Paintball and Jalapenos

Yesterday I tried paintball for the very first time.

For those not familiar with this redneck leaning, 2nd Amendment inspired activity, it occurs when a bunch of guys get together and decide to engage in a form of gun play. It's essentially 'big boys play Army', but with specially designed guns that include a small but powerful tank of compressed air, a magazine of sorts filled with marble-sized paint pellets, and a desire to see if you can shoot your competitors from across the room, mark them with paint, and knock them out of the game. The paint balls are semi-firm. If you hold one in your fingers, you can squeeze it slightly, but they aren't so wimpy as to be able to squish like a grape i.e. they are actually quite solid and it takes some pressure to break them open.

Me and my buddies are 'family men' so thought it would be fun to invite our children older than 10 to come play with us. We divided into teams, and my team was a team comprised of Dads and Kids with last names starting with 'H' (It just so happens that 'H' is a very prevalent surname initiator in my group of friends). We put masks on, got instruction about game play, how to use guns, and so forth; and at the referee's signal, we started.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The guns make an audible popping sound, as do the paintballs, splatting against the giant geometric canvass-covered spongy barriers and hide-posts.

However, it became readily apparent that MY guy would make no such snappy popping sounds. MY gun was lame. Instead of launching paintballs at 250 feet per second like a nice good, obedient paintball gun should, mine was plooping out the pellets at about 25 feet per second, with a max distance of about 30 feet.

Pop... SZZZZING....Bap!

I got shot on the hip by someone from across the room. I was shocked at how stingy it was, even through my denim jeans! Wow!

I decided to raise my hand (indicating I'd been hit) and walk back to the safe zone to 're-up' my life (we each were allowed to lose 3 lives before we were out of the round). I checked my gun to see if I could figure out what was wrong, and then get back into the game. Shaking the gun, wiggling the chamber-post-clear lever thingee (clearly I know my stuff)- all did nothing. Ploop. Ploop... ploop. My paintballs had no umph. I was doomed.

ZING-POP! I got hit in the arm this time... stung again. Man, the other team was good!

"Enough of this lame CRAP!!! It's not right that I've paid the same $25 as everyone else and my gun stinks!"

I decided to go walk over to the Ref, who's supposedly a paid pro at this stuff, and have him solve my gun problem. I raised my hand to indicate I was out of commission for the moment and started to walk over to the Ref to my left at the side of the room.

POPCRACK-SMAACK!!!!

It felt like a rock had hit me in the back of the head at a gazillion feet per second. I was a bit dazed and confused for a brief moment as I felt the back of my neck and head. I'd been hit from behind. From someone on my own team, and MAN did it HURT! I looked back to see how that could have happened and saw one my buddy's daughters sort of slinking behind one of the big cover structures. I had walked right out into her line of fire without realizing it, and she didn't see me in time.

The Ref pulled out the barrel of the gun, did some other things, and in the end couldn't fix it. I had shot about 4 paintballs, gotten shot in the hip, arm and at point blank range in the back of the head in the round and Round 1 came to a merciful end. If there could be an official Round 1 loser, it had to be me. Paintball was so far, zero fun.

In between rounds I was able to get a new gun, go into the bathroom to check my wound to find that it was bleeding amongst the paint, and swelling up like a sand balloon under my skin.

Round 2, much MUCH more cautious. I still got zinged a few times, but I think I must have gotten in a few hits myself with my new gun, which worked great.

Brenner, my son, was in the waiting room after Round 2, crying. He'd been hit in the thigh and it hurt. I was a *tiny* bit empathetic, but reminded him we were playing paintball, and that getting hit was part of the game so man up!

Round 3 we decided to do 'Dads against Kids' for the match up. I had still a ton of paintballs left, so decided I was being way too conservative. I emptied out everything I had, but I was not clear about how many kills I might have had because I got blasted twice right in the eyes and my lenses were smeared. I also got hit on the top of my bare head -- a glancing blow that was luckily only slightly painful compared to the throbbing in the back of my head.

We wrapped things up and went to a barbecue lunch where we all shared our individual war stories, and other injuries were discussed in detail. It was very curious how we all shared these stories of pain with a sort of pride. Each wound had a story. Yes it was painful, but was it fun? Well, yes... it was fun. Did I enjoy it? Yes, I enjoyed it, now that it was over. I still felt the game-- in fact the adrenaline rush had actually left both Brenner and myself a little drained. I still felt the pain, but I enjoyed it in a weird sort of way-- much like eating a jalapeno covered nachos or spicy curry. Good while it's going down, but even a little bit better when it's over.

My career calling ... what should I do?

My daughter, Nyia, and I were lounging around today and casually watching a super low-tier PGA Golf tournament - The Zurich Classic, played in New Orleans. While we watched she started asking questions about the tournament which was just winding up with one or two holes to play.

Because I'm an advocate of any of my kids showing an interest in golf, my energy was piqued in engaging her further in conversation. I tried to explain a minor level of drama that was ensuing on the 18th hole, a par 5 (the tournament is on such an off week that hardly any well known players were playing - and I now can't even myself remember the players who were playing in the final group). I explained to Nyia that if unheralded player A could *possibly* reach the green in two, that he would have at least a tiny bit of opportunity to tie unheralded player B (a guy named Jason Bohn), who was 2 shots ahead. Well, unheralded player A did reach the green in two, albeit he was left with a 45 foot double-breaker with a camel back hump to navigate. Our interest was heightened for about 10 seconds until Jason Bohn hit is 3rd shot from about 100 yards out to settle literally about 2 inches from the cup. Game over. Bohn with his certain birdie would win by 1 stroke, even if unheralded player A made his 45 foot circus putt.

Nyia asked me, "So how much money does he get for that [winning the tournament]?" I explained PGA Tour golf purse growth since the Tiger Woods factor, and that Jason Bohn, who has only won one other tournament in his PGA Tour career five years ago, would win a little over a million dollars for this 4 day tournament victory. She then asked me about the other guy - the guy who now was for certain getting second place all by himself. I told her that this other guy, who's name I cannot remember, would probably be getting money in the mid $600K range. And I threw in the added bit of information (because I *always* give more than I'm asked for :-)) that the very last place player who made the cut this week, even in this completely unheralded PGA Tour tournament, would probably be making around $15K for this weeks' activity.

Nyia does not have a very detailed view into our family finances- however even she is plugged in enough to know that in my present state of income generation activity, I don't make $15K in a week. It took about 3 seconds and the 25 watter started to light up over her head (or at least I thought I saw it flicker). "Hey dad! YOU should do THAT!"

And so it is. Tomorrow I'm quitting my job and will be joining the PGA Tour.... Why didn't I think of that YEARS ago instead of spending all that time in graduate school and years of travel in project management, and the rigors of trying to make quota as a software sales executive?

I did complete the discussion with providing information on how difficult it is to become a professional golfer, the skills needed, the qualifications process and so on. While it's true that I have played a few holes of golf to perfection, and I have broken 80 one time in my life, even shooting just PAR golf in every round you play will not allow you to make a living as a professional golfer --- you could probably *teach* golf as a scratch golfer, but if I took my best 72 holes from my last 18 ROUNDS of golf, I probably would not have equaled the -17 that Jason Bohn shot just this week in 4 rounds of golf. Nyia... thanks for the tip, but I'll stick with software sales for now.

Speaking of careers, I often wonder how people make it in the advertising business (at least after seeing a few different commercials that seem so oddly flawed). This business makes its money on producing deliverables based on the idiocy of the general public. Or, put differently, they must think we are DUMB.

Case in point- some advertising agency was paid a boat load of money, undoubtedly, to come up with an advertising campaign for Gillette Fusion razor blades. These are the razor blades that have gone to steroidal levels beyond the brilliant idea of my childhood, when the first 'double bladed' razor was introduced. Yes, now it seems that FIVE Titanium blades are required to shave men's faces... but I digress.... What this advertising agency came up with for a 30 second spot is the idea of bringing a guy into an 'auto shop' like experience, with the 'Razor Mechanic' putting a giant Fusion razor blade up on a lift, and talking to the unknowing razor blade consumer about what he sees now that the razor is on the lift (pointing to the blades area with a worn down lube strip) "You see here? When this strip wears out, you need to think about replacing the head to get the kind of performance you want out of your razor." Ahhh... the guy appears to be understanding...

So which is it Gillette? Is the Five *Titanium* blade razor head the best beard cutting evolution ever developed, OR are they so limited in their capacity that they really can't outlast a dissolvo-goop-strip? Frankly, I'm siding with the blades. I can get a month out of my Fusion blade head and besides shaving my face, I also shave my entire head a few times a week while in the shower. Gillette - if you want a poster boy for how good your blades are, don't put a giant razor on a car lift and tell people the blades can barely outlast the lube strip, bring in a guy like me who shaves face and head all the time, and have me tell the consumer that the only blades they'll ever need to buy are the Gillette Fusion Titanium blades. I get it- I know they want greater blade turnover in the consumer's medicine cabinet - but trying to increase consumption by insinuating the consumer is an idiot by trying to convince him the five blade head only lasts about a day per blade makes me want to grow a beard and never use the product again.

But me as a mini-Hagrid would not be a pretty sight.

Anomaly in the Lottery Universe happened Friday 5/15...

Let's admit it. Secretly down inside we have all thought it would be fantastic to win a big payday by casually plunking down a dollar or two on a lottery ticket. We all know the odds are extremely long. We are all aware of the moral issues and wise counsel against becoming ensnared in gambling. Yet still it would be extremely enjoyable to have a windfall that could pay off debt, provide for a fantastic family trip, add a new car to the garage, and in general take the edge off of the pressures of grinding out a living and/or socking away money for retirement.

I live in a state that is only one of two in the USA to have no form of legalized gambling whatsoever, yet I'm still drawn to the stories of lottery winners. I think it's fun to follow the two big lotteries - especially when the jackpots get really big. There is a web site that provides information on both big lotteries -- the Powerball lottery, and the Mega Millions lottery-- all in one place, and I happen upon this site, usamega.com, a few times a month to get a quick picture of when the lottery jackpots are getting big and to sometimes read the stories of the big payout winners.

Both of these big conglomerate lotteries have a total of 6 numbers that if matched exactly will produce a jackpot winner -- five numbers from a big set (something like 1 to 56 or thereabouts), plus a Mega number or Power number from a different set of lottery balls (something like 1 -52 or thereabouts).

Because the odds are so ridiculous that you'd ever actually match the first five numbers, AND match the Mega or Power number -- the jackpot amounts grow and grow and grow until literally by pure and outrageous chance, all the numbers match someone's lucky ticket, or when the masses of tickets purchased is so enormous, from time to time there are a few tickets that have all six numbers matching -- but usually no more than 2 or 3 out of the gazillions purchased.

Even if the Jackpot isn't won, there are 'winners' every week -- people who match a portion of the number set get a payout larger than the dollar it took to buy their set of numbers. The payouts relationship is based on how long the odds are that any one ticket would match the particular set of numbers. For example, if you have a ticket with 5 numbers plus the Mega or Power number, and none of your 5 numbers were selected by the lottery ping pong ball vacuum, but your Mega or Power number is selected, you'd win $2 (at least in the Mega Millions Lottery).

The odds of having only your Mega Number get sucked up by the ping pong ball vacuum, according to the usamega.com site, are 1 in 75. That's a little like you sitting with your entire 5th grade during an assembly, with perhaps 6 or 7 kids absent in a day, and of everyone left, in a random drawing of possible 5th grade participants you, yes you get to be the lucky kid who comes up in front of everyone to pin a corsage on the giant woman of a librarian who is retiring after 39 years of wonderful service. What are the odds of that? Like, 1 in 75 or something? Yes.

Well, it just so happens that the odds of actually matching the first 5 lottery numbers in the Mega Millions lottery are 1 in 3,904,701. And someone who miraculously does this in fact wins a life changing amount of money -- $250,000. Even if taxes are taken out, you'd still be left with a chunk of money big enough to have various and sundry people you know well, or barely know at all, ask you for a hand out - and/or perhaps do those things I talked about earlier - pay off debt, buy a car, go on a trip, sock something away for retirement, etc.

As I've followed these lotteries periodically for a number of years, I've noticed that when there isn't a jackpot winner, the number of $250,000 winners naturally grows as the jackpot grows and more and more people buy tickets. That's what you'd expect to happen, after all.

But try this on for weird. The Mega Millions Lottery, on Friday May 15th, during a time when the jackpot was realtively small ($38 Million dollars -- small by comparison of just a week or so ago when it was up to closer to $225 Million dollars) had an inordinate number of $250,000 winners. Before I tell you the number, to set the stage, in the drawing before May 15th, when the jackpot was $28 Million dollars there were 4 lucky tickets that matched the first 5 numbers. The drawing before that, when the jackpot was $17 Million dollars, had 3 tickets match the first 5 numbers - and same with the drawing before that, when the jackpot was at its starting point ($12 Million)-- only 3 tickets matched the first 5 numbers.

Friday, May 15th there were THIRTY SIX (36) tickets that matched the first 5 numbers. So, what number combination do you now NEVER want to play because an entire black hole of luck sucking energy was applied to them? The first 5 numbers were 7, 12, 24, 36, 48 and there were even TWO tickets that matched the mega number as well (which was 27, if you're keeping score at home). So, two tickets split what's left over after 34 tickets get paid $250,000. Yes, a huge amount of money to be sure, but what in tarnation happened in the luck universe that allowed this to happen? Perhaps there has been a rip in the luck universe somewhere, and luck will now start pouring out in golden buckets? I know it did on Friday. Perhaps it's time to go buy lottery tickets and cash in on the gusher?

All I can say is, if you do, I hope you have fantastic luck and best wishes to you!

World Record Meant to be Broken... Fingernails...

A story in today's Salt Lake Tribune informed us that a car accident brought to end a world record owned by a fellow Utahn: World's Longest Fingernails. Lee Redmond evidently lost her clippers in 1979 somewhere in her couch while listening to 'Sad Eyes' by Robert John, and made a determination that she was never going to clip again. (Okay, I made up that part. But it was 1979 when she stopped clipping her nails, and it was 1979 when Robert John had his #1 soft hit, so there is a slight possibility this could have occurred.)

And what happens if you never clip again? Well, my friends, seeing how your fingernails know nothing but growing- and keep doing so even after you die - not surprisingly her nails kept growing. Fingernails grow at a rate of about 3.7 cm/year. If you need help understanding how much that is because you never learned the Metric system, or the Dewey Decimal System, it's about the distance between the carton of eggs and the quarter block of mild cheddar cheese on the second shelf of my fridge right now. I just checked. So, with 30 years of growth- at this rate when you add it all up- it's clear her nails were pretty long.

There are a few instinctive thoughts that came to my mind when I read this story. I don't wish ill will on anyone, so I was happy to hear that she survived the accident. However, it turns out she could have really been hurt. She was thrown from the car. Apparently, clicking a seat belt with 88.9 cm long fingernails is difficult, or difficult enough that she didn't do it yesterday. Also, what a fantastic landing that must have been. Unless we aren't getting the full and accurate information, she evidently broke ALL of her fingernails. ALL of them in one unpracticed landing. Not one licorice rope-length beauty survived? How disappointing. This is incredulous to me. What are the odds of that? Something like, 847 to 1? But then again, perhaps fingernails, when they get longer than nature intended them, they turn brittle -- like blown glass. She obviously hasn't recently been to Madge and soaked accidentally in Palm Olive to soften up those over extended Freddy Krugers. Or maybe what really happened is that most of them broke, and then she or the authorities, or someone, decided they'd clip the remaining one or two nails. After all, they wouldn't want her to look like a freak.

Think about the freedoms and new experiences she will now enjoy! Caressing her grand daughter's cheek without eliciting tears - and while in the same room! Hand picking her own plate of food next time she goes to Golden Corral! Safely raising her arms above her head, even though kinda against the rules, while riding the white roller coaster at Lagoon! Going to a spook alley during Halloween, and having the spooks scare her! Engaging in a satisfying round of personal nasal mining! Using a debit card at the grocery store! And actually being able to vote with our new 'leave your print' voting machines.

Yes, on one hand this was an unfortunate end to a long and standing record, but clearly we need to be looking at the silver lining beneath her broken record. If you ever see her on the street, you can now be unafraid to give her a high five and wish her well with her new freedoms and life.

Am I too competitive?

Yesterday in the bathroom at work I had entered to do the #2 of two things most commonly done in a bathroom. There are four toilet stalls in this particular bathroom design. For purposes of clarity we could call the stalls A, B, C, and D moving from left to right, if you were facing the stalls and trying to pick a throne location. Stall A is a 'handicap' stall, with spacious room and amenities like a stabilizer rail, while B through D are your standard class toilet stalls. (As an aside, I have no problem 'treating' myself to the first class comforts of the 'handicap' stall when I go to the restroom and need to 'rest'-- as often times the pains and urgency of the moment literally handicap me for several minutes. For those few minutes, I am indeed handicapped.)

Well, as it goes, stalls B and D were occupied with legs that I could see, and odors that I couldn't see (thankfully - but it was close). I chose the first class cabin, stall A, and sat down to do my thing.

For most of my life I have had very good movement with my movements - on time (they occur when I expect them to occur), and purposeful (they don't loaf around, so to speak). In short, they clearly do what I expect them to do when I want them to do it. While there are times when they are too anxious, most of the time things are controlled and go very quickly and well. Yesterday was no exception. My movement made its move expeditiously. I efficiently and neatly cleaned up (I'm a folder, not a wadder - and for those of you who need to hear the virtues of being a folder I can certainly extol these virtues-- you control the dimensions and thickness of all parts of the paper and minimize risk of serious 'creamy nightmare occurrance'; you are much better prepared to economize when you find yourself 'short of sheet'; wadders are 8 times more likely too 'over guess' and over build, and cause toilet cloggage-- as compared to the well thought out, measured creation of the folder. And last but not least, folders are more eco friendly. I'm confident I've used truckloads less paper in my lifetime than a typical wadder).

As I left the comforts of the first class cabin, the gents in stalls B and D were still involved with whatever they were involved with. It was clear that I was completely done and also clear that I had started my event at a later point than they did. I could not resist the urge, which I have thought about from time to time, to make a clear comment to their embarrassment, or at least belittlment "You guys need to eat more FIBER!!! -- I totall LAPPED you guys!!!" I said with pride and confidence and a chuckle as I washed my hands. I knew they were no match for me.

I later learned that one of the guys I lapped was a friend of mine (you can't tell from pant legs bunched down over shoes, smells of completely used food, and various fleshy air compression based noises (generally) who people are. It would be a pure stroke of good fortune for me to have called out randomly "Hey Kev, is that you?" not having seen Kevin go into the bathroom for certain- not to mention it breaks the bathroom stall male etiquite general standards, which is understood to be 'silence while BMing' and friendly visits while 'weeing') While I still sort of broke the rule for talking while they were still engaged, it was worth it to proclaim to them my supremacy, while also offering good health advice.

Perhaps I'm too competitive?

Olympic Events I'd Like to See...

Here we are, two-thirds through the long anticipated Beijing Olympics. It's amazing what a country will do in preparation for the games -- the venues they'll construct - The Birds Nest, The Giant Serta Mattress (the 'Water Cube' as it's being called is a pretty cool building -- but I see it from a distance and I wonder if they have a model with pillow top); and The Rowing Venue (do you realize what it took to build a canal in China, several thousand meters long, filled with clean, non-feces riddled water?). Truly remarkable.

So far I've enjoyed watching the wide variety of Olympic events. Sure, there have been controversies. Much has been made of the Chinese women's gymnastics team and the likely cheating by the Chinese in loading the team with twelve year old 'ringers' who can fly and flip and do all things gymnastics better than the young women who meet the age minimum of 16 years, established by some committee a few decades ago.

But aren't the Olympic games about allowing the absolute very best possible competitors in a particular discipline the chance to compete on a grand stage to win Olympic glory? The age limit was supposedly established to keep competitors safe, allowing children a chance to develop, limiting the pounding their bodies take and minimizing the pressures on their young psyches. So how many of these girls on any team do you think wait to start training until they're 14 years old and don't participate in highly pressurized preparations from the time they're 5, 6, or 7; and how many don't travel and compete in meet after meet after national and international meet? They all do this. Their sport requires it. There is no way to keep them safe from world class gymnastics, so I say let them compete, so long as they are good enough to do so.

While most events are exciting and entertaining there are some events that could be introduced or augmented which would spark additional interest. Yesterday, Stephanie Brown Trafton of the United States took the gold medal in Women's Discuss. Fantastic. Unexpected. On her first throw. She even surprised herself. But I think this event, which is skewed toward women of Hurculean stature, would be more interesting if rules included an actual track portion for this Track and Field event.

Like we all had to do when we were kids, when we accidentally threw our frisbee too far and it went over the Mitchell's fence-- we had to go get it. Frankly, these Big Bertha women have grown lazy, with half a dozen uniformed officials and gophers that collect their discs. Since we're so concerned about the health of the gymnastics girls, why shouldn't we care about these women, who as presently stands, are heart attacks in stretch pants waiting to happen? The new, health conscious discuss throw, would consist of a combination 'disc and dash' where they get points for distance, and also points for how quickly they can run and fetch the disc before throwing it again. There. We care about our athletes.

The Javelin throw could also use an enhancement. While presently there is little intrigue while the javelin is in flight, and when all is said and done, it most often ends with the Javelin hitting nothing of interest after its glorious flight. The new Javelin throw will have giant balloons covering the field, and depending on which balloon gets popped, the contestant will win a prize. Prizes could include: an Olympic Gold Medal! Regardless of how far the toss!; Fifty Thousand Tickets! which can be exchanged for a really cool Cops of Justice plastic handcuff and billy club set, or taffy!; or since we're in China, a Giant Stuffed Panda. For Real! (Okay... perhaps that's gone too far. That prize may set off an international PETA incident.)

And what's with Michael Phelps winning all of those swimming events? We need handicapped swimming. This event in no way is about people with disabilities. I am talking about creating a venue for swimming, where each of the lanes is filled not with water, but with viscous material of different thickness, with the best swimmers doing their strokes in the 'thicker' material. Perhaps Phelps would be swimming with a viscosity lane ranking of 4.7, while a weaker swimmer will be swimming with viscosity ranking 2.4. That might allow for any of us to qualify for the Olympic games with the chance to compete against the world's finest! But where, in China, do we suppose we could get water filled with viscous material?

That may be a bit of a stretch....

Hummingbirds Suck (at keeping secrets)...

Last year we got a hummingbird feeder. It wasn't just any hummin' bird feeder, it was The World's Greatest hummingbird feeder (at least that's what the company making this thing named it). It's really quite nondescript. It's a bottle that hangs upside down with a red base screwed to it that has six or eight holes in the base, along with a little perch rail that surrounds the red base. (Apparently, those hummingbird feeders that don't have the perch rail are very inconsiderate of the fact that hummingbirds are constantly... I mean CONSTANTLY flapping their tiny wings -- just watch them!) In fact, if you don't have The World's Greatest feeder like I do, you'll only be seeing these little birdies flap flap flapping. The perch rail gets them to shut up and sit for a whole few seconds while they suck.

So, as secret keeping goes, hummingbirds are absolutely *horrible* at keeping secrets. How do I know this- you might rhetorically ask? Well... I did just a tiny bit of searching online for hummingbird feeders (mostly to see how poorly all of the other 'non-worlds greatest feeders' might look) and to my surprise, there are hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of different designs, shapes, prices (Wow! $90 for a hummingbird feeder?!-- and for a feeder that's not the World's Greatest?! Yikes-- Some feeders are pricey). The sheer large number of hummingbird feeders available makes it absolutely clear to me that hummingbirds must be the world's worst secret keepers.

Think about it. A bottle. Hanging upside down, which I fill with a sugar water concoction and hang under the roof of my house, just outside my kitchen window gets noticed as interesting? By a bird? Some feeders try to replicate flowers. Others, like the world's greatest, don't even have to go there. No flowers, no designs. They just KNOW that hummingbird's can't keep secrets.

So here's how it must go. Bruce, the hummingbird, is hungry. He incredulously notices a clear bottle hanging outside my kitchen window. Bruce investigates. (He really digs the perch rail.) Bruce sits down and sucks and then flies away to work where he spends time as a light machine operator in HWU 248 (hummingbirds *obviously* can't operate heavy machinery, and those that are tired of sweat shop oppression have unionized. Bruce is part of Hummingbird Workers Union 248). Bruce, *dumb* Bruce, can't keep a secret about something that would clearly benefit him if he did (more juice for him). He immediately tells other humming birds at work about his SWEET FIND. This thing, not even a flower, has suckable stuff!

Just watch a feeder for a few minutes, and you'll see evidence of exactly what I'm talking about. Elliot decides to check out this thing that he heard Bruce all chirping and flapping his wings about. After getting lost and distracted by the beautiful flowers at the Hunsaker's, Elliot makes the proper turn into my back yard and finds the thing. To Bruce's utter dismay and shock, when he flits into my yard after a short 3 minutes on the job (union rules say no more than 3 consecutive minutes operating the machinery) he finds ELLIOT --eyeballs deep-- in the thing. Bruce is TICKED OFF and feels a mad desire to chase Elliot around the yard and away from the thing. THE THING that was *his* special find.

Well... guess what? Elliot tells Spencer, Lucy, Mike, and Reid Thornton Jr., even when it's in Elliot's best interest NOT to, and what ensues is nothing other than a hummingbird melee out back, with each bird claiming the thing as their own. Amusing? Yes. That's why there are so many hummingbird feeders. Pitiful and sad that secrets can't be kept? Sure. If you don't believe me, get a feeder and watch it out your window yourself.

Hummingbird's can't keep secrets.