Saber-Tooth Squid

The Strange Case of the Haunted Battery, Mr. T, and Scooby Doo

2010-10-31T22:59:00.008-06:00

As usual, for Halloween I constructed myself a costume of cardboard and duct tape, which I wore on my head. This year, I was a Duracell double-A battery. (Easy to build. A nightmare to paint.)

Ian was Mr. T. (Heidi tried on the mohawk...we're all still traumatized by that.)

Tess was Scooby Doo.

Lora (ghost) and Isabel (puppy) are not pictured because they trick-or-treated with their cousins. I'll post those shots when I get them.

It was a good Halloween. Now it's only three weeks until Thanksgiving. Perhaps I ought to construct a cardboard turkey to wear upon my head to the family dinner. Of course, it would look like the turkey was trying to hatch my head, so maybe not such a grand idea.

Any suggestions out there for my Halloween costume next year?

NEXT STOP: Goblin Valley

More Unflattering Pictures of Myself

2010-10-30T21:25:00.003-06:00

Hi everybody!

My nephew-in-law, Aaron Boswell, told me a few weeks ago that he was going to follow my blog. So, in honor of him and his unflagging dedication to following a blog that rarely gets updated, I am posting another set in the ongoing series, Unflattering Pictures of Myself.

These photos were taken the night before a hair cut. My hair, apparently sensing the danger, furiously attacked my head trying to gouge out my eyes.

Also, if you look closely, you can see my Dorito belly. Actually, you don't have to look that closely. The belly kinda jumps out of the picture. In 3-D. BELLY.

Whatever. You'll have to pry the Doritos from my cold, dead fingers. And my cold, jiggly belly.

NEXT STOP: Halloween 2010

Sending My Son to War

2010-04-17T21:51:00.005-06:00

Hello, readers (should there be any of you left).

This blog thing ain't for procrastinators. I'll tell you that right now.

Every summer for the past three summers, I've sent Ian to war. The Civil War. He goes to a week-long program at Camp Floyd, which is west of Utah Lake. It is an old Civil War-era camp that once housed an army regiment sent to Utah by the president. Their mission was to prevent Brigham Young's band of polygamist wives from invading and plundering the well-guarded Jell-O mines in Lehi.

I'm a little fuzzy on my history, but I think that's the gist of what happened. In any case, Ian attends this every year where he learns history, performs drills, and participates in mock battles.

These are scenes from last summer's camp, as he prepares in a few weeks to attend his last one.

NEXT STOP: More Unflattering Pictures of Myself

A Flashlight That Is Set Upon a Head Cannot Be Hid

2009-11-01T18:08:00.004-07:00

Halloween again. Which means I continue my tradition of creating a costume out of cardboard and duct tape to be fitted on my head.

This year, the idea for my costume came from Lora, who said one day in July, "Dad, you should be a flashlight for Halloween."

And so I was. (And with a headlamp affixed, I was a fully functioning flashlight...)

Ian was an Orioles player, Lora was a candy corn, Isabel was Tinker Bell, and Tess was a ghost. And Heidi was the cranky lady who stayed home to give out candy.

NEXT STOP: Ian Goes to War

So They Think They Can Dance

2009-11-01T17:48:00.003-07:00

Scenes from Lora and Isabel's dance classes this past spring. Tess managed to steal some camera time, too.

NEXT STOP: A Bright Idea for Halloween

In Six More Years, It Won't Be So Cute When Ian Speeds

2009-10-25T20:17:00.003-06:00

Ian is only six years away from obtaining a driver's license. If these shots are any indication, we should all be afraid -- very afraid.

NEXT STOP: Dancing Queens

My Wife, the Unabomber

2009-10-24T20:55:00.004-06:00

I took the summer off from blogging, as you can see by the five-month gap between posts. Now I return to the blog with the shot I am most proud of. Ever.

My wife, the unabomber.

This was snapped at Boondocks. What makes the shot scrapbook-worthy -- beyond the hoodie pulled suspiciously low and the nefarious sunglasses -- is Heidi's primal scream.

Chilling.

NEXT STOP: Ian Drives Fast and Flashes Gang Signs

Faces at Boondocks

2009-05-31T21:38:00.006-06:00

We took the kids for a day at Boondocks about a month ago. Boondocks has two go-kart tracks, miniature golf, bumper boats, batting cages, rock climbing, an arcade, laser tag, and other assorted noisy things that kids love.

At the park, I was approached by a man who said, "You look really familiar. Have we worked together?" He said his name was Rod Williard, and in a moment, my memory clicked. He had grown up in the same stake as me in Maryland. He had attended the Rockville Ward and I was in Potomac South. He was best friends with the son of one of my mom's friends, Lou Fisher.

In any case, we stood there and yapped for about 30 minutes, catching up. It's nice to run into blokes from Maryland who grew up there at the same time. I don't have a photo of him to add to the blog, but we exchanged numbers, and vowed to get together for dinner. Perhaps he and his family will appear in a future post.

In this post, I feature close-ups of the kids. In the next post, I will feature a few action shots of bumper-boating and go-kart racing.

NEXT STOP: The Uni-Bomber! and Other Stuff

H.R. BunnyStuff -- Reflections on the Easter Bunny that Visited My Kids

2009-05-29T19:51:00.008-06:00

For Easter, our kids attended an Easter egg hunt at their cousins' house. While at the house, the Easter Bunny paid a visit. And for some reason, the Easter bunny creeped me out. Maybe it's the hollow eyes. Or the serious, almost perturbed, purse of the lips. This is a face that says, "I'll visit your house while you're sleeping, sure, but if you don't take precautions, I may maul you."

This is a bunny spawned from the psychedelic surrealism of Pink Floyd's "The Wall," or from the whacked-out world of Syd and Marty Kroft ("H.R. Pufnstuf" -- see image above).

Thankfully, my kids were charmed by the Easter Bunny rather than unsettled. And my reaction is more a reflection upon me than upon the bunny. (Although if I woke up in the middle of the night on Easter Eve, stumbled sleepily into the living room, and discovered this particular bunny standing there in the dark, I do believe I would shriek, do a cowardly little dance, and knock myself out on a corner as I sprinted wildly away from the dead-eyed hopper.)

NEXT STOP: A Day at Boondocks

An Interlude with Hannibal Lechter

2009-05-29T15:37:00.002-06:00

Before I blog about the psychedelic Easter Bunny, I needed to embed this link from NBC's "The Office." It is a scene that marries two of my favorite characters: Dwight from "The Office" and Hannibal Lechter from Silence of the Lambs.

(Now that I've typed that, I'm wondering if it is a misstep to admit publicly that one of my favorite fictional characters is Hannibal Lechter. Contrast this with my wife's favorite characters from Jane Austen and my mom's from Anne of Green Gables. Oh well. Up with cannibals.)

My Son, The Creature

2009-05-24T21:24:00.008-06:00

There are some things in this life that must be dealt with immediately. Like ingrown toenails. And flat tires. And infestations of break dancers. And occasionally, your son -- if he happens to be a werewolf.

Ian is showing all the classic signs of becoming a werewolf: Claw-like nails. Ravenous hunger. And during the full moon, his face transforms into this snarl (see photo above).

Creepy.

For now, instead of shooting silver bullets at him, I find that throwing chocolate at him seems to keep him at bay.

NEXT STOP: A Visit from the Easter Bunny (If the Bunny Were Visiting from Pink Floyd's "The Wall")

Heidi Works the Kitchen Catwalk

2009-05-23T22:42:00.004-06:00

Heidi, on the way to church, strikes an alluring pose. (Her "alluring" face looks eerily similar to her "annoyed with Chris" face.)

NEXT STOP: What Ian Looks Like During the Full Moon

Sabbath Zombie

2009-05-17T22:06:00.004-06:00

Whoa.

And just like that, nearly two months zoomed by between my blog posts. Although, frankly, blogs are passe now. Apparently, the new thing is to live-feed your Twitter posts onto your Facebook using your iPhone.

(This is a sentence that, two years ago, would have been considered gibberish in English; I'm not so sure it isn't gibberish to me now. Twitters and tweeting and all the rest -- bah. It is strange that we now think of e-mail as a good-old-fashioned way to communicate. I'm not sure which is more disturbing: the fact that technology has passed me by or the fact that I'm ranting about it like a cantankerous old curmudgeon. When did I become a curmudgeon? And should I be alarmed that I find myself enjoying curmudgeonhood?)

Alas, I'm back. I had left off ready to post about a rare day off from the usual,hectic Sunday routine of prepping the family for church, herding all to church, and then surviving the miscellaneous and sometimes tedious adventures at church. Tess was sick that weekend, the last in March I believe it was. I drew the duty to stay home with her. Just before the other kids departed with Heidi to head to church, one of them, Lora or Isabel, snapped this shot of me.

What was I doing? Apparently I express the joy of an unexpected day off from church by zombie-shambling through the kitchen in search of brains.

NEXT STOP: Heidi's Sexy Vibe

Freebasing on a Train

2009-03-29T18:44:00.004-06:00

In Holland, where Heidi served a mission, the country is much more permissive about drug use. In fact, marijuana is legal, and while the harder stuff ain't, Heidi tells me that the laws prohibiting harder drugs are not rigorously enforced.

So, while Heidi and her companion were commuting one day, they discovered a passenger in the seats behind them freebasing. You can see him and his crew behind the fortuitously posed (and mocking in a coke-snort sorta way) Sister Thurston.

While the drug use photo had been my favorite from Heidi's mission, she discovered this other one in the process of searching her big box o' photos, and now this is my new favorite: Heidi all dolled up in tradtional Dutch lady-wear. (Ooh-la-la).

I dig her crazy Oompah-Loompah hat, the barrel-shaped candy-cane colored skirt, and the elfin-pointy wooden clomper shoes. It all screams "HOTTIE." Who needs drug hallucinations when one can see someone dressed like this?

Mea culpa to all of Heidi's Dutch friends who may read this and be offended by my off-handed remarks about the traditional dress of their culture. Forgive this ugly American.

NEXT STOP: Ferris Bueller's Day Off from Church

A Friend from Holland

2009-03-22T22:38:00.004-06:00

In January, Heidi's friend from her mission in Holland, Paula Achuo, stayed at our house for a weekend. Her daughter, Chantal, and our daughter, Lora, hit it off rather smashingly.

And speaking of Heidi's mission, on the next post, I shall share my favorite photo of her missionary days in the Netherlands.

NEXT STOP: Heidi's Holland

Various Unflattering Photos of Myself, Part I

2009-03-17T21:15:00.006-06:00

This entry will be the first in an ongoing series. Certainly I have no shortage of raw material -- bins of various unflattering photos of myself -- to draw on. I'll try to zero in on the mildly amusing ones and veer away from the nightmarishly hideous ones. Of course, some might argue that all the images in this series are simultaneously amusing AND hideous. I'll grant that there's probably some merit to that argument.

Today's freak show is courtesy of Brigham Young Univeristy, where I teach part-time.

Twice a week, eight months out of the year, I teach a night class of Freshman Composition at BYU. BYU maintains strict dress and grooming standards. For example, men cannot have long hair or goatees. Because Heidi prefers me with long hair and a goatee, I allow my mane and chin to grow shaggy in the teaching off-season (summers and the Christmas break between semesters). However, I need to hit the barbershop once I'm back in class.

These photos document the night before a haircut. For the occasion, I muffed up my hair and tried to look like an uber 1970s-era disco schmuck.

At least I got the schmuck part down.

These photos also reveal that middle age is creeping across my face: you can see the birth of a well-fed waddle between chin and neck; the flesh beneath my eyes beginning to sink in; the perma-creases on my forehead.

In my mind, I still feel fairly spry; but after looking at these pix, it's not so difficult to believe that 2009 marks my 20th year since graduating from high school.

NEXT STOP: Dutch Invasion

Father Falls Best: The Family's First Ski Adventure

2009-03-13T20:36:00.007-06:00

Thanks to the immense generosity of my nephew, Johnny Graham, and his wife, Kaley, we were able to take the kids (minus Tess, who spent the day with Aunt Ruth) skiing at Snowbird.

Johnny snagged us free passes that he has access to from his work, discount ski clothing, and free equipment rentals. We would not have been able to afford this otherwise. Then, he and Kaley accompanied us and worked with our kids, freeing Heidi and I to make a few runs of our own.

It's been over a decade since I last skiied. "It can't be THAT difficult to pick up where I left off," I thought to myself.

As it turns out, it WAS that difficult. For me, anyway. Heidi zoomed back into action, elegantly and deftly zig-zagging her way down the mountain. I zoomed, too: a tumbling zoom of flailing arms, legs, skis, and poles as I wiped out at various points on the slope. Heidi found great amusement in this and snapped a photo of one of my upendings (see above).

Things only got worse for me after Heidi and I took a wrong turn, and the only way back to our lift was down a black diamond slope. Fortunately, Heidi went first and was unable to photographically document my awkward, freakishly absurd descent, interrupted by multiple, powdery mishaps with gravity.

The kids, however, picked up skiing quite quickly, and Ian was really cruising.

Perhaps if we're lucky, we'll make it back to the slopes before another decade passes.

NEXT STOP: Hair Gone Bad

Chef Lora and Chef Isabel Boil Stuff

2009-03-09T20:02:00.005-06:00

On Sunday, Lora and Isabel, hungry, commandeered the kitchen like they were hosting their own cooking show. They needed help getting the water boiling for hot dogs, but after that, they faithfully watched the food, asking every 10 seconds, "Are they ready?" This was cute the first five times.

Next week, we'll try boiling something else.

NEXT STOP: Eating Snow and Fearing Death--Or, How My Body Forgot How to Ski

Donating My Teeth to the Lord

2009-03-08T20:34:00.006-06:00

From one I can tell, blog etiquette dictates that the blogger ought to provide regular, near-daily new content. Minus that, followers of the blog will stop visiting the blog altogether, and the blogger will be typing to nobody but him or herself.

That being the case, and noticing that about six weeks have lapsed since my last foray into blogginess, perhaps I'll just be typing this one for my own enjoyment.

From time to time, I thought I might scan pix from the past and share brief anecdotes about some of the karma -- good and bad -- that has landed on me over the years.

Today, a Tokyo tale from the mission I served for the LDS church in Japan (Tokyo South Mission).

On November 7, 1990, only one month after arriving in Japan, I was riding my new mountain bike through the streets of Shizuoka (a city about three hours south of Tokyo). It was around 9:30. My missionary trainer, Elder Travis Hoopes, and I had spent another full day without any appointments, filling our time by roaming the streets and talking about the gospel with anyone who would stop to listen.

We were tired and excited to go home and enjoy what little personal time we had each day. We pedaled fast and zoomed from sidewalk to street, following the path of least resistance, pedestrian or vehicular.

My mountain bike had a quick-release mechanism on the front wheel. By accident or design, this had been loosened. At one intersection, I jumped from a sidewalk curb, lifting my handlebars for a smooth landing. And that was the last thing I remembered.

Next, I was groggy and returning to consciousness in the middle of the road, staring up at the stars.

Reconstructing events based on the evidence, it seems that when I lifted the handlebars, the unlocked front wheel detached from the fork, and kept on rolling. When the front fork of the bike hit the pavement, the bike flipped me face-first into the street.

Both my front, top teeth came through my upper lip, leaving jagged holes. The left tooth broke, exposing nerve, and the right tooth was pushed back at an angle into my mouth, the roots of it mortally wounded.

Above are some photos: the first the morning after the accident just before going to the hospital. The second photo is taken the night of the accident. I'm glad the concussion-groggy look in my eyes remains consistent. The bandages cover most of the gore, but you can see some of the Mick Jagger-esque swelling.

Thanks to those lips, I had to eat through a straw for the better part of a week, and I lost the 20-30 pounds I packed onto my frame at the MTC (missionary training center).

Alrighty then. Nice trip down memory lane, Yates. Hope to see you again in another six weeks...

NEXT STOP: Lora and Isabel Host a Cooking Show

Myrrh, Frankincense, Gold...and Air Guitar

2009-01-25T21:14:00.004-07:00

I'm not sure if the Wise Men who visited the newborn Christ -- bearing their gifts of myrrh, frankinscense, and gold -- would have also praised the young Savior with a few rockin' licks of righteous air guitar. Regardless, that is how my kids opted to celebrate the birth of Jesus this year.

Their excitement -- a hyper-kinetic supernova catalyzed by the orgy of present-shredding that is Christmas morning -- manifested itself in SAGS (Spontaneous Air Guitar Syndrome), as seen in the photos above.

Happy Birthday, Jesus. Hope you like the mimed riff from "Welcome to the Jungle."

NEXT STOP: Tokyo Tales

The Love Song of Chiristopher and Heidl: Or, Famous Cases of Mistaken Identity

2009-01-11T20:28:00.008-07:00

One way for you to get to know our family better is discover who we are NOT.

I, for example, am CHRISTOPHER, not CHIRISTOPHER (the first "i" inverted with the first "r"). Yet, as you can see in the scanned driver's license above, the state in which I live knew me as "Chiristopher" for a decade.

And, according to our most recent phonebook, I am no longer married to HEIDI. My new bride's name (and this is just between you and me, dear readers, so Heidi doesn't get all bent out of shape about my covert plunge into polygamy) is HEIDL.

I interrogated Heidi--er, Heidl--to see what other cases of mistaken identity she might be aware of in her family. Here is what I unearthed:

Her mom, RENEE GASSMAN has received mail addressed to RANGE GASSMAN and RENEE ASSMAN.

Her father, BYRON GASSMAN, has received mail to BYRIB GASSMAN.

Her sister, DEON GASSMAN, was listed in her high school yearbook as DEAN GRASSMAN. After marrying, the same sister, now DEON LEAVY, received mail for DEON SLEAZY.

And finally, HEIDI/HEIDL phoned in a take-out order to Cafe Rio a few weeks ago to be picked up by HEIDI YATES. When she arrived, they had no order for HEIDI YATES, but they did have an order for HAYLEE WHALES.

What about you? I invite you to post in the comments any humorous mistaken identities you may have endured in your life. Cheers.

NEXT STOP: Whalin' on the Air Guitar

Tess of the Innuits

2009-01-01T20:29:00.000-07:00

I have just gluttoned on Cafe Rio, a crazy-tasty little Mexican joint here in Utah. I chomped down fire-roasted chicken tacos with black beans and rice. Now I am full and my belly looks and feels a little pregnant. As I sit and ponder my spare tire, a gut fed by daily snacking upon chocolate, chips, and comfort foods, I have decided to distract myself from this physical manifestation of my poor eating habits by posting a blog entry.

We recently bought Tess, our youngest, her first winter coat. As you can see, it makes her look like an igloo-dwelling Innuit.

Unlike the Innuit, Tess cannot yet brave frigid temperatures for days at a time to go whale or seal hunting. She can, however, conquer our child-proofed cabinet doors to rummage in the kitchen garbage can or steal fistfuls of sandwich baggies and aluminum foil.

NEXT STOP: Famous Cases of Mistaken Identity

Lora's Rorschachs

2008-12-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

You're familiar with the Rorschach, or inkblot, test. A psychologist shows you a series of amorphous ink patterns, and you say what the blots look like to you. Kind of like seeing images in clouds as they float by. Then, based on what images your mind sees, the psychologist can assess your mental health.

For example, after staring at the first inkblot above for a minute, I see:

Four Elvis impersonators pelting a horde of rabid mimes with jars of expired mayonnaise.

Realizing how demented this will make me sound to my therapist, I immediately repress this answer and say something else:

I see a rainbow, with doves and balloons from a child's birthday party floating in the sky as the sun breaks through the clouds, nourishing the earth below -- and illuminating a previously dark alley where four Elvis impersonators are pelting a horde of rabid mimes with jars of expired mayonnaise.

Okay. Awkward moment between me and my blog-readers. No sudden movements and we'll all come out of this unharmed...

In any case, my daughter, Lora, has drawn some Rorschach-like masterpieces. The first is a picture of three pine trees, a vine to the sky, Little Red Riding Hood, a lady bug, the Big Bad Wolf, and a monkey with a staff.

The second is a movie poster for "Pete's Dragon." Eliot the Dragon is the big, green inkblot on the right. The man in the top hat dominating the middle of the drawing is Dr. Terminus, with Pete in yellow (looking a bit like C-3PO), and continuing counterclockwise: Paul, Nora, and Lampie.

Of course, if you squint your eyes just right, you might just see the Elvis imersonators and the mimes.

NEXT STOP: A Visit from an Innuit

Even More Halloween Pix

2008-11-29T14:35:00.000-07:00

Some more.

NEXT STOP: Lora's Rorschachs

More Halloween Pix: 2008

2008-11-29T14:15:00.000-07:00

Here are some more images from Halloween 08. The day shots are from our day of trick-or-treating at the Hogle Zoo. Great day for the kids, tiring day for the parents. The night shots are taken on our front walk prior to venturing onto the streets for two hours of trick-or-treating.

The kids were proud to have Pac-Man as their escort. And as we went along, several adults and kids shouted, "Hey, Pac-Man!" Ian and Lora became my PR reps as we trekked, yelling to people as we approached (if they had not already witnessed the three-and-a-half-foot-in-diameter yellow disc strolling towards them), "My dad's Pac-Man!"

One family requested that I stop and pose for a photo with them, which I did. And a group of teenagers high-fived me as we strolled past.

After three years of creating costumes out of cardboard that I somehow affix to my head, it's become a tradition expected by my kids and the neighborhood. I haven't conceived of next year's costume, but I plan on making it more neck-friendly -- I'm still popping Advil from the two hours of wearing this year's on All Hallow's Eve.

NEXT STOP: Even More Halloween Pix

The Ghosts of Halloweens Past

2008-11-28T21:25:00.000-07:00

The first stop on our tour of the Yates family is a brief stroll through our most recent Halloweens. Because, as Confucious wrote, "You can never really begin to know someone until you've walked a mile in their Pac-Man head." (This, of course, is a loose translation: the Chinese character that I'm reading as Pac-Man can alternately mean "yak cart.")

Vital stats: as of today, we're hauling six people in our minivan.

Me -- I'm 37 and swarthy.

Heidi -- the woman I conned into marrying me. She remains 25 as a portrait of her ages in our attic.

Ian -- He's nine, and owns the patent for the sabor squid (Saboris squidititus).

Lora -- She's five, and recently told me, "Dad, did you know that a long time ago, when people were poor, they didn't have computers? They had typewriters." Ouch, said I, as I adjusted my Depends man-diaper.

Isabel -- Bel is three, and tonight, she had me tie a hooded towel on her so she could transform into Super Hood Man.

Tess -- Little Tess can shake her 364-day-old head just like Stevie Wonder. 'Nuff said.

You'll see some or all of us in these Halloweenie pix. You can date the photos by my costume: In 2008, I was Pac-Man; in 2007, I was a hammer; in 2006 I was a mailbox.

Trick-or-treat.

NEXT STOP: More Halloween Pix

Behold, the Sabor Squid

2008-11-04T22:33:00.000-07:00

Why blog?

Some are in it for the money. Not I.

Some are in it for the affirmation -- I blog, therefore I am. Not I.

Some are in it for the babes. [pause...wife, Heidi, hits me...I quickly type:] Not I.

No, I began this blog mainly because my son invented a monster. A creature of the sea so fierce and so slimy, I had to create a blog to introduce the world to it. (By "world," I mean "my family," my primary audience for this blog. Of course, I welcome all others who wish to take my hand and go for a ride inside my head.)

Yes, my son conjured the Sabor Squid.

Now, I publish his initial work on the Sabor Squid, the first known studies on the beast:

"My monster is called the Sabor squid. (It means big-tooth squid). The front side is red. The back side is purple. It also has one eye that's black. It's one hundred fifty feet long, ten feet wide. It also has fifty foot long tentacles. And it's dangerous. It lives in the Pacific Ocean.

"It lives toward the middle of the ocean. Of coarse it smells salty. It also sometimes dries up on land. And whre it lives, it's dark blue.

"It only eats people if it's mad. Other than that, it eats fish. And planton. And also seals. It can spray ink. It can jump out of the water fifty feet, and it can swim one hundred m.p.h. How [it] swims is it puts its tentacles together, and wiggles. My monster rocks."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ian's Sabor Squid: (see image above)

NEXT STOP: A Brief Tour of My Family

Pay No Attention to the Man behind the Blog

2008-11-03T22:21:00.000-07:00

Chris Yates here.

I'm starting a blog. Yeah, I'm a little late to that bandwagon, I know. Nonetheless, I part the curtain on cyberspace and tentatively slide in.

What should you know about me?

I once caught a fish with my bare hands. This is true. I was nine. At no other time in my life have I been closer to being a ninja.

I love listening to the Carpenters. I admit this of my own free will, waiving my Fifth Amendment Right to not incriminate myself.

Finally, right this very moment, my daughter's Hannah Montana foil balloon, low on helium, but not empty, is floating ominously towards me, bobbing up and down, as if it has become sentient and is stalking me -- I think it can sense that I have no idea how to defend against a balloon attack.

In any case, that's enough for now. I'll let you know a little more about me and the reason for this blog tomorrow.

NEXT STOP: The Birth of the Saber-Tooth Squid