Rambling Josh

The kids and I kicked off our school year a few weeks ago. Back to the scheduled life of academia we go for another 9 month tour. I don’t care much for schedules and routines so it’s always hard for me to get back into the having to be places at certain times mind set.

I much prefer the flip-flop frame of mind I dawdle in over those glorious summer months. It’s a tough monkey to get off your back. Well actually that’s not a monkey I just haven’t had time to get my back waxed with all this work stuff going on and with the winter months approaching I may just hold off until spring.

For those poor souls that don’t know or have never experienced a “flip-flop frame of mind” you have some homework. I know summers has drained away like the public pool water leaving nothing but 3 months of sunscreen sludge and lord only knows what else clinging to the sides, but there’s still a few warm days left to complete your assignment.

Here’s the assignment: Put on your normal lace up, pull-on, Velcro, whatever you normally constrain your feet to shoes, and go for a walk, either around town, out in the yard, do some yard work, some house work, mow the lawn, walk the dog, go door-to-door collecting dryer lint and old toothbrushes, whatever just move for awhile. Once complete take note of your frame of mind and proceed to step two.

Step two entails slipping those nasty bunion riddled fungus fortresses into a lovely pair of flip-flops. It may feel strange at first with that strap between your first two toes but just like the thong underwear you dabbled in last year you’ll get used to it.

Now repeat whatever form of “walk about” you performed in part one of this assignment only this time with your knew friends Flip and Flop along for the mosey. Stop scrunching up your toes they won’t fall off if mind your speed and keep the hustle and bustle to a minimum.

Don’t fight it or you’ll end up with Flip or Flop lying lifeless behind you while your tender feet attempt to navigate the rocky road back to the scene of their spontaneous removal. They fell off for a reason, you need to slow down, you need to access your “flip-flop frame of mind” and become one with the thingy between your toes and let Flip and Flop be your guide to leisureness.

Now some activities are not safe for flip-flops, such as mowing the lawn, but strolling past the lawn mower to the hammock is a perfectly safe pursuit. I know there are also times you may feel the need to rush about and hurry, hurry, hurry and flip-flops just wouldn’t be practical. As a certified Flipflopologist I recommend you avoid those times.

Just like the above mentioned thong underwear, over time you will learn to love this form of footwear and the frame of mind it will produce. Another reason I support the flip frame of mind movement is that while wearing them you can’t sneak up on anyone, creep around in the dark, or flee the scene so flip-flops would also decrease crime rates.

Lower crime rates and decreased stress levels. What more can you ask from modest footwear?

You’ve got your assignment now go forth and flip-flop.

On August 17th through the 19th 27 riders participated in the 2nd annual “Highway 212 Gut Check.” The “Gut Check” is an endurance race across SD, via Hwy 212, to raise funds and awareness for the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation of America.

Participants have 48 hours to make it from the SD/WY border to the SD/MN border which is “normally” 412 miles. This year the SD Department of Transportation and Mother Nature teamed up to “dampen” the spirits of more than a few of the participants.

As fate would have it, on that very same weekend South Dakota got more rain than it had all summer, three days worth. As fate would have it, SDDOT decided it was time to replace a bridge along Highway 212 creating a 22 mile detour.

Twenty-two miles may not seem like much to the “normal” person, that’s smart enough to drive a car instead of a bicycle, but on a bike, in the rain, against the wind it adds up to about 2 extra hours of butt numbing fun.

Oh, alright it didn’t rain the entire race; the first 50 miles were dry and hot with a STRONG head wind. Then it began to sprinkle, then it began to rain, then it began to come down like the tears of a bike rider who’s trying to ride across South Dakota…against the wind.

Did I mention the wind? When I organized this event last year I checked all the available resources to find the predominant wind direction for the middle of August was from west to east. For three fateful days in August of 2007, the 17th through the 19th to be exact, the wind howled from east to west.

For those of you that don’t know and don’t care to find out a tail wind will allow a knucklehead on a bicycle to travel along leisurely at about 20 miles an hour. For those of you that don’t know and don’t care to find out a head wind will allow a knucklehead on a bicycle to travel along painfully at about 12 miles an hour.

When I crawled out of bed and gimped down the stairs on Monday August 20th I looked out the window to see my fickle old friend the West wind back from his three day hiatus. If you could kick the wind I know right where I’d kick it.

Jay Stevens, formerly of Lignite, also participated in the event. His sister Terri and Joyce (formerly Morgel) of Portal came from Bismarck to be his SAG. My wife and kids accompanied me as my SAG. SAG stands for Support And Guidance and Jay and myself had and needed plenty of both.

Seventy-five miles into the race at Mudd Butte SD, in the dark, in the rain, in the wind, in the lightening, Jay and myself decided to form the Mudd Butte Leapfrog Team A.K.A The Mudd Butte Merger. From that point on one of us would ride about 10 miles while the other dined and rested in the dry warmth of one of our SAG wagons and then switch.

The Mudd Butte Leapfrog Team, a rocket scientist and a college professor, made it about 300 miles before our backsides told are brains to knock it off.

Of the 27 riders, 19 were in the solo division, and of those 19 three finished the race. The rest of us tried, and most plan on trying it again next year. Trying and failing is much more gratifying than not trying at all. All in all we raised about $4,600.00 for the CCFA. Jay raised over a thousand himself, and found himself a permanent place on the Mudd Butte Leapfrog Team.

Thank you to all that donated to the cause and helped spread the word about the event. I was very pleased going from 4 participants in 2006 to 27 this year. For more information on this years “Gut Check” visit: <sdata.national.edu/GutCheck2…>

Dust off your bike and get it and yourself ready for next year. The Mudd Butte Leapfrog Team is currently accepting members.

For those of you keeping tabs on my cabin building progress, or lack there of, I’m happy to report that it has a roof on it now. Well it did when we left but that was two weeks ago so it may just be a pile of warped lumber, bent nails, and stripped screws by now, which wouldn’t be much of a surprise since that’s what we started with.

Just to catch you up to speed me and a good friend of mine, Paul Richter, were granted permission about five years ago from our lovely wives, for reasons unknown to us at the time, to buy 22 acres in the Bull Mountains of Montana. The Bull Mountains are located about 30 miles north of Billings and we’ve been attempting to build a log cabin up there for a few years now.

An authentic, we pealed the logs and hacked them up with a chain saw, log cabin. It’s been a mostly enjoyable project, with intermittent bouts of, “Why am I doing this?” sprinkled about.

Paul and myself found out a few things about ourselves and each other during our roof raising expedition. No not that Paul enjoys wearing women’s shoes and singing Barbara Streisand hit’s while doing carpentry work. That I already knew, what I didn’t know was that he’s a terrible carpenter, and he can’t carry a tune in a rusty nail bucket.

I knew I had a few gaps in my carpentry repertoire and I was counting on him to fill those gaps. As it turns out we have the same gaps, not as many as our roof, but close. After the first full days work on the roof we were sitting back admiring, or sulking, over our craftsmanship when I said, “That doesn’t look like a full days work.” To which Paul replied, “Yeah, looks like about two hours of work.”

Two hours for someone that didn’t spend high school shop class building spice racks and shoddy shelves. Two hours for someone that realizes that jerryrigging one screw up will only lead to more advanced jerryrigging on a bigger screw up caused by the first jerryrigging. Jerryrigging is a viscous cycle in the construction of roof by two educated idiots.

My wife tried to comfort our battered, splintered, and bent nail ego’s by telling us that it looked great and we were doing a fine job. However, I was suspicious of her sincerity after her and the kids burst into laughter shortly after she said it. It wasn’t so much the laughing it was the finger pointing that really hurt.

The Environmental Protection Agency wanting to use our cabin as a poster boy to stop logging didn’t do much for our confidence either. Jesus was a carpenter, but if he had a hand in this cabin his Father would have sent a natural disaster to rid it from the earth.

When our lack of carpentry skills became more and more apparent Paul and myself just kept muttering to one another, “It’s just a cabin.” That phrase became our mantra whenever something wasn’t level or square. Yes we said it a lot. Half way through the roof building project the level and square were banished for insubordination.

We established early on that nobody with any carpentry skills or anybody that has ever been near something built by a carpenter is allowed within 300 feet of our cabin unless they sign a waiver stating that they will not point, laugh, snicker, raise eyebrows, or make any mention of the words level and/or square. You are not allowed to view the cabin during daylight hours or under the light of any moon greater than a crescent.

If you do solemnly swear to the above limitation you will be granted permission to view and use the cabin. There’s a lot of lumber in that roof, heavy lumber, topped of with steel roofing, steel with sharp jagged edges.

If you need anything I’ll be sleeping outside in my tent.

My family went camping with the families of two of my good friends last weekend and we all had a great time. There were 13 of us in all, six adults and seven yard apes. We only camped for two days but my family alone needed an SUV full of stuff to do it.

Loading all that stuff into the vehicle always makes me think back to my early college years when I would move home from college for the summer and all of my stuff would fit in the back seat of my tiny little car. My “car” was actually a glorified roller skate powered by two geriatric squirrels and a hamster with a club foot.

It was small but everything I owned fit in it with room for at least one medium sized hitchhiker and his pet chimp, if he happened to have one. Now it takes Noah and bunch of cubics to go on a two day camping trip 30 minutes from where we live. Its nobodies fault, except for possibly my wife and kids, because I only brought two things.

I brought my guitar and a coon skin cap. You can brush and floss your teeth with the tail of the cap, place it over a rock for a firm but ergonomically correct pillow, use it as a cereal bowl, and I’ve heard some people actually wear them.

As for the guitar well it’s uses are endless, firewood, strings for snaring wild game (using the hat as bait of course), cereal bowl, wash basin, tennis racket, fishing net, and I’ve heard some people actually play them.

It seems we need so much stuff nowadays, and if we don’t need it we want it, and if we don’t want it we think someone else might. Whatever happened to the days when all you got for Christmas was an orange and you were happy to get that? I’ve heard of them days but never was on the receiving end of such a Christmas miracle.

I think it’s because kids back then had what every kid always wants for Christmas, a pony. Everyone had pony’s back in those “all I got for Christmas was an orange” days. The parents were sitting around putting their Christmas list together, see the kids frolicking around with their ponies, and think “They’ve got a pony what gift could possibly rise above a pony?”

I’ll tell you, “Nothing.” That’s why they got an orange; they topped out the Christmas list. So keep asking for a pony for Christmas if you are prepared to receive a nice juicy orange for every Christmas thereafter.

Not a fruit basket or fruit cake, just a chocked full of vitamin C solitary orange. But then what do you care you’ve got a pony and an orange to ward off the sniffles during cold and flu season so you can ride your precious pony all that much more.

What do ponies and oranges have to do with camping with good friends and too much stuff? I don’t know….they’re both sweet, stinky, and hairy. What makes people drag all their stuff out of perfectly good houses with perfectly comfortable beds to sleep in a musty damp tent on a half inflated air mattress that has the sleep number comfort level of a sack of shoes?

The pure enjoyment of waving flaming balls of marshmallow around on hot pointy sticks while you’re hopped up on Hershey’s chocolate of course. Try that on a pony.

The word on the streets is that the Lignite Centennial was a success and I for one am inclined to agree with those words on that street. My family had a great time. Sierra and Jackson made several new friends that they can get in touch with again at Lignite’s 125th Celebration.

I was happily pondering the 125th until I put my minimal math skills to the test and discovered that I will be 60 years old in 25 years. Now for those of you that are sixtyish and have had time to adjust to being in a state of advanced age this may not be such a big deal but for a youngster like myself this ponder was a startling revelation and I don’t care to hear another word about it. I’ve got to stop pondering, it always turns ugly.

Back to present day bliss, I’ll concern myself with the future when it rears its bald, bifocaled head. No offense to any and all of you that may be bald and/or bifocaled or are closely acquainted with someone matching that description.

Speaking of…..I hope everyone got a chance to climb the rock wall, I know my kids sure enjoyed it. I was unaware that it was free until the Sunday after the celebration, my son apparently wasn’t aware of that little fact either since he kept asking me for money. I guess he was the only kid they were charging.

The style show was enjoyable despite the homely, hairy lady in polka dots. It ran like clockwork and thanks to Kathy Fagerland I got my dress wearing fix out of the way for the week. It’s just so hard to come up with a good excuse to wear polka dots, a wig, a handbag, and sensible shoes. I apologize if I tainted the allure of polka dots for all in attendance. With a little therapy my family and friends will hopefully learn to embrace and accept me for who I am.

The music was good both Friday and Saturday night and everyone seemed to be in jovial spirits at the street dance. No fights, well, no good fights. Just a lot of laughing and general tomfoolery or gabefoolery in my families case.

I heard that the 5k fun run was well attended. I had every intention of participating in the event but my body and mind got into an argument with my mouth and stomach the night before and were defeated terribly. It seems that my right arm defected and joined ranks with my mouth and stomach rendering the remainder of my body and mind helpless and at 8 a.m. Saturday morning useless.

Besides that the softball tournament had left me feeling and walking like I was celebrating the 125th. So I set out in search of some magic elixir from the local drug store to ease the pain. I found it, I drank it, it eased the pain, I repeated. The magic elixir didn’t make me run faster but I must have spilt some on my bed because it was whirling around like Marry Poppins during hurricane season.

All in all it was a wonderful weekend and it was fun to see Lignite buzzing with activity. During the celebration I actually meant it when I told my kids to watch out for traffic. Like most things of this nature it went just as fast as it came, but like a sack full of fireworks, it was fun while it lasted.

Thanks to everyone that worked so hard to make Lignite’s Centennial Celebration a success.

Lignite is abuzz with centennial preparation, lawn mowers mowing, paint brushes brushing, hammers hammering, chickens clucking, and whatever other “ing” thing you can think of is running rampant around this little town.

This celebration has been in the works for some time now, roughly 100 years, but there is always all those last minute details that creep up on you like ill fitting second hand pre-streaked thrift store underwear. Everyone is busy, busy, busy so if you’re rolling into town for the celebration be sure to thank those that made it possible.

The centennial committee has a lot of activities planned for the weekend, but has also left ample time for general chit chat, boisterous banter, and whatever other type of jaw wagging you prefer to partake in.

As you catch up with old friends keep in mind that nobody likes long boring stories, so if your stories are boring and long either shorten them or spice them up a bit. Nobody will know if you take a few liberties with your life story and 9 out of 11 people surveyed said they prefer a spiced up story to a boring one.

Feel free to be liberal with the spice but remember what you’re sprinkling around so you can keep your story straight, not that anyone’s listening. Most are going to be too weak to listen due to the starvation diet they put themselves on in preparation for this gathering.

Gaunt and listless they’ll shuffle around sipping diet water and nibbling on reduced calorie celery sticks nauseous from holding in their belly and grumpy from wearing buttocks accentuating underwear on a hot humid day. Eye’s blood shot from the misapplication of spray on insta-tan and red irritated patches of skin where unwanted hair was ripped mercilessly away.

All this in hopes of hearing one old soul say, “Well, my, my you haven’t changed a bit.”

The fact is that most all of us have changed quite a bit, some a little less on top and a little more on the bottom, some are parents, some are grandparents, some are retired, some were fired, some have come from far away, and some decided to stay.

Lignite is 100 years old and has been through many changes of its own, but some things never change, and with any luck never will. It’s still a small upstate North Dakota town with a big heart, beautiful sunsets, wonderful people, and the occasional mosquito.

I’m looking forward to the centennial celebration and having the opportunity to visit with old friends, tell old stories about past times, and new stories of where life has taken us.

During your stay in Lignite be sure to check out all the merchandise the centennial committee has to offer. Hats, shirts, buttons, Olive Johnson’s Cook Book, Lignite History Book, and many more things to commemorate the occasion.

Also be sure to take in the various activities going on; style show, bingo, fun run/walk, rock climbing wall, wacky Olympics, softball, golf, parade, street dance, and general shenanigan’s for those more interested in disorganized activities.

Happy 4th of July, may your potato salad always be cold and your buttocks accentuating underwear hot.

At around noon, Wednesday June 20th, 2007, the big laugh that always rose above the roar of our family gatherings, or any gathering for that matter, was silenced with the passing of my Grandpa Ardell.

He died as I suspect many of us would like to die, surrounded by his family in the house that they had all called home for most of their lives. He lived as I suspect many of us would like to live, surrounded by a family that knew the importance of family. It isn’t something they talk about it’s just something they do and have always done. They are there for each other, they cry with each other, and they laugh with each other….laugh a lot. Grandpa or “Big Grandpa” as my kids called him was a fine example to us all.

Grandpa was born on March 17th, 1931 in a house that was located about a mile from the house where he lived and died. Today there is a rock pile located where the old house stood. I asked Grandpa a few years back where he was born and he said, “In a rock pile about a mile north of here.” Then he paused and said, “I haven’t made it very far have I.” A country mile in 76 years… it had to have been the most enjoyable mile anybody has ever lived.

I heard it said once that a mischievous boy makes for a more interesting old man. A fine case can be made for that statement with my Grandpa, who always entertained us with story after story of the mischievous adventures of his youth. You also have to understand that “youth” for Grandpa never really came to end; he was always a kid at heart and liked to make people laugh right up to the end.

The last time I saw my Grandpa we laughed and talked like we always did, and even after 34 years he still had stories that I hadn’t heard… funny stories of course. When I was getting ready to leave he asked when I’d be back again and I said I would be home in about a month. I knew and I’m sure he knew that he might not be around that long, but if you thought about stuff like that all the time you would drive yourself insane. Usually when I or anyone would hug him goodbye he would tear up, but he wasn’t tearing up about things as much as he used to. He was ready to go, a man at peace with his time in this world.

That last time I saw him he looked me in the eyes with that little smile of his and said the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. He said, “Ya know I always thought that this world would be better off if there were more people like you in it.” Funny, I always thought the same thing about him, so coming from him that meant the world. He’s a big part of why I am who I am and I am forever grateful to have had the opportunity to share in his life.

My Grandpa hasn’t been gone long but I already miss him, I miss his laugh, I miss his jokes, I miss his stories, I miss seeing him scare little kids with his false teeth, I miss seeing him scamper through the house in his underwear when company arrived unexpectedly, I miss everything about him and I imagine I always will. What I have now is 34 years of memories to rely on, memories that make me laugh and make me cry and I imagine they always will.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Have you ever responded to someone’s questioning of “why” you did something with that sentence? Have you ever asked yourself “why” you’re doing something at real inopportune moment?

An inopportune moment such as finding yourself 300 yards out in the middle of a lake without a paddle or a boat for that matter. I tried my first triathlon this weekend and half way through the swim a voice in my head asked, “What are doing out here?” This voice is different from the other voices in my head, this one isn’t crazy.

It’s not crazy but it has really poor timing. It only speaks up when I’m in the middle of something like this. I heard it when I was at mile 23 of the marathon I ran a few years back, it piped up last year when I was “attempting” to ride across South Dakota in less than 48 hours, and now when I’m in the middle of a 600 yard swim for my first triathlon.

This voice sits idly by while its half wit brothers are coxing me to sign up for these events. This voice doesn’t say a word during the endless training for these events, but the half wits are ever present with their senseless encouragement. This voice is away at mime school while the half wits are singing “Eye of the Tiger” and trumping up my feelings to make me think that I’m an athlete not a 30ish guy with thinning hair and the swimming ability of a box hammers.

No this voice just sits and waits until I’m in no position to argue with it. This weekend I decided not to argue, not to explain, not to try and justify, I politely told it to leave me alone. I heard some muffled screams from it as the half wits lined up to give it farewell wedgies. Waistband ripping wedgies by the sound of it.

With it gone I decided that as long as I was in the middle of a lake and I had just trained for 4 months I might as well keep swimming. Well the “real” triathletes called what they were doing “swimming” I called what I was doing “not drowning.”

So after not drowning for 600 yards I emerged from the lake moving like an 90 year old man wearing a half dozen soiled Depends. I trotted to my bike that was waiting patiently with the other “not drowning” type swimmers bikes. Crawled on my bike waved and smiled at my family, thanked the crazy voices for getting me to dry land, and headed out for a 15 mile bike ride.

The biking portion was enjoyable; I was able to catch a few of the people that went by me in the water. Some of which had been kind enough to ask if I was all right as they swam by. Hard to talk when your gurgling lake water.

With the biking portion done I parked my trusty stead, strapped on my running shoes and headed out for a 3.2 mile run. The first 2 miles didn’t go so well. I think the lake water and whatever the nearby cows had deposited in it was beginning to upset my stomach. I gave myself a little pep talk and begged the “crazies” for some senseless encouragement.

With the “other” voice at the bottom of the lake I was free to listen to the half wits tell me that if I ran faster I would get done sooner. They’ve gotten me a long way in life so with the end in sight I was like a horse heading for the barn. Except for horses breath quieter and probably don’t smell as bad as I did at that point and time.

To make a long story short; I finished and me and the half wits are enjoying life without the other voice and it’s annoying questions. “Why are you doing this?” Because I can, besides age can’t catch me if I keep moving…..right?

Happy Fathers Day to the men that have made me the man I am, voices and all.

Let the games begin or at least increase in frequency and duration. It’s summer. The kids are milling around the house like misplaced guests that don’t know when to go home and have somehow mistaken you as their summer entertainment director.

After nine months of hard time and schedule following in elementary school they are like parolee’s that aren’t sure what to do with their new found freedom. I tell them, “Go outside and play it’s nice out.” To which they respond (whine), “But what can I do outside, there’s nothing to do.” To which I respond, “I don’t care as long as it’s semi-legal and doesn’t permanently maim anyone.” This exchange takes place roughly 94 times an hour the first few days of parole.

Eventually they’ll give in to the realization that I am not their teacher, there are no playground monitors, no schedules, eat when your hungry, sleep when your tired, and shower when you haven’t been to the pool in over two weeks. Once this sinks in and the mental and physical restraints of the structured learning environment begin to fade they start enjoying their summer.

The kids have a long school year and I think they deserve as much free kid time as they can cram in over the course of the next three months. Run wild, have fun, be a kid, because someday you might grow up and, God forbid, get a job that treats summer just like any other time of year. I cringe at the very thought of such a predicament.

As a college instructor I’m on the same schedule as the kids. Unlike the kids though I have the foresight to plan for these beloved three months during the other nine so I am never at a lose for things to do. When I close my office door in May, forgive me my face hurts from smiling, I know I won’t have to open it again until September.

All those summer plans do steal some of the summerness away so I try and leave time for general doings of nothingness also. The summer that kids enjoy is in its most pure sense. They don’t have a clue what they’re doing from one minute to the next let alone next weekend so they are free to just be.

They wander in for popsicle on occasion or to fill a water balloon when the mood strikes them but mostly they just play. Play whatever, whenever, with whoever, all day long. At the end of the day when you ask them what they did all day they’ll say, “Nothing, just played.” And they don’t say it with any regret or boredom in their voice they say it with the satisfaction and weariness that can only come from a successful summer day of “just play.”

Not a bad gig if you can get it or keep it. A friend of mine that has one of those jobs that ignores summer once told me, “Josh when you get up in the morning you have nothing to do and when you go to bad at night you only have half of it done.” A good point is hard to argue.

Here’s wishing you all a great summer. I hope when someone asks you what you did all day you can respond with “Nothing, just played” a few times anyway.

Enjoy the time you have with the people you have because neither lasts forever.

You may remember, or not, or not care, that a few years ago my brother Jarvis and me were extra’s in the movie “Hidalgo.” Recently another movie shot a few scenes here in the Black Hills, and I signed up to be an extra again.

The movie was “National Treasure II” staring Nicolas Cage and they were shooting the final scene of the movie at Mt. Rushmore.

When you sign up to be an extra in a movie you are basically signing up to be a piece of furniture. You are just “stuff” they can put here and there to make everything look as though it is actually happening at a busy public place. I don’t think some people realize or are willing to accept the fact that they are a prop, nothing more, just a blurry figure passing through a shot to give it some life.

You can always pick out those extra’s that have it in their head that they are going to be discovered on the movie set. They’re the overly eager ones, dressed to the nines, and trying everything possible to get noticed.

If I learned anything in being an extra for Hidalgo it was don’t be an eager in your face “Pick Me, Pick Me” volunteer for anything. Those people generally end up far away from the action where they sulk and pout and believe there must be some misunderstanding. Do they realize what they’ve done? Do they know who I am?

We were to report to Mt. Rushmore at 5:00 p.m. to check in and let the wardrobe people give us the once over to make sure we weren’t wearing anything inappropriate. Rhinestone clad spandex, velvet muumuu’s, sombrero’s, logos, and anything else that may be a distraction. Thankfully those weren’t the only clothes I brought with.

Once you checked in and got checked out you were given a box lunch. Star treatment; salty ham on stale bread, a bruised mushy apple, and crushed bag of chips. Then we waited…and waited…and finally waited some more.

To be an extra you have to be a very patient, laid back person, which fits me perfectly. You want me to be a piece of furniture, well stand back and be amazed at the skills of this “Lazy-Boy.”

Every once in awhile they would come and grab about 30 people to take to the movie set. Myself and a few others were enjoying the evening chatting and watching the “Pick Me, Pick Me” extra’s bum rush the people in charge of sending them up to the set every time they appeared.

We “loitered” until about 11:30 p.m. when a guy came down and asked if we had been on the set yet. “Nope we’ve just been sitting here chatting.” He sent four of us up to earn our money as furniture. Why did he pick me and the other three? Possibly because one of us four had been in Playboy three times, not “read” it, but was in it. So the beauty and the three beasts sauntered to the set to be a part of a little movie magic.

To our surprise we were ushered up to the front and were told to walk behind Nicolas Cage and his female co-star and “act” like we were chatting. The only instructions; don’t speak, don’t look at the camera, don’t look at the actors, don’t talk to the actors, and remember what you did the first time because your going to have to do it over and over and over and over. By the time they got what they wanted I had memorized Nicolas Cage’s lines and could have easily stepped in if something “unfortunate” would have happened to him.

Unfortunate? Let’s just say I was “acting” close enough to Mr. Cage that I could have gave him a little punch in the back of the head if I so chose.

Twelve hours after my arrival, at around 5:00 a.m. as the sun was poking up over the hills, they shut the cameras off and told the furniture to go home.

What’s the going rate for the use of “Lazy-Boy” for 12 hours? Seventy-five bucks. Not much less than my co-star Nicolas.