My name is mud mask

My wife just attacked me with a mud mask. Here I sat ready to type out a blog about human nature and mountains when she slides up and starts smearing "warming" mud on my cheek. Then my chin. Next thing I know it's EVERYWHERE and she says it's detoxifying and I say it's smelly.

What have I become.

I just had a look at myself in the mirror and I feel a little better. It just looks like I'm smeared over with vasoline. Not that being covered in vasoline makes me feel more masculine, but at least I don't look like I'm supposed to be in a spa commercial. Yaurgh. I'd rather have coins on my eyes than cucumbers.

Ok, so anyway... as I've been Geocaching all over the state the past few weeks a pattern emerged that I had been noticing subconsciously my entire life....

Every time I crested a hill and found a nice high place with a view... I also found a fire ring. At first I wondered about the paleolithic remnant of our brains that insists that mountains need fire. Then I realized that even Mountain Men like to enjoy the view now and again, but male bonding isn't possible without Beer or Fire or - better yet - Beer AND Fire. Then I reflected on the Mountain Boys who had been up here recently and had the same problem but instead of two guys toting a faggot of firewood up the hill, these two boys carried spray paint and wrote "faggot" on the rocks. I can only assume this was in brash defiance of the feeling that "if my friend's hand brushes mine one more time I'm going to grab it and if he doesn't pull away I'll squeeze his hand tight in mine for the rest of my life"...

My mind tends to wonder while I wander.

Of course the truth of the fire-rings has nothing to do with human nature.

That is where the space ships land. Obviously.

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