Always such a shame to see someone fulfilling grotesque stereotypes.
Example-
morning commute in Boise, Idaho [suppose'd home to innumerable rednecks and gun-toting closed-minded luddites]. Relatively hassle-free. Meathead in jacked up 4x4 Jeep, sporting the following bumperstickers: 1) Jesus didn't ride an Elephant. 2) My Jeep can kick your Hybrid's Ass. and 3) Who would Jesus Bomb?. Wow, hooray for Idaho.
I'm at work, though not planning to work today. We are all headed up to Garden Valley for a day's "retreat"; though in my developing sense of career-hood I've learned "retreat" is actually nerd-speak for "day o' meetings, albeit outside of the office." I hope we don't have too much to discuss, as Garden Valley is referred to as the Promised Land at this time of year.
Which, perhaps, is why I might run into my father [I am no longer speaking in terms of Idaho Bumper Stickers... father, not Father]. A few hours before my graduation BBQ he swung by for a six-minute visit and mentioned he was headed to GV to source work and a housing situation. No one has heard from him since, and based on prior experience I should expect the unexpected, i.e. to run smack into him during a micro-vacation from Boise. GV only has two bars, three if you count Painter Ed's single-wide home [a rather pickled gentleman my father once referred to as "Good People"]; so he should be easy to avoid or locate if I feel so inclined. I've no desire to see him. I admit, it would be awkward to introduce my workmates to him in such a situation. "Oh, hey dad, these are my co-workers... I didn't know you were up here. Wow, dad, you look/smell great as usual." Never ceases to push the envelope. Good for me, I guess.
Anyway, it should be a nice escape one way or another. I'm packing my [NEW!!] mountain bike along so I'll have someone snap some pictures of me pedalling around.
