My Own Private Idaho

The wife and I spent the weekend gallivanting around Boise, Idaho and visiting with family. Some highlights:

  • Taking your intermediate level skiing wife down a run called Widowmaker first thing in the morning does not help her psychologically for the rest of the day. It just scares the bejesus out of her.
  • My wife’s grandfather, aged 97, to me regarding the Boise State Fiesta Bowl victory: “It was the best thing to ever happen to this town.”
  • A hotel room sink packed with ice can hold a twelve pack of Alaskan Amber nicely.
  • My wife’s grandfather, aged 97, to the jabbering ladies on stage during Robbie Burns Night: “Get on with it!”
  • Haggis and Scottish shortbread cookies make for a fine meal.
  • If the United Nations would only listen to heavily intoxicated, foul-mouthed artists and German citizens working towards Ph.D.’s in brain cancer research than this world would be a much better place.
  • I was recognized as “That guy from the Boise State┬áparade” twice in the same night. Once next to the urinal in the men’s bathroom at the Bittercreek Alehouse and once outside the Bittercreek Alehouse by a throng of intoxicated college girls.

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