Jell-O Fight.

Ever since I can remember, my extended family on my dad's side has held a big family reunion every couple years. The earliest one I can think of occurred when I was about four or five years old. On the second day of the reunion I was involved in one of the most magical events to grace this planet: A Jell-O fight. It is just what it sounds like. Imagine Braveheart meets Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. 10 or 15 of the most glee-filled minutes you will ever experience.

Let's take a few steps back. The extravaganza begins with several hours of sticky preparation during which our favorite colorful snack is mixed and poured into sandwich-size baggies then strategically stacked in any available refrigerators within five square miles of the hosting hacienda.

The rules are as follows:

1. Each participant is allowed to be in possession of only one gelatin-filled baggie at a time and may, under no circumstances, have any extra baggies.

2. Recycling previously flung Jell-O (depending on amount of attached grass clippings) is worth 1000 bonus points.

3. Come in clothing that you don't mind becoming tie-dyed.

4. Hose off before you get in the pool. (Eyelids becoming eyelid, is inevitable)

5. Consuming bonus point Jell-O is discouraged.

6. Rules are for sissies.

*Should any member of the family feel obligated to bring their recently acquired boyfriend to said palooza, the rest of the family will feel obligated to tackle him and shove orange and green Jell-O up said boyfriend's nose.

Cheerio.

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Malad City, Idaho

Been a while.

Just across the Northern border, past Portage and the rest area lies the Utah gamblers oasis. The name of said oasis, as you may have guessed is Malad.





Just off exit 13 there are two gas stations; one is a Phillips 66 (where the locals fill up), and the Chevron/filthy Burger King (where the yuppy Powerball/MegaMillions lotto players fill up). Although each has an easily recognizable demographic to which it caters, both live off the lotto.

• Fact: Phillips 66, which is the smaller of the two, sells about 40 million dollars worth of lotto tickets of which they get 5 cents on the dollar. For those of you who, like myself, are less inclined to do that math, I have a calculator. 2 million smackaroons. Not bad for a service station that hasn't cleaned its toilets in about 8 months.

Malad is the type of town where everybody knows just about everybody. And if you don't, i can point you in the direction of somebody who does: Enter Carlos. Carlos is one of the hands on the S-S Ranch where we board our horses. He is absolutely hilarious. He calls my dad Cabeza de papa. If you know my dad and you speak spanish, you should appreciate that.





Anywho, back to Malad.





I love small towns.

• Wherever you are in town, people wave at you as they drive by.


• If you've got the time, you can carry on a conversation with a total stranger for hours. Easily.


• Bad news is that in about a week you'll run out of people to talk to. I guess that's the good news too.


• When we were leaving our property the other day, I put the radio on scan to see what they had to offer. 4 stations. All country.


• On the road, tractors and fourwheelers are about as common as cars.


• Spero's. Me and Lou's (home to the Ultimate)

Man, more to come about Malad another day. I'm beat.

Cheerio.