Christmas Post #16: A Hillbilly Christmas
by Steve West on December 2, 2007

My father was born and raised in North Carolina. Throughout my childhood we would make the summer trek to my Granny and Grandpaw's house in the middle of the state. Many a summer night passed listening to roosters (they crow all friggin' night), the occasional gator grunt, and my hillbilly cousins fart and scratch while playing cards. Their discussions often centered around things just like this: The need for a better spit can; guns for their kids; the question as to with whom they would rather sleep, their wives or their guns; and electricity - highly overrated. I love my cousins still. Merry Christmas guys! And Tinker (a real cousin), I found the best game for you. Check your mailbox.
Web Junkie
Steve West scours the Web searching for interest or absurdity and then shakes his head ruefully when he finds it. Read more »

Christmas Post #20: Only In America? I Don't Think So.
The multitude of toys available around the world that make you want to say "WTF?" is overwhelming. Collection of toys that thankfully have no links for purchase. Go »
It's That Time Of Year
Snow time. I don't live in Fargo so I defer to Denise and others for even more horrible snow stories. But the forecast yesterday was for anywhere between 6 and 32 inches of snow depending on a whole bunch of meteorological variables and other mysteries. Go »
Welcome To Steve's World
Is anyone else offended by the automatic deodorizing spray dispenser in public bathrooms? It offends me when I’m standing at the urinal and that’s when it decides to spritz. Like it’s somehow recognized that an emergency deodorizing event is occurring and needs attention. Go »
I'm Too Young To Be Old
All of this landscaping has taken a serious toll on my aged body, apparently. I actually had to take a day off from work to recover from an aching back. When younger (twenties), I could chop a load of firewood blah blah blah. Go »
Christmas and a Lizard's Tale
One Christmas when Lauren was eight, like a lot of girls her age, wished for a pony. My backyard at the time was about the size of a Volkswagen Minibus. Despite her assurances that she would let it roam the neighborhood for sufficient exercise, I said, “Not this year,” as I pictured myself following the horse with a pooper scooper. Go »