Nassssssty

We got rained on today. Rain. In January. In Rexburg, Idaho. Global Warming indeed is real.

Today went down the tubes. Spent this morning fussing over the Toyota. Its battery died Thursday night. Tried jumping it with the Pontiac, but it's got one of those new-fangled batteries that hides the posts so you can't jump anything with them. So I pulled the old battery out, scrubbed it up then brought it home to plug in to the charger. Didn't notice until I was four hours deep into my temple open house assignment -- directing traffic in front of the stake center -- that I had battery corrosion dust on my gloves, with which I'd been brushing my nose and lips. They're not on fire quite as much any more, which is a good thing. Never, never rub battery corrosion stuff on your lips. It's no lip balm.

The temple open house. Not as bad as I thought it would be -- five hours out in the cold, waving a flashlight around. Wearing a safety vest. Shooing people away from the VIP parking section. Hoping nobody would get hit by a car during our shift. That happened Tuesday. Fortuntately, the guy walked out of the hospital with only a few bruises on him.

My classes start next week -- one on reading theory and document design, the other on digital media. I feel like a fool taking these courses, because I know nothing. But then I guess that's why we take classes, so we can get to know things. All the odd stuff we do to get a degree. I do enjoy the program I'm in -- I'll put in a plug for Utah State University. They do offer an entire masters program in technical writing online. It requires 33 credits; sofar I've completed a whopping 12. But that's 12 more than I had this time last year, when I was just getting ready to take the GRE. The more I think about it, the more I realize the masters program could be a springboard into teaching writing. But that would mean, in most cases, that I'd have to earn a PhD in order to continue teaching. I have to ask myself: Teaching? What am I thinking? But then I remember: The alternative was the family business: Bricklaying. Noble, of course, but outside in the cold and wet and heat and all. I've had enough of that as a hod carrier. And never will I go back to telemarketing. I'd rather beat up old ladies and steal their purses.

I just told my wife about the battery corrosion on the lips. She chalks that up as more evidence as why men should not be allowed to roam the earth unsupervised. That's why it's only cavemen, not cavewomen, that they find all the time in the tar pits.

By the way -- please visit uncharted.us. It's a travel web site a few college friends and I have put together, where we invite people to share their insights into traveling in the Intermountain west.