you sold me a gay giraffe!

Baseball. A game best enjoyed in Sepia (as per every baseball documentary ever made).






Actually, too much Sepia baseball and next thing you know you'll be complaining about interleague play and the DH ruining the purity of the game. From there you're only one step away from Billy Crystal getting in your face and talking about the Yankees with that faraway look in his eyes.

So Saturday night I went to the Bees game. The occasion? The return of the Rivercats, our hated rivals and the opponent for last year's Greatest Game Ever Played.

Okay, I think this might be the best picture of me ever taken.

If I ever die, I want this picture to be the "1980-20xx" picture. Not trying to be morbid or anything, it just never hurts to make this kind of thing known (see: future blog entry for more coverage of this topic).

Nearly all my friends turned out for this game.

The stands were packed, thanks to a special visit from this guy.

It's been the same guy in that suit for thirty years now. Way to go, Chicken.

His act was entertaining, but kind of weird. There was a scene with a sadistic lynching by those hated Rivercats. And this part was pretty baffling.

If you recall, we had a lot of fun at last years game because we were able to heckle away and make the Rivercats players sad (by "we" I mean, "the other guys" because my voice is too quiet to do any real damage). We had high hopes this time too, but the family sitting in front of kept giving us dirty looks and muttering bad swears in our direction. I guess I can understand. I wouldn't like it if a bunch of jerks sat behind me and made loud noises, but... come on. It's a sport game, not yoga time.

Here's the lady shooting a dirty look in Natali's direction (It looks like I'm speaking to this lady but I'm just watching the game. It's a trick of perspective)

So, you're offended by our loud talking? Well I'm offended by your prominently visible ass-crack and amateur lower back tattoo. Also, nice job buying beer for your 17 year old tramp daughter and her dorky boyfriend. I hate you so much!

Only one way to work off this aggression. Shootin'.

Just kidding. Discharging firearms should only be done in a cool headed and responsible way.

This was more of an exploratory trip, so we didn't go to any of the usual spots. Headed east, Park City way, to see what there was to be seen.

Here's a gas station out in the middle of somewhere. The locals sitting on the porch were very unwelcoming.

Lots of driving. Went through Hoytsville which I didn't even know had a main street. It did though.

The cemetery there is very old and has nice views in all directions.

Times were tough back in the 1800s. So many people died before the age of 12. How could you even handle that? Strength to persevere I suppose.

Had a hard time even finding a place to shoot, because so much of the open space was "owned" by somebody. How you can you even own land? That's ridiculous. The Native Americans are right. I mean, just because some jerk two hundred years ago walked a thousand miles and then put up a fence, and suddenly that land is "owned." All so decades later some jerk could decide that he'd made enough money insider trading and wanted to settle somewhere peaceful, so he can "buy" the "land" and "live" "there." Ridiculous.

Just outside of Echo we found some land that welcomed trespassers and decided to drop a few rounds on the other side of that hill there on the right.

I pushed my Scion to the limits, but it just doesn't have the wherewithal of Betty, my old Explorer. This is as far as we made it.

That reminds me. The Scion needs a name. I'll take suggestions here.

I didn't post any pictures of shootin' cause by now you know what that looks like.

not with a rusty bayonet

Desolation.

Three months ago (seriously? three months? wow, my life is such a waste of time) I went off adventuring with my grandpa Gordon and idiot Mikey. At the time we had agreed to seek another adventure on Memorial Day. I had completely forgotten about that until Gordon called Sunday night to see if we were still on. I invited Scotty along on this trip as he likes adventure, and it would be a good opportunity to fire some weapons.

I didn't want to go back to Eureka (been there, done that) so I planned to head southwest toward another abandoned minding town, Ophir.

On the way to Ophir you pass through historic Camp Floyd, where in 1858 one-third of the U.S. Army came to put down those pesky Mormons. The Army hung around for a couple of years but then had to leave to fight some other war back east.

Camp Floyd is always interesting. There's like, a field, and an old schoolhouse, and some other stuff, and - uh-oh.

Those look like Yankee tents. That can only mean one thing...

Oh shit! A ghost regiment! Doomed to march the fields of Camp Floyd for all eternity, this spectral brigade serves as a grim reminder of the damning essence of war.

Wait nevermind, they're just Civil War re-enactors. Not every day you stumble into one of these.

Don't worry, Wyatt Earp was there to keep the peace.

As usual, Gordon is on the outside looking in.

This poor guy wasn't invited to the festivities.

"But I've got all my Civil War stuff on!"

"Forget it Ricky, you can't come!"

Ladies and gentlemen, civilization.

Some guy put testicles on his truck. That's not a standard feature. Some guy had to have the idea, obtain the testicles, and then attach them to the truck. Plenty of time to have second thoughts, but no.

After we'd had out fill of Camp Floyd we crossed into Tooele County and found Ophir Canyon (just follow the signs), one of many abandoned mining towns that dot the West.

Perfect day to be up there. Pouring rain, light grey skies, mist rising from the coniferous peaks.
They had to give up mining in Ophir after one too many Balrog attacks. Either that or the hills ran out of riches.

The town is actually much more populated than I thought it would be. The 2000 census lists the population as 23, but there has to be more than that now. Including this guy, who lives in an old mine.

I have a feeling if you get too close he'll skin your hide.

Finally it was time for shootin'. Gordon had bought a couple guns of his own, which nobody knew he had. When I picked him up in the morning he hauled the guns out to the car and my grandmother asked "What is that you've got?" to which he snapped back "Nothin'!"

Gordon was irritated that Scott and I were unwilling to shoot in the National Forest, or on fenced-off land. We finally found a good spot to shoot and he took off a wanderin', just checking stuff out, as is his wont.

My grandmother likes to tell the story of the time in Germany where he wandered away and ended up on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall.

Here Mikey shoots a gun for the first time.

What a dope, trying to look all "gangsta."

Here I am getting ready to fire the .40, the one that made me go deaf last time.

I gotta give Mike credit for his camera work here.

In hindsight this might have been a bad idea. Good thing Scott is a crack shot.

This was the highlight. Scott recently got himself an M1 Garand, the standard issue rifle for U.S. infantrymen in World War II. This particular one dates to 1944. Awesome. You may know that I'm a wannabe WWII buff, and that the mini-series Band of Brothers is one of my favorite things ever. So it was real nifty to shoot this thing.

I'm wearing my helmet for added authenticity. It's a good thing I'm such a geek though because when the clip came flying out it bonked right off of my head with a nice "ping" sound. If I wasn't wearing the helmet I would have experienced very slight pain. I don't even want to think about it.

Overall, pretty great day.

When I dropped Scott off Gordon spent twenty minutes standing in his socks and washing mud off his shoes.

Here I am relating my exploits to this tiny human, as he looks at me with disbelief.

it's time i got back, it's time i got back, and i don't even know how i got off the track

What? You'll have to speak louder, because I can't hear you. I'll explain later.

Action packed weekend. Friday night was the Bees home opener, and you know how I love the Bees (don't you? is anyone even paying attention here?)

Beautiful night for a ballgame, except for the part where it was 30 degrees.



It was a fun game. The crowd was into it, and there was a lot of scoring. (both on the field and off, if you know what I mean!)

The Bees ended up losing for the first time this year, which I blame on poor fielding, and also poor pitching. Best heckle of the night, courtesy of Lee: "Nice catch, idiot!"

I should mention that I could have been killed by a foul ball. None ever came our way, but still.

Afterward me n' Lee had a very pleasant dinner at the Training Table. Bleu Bacon Burger and Cheese Fries. Not to be dramatic, but I could have died of a heart attack.

Huh?

That's funny because I've always called music "a bleu bacon burger to your ears."

Saturday I did a lot of moving. My stuff, Chris's stuff, a little of Emily's stuff, more of my stuff. If I had to describe the day in one word it would be "sweaty." Maybe I could have been crushed to death by furniture.

Daniel and Scott had been calling for adventure all day, so finally a group of us saddled up and headed down I-80 west, Tooele bound.

Here Scott (professional geologist) explains something about landslides.

The route takes us past the Big Salt Lake in all its majestic glory.

Tooele County is where my pappy done come from, so I'm a little bit familiar with it. It has everything you could ever need. A haunted valley, a mysterious military base, nuclear waste, toxic nerve gas, chemical weapons bunkers, underground fires, the new Area 51, and a very spicy pickle.

More importantly, there's a lot of open country for the discharging of firearms.

Conversation in a gas station in Stockton, UT (pop. 443):

"Is there a good place around here to go shooting?"

"Shootin'?"

The fella was a little perplexed by the question because really the whole county is one big shootin'. gallery.

We drove into the desert along the Old Mormon Trail, the same trail the pioneers used when they wanted to go shootin'.

By the time we found a good spot the sun was heading downward.

Luckily we found an area that had a pre-made foxhole full of shootables. Like a half-empty propane tank.

Scott got a new handgun recently. A .40. Same kind of gun a lot of cops use. It's really fun to shoot, but at the very instant this photo was taken I went deaf in my left ear.

Ear protection should always be used, kids. I'm a little better now. For a while everything sounded like it was coming from a broken radio and the ringing was non-stop. It's weird though, when I touch my ear it feels like it's numb. I'll give it a few more days before panicking.

Camera phone in one hand, gun in the other. Weird.

Lee had some fun taking shots.
We finally decided to shoot at the propane tank from about fifty yards away with Scott's Soviet SKS. We hid behind the car (fearing explosion) while Scott plunked away at it.

It didn't explode so we all took turns. I'm such a good shot I didn't even need to look.

Kapow!

We stopped shooting because we ran out of bullets.

Next on the agenda? Why food and sports of course!

Tooele has a dance-club/sport-bar called Tracks. Don't be fooled by it's location! It's very hard to get to. There was a time it seemed that we would never make it, and that not even Barabus could save us. Finally it was within reach.

We settled in to watch the last quarter of the Jazz game. I was watching the middle tv.

Everything was cool until they made us switch tables so they could clear out the dance floor. We left some time later and there was no dancing occurring.

Sunday, more moving. Also had the family over for grilling and the goose didn't even bother me too much.

I guess I haven't really talked about moving much on the blog. Anyway, I'm moving. Here I am building my bed.

Baseball? Guns? Tools? I feel so manly right now. Totally cancels out the messenger bag and my general spaziness and the fact that I'm unclear on how to jumpstart a car.