20 Foot Icicles and Zinfandel

In case you thought I was joking when I declared myself a red neck yuppie, I offer tonight as a prime example of the awesome force that is me. I spent the majority of the day sitting in a class on how to analyze the heck out a person and how to manipulate my tendencies to achieve synergy with those who don't understand that I am always right. O.K., maybe that last part was ad lib but I'm going with it. Since class finished an hour earlier than I usually get done, I had the great idea to grab a little snack and pick up something at the liquor store. After picking up some Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey and a bottle of Red Zinfandel, I proceeded to head home.

Upon arrival at the hostel I call my home, I decided to extract the wife's car from the ice berg it was surrounded by so, we didn't have to drive the SUV when the road conditions didn't warrant it. Once I completed that task, I was planning on a nice quiet suburban night of yelling at the kids, getting online, and having a little drink. Before I could get to that though, I figured I better fold some wash and put it away.

So, I am sitting there with a basket full of socks, blankets and assorted other clothing articles while the kids are watching Open Season. At approximately the fifth pair of boxer briefs, I hear an interesting sound. I asked my wife if she was running some laundry - nope. O.K. then what is making that noise? The refrigerator? The furnace? The freezer? Again, nope. Upon investigation, I discover that my sump pump is running. This strikes me odd as typically it only runs a few seconds and then shuts off. Being the ingenious handyman that I am I decide to investigate this a little further. I open the sump pump basin lid and there is the sump pump running and the pressure valve just blasting out water - not good. So, I reach into the sump pump basin to try and see if the pump is just misaligned (this is something that someone with as limited understanding of sump pumps as I have, should not do). After a few shakes of the discharge tube the sump pump disconnects from said tube and begins blasting the most noxious water you can imagine straight into my face. I flounder for the plug and yank it out of the wall. I am at this point soaked. I utter some rather choice words to which my wife responds, "Uh, are you O.K."? As she comes to investigate, I don't miss the fits of laughter that she is trying to hold back. My offering at this point, "I know this looks funny, but I am not appreciating the laughter".

Fortunately, I am not a complete mechanical moron. I realize that I need to gather up some critical tools and start by reconnecting the sump pump. Once I get this task done, I realize that there must be something blocking the discharge pipe. My guess is ice. So, I head out to shovel out the end of the discharge pipe. After shoveling it out, I go back inside to start the sump pump again. Still nothing is getting out. In my infinite wisdom, I decide to cut the discharge pipe closer to the house in hope that it is only frozen at the end. I cut the pipe off approximately ten feet from my house and what should I find, it is frozen solid. Enter the Red Neck. I run inside, grab my kitchen trash can and start filling it with hot water. Once I get a reasonable amount of hot water in the trash can I head back outside and pour it over the pipe......nothing. I mean zilch, nada, zippo, nothing. However, I see that the ice in the pipe is sticking a little further out of the end of the pipe. A couple of good shakes later, the pressure from the sump pump fires a ten foot long icicle out of the pipe and empties out the water from the sump pump basin - I am my own personal, soaked hero. In celebration of my conquest of the frozen sump pump fiasco, I have cracked open my newly purchased bottle of wine and sat down here to share my tale whilst sitting in my still very damp and very dirty jeans. I realize it can't get any more red neck yuppie than this. I am a science unto myself.

Definition of a Redneck Yuppie

So, most people would look at that title and right away come to the conclusion that these are very conflicting terms. Sure, you could look at it that way and you'd probably be right 99.9999993% of the time. I just happen to be Mr. 0.0000007%. Right about describes my success at anything too.

How does one attain such a lofty position in life you ask? It really is a product of parental influence combined with geographical location. These two things have brought me to the latte sipping, SUV driving and suit wearing outdoors man I am today.

So, let's examine the facts and you can decide if my ramblings are worthy the label "Mumblings of a Redneck Yuppie". First the Yuppie:

1. I have no qualms about spending over $3.00 for a cup of coffee at Starbucks in spite of my parents' humble background and upbringing. My mother would probably just roll her eyes and give me one of those looks that lets you know that you are far exceeding any dreams you had of letting her down while my father would just shake his head and mumble under his breath.
2. I drive an SUV. Yes, I know. One of those gas guzzling hogs of the highway. I upgraded to this Yuppie-mobile from a 4WD Chevy S10 ZR2. This was one example where I traded in my redneck for my yuppified suburban life.
3. I wear a tie to work....everyday. One exception - casual Fridays. I have a cleaning bill to go along with my many of cost of living expenses. Of course that could probably be construed as excess in some way so, I'm throwing it out here as another example.
4. Now, on to electronics. I love them and I have them. If it plugs in or runs on batteries, chances are I have it or I want it. I live for my gadgets and I am subject to buying any I can get my hands on.

Now the Redneck:

1. I prefer t-shirts to any other shirt known to man. I have them in all shapes and sizes not to mention the hole factor. For those of you wondering what this is, it is the measure of the quality of a particular t-shirt by the number of holes in it. Chances are if it has a lot of holes, I love it and I refuse to part with it.
2. I have been know to murder small and large fuzzy critters of the wild. In other words, I know how to use firearms and enjoy hunting very much. Now, my father would probably say I'm full of the brown stuff if he heard this but that is mostly because I am not obsessed enough with this past time to suit his desires. However, I am good enough to pick off pigeons in the shadows of a barn with a pellet gun without having been to a firing range or a hunt in a few years. And for all of you PETA crazed lunatics, I have a license and I follow the game laws. Not to mention, Bambi is very yummy.
3. I spend at least one weekend every year tossing hay bales around on the back of a hay wagon and in the hay loft. It never ceases to amaze many of my co-workers that I have been known to enjoy this too. My parents live on a farm and I probably enjoy being there and pretending to have a clue about farming more than just about anything else I do with regularity, even though they could use a Starbucks nearby.
4. My bodily functions. Far and away these are the things my wife finds "most" endearing about me. If it makes a noise or a sound, I love practicing it. Everything from the "Farmer's Snort" to the "Silent but Deadly" are in my repertoire.

So, there are some initial facts which I am basing my points upon. Some may argue whether these qualify me but I'm not here to argue about that. I just want to share with the perspective of one such individual and encourage the responses that these may elicit. I look forward to what the future may bring with this blog and my pursuit of a "true" place in the cosmos.