"Wow, he's coming after those teens with a McCulloch 10-10S chainsaw; a damn fine choice. Nice job, ghoul!" - Tim Taylor, Home Improvement

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more like a chainsaw.
-with apology to Wm. Shakespeare

So, if you’ve been reading the news lately, we’ve had a volcano and a runaway oil tanker, not to mention a girl state wrestling champ.

Alaska has the most interesting news.

Also interestingly, Alaska Airlines won’t fly into a cloud of volcanic ash. I think they’re worried about the paint jobs on the airplanes, but I really can’t be sure. I do know that a flight I had was delayed to the point that I said, well, the heck with going to England so the Queen could knight me. That’ll have to wait. It’s time for the Superbowl™.

On Superbowl™ Sunday, The Mrs. decided to sleep in. That may have had something to do with The New Boy squalling his head off at 3AM and demanding polar bear bites sautéed with whale butter or he will, I don’t know what, continue crying. As regular readers might know, I have a medical problem that prevents me from hearing him cry at night.

It’s called being a male.

Evolution has taught us that males are unable to feed a child at 3AM, because we’re pretty sure that the noise will lead the saber-toothed tiger to it instead of us. And, we’re also pretty sure that it’ll wait until morning, when we can give our baby ham sandwiches or something, because no one has ever starved to death three hours after their most recent meal. Does anyone know what a baby eats? I think it’s just a mystery. I just know mine keeps the carpet clean, though slightly damp.

So, The Mrs. is asleep. When The Mrs. is asleep and I am awake, she uses her patented Home Despot™ ear plugs so she doesn’t hear the chaos and mayhem that a father-led household produces on a regular basis. Not that it’s all bad.

The Boy will complain no matter what. Given that disposition, I worry that he may be the secret love child of Meryl Streep and Sean Penn.

The New Boy, however, actually doesn’t cry much around me, especially since I’ve done my best to lower his expectations about the relative level of attention and care he will receive from me vs. the loving ministrations of The Mrs. So, if I toss him a half-chewed rawhide bone, wet and dripping with dog saliva, he’s learned to be happy with that.

So, after spending hours slaving over my last post, I was prepared to join the rest of the free world (does that include Berkley?) and watch the Superbowl™. I was then that I made a mistake. I looked out the window.

It was 29ºF. Plus 29ºF. Another three degrees, and water would melt.

Immediately a list of things that I had to do outdoors jumped into my mind. At -50ºF, these things receive a mere sliver of cognitive awareness – you don’t do anything outside at -50ºF that you don’t have to do. At 29ºF, all bets were off. It’s 80 degrees warmer!

I broke out the chainsaw, and put it and the chainsaw oil by the stove to warm it up. It would be easier to start that way, and the chainsaw oil would be loose, like Bono is with my money, not all bunged up, like Bono is with his money. I did not put the gasoline for the chainsaw near the fire, since I wish to live another year. In addition, I went downstairs and got my drill and some bits. I prepared to make the most of the wonderful weather. 29ºF! It might not get this warm again until April!

So, I took my chainsaw out and cut wood until the saw ran out of gas. That would be wood for more than two additional weeks (about six weeks out from today). I drove my snow blower out and repaired the auger that moves the snow to the choppy thing that slings it out onto my neighbor’s property.

I then scooted inside and watched the last three quarters of the game. My dog wasn’t in this hunt, so I could watch with the detached viewpoint of a fan of the game of football. Given the quality of the game, I spent a lot of time watching commercials, and wishing I were cutting more wood.

But in retrospect, I had a man’s pentathlon on Sunday:

• Used a Chainsaw
• Fixed a Major Mechanical Thingy
• Watched the Superbowl™
• Drank Beer

For all of you Greek language majors, I know what penta means. Figure it out yourselves.

Duh, I watched Family Guy.
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By the way, this is my "Bacardi" post, #151 on Life In Alaska, even though you know I'd rather give up my chainsaw and duct tape rather than drink anything alcoholic but beer. Thanks for being here.