Price and Compare Vehicles: I'm 43 and just figured out where the Doobie Brothers got their name. This came as an epiphany only two days ago. It started with a waiter at a local restaurant. My husband, (who as a cop is well versed in drug vernacular) used the term "burning a doob" whilst referring to said waiter who has apparently burned countless doobs and had no idea what planet he was on, much less how to fill our order. I stared at my husband and then it hit . . . The DOOBIE Brothers! They didn't get their name from the lady on Romper Room! (If you're under 40 you won't get it. If you're over 40 you might not remember it. Your mental deterioration is not my problem.) Now, I've always considered myself a woman of the world. After all, I've been to Europe, finished Cherry Creek three times, inhaled once (o.k. twice), can remember what KTM stands for up to 30 seconds at a time and can enjoy the macabre humor in Quentin Tarantino films. As I ponder how I could have missed the whole Doobie Brothers connection my entire adult life, I realize that no matter how smart we all think we are, there's something out there that will leap on you and take you down just when you thought you had it all figured out. Remember my trailer-backing story? Well, a few of you wrote in to tell me how to do it right. (Uh-huh, yep, sure.) Others wrote in to commiserate (mostly women), and one . . . well, it was from the husband of a woman who was rather -- oh let's say a bit miffed that I would say such things about the female gender and trailer parking. She had it all under control and she made her husband a bet. She'd prove women could back trailers and when she proved it -- he had to watch chick flicks for a week. If she couldn't, she'd have to watch sports for a week. Now, I'd print verbatim what was sent me, but I can't find it in my computer. (I'm lucky to find my clean underwear in the morning so leave me alone.) They live in a rural area and she had to drive the truck and trailer out some ways on a small road and bring it back in from that road to get to the parking spot. He waited outside for her return so he could watch her try and park. She never came back. When he went to find her, she had run the trailer into a ditch. (This time I'm the one who spewed coffee all over my keyboard.) It is my sincere wish for the lady that her husband was not a WWF fan. How about Big Al, Mr. Prepared, Mr. Dental Floss . . . who ran out of gas on a trail ride while trying to show the local motocross "dudes" how little they knew about trail riding? Or the guy we took trail riding who was Mr. Atlas in the flesh. Worked out religiously, ate like a health nazi, was a pile of muscle with no body fat and had come to the desert to try this sport that couldn't be near as difficult as 2 hours on a Nautilus. Before the ride, and as we old-timers tucked our junk food in our fanny packs, we listened patiently as he explained the science of how best to prepare and fuel the body for physical exertion. One hour later he was sucking water off everyone else and Red and I were staring at him in pity as he melted into a pile of healthy high-carb-low-fat ooze asking "How much further?" When Red and I said, "Hell, we're just getting started!" he turned around and went home while we pulled out our Twinkies in a silent and solemn toast to expensive gyms everywhere. But my favorite story about discovering our weaknesses is about a shrimp. It struck a chord in me. Actually, it kept me up laughing all night. Consider Sam -- Vietnam vet. This cherubic little gentleman was a trained killer in Vietnam. His stories would set your teeth on edge and I wouldn't have to use any poetic license. Because he was small, he used to flush out "Charlie" in small claustrophobic tunnels armed with a flashlight in one hand and a .45 in the other. He is a capable, affable man who has managed to survive a brutal war, and work for the local government WITHOUT shooting his coworkers. I find that a testament to his patience, depth of character and incredible ability to cope. And then he bought a live rock or "reef rock" for his salt-water aquarium. You think dirt biking is expensive, buy a salt-water aquarium. Sam's rock came from Fiji, cost $4.00/lb ($60), and came complete with living "stuff", even a really pretty live anemone. The instructions were to leave it in his salt water aquarium for "x" amount of days before putting any live fish in there. So, there it sits: an aquarium with . . . rocks. As he and his wife sat one evening, he caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. His trained eye darted to the aquarium -- nothing. Sam shook his head and went back to what he was doing. He caught movement again. He staked himself out by the aquarium with the patience and expertise of the soldier he is . . . immobile . . . waiting. And out darted this incredibly ugly -- THING. Any movement from Sam and the little critter darted back into the holes in the living rock. Startled, Sam began an internet search for the identification of the beast. "Mantis Shrimp" . . . shrimpus meanus assus. Sam's research uncovered the mini Godzilla to the ocean world. It has such affectionate nicknames as "thumb splitter," and "thumb chopper." And it kills EVERYTHING beautiful and expensive you would want in your salt-water aquarium. Get it big enough and it has been known to break aquarium glass. Known enemy: the octopus. And the little creep was holed up inside that rock tighter than Elvis' white pants. If Sam takes the rock OUT of the water for any prolonged length of time, it will no longer be a living rock but a dead rock. He spent $60 on that rock. It has now become a contest between Vietnam Vet Sam and Mantis "Wile E." Shrimp no bigger than half your hand. Wile E. EATS the anemone. Sam builds a miniature shrimp trap but ol' Wile E. is smarter than that. Sam considers buying an octopus until he realizes that an octopus would eat everything too. What kind of fish aquarium has NO fish and an octopus and shrimp locked in mortal combat? Since it's waaaaay fast -- snagging it with a net is no option. (Although it's my opinion Sam probably sat there for hours trying to do just that.) "Why not just ditch the rock and buy another" you ask? Good question. And one my husband asked Sam. But it's not about another rock. It's about THIS rock and the little b*!!@# squatter. In lieu of a flashlight and .45, Sam grabs a coat hanger and pokes wildly in the little holes. A Wile E. feeler thingie falls out but Wile E. remains firmly ensconced. Sam goes to another internet site that begins with these words, "Soooo, you bought a living rock and it came with a Mantis Shrimp." Heretofore unflappable Sam screams "Yeeeeeeeeeeees!!!" Is Wile E. dead? Did Sam kill it with the coat hanger? Sam purchased two sea snails and turned them loose in the aquarium to find out. If the snails get pulverized, we simply don't know how Sam will fare. Indeed, how do any of us fare when it becomes apparent we don't know everything. (If you mistakenly think you do, just ask your teenager to set you straight.) Life regularly hands me "Wile E.'s" and embarrasses me with Doobie Brothers "Ah-HA!"s. Riding solves that. Its hard to take life's little problems seriously when you're low on gas, have no IDEA which direction the truck is, have lost your husband and smashed your last Twinkie. And after 43 years, I finally understand why Long Train Runnin's words make no sense to any coherent person. Kim Orndorff http://www.scottsbt.com/fishids/critters/mantis.htm
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