Does Best Western need a spokes-child?

Heaven knows I have tried.

I have tried to nurture a love of the outdoors in my son. I have tried to pique his interest in nature and in the many ways it manifests itself here in our neck of the (suburban) woods. I take him out on the porch to watch thunderstorms. I take him sledding down snow-covered hills. I point out the first blooms of spring, the hum of cicadas in the summer and the vibrant colors of autumn. We've gone on nature walks and hayrides. We've been river rafting and cave-exploring. We've caught fireflies. We've petted dogs.

He's not buying any of it.

Like so many others of his generation, Elijah would much rather be inside, watching a video or playing on the computer. Driving out into the wilderness with him, you can almost feel the sense of alarm rising from the back seat as his voice grows increasingly concerned: "Where's all the cars? Where's McDonald's?" And, if you should have reason to turn onto a dirt road ..... "WHAT HAPPENED TO THE STREET?!!!!"

For a long time, I blamed this on his genetic contribution from Jeff, who has to be bribed at length to even sit out on the back patio with me on a beautiful summer evening. Needless to say, dirt roads are not part of Jeff's life experience (no, honey, dust does not ruin the engine).

But to be fair, I'm not exactly an outdoors person either, unless "outdoors person" is defined as someone who likes to open the windows on a nice day. Roughing it, to me, means sleeping on sheets with a thread count of less than 500. Pioneer woman, I am not.

But I do have something of a pioneer background, at least compared with most of my friends, neighbors and co-workers. I actually grew up in a remote small town, which happens to be nestled in the hill country of the Ozarks. That's where I drag Jeff and Elijah once a year, to experience the woods and the rivers and the springs and the caves. A couple of the new photos over there on the right were taken at our last journey into the woods, when we hiked a short trail to reach a beautiful spring that feeds the river we rafted on last summer.

It has been about three weeks since we returned from that trip, which involved not only playing in the river and hiking the trail, but also visiting family and walking around the town where I grew up.

So what does Elijah most remember and love about this trip?

The hotel, of course. A run-of-the-mill chain -- Best Western. Clean enough and relatively new, it's a perfectly acceptable hotel, but THIS IS NOT WHY WE DROVE A 500-MILE ROUND TRIP. Elijah would be stunned to hear me say that, but he doesn't read this blog, so I guess he'll just cling to the notion that the whole reason we go down to West Plains, Missouri, is so he can jump back and forth between the beds in the hotel room.

It's really hard to describe how much he loves doing this. For MONTHS after every trip, he begs to go back. The begging reaches a fever pitch anytime things are not going his way. When I sent him to "time out" for misbehaving the other day, he chose to use that time sobbing, over and over: "Want to go to the hotel in West Plains." (hiccup, sob, sniff...) "Want to go to" (dramatic wail) "BEST WESTERRRRRRN!!!!"

So, to my family: Sorry. We tried. We tried to get your one and only grandchild interested in visiting you and enjoying the beautiful wilderness areas you have. But next summer, I think we will limit our outdoors adventures to Jeff and Elijah's comfort zone of suburban golf courses and swimming pools. (Our city actually has a beautiful municipal swimming pool, which consists of three pools, slides, a "sprayground" of fountains, lots of grass and trees and flowerbeds, wooden sundecks, etc. Relaxing in a lounge chair there, you could almost fool yourself into believing you were on vacation at a tropical resort, except for the regrettable lack of a thatched-roof hut selling frilly umbrella drinks.)

And to Jeff's family: California, here we come! We'll be there in a couple of months, and Elijah will be thrilled at the vista of cars and McDonald's as far as the eye can see. Nothing will happen to the street -- Ventura Boulevard is his favorite, and I don't recall it turning into a dirt road at any point. But if you want him to really get excited about seeing you, you'll need to do just one little thing:

Please build a Best Western in your back yard.

I know Tom Hanks looks different with long hair....but not this much!

Last month our cable company had one of those specials that run every few months, though I guess their frequency wouldn't make them so special. For the month of July we would receive two extra premium movie channels for free with the hope we would become so enamored that we would have to sign (pay) up once our trial period ran out. Fifty opportunities to see Lara Croft Tomb Raider is probably forty-nine too many, so I wasn't about to increase my cable bill just yet, however I did take advantage of the offer by DVRing a variety of movies I have missed, including a couple of recent Oscar winners.


Being the caring husband that I am, I saw there was going to be a showing on late one night of a film that Sarah had not seen, but had been fascinated by the story, if not the writing. The DaVinci Code was going to be on at 1:00 a.m. so I decided to tape it for her. It wasn't until the next morning that I discovered that the film I recorded was not the Ron Howard directed version, but was in fact called the DaVinci Coed, a soft-core porn movie which I doubt followed the book too closely. The reason I don't know the storyline is that the opening scene in this "classic" involved two girls and what appeared to be a sultan in a hot tub that was suppose to be in a palace in Europe but sure looked like a backyard in the San Fernando Valley. This threesome was interrupted by another woman, upset that the sultan would not give her his "powerful ring" (Wasn't this the plot line of the Beatles film "Help".) and thus murdered all three by electrocuting them with a toaster tossed into the hot tub, cord and all.


Now forgetting for a moment the absurdity of a unplugged toaster being tossed into water and thus shocking these people to death, the special effects of lightning bolts shooting through the water to show this mayhem were "Plan Nine from Outer Space" variety. Now I am not adverse to watching a sexy movie, but even a fantasy has to have some basis in reality and even I couldn't get by an electrocution by an unplugged appliance. I immediately deleted the film and now it has, in Sarah's mind, become an urban legend of smut.

But I haven't soured on recording movies that seem interesting to me. As an example I was unaware of a Dirty Harry sequel playing tonight that I must have missed when it came out. No, I'm not talking about Sudden Impact or Magnum Force, both of which I've seen. Has anyone heard of Dirty Harriet? Oh well, I'll give you my review later.