I Believe in Bigfoot, But Does He Believe in Me? A Question That Doesn’t Really Need to be Answered

As may or may not be evident by the photo accompanying this post, I believe in Bigfoot. I won’t say that I believe completely in his existence; instead, I believe in the idea of Bigfoot and his plausibility as a living creature.

But is the reverse true for Bigfoot, if he exists? Does Bigfoot believe in me? As far as I’m aware, Bigfoot has never seen me. I’ve certainly never seen him. If he believes in the few representatives of Humankind he may have seen, he at least believes in me by proxy and this brings me some sort of comfort.

I like to think, though, that there are fringe Bigfoots (Bigfeet? Thank you Tolkien for your Proudfoots/Proudfeet exploration. It intrigues us still today.) out there that, being more adventurous than their contemporaries, have sought out the strange sounds blasting through the woods and laid eyes upon a Human or group of humans. Perhaps these “outsider” Sasquatches lope home and grunt excitedly to their families and peers about the small, hairless, bi-pedal Sasquatchoid creatures they have seen.

Perhaps Bigfoot, too, knows the sting of being thought crazy by the majority of his society.

Maybe there are even Bigfoot Human watching groups. Perhaps it is called something like the H.uman B.eing R.esearch O.rganization or the Bigfoot grunting/howling equivalent of that. Perhaps they try to imitate the sounds of shotgun blasts or are hard at work producing the fluorescent orange colors they’ve seen during deer season. Maybe there’s some enterprising young Bigfoot developing scents he associates with people. I don’t know what they would be. Something unique that we probably can’t smell since woodsmen and hunters generally avoid scented aftershaves and colognes and such while searching for creatures to eat or study. Perhaps to Bigfoot we smell as bad as I’ve heard Bigfoot smells to people. Skunk Ape indeed. How crude and completely uncalled for.

And what if, just what if, the responses people claim to hear when they are call blasting into the night aren’t actual Bigfoot responses at all. What if these recordings people play to attract Bigfoot are something else altogether and Bigfoot, hearing these strange sounds and sometimes then seeing people, thinks these are the noises people make and is simply regurgitating what he hears in an attempt to attract us?

What if somewhere there is a Bigfoot attempting to imitate human speech and some Bigfoot researcher or frightened camper will one day hear from back in the tree line a tentative and gravelly “Hello?”

Just some food for thought. Bigfoot, whether real, imagined, hoaxed or misidentified, is a veritable buffet of such mental edibles.

And maybe he even believes in, or doubts the existence of, us.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…try to see both sides of all arguments. Some arguments, however, have two different sides from two or more distinct sub-groups. These 4 or more dimensional arguments are worth looking into from every angle.

A don’t…get caught up in the Bigfoots/Bigfeet plurality conundrum. It just isn’t really worth it. After all, rather than aruging semantics, you could be busy looking for a group of Big…well, you get where I’m going, I’m sure.


Tome Travel

I’ve heard on multiple occasions from multiple sources that reading can be like time travel. I never thought that it was. I suppose it’s the closest we can get, but our own timeline advances as we read about previous times or exotic and maybe even fantastical locales. I suppose, even if we did actually travel in time, our own timeline would continue to advance even thought we could, in theory, return to the exact moment we left, I assume we’d return older than when we left.

Never mind.

This post isn’t about time travel.

I like to read. This likely isn’t a shocking revelation. I assume that most others who maintain blogs or read blogs also enjoy reading. I like every aspect of the act of reading. My tome travel begins with the discovery of the book on its shelf. When I pull it down, I commit the grievous sin of judging it by its cover. I think I do this in a very positive way, though. I’ve read many a book with a dull cover. I’ve read books with blank covers. I’ve even read books with no covers. The cover has no bearing on my deciding not to read it. Some covers have, on occasion, caused me to purchase books I have no intention of reading.  After I pass judgment on the cover I hold the book close to my face and flip the pages. As the scent of the ink and paper and perhaps the elements of the binding process become noticeable, I plunge my face into the volume, usually fairly close to the midway point, and breathe deeply. When this is done, I enjoy the weight of it in my hand as I look for other books. When I’m looking at a book in terms of its bookness only, size really matters. I especially enjoy paperbacks that are close to a thousand pages. If I’m picking a book to have for no reason other than that it’s a book and I want to have it (which I do often to the dismay of my wife, whose books are ever on the verge of being crowded out; my wallet, that could well have a perpetually lit neon “vacancy” sign sticking up out of it; and my overburdened bookshelves and the walls they’re attached to), it’ll be a monster. Then I drive home with the book on my lap or, if I’m not driving, I clasp it in both hands and stare at it.

With all that said, you may be wondering what on Earth I’m getting at. What does any of that have to do with tome travel?

Well, new books are strangers. Before I’ll surrender my mind to it and let it take me somewhere, I have to get to know it. Would you time travel with someone you barely knew? Likely not. You’d want to get acquainted a little first. Gathering all this information is necessary to insure an enjoyable excursion with an acquaintance, if not yet friend, rather than a blind foray with a stranger.

Once the book and I have shaken hands and I’ve had a chance to look over its opening pages (and run my fingers over the contours of any embossments that happen to be present on the cover) I can crack it open and go wherever its going to take me. I don’t think of it as time travel, though. It simply isn’t. No matter how involved I become with the story, I’m still in my house. I can hear the tv in the background and the kids playing. I can smell my dog as she walks by. I haven’t gone anywhere and I know it.

But last night I had a slight epiphany. As I was reading I suddenly became aware of my eyes reading the page and my brain interpreting the words and providing vague visuals as two distinct and separate phenomena. I have never been aware of the distinction before, but as I continued to read this way, I began to notice that what my brain produced for me to “view” and what was actually read by my eyes could be completely different things.  Specifically, the author described a character as an overweight male mowing the lawn in bathing trunks. I pictured him in a speedo. I didn’t even realize I’d done it until I went back and re-read the description wondering why this guy in my head had a speedo on. The author specifically said trunks. My brain showed me speedo.


No idea. I have no desire to see any man in a speedo, subconscious or otherwise.

I realize now that, yes books can be considered comparable to time travel. They can distract our minds with visions of other times and places and events. They can evoke emotions and cause distress to a degree. But no matter what the author has written or what he envisioned as he was writing, the reader’s interpretation will never be exactly in line with the author’s.

Books take us on journeys, but not necessarily the ones we are expected to take.

But reading isn’t time travel in any sense.

It’s tome travel.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…tome travel as much as you can. The author will have quite a say in where you go, but your own tome travels are unique to you. Open your eyes and enjoy the ride.

A don’t…forget to respect the fact that others want books too. Make sure to leave them at least a little space on the shelves.

A Curs-ed Disease

I have come down with that most dreaded of diseases. Don’t worry. Logic tells me it isn’t life threatening. I assume it isn’t communicable. It certainly isn’t any sort of computer virus, so you are quite safe should you read on.

I suppose it isn’t a disease in the traditional sense. It is more of a cursed (read cursed) state of mind. For some reason this evening, I’m possessed of an overpowering urge to write. This in itself is not a problem. I love to write. If this aspect of my disease became a chronic condition, I’m sure I’d be rather at peace with it. The thing I don’t like; the thing that is cursed (cursed), about it is that I’ve really had to scrape around in the scrap heap of my brain’s creative center to find a topic.

Expelling all further ado, please enjoy forthwith, the best I could come up with:

My wife and I visit a lot of antique stores. We buy a lot of useless junk, most of which doesn’t fit our décor for some reason or other and ends up in the garage. The rest of it ends up either in the laundry room because we’re too lazy to find a place for it or is incorporated into one of the many “nerd nooks” scattered around our home.

My most recent find, excluding a few books I bought simply because I was judging them by their covers and will likely never read, was a couple of miniature Coke bottles with miniature measures of Coke inside them. They seem to be from two different eras, a conclusion I draw based on the fact that the logo differs slightly on each. I have no idea which eras these are. I didn’t buy them because they’re old or antique or valuable. I bought them simply because they are small.

They’re teeny. They’re a mere couple of inches tall.

Why on Earth would this intrigue me?

Philosophically, perhaps it’s because it makes me feel big and powerful. Look at me, holding these Cokes in my giant hands. I can crush those small things who oppose me because I am huge, ha ha!

In reality there is no reason at all other than that they are small. That’s it. I want to pose them next to little ceramic leprechauns or something. Maybe they’d look good in my daughters’ fairy garden.

Maybe little things are just cool and we all need a small thing to bolster a bit of a superiority complex every now and then.

Or maybe it’s nothing. Maybe for some reason some neural pathway was created in my brain that makes me pre-disposed to enjoying miniature versions of everyday items.

Maybe it means nothing at all other than my bank account $4.00 closer to being overdrawn.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…enjoy the little things in life. Cliché, right? Sorry. Still, enjoy the little things even if they are actual little things rather than the cliché proverbial “little things”.

A don’t…drink the Coke from the little bottles. It may no longer be tasty and instead of a little bottle of Coke, you’ll simply have a little Coke bottle.

Federal Crime Machines; Why Isn’t There a Special Counsel Looking Into This?

It is my understanding that defacing American currency is a federal crime. This law makes sense for several reasons.

  1. Defacing could be used on counterfeit bills to mask blemishes and shoddy workmanship.
  2. National pride is affected by defaced bills and coins. What does it say about us if we voluntarily graffito tag our means of buying and selling? Monetary transactions are professional affairs. You wouldn’t turn in a memo at work that was all marked up in the margins, would you? This may seem like a little thing. Perhaps I’m being ridiculous. Still, if you visit a country and, at the currency exchange booth, do you not look more impressive handing over clean, crisp American dollars? And if, in exchange, you are given bills portraying leaders sporting anachronistic mustaches or devil horns, are you not then negatively biased against the local populace?

I know I said there were several reasons why the law against defacing currency makes sense. I suppose there are really only two. That I can think of anyway. Despite the number of reasons, however, a law is a law. If it isn’t going to be enforced, why have it on the books, so to speak?

“How do you know it isn’t being enforced?” One might ask, should said One have read this blog, encountered me out in public somewhere and somehow recognized me as the author. “Isn’t there an agency responsible for the destruction of worn and defaced bills? It seems to me it is enforced in some fashion.”

And my answer, should this unlikely scenario occur, would be “Good point.”

I would then quickly rebut thusly: “There exist within the confines of legally operating establishments throughout our country dens of iniquity that, while providing quite legal, fun and/or educational experiences, also blatantly promote the defacement and destruction of our currency by individuals unauthorized to do so. And for a profit, no less!”

To which your reply would likely be something like “Go jump in a lake, lunatic! What are you even talking about?”

I’m talking about those Kiosks of Chaos, those Federal Crime Machines, those coin mashing and defacing vending machines that stand in nearly every zoo and tourist attraction lobby that allow you to pay fifty cents to squish a penny into a souvenir.

These are certainly entertaining. They are interactive, usually allowing you to crank the penny to an elongated and otherly engraved state. They are educational, sometimes mushing some historical fact or figure into malleable bits of dollars.

Entertaining. Interactive. Educational…Illegal…

The argument could be made that these machines only deface the least of our currency. Who cares about pennies, anyway? Most of us drop them in the little bowls on store counters just to keep them from cluttering our pockets or purses. I’ve even known people to drop them carelessly onto the sidewalk rather than carry them around. All of this is perfectly fine and legal, but could it be representative of our attitude as Americans? If we have a law about currency, shouldn’t it apply to all currency, even the least valuable? It makes sense to answer “Yes” here. That answer being a positive one, can we now apply the same concept to laws that govern Americans? If there is a law for one American, shouldn’t it apply to all Americans, even the least significant? Of course. But if we, as a society, and the government, as a government, are willing to overlook the blatant defacing of pennies, are we not also likely to overlook the mistreatment of “less significant” citizens?

Perhaps this is all a bit of a stretch. I haven’t even decided for myself yet if I’m all that upset about this issue. I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to rant and rave.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…consider the fair treatment of every American be they “pennies” or “one hundred dollar bills”.

A don’t…deface pennies. I think it’s illegal.

The Turnpike Conspiracy; I’m Probably Way Off

There’s a toll road that my wife and I must travel should we ever wish to visit her parents. For some, this would be a sufficient deterrent to skip a trip to the in-laws’. I am blessed with in-laws that are a pleasure to visit and be fed by. We often take to the Turnpike and suffer the inconveniences of pulling over for every brightly lit toll plaza between here and there for the sake of family togetherness.

I’ve had many a choice word to share with my wife about the Turnpike as we drive it. I’ve pointed out every skid mark, rough spot and guardrail dent I can find. If they’re demanding I pay to drive on their road, shouldn’t the road be perfectly kept? Maybe they could get a crew out to mow if they didn’t have to pay the electric bills on those ridiculous plazas. Who knows how much they spend to employ the toll collectors and maintain the toll-taking infrastructure? I’m sure someone does and I’m sure that someone is highly paid to know it.

Despite the fact that they take money meant for road maintenance and spend it on better money-taking, I’ve come to love the Turnpike because I’ve realized what they really are. I know where the thousands of dollars they take in daily is really going, and I fully support it.

I only realized what they’re really up to yesterday morning at the toll plaza. The guy in the little booth had a nametag on and I had never bothered to notice before that they bother to wear those. But they do. The guy who stole my money yesterday was, according to his tag “Gary” (name changed to avoid litigation). And “Gary” was also apparently #1032 (number changed to avoid litigation). I thought benignly about this as we drove on and this was the first time I had ever had a benign thought about the Turnpike. I emotionlessly considered whether or not “Gary” was employee #1032 or whether he was actually “Gary #1032”. I think, for my own well-being, he must’ve been “Gary #1032”, which means that the reason the Turnpike takes so much money yet fails to keep the road in perfect condition is because they are perfecting techniques to clone employees.

Why is this a good thing for me to believe? It comes down to peace of mind. I become inordinately angry when I think about paying to drive on an imperfect road. It drives me bonkers to see that most of the money taken in goes into maintaining the ability to keep taking money rather than maintenance on the road itself. If I can convince myself that the Turnpike is involved in cloning, I can further dream that one day the entire Turnpike system will be maintained by mindless peons who demand no pay or days off because they’ve been programmed by the dude at Turnpike headquarters who makes a lot of money to know where Turnpike money goes to love and cherish and nurture the Turnpike and to serve said Turnpike with their lives.

They may never totally do away with the tolls. After all, they still need to feed, clothe and house their clones. Probably they have to pay some royalty to the original DNA owner. But the tolls should decrease. Even if they don’t, though, it is enough for me to know that I’ll be paying to drive on a road that is meticulously maintained and that my money is going to feed a scientific miracle.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…consider some sort of medication if you agree with any aspect of this post. I become so irritated by the most mundane inconveniences that I sit in front of a computer for long stretches of time crafting ludicrous posts.

A don’t…enslave clones. Or anyone else. Ever. Even if you did clone them and they could help lower the tolls on the Turnpike, no one deserves to be “owned” by another.

Prescription Windshields; Exploring an Entertaining Idea for a Very Poor Business

It seems to me that perhaps prescription windshields could be a viable business idea. The positive aspects are many. Firstly, and quite obviously, for example, you won’t have to worry if you forget your glasses or lose a contact lens. Actually, you’ll probably want to remove any ocular assistance device before sitting down behind a prescription windshield. I haven’t studied the effects of being “redundantly-glassesed”, however I suspect the only effects would be ill effects. Secondly, your vehicle would be less likely to be stolen. If it was, and this is the fact that holds the distinction of being the third positive aspect of prescription windshields, recovering your vehicle should be fairly simple. If the thief doesn’t share the need for the exact same eyeglass prescription as you, they’ll either be stopped for suspected commission of the crime of DUI or they’ll develop a severe headache and crash into some ditch or tree in your immediate vicinity. Should the thief be equally ocularly under-developed, the police can simple scour optometrist records and contact everyone in your area that shares your corrective lens needs until they find they culprit.

The negative aspects of prescription windshields are also many. To break the monotony of paragraph style blog reading, I’ll present these factoids in bullet point fashion below:

  • Prescription windshields would be cost prohibitive.
  • Prescription windshields would also indicate the need for prescription mirrors and side windows incurring even more cost.
  • Any passenger in a prescription glassed vehicle would suffer greatly if they didn’t share the driver’s prescription eyeglass needs.
  • Probably no one else in your family would be able to drive your vehicle. This aspect could also be considered positive, dependent upon circumstances.
  • Those who require bi- or tri-focals would, in addition to incurring even further expense, be forced to operate their motor vehicle with their necks alternating between the natural straight up orientation and various absurdly odd orientations depending, of course, upon whether or not they are attempting to read road signs, check for oncoming traffic or simply drive down a well known road.

I recently discussed this idea with my co-workers and one of them pointed out a hard and fast reason why prescription windshields and side windows would be a wonderful thing. He suggested that car doors could be designed to be easily removed so that, in the event the driver forgot/lost/broke their much more plausibly designed portable prescription eyewear, he or she could simply remove their car door and carry it in front of them, peering at whatever requires their peering through their prescription side window.

I originally loved the prescription windshield idea because I found it comical in its base form. My co-worker’s addition of the hilarious visual of someone using a car door as glasses has become my new favorite reason for supporting the prescription car glass proposal.  Hats off to this man, who shall remain nameless unless he reads this and demands credit, who took my already funny (to me, anyway) idea and improved it in such a wonderful way.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…feel free to invest in this idea if you have extra money laying around that you never care to see again. This idea will go precisely nowhere, but I’m not opposed to accepting free money if someone is willing to offer it.

A don’t…forget that many a business plan has been laughed at before becoming a huge success. Keep it in mind. Just a thought.

The Highlander Conundrum; Life’s Little Paradoxes

It seems that another family of the same name has intruded upon the school my children attend. My last name (which is different from the last name I write under) is fairly uncommon. I won’t reveal it here, simply because what I’m about to say may offend this other family of the same name and they have done nothing at all to deserve what I’m about to say but, every time I show up to get my kids and hear a strange first name called along with my last name I imagine my self drawing a huge sword on some craggy peak in Scotland and battling away at the other dad as lightning flashes and we both scream, ala Highlander, “There can be only one!”

Rest assured I have no real desire to attack anyone. I will not sword battle some innocent man simply because we wear identical nametags at work. Assuming, of course, he is employed in a place, as I am, that puts your last name on your shirt instead of your first. He probably doesn’t even own a sword anyway so, even if I did, the battle would be unfair and one sided. And anyway, I don’t own a sword either. All I’m trying to say is that this is all in my imagination. I’m not going to attack anyone. No need to alert any sort of authority.

I’ve simply become accustomed to being the only man of my surname in my area and it feels as if this other family has somehow intruded. Ridiculous, yes, but it feels like fate that we would both live within the same school district.

All of these thoughts about fate and sword battles have sparked a few thoughts about the actual show “Highlander”. I tried and tried to be a fan when I was young. It had Sean Connery, so it couldn’t be less than amazing right?


It was way less than amazing. I could’ve overlooked the poor acting and terrible special effects if it hadn’t been for the awful premise.

Think about all the paradoxes.

Paradox 1: “Immortals” hunt each other down and kill one another. How immortal are you if you can be killed? Not immortal at all. It doesn’t count as immortality if another, even if it’s only if he is also “immortal”, can kill you. Have you ever heard the phrase “mortal wound”? If you are immortal, then by definition mortal wounds don’t exist for you.

Paradox 2: “There can be only one.” If there could be only one, there would be only one. If there can be only one fish in a particular tank because the size of said tank is sufficient only to support one fish, then another fish simply cannot exist within that particular microcosm. And so another fish doesn’t. If another was introduced one fish or the other would waste away, without interference from the healthy fish, and perish naturally due to lack of sustenance and other resources. The same is true for the Highlanders. If the Earth can support only one, why hunt one another. Save your strength. Let the other hunt you, waste his limited energy and wither away in a fashion most uncharacteristic of an immortal. There can obviously be more than one. There are several. And they constantly hunt and kill one another. They should instead scream “There should be only one!”

They need to stop lying to themselves. They are neither immortal nor solely entitled to exist upon the planet. They are selfish, healthy enough to survive anything other than a wound from another “immortal”, idiots.

Thank you for allowing me to rant and rave once again. I hope you can relate.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…adopt “There should be only one!” as your battle cry. Forget “There can be only one!”

A don’t…lie to yourself about the realities of existence. If you happen to be a selfish idiot, don’t bother to try to disguise it. Embrace it. Or, perhaps, change.