Capturing Robert Burns

August 18, 2009

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

- Robert Burns, Address to a Haggis

Robert Burns is a great poet. When Liz and I traveled through Scotland this spring, we couldn't escape the prominence of this 18th-century genius. There were statues, exhibits, letters, paintings, and memorials in his honor in every city we visited on the isle. We were enamored by his work, his talent, and his intellect. But even more so by his dashing figure and charming smile. Robert Burns is our historical heartthrob.

Last week I learned that Cheyenne has its own Robert Burns statue. Asked by a tourist why it would even exist in a dinky American railroad town formed a century after his existence, I was speechless. I've known this statue my entire life but have failed to recognize that it was Robert Burns. The Robert Burns, I tell you!


So I had to get a picture with him. Without anyone to help me, I made a fool of myself trying to get my camera at a decent angle. After many failed attempts and snickers from passing cars, I barely succeeded.


And I still have no idea why Robert Burns would be in Wyoming. He's just that cool I guess.

Free Parking?

August 15, 2009


Other than a life-size Monopoly board, my bathroom has several unusual functions.

Our dryer broke last month and my dad has yet to fix it. Unable to live as a civilized being without clean clothing, I've found other means of drying them. After rejecting the Uncle Buck method of microwaving my shirts or suspending my jeans from the ceiling fan, I've resorted to hanging everything in my bathroom. Now it is a jungle of preshrunk fabrics and polyester blends.


In addition to a makeshift laundry room, my bathroom has also turned into a dictionary. Preparing for the GRE, I've compiled a heap of essential vocabulary words and hung them all over the wall. Over the course of the summer, I've kept adding to the list and transformed that empty space into a lexicographer's nightmare.


I will miss my multifarious bathroom once I head to school.

Bad Puns

July 29, 2009

I'm a sucker for bad puns. And I admit that I enjoy Car Talk. When the two are together, it is a real holiday!

On the July 11 episode of Click & Clack's notorious radio show, Tommy read aloud some really awful - but oh so great - puns.

The Louse Can Beat the Clock

A doctor made it his regular habit to stop off at a bar for a hazelnut daiquiri on his way home. The bartender knew of his habit, and would always have the drink waiting at precisely 5:03 p.m. One afternoon, as the end of the work day approached, the bartender was dismayed to find that he was out of hazelnut extract. Thinking quickly, he threw together a daiquiri made with hickory nuts and set it on the bar. The doctor came in at his regular time, took one sip of the drink and exclaimed, "This isn't a hazelnut daiquiri!" "No, I'm sorry," replied the bartender, "It's a hickory daiquiri, Doc."

At Least It Wasn't the Water Loo!

What do you get when you toss a hand grenade into a kitchen in France? Linoleum blownapart.

And my favorite:

The Pundit

There was a man who entered a local paper's pun contest. He sent in ten different puns in the hope that at least one of the puns would win. Unfortunately, no pun in ten did.

To read more of these pungent blurbs from the desk of Dewey, Cheatem and Howe, click here. I assure you that you will be wasting your time well!

Suffering Cats!

July 20, 2009

"Each generation also seems to need some new words to describe the same old things."
- Stuart Berg Flexner, Preface to the Dictionary of American Slang

I once acquired a dictionary of American slang from the free table at the St. Olaf Library. Published in 1967, it is extremely outdated.

Here is a pictorial representation of slang "as the more popular portion of the cant, jargon, and argot from many sub-groups," (preface, p. vii). Never thought it could look so neat and orderly, much like a flower.


Nevertheless, I thought I would share some select words and phrases featured in this dictionary to enlighten the 21st century on how Americans used to speak.

agony-pipe: a clarinet

apple-head: a stupid person

big drink of water: a youth or man, esp. if tall, who is uninteresting, dull, or boring

brown Abe: a penny

buzz around the barrel: to get something to eat; to eat, esp. a snack.

cookie pusher: a man, usu. a young man, who prefers group feminine society, as tea parties, easy tasks, and nonmasculine sports; an effeminate, weak, or cowardly man

ding-swizzled: darned; damned

dude: 1. an overdressed man; 2. a bus tourist of either sex; formerly a stagecoach tourist

hairpin: 1. a man; a person of either sex; 2. a woman, esp. a housewife; 3. a crackpot; a person with a mind bent like a hairpin; a screwball

higher than Gilroy's kite: very drunk

ish kabibble: an expression meaning "I'm not worrying" or "I don't care"

lard-head: a stupid person

longhair: 1. an intellectual; one who likes serious books, music, theatre, ect.; a person with cultivated tastes; 2. appealing to or liked by intellectuals, usu. said of entertainment

lounge lizard (sofa lizard): a ladies' man, often characterized as stingy, who calls upon girls and women and does not entertain them away from their own homes; the lounge lizard's interest is in necking

mallet-head: a stupid person

Norwegian steam: manpower; muscle power

rinky dink: cheap, gaudy merchandise; junk; drek

Suffering Christ!: 1. an expletive of surprise, mild anger, or disappointment; 2. euph. "Suffering Cats!"

Your mother wears Army boots!: an exclam. of derision


No offense to Mr. Flexner, but I prefer this archaic slang to ours...no need to find something new. Therefore, I suggest you integrate these expressions into your everyday conversation. That way, together we can engender the past and become swellelegent!

Rummage Room

July 17, 2009

My brother is a collector. He and his coterie poke through piles of junk around town and bring back the most trivial and bizarre items only to lose them in the confines of his disastrous room.

The boy became an only child when both my sister and I went off to college. Having no one to heed to, other than my parents, he took over the useless den in our basement as his own and abandoned his bedroom. In result, his bedroom had turned into a dumping ground for all his clothes, trash, and of course the random knick knacks he's picked up over the years.


Now, the infamous Cheyenne Frontier Days have arrived - 10 days of rodeo, parades, carnivals, pancake breakfasts, country western music, beer, and cowboys. Hotel rooms are full and twice the price of a normal night. Although living a block from Frontier Park, the home of the world's largest outdoor rodeo, is highly annoying, it gives an advantage to those who know us. A large house allows the opportunity to house those several friends who are crazy enough to want to partake in this wild west fest. But in order to do so, the house must be clean.

Away at a camp this week, my brother is not home. So I was given the undesirable job of cleaning his room. Despite the horror I faced, I rediscovered his many odd treasures hidden inside, such as...

Old license plates and street signs.


Welding helmets.


Huge "SALE" banners.


And creepy lawn ornaments.


After many hours of digging, sorting, scrubbing, and disposing, I was able to establish some sort of order in his personal junkyard.


Needless to say, I think I did a damn good job.

Public Computer

July 14, 2009

It's Bastille Day, I should be writing about the glory and wonders of the French Revolution. But instead I will write about something that hits a little closer to home. The public computer at the Fairfield Inn in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Lacking a proper business center, the public computer is located kitty-corner to the front desk. Consequently, as a front desk clerk, I can observe what guests are doing on the computer whether or not I wish to. Most guests who use it check email or make reservations for their next stay at a Mariott hotel. But there have been several guests who use it just to kill time.


The youngest guest to use this computer was a little girl, about 9 or 10 years old, who was traveling with her very old grandparents. Upon checking in, her grandfather told me a story about when he was traveling across the country in a Greyhound bus back in the 50s. It stopped in Cheyenne in the month of November and when people got off the bus they immediately turned around and went back on because it was so cold. Despite the friendliness of the old man, it was obvious that the little girl was tired of his company. She discovered the computer and occupied herself for a couple of hours visiting websites that cater to pre-teens, including a shopping game where you dress up a virtual doll in fashionable clothes.

There have been several occasions where sets of teenage guys have gathered around the computer. Fortunately they weren't looking at porn, which would be both embarrassing and disgusting. But they would look at social networking sites like Facebook and Myspace and other forum sites that I still don't quite understand. They've also planted themselves in the breakfast room to watch TV in the absence of their parents.

One man spent probably 3 hours looking up the history of Cheyenne, Wyoming on various third-party websites. I gathered this by recognizing old photos of the depot and historic houses that were popping up on the screen.

An old woman from a tour group was checking her email peacefully as her friend was looking over her shoulder. The next second I caught the women laughing hysterically at a YouTube video of babies rollerskating and doing flips. I guess stupid YouTube videos aren't just for college kids.

Finally at the public computer there was a particular old man writing an email. Although this sounds like nothing unusual, he was typing each word letter by letter with only his right index finger. I don't know if this was due to an inablity or just sheer laziness. It's possible that like the granddaughter or the highschool boys, he was just wasting time that could have been spent with those he was traveling with.

Letterbox Inventory

July 9, 2009

I have kept almost every single piece of written correspondence I've gotten since elementary school.

Feeling nostalgic, I dug out the box where I have been keeping greeting cards, letters, and other various sorts of mail over years. Granted I have not put everything in this box in the course of my life, I would estimate that it contains 75-80% of what I have received. (No scientific reasoning there, just pure instinct.)

But if you are looking for a more accurate and statistical representation of my collection, I have created an inventory of the contents in my beloved letterbox.

Graduation Cards: 88 (My mom was in charge of sending graduation announcements, she had sent them to every person who has ever known me.)

Birthday Cards: 58

Valentines: 53

Pen Pal Letters: 51 (I've had 7+ pen pals from places like France, Sweden, Finland, Malta, and Turkey.)

Christmas Cards: 32

Thank You Cards: 30

Friendly Letters: 28 (Not including the infamous letter exchanges with my friend Ashlie during senior year of high school.)

Photos: 10 (Mostly of pen pals.)

Postcards: 9 (Not including the dozens of written postcards strewn within my expansive postcard collection.)

Professional Letters: 8 (One from Highlights for Children magazine stating they would consider publishing the drawings I submitted in 1998. They never did.)

Good Luck Cards: 6

Chain Letters: 6

Easter Cards: 5

Confirmation Cards: 4

Stickers: 2

Get Well Cards: 1 

Thanksgiving Cards: 1 (Seriously, a Thanksgiving card?)

Newspaper Clippings: 1

Seashells: 1

'98 Swedish Travel Guides: 1

$10 Target Gift Card: 1 (Still valid!)

I will do this again in another 10 years or so and produce a comparison and detailed analysis. Stay tuned.

Nebraska, The Good Life

July 7, 2009

The state nickname for Nebraska is the Cornhusker State.

Nebraska is 455 miles of fun along the stretch of I-80. I just came back from an impromptu road trip to Minnesota so that I could see friends for the 4th of July weekend. The 835 miles between Cheyenne and Northfield is long but easy. There is nothing but prairie and thunderstorms.

Luckily, I managed to escape the thunderstorms in Nebraska this time. I have been stopped before on several occasions along the lonesome plains due to severe rain and wind.

Last week, a guest at the hotel I work at told me all about the storm he encountered on his way to Wyoming. Usually guests who come in at 11:00 p.m. are dyspeptic and tired. However, this guest had enough energy to recount the epic adventure he had and I was able to commiserate with him. He explained how the sun was shining when he and his wife stopped at a Dairy Queen at some no-name Nebraska town. When they came out, there were dark clouds forming above and started to burst when they returned to the interstate. They were caught right in the middle of the storm, their windshield was nothing but a perpetual screen of rain. But they made it through and were absolutely awestruck by their experience on the wide expanse of prairie. I cannot even relay his enthusiasm with words.

There is a reason why Nebraska is not called the Sunshine State (Florida). But it should be called the Prairie State, which is for some reason Illinois.