What’s a Floridian know about altitude? About elevation? About snow and moose? These were the questions I was pondering as we stopped the car along Rocky Mountain National Park’s Trail Ridge Road. Some 12,000 feet up in the air. Two miles above the sea level where I normally plant my feet. It was 46 degrees at midday, and there were wild critters running about — elk, bighorn sheep and mischievous-looking marmots. The marmots looked like they wanted me to hand over my car keys. Oh yeah, and there was a wall of snow taller than my car. A snow plow had carved through it just a few days before. (Nobody told Colorado it’s June — summer! — and it should be so hot outside that ice cubes spontaneously combust.) Y’all, we ain’t in Florida anymore.
Getting ready for tropical weather, Floridian-style
Clearly, we’ve got some work to do. I don’t mean to make light of a serious situation … it’s just what I do. But if there’s one thing that little puff of a Tropical Storm Colin taught us, it’s that we no longer know what we’re doing. We’re tropical turnips. We Floridians have gone far too long without serious weather threatening us. We’ve atrophied from battle-hardened, tropical troopers to sad, clueless chimps. (“So is a tropical storm when you crouch under your desk in fetal position or when you bring all the plants and cats in?!?”) I feel you, friends. And that’s why I think Colin was a great wake-up call — a reminder to be better prepared in case a far-worse storm comes. Here are some of the most important lessons I learned this week: • I don’t have a “mother” plan. This is not “what to do with my mother” — for the most part, she’s plenty capable of taking care of herself. What I’m referring to is a plan for how I DEAL with my mother. For instance, like the phone call I got at work on the day of the storm. It went something like this: Mom: “Brian, I need you to come over and move the silver to a higher location in case it floods.” Me: “Mom, it’s already in the attic!” Mom: “Yes, but I want you to take it up to a storage center in Charlotte, N.C., just to be safe.” Was NOT […]
Those summer beach things that we Floridians know
Every Memorial Day Weekend two things happen: I remember those who served and sacrificed for our country. It’s the meaning of the holiday. But then I inevitably traipse off to the beach with family in tow and am reminded of what it means to be a Floridian as summer sets in. It’s the weekend when we Floridians emerge from our cocoons and rediscover a world filled with sun, sand, waves and incredible tans that make us look like coconut-scented gods. And it’s all thanks to the time-honored tricks of the trade we’ve learned from living in a tropical paradise. As I sat on the beach this past weekend, I pondered the rules we know as residents of this sun-drenched state. • Rule #1 – Ice cream always dies a tragic death at the beach. On average, it only takes 3 seconds to wilt a Rocket Pop. Which is why the only time to eat it is at 9:30 in the morning. That’s what the smart Floridians do. It’s the only way to protect your expensive investment. “Dad, can I have an ice cream?” my daughter asked. “It’s 10 a.m.!” I replied. “Why’d you wait so long? You shouldn’t have wasted time brushing your teeth this morning.”
Flight of the dog paw sock
There is only one thing worse than an injured dog wearing a plastic cone around her neck: An injured dog wearing a baby sock on her foot. If you have ever had to do it, you know what I mean. It’s unnatural. It’s silly looking. And it’s more impossible than solving a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded. My dog , Lily — who must have a think-tank constantly working on new ways to get sick or injured — somehow wounded the bottom of her front paw. She then proceeded to lick and chew it until it was raw, swollen and the color of a plum. That’s when the UPS man showed up. Now, if the Mongol Hordes come to the house, my dog will surely serve them tea. But the UPS man signals a declaration of war. Maybe she thinks he is leaving a box of cats. He causes her to fly into a rage of ferociousness, charging the door and slamming her outstretched front paws against the frame with such force that the house shudders. This is not usually a problem … unless one of those paws is licked raw, swollen and the color of a plum. Now you can add bleeding to the list.
The (kind of) complete mountain essentials guide
To buy a first aid kit, or not to buy a first aid kit? That is the question. The eternal question. I mean, what would it say about me? No longer will I be the kind of dad who when faced with a child sporting a bleeding wound tears off a sheet of paper and says, “Here! Hold this on it until the bleeding stops.” That’s fatherhood at its best right there. (Forget whether it’s hygienic.) But if I buy this travel first aid kit, I will suddenly be prepared and ready for all calamity in a smart, reasonable and remarkably mature way. Is that who I am? My family is heading to Colorado soon. The mountains! We plan to do a lot of hiking and outdoorsy stuff, which has me thinking about all the essentials to bring. The things I could potentially need. And the things I just want an excuse to buy: Like the knife that Indiana Jones had. Imagine explaining that one to airport security!
Mining for Minecraft Mods
Excuse me if I seem a little tired. I was up late again last night, desperately trying to load a new Mod into Minecraft. What’s a “Mod?” Well, I’m glad you asked … because I have no earthly idea. Could stand for “modification.” Possibly. Or “my obedient dad,” as in, “My obedient dad is going to stay up all night pulling his hair out while trying to load this thing onto my computer game.” It’s anyone’s guess. My daughter has become a maniac for Minecraft, that video game that lets players construct whole worlds and travel through them while whaw, whaw-whaw, whaw, whaw. (I don’t actually know what Minecraft is all about, as I tend to tune out when she explains it.) What I do know is that everything looks like it’s made of square blocks — the land, the people, the animals, the buildings. “Oh, look how cute,” my daughter will say. “It’s an ant!” I strain my pixel-challenged eyes and say: “No, it isn’t! It’s six black squares walking around. These graphics are terrible!”
Ye olde creaky bones
What are you trying to tell me universe? I’m not understanding the mixed signals. Because a little over a week ago I went out and ran 12 miles. Twelve miles! And it felt great. Like a young man. And then yesterday, unloading groceries at the store I bent over to pick up something and pinched a nerve down near my … ahem … buttocks. Nearly doubled over from the pain. Considered calling 911. Considered calling for one of those motorized scooters. Felt NOT like a young man. What’s the message here? I’m not getting it. Maybe it was just a fluke. I pushed my cart into an empty cashier aisle. I hate empty aisles. You feel so rushed — panicked even — to get your food out of the cart. You don’t want the cashier to stare at you like you’re the reason she can’t go on break or win the lottery or something that doesn’t involve waiting on you. I was throwing things on the fast-moving conveyor as fast as I could when I dropped one of my reusable shopping bags. To make matters worse, the shopping cart rolled over the bag and I had to lift it up to free it when … SHAZAM! A bolt of lightning bit me somewhere between my hip and the aforementioned buttock.
Thompson a finalist in NSNC Column Contest
I just learned my weekly column in The St. Augustine Record is one of three finalists in the National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ 2016 Column Contest. It is in the Humor Category for circulations under 50,000. Ain’t that sumthin’? I’ll learn what place I got in June. See kids: Writing really ridiculous stuff can pay off! Read the three award-winning columns here (boy, that sounded cool!): • A letter to Little Joe, the cat • A TRUE Disney dream come true • Light bulb insanity Learn more about the National Society of Newspaper Columnists at http://www.columnists.com/
And the dog met the pine needles
There must be something about freshly laid pine needles that makes a dog think they are expressly for her. There must be something in their chemical composition that causes her to lose a good chunk of her marbles. There must be something that says, “Hey, my owner just got the yard looking so nice it could be the cover of a magazine. So, why don’t I go completely berserk and make it look like NASCAR ran a race?” Goodbye, pretty yard. Why did I even try? Let me say this, for legal reasons: I love my dog. Sweet, adorable, precious mutt. Brings so much love and joy to the family. A faithful companion. A family protector. A wonderful compatriot to my daughter. Hasn’t given any of us worms. (Bonus!) But there are times when I think about trading her for a guinea pig, or a stick of gum. Like the other day, when I thought I heard a troop of wild elephants barreling through the yard. “Is there an earthquake?!?” I screamed, running around the house, peering out windows, expecting to see trees shaking. “Are we being invaded? Have aliens finally come to steal our ice cream?”
To our aspiring presidential candidates: A little advice
I’m going to take a shot at something here. I know, I’m not the most serious guy. This column is better known for stories about my daughter or how a neighbor’s cat threw up on my car and it resembled Elvis. But I feel like with a titanic presidential election shaking our country, I can’t just sit here and waste this opportunity to share my own unique insight. So this week I want to use this space to speak directly to our candidates and offer them some much-needed advice: • Stop promising little things, like walls across the Mexican border or minimum wage increases to $135 an hour. Americans don’t like small. We don’t want practical and realistic. We want ginormous! We want promises so big that you sit back and think a 5-year-old must be running the campaign. Like a proposal to start printing all U.S. currency on Mars. Or a promise to make the next U.S. Supreme Court nominee a character from “Game of Thrones.” Or better yet: That we will end global warming by requiring all houses and offices to open their windows during the summer so the air conditioning collectively cools the planet. You want the country to embrace you? Start thinking big! • From polls I’ve read, these are some of the most unpopular candidates in a very long time. Their favorability ratings are so low — on both sides — that we all have to wonder, “Do their mommas even like them?” Which is […]