Liz's folks decided to pay us a visit, and having seen many of the sights in California earlier this year, we didn't want Ohio to disappoint. To that end we tried to show off all that Ohio had to offer, which is well, not a whole lot, but what can you do? Anyway, among our various travels we went to The Wilds, a 10,000+ acre wildlife refuge.
Ten thousand acres of wildlife almost sounds like OSU's campus, but it's much bigger, and it even smells better. After driving the hour and a half to get there, we learned how 10,000 acres were just sitting there for giraffes, rhinos, and buffalo to move in: it was a former strip mine. Ah, the natural beauty of Ohio. Actually, you really couldn't tell the origins of it all, and it was quite relaxing to be away from it all.
We also discovered that our promised half off admission for being Columbus Zoo members was about as full of shit as the piles the rhinos left behind, but it was still worthwhile. Enough bitching, well, maybe after a smart ass remark about starting the tour by gazing upon wild asses. Perhaps giraffes would make a more dramatic kickoff to it all. Who knows.
Not quite as exotic, though still rather cool were the buffalo. I must say baby buffalo look almost cute. Almost cute enough to make me regret eating buffalo short ribs a couple days earlier (not to mention all those wings). Anyway, they like everything else really didn't mind us, and considering they were about as big as the chopped up school bus we were riding, I can't blame them for their confidence. Hell, I hardly fear a Mini approaching me as I'm strolling through a crosswalk.
We also saw rhinos and cheetahs, but we didn't really get close enough to get good pics--not that I'm complaining. I tend to have a high level of respect for things that are a lot bigger than me, especially things that are a lot bigger than buffalo. Maybe that's why I don't eat rhino. You have to draw the line somewhere you know. We did get to see some warring Sichuan Takin. I didn't get any pictures of the dominance ritual, which most dog owners call "humping". I don't know what they call it in prison, but I suppose I don't want to find out either.
Were you expecting this blog to have a point? My bad, I basically just wanted to post a bunch of pics. You can see all of them here. See ya next time!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Life's Great Mystery
Sometimes I'm left with a great question that demands an answer, and now is such a time. Recently we've taken to watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy as an attempt to help us sleep. Watching these movies, in there extended versions can really lead one into a tired stupor and eventually a restful slumber. We also have been listening to the Harry Potter books on our iPods, and I always think about Star Wars. The question, if you were to want one man to have your back in a gang fight, who would it be? Gandolf, Dumbledore, or Yoda?
Yoda is a badass, like no other in that galaxy far far away way back when. He's so full of those MIDI accordions that he could start a techno polka band. When you see past all of that Jedi Jive, it's hard not to see him as the star of Little People Big World Degobah Edition. I could also see him getting tossed around by some drunk wookies in a cantina on Kashyyyk. I suppose that's better than dealing with that whiney farm boy Skywalker.
Dumbledore is pretty tough, the only dude thatVol He Who Must Not Be Named, is afraid of. He can take on loads of aurors without a scratch on his back, and he can have a bit of a smart ass streak to boot. Then again, he is the brother of a guy who does god knows what to goats, plus he puts up with Harry's thick skulled nature far too much.
Now Gandolf, he fought death and won. He can manipulate rulers, use wicked magic, and even whack someone on the head as needed. He is wise beyond anyone's imagination, and he isn't afraid to get down and dirty. Moreover, he also can shave that beard and bust out that groovy purple helmet and bend metal and shit. He could have gotten Luke's X-wing out of the swamp; he could make car's fly; and he could kick some serious ass. Gandolf is who I'd want to have my back.
I'm a dork.
Yoda is a badass, like no other in that galaxy far far away way back when. He's so full of those MIDI accordions that he could start a techno polka band. When you see past all of that Jedi Jive, it's hard not to see him as the star of Little People Big World Degobah Edition. I could also see him getting tossed around by some drunk wookies in a cantina on Kashyyyk. I suppose that's better than dealing with that whiney farm boy Skywalker.
Dumbledore is pretty tough, the only dude that
Now Gandolf, he fought death and won. He can manipulate rulers, use wicked magic, and even whack someone on the head as needed. He is wise beyond anyone's imagination, and he isn't afraid to get down and dirty. Moreover, he also can shave that beard and bust out that groovy purple helmet and bend metal and shit. He could have gotten Luke's X-wing out of the swamp; he could make car's fly; and he could kick some serious ass. Gandolf is who I'd want to have my back.
I'm a dork.
The Irony of all Ironies
I can't believe I haven't written about this before, but i suppose it was out of a bit of kindness that I refrained from telling this tale. Looking back, it's really just a good laugh.
Last year, in an attempt to not appear to be the old man I am, I relented to Liz's persuasion to get around to reading those Harry Potter books that are so popular with the younger folks these days. I had managed to work my way through five of the books, with only one left to go (there were only six written at the time), and I knew that it wouldn't be too long until I managed to finish that one as well. Liz was at her PC, doing what she often does, perusing through the wonderful web of Harry Potter sites, forums, blogs, and other stuff crafted by folks with way too much free time. I sat, amusing myself with her quest, likely with thoughts wandering about my mind about god knows what. Anyway, I sat there and heard Liz giving an account of some jerk posting a spoiler about the end of book six on a person's blog, hours after the book was released. This person was a jerk because, few people could have read the whole book by then, and they should have knew better.
The irony was that Liz revealed the spoiler in her account, complaining about this dude's insensitivity, she told me Dumbledore was dead, knowing I hadn't read book 6. She inadvertently did the same thing the jerk did, but unlike him, she didn't mean any harm, and I laughed then as I do now. It was just too funny.
Last year, in an attempt to not appear to be the old man I am, I relented to Liz's persuasion to get around to reading those Harry Potter books that are so popular with the younger folks these days. I had managed to work my way through five of the books, with only one left to go (there were only six written at the time), and I knew that it wouldn't be too long until I managed to finish that one as well. Liz was at her PC, doing what she often does, perusing through the wonderful web of Harry Potter sites, forums, blogs, and other stuff crafted by folks with way too much free time. I sat, amusing myself with her quest, likely with thoughts wandering about my mind about god knows what. Anyway, I sat there and heard Liz giving an account of some jerk posting a spoiler about the end of book six on a person's blog, hours after the book was released. This person was a jerk because, few people could have read the whole book by then, and they should have knew better.
The irony was that Liz revealed the spoiler in her account, complaining about this dude's insensitivity, she told me Dumbledore was dead, knowing I hadn't read book 6. She inadvertently did the same thing the jerk did, but unlike him, she didn't mean any harm, and I laughed then as I do now. It was just too funny.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Ahoy Matee
I have written in times past about my odd liking for less than popular sports, whether curling, Formula 1, World Cup, and America's Cup, and now after enjoying the mundane strategy of Curling in 2006 and the thrilling excitement of World Cup later that year I have the good fortune of looking forward to another America's Cup.
The America's Cup is the oldest trophy in sports, and I've enjoyed watching the feats of strategy, seamanship, and awesome bits of engineering that goes into building these multi-million dollar dollar vessels (one team spent $200,000,000 in a losing effort this year) for over twenty years. I know few people know about the America's Cup, fewer still even know its going on, or what channel to watch it on, and I imagine more than a few folks would argue that yachting isn't a sport. I guess I have a foreign soul that longs for things forgotten by most Americans, after all, a billion people, few of which are Americans, watch the America's Cup races.
The America's Cup is the oldest trophy in sports, and I've enjoyed watching the feats of strategy, seamanship, and awesome bits of engineering that goes into building these multi-million dollar dollar vessels (one team spent $200,000,000 in a losing effort this year) for over twenty years. I know few people know about the America's Cup, fewer still even know its going on, or what channel to watch it on, and I imagine more than a few folks would argue that yachting isn't a sport. I guess I have a foreign soul that longs for things forgotten by most Americans, after all, a billion people, few of which are Americans, watch the America's Cup races.
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