Yellowstone! (Part 3)—Old Faithful

Today's story will be told mostly through pictures. Click to embiggen; I think some of the detail is worth seeing.

Our plan was to start at the Yellowstone Visitor Center, and then make our decisions as to which geyser basins to visit. But along the way, we reserved the right to stop for whatever might look interesting. The Lewis River canyon certainly qualified.



Then there was Lewis Falls...





There's something wonderful about a path in the woods by a waterfall. I love tall pine trees...and the misty rain made the air smell as fresh and delicious as it could possibly be.

The folks in this photo are the ones who took the picture of Tanner and me above, and they seemed to be enjoying the woods as part of a romantic holiday. That made me smile, as did Tanner's bounding stride as he joyously ran down the path. Despite the rain, it was a fabulous start to the day in a gorgeous setting. It would've been a good place for a picnic, but it was too early for lunch.

So, we hopped back in the car and headed to the Visitor Center.

I probably would've taken pictures there, but as soon as I started to read the placards about the big fire of '88, Tanner tapped me on the shoulder and said, "If we leave right now, we should be able to make it to Old Faithful in time for the next eruption."

That's what we did. The only moment of schedule anxiety during the drive was when all the cars stopped to watch a buffalo cross the road. We were a half-dozen cars back, so I only caught a quick glimpse as he sauntered off into the woods -- he was not courteous enough to present me with a photo opportunity. By the time traffic moved again and we were able to pass the location of his crossing, he was nowhere to be seen.

When we arrived at the Old Faithful complex, we hurried to park the car and then jogged over to the viewing area. The vast area of steaming vents provides a stunning sight even without eruptions.



Our timing was perfect. We walked up, flipped on the video camera, and the eruption began. I hope to post the video soon, but I'm sure it's exactly the same as every other eruption shot that's available on YouTube.

It was a little difficult to distinguish between the gushing water and steam plume, but it was obvious that a LOT of scalding liquid and vapor was shooting into the sky.

Of course, we HAD to see how hot the water was...



It was a cool day, and the water flowed downhill for several dozen feet before it arrived at the boardwalk. It was warm, but not scalding.

Tanner had never watched Yogi Bear, so he hadn't heard the name of the geyser in the fictional Jellystone Park--Old Faceful. I won't deny that Hanna Barbera sucks terribly, but I also won't ever forget the name of that geyser. Even so, I was not the least bit tempted to stick my face into any of these steam plumes.



It's scary to think about how much geothermal energy is right below the earth's surface here. If you spin yourself around, you can see the lip of the caldera, and will realize that you're in the crater of a positively enormous volcano. It probably won't erupt in our lifetime, but when it does, it'll be spectacular!

The boardwalk allows visitors to explore the geyser field to their heart's content. There are many different kinds of vents, pools, and mineral formations. This one looks like evidence that an alien civilization painted galactic maps on the caldera floor:



I suppose it's the hot water's sulfur content that turns the rocks such pretty colors. Even on a cloudy day like this one, it was easy to be impressed by the orange and yellow minerals that built up the stone surfaces.

Hey! I finally get it! Yellow...stone. Ha. Far out.



Of course, I had to get a photo of somebody in a Smokey Bear hat. I made Tanner pose with her.



A couple of the smaller geysers also erupted while we were there, but I didn't manage to catch them on film. But there was lots of boiling and burbling, and steam everywhere.



In the background of these two photos, you can see the Old Faithful Inn, which is a huge log lodge with a cavernous open lobby. When we finished wandering among the steam pots, colorful ponds, and painted runoff slopes, we wandered over to the Inn, just to see what it was like.

And that, my friends, is where we shall begin in our next post. Have a great day!

Yellowstone! (Part 2)

We drove 165 miles out of our way.

I suppose it was my fault. With this one minor exception, Tanner performed his navigator duties with precision throughout the trip. But as we drove north from Rawlins, Wyoming, well, we both kinda stopped paying attention. I thought the road we were on went directly to Lander, so I assumed no navigation was needed until we reached that waypoint. I threw one of my old rock mix tapes into the cassette player, and challenged Tanner to a game of "Name that musician!"

He did surprisingly well for someone who wasn't alive during the 70s. And I couldn't really fault him for not recognizing Boxcar Willie or Leon Redbone. But what always amazes me is how accurate he is in guessing the year a song was recorded, even if he has never heard it before. I still think he has the talent to be an excellent record producer one of these days. But I digress.

We both were too deeply engrossed in analyzing and enjoying the music to notice the fork leading to Lander, and just kept on heading in a generally northward direction. The sky was still completely overcast, so I failed to see any sun-position clues that would let me know we had veered to the northeast. As we pulled into the town I thought would be Lander, I was surprised to see the sign saying "Welcome to Casper!"



Oops. We used GPS navigation for the remainder of the trip.

Fortunately, it was just a delay, not really a problem -- and we didn't have to retrace our steps. We had dinner in Casper and then got on a different road that would take us where we needed to go...the Hatchet Resort, just south of Moran Junction.



It was a cute place. Log cabin motif, friendly staff, hideously expensive gasoline -- everything you'd expect from accommodations at the edge of a remote National Park. The Grand Tetons loomed on the horizon, foreshadowing the wondrous mountain sights we expected to see tomorrow.

The manager was happy to see us; we were the last reservation, so once we arrived, he could call it a day and retire from the desk. We unwedged our suitcases from the tetris-game rear of the car, and settled into our room for the night.



We had planned to check in, wait until sunset, and then go back out to drive up the road to find a secluded spot from which to view the full heavenly glory and billions of stars in the Wyoming wilderness sky untouched by city lights. But because of our detour, it was already dark when we arrived, and also obvious that the skies were going to remain overcast through the night. Despite the absence of city light pollution, no stars were going to make an appearance that night.

I like overvarnished western decor and semi-authentic native artwork. The stone shower was cute, as well. The only problem is that the lone grounded outlet was in the bathroom -- so we ran the laptop on batteries until we were finished, and then plugged it in next to the toilet to recharge overnight. I checked my email and tried to learn a bit more about my smartphone, while Tanner practiced his transcription lessons to prepare for the new job he'd be starting when he got back to Bellingham.

The bed was comfortable, and I fell asleep easily. But sometime in the middle of the night, Tanner suddenly turned on the room lights. I looked up and could tell that he had something to say, but was hesitating because he wasn't sure how I'd react. "What's going on?" I asked.

"We have a mouse," he whispered. I mumbled a reply; "That's nice. Now turn off the light and go back to sleep." In a few moments, he did just that.

In the morning, I woke up before he did, of course. It was drizzling, and I didn't really feel like running, so I just wandered around outside, taking a few pictures.







I wandered over to the on-site restaurant and checked out the morning menu. Nothing sounded too exciting, so after a bit more walking in the drizzle and admiring the surrounding mountains, I returned to the room to roust the boy.

He got up with minimal prodding, and we were soon heading down the road. As we drove, he explained that he had eaten some Cheetos at bedtime, and then later heard rustling around the bag. When he turned on his flashlight, he saw the visitor, who then scuttled off. In review, he decided that the rodent was actually a rat rather than a mere mouse...and that it's probably good policy to not leave cheesy food items lying on the floor. Anyway, there was no sign of further invasion, and we had both gotten adequate sleep, so we looked forward to Yellowstone with great enthusiasm. (Unfortunately, though, I find myself unable to give the Hatchet Resort a full thumbs-up review, despite the homey cuteness of its design.)



It continued to drizzle, but we were still able to see the spectacular vistas of the Tetons. It didn't take us long to get into the National Park, and we soon found a place that looked good for breakfast.



We had a delightful meal of waffles, French toast, and scrambled eggs, and discussed our strategy for maximizing our tourist pleasures within the park.



Our first stop would be the official Yellowstone Visitor's Center. We finished our meal, took a quick pit stop, and once again climbed into our overloaded car. It was time to see some geysers!

Tomorrow's topic: Old Faithful! Have a great day!

Yellowstone! (Part 1)

It's always good when I get to spend time with my son.

Tanner flew into Denver about 2 weeks ago, with a primary goal of collecting some things he hadn't been able to take to Seattle when he moved there a couple of years ago. Of course, while he was here, he was also obligated to spend (minimal) time with his parents, hang out with his school chums and former band members, and bless his mother with extra laundry to do.

The best part of it was that I was chosen as the designated transporter to get him (and his stuff) back to Washington state. He and his roommates had recently moved into a nice house in Bellingham, and it seemed like the perfect time for Dad to come for a visit.

Due to time constraints, I am forced to tell the tale of our adventure in episodic fashion. I took several hundred photos along the way, as we visited National Parks, toured incredible museums, and saw natural wonders galore. The biggest danger we faced was probably the necessity to drive without a rearview mirror, since the car was stuffed to the gills with amplifiers, keyboards, clothing...and even a miniature refrigerator. Tanner's mom packed us a lunch for the road, and we headed north to the accompaniment of the world's best vacation music.

Our first stop was the rest stop between Cheyenne and Laramie with the giant scary Lincoln head. I'm sure if I'd have read the placards, I'd have learned why this, um, tribute is situated in the middle of nowhere, WY...but my guess is that he spent the night here once when he had a flat tire on his covered wagon during the civil war or something.

Actually, my great grandfather Asa Osias Gere claimed that he met Lincoln once when he was still just a country lawyer. Since Asa's parents ran a hotel in Illinois, his story is reasonably plausible. He did not say whether Lincoln was wearing a brick coat and scowling like he'd just seen an Oakland Raider.



It's a nice little rest area, though, with interesting Wyoming exhibits (including the wanted poster shown above.) We didn't stay long.

As you can see in the picture, it was a drizzly day...just a few hours before the horrendous floods began to hit Colorado. We were planning to spend most of the day Thursday exploring Yellowstone, so we wanted to get the motel room we had reserved just southeast of Teton National Park. We were hoping to check in, have dinner, and then go back out after sunset to see billions and billions of stars visible in the pitch black sky of the Wyoming wilderness. Two things were wrong with that plan; one was the constant cloud cover obscuring the sky...and the other was a minor navigational error we made on the road north from Rawlins.

But that story will have to wait until tomorrow. Stay tuned, though, because geysers and wildlife encounters await. Have a great day!

Everything is A-OK and all systems are GO!

Will having a smartphone alter the flavor of my upcoming vacation?

I'm pretty sure it will, at least in a couple of small ways. I suspect I'll find reasons to access the Internet in situations where I'd have been disconnected in the past. Probably to ax for directions to the nearest Del Taco.

Do they have Del Taco in Montana and Washington? I know that the Seattle area is bereft of the basics of civilization (Wal-Mart, McDonalds, Chipotle, etc), but have been told that the condition is intentional -- that the local hippies have so completely fried their brains on marrijuewanna that they no longer have the ability to distinguish between useful/economical products and overpriced pretentious crap. But I have no idea whether the disease has spread into the mountains or not.

Anyway, over the past couple of days I have found myself pondering technology and my relationship with it. Up until technology immersed itself in social practices (ie, Facebook, , eVite, cell phones, etc), I was usually an enthusiastic adopter of technological advancement. I dumped my slide rule for a calculator as soon as I could afford it, and forgot about typewriters the moment I discovered word processing. I was eagerly standing in line outside the store before it opened on the day Windows 95 was released, and I bought a GPS device back when they could only give you longitude and latitude.

My love of technology started early in life. I was fascinated by my dad's 8mm movie camera, and my favorite Christmas present ever was a reel-to-reel tape recorder. Each day when released from school, I would run home to watch Major Astro talk about space travel and planetary exploration on TV.



He never did explain how his ship generated gravity, and why a billion-dollar craft used flimsy naugahyde roller chairs from K-mart in the command module...but I didn't mind. His "Space Scope" picked up cartoons and old Superman episodes -- and he talked about elements, orbits, and physics as he toured our solar system for 90 minutes every weekday afternoon.

Oh sure, I recognized that most of the cartoons were absolutely terrible. (Clutch Cargo was especially disturbing.) But Roger Ramjet was excellent, and Astro Boy gave hints of the appeal that Japanese robot children could have for immature minds across the decades. And in addition to Superman, I was also fortunate to see episodes of Sea Hunt, Whirlybirds, Ripcord, and Jet Jackson. I don't remember anything at all about going to school, but my afternoons in front of the monochrome TV were idyllic.

Then my mom got cancer.

Yeah. It's no secret how that event impacted my life and directed its development...but I'll discuss those impacts in other forums. Of course, if you want to donate to cancer research, or reach out to help someone who is affected by the disease, I send you my thanks. But that is not today's topic. It's about technology.

Since the effects of chemotherapy forced my mom to spend a lot of time resting, my dad decided to make the substantial investment it took to get a color television set to make her convalescence more enjoyable. This was the early 1960s -- not only were the sets exotic and expensive, but much of the programming was still only broadcast in grayscale.

Our new TV came with one of the true wonders of the space age -- a remote control. Until then, you had to walk over to the set and physically turn a knob. Wichita had three channels...3, 10, and 12, which meant that you had to rotate the knob as many as 7 channel positions to go from one station to the next. Ugh.

The remote control didn't change that. In fact, it didn't modify how the channels were changed at all -- it just allowed you to perform the action from across the room. A push on the button activated a spring-loaded hammer inside the remote case, striking a small metal bar (imagine one tine of a tuning fork), which made a tone the TV could detect. A motor inside the set would then physically rotate the tuner knob the same way you would have until the desired position was attained.

It worked reasonably well, but it wasn't perfect. In Wichita, KS -- aka "The Air Capital of the World" -- jet airplanes would roar overhead regularly. As with any unmitigatable environmental annoyance, you just got used to it. We simply learned to pause conversations for the 10 seconds it took for the noise to subside. But when we got the new color TV, we were once again acutely aware that we were under the flight path. I never discovered whether it was just that the jet exhaust noise coincidentally contained the right frequency, or that the plane's sound waves sympathetically vibrated the remote's tuning bar -- but when an airplane went by, the channel would change. Or the TV would turn itself off.

I suspect that's why you no longer see sound-activated remote control devices.

Anyway, I left that device behind when I went to college. There, I discovered electronic calculators, 8-track tapes, and rock concerts enhanced with laser lights hitting mirrored disco balls. But every other technical advance in history paled in comparison to what I discovered in my junior year: cable television!

Holy cow! When I had moved from Wichita to Lawrence, I had learned about UHF broadcasting, and had accepted that advanced communities might have as many as 5 or 6 television stations. But now there was cable! Cable brought channels in the double digits! And here's the best part -- it came with a digital remote controller box.
By today's standards, these sorts of boxes were incredibly clunky. But in the early 70s, I could imagine nothing better than being able to push a numbered button and have the channel instantly change. I couldn't find a picture of the exact box we had, but it was similar to this one -- it had a row of 15 buttons and a toggle that would double the frequency to grant access to channels 15 through 30! Sure, it required a wire to run across the room...but it was immune to interference from aircraft.

Of course, having a remote control created a new source of conflict between me and my roommate. As a Radio-TV-Film major and the more intelligent of the two, you would expect that I would be the default controller of the remote. But despite his feeble intellect and unrefined tastes, Mickey had an impressive talent for selecting good entertainment. Therefore, I usually didn't mind if he did the channel surfing.

When we left Lawrence to start our individual adult careers, I purchased the remote box from the cable company and took it home with me. I used it to change channels all the way up until they finally invented TVs with infrared remotes. But that is another story.

The point is that technology marches on. Tanner confessed to me that he had never dialed a rotary telephone, and had no idea how they even worked. And it won't be long before no one will believe that at one time, telephones could not give you directions as you drove down the road.

I'm looking forward to the excitement and education that awaits us on our trip to Washington. I have no idea when I'll post the next blog, but it should contain some interesting photos and tales of adventure. Until then, enjoy your wireless devices, and have a great day!

Insomnia

Yes, the young padawan did indeed arrive from the specific northwest, and even found time to hang out with his dear old dad for a bit over the weekend.

I didn't really expect to see much of my son while he's in Denver, and that's OK...since I'll be spending three days in a car with him as we traverse the uncivilized forests between here and almost-Canada. My job is to transport the boy and his musical gear (keyboards, amps, speakers, etc) back to Bellingham, but my goal is to make a fun vacation out of it. We'll see mountains, geysers, wildlife, and probably a Bigfoot or two on the journey. And we'll probably figure out ways to solve most of the world's problems during our conversations along the way. (Question: Would nuclear winter over the middle east create a reversal in global warming? Hmmm. It certainly may be a theory worth testing.)

To my surprise, Tanner did hang out with me a bit over the weekend. Oddly enough, the times he was available seemed to correspond roughly to mealtimes, so I spent most of my parenting time reaching for my wallet at various restaurants. I know he was hoping to spend more time engaged in deep discussions with the father he idolizes, so that he could soak in as much insight and wisdom as possible...but we really didn't get to do much of that. He tried very hard to not act disappointed that our time together ended shortly after the check had been paid, but I could tell that he was bummed he had to keep running off to play computer games with his friends. Poor kid.

Anyway, my short-term goal has become to get as much rest as I can before it's time to head off toward Yellowstone. I've been fatigued lately, and out of synch. It's a combination of things, but the main villain is the pinched nerve (or whatever it is) that makes my upper back hurt when I lift my head a certain way. It knotted up during the Cottonwood Pass climb, and still hasn't come undone. The pain isn't a big deal, but what IS a major annoyance is that it has kept me off the bicycle.

Ergo, my workout routine has been disrupted -- and I've been a complete slacker as a result. Yes, I do understand that the fault is totally attributable to my personal character (or lack thereof), and that my whining and slothful attitude is unseemly and uncalled for. But that doesn't change the fact that I've been logging more couch time than usual lately.

The good news in all of this is that I've watched some decent movies recently. The bad news is that the best ones tend to be the ones presented by Svengoolie (the dude pictured at the top of this post)...and his program doesn't start until 9pm, which is well past my normal bedtime. You can see the problem; if I want to watch a good monster, zombie, or invisible man movie, I have to stay up late -- which in turn disrupts my rest pattern and makes me even less likely to re-establish a workout routine that would be effective in battling my grotesque obesity. Sigh.

But on a totally different topic, the weekend's movie watching reminded me that Tanner has my top hat, and I'm thinking that perhaps getting it back would make me feel more upscale...which would in turn inspire me to go be more sociable and less of a sofa spud. In the past, I only wore the hat when performing in magic shows. But with Svengoolie as an inspiration, I'm thinking that perhaps it should become something I exhibit more frequently. It would give me a bit of class, don't you think? I'd probably get more respect as a swim coach, as an employee and coworker, and even as a commuter. Nobody's going to cut off a driver wearing a top hat, are they?

Anyway, I know I told you I'd share my experience with upgrading to a smartphone...but I haven't made much progress yet. I have figured out how to send text messages and use the internet browser -- and Tanner figured out the GPS navigation. I can take pictures, too. But otherwise, there are a million icons about which I remain clueless. It would be cool if I could use the phone to post blogs while I'm on the road, but I seriously doubt I'm capable of mastering that particular skill. We'll see.

For the moment, my immediate goals are less ambitious: Get home as soon as I can and get to sleep before the sun sets. That way I can wake up re-energized in the morning and get to the gym in time to get in a great workout. (Probably won't wear the top hat to the gym, though. Sorry.)

I'll let you know how it goes. Have a great day!

Maturity

My greatest deficiency as a parent was my failure to administer sufficient beatings to instill proper discipline.

I tried the trendy "time out" and "supportive neurolinguistic programming" techniques, but am pretty sure that whaling on the kid with a hickory switch would've been more effective. Oh well. My son is more-or-less an adult now, so the environmental component of his development is complete. And of course, my genetic contribution to his personality remains in full force.

My latest injury got me to thinking about this. I'll explain more about that in a minute, but my mentioning Billy Ray yesterday was just a coincidence. The fact that "Trading Places" scientifically explored the Nature vs. Nurture argument did not specifically lead me to this discussion. It was instead driven by the fact that I'll be seeing my son soon, and I hurt myself in a way that reminded me of my own father.

Obviously, my son inherited his intelligence, athleticism, good looks, and musical genius from my side of the family. His mother contributed his ability to stay up late at night and his epicurean tastes. Random mutations that caused him to deviate from family trends would include his inability to make decisions or return phone calls, and his failure to understand the purpose of the useful invention known as a belt.

As for my own ancestral genetics, I'm afraid I must admit a certain inherited klutziness. My dad is the only person I know who has fallen off the roof more than once, has twice broken his arm playing tennis, and is a legend within my Boy Scout troop for hiking back to camp and then driving 30 miles to the hospital after breaking BOTH his arm and leg in a single hiking accident.

To his credit, none of these accidents would've happened if he wasn't out there being active. But a lot of other people have played tennis, gone on hikes, and done roof work without the same numbers of incidents. You may draw your own conclusions.

As for me, well these last few weeks have made me once again face my own fragility. I have concluded that the neck tension and soreness I felt after the Cottonwood Pass ride is a non-trivial injury, and may require medical intervention. And then on Tuesday, I severely bruised a knuckle when I slammed my hand into the front panel of a treadmill at the gym. (I probably shouldn't try to watch TV while running, should I?) I'm also feeling elbow displeasure during tennis serves, ankle pain when running, and all of my normal balance and coordination issues when trying to stand or walk. Sigh.

Life should be more than just an endless series of rehab opportunities, don't you think? Oh well, at least the good news is that I finally received my TriRock triathlon award in the mail. It's a hefty glass mug, and I like it. It will probably become my default drinking vessel now...which indicates another major shift in philosophy. There was a time when I wanted to have an all-plastic kitchen -- thinking that glass presented a breakage danger that added unnecessary complexity.

But at some point, I decided that glass was a better health choice. It cleans up easily, and won't exude long-chain petroleum molecules into my beverages. The clean-up and hygiene advantages now seem to outweigh the breakage risk.

Is this revised attitude the result of newfound wisdom and maturity? Or senility? Or am I just now at the stage where I like sparkly things?

I dunno. But my son arrives in town this afternoon, and is sure to help me put it all into perspective. Despite my failure to beat responsibility into him as he was growing up, I do have great respect for his youthful insights. Perhaps his visit will remind me to keep looking for ways to defer the aging process...and the injuries that seem to go with it.

Perhaps. Or perhaps age has nothing to do with it. After all, I was barely in my 20s when I broke my leg at Water World, broke my hand changing the oil in my car, and dislocated my fingers in a motorcycle crash -- and not even that old when I smashed my face on a diving board attempting to do a back flip.

Anyway, the point is that I have a new mug, and it's pretty. That's all, I guess. In the coming days, I will share observations about Tanner's visit, learning to use my new smartphone, and my trip to Bellingham. Should be fun, and as always, I appreciate your attendance. Have a great day!

The Movie Star...and the rest

People like Jimmy Buffett and Billy Ray Valentine consider the tropics to be a good place to retire. Some of my best friends also rave about the appeal of beach life...but I've never really had much desire to live with sand between my toes.

But I gotta say it sounds pretty good to me right now. The stinging pain in my upper back is not going away -- despite massage, inversion, and various supposedly therapeutic contortions and manipulations. I suspect that lying on my back under the sun for about a week while doing nothing but listening to surf sounds would work curative wonders beyond anything the medical community can provide.

Unfortunately, that's not gonna happen. But I am planning to take a vacation to the Pacific Northwest. Driving across Idaho probably doesn't provide the same level of relaxation as lounging on the beach, but at least I'll be away from a computer screen for a while. I think that's the real problem with my neck and back -- too much desk work.

I can't go quite yet, though. I have a couple more proposal submissions to knock out before I can take off. But soon.

In the meantime, I'd like to take a moment to point out something blatantly obvious: "Gilligan's Island" might be the worst TV show ever made. It's certainly the worst show that made it into eternal syndication. But even though I was well aware of this indisputable fact, I was still curious enough to watch the first episode when MeTV aired it on Labor Day.

Roger Ebert used the term "idiot plot" to describe movies where the central crisis could be immediately resolved if there was one character who was not a complete idiot. (The standard example is when all the kids know there's a chainsaw maniac lurking in the dark...and they all go outside to look for him.) I use the term "Gilligan Situation" to describe a plot in which you could easily get off the island if you just killed Gilligan.

I suppose you could also call it the "Dr. Smith Situation." Even the most committed opponent of capital punishment should instantly realize that feeding "Little Buddy" to the sharks (or tossing Dr. Smith out the airlock) would be the morally correct thing to do. As Confucius once said, if you want to get out of a hole, you must first stop digging.

Anyway, the first episode was as uniformly stupid and unwatchable as all the rest of them. It was interesting in that they did announce the characters' real names though a stunningly clever "missing boat report newscast" artificial plot device -- but otherwise, it was the same dreck that went on throughout the series.

I did wonder about one thing: after emerging from being trapped in a cave-in (caused by, well...you know), Ginger commented that her evening gown was ruined, and that it was the only one she had. And yet, years later, the gown appears to remain in good condition. Hmm.

Can you think of other shows with the Gilligan Situation? "Perfect Strangers" seems to fit the mold, and I believe the argument could be made for "Laverne and Shirley" as well.

Come to think of it, pretty much every sitcom features an irredeemable idiot. But most of them do not consistently endanger the lives of everyone else. Ted Baxter is a moron, but the WJM newsroom continues to function. Potsie Weber is a pinhead of epic magnitude, but his deficiencies don't stop Fonzie from dating the Polaskey Twins. It could even be argued that Pavel Chekov's contributions to the Enterprise tally up squarely in the negative column, but somebody has to inquire about nookleer wessels, right?

You could even argue that Jethro Bodine (despite his impressive education credentials) is more of a liability than an asset to the Clampett clan. But Jed's wisdom and leadership mitigate the situation in a way that is far beyond the meager capabilities of the Minnow's Skipper.

By the way, why is a boat's captain called a Skipper, anyway? When they present him with his promotion to command rank, does the admiral say, "Here's your boat...now go skip it!" I don't think so.

Anyway, I thought I had a point to make, but obviously didn't get there. I guess I'll wait to see if anyone has other suggestions for the Gilligan List, and if so, I'll discuss them in the future. Darren Stevens? Major Anthony Nelson? Lois Lane?

(Not that this has anything to do with anything, but I find it interesting that as I get older, I have begun to think that Mrs. Bellows was substantially more attractive than Jeannie. I wouldn't go so far as to say that Daisy Moses was more attractive than Elly May...but I bet she'd be a lot more fun to talk to on a date.)

In summary, I hope you spent your Labor Day doing something more productive that watching retarded sitcoms. This week contains proposal due dates, so any blogging I might do will probably reflect the resultant brain damage. Sorry about that. But I'm pretty fired up about it being September, and about my coming vacation. I'm thinking it's going to be an excellent autumn. My one piece of advice would be this: If you're going on a boat ride, you should do a careful assessment of the first mate before climbing aboard.

Have a great day!