<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021</id><updated>2009-11-14T06:18:02.240-08:00</updated><title type='text'>God thinks I'm hilarious</title><subtitle type='html'>Tom Bickle is a guy in central California. He has a family, computer skills and voices in his head that come in and out of tune like a second-hand radio. He loves the French language, stand-up comedy, the outdoors, art and self-expression.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>279</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-3776537346871930706</id><published>2009-11-02T06:53:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T07:08:24.774-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gratitude'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Happy Anniversary</title><content type='html'>My wife and I took yesterday to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary.  We spent it in true middle class fashion, driving into a real town with movie theaters, shopping centers and other civilized services, and spending money. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We held hands the whole drive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spent money in amounts that would embarrass the poor by their extravagance, and the rich by their paltriness.   For us though: just right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shopped for books, she shopped for candy, and we were both happy.  We talked about tattoos, music and how silly conditions at work are.  We ate like denim royalty and at the end, we were full.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-3776537346871930706?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/3776537346871930706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=3776537346871930706' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3776537346871930706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3776537346871930706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/11/happy-anniversary.html' title='Happy Anniversary'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-307971181646919562</id><published>2009-10-26T15:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T15:17:26.691-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life; family'/><title type='text'>My brother's the shit</title><content type='html'>My brother is the only guy I know who can choke on a taco and turn it into a regional event.  Way to go, Bickle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a brief but harrowing incident that led him to the brink of death, he is rebounding nicely under a physician's care.  He's been brave and relatively good natured (depending on whom you ask) through most of his troubles over the last few years, and I'm proud of the gutsy little troll. I say that with the utmost of familial warmth and respect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not lied a bit in this brief and cryptic account, but I admit that I have wantonly misrepresented a few details in the hopes that my bro will hurry home and counter-blog to defend his good name.  I'm not good at manipulation, but I'm learning, and that's what counts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-307971181646919562?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/307971181646919562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=307971181646919562' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/307971181646919562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/307971181646919562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-brothers-shit.html' title='My brother&apos;s the shit'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-3505170823364462097</id><published>2009-10-11T10:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-11T12:33:45.896-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God thinks I&apos;m hilarious'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stand up comedy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spirituality'/><title type='text'>Passion II</title><content type='html'>Following some good advice, I took another look at what I love to do, rather than the things I must do. I departed from the comfortable norm, and drove two and a half hours to downtown Manteca last night, performing a four-minute set at a two-hour comedy show for a good crowd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The upside: I got a respectable amount of laughs. I stolidly acknowledge that I didn't bring down the house and that there were many funnier, more experienced comics in attendance. No posing here. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That said, I must also say that it was thoroughly exhilarating to have done some time and not only &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; embarrassed myself, but to have acquitted myself reasonably among local peers. As wordy and mild as that last sentence is, the buzz of the experience carried me home and kept me awake for hours last night. Opiates have nothing on the joy I felt last night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-3505170823364462097?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/3505170823364462097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=3505170823364462097' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3505170823364462097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3505170823364462097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/10/passion-ii.html' title='Passion II'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-3925602521743888279</id><published>2009-10-01T19:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T19:51:01.819-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God thinks I&apos;m hilarious'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='happiness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>Passion, and lack thereof</title><content type='html'>While I had a few days off, I never really got much done, other than housework and minor fiddling around.  I can't seem to muster enough passion about any one subject or endeavor to really dig into it.  This must be what ADHD feels like: a broad-but-not-deep fascination pool, and the inability to focus on anything for long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I do try to burrow into something that attracts my interest, I find the interest flagging after not too long.  The only good news is that it always comes around again, like some great merry-go-round.  Trouble is, progress is disjointed, scattered, and many things must be re-learned, sometimes several times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is no way to run a psyche...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-3925602521743888279?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/3925602521743888279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=3925602521743888279' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3925602521743888279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3925602521743888279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/10/passion-and-lack-thereof.html' title='Passion, and lack thereof'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-4814877314130204810</id><published>2009-09-25T16:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-25T17:27:33.944-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Know what I mean? Or are you just saying that?</title><content type='html'>You ever get the feeling that there's almost no one you can relate to? And even fewer that you can trust?  I've got that feeling right now.  Cold.  Alone.  Not lonely, just... isolated.  Hell, maybe it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;is&lt;/span&gt; loneliness, by another name. I dunno.  I've got that right now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I waited a while to post the above, and it's a good thing.  It gave me time to reflect, and realize that there a few - a precious few - that have got my back, and wouldn't hurt me for anything.  That is a comfort, and I'll lean on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, it's discouraging what people do to each other, and unnecessarily.  Out of fear. Out of greed.  Out of malice.  With a few notable exceptions, people really just bum me out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-4814877314130204810?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/4814877314130204810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=4814877314130204810' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/4814877314130204810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/4814877314130204810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/09/know-what-i-mean-or-are-you-just-saying.html' title='Know what I mean? Or are you just saying that?'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-4444880026795321160</id><published>2009-09-24T16:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T16:39:27.221-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='things I don&apos;t understand'/><title type='text'>Problem solver</title><content type='html'>If people are ever forced to carry around RFID-type chips in their bodies (I assume I'll be dead by then, or in jail from firebombing to protest lost civil liberties), one piece of information that is absolutely &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;vital &lt;/span&gt;is one's résumé, in editable form.  Carry around your driver's license, your medical history, passport.  Sure, carry all that, but for god's sake, don't forget your résumé.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because when I return to work after two scheduled days off and find a note from you that says: "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;we're out of hand towels in the bathroom&lt;/span&gt;," I want to be able to (again, I realize I'll be dead - fair enough) bring up your vocational credentials and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;on the bloody spot &lt;/span&gt;irrevocably delete the portion that says you're a "top-notch problem solver," and replace it with "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;useless, barking moron&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-4444880026795321160?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/4444880026795321160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=4444880026795321160' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/4444880026795321160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/4444880026795321160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/09/problem-solver.html' title='Problem solver'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-3287957319304657275</id><published>2009-09-19T14:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-19T14:16:34.923-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='photography'/><title type='text'>Squirrel! Part two</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SrVJ_HIeErI/AAAAAAAAACU/X1OD3nMXxTQ/s1600-h/squirrel+lay.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 161px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SrVJ_HIeErI/AAAAAAAAACU/X1OD3nMXxTQ/s200/squirrel+lay.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383290278186455730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally offloaded the pix of my squirrel hunt, and I even got a few useful ones. More than I expected, really.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-3287957319304657275?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/3287957319304657275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=3287957319304657275' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3287957319304657275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3287957319304657275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/09/squirrel-part-two.html' title='Squirrel! Part two'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SrVJ_HIeErI/AAAAAAAAACU/X1OD3nMXxTQ/s72-c/squirrel+lay.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-153564373448241510</id><published>2009-09-12T19:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T19:32:10.462-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>A last, evil laugh</title><content type='html'>You remember that scene in the first "The Lord of the Rings," where the group struggles through some dark, stinky crevices underground, running from a fiery, angry demon, and although Gandalf makes a portentious stand, ruining not the ugly demon but the ground upon which he stood, sending him to the anonymous darkness never to be seen again?  And then the evil demon, hurtling towards its ignominious demise lost in a forgotten hole lashes out with one final, desperate and unlikely bid to save himself and ensnares Gandalf by the ankle, dragging him down with himself? It was like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other, unrelated news, she quit recently, but staged a spirited comeback attempt by appealing to an uninformed and apparent democratic majority when her chief critic was out of town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only mention the two because, you know, it's faster than making two separate posts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-153564373448241510?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/153564373448241510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=153564373448241510' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/153564373448241510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/153564373448241510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/09/last-evil-laugh.html' title='A last, evil laugh'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-3371274534216721968</id><published>2009-09-04T10:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T10:31:07.541-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='photography'/><title type='text'>Front page, baby</title><content type='html'>A few days ago, I happened upon a water line break along the road.  Any geyser is visually interesting, but this one was directly behind a CCWD (Calaveras County Water District) sign promoting water conservation as hundreds of gallons of water pissed futilely into the sky.  I'm all for conservation, but I giggled as I caught this visual irony on "film."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I submitted it for publication into the Valley Springs News, and they used it in today's edition!  I have to admit, it's pretty exciting to be a part of the giant behemoth that is the mainstream media.  I hope to do more of this type of thing as soon and as often as I can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got a black and white sample here because I'm not at a place where I can get a color scan.  You get the idea, eh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SqFKwTPj4hI/AAAAAAAAACM/0tJ1gb4alAQ/s1600-h/waterlinebreak.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 174px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SqFKwTPj4hI/AAAAAAAAACM/0tJ1gb4alAQ/s320/waterlinebreak.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377661623716798994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-3371274534216721968?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/3371274534216721968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=3371274534216721968' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3371274534216721968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3371274534216721968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/09/front-page-baby.html' title='Front page, baby'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SqFKwTPj4hI/AAAAAAAAACM/0tJ1gb4alAQ/s72-c/waterlinebreak.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-1503632109813611546</id><published>2009-09-03T09:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T09:57:36.995-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='photography'/><title type='text'>Squirrel!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.rentphotostuff.com/images/Canon%20IR.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 192px; height: 197px;" src="http://www.rentphotostuff.com/images/Canon%20IR.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I bought this new camera recently, and I've been making an effort to use it and get to know its features.  It's my first dSLR, a pro-sumer camera with a lot more under the hood than my years-old Kodak point-n-shoot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the things I've looked forward to photographing is wildlife.  I'm lucky that my rural area is rife with critters, as is my workplace.  Every morning as I drive to work, sans camera, I note hawks perched on power lines or winging their way to nearby treetops.  At work, where squirrels are already braver than your average rodent due to routine human exposure, squirrels chitter and chase each other over ground, up trees and across limbs, just feet away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my days off, when I have time and bring my camera, the route I normally take to work is practically a desert in times of winged wildlife.  Even the crows hide from me.  Escorting my 300D on a lunchtime stroll, the roads and trails are silent.  It is maddening that these clowns of the forest, normally all but climbing into my shirt pocket and juggling acorns, have now vanished.  I walk my normal route, and back to the office where I work without spying a single one of these bloody Sierra Nevada rats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was just about to give up when I found one.  He even did me the favor of posing - in the afternoon heat, heat sprawled on his belly along a split-rail fence. Unfortunately, the sight of a pudgy amateur photographer clumsily stalking him with a small, gray device clutched to his chest was too disturbing for the little guy to remain in his vulnerable position long enough to snap his photo.  I got some other shots, and I wish I could post a sample or two here.  But, I  haven't had time in my busy life to get them onto a computer screen for review.  Maybe later...  Still, I'm glad I found one, anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-1503632109813611546?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/1503632109813611546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=1503632109813611546' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/1503632109813611546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/1503632109813611546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/09/squirrel.html' title='Squirrel!'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-2594370118585002640</id><published>2009-08-26T10:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T10:48:32.307-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='things I don&apos;t understand'/><title type='text'>Sort of stupid</title><content type='html'>As if my fellow humans didn't do enough things to irritate me, here's one more: the superfluous adding of "sort of" or "kind of" to their sentences.  It wouldn't be so annoying if people didn't reach for it so quickly and lazily, and adopt so easily it as a posing habit.  I noticed people adding these qualifiers recently, as if they just couldn't hit on a sufficiently accurate descriptor, often during a self-indulgent traipse down memory lane:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know, I guess the experience just sort of opened new doors for me as a person..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did it?  Did it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sort of&lt;/span&gt; open new doors for you, or did it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;just&lt;/span&gt; open new doors for you?  Oh yes, that's right, your story and its slippery little point are simply too complex and elusive to be captured by mere and common turns of phrase; but you, ever the bon vivant and irrepressible storyteller will just have to make do with the paltry language that human civilization has patched together over the past few thousand years.  Do struggle on, won't you, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sort of&lt;/span&gt; patch together your high-minded repartee, in a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;kind of&lt;/span&gt; grandiose pastiche of sloppy metaphors and unnecessary, trendy figures of speech?  Oh, won't you, do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admit, I am easily annoyed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-2594370118585002640?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/2594370118585002640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=2594370118585002640' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/2594370118585002640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/2594370118585002640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/08/sort-of-stupid.html' title='Sort of stupid'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-6829530164042273112</id><published>2009-08-24T20:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T20:35:55.716-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>Meta Blog</title><content type='html'>Nearly another week gone by and I've written darn little of personal import.  I used to love writing in this thing, and now it's becoming an effort.  I feel that I'm losing a grip on something important, and I don't know if it's so that I can have a hand free for what's next, or if something's just slipping away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I feel like I'm turning into one of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;them &lt;/span&gt;- one of the norms, the everyday zombies who lack introspection, irony and the sense of being just out of sync enough to remind themselves that life is weird and once you're comfortable, you're probably dead.  "It's warm and welcoming, here in the herd.  Give in to our embrace..."  It sounds tempting, inviting and creepily like a suspense thriller film, and I know it's not right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-6829530164042273112?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/6829530164042273112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=6829530164042273112' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/6829530164042273112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/6829530164042273112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/08/meta-blog.html' title='Meta Blog'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-8644138264506341087</id><published>2009-08-19T09:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T09:25:41.563-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>Tumult</title><content type='html'>My boss quit a few days ago, and the workplace is in relative chaos.  As much as livelihood issues square dance around my panic button, I find it very instructive to watch how individuals and groups react to the stress, strife, threats and opportunities that upsetting an apple cart provides.  It's pedagogical to see who grabs for apples, and who tries to right the cart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even more so, it gives me an opportunity to read people and their reactions, which become transparent when there isn't sufficient time to cloak skulduggery in the sleight-of-hand that usually accompanies ulterior motives.  With haste, these feints and grabs become naked, and even those like me who find human nature fairly impenetrable can perceive them easily.  Instructive, but I find every lesson disgusting and repugnant.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-8644138264506341087?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/8644138264506341087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=8644138264506341087' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/8644138264506341087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/8644138264506341087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/08/tumult.html' title='Tumult'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-6000290903712233783</id><published>2009-08-14T18:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T19:37:43.741-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>Rut</title><content type='html'>My personal life is great in a lot of ways.  Most ways, even.  However, there is a rut that I've fallen into, only in my own head, and I don't like it.  I am working to break out of the status quo persona, but it's tough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On other other hand, it's a great (worst) problem to have.   Generally speaking, I need to work out the kinks in how I spend my free time. I feel like enlightenment and progress are right around the corner.  It's a great time to be alive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-6000290903712233783?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/6000290903712233783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=6000290903712233783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/6000290903712233783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/6000290903712233783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/08/rut_14.html' title='Rut'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-451335166425211033</id><published>2009-08-14T18:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T19:17:22.363-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rut</title><content type='html'>My personal life is great in a lot of ways.  However, there is a rut that I've fallen into, only in my own head, and I don't like it.  I am working to break out of the status quo persona, but it's tough.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On other other hand, it's a great (worst) problem to have.   Generally speaking, I need to work out the kinks in how I spend my free time. I feel like enlightenment and progress are right around the corner.  It's a great time to be alive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-451335166425211033?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/451335166425211033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=451335166425211033' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/451335166425211033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/451335166425211033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/08/rut.html' title='Rut'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-6594234952559759136</id><published>2009-08-07T11:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T11:38:50.397-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>What's new?</title><content type='html'>New, new, what's new...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I've just posted a new blog entry at &lt;a href="http://www.humormecomedy.com/comedy_blog/"&gt;HumorMeComedy.com&lt;/a&gt; about Open Mike Night experiences.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My brother is ailing, has taken a recent turn for the worse.  I hope he's back in the pink soon.  He's a good guy who had enough trouble before crippling pain and disability threw gravel under his skateboard.  Things like this are the reason that if there was an omnipotent God and I could meet him on the street, I'd kick him in the nuts.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My son has started soccer practice, with his first game next week.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm considering replacing my digital camera, which is several years old.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-6594234952559759136?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/6594234952559759136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=6594234952559759136' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/6594234952559759136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/6594234952559759136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/08/whats-new.html' title='What&apos;s new?'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-7041708191493939191</id><published>2009-07-28T08:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T09:11:35.738-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Long weekend</title><content type='html'>I had a good weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I busted out housework like it was going out of style.  I'm usually pretty good about that, but I went above and beyond this weekend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel bad for my poor wife.  She's had a nasty two weeks, pushing herself through a terrible cold and crippling backache.  A new schedule and maybe too strenuous a pace could be forcing her to take it easy for a change.  I tried to help out so she could slip into a lower gear, but she's still burning some oil.  I hope she feels better soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do wish I'd spent more time with my son.  I flipped between two modes: busy as hell and fairly exhausted.  Neither really made for excellent parenting modes.  The boy was happy enough doing his own thing, but I can do a better job.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-7041708191493939191?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/7041708191493939191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=7041708191493939191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/7041708191493939191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/7041708191493939191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/07/long-weekend.html' title='Long weekend'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-6936710674331064990</id><published>2009-07-27T06:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T13:26:55.776-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God thinks I&apos;m hilarious'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Big Day</title><content type='html'>I woke up this morning with the realization that today is my son's first day of kindergarten.  It was no surprise and the anticipation hasn't really affected me in the preceding days, other than logistical concerns involving who drives where and when.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, as I opened my eyes I had the distinct sensation of a roller coaster car reaching the final, clanking, uphill procession, and that of a passenger looking down at an unstoppable, exponentially speedy trip down a nearly incomprehensible and frightening series of twists, loops, volcanic leaps and stomach-torquing drops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here we go.  Too late to get off now.  And breakfast isn't sitting so well at the moment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-6936710674331064990?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/6936710674331064990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=6936710674331064990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/6936710674331064990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/6936710674331064990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/07/big-day.html' title='Big Day'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-76704791575977663</id><published>2009-07-26T06:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-26T06:33:47.213-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='illness'/><title type='text'>Head cold</title><content type='html'>I have a cold, which is turning out to be a real family heirloom.  My son gave it to his momma, who gave it to me.  My wife is suffering from it much more than I, sadly.  I have a low-impact job indoors, and have been careful to take lots of water, and lay off the sauce.  My woman, on the other hand, appears unable or unwilling to take it easy, and suffers from headaches, backache, chest and head congestion and general malaise.  Sucks!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-76704791575977663?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/76704791575977663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=76704791575977663' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/76704791575977663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/76704791575977663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/07/head-cold.html' title='Head cold'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-3476868166248064602</id><published>2009-07-21T12:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T06:13:33.084-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stand up comedy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='new beginnings'/><title type='text'>The first Open Mike I've run</title><content type='html'>Last week&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SmYk3Rp2sTI/AAAAAAAAAB8/UF5jLvbwiTo/s1600-h/tom_microphone1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 185px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SmYk3Rp2sTI/AAAAAAAAAB8/UF5jLvbwiTo/s320/tom_microphone1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361012938481512754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I ran an Open Mike Night at "The 19th Hole" in Avery, CA, the first time I've done so.  I've performed at them several times now, but this was my first time being responsible for the whole thing - the equipment, the tone, the promotion.  And it was a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;total blast&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rushed over directly from work, set up my equipment and got started.  I introduced myself and the concept open mikes in general.  I did about 5 minutes of my material and it was very well received.  It's true that several people in the audience were friends and acquaintances of mine, and I know that buddy-laughs are different than stranger-laughs.  Still, laughs are laughs, and they sounded genuine to me.  An even stronger confirmation of their legitimacy was the fact that some gags fell a bit flat - not a night of bombs by any means, but the crowd provided enough variation in response that I knew the laughter wasn't simply Pavlovian, "that's my buddy up there" giggles, generated to save my feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beyond the reception of my own material, the night started off a bit slowly.  It appears that open mikes and down-to-earth performance art in general are pretty novel here, and I could sense the crowd's uncertainty as to what this production was going to look like.  That's part of the reason I explained (and will continue to explain) what open mikes are about.  I think it helps to get the uninitiated up to speed.  But the evening rolled along, and I was proud of myself: I trod a careful line between cajoling the hesitant attendees and acknowledging the awkwardness that is natural to approaching a microphone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, there are precious few (maybe none at all) aspiring comedians in this area, and no musicians saw fit to attend, either.  So, talent was a little on the lean side, and our only hope for entertainment, aside from me, was to get the crowd involved.  If there was one angel of mercy in this regard, it was an elderly woman named Liena.  After my repeated prodding of the crowd to take a whack at it, she finally took the mike - she utterly mangled a street joke that began: "Okay, there's this eye-talian guy..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although it didn't end up being an ethnic slur, it sure started out like one, and this bold start from a frail old granny was ideal for breaking the ice!  After her, there was a steady stream of participants; it not only provided a quantity and diversity of material, I could feel the audience become invested in the show, as their friends bought into it and supported their cohorts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the end of the show, everyone was loose and there was a definite buzz in the air.  Even the shyest person in attendance had shuffled up to the mike to share a funnier-than-expected story about his near-death experience, falling out of a fishing boat in full gear.  All my trepidation at this new experience had morphed into exhilaration as the evening was as much a success as I could have asked for.  Three nights from now I get to do it all over again, and I can't wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've gotta write some new material!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-3476868166248064602?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/3476868166248064602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=3476868166248064602' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3476868166248064602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3476868166248064602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/07/first-open-mike-ive-run.html' title='The first Open Mike I&apos;ve run'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RCFmOfdpGQg/SmYk3Rp2sTI/AAAAAAAAAB8/UF5jLvbwiTo/s72-c/tom_microphone1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-3850572905304078726</id><published>2009-07-12T11:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T18:27:24.509-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An evening of foxes and fires</title><content type='html'>With the windows open during summer's muggy stifle, my wife and I heard the chickens muttering unusually loudly and nervously outside.  For the second time in a week, I crept my chubby frame onto the creaking deck and caught sight of a fox making his skulking retreat into the back 40.  For the second time in a week, I wished I'd had my rifle handy for procuring a new pelt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Minutes later, my wife and I posted a leisurely watch overlooking the sloping back yard.  While I sipped refreshing adult beverages and adopted an appropriately reverent and blissful state of mind, I caught the distinct aroma of smoke on the wind, and remarked that someone was burning wood out there.  Not long after, smoke billowed from just beyond the adjacent hillside, and several CDF aircraft swung circle after circle over the point of what was enough of a blaze to close the nearby road and prompt my wife and I to calculate how long it would take to load horses and dogs and make a getaway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, the fire was snuffed out without further event.  All's well that ends well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... ten minutes ago, I faced down a rattlesnake.  He got away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another quiet night in the country...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-3850572905304078726?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/3850572905304078726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=3850572905304078726' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3850572905304078726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3850572905304078726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/07/evening-of-foxes-and-fires.html' title='An evening of foxes and fires'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-8437547676392293904</id><published>2009-07-09T11:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T11:40:17.763-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stand up comedy'/><title type='text'>HumorMeComedy.com</title><content type='html'>I've been applying my efforts for several weeks now, building a labor of love website devoted to stand up comedy in my region: &lt;a href="http://www.HumorMeComedy.com"&gt;HumorMeComedy.com&lt;/a&gt;.  I've been irretrievably snagged on the decision of where to blog about its progress.  Do I blog events and thoughts here, in my personal blog?  Create a new blogspot blog?  Create a blog at the website itself?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blogging at the website itself is reasonable in the sense that blog entries refer to behind the scenes viewpoints about the site and regional comedy.  Unfortunately, it would amount to content &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;about the site&lt;/span&gt;, not about comedy, and therefore wouldn't belong on the site, in my estimation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, I've got enough unloved blogspot blogs already - one more littering the place would only embarass me as more evidence that I start and don't finish things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blogging here is imperfect as well, as the topic just seems more rightly placed elsewhere.  Hmph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As is my nature, I dithered and did nothing.  That's never good.  Certainly here is better than nowhere, so I'll start here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-8437547676392293904?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/8437547676392293904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=8437547676392293904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/8437547676392293904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/8437547676392293904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/07/humormecomedycom.html' title='HumorMeComedy.com'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-4110591959444821965</id><published>2009-06-28T06:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T06:48:04.788-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>Goodbye Michael Jackson.  Close the door on your way out, willya?</title><content type='html'>Michael Jackson died this week, and in my sphere of awareness there were yawns all around.  Was this guy relevant anymore?  Was he ever?  The answer is yes, but not in my world.  Not at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what of some of my favorite (some former) comedians?  Nothing from their collective websites.  How will I know what to think, if they don't tell me?  The answer: see previous  paragraph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've heard a few overwrought tributes about how people will listen to his music forever, and that his effect on music will be nigh-eternal.  There's a whisper in my ear that a guilt-ridden public are over-eulogizing a very creative artist that they cheered, and cheered for different reasons even as his fame rose like a wave to wash him farther and farther from normalcy and the human experience.   Now that he's gone, they realize he'll never regain his former glory, and they'll never be able to apologize for the sickening tabloid muck pit that they herded him into.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah - maybe saying nice things now that he's dead will level the scales of inequity regarding the rise and fall of public figures.  That way, we can hurry on to the next celebrity flame-out with what passes for a clear conscience.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-4110591959444821965?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/4110591959444821965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=4110591959444821965' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/4110591959444821965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/4110591959444821965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/06/goodbye-michael-jackson-close-door-on.html' title='Goodbye Michael Jackson.  Close the door on your way out, willya?'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-3438026239354761708</id><published>2009-06-28T05:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T06:16:50.179-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Four A.M., really?</title><content type='html'>What the Hell is it with waking up at 4am lately?  What am I, in the Army, I gotta wake up at four?  Shit.  Have I got crops in the field that need tending, is that it? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I slowed down on the beer so I could get some decent sleep, and now I'm surfacing from the depths of slumber at four in the goddamned morning.  I'm with &lt;a href="http://www.marcmaron.com/"&gt;Marc Maron&lt;/a&gt; on this one: "What the fuck?? This is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;bullshit&lt;/span&gt;!!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-3438026239354761708?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/3438026239354761708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=3438026239354761708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3438026239354761708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/3438026239354761708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/06/four-am-really.html' title='Four A.M., really?'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4435134613832709021.post-4671771605143863929</id><published>2009-06-25T08:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T06:19:00.409-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='reviews'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>"Sucks to your ass-mar!"</title><content type='html'>I just finished reading "&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_of_the_flies"&gt;Lord of the Flies&lt;/a&gt;" by William Golding.  The title of this blog is Ralph's mispronounced and reflexive rebuke of Piggy's asthma, an excuse for not being more involved in physical endeavors of survival on the island.  It cracks me up, and I immediately adopted it into my own lexicon as a general reproof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like that the book has so many allegories and ironies in such a short book.  Some are approachable and easily picked out, some not.  I can see why it is popular as required reading.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4435134613832709021-4671771605143863929?l=tombickle.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/feeds/4671771605143863929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4435134613832709021&amp;postID=4671771605143863929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/4671771605143863929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4435134613832709021/posts/default/4671771605143863929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tombickle.blogspot.com/2009/06/sucks-to-your-ass-mar.html' title='&quot;Sucks to your ass-mar!&quot;'/><author><name>Tom Bickle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01915964684421886050'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>