After the Long Weekend

Damn those Swedes*. I can’t help but fall in love with their sound. Musically, I mean. As in, I’m listening to that song by The Legends, you know, the one from the Wicker Park soundtrack. The soundtrack I hated because I prejudged the movie—I thought it sucked, but then I saw it and realized I was wrong. And now I can love the soundtrack instead of being pissed that they desecrated great songs with a crap movie. Anyway, the song is “The Day is Done” and I’ve provided a handy link to it on itunes for you on my sidebar with the other music stuff.

Long weekends rule and I’m suggesting a swift change to the American policy on vacations. I suggest we follow the example of our European counterparts (what does that mean, exactly? I don’t know, but it sounds intelligent, doesn’t it) and instigate a just-because holiday once a month, in addition to, in case it matters, national holidays that may already exist. So, July would still maintain Independence Day along with a just-because holiday. I think productivity would go up everywhere. Businesses would thrive. The economy would sky-rocket. I’m telling you, it’s for the best.

On Friday night we watched the fireworks at the USU stadium with Stoker’s family. That was cool, except for the part where the radio station broadcasting from the stadium played a bunch of lame songs devoid of any patriotism -- they were mostly self-absorbed singers like Mariah Carey singing in their most obnoxious pop-diva voices, the kind that make me want to commit hari kari**. But the others, Neil Diamond singing “Coming to America” rules as a patriotic song, as does Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes Forever”*** and Lee Greenwood’s “Proud to Be an American.”

And for the record, sanding the rust spots out of the bed of your Tacoma takes longer than you think it will. Especially if you’re a novice at such stuff and simply use arm and finger power, not, as a co-worker suggested after the fact, a drill with a sanding attachment. I don’t even know if that would work or if I’d end up sanding through the bed.

As you might have guessed, I spent three or four hours sanding the rust spots out of the bed of my Tacoma yesterday. How does a truck bed get rust spots, you ask. Well, maybe you’ve seen the bumper sticker that reads, “No, you can’t borrow my truck.” This relates to rust spots because usually it’s other people borrowing a truck to move crap and that’s when the paint gets scratched, which is shortly followed by the oxidation of the metal. Unattended, rust spreads and your metal object (i.e. truck, car, tractor) turns into a twisted pile of brown rust. My truck is years away from that, but I’m a worrier (that’s why my friends call my Whiskers) and in my head the rust spots were minutes away from completely corroding the entire bed to bits. Soon, I imagined, I’d be driving around in the cab of my truck with my rear wheels barely hanging on.

Rest easy, my friend, the metal is now protected by beautiful gray primer.

Other important events of the weekend: Stoker and I moved the majority of his stuff from his parent’s home in Richmond to my parent’s home in Farmington. Yes, we’ve been staying there until we move to Phoenix in two weeks.

Sunday, my dad (Terry) found a hummingbird in the backyard, momentarily stunned and grounded from a sudden onslaught of sprinkler water. I held it in my hand while Terry held a trumpet vine flower up to the hummingbird’s beak and it sucked all the nectar out. It was amazing. It was like in Cinderella when all the wild birds land on Cinderella, only this was real (Stoker took a picture).

How many people have actually held a hummingbird in their hand? Probably only two.

I took my truck to the car wash yesterday before I sanded the rust off and there was a fireworks stand by it. Caught up in the moment, I went a little berserk and bought a bunch of fireworks. Last night Stoker and I celebrated our first 4th of July together. Yes, we even twirled with sparklers in our hands, like dorky little kids.

Last night Stoker and I said a prayer together and thanked God for our freedom and for the people who fought to bring us the freedom we enjoy today. And then I thought about the people who complain about America, or say they hate it and are embarrassed to be American. And I wondered if they’re ever thankful for anything.



*Other great Swedish bands: The Concretes, Club 8, ABBA (though from Sweden, I consider it un-American to not love ABBA. But maybe that’s what you’re going for, because maybe, like it’s popular to do now, you hate America. The answer? Move to Sweden and form a band that sounds like The Concretes, The Legends, Club 8 and ABBA combined.)
**Oddly enough, this little “and” thing reminds me of a billboard I saw on the way to work today. For the annual “Huntin’ Show.” Huntin’, just like you’d say it. Not hunting. Huntin’.
***Not that I would, it’s to express the agony I feel when I hear awful music like Mariah Carey, repetitive rave mixes of old Bryan Adams’ songs or Mariah Carey.