 pounds of luggage in tow. We tried to check our bag only to be alerted that we couldn’t since it was less than an hour until departure and were directed to a different agent who said we only missed it by 2 minutes and he would check it and that we’d be “okay.”

Then we hit the security cattle call as the clock wound closer to the magical “you’re screwed” time. We made our way through the X-ray and the fondling to find that we were, of course, at Gate 29, fourth from the last possible gate on planet earth. After running through ORD like Carl Lewis mixed with a little Usain Bolt, we arrived at Gate 29 as it was boarding. Somehow, we made the flight.

We landed in Vancouver and Julia had three messages from American saying that my luggage was in Chicago and they wanted to know where to deliver it. Review Lie #5 above. Julia was wise and had been in contact with the travel company folks who were working some of their magic behind the scenes. Once we reached the ship, we called and were told that the bag had left Chicago for Dallas en route to Vancouver where it would arrive at 8 p.m. Since the ship was leaving at 6 p.m. we were told that it would meet us in Ketchikan, Alaska on Saturday. Where in the World is Carmen San Diego and what has that beeyotch done with my luggage? By the way, Ketchikan on Saturday was Lie #6.

It turns out that I’m not the only one with additional travel stress caused by the lies of American Airlines and their baggage incompetency. Our new friends, and fellow Wash U travelers, a mother and daughter from Wilmington, NC were in even worse shape. NONE of their bags made the journey with them. Nothing. Not a stitch of clothing other than what they had on their backs. And really, it was only my bag and not Julia’s. Things could have been much worse. The problem is that there are events requiring formal attire and three of us have no attire, much less any of the formal type.

So Julia and I went to the mall in Vancouver to pick up a few things so I’d smell less and the NC friends had to overspend in the boutiques on the ship. They got matching mother-daughter velour sweat suits of a fashionable nature, but now look eerily similar to Sopranos characters in duplicate.

See the photos from Day 1 HERE.

Day 0: July 6 – Luggage Joy

If you’ve been following the blog or Facebook, then you have an idea about our/my luggage woes. We left St. Louis for Chicago on American Airlines at 7:35 on Wednesday and checked our luggage upon arrival. Well, not really. We waited an epoch behind a woman attempting to buy tickets for herself and what I counted to be 23 kids. In my life, I have never seen or heard of anyone actually purchasing tickets at the airport, with a personal check no less, other than criminals trying to leave the country in TV shows. Apparently, it’s not as unusual as unicorns, leprechauns or Nessie. Who knew?


So after a wait the length of an elephant’s gestation period, we finally got to the counter only to be told we didn’t need to spend all that time waiting for Kenzi to be birthed due to Julia’s Gold status. Whatever lady dressed as a pilot. Our luggage was VERY heavy – mine was 54 pounds and Julia’s was 68. Fake pilot lady told us to get five pounds out of mine so that we didn’t have to pay the super-heavy-ass-bag fee of a Benjamin on both. After removing a Gap sweater and puffy vest from mine, all was well, our bags of cinder blocks were checked and proof was given of said checkage and we went off to our gate. As an aside, Lambert is still jacked for the tornado in April. It smells like a Lowe’s in there due to all of the plywood-covered windows. I like the look myself – very Tool Time with Tim Taylor.


After two hours of waiting and a flight time of 17 seconds, we came back to earth in the Windy City. We made our way to baggage claim only to find Julia’s behemoth piece of luggage (borrowed from Tara-bull) waiting all lonely like. We then visited the lost luggage idiots American has stationed (for looks only since they offer no actual help) to hear that my green Eddie Bauer roller containing all my Alaska-worldly possessions was never “scanned” in St. Louis, which was “odd” and would “probably” arrive on the next flight at 9:45 p.m.


For some reason, any time a monitor said that luggage from a specific flight was to arrive at, say, carousel 4, there was some cruel joke played by the travel gods that actually had it at carousel 9. Many folks were left confused and winded from all of the back and forth. Needless to say, my bag didn’t arrive in Chicago because it never left St. Louis. Thanks American! Insert Dave-laden sarcasm here.


We left the ORD for our hotel and finally got to our room on July 7 with only four hours separating us from the next time we’d hear our alarm clock buzz.

Another view

View from the boat

Snow...not clouds

But still no luggage. Thanks AA!

The Luggage Saga

It's here! Oh wait...no it isn't. Sorry. Vancouver Target, here I come.

I guess it could be worse...

Instead of being lost, it could have arrived like this.

Alaska...here we come!

It's time.

Here's a calendar and map to enjoy while you suffer in the humidity of St. Louis (or other crappy non-Alaska-super-awesome weather where you might live). Click on the calendar image to enlarge it. Thanks for playing!

Here's where we'll be and when. Please don't bother us.

Map. View and enjoy!

BLOG UPDATE!

I know. I hear you crying and I can smell your tears. It's been WAY too long since my last post and a lot has happened. What can I say? I like TV and I spend a lot of time watching it. There are special "Dave" grooves where I park it for viewing. Special thanks to Mega for introducing me to Tosh.0. Genius...simply genius.


Anyway, you'll notice that our last few posts came during Memorial Day Weekend once again spent in Chicago for the annual Bike the Drive. I'll post more about that later and get the photos up too.


In other news, I got some cool shots inside of the Basilica during my niece's Confirmation. I'll post those...maybe. Stop crying.


I know what you really want to know... What's up with the countdown clocks at the top? What's with Julia going to Italy? And didn't Dave just get back from Alaska? One question at a time, please. Our friends, we'll call them the Pherron's, due to the near 7-foot-tall husband of the Pherron Clan, is apparently a god at his work and, thus, gets to go on an all expenses paid trip to Venice and Rome. In order for their daughter to join them, she must have a chaperon. Julia is that chaperon and they didn't need two. So I hate them all since Rome is one of the two places I must still visit before I pass on an take my inevitable seat among the hell fires of Gehenna (Florence, Italy is the other). Did I mention that I hate them all? Even the child.


And Alaska? Remember THIS post? Well I'm going again only this time Julia gets to go too! She got chosen to be the host for a trip at work and I get to go for a steep discount! It's a seven-day cruise from Vancouver to Seward, Alaska. Then we'll take a train to Anchorage and board the Alaska Railroad to Denali. We'll be Audi 5000 from July 6 to the 20th, so try not to miss us. Two EXTREMELY strange things to note about this trip...there will be no driving and no baseball. I don't think I'll know what to do. Hopefully I'll manage.


That's about all for now, but I will get those other photos up soon. That is unless TV rears its ugly head to distract me.

Inside the worst place in Chicago

Worst place in Chicago

For Carney...

Pastor Jeff and the Tornado

WARNING: LONG POST AHEAD!

A few weeks ago, we did a service project at work and, as the previous post revealed, I did tornado clean up in Bridgeton, Missouri. I wasn't quite sure what we were in for when the five of us arrived at Grace Church and then I saw Pastor Jeff.

You know Pastor Jeff. He's the guy with the goatee and long hair in the 15-second spots on TV that tells you "God Loves You" and all that Jesusey stuff. His church was the one Kurt Warner attended when he was with the Rams. Well, Pastor Jeff was just standing there, not 20 feet away. I figured that he was begging to be in a photo with me, so like the many mascot photos I've had taken before, Pastor Jeff was today's mascot, so to speak. Unlike previous mascots, except for the random chicken roaming the stands for the Princeton (WV) Rays (yeah, I don't understand it either) or the bee in Binghamton, NY, I chose to converse with this one.

See, I'm not the most Jesusey guy in the world and, honestly, most "Christians" frighten me. Watching televangelists such as Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggert, Robert Tilton, Benny Hinn, etc., in the past made me extremely weary of such folks. I don't mind if people want to be religious and worship the god of their choosing, but history seems to be filled with wars, battles, skirmishes, inquisitions and prejudice all in the name of religion. Does God really hate fags and does he even refer to them as fags in the first place? Is it really pro-life to bomb a clinic with the goal of killing a doctor who performs abortions? I'd sure like to hope not.

However, I struggle with these and other questions like the whole Noah/Ark thing. Really? So you're telling me that this big old boat, X cubits long by X cubits wide, held two by two of every animal on the planet? Every animal on the planet? And how, pray, did Noah gather all of these animals, like say, the polar bear - indigenous to Arctic regions - and the camel who would never, in a million years, travel north to Coldfoot? Speaking of a million years, there's another problem - I've had a family member tell me that the bible says the earth is 6,000 years old at most, dinosaurs never roamed the planet and that the 200 million year-old piece of petrified wood I saw in DC is a lie. Maybe I'm wrong and science is wrong and life is one giant X-File only discernible by King James. So, again, I'm not the most Jesusey guy in the world.

But I'd like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character and can read people right away, so I decided to test my skills on Pastor Jeff. The aforementioned televangelists had two things in common: 1) they are "Christians" and 2) they were on TV. Pastor Jeff also shares these traits, so it was easy to put him in that category since I'm not all that Jesusey (not sure if I mentioned that).

But there he was at Grace Church on April 29th in his fitted white shirt and tie looking just like the guy in the commercials. I was ready to get my mascot photo as proof, but something else happened. Pastor Jeff made a believer out of me that day. No, I'm not any more Jesusey than I was on April 28th and I'm still convinced that lightning will strike any church I enter...twice.

Pastor Jeff made me believe in him.

Most of the interactions I've had with the "Christian" set in my life included them trying to convince me of something and dancing around like whirling dervishes shouting "praise Jesus" even ten seconds. I need to immediately accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior or I'm going to hell...I need to throw away all of my Prince CDs because of the evil emanating from them...blah...blah...blah. I didn't get that vibe from Pastor Jeff.

When I approached, the first thing he did was welcome me, shake my hand and ask my name. He was, in a nutshell, a genuinely kind man, which almost makes me a little ill to write, but there you have it. Either he's an Oscar-quality actor or, as I believe him to be, one sincere dude and I respected him for that. He wasn't pushy or thumping the pages of his Gideon warning me of the Prince-related hell fires. He was just cool. He told me about how he opened his church in Chesterfield Valley in 1993 only to have it under nine feet of water a few months later. During that awful time, he saw an outpouring from people who just wanted to help.

He not only talked to me, but he listened. I told him where I was from and why I was there and he thanked me for taking the time to volunteer. And when I asked to get a photo with him, he was all over it. After spending five minutes with the guy, it was no longer just the novelty of getting my mascot pic with Kurt Warner's pastor...it was something I wanted to do.

Then, thinking my five minutes with the pastor were over and done with, I walked over to my group to wait for the bus to take us to the tornado clean up zone. But who walks over to our group? Pastor Jeff. And what does he say? "I was just talking with Dave, here, and I wanted to thank you all for coming today." Seriously? Pastor Jeff took the time to remember my name and where I was from and then came over to talk to our group? I gotta admit it, the man kinda blew me away with that one. He stayed with us for another ten minutes or so until our bus arrived to transport us to the debris field that was once a neighborhood.

He reminded me a lot of our friends, the Christians, in many ways - just really awesome people who also happen to love their Jesus, but don't force-feed me Ecclesiastes when I cross the threshold. They are genuine, sincere people that I am proud to call my friends. And they even know about my issues with Noah and are still okay with me. They haven't gone to see Prince yet with me though. I wonder what that's about.

What does all of that mean, you ask? Am I quoting scripture and sitting in the front of church on Sunday now? Not so much. I know about manna from heaven, Austin 3:16 and the seven signs, but I still sleep in on Sundays. But I won't be fast-forwarding through Pastor Jeff commercials anymore and I'll encourage everyone I know to volunteer for Service International when he puts out the call. Other than that, I'm still the same evil Dave I was on April 28th. And no, I didn't mention the Christians only because they read my blog.

I almost forgot, click HERE to see the rest of the photos from tornado clean up day.