So far, so radical.

Check it, y'all. I've been writing a book this month. Last month was National Novel Writing month, whatever that is, so I decided that this is the month for me. That's the kind of guy I am. So basically if I can manage to write 1,600 words a day I'll have 50,000 words at the end of the month, which equates to around 175 pages of awesome. A short novel, sure, but after rewriting and unnecessary bloating it could be a total book. The rewriting, of course, will take me 17 years, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, it's Sunday, which is totally a day of rest and inappropriate for writing a novel, so I'm watching 30 Rock and writing a blog instead. This is very uplifting. It's cool, though, because I'm ahead. I'm six days in and hit 10,000 words yesterday which puts me at almost exactly 1,600 per day. Let's give myself a big pat on the back!

I'll be honest with myself here, while some of the stuff I've written has been really good, a lot of it is full on garbage. Which doesn't matter. I just need to write and get better at it. The millions will come later.

That's just a joke. I would give away any millions I earned to corrupt charities and invest it in Jaleel White movies. What I really want out of this is to make a goal and freakin' do it.

So anyway, every Sunday will be a report blog. I guess if I'm taking Sundays off, though, I've got to do 2,000 words a day. Man, that blows.

Here's what everyone has to do: remind me of my goal all of the time. Like every time you see me, so that I don't let myself get lazy. If you don't I'm going to beat someone up. I'll pick the victim random out of all of the people who I predict read my blog. I'm pretty sure it's going to end up being Soleil Moon-Frye, but if you see her, don't tell her. I want it to be a surprise.

And it Came From the Basement. Part II.

If you remember from the last post (if you didn't read it, scroll down and read it first). I had just torn a big hole in my house.

After breaking out the door frame, there was some drywall to do. First time for that, but I have to admit, I was awesome at it.

After drywall, we paid a dude to put in the floors. Hickory, it turns out. I'm glad we didn't do this ourselves because the installer discovered that our walls aren't straight. Dodged a bullet there.
I'm good. But I'm not this good.
Look at the bottom right.

And this guy had a laser. How am I going to compete with that?

Laser envy. (That was a Toy Story joke. See, it was a double entendre. I'll explain it to you some other time.)

So what you're thinking is, floors are in, drywall's replaced, all you need is a coat of paint and some baseboards and moulding, and you're golden.


That's what I was thinking, too. In fact, though, those dumb things took as long as the big stuff. I won't bore you with the details, but there are a lot of little spots that don't get painted. And all kinds of measuring to do with the moulding, and several trips to other states for work, and filling in gaps, and blah, blah, blah.

I'm not a detail oriented person, and this part killed me.

BUT DUDE, CHECK IT OUT.

It's not completely finished yet. We're going to install a bookcase in the left-hand side of what used to be the closet. Something dark and stained and pretentious looking. It's not my dream library with the ladder on wheels yet, but you start somewhere.

Raymond Chandler hardbacks would make great basement warming gifts. They have to look good on a shelf, though. You think I was going to read them? C'mon.

Also flat screen TVs.

The People Under the Stairs... I Mean at the Bottom of the Stairs. I Mean in the Basement.

Before we bought our house, I did a handful of handy type stuff. Once I redid all of the wiring in my grandpa's rental house because I was the only person skinny enough to fit in the crawlspace. I basically just did what I was told and remember very little of the ordeal. I remember that it was dirty and dark and I remember one day walking out onto the grass, blinking, and hoping a girl I liked who lived around there would see me and say, "What have you been doing that you're all dirty?"

And I would say, "Oh, you know, just rewiring my grandpa's house. No big thing."

Instead I just went home dirty and took a shower and probably played video games or something.

Another time I put new shingles on the roof with my dad. And then one summer a couple of years ago I worked on a landscaping crew installing sprinklers. Oh, and I put together some of the most jury-rigged car stereos this side of Mexico (I say this because everything in Mexico's all kinds of jury-rigged. It is because they are a very resourceful people. I mean, MacGuyver, right? Half mexican. His dad's side, obviously.)

Anyway, I have some experience with wrenches and pliers, and that thing you hammer nails in with. I think it's called a slammer? But there is certainly more that I don't know than do when it comes to things that involve tool belts. I still don't know, for example, why male strippers are always wearing them. Maybe in case their boom box causes a short in the wiring?

Since we bought the house, I've done a handful of small projects. I built some raised garden beds, as you've heard, and caulked the bathtub. The bathtub caulking is especially indicative of my prowess. I bought a tube of caulk, sort of squeezed it out along the tub, and made a bit of a mess. I was so excited to go to the Home Depot (as opposed to the Apartment Depot -- which, according to Mitch Hedburg, consists of a bunch of guys standing around saying, "I don't gotta fix sh--.") and buy something for my home. The point is the tub is caulked and it looks like crap.

I have come a long way since then. I write this blog in a very comfortable basement living room that, until very recently, was un-freakin-finished. Observe:

Carpet remnants on the floor, cement underneath, weird slapdash paint on the wall

As winter sets in, it became increasingly obvious that even with the extra square feet we have since we moved into the house, our kids would be stir crazy before the snow melted. And, to be honest, we wanted a little place where we could lock the kids in when they were being rotten. It's OK, though, because there's a TV down here now. So it's not abuse.

I'm not going to bore you with too many details, I'll just show you some befores, then some afters, and then bathe in your praise.

Here's the hallway. Note the door frame. I think whoever had the place beforehand wanted to make this into a bedroom so they'd put a door in. We thought that was stupid. Especially since the door wouldn't close with an actual floor in.

The door frame, therefore, was the first to go.

Question: on a scale of one to awesome, how fun is it to smash wood apart with a slammer and crowbar?

Answer: rad.

Busting stuff up is scary, though, and I tore some wood out that was attached to a sketchy looking light switch. So I, uh, turned off the power before continuing. Plus I wasn't sure if I could set it right again.

Did I ever fix it? Did I electrocute myself? Did it lead to divorce? You'll have to find out in the NEXT POST. Don't worry, it'll show up tomorrow (for reals this time.)

Howie's Easy Solutions to Difficult Problems

Often, when I'm in conversation with other people, I find myself coming to these brilliant conclusions. Pretty much I'm saving the world. Except for one problem: nobody else is privy to these conversations, at least not people with the power to make the changes. Usually these solutions will fix problems that I don't have, so for this reason I have decided to share them with everyone in the hopes that I'll be able to, in my small way, change your life for the better so that I can later ask for stuff.

So here's one: If you're female, and in a male dominated workplace -- say fishing boat, army barracks, or prison -- where it's still appropriate to hang naked pictures of women around, and this bothers you, I have the solution. Hang pictures of naked dudes around your space. You probably don't like naked pictures of dudes as much as the guys like the pictures of the women. This is not the point. The point is that dudes like naked pictures of dudes much less. They, I am comfortable to say, hate them infinitely more than you hate the naked women.

But here's the awesome part: since they started it, there is nothing they can say about it without looking like idiots. The only way they can get the offending man-meat out of their sight, you will be clear to point out, is to remove their own images.

Problem, as they say, solved.

Moving on. Say you dislike a certain political talk show host. And let's say this certain political talk show host is all of a sudden everywhere you look in the media. People at rallies praise him like he's the modern-day John the Baptist, preparing the world for the second coming. People on Twitter hate him like he's cooked vegetables. This is strictly hypothetical, of course (I'm talking about Glenn Beck), so I'm not going to name names (Glenn Beck).

The solution? NEVER MENTION HIS NAME AGAIN.

Now I know what you're saying. You're saying, "Howie, that didn't work with Voldemort, did it? Remember when Dumbledore was all like 'Harry, you should say his name and stuff'?"

Here's the distinction, though. Growing up, I realized, eventually, that there are two kinds of bullies. The violent ones need to be dealt with in some way. You have to stand up to them, maybe use their own medicine. These are the Hitlers and the Voldemorts. The physical bullies usually back down at a sign of force or die in a ditch covered with petrol on fire.

Then there are the emotional bullies. These feed off of you like vampires, but the best way to deal with them was not with a punch to the stomach, and any attempts to beat them at their own game just make you look like the stupid one since they've got a crowd of friends and you don't (or you wouldn't be the victim, duh).

The best way to deal with the emotional bullies is just to keep on walking.

Here's a simple equation: every time you mention a political pundit's name, he/she gets five dollars. I just gave one ten dollars in this blog, but I hope it was worth it to make a point. You think you're making them look stupid, but what you're really saying is that people like you hate him. If a member of the opposing party/ideology sees you hating said person, they're only going to love him/her more. This translates into $5 more in ad revenue.

Do you really think that a bunch of dirty hippies in the desert burning Bush in effigy changes minds? If nothing else, there are two rednecks on a couch in a trailer somewhere saying, "man, if those guys hate 'im, he must be doing something right, eh Jethro?"

These guys are not running for office, they don't have to please the center, they are never held accountable for what they say or do, you can catch them in an outright lie or crime, broadcast it to the world, and they will still make money. Please understand this.

Here's another one.

You have a cat that will only eat Fancy Feast but you can't afford Fancy Feast and you want to give him Friskies instead.

Put Friskies in a bowl and leave town for 5 days.

This also works on picky children.

THANKS EVERYONE. HAVE A GREAT NIGHT!

Sorry it's not funny.

Let me begin by saying up to this point I have been very pleased with the level of education that has been provided to my son by Sunrise Elementary. The teaching has been top-notch and we have heard nothing but good reports.

However, as the son of a public school teacher and an ardent supporter and defender of public schools in general, I'm extremely disappointed in the school's decision not to show President Obama's speech to the students. The reason, that the speech is during "reading/instruction time" is vague and so broad that it makes it seem that there just isn't any room in the elementary students' schedule to listen to an 18-20 minute speech by the President of the United States. This decision, to me, invalidates the words of the Pledge of Allegiance spoken by the school children every morning. If there is time for that gesture of patriotism and respect for one's country, than there should certainly be time to listen to an inspirational speech by the nation's most powerful man about the benefit of a good education.

I have clear memories as an elementary school student of watching historical events as they unfolded during school hours. We gathered around the television and watched broadcasts of three space shuttle launches, for example. I remember clearly the effects of the Challenger tragedy when I was 7, and the discussion it inspired when I returned home. These events, and others like them, made an impact on me as a young student.

As for having us return to school to watch the broadcast at 3:30, I will be out of town for work, and my wife will have her hands more than full with our other two children. We will be discussing whether we should come to school and pull our son from class long enough to watch the broadcast at home, but this is a terrible alternative, and one that I imagine runs contrary to the message our president has planned for the children.

I hope that this decision was not politically motivated. But regardless of the reasoning, I think it teaches our children at a very young age that the thoughts of a president who was elected through a democratic and fair process are to be considered so insignificant that they don't warrant a minor change in schedule.

What a privilege these children are missing out on. To be addressed specifically by someone so busy and responsible for so much. I expected better from Sunrise Elementary.

Thank you for your time,

Matt Howard

Addendum: Ethan's principal responded with a very nice email. She said my letter had made her think, and that's all I could have asked for.

Alaska Blog 2: The deep, dark forest.

Hey, remember when I said that I'd write the next blog the next day and I totally didn't? Man, I love that story.

I'm writing it now, though! 25 days later! So all's right, right?

If I remember correctly, I left off the last blog with me settling in at Whaler's Cove. My room was named after a bird of some kind, I don't remember which. I think it was something boring. There wasn't a bathroom so I had to walk outside onto the cool wooden deck to a public one. This was fine except for some reason, with the difference in time and the amount of water I must have been absorbing through my pores, I had to go to the bathroom over and over, all freaking night long. Which is something you wanted to hear about.

Luckily it was Alaska, so it was never dark. And it was always just this cool, beautiful evening out, and I enjoyed the little walk.

This is the best I've got of me on a boat. And I'm not in it.

So here was the work routine. We'd walk out to the boat dock and wait for a little boat to take us across to Admiralty Island. Once there, we'd drive to the float plane dock and get on another little boat. This one would take us across Favorite Bay to one of the three project areas. We'd unload into the soggy beach and head to the edge of the forest.

Floatplane in the foreground, the wall of forest behind

Now I'm not used to forests like these. In Utah you can see a ways in, and you can see a ways in every direction. These temperate rain forests were like a wall. As soon as you were in, you were in. If someone turned me around 10 times blindfolded and let me go, even if I were just 30 feet into the forest, I would be completely lost. This forest, too, had a lot of verticality to it. As in, there were trees, and when a tree would fall down, new trees would grow directly from the old tree. The ground was never solid, because it wasn't really ground. It was feet of dead matter, live matter, and roots. I've never been somewhere so alive. And I was at a Paula Abdul concert once. So that's saying something.

A rare sunny day. Still dark when you get further in, though.

The work itself consisted of walking along the proposed airport and roads and identifying the plants we saw. We would take points when we came across a wetland (when it was all really a wetland), and we'd take pictures. It was very scientific.

Well, actually it was. I worked with some just primo people, who knew a buttload about plants and wetlands and everything else in there. We worked with this great naturalist from the area. And when I say great naturalist I mean everything you'd expect. By which I mean a lot of knowledge about everything and crazy hair. And an antenna for his GPS sewn in his hat.

If I'm simplifying it's because you can get a good idea of what I did by looking at the pictures, imagining me tromping through those woods, sometimes so dense that you literally couldn't see 3 feet ahead of you, and asking, over and over again, what the plants are. Sometimes one of us would yell out, "Hey bear!," or "Whoa bear!" or "I poop bigger than you, bear!"

This was to let them know we were there. Did I mention the bears?

This is a very bad mommy. Teaching her cubs to eat at the dump.

Apparently, Admiralty Island has more bears than the entire lower 48 combined. That's one bear per square mile. I say apparently, because the only bears we saw were at the dump. Speaking of dumps, though, we saw a lot that the bears left behind. And I'll be honest. I don't crap bigger than they do. Not by a long shot.

Sorry, but it was awesome. Alaska Part 1.

Yes. This is ridiculous.

I know everyone got sick of my Alaska updates. I was supposed to be, you know, working, but I was acting like I was having the time of my life. The thing is, though, that I really was having the time of my life.

I know it's a tough time out there, and I should be glad just to have a job and some work, and I shouldn't rub in people's faces that not only do I have a job and some work but that for at least two weeks it was awesome, but there it is. I'm back home now, and all of the stresses about trying to stay busy in a time when nobody is busy are back, but I figured I'd better put down some thoughts on the trip while it was still fresh and before I'm consumed again with worry. Bear with me.

Anyway, here's a quick breakdown with pictures.I started out in Juneau, which is where my flights ended up. I should, though, point out that there was a layover in Seattle, and that layover included the best strawberry shortcake I've ever eaten. I should also point out that the strawberries were picked that morning and that I ate said shortcake on a plane. I've always wanted to bring something actually, you know, good on a plane to eat while everyone else ate pretzels and a tiny glass of coke. I did and it was great.

Anyway, Juneau's kind of dumb in a cruise town kind of way. We did manage to find some spots out of the way where they served pizza that was so good that it was stupid. From a restaurant I saw a rainbow and some float planes.

I humbly submit that this was neat. And a little taste of what was to come.

Anyway, just an afternoon in Juneau with an early morning on the Alaska Marine Highway system. Back when I worked for Scenic Byways Online I wrote a lot about the Alaska Marine Highway and hoped someday to be able to ride on it. This proves to me that if you have a dream, you don't really have to chase it. Just kind of hang around and it will happen to you.


Feel free to put that on a sampler and frame it. Jazz it up a little, though.

While on the ferry, I saw a little thing we wildlife biologists like to call humpback whales.

Yeah, no pictures, though. Here's one and you can imagine a massive head popping out of the water and then retreating and me saying softly to myself as I look through the binoculars, "oh snap."

Look at me I'm on a boat.

The boat ride took 5 hours and included a charming thing that happened to all of us who ordered the fish and chips. We got chicken and chips. Good thing it was pretty good and cost 13 dollars. I had a slice of cake with pudding in it.

Yes. Food is going to be a theme of these blogs.

We arrived at a village that has existed for at least 3,000 years continuously though it was probably more like 5,000. It's tiny, and economically depressed, and really charming in a tiny economically depressed methy kind of way. There were bears at the dump.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's blog, or the one where I actually start to do work.