Yeah that was nice...you should go home now

With a mighty Yawp coming from the direction of Fresno California-the college baseball season has come and gone for 2008. My team did well, even made it to the big show in Omaha, but couldn't pull it out in the end. Such is life I suppose. So what to do now? Summertime on a dirt farm means one thing....its camp time. Yes, hundreds of beady eyed youngins will be descending on the dirt farm in the next few weeks and I am really looking forward to repairing the extensive damage they will cause to my field. Think back to the days of Sunday School for a moment. Remember when Moses was like let my people go and pharaoh said talk to the hand? Then God rained frogs and death all over the place and pharaoh was like that was nice...you should go home now. Well the best way to describe the dirt farm after little hooves of demon children have danced their wicked waltzes all over its surface is to picture swarms of locust swooping down from the heavens, eating all the plant life, and then leaving. All I need are a few tumble weeds scooting past third base and the picture of decay is complete. However, thats not the tough part of all of this.

During the season I am at the dirt farm approximately 70 hours a week. This means that much of my conscious week is spent there with only a few scant hours at home with FMDF and my hairy lads. So end of season means more time at home right...well sorta. Because of camp's weird hours I get to do my normal work, come home for a bit, then head back for a few more hours at night. Seriously, when does it end? I know I should not complain because I really dig the dirt farm and all that it entails. But every now and then I wistfully daydream about being in one of those jobs where you go to work at 8 or 9, come home at 5, and only work Monday through Friday-you know, a normal job. I know, KNOW, I would hate that life, but man it sure would be nice to have those weekends.

Anyhoo, here's the ole Dirt farm roundup:

• Wedding planning continues to scoot right along. I am in charge of getting the band as I believe FMDF has decided my little brain can only handle one project at a time. And thank God for that my wee dinosaur brain was getting overloaded there. I want a band to get the folks up and moving, maybe dance a little bit onstage, not scare the old people, and not play Sweet Home Alabama (God I hate that song) I think the problem I run into is that my mind has trouble discerning between having a tactful celebration of wedding vows and a raging kegger. Somewhere in there I think hey its an open bar lets get crunk like its 1999 and we are back in college. At that point I start looking into bands that wear afros and do a lot of pelvis thrusting on stage which is apparently inappropriate. The pelvis thrust gets a bad rap-nothing wrong with a vigorous pelvis thrust. It loosens your hips, cracks your back, and prepares you for a night of booty jiggling dance moves. Only when the pelvis thrust gives way to crotchal diddling and/or grabbing does a line need to be drawn.

• In the world of fashion I have taken some pretty radical steps recently. Apparently it is once again socially acceptable to wear flip flops. I have been tricked before by this fad (i.e. the Birkenstock craze of the late 90's) and ended up being that guy with the smelly Moses sandals somewhere around 04 so I gave this flip flop thing time to germinate a bit before I jumped in. The problem for me is I work in the sun all day long long and flip flops are not exactly proper work attire. Why is this a problem? Well I have what some people might call a "farmers tan" and as a result I have perma white socks on-even when i don't have anything on my feet. So when I wear my flip flops my legs go tan, tan, tan, tan, BLINDING ASS WHITE. Its difficult to tan the ole feet as well because going in public in my condition leads to staring, fainting, and the occasional guttural scream followed by an innocent bystander sinking to their knees whilst clutching their newly blinded eyes in agony. Oh well if you are going to make a fashion omelet you gotta crack a few eggs.
  

Well thats all I got for today. If you see the fashion landscape changing and I need to eliminate the flip flops or stop wearing my hypercolor zubaz pants let me know. I would hate to be that guy again.