Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

The Thinking Viking did his part for democracy.

And I will do it again and again as required.

I went to the Colorado Democratic Caucus on Super Tuesday 2016.    My precinct went for #TeamBerrnie 27-17.  (ed:  see the caucus rules.  Since HRC got more than a.5 delegate mathematically, and we round up, so…  Only two delegates per precinct, so despite a 10 point win, Bernie only got one of two delegates.  Bear in mind this is just the first stage of a four stage process before the all or nothing state convention. ) When we asked for delegates for the next level, we got two volunteers.  One for Hillary, one for Bernie.  We straw-poll voted a caucus chairman and secretary.  We played by the rules.  We had two delegates to chose.  Bernie’s was easy.

When we asked for delegates for Hillary,  only one stood up.  When we asked for alternates “just in case”…no one stood.  Crickets.

Crickets..and awkward silence  for the alternate Hillary delegate.

More awkward silence

The Bernie team is looking at team Hillary  kinda going Hey, who is gonna stand up and take that back up spot?  We have five people willing to be alternate delegates for Bernie….

Yeah, someone finally stood up and reluctantly took that alternate Hillary delegate spot.


Bernie won the precinct vote 27-17.

Yeah, not electable at all.

Think about it





The Thinking Viking isn’t going to write a long piece, but I haven’t posted in a while, so I thought I would share this.

I was a.. kinda rebellious teenager, and my mom got breast cancer when I was 16.  This was before her diagnosis, but after I was a quasi adult with a job and an old used POS  BMW model 2002.


<HUGE ARGUMENT ABOUT BULLSHIT like not taking out the trash within 30 minutes of being asked.  It was weird, she’d see me reading, interrupt me, ask a question about the kitchen trash, I’d say I would take out the trash after I finished the chapter, 45 minutes later and she is SCREAMING   at  me for ignoring her, meanwhile, the epic sci fi fantasy chapter I was buried in had three pages to go).>I point out the fact I am reading the book she gave me.</HUGE ARGUMENT ABOUT BULLSHIT>

Then..  she blows up about the dishes….

And she says :”You god-damned-son-of -a-bitch”..

I agreed, and quietly closed the door.

Nine years later, no more mom.

Cancer sucks.

I will add more to this later.


We have not yet met face to face, and I would love some quality time to get to know you better. You have not replied to my invitation to lunch, I know you are busy as am I, how about Wendy’s by 55th and Arapaho, Boulder, CO  Tuesday – Thursday sometime? I’m open afternoons  midweek.. You bring your crew, I’ll bring mine.



ed: This was posted before the incident in Chicago.

#Bernie2016 #FeelTheBern #TeamBernie


The  Thinking Viking recently met a very interesting couple.  I was eating lunch at Wendy’s after visiting my credit union in the same complex, and at first all I noticed was a nice photo of a pretty young woman, black and white, from her clothing I’d guess 1940’s, and a large pair of thick glasses, old and black.  There was an older-ish  woman in the table across, but no one seated next to these items.

Meh.  I’m HUNGRY.

Then Johnny comes up.  Very Old Man. Once pretty tall (I’d guess 6’2′) but wow – old.  But he is happy, chatting with the Wendy’s employee bringing his food to the table – he uses a walker, and isn’t going very quick, but he is steady. Aand heads to the table….with the photo.  The woman across the aisle asks him about the woman in the picture.  He speaks animatedly for several minutes.  Happy and alert, smart and kind even at his advanced and age.

After I overheard what he said, I finished my food, tossed it in the trash, and walked back to his table.

“Hi, my name’s Matt, and I write sometimes, and people read it. I’d love to tell your story…”

He beamed.  And he told me.


Continued in part II after I’ve had time to listen (he let me record him only asking that it “not go in the newspapers”)

I promise, it will be worth it.


The Thinking Viking was in, shall we say, dire straights. St.Patrick’s day, San Francisco Bay, adrift under the Bay Bridge. The trip home on board the 39′ sailboat was..not going to plan. The plan did not include sails.  Thing has a diesel engine that is called by many “bulletproof”.  But…the silver bullet – the engine was over heated, fan belt broke, radiator boiling, the main sail was completely stowed for long term berthing, and we were adrift, under the Bay Bridge, in the path of the various SF Bay Ferrys and the big freighters heading for Oakland.

The internet meme joke about “How to Avoid Large Ships” suddenly has meaning. (ed: The correct meme is ”

How to Avoid Huge Ships”) wow – font copied, too.


I try to keep us pointed towards home, but with no power, it’s barely possible.  Captain breaks out a knife and the cursing begins.  Zip tie after zip tie is cut to free the main sail.  Cursing continues.

More cursing.  Coast Guard almost runs us down.

That motherfucking sail has to be lined up like a 60 foot zipper to get started.  Frustrated Captain can’t get it in place.  I take over because I see the stress is getting to him, he’s rushing in a mild – and well deserved – panic.

The sail starts to raise. Damn this thing is heavy, it’sjust not going up more than an inch or so at a time. Fuck the winch. I grap the ropes coming from the mast and basically lean my full weight on them. Sail raises a foot. Again. and Again. And again. My hands are chafing.

But at half sail, the boat starts to aim and drive.  The dry stiff rope are loosened and the winches start to work and the two of us get that damn thing up.

At this point, we return to the cut version of “Adrift” Adrift.  And there was much rejoicing.

Thank Neptune the tide was coming IN.

And we had a goram SPARE FAN BELT -that the Captain installed while I was sailing us slowly home.

Thinking, still better than being eaten by zombies, eh?


The Thinking Viking learned to sail as a child, at a smallish “yacht club” on a lake in central Michigan. Yacht Club in central Michigan means “place for dudes to go and drink beer and store their boats that they almost never use”.  But my dad was different – whenever he took me, we always set sail for at least a trip across the lake. After a while, he let me drive sometimes. Later, he let me take the boat out solo. It was a 14′ Laser, which Wiki now informs me is a racing boat.  I had no idea.  But I could handle the thing pretty well.  Anyhow, thanks dad, I miss ya.

This is a 14′ Laser  landfallnav_2250_110400305

Fast forward 25 years.  My landlord and friend says “Hey call my brother, he wants to take the boat out on Saturday.”  This is because I mentioned my dad teaching me to sail during random conversation. I figure it was his 22 foot something or other.  I was wrong. The next picture is referred to as “foreshadowing”.  



The boat in question turned out to be a Contessa-39, “a one-ton class” thirty-nine foot racing yacht, seaworthy and tall, and he didn’t want to show it off, he needed me to drive it, needed to burn off some old fuel and get working on some aging electronics and other bits the ship needed. A fifteen thousand pound up to 11-man crew sailboat with a 50 horse diesel and freaking RADAR.  Um. This Is Not My Father’s Sailboat.


But you know what?

It drives the same, it has a tiller, just like that tiny boat I used to zip around on.  That day we just pottered from Alameda Marina to up around Jack London Square, boat ran fine, I got my feet wet so to speak.  I was offered the position of First Mate, which I accepted.

Couple days later, word comes down that the Captain is taking the boat to San Francisco Friday night.  I take some PTO and leave work at lunch, head to the marina, sleeping bag, backpack, camera, etc load up, and off we go, me the Captain, and his brother.  I then learned we are going to Pier-39. Um.  The one with all the tourists, lining the docks next to the sea lions hanging out. And we’ll be going to a St. Patrick’s Day block party downtown. I brought beer.

Trip out went fine, I got to pilot it under the Bay Bridge, got to watch all those tourists watching us pulling in a taking berth #2A.  Me jumping from the prow to grab dock lines, all of us tying the ship down.  We had arrived.

Fast forward to next morning. I slept great – the swaying and noises of surf have always been good for that.

And we head out, just me and the Captain because of work conflict, no worries, only need two for this kind of trip – I mean, we weren’t even hoisting sail, right? No problem.

And then as I am deiseling us past the Bay Bridge – homeward bound this time….Some Is Wrong With The Engine, it overheating. Shut it down. And we come to the title of this piece.

Technically, I was adrift in the Pacific on a racing yacht with a dead engine.  And it has all it’s SAILS. In San Francisco “usually windy” Bay.

We hastily raise the main sail, capt. frantically uncovering it and prepping – task normally done before you head out, while I keep us in position, just  following the tide at this point.  The sails haven’t been up this season, and it takes some serious muscle to hoist, but next thing I know the wind catches…and it comes back just like riding a bike.  Under a mild to middling wind this thing is faster than possible under diesel, it leans over and slides toward home berth. Capt. goes below to see what’s up.

Just a fan belt, and he has a spare.  Smart man, but I knew that.  But he can’t find it.

By the time he found it we were almost at the marina entrance and he took over to guide it through the sea wall into calm water, and …we just let it drift.  Fifteen minutes after he had found the spare belt, we are fixed, post-haste, and we headed to the berth under power. (hey AT&T and or WordPress, what’s with the lag? I edited out most of these typos already, but looks like a bunch failed to save. Ah, the life of a blog)

So, 1. it’s a good idea to learn to sail. 2. Be prepared, never know when you might need a $12 fan belt.

Think about it.


PS Cut scenes are here: (AKA what really happened) Adrift – The Cut Scene AKA What Really Happened

The Thinking Viking was craving a steak.  Work’s been busy, “good” busy, but man, eyestrain, sore feet and stress.  So I decided to take the easy route and went to my local Applebees.  Nice place, actually, probably owned by some corporate zombie vampire, but hey, once in a while.  Standard sirloin with taters, iced tea, the date was eating french onion soup and sipping a green apple martini.  The bill comes… faux leather folded thing with a Discover logo, longish receipt sticking out… pretty normal…and falls off the table. Receipt flying free.

I snatch it mid – air, and the receipt too. One handed. Without much apparent effort. Shit.

Waitress says “Nice catch”, with an odd “WTH?”  look.  They’re on to me.

Happy Friday!


PS. I left a 30% tip.


Posted: February 24, 2013 in Humor, My Whirled, Stories
Tags: , , ,

The Thinking Viking often goes to a local greasy spoon for bacon and eggs on Sunday mornings.  I may have to choose a new location.

After I polished of a big plate of greasy goodness, I found I had no cash – oops. So, I pay with my debit card.  Cashier tries to hand me the receipt, but it slips from her grasp and is suddenly blown away by a stiff draft.  I snatch it mid air while holding the pen I was preparing to sign it with.  The cashier gasps – “wow, nice catch”.  The owner is right behind her.  “Wow, dude, really nice catch”.  The old woman having breakfast next to the register is giving me a strange look.

Me:  “I… I am”

” I am…”


I look around cautiously, and my right hand writes the words on that CC receipt that were floating through my head.


I left a 30% tip.


The next morning.

Posted: February 10, 2013 in My Whirled, Stories
Tags: , , , ,

The Thinking Viking is going to share a bit.  This is an almost-true story. Only two bits omitted or changed.  It will be short.

I’m not generally the type to pick up strange women at parties and get almost freaky crazy in the back bedroom of some strange house then and take ’em home.  But it has happened.  Years ago….We were both kind of  drunk at a friends party, and then later …shared a cab home. She lived within walking distance of my place, and well, one thing lead to another and we had some more drinks and..

Fell asleep watching TV in my bed, cuddling.  Far as I recall nothing more happened. Yeah, I know.

I woke up alone, and didn’t mind a bit.  It was a Sunday morning much like today.

Just thinking. Have a nice Sunday.


The Thinking Viking wrote this immediately after Hurricane Sandy.  I couldn’t finish – it was too upsetting.  Things have calmed own, so Here ya go..

The Thinking Viking is not  a reality TV star.  Buuut ….I really have spent time on the Jersey Shore. I have also deliberately avoided viewing the show of the same name as my title today because I didn’t want to tarnish the memories.

“Briefly: I was 4-6 years old, my parents were still together, my grandfather on dad’s side was still alive, and we would rent this cottage on a little inlet in the barrier island town of Seaside Heights. We’d catch crab off the small dock in back.  One of those crabs caught ME, once.  We ate him.  And the beach days of sun and sand castles, sterotypical BS right out a movie, I kid you not.  And finally – the Boardwalk.  I was too small for the serious rides, but I recall the little kid ones well.  My favorite had a bunch of fiberglass metal flak “cars” – old cards, 1950s detroit iron, and you could ride in them, spin the wheel, pretend to be big.  Good times for a five-year old, I even had a favorite car – the green “Thunderbird” – because my favorite color was green.  Times change, if you judge by my wardrobe now, I guess that color is  But I digress.”

That was all I could get to.

Anyhow, one of my few memories in any detail is of that ride and those stupid fiberglass cars.

I just saw MY car – or one exactly matching my memory – washed up on a beach half buried in sand 10 freaking miles from Seaside Heights.

I just sat there, stunned. I couldn’t even turn off the TV.

Many of those storm victims are still suffering.

Think about it.