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                  √    Amateur radio Technician

                        Amateur radio General

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Unlike most people, my bucket list does not consist of places to go or things to do.  Mine consists of certifications I want to get.  Last November, after about two decades of "I'll get around to it" I finally sat for my amateur radio Technician class license exam.

In my defense, for most of the time I delayed, there were 5 classes, and 4 of them required a minimum proficiency of 5 words per minute in Morse code.  The 1 non-CW class was Technician, and it is still a relatively low-privilege class.  I cannot play in the HF band, which is where most of the around-the-world conversations take place.  It just didn't seem worth it at the time.

So when I found out that at some point in the last 20 years, they did away with 2 classes and ditched the CW proficiency requirements for the other two, I was ready to finally get around to trying.  Which of course means, it was 2 years later before I finally got around to it.  Just like I passed the exam in November and was so happy with myself, I am finishing writing about it 3 months later.

Hey, I'm a busy man.  If I don't teach my daughters to say "Rock On!" and throw horns, who will?

The Beloved has been somewhat dubious about the utility of amateur radio.  In her defense, most technology I touch tends to malfunction.  In fact, at the various labs I've worked, the following equation describes my luck:

R=D/T

Where R is the Reliability of an instrument, D is the distance from me, and T is the Time spent with me.

However, on our recent trip to Billings fort he Dot's MRI, I managed to use my poor old used 55-watt 2 meter mobile unit to contact a repeater from about 30-40 miles out and reach a fellow ham with crystal clear reception and transmission in an area with no cell reception.  Not that my rig is decrepit or anything.  It was NIB and the height of technology when it was introduced...roughly around when I learned about ham radio for the first time.  And that was on a temporary set-up with a magnetic mount antenna and a down-and-dirty power feed job.

So now, I have picked up a couple 25-watt 2 meters (which really are old and a little beat-up), my 5-watt handheld dual band, and my 55-watt Kenwood.  I'm supposed to pick up a 6-meter (diet shortwave) unit on extended loan, and figure I can rig a temporary inverted V dipole for it.

I'm leaning on the beloved to get her Technician later this year while I sit for my General.  And eventually I will splurge on a nice multi-band radio.  For now, I just want a dual-band  with dual-mode so I can work satellites from one unit.

Now to find a landlord that will let me build a true aluminum farm.

XY*

My worries of starting to lactate and/or menstruate have been officially laid to rest.  The oncoming storm is to be a bouncing young boy, hereafter to be referred to as “Squirt.”

Thank God.

Hopefully, there wasn’t a huge misreading of the ultrasound, especially given what I am about to say.

I would like to state that I don’t think I can exactly say I would have been just as happy if the Squirt had turned out to be a Squirtette, but I can say that had the Dot and Lump both been XY’s, I’d have been pulling for this one to be an XX.  I don’t think I could handle 3 or either genotype.  

And right or wrong, there are certain aspects to having a son.

For one thing, there’s just something about passing on your family name.  From a clinical, detached point of view, I’m not sure why.  The genes get passed down either way, but for whatever reason it’s important, it is.

And now my father now has 2 chances to pass on the family name.  Given the accident-prone nature of our lineage, it’s always best to have a back-up.

Plus, there are just certain things that a father can do with a son.  Like go to the garage once a month to flee three sets of ovaries work on the jeep.

Not that I would be opposed to the Dot or the Lump learning about auto work.  In fact, I intend to help them restore their first cars, as long as they choose a classic Jeep, early model Bronco, classic Toyota FJ, or VW Thing.  It’s not that I’m choosy, I just want to instill good taste and keep my children from going over 50 mph.

Who needs a nanny chip when you have 33” wheels?

This also frees me from attempting to make one or more of my girls into a rough-and-tumble tomboy.  Now when we have tea parties, I don’t have to feel I need to take them to a demolition derby to balance things out.  Girls, thank your brother someday for that.

On top of all that, there's the relatively insignificant fact that the Squirt’s name has been picked out since before the Beloved and I tied the proverbial knot, and it would have been a shame to waste such a great name.

So here’s to a Y chromosome to have a beer with someday and say “Man, women are crazy.”



*Part of my backlog; started several weeks ago.

Backlog

 While opening a new post to write about the MRI trip, I found numerous unfinished drafts.  Not as bad as my overflowing email, but still, pretty atrocious.  So, in order to rectify that, they will be going out over the next couple days in no particular order as I finish them.

I recently told a friend that I hadn't been up on my communiques because I was too busy living my life to talk about it.  Apparently, I can't write about it either.  What with the new job with sometimes crazy call nights and weekends, medical trips, my EMT course, amateur radio licensing, and that little thing called making up for lost time with my family.  I mean, really, write or talk about my girls or see if I can tickle them until they pee.  Not a tough choice there.

Children are an endless hole of food, money, and time.  For instance, in the last paragraph, I rescued the Lump from the big mean toy otoscope, then toddler-eating beads, then her sister.

Oh, gotta run, the bead monster is trying to eat the Dot now.

MRI

I would not trade the dot for the world.  I would, however, trade her skull for $5 and a lightly used older model.  Heck, you could keep the $5.  For that matter, I’d pay the $5.  Why not?  We’ve already paid about $5000.

In spite of my rather abysmal intracity snow driving skills, we made it down to Billings and back in one piece.  Well, technically in 5 pieces, but each piece was in one piece.

Along the way, I made had my first ragchew just outside of the CMR.  My cute little outdated 50-watt 2-meter managed to reach a good 40 miles to the Zortman repeater, which was in turn being worked by a ham in Great Falls.  Since we were in the middle of a zero cell phone reception area, I conclusively proved the value of amateur radio to the formerly dubious Beloved.  I am officially a ham.

I did not realize how badly my anesthesiaphobia (yes, that is obviously a word, since I just used it and I define reality) extended to other people until they attempted to put the pulse oximeter  on the Dot’s finger.  In an attempt to reassure her that it was okay, they placed it on Daddy’s finger first.  My resting heart rate was 91.  For scale, at my MET class tonight, my resting heart rate according to the cute little Welch Allyn combo meter was 64.  This was when the Beloved declared that I was the one in need of the Versed.

At this point, I should say that shortly before my first wisdom tooth surgery, my dear sainted mother made one of the very few really dumb mistakes in my upbringing.  She told me of a teenage girl who had died about 2 weeks previous from anesthesia complications…during a wisdom tooth surgery.

Really, Ma?  How did that seem like a good idea?

I attempted to take my mind off the impending gassing of my child by cheating to get increased intracranial pressure.  I held her upside down and tickled her for a while, followed by a few minutes in the Trendelenburg position.  Can’t blame a father for trying.

Fortunately, my job was to entertain the Lump while the Beloved waited for the Dot to get to the PACU.  You could say she drew the short straw (sorry, honey, couldn’t resist).

So, I did what any red-blooded Montanan would do:  I took her to Cabelas.

Heaven in logs and fieldstone.

And yes, I get to call myself a Montanan.  Once you’re standing in 4 inches of snow at 0300 in -20 F with a -40 F wind chill, you are officially a Northerner.  When you’re doing it because you hit a deer, you’re officially a Montanan.

Rats.  With.  Antlers.

This is where I say I am indebted to Mr. White Pickup for evading me when I realized a wee bit too late that I was coming up on a red light.  Hey, you try stopping short in 4 inches of snow.  Patty’s ABS is good, but not that good.

After approximately 8 slow laps of the store, we emerged with only $116 in miscellaneous goods.  Hey, Northern emergency supplies are expensive.

I could have spent more.

After an uneventful return to the hospital, we found the Dot still asleep.  That is roughly when we realized that, being a classic father, I had entertained my girl for an hour and a half while forgetting to…well…you know…feed her.  So after a quick overpriced meal of Swedish meatballs and grapes we were joined by the Beloved and Sleeping Beauty, the latter of which proved that a toddler NPO for 12 hours is a bottomless pit.

So now we wait.  The projected turnaround time for a routine scheduled pediatric MRI is 48 hours.  Hopefully Wednesday, we will discover that my attempts to stack the deck worked.

Christmas Card 2013

Most people may think this a bit late, but since my family is celebrating Christmas today, I think it’s fine.

I’ve been a wee bit behind in blog posts. Fortunately, as I only have one regular reader of this blog, and about 6 who drop in for the moronic screenplays, so as long as I get the annual Spants episode out by the first week of November, I call a year a success.

Frankly, since August I have had better things to do with my time.

Since moving to this frozen wasteland, I have had precisely one day in which I did not see both of my children, and that was when they took a trip to Billings to get the Dot’s skull evaluated. Coming off a job in which I didn’t see my complete family for 3 or more days at a time (despite living in the same house as them), that’s saying something.

Speaking of the increasingly expensive skull, the jury is still out. We hope to get some answers by February. A dramatic shift in form was followed by an explosion of development (including an apparent grasp of Universal Precautions illustrated below), and we hope that this indicates that a surgery will fix the developmental delays the Dot has long suffered. Fortunately, our insurance here curb stomps the crappy coverage from my last job.

Speaking of juries, our Christmas time has been plagued by a counter-suit and discovery motion from the city of Ludowici involving the death of Cam, our beloved ’96 Toyota, at the hands of their police chief. Twenty-two pages of stuff they think they need to know about us, including how often we have “conjugal fellowship.” Anyone who really thinks they need to know that can go conjugate themselves, as far as I’m concerned.

On to more pleasant subjects, the Lump has developed a personality this year, and the ability to say “creepy clown” when she gets to “C” in the ABC book (seriously, the picture reminds me of the clown from IT). It does come out more like “eeky lou,” but I think it’s cute. She’s also walking and learning to climb, which frankly, may be less pleasant to deal with than lawyers, but such is the growing process. She also seems to share her Daddy’s fascination with all things alien.

And in a related note, Monday will tell us whether or not we have to buy a whole new set of baby clothes, or if the Pepto Bismol explosion will be enough.

Along with the newest addition to our family came the first subtraction. We bid farewell to our idiot beagles Fritz and Kraut on the way to our new home in Montana. It hurt, but they both found homes within 2 weeks, courtesy of the Munising, MI animal shelter. I hope we see them on our vacation there next year.

To borrow from a popular comedian, the one word I would use to sum up my family’s life is: interesting.

Spants III: Spanthopper

Happy Halloween to all!

Once again, it is time for the latest installment in my epically cliched, hackneyed, yet thoroughly enjoyable B scifi series.  Soon to be a major motion picture if I can ever get the number for the people who produced Sharknado.

And links for the previous episodes, Spants and Spants II:  Sproach.

Spants III:  Spanthopper

Corn field

Small crop duster flies over field. It banks to make another pass. Zoom to cockpit where Farmer C flicks a switch. Camera pans out to tail as insecticide starts to pour from tail. Camera zooms out as Farmer C makes next pass. Below, grass rustles.

Farmer C: “What the—“

Spants III: Spanthopper

Small pond

Farmer A and Sheriff sit on shore watching bobbers. Sheriff appears morose. Small plane from opening sequence flies overhead.

Farmer A: “There goes Farmer C.”

Sheriff: “Yep.”

Farmer A: “Not much biting today, I guess.”

Sheriff: “Nope.”

Farmer A: “Don’t matter I suppose, I didn’t just bring you down here to fish.”

Sheriff: “I figured.”

Farmer A: “You’ve been hiding in that bottle ever since Teacher died in a horrific, yet convenient car accident last year.”

Sheriff: “It was my fault! I busted Redneck B fourteen times for DUI! I should have made sure his license got pulled permanently!”

Farmer A: “He was driving on a suspended license anyway. Do you really think pulling it would have done any good? You have to stop blaming yourself.”

Smoke appears in distance. Farmer A and Sheriff jump to their feet.

Farmer A: “Was that Farmer C’s plane?”

Sheriff: “Call the hospital!”

Hospital

Doctor: “I’m afraid there was nothing we could do. He likely died instantly. The only thing I can say is he probably didn’t suffer.”

Farmer C’s widow: “Sorry if I don’t find that particularly comforting. Especially with the crop failing and the bank about to foreclose.”

Slutty Research Assistant’s sister from Spants bursts into room.

Sheriff: “What are you doing here?”

Doctor: “Off-hand, I’d guess her career didn’t go as she had hoped.”

Sister: “Later. Widow, is there anything I can do to help?”

Widow: “It’s enough just having you here, dearie.”

Outside hospital

Sister: “I heard about the wreck. Widow and I were close. I came to see if I could help.”

Sheriff: “That’s it?”

Sister: “No. The reason I left is that I was scared. My psychologist said I needed to come back to face my fears.”

Sheriff: “Well, in your absence we killed most of them. And I go hunting for them every couple months. I haven’t found any this year.”

Sister: “We have to check that field.”

Field at night

Sister and Sheriff sneak through grass.

Sheriff: “You broke my heart you know.”

Sister: “I’m sorry. It’s just that every time I drove past the college, all I could think about was my sister.”

Sheriff: “Shh! Did you hear that?

Grass rustles.

Sister: “No.”

Grass rustles more.

Sister: “I didn’t hear than either.”

Sheriff draws revolver.

Sheriff: “I don’t like this.”

Men in black fatigues burst from the corn. A helicopter appears overhead with a spotlight blinding the two.

Soldier 1: “On the ground! On the ground!”

Soldier 2: “Drop the weapon! Drop the weapon!”

Sister and Sheriff comply.

Soldier 3: “You’re coming with us.”

Mobile Command Center

Sheriff: “Is it just me, or is this center bigger on the inside?”

General: “The technology was a gift from some British friends. Torch-something institute.”

Sheriff: “What did they get in return?”

General: “A little formula that weakens the DNA of insects, allowing them to be bred for weaponization.”

Sister: “So you knew all along?”

General: “Knew? Who do you think was funding the project?”

Sheriff: “Well, what are you going to do now?”

General: “Our first priority is to ensure that none of these escape.”

Sister: “You’re going to nuke the town! You can’t!”

General: “Of course we’re not going to drop a nuke on American soil. Can you imagine the PR nightmare that would be?”

Sheriff: “Oh thank God.”

General: “We’re using napalm.”

Sheriff: “What!?!?”

General: “Well, we’re napalming the surrounding area. We’re dropping a daisy-cutter on

the actual field.”

Sister: “There are people there!”

General: “And we’ll give them as much time to leave as we can. But time is of the essence.”

Sheriff: “How long do I have to get them out?”

General: “Well, according to our cartoonishly large countdown clock on the wall, about an hour.

Ridge ¼-mile away from field

SpecOps soldier 1 (holding laser designator): “It just doesn’t seem right.”

SpecOps soldier 2: “I know, targeting American citizens. On American soil, no less.”

SpecOps soldier 1: “Yeah, at least the president has the decency to snuff US citizens in foreign countries.”

General (on radio): “We have confirmed reports that the persons inhabiting the target area have formally renounced their citizenship in protest.”

SpecOps soldier 2: “Shiny, let’s kill hippies.”

Field

Hippie 1: “Hell, no! We won’t go!”

Hippie 2: “You can’t kill us all!”

Hippie 3: “Give peace a chance!”

Hippie 4: “Drop acid, not bombs.”

Hippie 5: “Hey, hey, LBJ! How many kids did you kill today?”

Hippie 1: “Huh?”

Hippie 2: “Oh, never mind him. He’s just old-school hippie. He shows up to every protest he can.”

Hippie 3: “Um, Hippie 6, Vietnam’s been over for a while.”

Hippie 5: “So I can finally take a shower?”

Hippie 1: “That, and you could use a new slogan.”

Hippie 5: “Shoot drugs, not bugs?”

Hippie 1: “I like.”

Corn stalks rustle behind picket line.

Hippie 3: “What was that?”

Spanthoppers burst from field, devouring hippies like airborne piranhas before moving on toward the town.

A few who fed on Hippie 5 stumble glassy-eyed in other directions.

Center of town

Sister: “We gotta get everyone out of here!”

Sheriff: “Alright, people, we need to get every truck, jeep, APC, and anything else with wheels or tracks out of the absurdly well-stocked armory.”

Cargo plane flies overhead.

Sheriff: “Come on forks, let’s saddle up!”

Cockpit of cargo plane.

Pilot: “We’re near the drop zone! Arm it!”

Technician: “Armed!”

Pilot: “Prepare to drop on 5, 4,”

Camera to wing as spanthoppers get sucked in to engine.

Center of town

In distance, cargo plane goes down

Sheriff: “It didn’t go off.”

Widow: “Let me into that Sherman.”

Sheriff: “What are you going to do?”

Widow: “I'm gonna set off that bomb!”

Sheriff: “How would you even know how to do that?”

Widow: “I worked on the BLU-82 line during ‘Nam.”

Sister: “That seems awfully convenient.”

Widow: “Plus, I'll draw them off. Give you more time to get everyone out of here.”

Sheriff: “But you’ll be killed!”

Widow: “Well, with my husband gone and the farm repossessed, I ain’t got much to live for anymore, do I?”

Widow gets into tank. Camera pulls back as she drives off. As she nears edge of town, the swarm of Spanthoppers changes course to follow her.

Sister: “Why'd you let her go?”

Sheriff: “Let's just not let her die for nothing. Let's move folks!”

Field

Tank bursts into view, plowing through corn. Spanthoppers cover entire body.

Widow: “Ahhhhh!!!”

Tank arrives at plane. Widow jumps out. Spanthoppers descend on her, tearing at her as she stumbles up the cargo ramp. She falls to the deck just short of the bomb, but crawls the last few inches, stretching dramatically to the handy manual detonation switch in the form of a big red flashing button.

Widow: “Die, you ba---“

Hill overlooking town

Crowd of people look towards town. Mushroom cloud appears in field.

Sister: “Do you think she got them all?”

Sheriff: “I doubt it.”

Napalm ignites, obliterating town in an amazing demonstration of bad CGI.

Sheriff: “That, on the other hand, may have done the trick.”

Sister: “No. They’ll never be gone. Never.”

Sister bursts into tears. Sheriff hugs her.

Sheriff: “It’s okay. There’s nothing here for us anymore. We’ll move far away.”

Sister: “We?”

Sheriff: “We.”

Sister: “And if they find us?”

Sheriff goes to large truck and pulls back cover, revealing most of the well-stocked armory.

Sheriff: “We’ll be ready.”

Stay tuned for the next episode, Spants IV: Spermite.

Polar Croc

A lone Eskimo crosses a frozen landscape on a dog sled. To the left, a crevasse opens, blowing snow into the air. The Eskimo pulls the reins and goes over to investigate. As he crouches down to peer inside the crevasse, the dogs whimper and turn restless. Seeing nothing, he turns to the dogs.

Eskimo 1: “Easy boys, there’s nothing in here. See?” Points his arm into the crevasse.

Suddenly, his arm is pulled into the crevasse. After a brief struggle, the Eskimo pulls back, missing his arm. He falls onto the ice.

Eskimo 1: “AAAAAHHHH!!!”

Zoom out as the Eskimo is pulled by his legs into the crevasse.

Lobby of Park building

Park Ranger: “Look, I can’t let you go out there. Your uncle’s probably just hit a snag.”

Eskimo chick: “But the storm front’s moving in!”

Ranger: “I know there’s a front on the way. That’s why I can’t let you go.”

Eskimo chick: “If we don’t find him by the time it hits, he’ll never have a prayer.”

Ranger: “Your uncle is the best half-crazy recluse I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of them. Come to think of it, most of them shortly before they disappeared in that neck of the woods, never to be seen again. Seems like that should make me ask more questions, but I’m a government employee.”

Eskimo chick: “If he dies, I’ll never forgive you.”

Ranger: “Just go sit over there with that pipeline protestor, his slutty girlfriend, the stuffy businessman, the ruggedly handsome scientist and the South American guy who won’t take off his overcoat.”

Eskimo chick: “Okay, but if a nun and rabbi walk in, I’m leaving.”

Lobby

Eskimo chick: “So what makes you keep looking?”

Cryptozoologist: “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m convinced there are animals out there nobody’s seen.”

Ranger: “Look, the only thing that’s out there is a lot of ice and snow.”

Hippie: “And not as much of it as there used to be!”

Eskimo chick: “You do know that the Arctic ice pack is up 10 million square kilometers this year, right?”

Hippie: “That’s just what big oil pays a bunch of scientists to say!”

Stuffy businessman: “I am big oil! We don't pay our scientists jack. It all goes to our engineers. And I don't have to stand for this. I'm leaving.”

Ranger: “You can't leave! It's 40 below out there!”

Stuffy businessman: “Watch me.”

Stuffy businessman walks out door.

Lobby

Stuffy Businessman's body is smeared across windows.

Slutty girlfriend: “Why is this happening no? To us?”

Hippie: “It’s global warming! It’s thawing out the polar ice cap. Who knows what unholy creatures are frozen in this wasteland!”

Eskimo chick: “You do know there has been no increase in global temperature since 1998, right?”

Hippie: “It’s only going to get worse as the caps continue to melt!”

Eskimo chick: “10 million square kilometers.”

Hippie: “I can't hear you. Lalalalala.”

Suspicious: “Maybe they drilled into a cave while they were setting up the pipeline.”

Crypto: “Or it could just be that Alaska is over 600,000 square miles. That’s a lot of land no one’s ever seen. Stands to reason there’s an animal or two no one’s ever seen out here, too.”

Eskimo chick (in chilling deadpan): “Especially if it kills everyone who comes across it.”

Crypto: “Exactly.”

Ranger (walking out of office): “I think you should see something. I don't think it's just happening now, after all.”

Office

Group gathers around desk with antiquated log books spread out all over it.

Ranger: “See, people have been disappearing around here ever since they opened this station. This station has more failed search and rescue missions than any other. I don't know why no one's ever put this together.”

Crypto: “Umm, the same government efficiency that put 15 chalets in an area unfit for human habitation? And probably paid $5000 a square foot?”

Eskimo chick: “So how does a cold-blooded creature like that function in cold?”

Hippie: “It’s getting warmer! I keep telling you! I’m super cereal!”

Eskimo chick: “1998! Fifteen years!”

Hippie: “Lies and heresies.”

Crypto: “Would you two quit? Look, there’s a lot of fish that live in absurd temperatures in the ocean. They’re cold-blooded, too.”

Main lobby of lodge

Everyone: “AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”

Croc: “Rawwwrrr!!!!

Eskimo chick: “What do we do?”

Hippie: “I know!” breaks case open and grabs fire extinguisher “I’ll cool him down! With his cold-blooded system, he’ll go into hibernation!”

Crypto: “You don’t see a problem with this plan? Trying to freeze an Arctic creature?”

Hippie: “I know what I’m doing! I made a C in Bio 1120!”

Croc bites Hippie in half, eating the bottom and throwing the top across the room in a gratuitously bloody gesture.

Ranger: “Oh my God, it killed Hippie!”

Crypto: “That bastard!”

Ranger: “Look, I’ll distract it.” Throws hippie’s slutty girlfriend towards it.

Slutty: “Ahhhh!!!!” Gets viciously dismembered.

Ranger: “It worked! Now everyone run for the bathroom!”

Group dashes to restroom door. Polar croc snaps at Suspicious guy’s coat, snagging it. Group pulls Suspicious out of coat, over his protests.

Inside the bathroom

Eskimo chick: “That thing had a knife sticking out of its jaw. I recognized the handle.”

Crypto: “Oh, no…”

Eskimo chick: “Uncle Eskimo…”

Crypto: “I’m so sorry. I just want you to know I’m here to take advantage of your emotional state.”

Eskimo chick: “I appreciate that.”

Suspicious: “I wish I was dead. The cartel will kill me once they find out I lost the jacket.”

Ranger: “You’re a smuggler?!?!”

Crypto: “Really? You’re just now figuring that out?”

Eskimo chick: “Yeah, why did you think everyone was avoiding him?”

Ranger: “I don’t get it! Precisely how was sneaking 100 pounds of marijuana from Mexico into the US by way of Russia and a hike across the Behring Straight the easiest way to do things?”

Suspicious: “I don’t know! I’m a loser dumb enough to let a guy cram 5 kilos of heroin up my--!”

Ranger: “Quiet!”

Crypto: “Seriously? I’m pretty sure it knows we’re in here.”

Ranger: “Then why has it stopped hitting at the door?”

Lobby

Bathroom door slowly opens and Ranger steps outside. As he stares, Polar Croc turns, eyes wide. Croc takes step towards the door, then falls. Ranger slowly walks up to snout, then gingerly nudges it with foot. Crypto steps outside.

Crypto: “What the crap?”

Ranger: “I don’t get it.”

Crypto shines flash light into Croc’s eyes.

Crypto: “His pupils…they’re fixed… and dilated.”

Ranger: “Almost like he’s…”

Eskimo chick: “…stoned?” Holds up Suspicious’s shredded coat.

Crypto: “Watch what you eat, I guess.”

Ranger: “How long do you think it’s going to be out?”

Crypto: “Well, he’s about 30 feet long, so with an unknown body mass, no way of knowing the dosage and a complete lack of understanding how his metabolism functions, yet somehow I still feel quite confident in saying 30 minutes.”

Ranger: “Well, I suggest we not be around when he wakes up.”

Eskimo: “And where do you suggest we go? We’re still in the middle of a whiteout.”

Crypto walks to fire ax in glass case. He returns with the ax and with gory efficiency, decapitates the creature as other characters look on in shock.

Crypto (wiping blood from face): “Or we could just kill it while it's incapacitated.”

Ranger: “I thought you wanted to protect rare animals.”

Crypto: “I want to study them. I can study a dead animal if I'm alive. It doesn't work so well the other way around.”

Ranger: “You just eradicated an endangered species! In a US Parks building! How am I supposed to explain that in my incident report?”

Crypto: “Just put that I protected the area polar bears.”

Park Chalet

Eskimo chick: “At least these chalets are decent. And we have it all to ourselves.”

Crypto: “Where did Ranger go, anyway?”

Eskimo chick: “I heard Suspicious say something about still having a few baggies left.”

Long romantic pause as they sit in front on fire place.

Eskimo chick: “I'm glad you decided to stay.”

Crypto: “Well, there's 12 feet of snow everywhere, so I'm not sure I had any options. But if it helps me get lucky...”

Eskimo chick: “Thank you for avenging my uncle. I know it must have gone against every fiber of you to kill the last of a kind.”

Crypto: “I know a good geneticist. I figure we can always clone it. That way we can study it under controlled circumstances.”

Eskimo chick: “I don't see how anything could possibly go wrong with that.”