Rambling Josh

In about 3 months another school year will be wrapping up. This means little league, swimming pools, and visiting friends and relatives is merrily rolling closer. For those of you that are seniors it means you have a few more months to endure and hopefully find an answer to the question that is more than likely being posed to you everyday…”So what are you planning on doing after graduation?” The level of difficulty of this question is going to vary greatly from student to student. Some have had it figured out for awhile now, well at least they think they have. What they don’t know is this world has monkey wrenches lurking around every corner, and you never know when one is going to be chucked in your direction. You can’t duck em’ all, nor do you need or want to. A forced change of direction might just lead you in the right direction.

“So…..what are you doing after graduation?” What do you want to be when you grow up, or I mean, grow older. Remember growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional. If you’ve ever spent any time with my family you know that we have just about all decided to ignore the option of growing up. There is a plethora of options out there, I like that word ‘plethora’, it’s hard to squeeze it into a conversation so you have to throw it out there every chance you get.

Of the options available to you about the only one that I feel qualified to preach at you about is the college option. Someone jokingly asked me when I was in my 6th year of college if I planned on making a career of it, well, yes I did, and I have. I don’t know what I would do if my life wasn’t divided into semesters, with a sprinkling of random vacations, and slathering of summers off. My face hurts from smiling.

As an instructor I have a few pointers for you potential college students, pointers on what will make the faculty happy or at least more tolerant. First off, show up for class, everyday, on time. If you miss class for some reason, real or imagined, go talk to the instructor as soon as possible. No elaborate, lame excuses just apologize for missing class and ask if there were any assignments. Secondly, when your in class, don’t fall asleep. Us instructors are well aware that some of what we’re teaching you isn’t all that entertaining, but at least fain interest. Thirdly, take ownership in your education by being an active part of the learning process. Just like most everything in life, you’ll get out of college what you put into it.

The majority of instructors are there to guide you and show you the various paths available to you, of course there are always those that really don’t care if you succeed or not. Either way you gotta be there and be awake to see those paths or you might get lost. Trust me I got myself lost more than a few times in my academic career, as a result, my GPA took a few donkey kicks, but I figured it out….eventually. I’m sure you will too.

Gentlemen as your reading this the beautiful bouquet of flowers you bought your lovely wife for Valentines Day are turning into potpourri. The big heart shaped box of chocolates has been reduced to a few of the horrible pink marshmallow centered things, the kids won’t even eat those. You know this because of the little finger hole you’ll find poked in the bottom made while they were franticly looking for the last caramel or mint. Most boxes of chocolates come with the little map now so you don’t have to poke holes in the bottoms to find the filling you desire. Lastly, the $80.00 negligee that the curvaceous manikin in Victoria’s Secret convinced you to buy is stuffed in the drawer with the ones from various Valentines of yesteryear, as your wife lounges in the free t-shirt you got for guessing the age of the angus at “Dan’s Bait & Butcher Shop.”

It’s over for another year and ladies in case you haven’t noticed most of us men aren’t very good at buying you presents. It’s not that we don’t try, it’s that we just don’t know, and as we all know you sure won’t tell us. Ask us what we want, go ahead, we won’t give you a trick answer, as a matter of fact here’s what we’ll do, now this may seem crazy but hang with me on this. We will tell you exactly what we want, and whatever it is that we tell you that we want, well, it is exactly what we want. We won’t say new socks would be nice and secretly hope you surprise us with diamonds and a trip to the Bahamas. No, we will thoroughly enjoy the new socks. Do you know why? Because we asked for them!

Okay ladies do you see how this whole thing works now? We ask, you tell, you get, we happy. I know, I know, you just would like to be surprised, well you’ll continue to be surprised by fuzzy slippers and cheese graters if you don’t agree to these terms. This would help eliminate the sorry sight of a man shuffling through the mall muttering and wild eyed as time runs out on another gift search. It’s not pretty, especially when you’re the one rocking back and forth sucking your thumb in the fetal position in front of a rack of women’s clothing. “If I buy a size that’s too big she’ll think that I think she’s overweight, but If I buy a size to small she’ll think that that’s the size I wish she was….” This will continue until security escorts you to the cash register and demands that you buy a gift certificate and remove yourself from the store.

So for the remainder of this year let’s just try the “we ask, you tell, you get, we happy” approach to special occasions. My wife doesn’t have a choice, mall security requires a list of what she wants be mailed to them at least one week prior to my arrival as to assure the availability of the requested items. It’s a very nice arrangement, my wife gets what she wants and I don’t have to hold any manikins hostage to negotiate more time to find that perfect gift.

“The flowers are dead, the candies all gone, she’s got that old t-shirt on.”

Just before Christmas I bought a shiny new road bike. No not for either of my kids, for me, the big kid, and when I say road bike I don’t mean motorcycle I mean bicycle. The sit on a very small seat peddle till you sweat and slobber kind. Why you may ask, unless you’re a member of my family then you’ve tired of asking why years ago, well because it looked like fun.

The idea came to me while I was training for the marathon I ran this past year, maybe I’ll bore you with that story further down the road. While I was out running day in and day out I began to notice that the people I met on bicycles seemed to be much happier than my fellow runners. They would peddle towards me smiling and give a hardy hello, while us runners generally exchange dismal glances followed by a pained grunt. For those of you that don’t run the grunt means something different for everyone, “Hi there, I don’t like running, but I have a class reunion coming up, I just turned 40, and my bald spot and belly are having a friendly competition to see who can cover the most area.” Or maybe, “My scrawny doctor’s professional opinion is that I should run at least three days a week, maybe I’ll run my key along his Mercedes.” Still others, like myself, are training to run a race of some sort simply because, well, just because.

Anyway back to why a 32 year old man, a former paperboy I might add, would want to buy a bicycle. I had never had a remote interest in cycling until this past summer. Up until then I would point and giggle at the people pushin’ peddles in the tight shorts, now as fate would have it I am at the other end of the giggle. The tight shorts must affect your hearing though because I don’t hear a thing, other than disturbing chaffing noises.

I am into history though, and this past summer Lance Armstrong was going for a historic 6th straight Tour De France win, so I decided to tune in and see what all the hubbub was about. I was hooked. There a very few things that will get me out of bed at 6:00 in the morning, but there I was every morning, enthralled as a bunch of guys with names I couldn’t pronounce turned themselves inside out for 23 days for a yellow jersey. For those of you that have never watched much or any cycling races, I’ll tell you that you would be hard pressed to find another professional sport with as much sportsmanship among its participants.

No, I don’t have a delusional idea of becoming a professional cyclist. Just want to stay in shape, give my feet a rest from running, and possibly compete with other people in tight shorts. Besides something about going 45 mph down a hill on a bicycle makes me grin like an idiot.…the same idiot that used to deliver your paper 20 years ago.

As Doc Stevens always said, as he dropped a rutabaga in my newspaper bag, “See ya in the funny papers.”

“BE BURKE COUNTIES BIGGEST LOSER.” The headlines jumped out at me and seized my attention. My heart skipped a beat as excitement overtook me…finally…us losers are going to be recognized. All the years spent honing our loser skills were going to pay off, the world would finally know, and award us for the burden we bare. How do they intend on judging us? Is there a loser test? I think my wife already had me take that one in her last Cosmo magazine. If so nobody stands a chance against me. Or possibly an in-depth interview of the loser candidate by a panel of expert losers. As we regal them with our loser life story they could award points for various episodes in our lives that distinguish us as losers. The score card may look something like this.

February 12th, 1982: Huge snow storm. Helped Great Grandma out of her wheelchair so she could shovel the driveway: 10 loser points

Granny doing a shabby job, so I knocked on the window to point out the spots she missed: 8 loser points

Wind howling too loud, Granny can’t hear me knocking on the window. Pelt her with snowballs to get her attention: 15 loser points

Dad gives me $5.00 for shoveling the driveway. I ask Granny for $10.00. She whines about frost bitten fingers as she digs through her purse. 18 loser points

If the point system doesn’t work maybe each biggest loser candidate could be followed around and videoed for a few weeks. Then you the audience could vote for the biggest loser. Of course the cameras would have to be hidden to prevent any embellishment of loser activity on the loser’s behalf. Fellow Burke County losers, our moment of glory is upon us. May the biggest loser win.

I believe it was about 15 years ago when the ‘losers’ bracket in sports began being replaced by the ‘consolation’ round. The reason probably being, that some shrink decided that it dented the fragile psyche of America’s youth to see themselves or their team in the LOSERS bracket. So they are not losers they are consolers, and as consolers I think that the consolation round would be much more constructive if the teams were to embrace in a group hug and console one another instead of continuing to play the game that they are obviously not very good at. Who am I to say such things? I’m 5’9 and I played center for the Burke Central Panthers Basketball team, I know about the loser’s bracket. I really don’t care what they call it, and it really doesn’t matter what side of the bracket you’re on. What are important are the experiences, values, and memories that sport participation brings young athletes, win or lose.

As for the “real” Biggest Loser program, it is a wonderful program. Since I am in a health care field I am always happy to see a community promoting programs that encourage a healthy lifestyle. Take advantage of the program, I’ll be anxiously awaiting the crowning of Burke Counties Biggest Loser. For those of you that are in the program, but don’t win, stick with it, maybe you’ll be a bigger loser next time.

Alright stop sulking over the soap-on-a-rope you got from you great aunt. It’s not as bad as the doily of the month club your brother was enrolled in. No time for that, another year is on the ropes and about to go down for the count. There still time to resolve what you forgot to resolve this past year. Get out there champ; climb that mountain, lose that weight, lift that weight….wait. No, your right, it’s too late. Hang the clothes back on your treadmill and get back to your “better than spam cake.” There’s always next year.

Ever since I resolved to be perfect a few years back I’ve had the luxury of not having to make resolutions anymore. Laugh it up. For those of you that can’t decide on what to resolve this year I’ve gone through the trouble of providing you with a few possible options. Disclaimer: The results of the following resolutions may vary. Consult your physician before attempting to resolve anything that requires bending at the waist and/or anything else that could be construed as being of a strenuous nature.

Resolve to get the daily recommended allowance of fiber. Decreases your chances of heart disease and increase your chances of getting your own seat on the bus.

Resolve to keep your nose hairs neatly trimmed. So when you sneeze it doesn’t appear as if a crazed octopus is doing the cha-cha on your upper lip.

Resolve to banish yourself from the island of so-called reality TV. That’s right Mr. Trump, you and your beauty school drop-out hair stylist are fired.

Resolve to stop buying little kids clown dolls or clown anything for that matter. I did a little study, 9 out of 10 kids, and myself, find clowns to be terrifying and wish they would all climb in their little car and go away.

Resolve to buy a Chinese yo-yo at the shrine circus and attempt to take your little brothers eye out with it. How many kids do you see wearing eye patches? Rooster Cogburn must not have been warned of such dangers.

Resolve to sort through your underwear drawer. If it bares a striking resemblance to tainted cheesecloth, discard of it immediately.

Resolve to never go deer hunting with Laurie Chrest again. It’s the mental scars that heal the slowest.

Resolve to limit yourself to photocopying your face at work to once a week. Challenge a co-worker to try and keep their eyes open when they do it, they’ll be blinded for a few days but the memories will last forever.

Resolve to go on a quest to find the correct answer to every question your wife will ever ask you. “Your absolutely right dear” will work for now, but they’re catching on.

Well there you have it. I hope that I was able to assist you in finding something to resolve in the coming year. Enjoy the holidays, don’t take any wooden nickels, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, eat your vegetables, and help your brother find his eye patch. See you next year.

I called my mom on the 5th to wish her a happy birthday, because that’s what a good son does, and she informed me that the yearly school head lice checks had just been completed. She was pleased to report that all of the students at Burke Central were head lice free. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case when I was wee lad attending third grade there.

Ahh…the memories. Each class was taken down to the designated head lice checking area, so each student could have their hair searched by one of the friendly volunteers. Something you never want to hear when having someone in the medical profession examining any part of you is, “Oh, oh” as they turn to one of their co-workers and say, “Could you take a look at this?” Not good. That’s exactly what I heard as the rubber gloves searching my scalp suddenly stopped, and decided that whatever it was in my hair needed to be looked at under a microscope. So after the potential villain was plucked from my head along with several innocent hairs, all the nurses gathered round the microscope for a look. After a brief period of intense examination they all nodded broke huddle and called my mom to come and get her lice infested kid.

As I waited for my mom to come get me I watched them place all of the contents of my desk into a bag for delousing or something of that nature. I don’t recall being embarrassed at all, mostly amused, and somewhat happy as I thought about getting a little vacation from school. My brother Jarvis wasn’t amused at all, he was embarrassed. He was in the grade below me and was told that he had to go home too just in case he was harboring any of the little rodents.

When mom got there she was given a brochure, “Dealing With Your Filthy Head Lice Infested Kid” That might not be the exact title. So we go home and mom’s asking me where I could have gotten lice. I didn’t have a clue, but then she started reading through the brochure, which highlighted several ways of contracting lice. Using someone’s comb, a pillow, a hat…. a hat… Just then it all became very clear. It seems that someone else in my class also had head lice that they had gotten from a fox that their dad had shot. The very same person that owned the stocking cap that I swiped and put on my head and ran around with until she beat me and took it back. Ah, hah! Dad wasn’t real amused. He couldn’t understand why I would put someone else’s stocking cap on. He has since learned not to try and understand why I do anything that I do; it’s just easier that way. I think he also threatened to shave my head if I ever did anything like that again. That would have been a devastating blow to my young developing mullet, so I agreed to find other means of which to entertain myself.

My name is Josh and I have been head lice free for 23 years.

It seems as though everytime I talk to my mom a new diet is sweeping through the area. Some are interesting, some are strange, some could work, most don’t. Fad diets, as their name implies, come and go so fast it’ll make your head spin and your stomach turn, literally.

Think back to all things that have whipped through your life on the fad train…..hmmmm let’s see, leg warmers, tight rolled jeans, mullets for the men, high bangs for the women, and that’s just from the 80’s. No generation is without fads. What do you do when you think back to those fads? That’s right, you smile as a mental image of yourself looking dapper cruising in your El Camino, mullet flowing in the breeze, your girlfriends high hair catching bugs, pigeons, Winnebago’s, and whatever else has the misfortune of entering the dreaded “Aqua Net Zone.” As you shake your head to clear it of the madness, it all just seems, well a little strange now, and you wonder just what you were thinking. Sorry I got sidetracked there in my stroll down memory lane. Anyway my point is this, get a good hair cut, and don’t flounder around in the fad diet world looking for the quick fix to get you back into your tight rolled acid washed jeans.

There is no such thing as a quick fix, and if it is a quick fix the results brought on by it will disappear faster than a box of twinkies in a bomb shelter (I don’t know). For a diet to be successful it has to stop being a ‘diet’ and become your lifestyle. You have to find out what is good for you, and of those choices, which do you like to eat. Your body needs certain nutrients and certain amounts of those nutrients to function correctly. If the needs of your body aren’t being met there will be consequences. Consequences such as slowed brain function, fatigue, and decreased metabolism, to name a few. Yes, decreased metabolism. If your diet involves extreme calorie reduction, which is anything below 1500 calories a day, your body will compensate by slowing your metabolism.

Our bodies are smart, and it sometimes wishes that the lump above our shoulders would quit teetering around under that mullet and think about what it’s doing to the body that’s carting it around. When your calories are restricted your body hoards what it has, which is good in times of famine, but we are far from those times. The metabolism slows, and then you fall off the fad diet wagon landing in a tub of BoomChocoLatta Ice Cream. Now your calorie intake increases, but guess what, your metabolism is still turned down lower than Burt Bacharach at a Metalica festival. All of this adds up to weight gain, loud music, bad hair, and the search for another diet. Not necessarily in that order. When it comes to your clothes and hair feel free to follow a fad, the kids always need costumes for homecoming, but when it comes to your diet and health choose wisely.

The holiday season, by the way, is no time to start a diet, no matter what the turkeys say. Never trust a turkey…even if you voted for them. If I don’t see you next week, have a Happy Thanksgiving.

Hello there, hope all is well in your world. Since this is my first column in the Burke County Tribune introductions are in order.

First off I reside in Rapid City, S.D., with my wife Dawn, and our two children, Sierra and Jackson. I have been an instructor in the Athletic Training Education Program at National American University for the past four years, and my wife works as a physical therapy tech. We have lived in Rapid City for about five years now, and really enjoy all that the Black Hills has to offer. There is one problem though; it’s just too far away from my hometown of Lignite.

My parents, Donavon and Joann, are the D and the J of DJ’s Food Center in Lignite. Mom is also a professional photographer. Yes mom, a professional, and Dad has taken lawn care to a whole new level. Have you ever had grass taunt you when you’re mowing it?

My grandparents, who just happen to be my parents' parents, strange how that works out isn’t it, are Helen Ellis and Rose and Ardell Chrest. I feel very fortunate to be a part of such a wonderful family. They are good people, and it will pain me to expose all the dirt on them, but as a columnist I have a job to do. I also feel very fortunate to have grown up in “Up-State” North Dakota, as my mom sometimes refers to it. I may live in Rapid City but my heart prefers to hang out in Burke County with people who know what a slushburger is. Don’t get all misty eyed on me now.

I contacted the tribune after reading that Jodi Benge was retiring her column “Just Jodi” and asked if they would consider letting me give it a go. After an extensive background check they still decided to give me a shot. Thank you. I enjoy writing, and my dad always told me I should make a career out of it. I’m not quitting my job just yet, and if you find that you would rather clean your geese on this column than read it, well you can blame my dad. It’s always the parents' fault, isn’t it?

What can you expect to read about in this column? Good question. It could be about anything, anything except car repair and farm machinery. Those are subjects I know nothing about. Grandpa Ardell tried to teach me to cultivate once, only once. The fence line didn’t stop me, but the broken hitch did. Mechanic work is another thing I really don’t have any business attempting. My brother, Jarvis and Uncle Kevin can attest to that. I’m in charge of holding the trouble light, which gives me time to work on my shadow puppets. I’ll show you my President Reagan shadow some-day. Stunning, it really is.

Anyway, enough rambling. I’m looking forward to hanging out with you every other week. Bye now.

See original printed version of Shadow Puppets.