MN Vikings Will Win the 2015-6 Season Opener Says My Son Jackson And Here’s Why

MN Vikes vs the 49rs....
MN Vikes vs the 49rs….

1. Number 28, Adrian Peterson coming back with a point to prove after missing last season

Some "Old Guy", per my 13 year old son, is impressed with the MN VIkings new QB Bridgewater...what could this old guy possibly know....
Some “Old Guy”, per my 13 year old son, is impressed with the MN Vikings new QB Bridgewater…what could this old guy possibly know….

2.Bridgewater QB: 80% completion rate in preseason – and Fran Tarkenton (“Whoever that is, some old sports announcer guy”, said Jackson who is 13) said he is a very composed QB given this is still only his second season in NFL – he’s calm in the pocket

3. long term team building for the future, not just looking for marquee savior for one season

4. he watched Brett Favre win against them live in 2009 at the Dome, when everyone had left cuz the Vikings were down…but a last minute pass to Greg Lewis, originally called out of bounds, then challenged, call on field overturned for Vikes ….27-24 Q4

Nuff said….and if you knew how much of a sports hound Jackson is (ESPN SPORTS CENTRAL EVERY MORNING BEFORE SCHOOL SINCE FIRST GRADE!!!!), you’d bet on the Vikes this time….

State Fair Carny Prize Ball “Won” After Many, Many Tries….

My son won this ball at a Carney barker by hitting a plate with a bean bag, after the 30th try
My son won this ball from a Carny barker by hitting a plate with a bean bag, after the 60th try

So my son was very proud that he was able to smash a plate with a beanbag at the state fair we attended this past weekend…

He won a basketball, although not quite an NBA official league ball… was kind of a knockoff, and manufactured by some place outside the country.

He usually is pretty good with these carnival things, even though they stack the odds against him using every carny trick in the book…

But this year it took his about 15 attempts, at about 4 tickets per attempt.

Each ticket is about eighty cents.

I gave him a high five anyway……

Besides, we only get ripped off once a year by these carnival midway people. At least this year the guy didn’t blow his cigarette smoke into my son’s face like the other guy did last year…..

Naan and Spice and Starving American Children

When a car runs over your bread, it becomes naan - says my youngest non-international boy...
When a car runs over your bread, it becomes naan – says my youngest non-international boy…..

So we are all at a pretty expensive Indian restaurant waiting for our basmati rice, chicken curry, and all the other spicy stuff my kids won’t eat (they didn’t have mac n cheese or chicken tenders…I know, why did we bring them, right? Well, because, one, our babysitter cancelled at the last minute; two, sometimes they can handle it; and three, I didn’t feel like cancelling the hard won reservation just to go to Chuck-E-Cheese and watch a giant rat greet all my kids before they go spend tokens on stupid games for prizes like a pencil that has ‘Eat Chuck E Cheese’ printed on it).

When the naan was brought out, my oldest son wanted to know where the “normal” bread was, and when I said it was at home and that this was normal for this restaurant, he got all “pre-teen attitude” on me, the little snot.

Meanwhile, my youngest one said he’s eat the naan, because he likes bread that somebody stepped on……

5 year old on bannister captured before fall

As REM would say on one of their songs...I Am Superman....and I can do anything....
As REM would say on one of their songs…I am, I am, I am Superman….and I can do anything….

So my littlest boy, born when I was older, is more rowdy than his older brother.

I thought we’d get lucky, given our age, and get two little mellow children.

Not to be…..

My wife drinks a lot of coffee…strong Middle Africa kind of thick oil stuff. A pot of it a day, at least. The kind where when you pour the cream into a cup of it, it disappears in the blackness.

She thinks that may have made him rowdy, in that he drank what she drank, according to some books on the subject….

So this little one climbs and falls, climbs and falls…..

leading me to verify the deductible on our insurance,

pinning the nearest location of a hospital emergency room(2.4 miles, btw) in Google Maps app to my homescreen on my phone, and

losing my voice with the classic phrase “Be careful!”

So I got this shot, captured while he was smiling……right before he went KABOOM!

Infant Pain Medicine FAIL – Studies show this stuff is USELESS!

For pain due to teething....oragel type stuff works...the pink pain stuff syrup does not....from my experience
For pain due to teething….oragel type stuff works…the pink pain stuff syrup does not….from my experience

Ok so baby Dylan is teething like crazy, and it matters because the teething is keeping him awake at night while not affecting his vocal chords.

He bites, kicks, screams AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS, and hits everything, as well as throws his bottle across the room. When he is like that I feel like I am in the middle of the last scene of The Exorcist – the movie about devil possession with Linda Blair. Although I should say I would freak out if he were perched in one corner of the ceiling and spewed green vomit on me. But come to think of it, he did spew green vomit on me once, after he ate a whole bunch of spinach one night. I suppose it was too rich, with butter and sauce and all.

So anyway, that oragel stuff, THAT WORKS! I’ve tested it on myself when I had my own toothache; it numbed my gums up and got rid of the pain. Dylan hates it, and chews on my finger REALLY HARD while I try to apply it. I know…they say to put some oragel on a Q-tip thing, but I dont have time for all that when he is SCREAMING IN TOTAL AGONY AND DROOLING as well. Needless to say I no longer feel pain at the end of my fingers, as all the nerve endings have been severed or damaged beyond repair. Of course I have a new party trick; I can place my fingers over a flame without feeling the heat.

All biting aside, I now use a little chesspiece (its wooden and has little teeny tiny bite marks on it from YOU-KNOW-WHO) – big enough for him not to swallow – to keep his POWERFUL LITTLE JAWS from CLAMPING SHUT ON MY FINGER, and I have success with the baby oragel.

But the pink “pain medicine” syrup that tastes and looks like bubblegum – total waste.

He NEVER gets better after that stuff.

SO the other night during – how should I describe it – HELL – I was looking for the baby oragel but remembered my wife reminded me to pick it up from the store earlier that night when I was picking up a new bag of diapers. WHile at the store, I thought to myself while holding the diapers – ‘what am I forgetting?’ – but just moved on so my wife wouldn’t get all mad about me being gone too long leaving her alone with THOSE KIDS.

I forgot the baby oragel.

So I debate. Take HELLBOY with me to the 24 hour Walgreens to get the oragel, or rely only on the infant PAIN MEDICINE – and they convince you that it works because they have an ILLUSTRATION OF A SMILING BABY – of course they couldn’t show a photo of one after giving this “medicine” because IT DOESNT WORK.

He never feels better after it. One night, I did an experiment without DYLANS knowledge, and gave him candy syrup my other son JACK had gotten in a little vial for Easter. Because Easter is about the bunny rabbit and candy, not anything else.

He went to sleep a few minutes later.

The next morning my wife asked me how I calmed Dylan down. I told her it was sheer luck, since I applied the candy syrup instead of a hit of the $10 USELESS MEDICINE…..and then SHE proceeded to chew me out for giving Dylan sugar at night – since it has the effect of keeping him up as well as – well, you know, sugar just isn’t good for “them”. I reminded her he was ALREADY UP SCREAMING.

I also said I was trying to prove a point.

She asked me who I was trying to prove it to.

I guess I didnt have that thought out clearly.

I told her we could save a lot of money not buying this stupid useless medicine.

She said we’d spend all of that savings on DENTAL CARE FOR ROTTING HIS TEETH OUT.

I told her that wasn’t the point.

SHe asked me what the point was.

I said the point was this expensive bubblegum medicine doesn’t work.

She said DON’T GIVE HIM SUGAR AT NIGHT OR ANYTIME AS A MATTER OF FACT. It turns his little body into a YEAST FACTORY or words to that effect.

SO she still uses the $10 stuff.

And so do I.

I just think I shouldnt. And thats why I AM blogging about it!

Brett Favre sent a picture of his what….to who…and she wasn’t in it for the money..and he was in his crocs….wuhuh….wuhuh….how am I supposed to explain this to my BOYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????????

So Brett Favre took the Green Bay Packers to a Superbowl in the 90’s.

He also brought the MN Vikings as close as they’re gonna get for a while in a stunning season that ended against the Saints in 2010.

He also said this on a voicemail:

Jen – Hey babee….Aww…huh…uh….just got done with practice, got meetings here, in a couple more hours I’m goin’ back to the hotel to just chill, so send me a text, um, cause … uh…I’ll be in the hotel for a couple of hours … come over tonight … but uh, … but …if you, might give you my number, or … gimme a text, love to see you tonight, talk to you later – bah babee

And it is in that context that my son Jack comes home from school today talking about Jenn Sterger, the masseuse who was at the other end of the MIDWESTOLDERPARENTGUY CREEPY PHONE STALKING WHO DO I THINK I AM WAIT I AM BRETT FAVRE phonecall(s) – allegedly.

“So dad, why did Brett Favre send that lady a picture of his private parts when he was wearing his croc’s and call her?” Jack asked.

She was in the paper this morning. He must have had a friend talking about it at school today.

SO was his question: ‘Why did Brett wear his crocs while on the phone to her?’

Or was it: ‘Why did he send her pictures of his private parts and call her AFTER he put his crocs on?’


See, she said this morning in the paper she was never after any money or fame or anything.

“Jack” I said, “Is that where we keep old socks now?” I said, pointing to the top of the Xbox 360 console where he had thrown his socks and now was wondering why the game controller wasn’t receiving any signal from the said Xbox that had socks on it, which were in fact blocking the signal on the whatchamacallit.

“Huh?” Jack asked me, still trying to figure out why the G**D*** CONTROLLER WASN’T RECEIVING A SIGNAL!!!!!

I picked up the socks off the controller, he turned on his World Series of Poker game, and I started hearing the honky tonk blues music of the game…preceeded by “EA SPORTS……IT’S IN THE GAME!”

“Brett Favre did something GREAT for the VIKINGS last year, Jack.” I said. “He gave them dignity. He gave them respect.”

“Huh?” Jack asked, not missing a beat of his Xbox game, his little hands massaging the controller buttons left and right, toggling this way and that way…going all in with Texas Hold Em.

“Exactly!” I said to him. “So pick up after yourself, did you hear me?”

“Huh?” he asked.

“I said we don’t leave socks on the Xbox!” I told him.

“Yes.” he said, trailing off – his eyes still looking at and completely mesmorized by the screen.

“Do you still want to know about the Brett Favre picture to that lady?” I asked.

He looked up at me.

“Yes.” he said.

“Turn off the Xbox.” I said.

He did.

I sat down next to him on the couch.

“Ok, so he sent a picture of his private parts to that lady because he liked her.” I began.

“Why?” he asked

“Because he thought she was nice and he wanted her to be his girlfriend.” I said.

“Did you do that with mom?”

I knew what he said, but I needed a minute.

Then –

“Um, no. I just called her and asked her to go out with me.”

“Did you show her your penis?” he asked.

“Not right away.”

“When?” he asked.

“What?” I asked. Oh, I realized I said ‘not right away’ out loud. Shit!

“When did you show -” he began.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I didn’t.”

“How come he did?” Jack asked.

“Because he wanted to,um, he kind….okay, so he liked her right?”


“And sometimes when guys like a girl they want to show off and take their….actually…we, we don’t know why he did that.” I said.

“Did she like it?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because she told everyone that he did that.”


“Because she didn’t want to go out with him.”

“Why didn’t she just tell him?”

“I don’t know. I guess she did, but he didn’t listen and took that picture instead. I think.”

I looked down at our area rug. Then looked back at him.

“Did you see the picture?” I asked.


“Well, it’s gone, now, but yeah, she didn’t like it.” I said.


“So Brett was wrong for doing that. Some things we need to keep private.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like our private.” I said. “That’s why we call them private.”

He nodded.

“So did Brett Favre get in trouble?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Totally.”


“He had to pay a fine to the NFL.”

“How much?” he asked.

“About fifty thousand.”

“Didn’t he make twenty million with the Vikings?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I said.

“So thats not alot.” he said.

“Right.” I agreed.

“So is he retired?” Jack asked.

“Yes.” I said. “Very retired.”

“Dad?” he asked.


“Can I play my World Series of Poker now?”

I looked at him, then down to his controller.

Then back up at him.

“Yep!” I said.

With that, the tv came back on, the honky tonk music began again, and balance was restored to the universe.

I’m up all night for some reason and then I start to think about my 8 year old son Jack

So I’m up all night I guess, now, and my brain floats all over the place, thinking about work, the mortgage, the sub prime loan market, and my 8 year old son Jack.

He’s sleeping just fine, and there’s nothing wrong with him.

I just wonder when he’ll cross that line from where there are memories of when things weren’t complicated and into the time when life started to hurt.

I think of a time when all was good in the world. I was about Jacks age. I remember a particular Sunday night, watching the “Wonderful World of Disney” on tv.

They were doing a special feature of the movie 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea starring James Mason as Captain Nemo and Kirk Douglas as some gay sailor guy. I don’t know if he was gay, but he was dressed very Village People. Not that there is anything wrong with it. It just looks –well – gay.

The guys have just got done battling some rubber sea creature. The sailors fighting it in the fake sea water managed to keep their balance in the middle of a howling windstorm on top of a wet submarine (Nautilus) which I believe to be made out of wood. All this saltwater splashing around in their faces and nobody so much as blinks. You don’t have to blink in a movie studio water tank.

I ask my mom if I can have some more pretzels from the blue box of Mr. Salty brand. She gives allocates a few my way, keeping close guard over the box and the bowl of M&M peanuts she has next to her on the couch.

I am in the bean bag chair.

Things were good that night.

I want for Jack to not feel any of the pain I have felt. I want for him to have a guard or a shell up to fight off any of it.

I just don’t want it to be too thick.

I see a lot of me in him. He’s terminally shy, and when people might think he’s being rude, I know he’s just hiding into his own shadow.

That’s how I was..that’s how it was for me.

And when I got older, I started drinking homemade wine because of the buzz I felt doing it, and how it made the pain I felt temporarily go away.

My dad made wine when I was a pre-teenager. He made it out of grapefruit and oranges.

After several weeks he strained the fermented liquids into wine jugs, and the rest is history. Looking back at it now, I’m sure the stuff tasted pretty bad, but I remember my first taste of it.

He had taught me how to siphon the wine out of the mixing pail and into the wine jugs. I then used that advice to siphon just a little bit (About a cup worth) into a Dixie cup.

That first time, I did it when my dad was at work and when my mom was taking a nap.

It was the middle of the afternoon. It used to snow more back then, or so that’s how I remember it anyway. So I was at home on a “snow day” when the schools were closed. I was down in the basement. I downed the whole cup of the wine in a couple of swigs, kind of shaking off the aftertaste and shuddering as it ran down my throat on its way to my bloodstream.

I waited a few seconds, and I felt my stomach flip a little bit, almost like I was ready to upchuck what I had just tasted.I got a quick cold sweat, I felt my arms, face and chest get all wet with cold sweat.

It passed. I took a deep breath.

Then I did it again.

No cold sweat the second time around, but I did get the shudder and the tingling in the back of my head.

I put the siphon hose back behind the jug where I found it, put the cork back into the jug, and inspected the jug. It didn’t look like there was any of the wine missing. For a moment I wondered if my dad would be able to tell.

The family dog Taffy was lying near where the jug was -under the stairs in the basement, and was judging me. Well, maybe not judging me. But she was looking at me like a dog with human emotions, as if she would tell my mom later about what I was doing.

I looked at her and met her judging eyes, and whispered “Don’t you even think about telling mom”

She seemed to sense I was threatening her, and even though I was convinced she didn’t speak English, she kind of felt like she was going to be in trouble over something. She lowered her head, as if dodging a slap, and I knew I got my message across. I had sent my first message. And it had been received.

As I walked away, I turned one last time and gave her a sneer so she knew I meant it, and while she had raised her head back up to watch me walk away, she lowered it again acknowledging I wasn’t pissing around with her. I would kick the hell out of that dog if she told anything to my mom about this.

Then I realized that in fact she was a dog, and couldn’t speak English after all. In fact she couldn’t speak any human languages.

As I began walking up the stairs, the thought of our dog Taffy telling my mom about me sneaking the wine cracked me up and I stopped, held onto the railing, and started giggling for a few minutes.

I turned around and went to under the stairs, kneeling down and looking at Taffy, who, seeing my smile, started hanging her tongue out, panting, wagging her tail (Never again would a female do that when seeing me-animal or human).

“You’re not-“ I started before laughing, “You’re not going to say anything, right?” I asked, laughing.

Taffy started whining, in a kind of happy, needy way. That made me laugh even harder.

“Please, Taffy, please don’t tell mamma” I said, as Taffy came up and started popping her nose into my crotch. It made me laugh even harder.

I lost my balance and fell on the stairs. Taffy started barking. I put a finger up to my lips again, and shushed her.

Taffy wagged harder and started to bark. I shushed her with my finger up against my pursed lips. She got even happier, her tail banging on to the cement floor while she lyed there, admiring me. I started laughing.

“No, don’t” I said to her, almost crying I was laughing so hard. “Please stop…”

Over the next thirty or so years I would, among other things, vomit on myself in public, vomit on a sidewalk, blackout and lose my car, get mugged, show up at work with liquor on my breath from the night before, and call in sick many, many times.

I will never forget my first buzz. And I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.

I hope Jack doesn’t go there.

Part Two: My mom who had ALS and I watched In Search Of UFO’s narrated by Leonard Nimoy, the alien (Spock)

Bigfoot was ending. Then a new In Search Of was beginning. This One was In Search Of UFO’s.

“What else is on?” Mom asked. They didn’t have cable. Her other choices were golf, basketball, and a public television pledge drive.

“Lets watch more bullshit.” She said, taking a swig of Seven Up.

So, onto the UFO’s.

My mom asks me to get her some more pretzels. I offer to bring her the whole box (Mr Salty – blue box) she says with her weak arms its too hard to pull them out of the box and insulated bag lining. Just grab a handful and dump them on the tray, she says. I comply and when I get back and sit down in the light brown chair next to her hospital bed, the urine bag I am now used to, just a little bit, hanging over the side, I notice it is greater than halfway full, and I know my mom doesn’t want to have me drain it and reinsert the catheter.

“Mom, how much pop have you drank?” I ask.

“Why?” she asks.

Then she looks down toward me, her bed is high up relative to the chair.

She glances at the urine bag.

“Oh” she says. “Get me some saltines.”

I comply again and grab a whole wrapped line of saltines for her, the single squares packaged in a long line of about twenty, rip it open, and place the bag next to the pretzels.

The show is starting. In Search Of UFOs.

Mom?” I ask, wondering if I can grab a couple of pretzels off her tray.
She shushes me with her finger on her mouth. “Lets watch stupid farmers get kidnapped by aliens.” She says.

Nimoy is again narrating the opening sequence. The show opens showing the woods, and trees, from aerial vews.

“Is this Bigfoot again?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She says. “Shhhh!”

The narrator begins by saying something like “They come in the dead of night….in fields or farms or the middle of a forest.”

“Why wouldn’t aliens just land in Washington DC to establish contact?” my mom asks rhetorically, I figure.

“Maybe they don’t want to be noticed, yet.”

“It makes us look stupid, when they kidnap these stupid backwoods people, and tell them they have a cure for ALS – or cancer, or whatever.”

Point taken. She is right.

“Maybe they are waiting around for the right time.” I say.

“Well, if they are trying to take over the world, they probably think we’re stupid, if all they are kidnapping is these stupid people.”

After the opening credits, where they show still photos of the loch ness photo (blurry), Bigfoot still frame from the film (blurry, grainy) Emelia Earhardt, Stonehedge and those Easter Island statues, Nimoy comes on to open the episode.

“Isn’t he an alien?” my mom asks.

“He’s a Vulcan.” I say.

“There’s the proof.” She says. “He looks like an alien, even without his makeup.”

I laugh.

“I saw him in a Western – Gunsmoke or Death Velley. He looked like an alien gunslinger.”

I smile. She shushes me again.

Nimoy speaks perfectly logical, as expected, and talks about all the saucerlike vehicles photographed – again grainy and blurry.

The most compelling part of the episode though was the part where some guy in Wyoming was abducted by aliens. He loved the woods and hunting, and in one October in 1974, he was hunting and a little after 4 o clock this giant guy wearing a white robe showed up – although he too was a blurry figure. This guy, the hunter, blacked out, and when he came to he realized some time had elapsed. I love the reenactments. They show this guy waking up in the woods and looking around. They show his friends finding him and placing him into one of their pickups. He was incoherent. I’ve seen that behavior in Northwestern Wisconsin during hunting season. It’s called being drunk.

Anyway, this guy couldn’t recognize his wife, and he was disoriented for a long period of time. Instead of calling a doctor, he calls a UFO institute.

“Bullshit.” My mom says.

“Why?” I ask.

“He doesn’t go to a hospital for further treatment for an aneurism, or a stroke. His first thoughts are to call a UFO Institute. Maybe that’s what happened to me, I don’t have ALS. I’ve been kidnapped by aliens. I went to the Mayo Clinic instead.”

The UFO Institute sends a shrink to evaluate the people, who are obviously traumatized after being kidnapped by aliens, as I would be.
The shrink puts this hunter guy under hypnosis. The reason being, says the shrink, when aliens kidnap people to study them, they then tell the people they won’t remember anything after this, and then they throw magic alien dust to make the people forget their experience. The shrink says it not only with a straight face, but as if he has this confirmed through some particular research of his own on some alien race. ‘What else would explain these abductees not remembering?” he asks rhetorically.

“Maybe it didn’t happen” my mom answers, rhetorically. “Bullshit.” She says as she takes a couple pretzels and chomps them down.

Under hypnosis the guy starts remembering. A blurry tall guy that looks human, dressed in a white robe, speaking in English, evidently, motions the hunter guy to come with him into his spaceship, which is, of course, a saucer like vehicle. There’s no door to the spaceship. They don’t explain it, but it sounds like he gets beamed into the ship. Remember, the show Star Trek had already aired by then, so its not like it would be far fetched to believe there was such a thing as being beamed up. After all, Nimoy WAS narrating.

The shrink is skeptical. The truth here, the Doctors name is actually Sprinkle. Doctor Sprinkle. That’s a bad sign when the shrink of the UFO Institute thinks you might be lying. This is the guy who put out the magic alien fairy dust memory lost theory. But he confirms through some test that the guy is actually telling the truth.

“Bullshit” my mom says. She starts laughing, and that makes me laugh.

What does that have to do with my middle aged life?

Because I am unclear of the supernatural, I think a lot of nuts are out there keeping a lot of mythology of these things alive. I also think there are sincere people who might have seen or experienced something, so I don’t know. My mom was facing death right in the eye, and when we’d watch these shows I noticed she wanted to believe, as they say in X Files, she wanted to think that miracles were possible, that Aliens found the cure for her disease and would share it with someone who maybe wasn’t some hick out in the woods mixing his Vicodin with a twelve pack.

She grew more disenchanted the more we’d watch that show or shows like it on Sunday afternoons. Pretty soon to her, all the shows were just bullshit, and as she entered her “acceptance” stage of her own death, before ping ponging back to her “anger” stage again, she realized they were nothing more than what they always were – an extension of the Enquirer magazine at the checkouts of all the grocery stores she shopped at.

The Enquirer was her candy, and she always bought one when she went shopping.

She also bought candy, her favorite being M&M’s.

Part One: My mom and I used to watch tv a lot when I was taking care of her when she had ALS (Lou Gehrigs Disease) including shows like “In Search Of”

My mom and I would watch a lot of television when she was dying of Lou Gehrigs Disease. I would be on a sofa chair in her bedroom. She would be sitting up in her medical bed. There’d be the tray where she had her pretzels or saltines, and her soda (7 up).

The particular episode we were watching one afternoon was In Search Of Bigfoot.

In this episode they showed the grainy film image of Bigfoot walking across some place in the woods. I learn later this is known as the famous Patterson film.

In the mid 1960’s some guy named Patterson and his friend witnessed a Sasquatch (Bigfoot) walking in front of them and started filming it. Patterson said it was about seven feet tall.

In the early afternoon of October 20, Patterson and Gimlin were at Bluff Creek in Northern California. Both were on horseback when they first saw the creature. They said they were in shock.

Patterson estimated he was about 25 feet away from the creature at his closest. Patterson said that his horse reared upon seeing (or perhaps smelling) the figure, and he spent about twenty seconds getting off the horse and getting his camera that he happened to have on him because when you ride horseback, in the nineteen sixties, you always bring your movie camera.

Digression: Google or Bing the typical movie camera of 1965, and see how portable it was. Possible, yes. Likely while riding horseback – no. I’m just saying.

The camera was in a saddlebag and it took him about twenty seconds, he actually counted, I guess, before he could run toward the figure while operating his camera. He yelled “Cover me” to Gimlin, (To which I ask ‘Cover me with what?’ Like is this guy Gimlin going to do – what – if Bigfoot comes at him – throw bananas?) Anyway, our story continues-who thereupon crossed the creek on horseback, rode forward awhile, and, rifle in hand, dismounted (presumably because his horse might have panicked if the creature charged, spoiling his shot).

The figure had walked away from them to a distance of about 120 feet before Patterson began to run after it. The resulting film (about 53 seconds long) is initially quite shaky (and blurry of course) until Patterson gets about 80 feet from the figure. At that point the figure glanced over its right shoulder at the men and Patterson fell to his knees; on Krantz’s map this corresponds to frame 264. To researcher John Green, Patterson would later characterize the creature’s expression as one of “contempt and disgust.” We don’t really see that look when we view the grainy footage though. But this is the Zapruder film of Bigfoot, in essense, and it is all we’ve got.

So Leonard Nimoy says this and my mom, not even bothering to turn her head to face me, says:


“Its on film, though.” I say.

“Its Bull- Shit.” she insists. “The gorilla man looked disgusted? I thought he was thirty feet away. And why is the film so blurry?”

“He was nervous.”

“So was your dad when he took photos of the Canyon on our camping trip a few years ago. They aren’t blurry.”

“Dad didn’t see Bigfoot.”

“Either did this guy.”

The film continues. Shortly after glancing over its shoulder, the
blurry grainy creature walks behind a grove of trees, reappears for awhile after Patterson moved ten feet to a better vantage point, then fades into the trees again and is lost to view as the reel of film ran out. Gimlin remounted and followed it on horseback, keeping his distance, until it disappeared around a bend in the road three hundred yards away. Patterson called him back at that point, feeling vulnerable on foot without a rifle, because he feared the creature’s mate might approach- Said Nimoy.

“The creatures mate” my mom says, still able to lift the can of 7up to her mouth, taking a swig before putting it back down. “Now the monkey man is married, too.”

Nimoy offered up the believers reasonings why no bones of Bigfoot creatures have ever been found in the Pacific Northwest. Evidently, it was due to the many scavengers of the area and the highly acidic soil in the region.

They show the film over and over. Its always grainy.

“It looks like a fat guy in a gorilla suit on his way to a campground bathroom.” She says.

“They found footprints mom.” I say.

“Bullshit.” She says, taking a handful of pretzel sticks and chomping them for a minute. “That’s a guy with wooden boards shaped like big feet attached to baseball bats and stomped into the ground. Your dad could make those with his jigsaw.”

She had a point.

Bigfoot walked with a bad posture, hanging low and forward, like an old man hunched over in a forward lean.

“He looks constipated.” Mom says. It goes toward her conclusion he was looking for a bathroom. “Look how he’s hunched forward with those long arms. Your great uncle Frank walked like that in the last two years of his life.”

Nimoy says some witnesses have seen Bigfoot eating berries in the woods.

“Those two guys sat on a case of beer, smoked grass (that’s what mom called pot), and came up with the whole thing.” My mom said.

So my 8 year old son Jack asked me why America was shutting down tonite and I told him what we’d do if we were in Washington DC

SO my eight year old son gets in the car after school activities are done and we’re on the way home. My infant son Dylan is asleep in the back seat.

“Dad?” he asks.

“What?” I say.

“How come America is shutting down tonite?”

I thought – ‘Cuz they’re a bunch of f**kin’ idiots, Jack’

I said – “Well, all the Congress people can’t figure out how to spend our money.”

“What happens when America shuts down?”

“Well, remember we were gonna go on vacation to see all that stuff in Washington DC?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Well, if we were there, and America closed, we couldn’t see the first space ship to the moon, the first flag, Abe Lincoln’s hat, all the huge statues and stuff – we couldn’t go see them. We’d just have to stay in our room and play cards.”

“What if they stay closed when we go there?” he asks.

I smile when I think about it, like the Grinch did when he came up with that plan with the little dog.

“Well,” I say, “We’d go to one of those fancy Georgetown restaurants where all those guys have supper, we’d send Dylan in to throw their plates of food at them, maybe spill some hot coffee on them.”

Jack laughed.

I was just warmin’ up.

“Then, we’d take all those guys over to Obama, he lives in the White House, you know that?”

“I know that.” Jack says, still laughing.

“Let me tell you what’s really funny.” I say.


“We’d take him to Obama, wake him up, and have them do pushups for a couple hours, then we’d go back to those restaurants, and spill their steak and lobster all over them and tell them to open America up again.”

Jack loved it.

“We’d take ALL THEIR HOT SOUP AND CRABBIE PATTIES and throw it at ’em!” I say. “YEAH! We’ll torch the streets….then we’ll go to all their houses and wake them up and yell at them!”

Jack’s trying to say something, but is laughing too hard.

“Then Dylan would walk up to them, pull their hair, take their glasses and throw them and break them, and poke and bite their faces until they did what we said!”

I looked over at him. I gave him one of those evil smiles, like the Grinch.

He evil smiled back.

Then I gave him an ‘Atta boy!’ hug.