The New Name

Introducing the:
"The Silver Medal"

After much deliberation and virtually no help from any of you (except for my good friend Brian Washington, thanks for your help, and yes we will use this to pull trailers cross country en route to AWK concerts) I have used my own creative ability, combined with a little initiative (something you should all consider using occasionally) I came up with this perfect name. She may not be the best, but she's up there.

Peace!

This Just In

For some reason I had a ridiculous setting that only allowed people with google accounts to comment on my posts. I know there are thousands of you reading this without google accounts who would like to comment. Now you can. I changed the setting.

Thank you,

Brian

Dad, can I borrow the '89 Suburban? Oh nevermind, got my own

This post's theme song is:

"Like a Rock" by Bob Seger

Good luck getting this piece out of your head within the next week.



I've always been one for breaking barriers, and at 6:00 pm March 7th, I did just that by purchasing a silver 1989 Chevrolet Suburban 1500 Scottsdale edition. Up until now, only high school kids could be seen driving '89 Suburbans. Seriously, and they never appreciate it. These little ingrates drive them by default, and worse yet, they're embarrassed by it! If they only knew.

However, there is a small group who aspire to own and operate these perfectly engineered machines..... Number me among those heroes.

'Burbans made an impact on me right from birth. One of my earliest memories was driving in our family's 1977 white Suburban (never in a car seat, wasn't necessary). How could I forget? That thing was parked in the driveway for nearly half my childhood until one day it was gone (by the way, which one of my sisters totaled that betty?). Many memorable miles were logged in the Suburban. Richard masterfully maneuvered that Chevy through the Olympus Cove, always with one hand on the wheel, and never with a seat belt fastened. Probably the main reason I respect my father so much. I love you Dad!

Suburban driving skills must be genetic. Shortly after the ink hit the paper on the bill of sale, I settled into the driver seat, my right hand found the top of the steering wheel that's big enough to direct a cruise ship, the corresponding thumb rebelliously shot to the left and found a cozy spot of it's own. Instinctively, my left elbow settled on the armrest guiding my forearm upright. My fore and middle finger also found a home, that's right, resting on my temple. Just like dad (allegedly). I was born to drive this vehicle!!!

This one is for my brothers and sisters, relive it!

We can all agree that this beast will be a wonderful addition to the family. Mainly, the Suburban's purpose will be to fulfill her obligation to Summit Tile and Stone allowing the Tacoma to settle into a less strenuous position. But, aside from serving as a daily work vehicle the 'burb will play. Its hard to not already envision a streak of silver and mud sliding through the Utah outdoors, while carrying as many as 45 people at a time. Already this truck is slated to carry half of Hot Property during ragnar '08.

This is just proof that dreams do come true.

At this point, I will solicit your help. A truck of this caliber needs a name. Take a look and tell me what you think.

And yes, I know, I am awesome.











You can probably notice the 135 lbs of diamond plate that adorns much of the interior and exterior. A nice touch I thought. Jealous, Mexicans?

Another Blog

This will be a good one for you to check out from time to time.

www.summittileandstone.blogspot.com

Thank you,

Brian

Babies Having Babies

Song to listen to while reading this post:

The Doggy bounce by The Crazy Dawgggz

special thanks to the Flight of the Conchords


Recently my loyal yellow lab, Hank, sired his 25th puppy (that we know of), with my other yellow lab, Hanna. These dogs represent everything that is wrong with society.




Hank







Hanna

At this point it is hard for me to believe that Hank respects the responsibility that comes with fatherhood. He doesn't put much thought beyond conception. To his credit, out of 25 offspring he has been a decent role model for at least one of his children. For the past 8 months he has been a good buddy to his son Memo. However, he's still a dead beat dad, who thankfully isn't required to come up with child support. Shawn Kemp and Travis Henry think Hank needs to keep it in his pants.

Hanna on the other hand is the poster child for motherhood.................28% of the time. The other 72.5% of the time I'm pretty sure she is contemplating eating her children. Seriously, she hates them, hates me, hates Hank, loves Jackie. And when they're off to their new homes, she doesn't seem to mind too much.

Horrible parents. All about the sex.

They make some cute puppies though, eventually. Early on these young dogs look like young lab rats/dead piglets. Doesn't make them any less of a hit with the general public. If we charged a cover fee to view the dogs, we could potentially earn money. So far, there have been 475 visitors to look at the new rodents.

Here's some pictures of my favorites:

Jace

Britt

If you are interested in being a proud owner of one of these pedigreed pups, act now! This will be the last litter to come from this sire and dam. Already scheduled is the demise of these dogs baby making organs. Hanna will barely survive this batch and one more would do her in for sure. That is too much to ask of the bitch (that's right). And Hank has continually proven that he has no interest in being a daddy.

Owners from other litters have given rave reviews of their champion labs.

"Brian, can I borrow your extra bark collar?" -Greg Robbins owner of Barkley (2nd litter)

"Remember kids, don't let Uncle Brian know we gave the dog away." -Cathy Birch former owner of Mazy (1st litter)

"Can dogs have down syndrome?" -Brian Robbins owner of Hank and Hanna (pro creators)

Without further ado, a picture of the litter:

Feel the Rain on Your Skin...(Jr. Jazz '08 wrap up)

What does feeling rain on your skin have to do with anything? A lyric.....a powerful lyric that is part of a theme song for the 2008 raging clues. As a team the Clues began several games by chanting these lyrics. Watch this video and really listen to the words, not with your ears, but with your ear drums, and hearts. You will then know why:

The '08 Midvale Jr. Jazz season can be summarized in one word: Unwritten....if unwritten means dribbling off your foot twice a possesion, opposing coaches going Bobby Knight on their less skilled players, teenage refs calling charging because the signal is fun to do, me asking opposing coaches to not have their 6'4" fifteen year old with a beard, full court press our 5' 0'' point guard who just learned how to dribble with one hand a week ago, and 10 kids all learning within a period of 8 weeks that failure is ok.

The Raging Clues finished the season just like my brother Mark predicted, with one win. The win came right after 5 losses. If I was any sort of a basketball coach, we could have finished 3-5. But instead we are the 2007 Miami Dolphins.

However, we do have one edge on the Dolphins. At seasons end I succesfully coached my team to the best sportsmanship award. I won't lie, it felt really good to earn that. It made me really proud of my team. Throughout the season we really only had one team rule: Don't do the Tim Duncan!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course everyone on the planet hates Tim Duncan, so most of you know what I am referring to as the "Tim Duncan". In case you don't here is how you do it.

1. Get a foul called on you.

2. Turn to look at the ref.

3. Put your hands about 6" from the side of your hips with your palms facing forward.

4. Have a look of pure surprise and innocence on your face.

5. Be a homo.

I feel like that one rule single handedly won us the sportsmanship award. No small feat considering there were 16 teams in the league. As a reward for our model citizenship we will get to go to Energy Solutions Arena as a team and have a party in our honor.

All in all it was a great experience. This was a fun team full of little bastards (litterally bastards, I think 2 of the kids actually had dads.) We laughed a lot and cried a lot, but mostly we felt the rain on our skin.

Congrats and thank you '08 Raging Clues.

HIgh Country Big Time Hunting (semi-fictional)

Like I said earlier, there really is no off season to the bow hunt. Everything that occurs between the end of December and mid August contributes to the goal of cutting a tag on a mulie buck or and elk of some sort. That is what it's all about. However, opportunities arise during the year that eclipse that goal.

Not too many people know this, but the state of Utah consistently produces world-class jack rabbits. As long as I can remember, I have had a deep respect for these majestic animals. The chance to hunt jacks in a premium area has eluded me until very recently. No doubt my prayers had been answered when I found out I was going to have a shot at hunting rabbits near Levan, Utah.

Anticipation was great leading up to the 15th of February. Two of my closest friends (who happen to know the habits and patterns of trophy jack rabbits better than most) and myself left Salt Lake City early in the morning. After a scenic drive to the obscure parts of central Utah, we finally arrived at base camp.

We were well pleased with the accomadations afforded us upon arrival at the High Country Jack Rabbit Outfitters Lodge. But, we were well aware that these comforts would be but for a short time. Ahead of us was the rough terrain these ghosts of animals that only a few million people have seen call home. We're talking mildly rolling hills, covered in sage brush that towered to heights that seemed to reach mid thigh. Not to mention that we were there in the heart of a harsh Utah winter. Many a times the snow would be at depths that covered my low top hiking shoes completely. Wind gusts of up to 9 mph were not rare as we set out on day one. (And by day one, I mean the only day we were there). Despite the time of year, the sun broke through the clouds, reflecting off the random patches of snow causing our faces to turn maybe an extra shade of red. All of this was worth it, we knew what laid ahead.

We headed to an area where our guides had seen some big jacks feeding the night before. Above is a picture of how I imagined we looked as we journeyed into the rabbit hot spot. Even though the hike felt like it went on for at least 14 minutes, we were to our spot in just under 11 minutes. We were ahead of schedule and in great position. Spirits were high.

Even though we were several yards from any sign of civilaztion the area seemed very populated with spotters and guides that would assist me in finding that perfect buck (and yes, male rabbits are called buck, females are does, but interestingly enough their young are reffered to as kittens.....cute). Patience would be key.

At first the action was slow. 4 1/2 minutes had already passed and I was beginning to wonder about the area. Sure there was fresh sign, but no movement. Another 33 seconds passed and I was about to give up. That is when all hell broke loose. About 15 yards ahead of me I heard a great commotion in the sage. I wasn't 100% sure what I was hearing until I caught the movement in my peripheral vision. Quickly I swung to look and saw a monster jack rabbit making tracks. He was really moving and was offering me a quartering away shot. Shoot! Shoot! was all I heard, butI didn't need to. This was my trophy, my moment, and I knew it immideately.

By the time I leveled my trusty Remington 12 guage that I had owned for so many hours, the mature buck had made it out to 20 yards. Most people will tell you that this is an unethical shot and should never be taken, but I knew what me and my ol' gun were capable of. Besides, I had Lorin not far to my left ready to make a follow up shot with a Beneli that he had shot many (6) times.

It was now or never. Giving this bunny a generous lead I squoze the trigger. The spray of the shotgun hit right where I planned, the head, neck, breast, chest, hind quarter, front and back leg area. Just like my dad always taught me.

"You dropped him!" Lorin yelled. I thought to myself, well of course. But, a rabbit of this caliber wasn't done yet. We got into close quarters of the wounded rabbit. He was doing the Homer Simpson dance, and we knew that if we got too close, he might make eye contact. My next shot would have to count. It did. The smoke cleared and there at my feet lie the trophy of a lifetime. We were all safe.

Scores on this bunny are pending. Mostly, we are all trying to figure out exactly how to score a rabbit. How much fur? Is that it? Not sure, but this one should do well. Here are some more pics of a job well done.

(above) The author posing with his "guide" Lorin.

(above) a proffesionaly done snap shot. This one really illustrates that this particular rabbit had ears.

(over there->) Another picture of me admiring my quarry.

(left) Just to leave no doubt about who harvested this rabbit, another very similar picture of me posing with the rabbit that I shot with my gun.

On a separate note: Even though this was a premium limited entry rabbit area, there were a few pheasants hanging around. We were fortunate enough to concentrate some efforts on birds. One of the funnest things around. Another special thanks to Brian Washington and Timpanogas Pools for making all of my wildest dreams come true.

As you can see we put some birds down. A good effort for all concerned.

Here is a dandy rooster that I made the shot of my career on.

One of the best days ever.