Category Archives: Willy

My Great Shame

I cited a FNSC ending in My Great Shame a few journal entries back, but I never indicated what was My Great Shame.  A few people already know about My Great Shame because I exposed those people to it. I’m not sure if I exposed them because I wanted them to share in my misery or if I was using this exposure as an excuse to continue in my shame.

However, I have been motivated by other people’s strength in the last few weeks to quit my shame.  If Jen, Derrick, Jill and Sara can quit or work on quitting smoking,  I assuredly could give up my shame. It is after all, not a physical addiction.

I witnessed some of the strategies that others have used to quit smoking.  Cinnamon sticks. Only smoking at work. Not smoking at work. I tried in vain to step down with a crutch, but it didn’t work. I had to quit cold turkey.

It was My Great Shame, but I can proudly proclaim that I have been free of its demon clutches for three weeks now.

What is My Great Shame?

The Starz Original show Spartacus: Blood and Sand.

This easily has to be the worst scripted program to ever grace the airwaves.  I’m pretty sure that it is written by junior high students hopped up on meth. It is a combination of 3 things: extremely bizarre and gratuitous sex scenes, extremely ridiculous bloody battle scenes and the most pathetically-written-profanity-laced-dialogue ever.  The dialogue makes the dialogue in Games and Quietus appear that it was written by Shakespeare.

Despite the fact that it is beyond horrible, I couldn’t stop watching it and I was ashamed.  I knew it was clearly beneath me and didn’t belong in the guilty pleasure category like Just One of the Guys.

The best excuse I can give for watching this wretched show was that I couldn’t wait to see what ridiculously stupid thing would happen in the next scene or in the next episode.

I wrote to Andree, Baier and Russell and told them about how I couldn’t stop watching this terrible show. At least Baier and Andree watched it and came to a similar conclusion as me. This was truly the worst scripted program in the history of television.

I decided that I wasn’t strong enough to quit cold turkey. I spent a Sunday watching Stanley Kubrick’s Spartacus and backed it up with Ben-Hur. I figured watching excellent historical drama would cleanse my palette and free me from the grip that this show had on me.

However, while I was watching Kurbrick’s Spartacus I got a text from Jill about how her dad loved Spartacus: Blood and Sand.  She had rightfully mocked him for watching this terrible show. I didn’t think that this information would lead to a relapse for me, but it did.

On the Thursday of that week I was at Jen and Derrick’s house. Derrick told me that they were spending the upcoming Saturday with his parents.  I was gripped with an uncontrollable urge to expose them to Spartacus: Blood and Sand. I grabbed their remote and loaded up an episode from the OnDemand menu.  I fast forwarded through most of the episode and we watched the scene where Spartacus defeats Theokoles.

Then I just told them to ask Derrick’s dad about the show. 

I walked out of their house knowing this terrible show was out of my life forever.

The previous Friday was the Jucy Lucy experimental Friday Night Supper Club. Near the end of the night I was aimlessly flipping channels when I came across the brand new episode of Spartacus: Blood and Sand. I told Jay and Willy that they HAD to see this show. Everybody should experience what might be the worst show in the history of television. I apologized to Dawn for subjecting her to such a thing as this show.

Jay and Willy agreed that this show was wretched but it had a certain lure to it. You do want to keep watching to see what extremely bizarre and terrible thing that they are going to do next.

Dawn “pretended” to get a text message in the middle of the show and left.

I woke up the morning following exposing Jen and Derrick to the show and felt terrible about being powerless against the dreadful allure of this awful show.  My self-esteem took a beating. I looked in the mirror (not literally) and I quit Spartacus: Blood and Sand.

I walked away from the show that day. It has been 3 weeks now and I finally feel good about myself again.

RWPE #11 – Motion

This week we have a first time contributor in my sister Carla.  She did break the one and only rule of RWPE (the picture has to be taken the week of the project) but I’ll let it slide since it was her birthday last week.

This week’s submissions:


WEEK 11 - MOTION - MIKE VEST
Michael Vest

IMAGE LOST
Carla Stensland

IMAGE LOST
Dawn Krause

IMAGE LOST
Becky Perkovich

IMAGE LOST
Julie Johnson (In Flight)

WEEK 11 - MOTION - CHRISTOPHER D. BENNETT
Christopher D. Bennett

Although as a general rule I don’t like to comment on my RWPE, I will point out this time that this picture is completely motivated by the fact that Stephanie Kasper would be abnormally freaked out by it.

Julie has started a blog and I wanted to include a link to her blog so you can enjoy much more of her photography, writing and just general Julieness. For those of you that are like me and can’t get enough Julie Johnson (despite being treated for the medical condition) click on the link below:

The Joy is in the Journey

Dawn’s Weekly Poem

Motion

The tenderness you want to convey
Revealed itself in your words today
It beckons me to come out to play
But lingers for you to lead the way

Why don’t you put your plan in motion
And show me your secure devotion
Seduce my mind with romantic notion
Your signal is that magic potion

The theme for this week is:

SIGNS

Hopefully we continue to get lots of contributors. This is a fairly accessible subject, but of course there is no reason to be literal. There are all sorts of different kinds of signs in the world. Maybe the CEO of the William McAlpine Excuse Factory will even grace us with a contribution.

For those who had the same idea that I had, I looked it up. Tesla isn’t touring right now. Darn the luck.  I guess I’ll have to look for another subject that will be “blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind. Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign.”

Punch Myself in the Face

I had decided to shave all the way down to a dirty naked face last weekend. It had been over 3 years since my chin had tasted air and felt the rays of sunlight. My chin was dreadfully dry and desperately in the need of some moisturizing. Lots and lots of moisturizing.

For some reason, I allowed myself to be sold by Jesse on shaving down to just a moustache for one glorious day. Despite my better judgment, I did it.

On Thursday night I spent close to an hour in the bathroom slowly trimming my beautiful goat down to a dirty stache. When I had completed my task, I had to make a conscious effort to stop myself from punching my reflection. I hated that dirty stache.

Although I had stayed up well past my normal bedtime to complete this mission from the devil, I couldn’t sleep at all. I knew that I had violated the natural order of things.

I showed up for work the following day and tried to avoid everybody. Well, I did stop to see Micky. He deserved to see the stache since he has been a rock for me in the Busted Furnace Support Group that we have with Vest every few days.

Jesse showed up at work about an hour after I did. He was still sporting a splendid goat. I felt that I had been had, but he showed me his clippers. He went to the restroom and came back looking like the same type of doucher that I looked like.


Punch Myself in the Face

Punch Myself in the Face

After taking those pictures of Jesse looking so wretched. I allowed myself to be photographed in this horrible state.


Punch Myself in the Face

As I was posing for this picture, the World’s Greatest UPS Man came in with his daily delivery. He seemed to enjoy how wretched I looked.


Punch Myself in the Face

Then Jesse and I posed for a picture.

I have known Jesse since I moved from unannexed Boone to Urban Boone and enrolled in Mrs. Ford’s 2nd Grade Class. Over the years we have posed for many a photo together. But I have not a doubt in my mind that this is the worst picture of us ever.


Punch Myself in the Face

That night Jesse and I went to Trivia Night for FNSC. We had 3 missions.

The first mission was to drink as much sweet tea out of mason jars as was humanly possible. Check and double checked.

The second mission was to pilot Team Stache from the complete and utter futility that has been its history all the way to mediocrity. Check and double checked. Team Stache (I’m not sure what they were known as before FNSC showed up and revolutionized the game) had never finished above 3rd to last. We piloted the team all the way to respectability. We finished almost exactly in the middle of the pack of 24 teams. Although we would have surely finished higher if the Sports category would have included sports questions. The Winter Olympics and NASCAR are not sports. Although I’m pretty sure that the judges would have given us points for picking Brewster Baker as the answer for the question about the winner of the 2010 Daytona Left Turnathon. But we were overruled.

Mission 3 was to be the table that had the most fun. Check, double checked and triple checked. I knew every member of Team Stache (Jay, Willy, Geri D., Shannon and Jesse) very well with the exception of Papa Smurf and his wife. At the end of the night I wasn’t sure if Mr. and Mrs. Papa Smurf loved or loathed us. They seemed to run hot and cold on us and certainly weren’t fans of our lengthy discussion of how great Kenny Rogers was in Six Pack. However, Mrs. Papa Smurf called Geri D. on the following day to tell her one and only one thing – She had never had so much fun at Trivia Night and it was all because FNSC is the bee’s knees! She wanted to make sure that we would be returning to Trivia Night in 3 months. I think FNSC might just make a return, but the moustaches won’t. I’m kind of thinking that our team theme on that night will be “lumberjacks”. A little tribute to my boy Steve Roberts.

After our team huddled up and put all of our hands in and shouted “Mediocrity!!!” I tried to convince Jay to come over in the morning to take a couple of photos of the stache before it was clipped from my face and washed down my sink into the dark, dank drain of history.

Jay insisted on taking the pictures that night because he couldn’t stand to know that this moustache was even in existence.

Jay came over and took some pictures of the porn alter ego that Micky wanted me to create with the moustache. He even named such a character “Hammer”.

Here are a few publicity stills for a movie that will never exist starring “Hammer”.


Punch Myself in the Face
“Did you call a repair guy?”
Punch Myself in the Face
“Mrs. Robinson, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with this water heater…”
Punch Myself in the Face
“It is kind of hot in here. Do you mind if I take off my shirt?”

Although I think most people were just being kind, the reviews on the moustache were mixed. Mixed between people who were honest and people who were struggling to come up with something that didn’t sound cruel.

4 women from work commented that it looked “good”.
Andree said, “Are you hosting a Do-It-Yourself show on channel 11 tonight? You look exactly like Al from that Home Improvement show.”
Jen said, “I’m totally laughing out loud!” I will point out that she actually typed out “laughing out loud” as opposed to “lol”. These mean two totally different things. Jen also admitted on Sunday that she had shown a stache picture to Dionne from work. Her response was perhaps the most honest. “He needs to shave that immediately.”
Shannon said, “The soul patch makes the stache work.” I still don’t know what she means by make it work. As near as I can tell it doesn’t work at all.
When I sent the picture to Jill, I warned her that it would make her want to punch me in the face. Her response. “U don’t deserve a punch in the face! It’s not bad, especially considering NO ONE should have a moustache long term in the 21st century.” Jill must be a pacifist because I definitely deserved a punch in the face for looking like that!

Although Jesse will be celebrating Moustache Day again next year, I will be passing. I don’t think I have the discipline to make it through the day without hurting myself and that wretched upper lip hair.

Personal Photo Project of the Week No. 7


Shattered Dreams
Shattered Dreams

My mom came over to my house a couple of days after I made this image and was horrified to find broken mirror all over my dining room table. She asked how the mirror got broken.

“I hit it with a hammer. Well actually Jay hit it with a hammer and then I hit it with a hammer some more.”

This made her even more horrified. She pointed out that breaking a mirror was bad luck. I was horrified to be related to somebody that was this superstitious.

Willy chose the name Shattered Dreams. He likes naming his portraits. He also named Grizzly McAlpine:


Grizzly McAlpine - Framed

Shattered Dreams was taken during a FNSC at my house after we feasted at La Carreta and knocked down Tab Cola.


Friday Night Supper Club
Willy showing he lacks the courage of his convictions.

Friday Night Supper Club
Willy texting like a teenage girl.

Of course this was probably one of the nights where my furnace was on the fritz, so Jay cuddled up in my Snuggie and donned a mullet wig to keep warm.


Friday Night Supper Club

Friday Night Supper Club

It might just be me, but I think this look isn’t half bad for Mr. Janson. I’m so glad Jen gave me this wig, but I think I might just have to pay it forward.

A Phenomenal Week

Those with good memories will remember a few months back when I wrote a series of blogs about groups that I am in that have matching shirts. The keenly observant will recall that I said there were 5 such groups, but I only posted blogs about 4 such groups.

I was waiting until the final group had earned our way into being “blog-worthy”. That group made that leap from anonymity to greatness on Sunday night. That was just the conclusion of what was a phenomenal week.

The week started out to be not particularly great. On Monday morning I was nursing a nagging foot injury in my right heel from Sunday night’s brutal basketball doubleheader.

Then several great things happened. In no particular order (chronologically or in magnitude of greatness):

  • Bowling was cancelled so I got to nurse my foot injury, watch Hoarders and start on my basement sorting project.
  • Visit the Baiers and Andree.
  • Have lunch with Shannon at Dublin Bay.
  • Talk to Jill on the phone, twice.
  • Have three nights to work on my basement sorting project that allowed me to make major head way. Including creating lots of garbage, finding many an old artifact worth treasuring and creating a burn pile.
  • Have supper with Nader and seeing Extraordinary Measures. An extraordinarily average movie.
  • Made it to the gym twice, both times with the new fitness king Jesse Howard.
  • Ate my favorite meal in the world, sauerkraut casserole.
  • Visited Derrick and Dennis at work, where I got to listen to Derrick talk about guitars (one of my favorite things in the world to do) and where Dennis gave me a great description of what happened in the Personal Photo Project of the Week that I will publish on Friday.
  • Ushered at church. This was a bonus because I love the extra legroom I get when I usher, plus I spent time before church discussing my backup religion (ISU athletics) with Angie’s grandpa. It isn’t rare when my two religions merge, but usually it is the other way around. I’m at an Iowa State football game saying a prayer like this: “God, I know that you don’t interfere in the outcome of sporting events, but please let us make this PAT. I know that you are a Cyclone fan and isn’t there a limit to how much you will allow your people to suffer?”
  • Had lunch at Pizza Pit with Frank, Clarence and Derrick. Knocked down a substantial amount of drummies!
  • Talked Willy into posing for my Personal Photo Project of this week. It involved breaking a mirror and that is always fun!
  • Had FNSC with Willy and Jay at La Carreta.
  • When I went to the flower shop to buy flowers for a subject for RWPE, they had exactly the type of flower I wanted.
  • Took Nader to see Iowa State erase a 14 point deficit to beat Colorado on a miraculous finish.
  • My RWPE project turned out very well and has a few different interesting variations.
  • Introduced Jay to some of his old art that I found in the basement during my sorting.
  • Got a company profit sharing bonus that was easily large enough to cover my recent furnace repair.
  • The raise I gave myself (by canceling AFLAC and changing insurance plans) was on Friday’s paycheck.
  • Got an email from Sara where she quoted her instructor on how to do a pap smear. I won’t repeat it here, but it was a hilarious description of where not put your thumb. I will share that her instructor likes to compare the vagina to a self-cleaning oven.
  • Found out that I get to provide Jen with a tool that will help her with her stained glass projects.
  • Saw a bald eagle.
  • Came up with a new idea for an entertainment center for my living room. My Grandpa Bennett’s old workbench. I know this idea is pure unadulterated genius because my mom hates this idea.
  • Found out that I was born special and learned some family history to boot.
  • Made a beard shaving pact with Tony and Corey. If we lost our Ames Rec League basketball game, we all agreed to shave out beards.
  • Got some ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY, phenomenal news from Jill.

My week concluded with my Ames Rec League basketball game. Our team, The Little Dribblers, has struggled mightily season.I We hadn’t won a game yet this season. I had walked around the workplace guaranteeing victory, but Tony took my guarantee up a notch and suggested that we shave our beards if we lost on Sunday.

Based on how amazing my week had been, I was supremely confident that I wouldn’t be showing up for work on Monday as a dirty naked-face. I pledged myself to the pact.

My week kept getting better and better after the pact. When I walked into the gym on Sunday night I had no doubt in my mind that me and my Little Dribblers brethren would be walking back out of that gym 60 or so minutes later with our heads held high for the first time all season.

I should point out that when I say that we haven’t won a game this season, that doesn’t mean that we get close and lose it in the end. We have been on the wrong end of some fairly brutal blowouts. It is not an exaggeration to say that we have obviously become the girlfriend game for most of the foes in the league.

Maybe I should explain the concept of the girlfriend game to those that aren’t familiar with it.

The girlfriend game is the game where you force, bring or allow your girlfriend to attend. It is a game where you are fairly certain that you will win by a healthy margin. You will look impressive and it will reassure your girlfriend or wife that she made a wise choice in selecting you from the herd.

This is the way that men think. I’m pretty sure most women would rather be at home watching Gray’s Anatomy or whatever it is that women like to do on Sunday nights. Either way, it is not paranoia that forces me to make the observation that when teams play us, there are lots of lady friends in the other team’s cheering section that aren’t there when they are playing other teams.

For the record, only Donner has ever brought his lady to one of our games. She came to our first game and hasn’t returned since. Yes, the Little Dribblers have been sans female fans since our first game. It is a sad state of affairs, but it is understandable.

That isn’t to say that we are devoid of fans. Both Doug and Joe have brought their sons to our games. Thankfully they are both too young to lose respect for their fathers based on what has transpired on the court before their innocent eyes.

Based on how awesome my week had been, I warmed up with extreme amounts of confidence. The only thing that gave me cause for pause was the fact that Tony did not show up. Why had Tony suggested a beard growing pact and then failed to even show up? Did he know something that I did not?

We still had plenty of firepower. Firepower we didn’t have the first time we locked horns with our opponents. A game where we fell in OT after running out of steam because we only had 6 players.

This time we had 9 guys. 9 guys with a wide range of talents.

The game started out with the Little Dribblers jumping on our opponent. We opened up a quick 7-0 lead. But our opponent didn’t show any quit. They rattled off 9 straight points to grab the lead, but an old-fashioned 3 point play by Donner put us up for good.

The game turned into a defensive struggle with neither team able to score much against the other team’s tough defense. The Little Dribblers settled into halftime with a 19-16 lead. Not a comfortable lead, but we were clearly in control of the game and it was our first halftime lead of the season.

During halftime I collected my thoughts and sent out a score update text.

The third quarter was all about defense for the Little Dribblers. Our tough 2-3 zone suffocated the paint and our quick guards closed out quickly on their outside shooters to prevent any open looks.

We held our opponent without a single point for the entire third quarter. We were forcing our will on them, but there didn’t seem to be any quit in them. It wasn’t until the final few seconds of the third quarter when you could finally feel the air come out of the gym.

Memory is a funny thing and I can’t swear to every detail that I’m about to describe, but it is not the exactness of the details that is of the most importance. It is the general idea of what happened that is of consequence.

With about 7 seconds left we missed a layup. Our opponent rebounded the ball and headed up court. A little in front of the three point line, Chad knocked the ball free from the man he was guarding. The ball bounced to another one of our opponents, but Corey was there playing in the jersey of his man. Corey knocked the ball free and start dribbling towards our basket. I saw that there wasn’t much time left on the clock so I sprinted towards our basket and called out for the ball. Corey, with his legendary court awareness, spotted me out of the corner of his eye and burned a pass through 2 (maybe 3) defenders. Despite the smoking velocity I caught the ball and took a dribble and went up for a layup on my weak side. The ball left my hands and banked off the backboard and through the hoop. As my feet (still nursing an injured foot) landed on the court the buzzer sounded signifying the end of the third quarter. The Little Dribblers bench jumped up and celebrated in pandemonium. Our opponents lowered their heads and walked back to their bench. There was still 10 minutes left to play, but that play effectively ended the game. We had crushed their spirits.

The last quarter played out. The buzzer sounded (after a strange player where one of their players came completely across the court to foul me, while I was just dribbling out the clock after securing the final defensive rebound of the game) and the scoreboard shouted, “Little Dribblers 43 Other Team 23”. End of losing streak. End of frustration. End of being the girlfriend game, well maybe not the last one.

We sat on the sidelines and soaked in the feel of victory for awhile. I grabbed my phone and fired off a few texts to interested parties. Perhaps they weren’t all that interested, but they got a text message any way.

It didn’t take long for the accolades to come streaming in:

“WOW!!! U guys creamed them! CONGRATS 2 U, UR TEAM, AND UR GOATEE!!!”

-Jill Gorshe

“You really ‘dominated’ them!”

-William McAlpine

“Awesome! As it happens peggy didn’t end up getting the tickets.”

Shannon Bardole

“Congrats!”

-Jen Gorshe

Jay said something cool as well, but I accidentally deleted his text message. Sorry Jay.

Jesse asked very kindly if he could touch a Little Dribbler jersey so he could know what it feels like to touch a winner. I obliged him in this request.

Now that the Little Dribblers are winners, until we take the court again on St. Valentine’s Night, I can post a picture of the Little Dribblers jersey.


Little Dribblers

I’m sorry, the jerseys are not for sale to the general public.

Number 750

This is entry number 750 in this online journal. I’d like to take a little bit of time to archive some data. It is one of my peculiar imbecilities that I love meaningless statistics. Therefore, consider these statistics:

Every journal entry falls into at least one of sixteen categories. This is how many journal entries have fit into each one of these categories:

  1. Photography – 295
  2. Friends – 269
  3. Life – 238
  4. Family – 98
  5. Religion – 63
  6. ISU Football – 41
  7. Jaycees – 40
  8. Movies – 39
  9. Blogging 33
  10. Sports – 25
  11. Work – 25
  12. House – 24
  13. Writing – 23
  14. Comedy – 20
  15. Politics – 17
  16. History – 12

If you measure popularity by how many times a picture is viewed, these are the 10 (or so) most popular pictures in my Artistic Gallery.



#1. Outburst of the Soul (26 Views)


#2. Untitled (23 Views)

Grizzly McAlpine
#3. Grizzly McAlpine (22 Views)

Obama at Mike O'Brien's House
#3. Untitled (22 Views)

Obama at Mike O'Brien's House
#5. Untitled (21 Views)


#5. Jen Smoking (21 Views)


#7. UnHingd Publicity Still (20 Views)

2007 - Living History Farms
#8. 1900 (19 Views)

ACTORS
#8. Untitled – (19 Views)

Boone County Fair Photo Contest - 2008
#10. Campanile Self Portrait – (18 Views)

06-11-08
#10. US30 East of Ogden – (18 Views)

I know these numbers are somewhat controlled by the length of time a picture has been in the Artistic Gallery, but I am pleased by the number of black and white images that are high in popularity.

But it begs the question, what is the most popular subject in the Snapshot Gallery. What do people like to see from the “Daily Grind of My Existence”?


The Big Jesus Road Trip
#1. Jesse and I with the World’s Largest Cheeto – (25 Views)

The Big Jesus Road Trip
#2. Jesse with a Bob’s Dog – LeMars, Iowa (23 Views)

The Big Jesus Road Trip
#3. Jesse and I in backstage of the Surf Ball Room – (21 Views)

Shannon at Backbone State Park
#4. Shannon reading a map on our first road trip to Backbone. (19 Views)

Iowa State vs. Texas A&M
#4. Sumrall catching a pass against A&M. I think this picture is so popular because it was a popular picture to get spammed when I was having spamming problems with the galleries.

The Big Jesus Road Trip
#6. Jesse at the Surf Ball Room – (18 Views)

The Big Jesus Road Trip
#6. Jesse kissing the Blarney Stone – (18 Views)

Eastern Iowa Road Trip - 2006
#8. Jesse and I in Clinton on The Eastern Iowa Road Trip – (17 Views)

Bonne Finken
#8. Jen and Shannon making some kind of deal at Bonne Finken – (17 Views)

Bonne Finken
#8. Cousin Amy, Sara and Jen at Bonne Finken – (17 Views)

Eastern Iowa Road Trip - 2006
#8. Jesse and Jay on The Eastern Iowa Road Trip – (17 Views)

Eastern Iowa Road Trip - 2006
#8. Robert enjoying the view of the Mississippi River in Balltown – (17 Friends)

The Big Jesus Road Trip
#8. Jesse videotaping Big Jesus – (17 Views)

The Big Jesus Road Trip
#8. Jesse and I at the Sgt. Floyd Memorial – (17 Views)

I think what I have learned from this exercise is that people like to see Jesse and I having adventures. I think I’ll have to look into us having a few more adventures in 2010!

I will have to check back in on this when I hit journal entry number 1,000.

Proust Questionnaire Number Ten

Proust Quote:
“Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.”

Confessions Question:
Your idea of happiness

Confidences Question:
My dream of happiness.

Proust’s Answer:
I am afraid it be not great enough, I dare not speak it, I am afraid of destroying it by speaking it.

That Proust sure was a coward. “I am afraid of destroying it…” But he was from France and that is a country that isn’t exactly known for its courage.

However, I think there is some truth in the quote that happiness exists to make unhappiness possible. I think it is closer to the truth to say that unhappiness makes the experience of happiness richer. I would also argue that unhappiness is at its lowest depth before happiness arrives. But happiness is a much more powerful (although frailer) emotion than unhappiness. A little drop of happiness blows unhappiness out of the water.

There is a misery questionnaire question where I will repeat this basic information, but I think in general terms, the greatest misery is in waiting for a certain thing to happen. The greatest happiness is when that certain thing happens. That certain thing might not ever happen, therefore a person sometimes has to come to acceptance.

There are certainly things that make me happy. One of them ends frequently with the phrase “Sweet dreams.”

I have two friends that are diametrically opposed on the concept of dreams. One friend believes that dreams are an intricate part of life. They should be held up and examined every day and they should be pursued with every breath of your being. If you call his phone, the voicemail message will tell you that you have reached, “Dreams, Incorporated.” It is not a real company, so don’t give him any money. You won’t get it back. But your money will help him pursue his dreams.

This friend’s philosophy on dreams would best be summed up by the Marcel Proust quote:

“If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.”

The other friend thinks that it is pointless to pursue dreams because dreams can’t become reality. He once noted that he couldn’t “grow bat wings” in reality. All this talk about dreams is a humbug!

This friend’s philosophy on dreams would be best summed up by the Baltasar Gracian quote:

“Dreams will get you nowhere, a good kick in the pants will take you a long way.”

My philosophy lies somewhere in the middle. I certainly believe that dreams are worth pursuing. To not have aspirations or goals leads to somewhat of an aimless existence, but perhaps I don’t follow my dreams with the type of vigor that Friend One does.

If dreams are (what I think they are) our ideas of perfect happiness, then these are a few of my dreams:

Some of these are attainable dreams. Some of them are in the “bat wing” category.

To hear Jay say, “Want to come over and watch a completed version of Games 2 tonight?”
To hear Willy say, “And this is my beautiful wife…”
To hear Shannon say, “Wow! You organized that really well. If this is the caliber of person that Iowa State University produces, I should root for their athletic teams when they play anybody but my beloved UNI Panthers.”
To hear Geri D. say, “Opening night for the One Act play you wrote will be…”
To hear Jen say, “Maybe the dogs don’t like being dressed up.”
To hear Derrick say, “Yeah, Pink Floyd called and they want to open for us on our European Tour. I told them we would get back to them.”
To hear Jill say, “I think I have changed my mind… feet are funny, not gross!”
To hear Sara say, “I looked in the mirror and decided, I didn’t need that Hello Kitty humidifier.”
To hear Monica say, “I just don’t have room for all these paintings I have done. Here, take about 5-10 of these off my hands.”
To hear Baier say, “I really shouldn’t be that emotionally invested in a pro sports team in a city that is 3 hours away from where I live. I think I’m going to take that wasted energy and train my dog to be less racist. Perhaps research unicorn blood in my spare time.”
To hear Russell say, “I don’t even know why I ever even question anything you say about sports, politics, movies or life. Mr. Bennett, I am in awe of you. In the future, when you speak, I will sit silently and keep notes. It is my greatest fear that some of your wisdom will be lost to the following generations.”
To hear Nader say, “The new Harry Potter movie was pretty good.”
To hear Andree say, “Maybe I have too many televisions. 7 is a lot for 1 guy.”
To hear Scottie D. say, “I apologize for ever questioning your commitment to tenderloins. You may hit me one time.”
To hear Eric say, “Dogs are really better than cats. I don’t know why I couldn’t see that before.”
To hear Jesse say, “I’ve thought about it. Maybe I should worship somebody that actually gets some playing time during the Olympics, rather than that creepy looking Finch girl.”

There are more, but I might be on happiness overload just thinking on my dreams.

Formulaic Catechism

As the year is winding down and I am trying to set aside more time for photo projects I have decided to do something a little bit different with this Journal in the month of December. I’ve decided to reflect on the accomplishments and failures of this past year. The tool that I am going to utilize to do this reflection is the Proust Questionnaire.

I’m sure a few people are familiar with the Proust Questionnaire. It is often used in celebrity interviews. You will find it on the last page of Vanity Fair and at the end of interviews by the heinous James Lipton.

The Proust Questionnaire is named after Marcel Proust. I don’t know if anybody actually reads Proust, but I think just about as many people pretend to read Proust as pretend to read Joyce. He is widely considered to be one of the greatest authors of all-time. His life is best summed up by this line of dialogue from the movie Little Miss Sunshine:

“Yeah. French writer. Total loser. Never had a real job. Unrequited love affairs. Gay. Spent 20 years writing a book almost no one reads. But he’s also probably the greatest writer since Shakespeare. Anyway, he uh… he gets down to the end of his life, and he looks back and decides that all those years he suffered, Those were the best years of his life, ’cause they made him who he was. All those years he was happy? You know, total waste. Didn’t learn a thing.”

But Proust did not create the questionnaire. The questionnaire was a a popular parlor game in Britain in the 19th century. It was taken by friends and families and the questions were meant to reveal something about the tastes, aspirations and personality of the person taking it.

Although this game died out at the the beginning of the 20th century, its spirit still lives on in the form of the quizzes and surveys that people fill out on social networking websites like Facebook and MySpace. An activity in which I never engage, so it might come as somewhat shocking to some that I am going to engage in this little experiment.

There are 35 questions on the Proust Questionnaire. Most likely, I will answer about 22 of those questions. I will pick out the 22 least interesting questions to answer and leave the other 13 answers to your imagination.

I do invite you to answer these questions as well in the comments section of this Journal.

However, while thinking about this questionnaire and some of the interactions I have had in the last few days I has reminded me of some photo projects I abandoned a few years back. It was definitely for the best that one of these projects was abandoned.

A few of you might remember some of these pictures and the nature of these projects from the old RMB Picture of the Day days.

The Labels Project


A Scene from the Woods
A Scene from the Woods Still

A Scene from the Woods Still

A Scene from the Woods Still

A Scene from the Woods Still

A Scene from the Woods Still


I hope you enjoy my self-serving look back on 2009.

Happy Turkey Day!

This day is often referred to as Turkey Day in the slacker way that some people use to be overly casual about certain events in a weak attempt to display aloofness in the vain hope that they will be perceived as cool.

I am not one of those people. I can not be cool about a day that is as impotant as today. Although Willy has numerous deficiencies and I would be willing to list them for you on almost any day of the week, I do not think that he deserves to be referred to as a turkey. A bird that is both unintelligent and wretched to look at.

Willy is not a turkey. He is not even a jive turkey. Willy is merely Willy and while I have let many an important birthday slip by in the last few months, I cannot stand idly by while a member of FNSC celebrates the anniversary of his birth.

I say to you William McAlpine: Happy Birthday! You are not a turkey. Probably not a wolf either, but certainly not a turkey.


Iowa State vs. Colorado

05-19-07

Bonne Finken

For more quality images of Willy, click on the link below:

Old age never looked so good!

Why Would He Post This?

I don’t really believe in the Greatest Hits album concept. So it will seem somewhat hypocritical for me to reach back into the archives and re-post what I consider to be a classic of my past. But there is a reason for it, other than that I love the sound of my own words… 

Chapter 3: Tenderloining It!

Tenderloining it! I’m sure if you were to rush to your dictionary you would fail to find the term “tenderloining” anywhere within its pages. One of the great things about language is the fact that it is constantly evolving. What was not a word, a correct usage, or a correct spelling will over time be absorbed and become a part of the language. Language evolves. New words are added. Old words are left behind like a vestigial tail. 

“Tenderloining” might not be an accepted English word yet, but if I have my way, it will be a common term in the near future. It will be common to hear people answer questions about their weekend plans with the simple two word retort: “Tenderloining it!” or the variation, “The wife and I are going to tenderloin it up!” The variation will sometimes be accompanied by the optional international “raise the roof” gesture. Two high shrilled “whoos!” will also be optional. 

I personally had been aching to go tenderloining for almost half a year now. I have been passionate about the tenderloin ever since I knew such a sandwich existed. I have been interested in the concept of perfection since I learned that it wasn’t attainable. I have been fascinated by the concept of rankings since I received my first issue of Sports Illustrated as a child. I had been aching to go to a restaurant known as Darrell’s Place in Hamlin, Iowa ever since I knew that they served what was considered to be the best tenderloin in the state. 

Now if you lived in a sissy state like Nebraska, Massachusetts, or Arizona; having the best tenderloin in the state might not mean much. On the other hand, in a state like Iowa (where we know our meat) having the best tenderloin is quite an accomplishment. 

I had to make my own estimations though. A tenderloin aficionado such as myself can’t just merely take the word of somebody else. I had to see, smell, and taste for myself. Not by myself though, but with somebody. 

I am not a solitary creature. If I were to ever send a secret to Post Secret, that wasn’t something meaningful or actually deep, it would be that I don’t like to eat alone. But it just isn’t my fear of dining alone that made me seek out a compatriot for my tenderloin roadtrip. 

It is my belief that a roadtrip, although it can be made alone, is much better when shared. Although this wasn’t going to be a long roadtrip, it was still going to be over 4 hours roundtrip, plus dining time. I needed to find somebody to share the adventure. 

I took a look at the list of my normal roadtrip chums. It didn’t look promising. Most of my friends that would be interested in such a venture had the type of job where you have to work on weekends. My friends that don’t work on the weekend wouldn’t want to drive 2 hours just to eat a tenderloin. There was the possibility of Willy. He only works 4 days a week and does enjoy hitting the open road on occasion. Plus despite his vigorous workout routine, his dietary habits are far from exemplary. The only problem with Willy is that his planner is imaginary and he is notoriously flaky. Particularly when it comes to committing and then backing out of roadtrips. 

Then there was the possibility of Jay. He was definitely a fan of the roadtrip. He is as reliable as Willy is flaky. There were just two problems with Jay. The first one being that in order for him to get a Saturday off, he has to ask for it one lunar cycle in advance, do a rain dance, wish on a falling star, and pray for a miracle. Then if everything breaks just right, he gets a Saturday off. The second problem is that Jay on occasion likes to eat “healthy”. I was worried that we would make the 2 hour drive to Hamlin and when we got there he would embarrass us in front of the locals by ordering a salad. 

When it seemed that all was lost, I was given a surprise. I was discussing my desire to try the state’s best tenderloin with Baier one day. He announced to me that not only had he been to Darrell’s Place, but he was willing to proclaim it the best tenderloin that he had ever taken down. 

Eureka! I had my compatriot! Baier is from Audubon, which is a mere stone’s throw from Hamlin. Not only did I have a compatriot. I had a guide. I had access to a wealth of local knowledge. This might have been divine intervention. 

The only problem now was scheduling a time to make our pilgrimage. It didn’t turn out to be as easy as I had suspected. Despite us both not having most weekends free from work (me from the computer mine and he from his cushy financial planner job) it turns out we sure had a lot of other commitments. It seemed like our schedules were never going to line up. It seemed that the sun and moon crossed paths more than us. 

Yet when all hope seemed to be lost Baier came to me with an offer. He was going to Audubon with his family to witness a dance recital. I could ride along with them, but that would mean spending the night in Audubon. Or I could drive myself and then drive myself back. That would mean losing the communal spiritual experience that is the roadtrip. 

Then I got an e-mail from Shannon about the possibility of getting a little scratch for taking pictures of beans. After I met with her I knew that the shooting schedule was going to be tight. They wanted a pretty quick turnaround. I sent an e-mail to Baier telling him that I needed to back out of the trip. I would have to “work” on Saturday. It turns out that in this relationship I was the one that was flaky. 

Although I badly longed for the taste of the state’s best tenderloin, it did not hurt me too much to send the cancellation notice to Baier. I’ve been called a “true believer” in the past. This roadtrip that we were going to make wasn’t pure. This roadtrip wasn’t all about the tenderloin. This roadtrip was all about a dance recital with a little bit of tenderloin on the side. A little diversion. Nothing more. 

“Tenderloining it” isn’t a diversion. It isn’t eating lunch because we are hungry. “Tenderloining it” is the activity. It is the alpha and the omega. It isn’t the delta, the gamma or the epsilon. I wanted this experience to be about the tenderloin, not something we can do because we are in the area. 

Baier sent an e-mail back that consisted of his booing me. It is not the first time that I have been booed by him. I do not know if it is something that it is in the water in Audubon or if it is merely a Baier family trait, but it is the manner that he shows his lack of approval for the actions of his friends. Although I have been booed numerous times in the past, I had not been booed by him since I told him I was going to watch Barack Obama speak and I asked if he might be interested in attending as well. He booed me. 

I am not a fan of booing. When I attend sporting events I go to cheer for my team. I do not go to deride the other team. I only crack out the “boo” when I am facing evil in its purest form: the Nebraska Cornhusker football team. 

Like all the times in the past, I told Baier that he was a big kid now and he needed to use his “words”. 

He booed me again. Then there was silence. 

Late on Thursday I got an e-mail from Baier. The e-mail was entitled “My Final Offer”. This sounded an awful lot like an ultimatum. Although it has never been diagnosed (nor do I even fathom that something like this exists) I have a firm belief that I suffer from a Psychological Reactance Disorder. I considered for a second not even opening up this ultimatum. 

Then a vision of the best tenderloin in the state of Iowa danced across my head. I decided to take the risk of opening the arrogantly title e-mail. I gave Baier his “final chance”. 

Turned out that his final offer was actually a pretty good offer. He proposed that I take off work an hour early on Tuesday. He would pick me up and then we would be on the road to tenderloin greatness. Furthermore, he proposed an extra stop to help settle a family dispute. 

Baier’s old man used to run a Ford dealership in Exira, which is about another stone’s throw from Hamlin. The Old Man always claimed that Darrell’s Place did not deserve its place in the Tenderloin Pantheon. A place in Exira called the Red Barn served the superior tenderloin. Baier proposed that we call ahead and order 1 tenderloin to go from the Red Barn and then split it between us on the way to Hamlin. He was proposing nothing less than Tenderloin Judgment Day. 

The prospect of sitting in judgment on not 1, but 2 tenderloins excited me. I wrote him back immediately that his proposal was accepted and I looked forward to the 2 Tenderloin Roadtrip, as it will become known to future generations. 

The Tuesday came. It was New Taste Tuesday and it was Steve’s turn in the rotation. There was some debate about whether or not it should in fact be Steve’s choice since on the previous Tuesday he had vetoed Frank’s choice of The Café and then took us to Dublin Bay. 

Frank chose to take the higher road and allowed Steve to have the choice and Steve chose Indigo Joe’s. I was hoping that this would be a quick restaurant since I was hoping that we would have enough time left over for us to make a stop at Best Buy so I could pick up the 2 Disc Special Edition of “Pan’s Labyrinth” and Steve would still have time to have his smoky treat. 

As we were cruising down Duff I hatched a rather brilliant plan. Indigo Joe’s is a sports bar. I could have a tenderloin for lunch and have perhaps the first 3 tenderloin day in recorded history. (Although some killjoys would no doubt want an asterisk placed next to my record and it stated that in fact I really only had 2.5 tenderloins.) 

However, it would be a moot point. Indigo Joe’s does not have a tenderloin on their menu. A mistake they would compound by having extremely slow service. Which slightly surprises me since we sat in the bar area and I almost always get fantastic service when I sit in the bar area. That surprise aside, my dream of buying “Pan’s Labyrinth” was squashed. 

I returned to the mine content to just finish out my workday. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A little after 5 pm Baier showed up. I was done with my work for the day and I only had to hand off the kid that was job shadowing me to the Company President. It had been about 20 minutes since Angie handed the kid off to me and I had yet to show him anything that even slightly interested him. I offered to show him the insides of a computer and he said he didn’t want to see them. He was equally unimpressed by our server rack The South Parker Server was also a bust. It was after 5 so I handed him off to his next keeper. 

By the time I handed him off we were already behind schedule. So my brief hope of making a stop at Best Buy was once again extinguished. Instead I grabbed the Maxxum 5D and we loaded up his car and hit US30 heading west. 

On the way to Exira we made polite conversation. It ranged from the buffoonery of many NFL players to the times we shared at Dasher Mismanagement to religion to capitol punishment. They were the type of every day conversation that two intellectual giants have when they are sharing one another’s company. I wonder if it was the kind of conversation that Van Gogh and Gauguin might have shared when they lived together in that yellow house in Arles. Perhaps Baier and I could open up a colony in southern Iowa for fellow tenderloin lovers. That might just be a pipe dream though. 

About 10 minutes from Exira Baier called The Red Barn and placed our order for one tenderloin. Perhaps two dudes with less security in their sexuality might not have been able to split a tenderloin. Fortunately we didn’t have this problem. 

When we arrived at Exira he pointed out The Red Barn to me. At first I thought he was joking. From the outside it looked like a little shack. It was maybe ¼ the size of the Whistle Stop Café in Boone. It wasn’t even a barn. It was a tragic misnomer. The Red Tool Shed would have been or accurate name. I tried to remind myself that looks could be deceiving. Some of the best barbecue in the world is in a little dump called Big Daddy’s in Des Moines. This could be the Big Daddy’s of Exira and the tenderloin world. 

We didn’t stop though. Baier just cruised right on by. I peered at the window longing for the tenderloin that waited for us inside. 

“Where you going?” I demanded. 

“I’m going to give you the tour of Exira. Plus I need to stop at Casey’s and do some damage to their restroom.” He answered. 

Truth be known, Baier is not the type of guy that would use that type of description of the human body’s biological function of waste disposal. I just feel like if I didn’t make the description more colorful, it might be less believable. Women need to think that when men are together without female supervision that it is utter chaos. A steady stream of profanity, crotch grabbing, scatological humor, and rubber necking. 

It is safer to think that he said something along the lines of “drain the lizard, take the kids to the river, see a guy about a horse, or drain the main vein.” Truth is that he probably said something to the effect that he need use Casey’s facilities. 

Whatever he said, I got the nickel tour of Exira. It consisted of driving up one road and stopping at Casey’s. While we were at Casey’s I also decided to take a leak. When I got out of the bathroom Baier was standing in front of an ATM machine. He seemed to be staring it down. But he wasn’t attempting to use it. He was just staring at it. 

I broke his concentration by offering, “It must have impressed the natives when this type of technology became available to them two weeks ago.” 

“I’m just trying to decide if I want to get any money.” 

We stood there in silence for a few moments and then he indicated that it wouldn’t be necessary. Moments later we were back in the car driving the six blocks back to The Red Barn. 

We parked on the east side of the restaurant. The Red Barn is a rectangular shaped building. We entered through a door that was square in the middle of one of the long sides of the rectangle. 

Once inside I checked out both halves of the restaurant. On the left it looked like we had walked into somebody’s kitchen. It was not the industrial kitchen that I was used to seeing. It looked like my Grandma’s kitchen. The difference being that my Grandma has a pizza oven in her kitchen. I didn’t see a piece of equipment that looked that professional grade in this kitchen. 

The other half of the restaurant contained four tables. Three of those tables were filled with townies. I have often heard the term small town hospitality. I have often been the recipient of small town hospitality. Don’t think that I dislike small towns. To the contrary, I hate cities. I love small towns. That being said, we were not the recipient of any small town hospitality. 

The townies were staring bullets at us. For whatever reason, they did not want us there. I hoped silently that our sandwich was ready and we wouldn’t have to occupy the 4th table and wait. I didn’t want to answer any question like: 

“Where you boys from?” 

“You from the city? I can smell city on you!” 

“You boys ain’t from around here, are ya?” 

“Those are pretty clothes ya wearin’. You get those at a JC Penny’s” 

“You want to squeal like a pig?” 

My hopes were answered though. A teenage girl was working the counter. Baier stepped up to the counter. I subconsciously stepped with him. I didn’t want to separate too far from him. Just in case one of these townies wanted to back up the smack their glares were talking. 

“I have a to go order for Baier.” He said. 

The girl turned around and grabbed a brown paper bag that had his name written upon it. She came back and said, “$3.65” 

Baier pulled out his credit card and said, “Do you take credit?” 

The teenage girl began to speak, but before she could I cut her off, “Dude, we are in the sticks! You really think they are going to take credit cards.” 

As I uttered the words I realized that I had just exponentially increased our odds of having somebody make one of us squeal like a pig. The bad news was that we didn’t have a young Burt Reynolds waiting in the car for us. 

Baier was nonplused and repeated the question. 

Now that I had insulted the area, she seemed a little embarrassed to say, “No, we don’t.” I think she was wishing that they did take credit cards so she could have shut me up. 

Baier moved on to form of payment number two. 

“Do you take checks?” 

“Yes, we do.” She said. 

“From out of town?” 

“No we don’t.” 

“But my parents live in Audubon.” Baier tried to negotiate. 

At this point I could feel the eyes of 6 or 7 townies burrowing into me. I had my wallet out and was reaching for the cash that I had brought with me because I didn’t even think we would see an ATM machine where we were going. But before I got my twenty out, the teenage girl had turned and walked back to a wall. I presume that behind the wall was the fryer. 

“Can we take a check from out of town if their parents live in Audubon?” 

The voice that answered was not kind or friendly. In fact it could only be described as snotty. That voice answered, “I’d prefer not to.” 

The teenage girl came back up to the counter and gave us the bad news that we had already heard. 

“That is really okay,” I said pushing the twenty into her hand. “I have cash.” 

She took the money and brought me back my change. Baier grabbed the sandwich and I made haste to get out of the line of sight of the townies. 

Once I was back outside the fresh air emboldened me. Although I felt very claustrophobic inside the restaurant, I wasn’t quite ready to leave the fair town of Exira. I reached into the backseat and grabbed the Maxxum 5D. I felt like taking some pictures of the area. 

I had only brought my 50mm lens. It has pretty much become my standard lens and I hardly ever switch to a different lens. A fixed focal length lens is a good lens for a photographer to use when they are first starting out. It teaches you discipline. So I was not able to get any wide angle shots of anything, but I took some pictures of The Red Barn, the Exira town sign, and of some grain bins. 

I got back into the car and Baier asked if I wanted to go see the “Plow in the Oak”. It was nearby. I most certainly did. 

I had read about the “Plow in the Oak” on a few occasions. It is exactly what it sounds like. A plow that over time is slowly being devoured by an Oak tree. Legend has it that a farmer left the plow next to the oak to go off to fight in the Civil War. As the years piled up and the owner never returned the oak grew around the plow. Eventually it gobbled up the plow. 

I had even seen pictures of the “Plow in the Oak”. Jay and Willy had once stopped and taken pictures of the oddity on a rare roadtrip where Willy hadn’t flaked out. 

We headed out of Exira and stopped at the “Plow in the Oak” Park. It was decided that we should have dinner before desert. We split up the tenderloin and took it down. It was indeed a very tasty tenderloin. One of the best tenderloins I have ever had. However, could it compete with the tenderloin that legend claims is the best in the Cyclone State? That was yet to be determined. 

We exited the car and followed the signs that pointed us in the direction of what we had come to see. At the far south end of the park there is indeed an oak tree with a plow sticking out of two sides of it. Not much though. There was maybe two inches of the plow sticking out on both sides. If I was the type that did any reckoning, I’d reckon that the plow would be completely devoured within the next 5 years. 

As we walked back to the car Baier became excited. I think he was invigorated by smelling his native air. He stated that he wished we had more time so we could go see the “Tree in the Road”. 

Knowing full well what the answer was going to be I asked, “What is the ‘Tree in the Road’?” 

“It is a tree in the middle of a road.”
Honestly I am interested in seeing this oddity, but I’m more interested in a people that would just let a tree grow in the middle of a road. These aren’t my people though. I’m a Boonie. I don’t think I will ever quite understand the mentality that just watches a tree grow in the middle of a road and doesn’t think: 

“We might want to do something about that.” 

I merely indicated that we will have to do that sometime. Then I handed over the Maxxum 5D. 

“Hold this, please.” I said than I began digging in the backseat for a tripod. 

At the beginning of every great roadtrip I think about taking a roadtrip group picture. I always envision a picture of the group of hardy travelers pictured next to their noble steed. I never end up taking this picture because Willy flakes out and puts me in a foul mood. This time I wasn’t to be denied. 

“It is time for the roadtrip group picture.” 

“What is that?” 

“A picture of us with our noble steed.” 

I began to setup the tripod and the camera and I turned around and saw that Jason was sitting on the hood of his car. 

“Think you will have time to get up on the hood of the car?” he asked. 

“The timer will be set for 10 seconds, which will be plenty of time, but are you sure that your hood can handle this much weight?” 

This was the question I thought, but what I really thought was that this picture is going to look kind of gay. I wondered if it was things like this that had made some scholars postulate that Gauguin and Van Gogh had “got it on! Whooo!” 

“It can handle it.” 

“This might look a little gay.” 

He answered, “For two people less secure in their sexuality that would be a problem.” 

It was an airtight argument. Neither of us was the type to answer a question about a perceived feminine activity with the answer, “because I’m not gay” or “let me check, nope I don’t have a vagina.” 

So I started the timer and jumped softly onto the hood of the car next to Baier. Quite frankly though, I was never really very comfortable. It seemed to me that any moment the hood was going to collapse and the roadtrip would be over. That would have been a tragedy for Baier’s car and a tragedy for future generations would only know this roadtrip as the “Failed Tenderloin Roadtrip”.
 

Once I was back outside the fresh air emboldened me. Although I felt very claustrophobic inside the restaurant, I wasn’t quite ready to leave the fair town of Exira. I reached into the backseat and grabbed the Maxxum 5D. I felt like taking some pictures of the area.

I had only brought my 50mm lens. It has pretty much become my standard lens and I hardly ever switch to a different lens. A fixed focal length lens is a good lens for a photographer to use when they are first starting out. It teaches you discipline. So I was not able to get any wide angle shots of anything, but I took some pictures of The Red Barn, the Exira town sign, and of some grain bins. 

I got back into the car and Baier asked if I wanted to go see the “Plow in the Oak”. It was nearby. I most certainly did. 

I had read about the “Plow in the Oak” on a few occasions. It is exactly what it sounds like. A plow that over time is slowly being devoured by an Oak tree. Legend has it that a farmer left the plow next to the oak to go off to fight in the Civil War. As the years piled up and the owner never returned the oak grew around the plow. Eventually it gobbled up the plow. 

I had even seen pictures of the “Plow in the Oak”. Jay and Willy had once stopped and taken pictures of the oddity on a rare roadtrip where Willy hadn’t flaked out. 

We headed out of Exira and stopped at the “Plow in the Oak” Park. It was decided that we should have dinner before desert. We split up the tenderloin and took it down. It was indeed a very tasty tenderloin. One of the best tenderloins I have ever had. However, could it compete with the tenderloin that legend claims is the best in the Cyclone State? That was yet to be determined. 

We exited the car and followed the signs that pointed us in the direction of what we had come to see. At the far south end of the park there is indeed an oak tree with a plow sticking out of two sides of it. Not much though. There was maybe two inches of the plow sticking out on both sides. If I was the type that did any reckoning, I’d reckon that the plow would be completely devoured within the next 5 years. 

As we walked back to the car Baier became excited. I think he was invigorated by smelling his native air. He stated that he wished we had more time so we could go see the “Tree in the Road”. 

Knowing full well what the answer was going to be I asked, “What is the ‘Tree in the Road’?” 

“It is a tree in the middle of a road.”
Honestly I am interested in seeing this oddity, but I’m more interested in a people that would just let a tree grow in the middle of a road. These aren’t my people though. I’m a Boonie. I don’t think I will ever quite understand the mentality that just watches a tree grow in the middle of a road and doesn’t think: 

“We might want to do something about that.” 

I merely indicated that we will have to do that sometime. Then I handed over the Maxxum 5D. 

“Hold this, please.” I said than I began digging in the backseat for a tripod. 

At the beginning of every great roadtrip I think about taking a roadtrip group picture. I always envision a picture of the group of hardy travelers pictured next to their noble steed. I never end up taking this picture because Willy flakes out and puts me in a foul mood. This time I wasn’t to be denied. 

“It is time for the roadtrip group picture.” 

“What is that?” 

“A picture of us with our noble steed.” 

I began to setup the tripod and the camera and I turned around and saw that Jason was sitting on the hood of his car. 

“Think you will have time to get up on the hood of the car?” he asked. 

“The timer will be set for 10 seconds, which will be plenty of time, but are you sure that your hood can handle this much weight?” 

This was the question I thought, but what I really thought was that this picture is going to look kind of gay. I wondered if it was things like this that had made some scholars postulate that Gauguin and Van Gogh had “got it on! Whooo!” 

“It can handle it.” 

“This might look a little gay.” 

He answered, “For two people less secure in their sexuality that would be a problem.” 

It was an airtight argument. Neither of us was the type to answer a question about a perceived feminine activity with the answer, “because I’m not gay” or “let me check, nope I don’t have a vagina.” 

So I started the timer and jumped softly onto the hood of the car next to Baier. Quite frankly though, I was never really very comfortable. It seemed to me that any moment the hood was going to collapse and the roadtrip would be over. That would have been a tragedy for Baier’s car and a tragedy for future generations would only know this roadtrip as the “Failed Tenderloin Roadtrip”. 

Fortunately the ten seconds flew by and the shutter clicked. Potential disaster was averted. The hood and car were still in one piece as we hopped off the hood. We hopped back in the car and got back on the highway. Destination: “Best Tenderloin in Iowa.”
 

We pulled into Hamlin five minutes later. There isn’t much to the town. I’d say a few houses, Darrell’s Place, and a junkyard. Darrell’s place and the junkyard are right next to one another. Literally the east wall of Darrell’s place is facing a junkyard. There is a fence in the parking lot that separates Darrell’s place from the junkyard. 

I had only seen something like this on one other occasion. Not surprisingly, that other occasion is south of the Mason-Dixon Line. When we were in Louisiana and we were searching for a place to eat we drove past a Church’s Chicken that sat on a corner lot. On two sides of the lot were streets. The other two sides of the lot were fences that separated the restaurant from a junkyard. On that day we chose to keep looking. On this day, I accepted the junkyard as just a small town quirk. A story that could be told later: 

“The tenderloin was fantastic, but you won’t believe this little factoid. It actually shared a wall with a junkyard. I’m serious.” 

We pulled onto the lot. I was relieved to see that this was an actual full sized restaurant. Although it looked like it was a steel building and a little more like a year round State Fair food stand than a restaurant, I was glad for its size. At least if we were crowded in with townies, at least we could keep some distance. 

We walked in the door and sat ourselves. We choose a table that was near a stack of Darrell’s Place merchandise. I also noted that we were directly in front of a lottery machine. This restaurant had bathrooms. Two bathrooms, one for men and one for women. It had a salad bar. I had a full bar. Although it wasn’t enormous, this was a real restaurant. Not a food stand masquerading as a restaurant. It isn’t that I mind food stands. On the contrary, there is pork place that sets up shop in downtown Boone that is incredible. I just prefer that things be true to themselves. Don’t pretend to be a restaurant when you are a glorified food stand. 

I looked over the merchandise and although I had full intended to purchase some memento to remember the trip, I only came home with a belly full of pork and a brain full of memories. It turned out that the merchandise was horribly ugly. Not in the splash the American flag and an eagle on a t-shirt Harley Davidson style ugly. (Also known as Art in the Park ugly – I mean really who looks at a saw blade with a picture of John Wayne painted on it and hopes they have enough wall space left for that.) It was more like they had taken no effort to design anything at all. The shirts and hat only said the name and address of the place in a nondescript font. I decided to pass and I sat down across from Baier. 

I was facing the west wall. The west wall was filled with booths. Those booths were filled with people. Note that I write people and not townies. These people seemed to be interested in their own conversations and their own compatriots. When they did look at us, it seemed like they were happy to see us. We weren’t invaders from the big city horde. We were fellow travelers in the night, only seeking the best tenderloin we could find. This was the kind of small town hospitality you read about it. 

Darrell’s Place is the kind of place that keeps the menus on the table. We were looking at the menus when the waitress came to take our order. 

Baier had the unmitigated gall to ask me if I was going to get a tenderloin. Did he think that we had traveled over 2 hours for me to see what kind of burger this joint made? Did he think that I was going to embarrass him like Jay had once embarrassed Jesse and I buy ordering boneless wings at Wings to Go? Did he think when I was offered a heaven, I would say, “No thanks. I’m going to check out purgatory and Hell first and see what they have to offer. If I don’t anything I like I’ll probably settle on heaven if the property taxes aren’t too high.” This was the sole purpose of our trip. Why would I drop the ball? Would I look at the menu and be think “Ooh they serve catfish! I wonder if that is any good?” 

It was with no small amount of incredulous that I said, “We drove halfway across the state to try this tenderloin, why would I get something else?” 

The waitress then said, “You didn’t drive halfway across the state for this.” Then she shot me a look that said, “Keep your BS to a minimum mister. This is Hamlin, Iowa. We only want straight shooters in our midst.” 

I was going to be called out on the carpet for speaking the near truth. So I reiterated. “Actually we did. We got off work and drove from Ames for this. Although perhaps not literally half the state, I think it is in the general ballpark.” 

The rest of the ordering process went fairly confrontational free. The only hiccup being that they served two different types of fried cheese. Now here is another little secret for you. I love me some fried cheese. When the day comes that I have a massive coronary from eating all this fried food and the doctor tells me no more “fried cheese products”, I’ll have to look him straight in the eye and ask him, “How many more heart attacks do you think I can survive?” or perhaps I will just tell him that I read somewhere that fried cheese was an antioxidant and was good for your heart and I believe things I “read” more than what some doctor is going to tell me. 

We reached the compromise that Baier ordered one type of fried cheese and I order the other. I have no doubt that history will record this event as the “Great Fried Cheese Compromise of 2007” and it will be placed next to the other great compromises of history like “The 3/5 Compromise” and the “She Sure Married Beneath Her Compromise” that is seen the world over. 

As we sat waiting for our fried food to come our way I noticed that the people of Hamlin sure enjoy playing the lottery. Somebody must have come by our table to visit the lottery machine every few minutes. 

After the third person came by to self tax themselves and move the tax burden from the wealthy to the poor, our food arrived. At first I was a little bit worried. The tenderloin looked identical to the tenderloin we had just eaten in Exira. The conspiracy theorist in me was worried. What if The Red Barn had secretly infiltrated Darrell’s Place in a bit of corporate sabotage and stolen the recipe of the greatest tenderloin in Iowa? 

One bite into this sandwich assuaged my fears though. Although the breading was identical, the sandwich did in fact taste different. This was indeed the superior sandwich. The only thing that the Exira tenderloin had going for it in comparison is that you have to ask the good folks at Darrell’s Place to toast your bun. Yet having to ask for your bun toasted is a small price to pay for the superior hunk of meat. 

The fundamental question remains: “Is it the best tenderloin in the state of Iowa?” It was a great tenderloin. Perhaps the greatest I have ever had, but I am not ready to proclaim it the greatest in the state. I still need to do some research on this subject. 

As for the fried cheese? One type of fried cheese was basically the same fried cheese that you can find in about every restaurant in the world. I’m not knocking it. It is some pretty good stuff. 

The second fried cheese product was a bit different. It wasn’t quite as good, despite being unique. This fried cheese still had the consistency of a curd. It was good, but not quite as good. 

We finished up our meal and paid the bill. As we exited the building I noticed that we had lost most of the light. I grabbed the Maxxum 5D and took some low light shots of the parking lot and the junkyard. After I was satisfied with what I had I got back in the car and headed towards home. 

The ride home included more polite conversation about religion and the NBA and old times at Dasher Mismanagement and making fun of Guthrie Center. When we were about 20 miles outside of Ogden on 169 Baier said that he was disappointed in Russell. He had told Russell that Greg and Amanda were getting married and Russell hadn’t told Andree.
“What?” 

“Yeah, he never told Andree.” 

“I didn’t know Greg and Amanda were getting married.” 

Fortunately the ten seconds flew by and the shutter clicked. Potential disaster was averted. The hood and car were still in one piece as we hopped off the hood. We hopped back in the car and got back on the highway. Destination: “Best Tenderloin in Iowa.”