My hairbrained scheme

In Alaska we frequently encountered paticipants in the Iditarod, amateur mushers, or others associated with the sport (it is the official state sport afterall). Having two Saint Bernards holding the floor down at home, I couldn't help but wonder how well they'd do in the race. Sure it's 1000+ miles and rather cold (-60 and frequent blizzards), but Saints were built for alpine conditions, and what's a 1000+ miles?

Saints were bred to rescue people in the alps, and one Saint, Barry, was reported to rescue over 2000 people trapped in blizzards, buirried by avolanches, or otherwise fucked over my mother nature. Having two Saints at home who are at home on the coldest of snow (-12 this year) validates the whole built for the cold aspect, but ours don't seem to be able to rescue too much before wanting to take a break (perhaps they're unionized Saints). Supposedly a Saint can pull as much as 2900KG, so maybe a few could pull a bunch more who are resting and then take turns?

Let's say I have some underachievers who can "only" pull 2500KG (over 5,500 pounds), that means a 200lb dog (a big Saint), could pull 27+ of his pals! Since this isn't easy to do for distances let's lighten the load and give him 10 buddies to pull, so he's only working about 9% of the time. To break the monotony, give him nine buddies, so 10 Saints pull another 100 and a musher (on a big ass sled). Wouldn't that be more impressive than a bunch of gnarly huskies? It would be like the Budweiser Clydesdales of the north. Maybe we could get a sponsorship gig?

Sure we'd need huge mounds of food for the 110 dogs, and there would be a bunch of big piles of shit everywhere, but imagine the possiblities. That beer deal would be the tip of the iceberg. Books, movies, video games, etc... It would be like Beethoven meets Snow Dogs meets Cool Runnings!


I got tired of copying and pasting sleeping dogs, but you get the point

Unmet Expectations

I've discoved that I expect too much from this world, and I'm slowly coming to terms with that sad reality. When I drive in a car with "automatic climate control", I expect it to know you're appoaching a dead polecat (skunk; not some stripper cat) and put the AC on recirculate. I also expect to be able to fast forward a DVR to points well into the future (I keep trying just to see if they slip that feature in). Isn't a 8:00pm football game on the East coast aired at 5:00pm on the west coast? Can't we keep going around the world so that I can finish March Madness in say February, with enough time to procrastinate and still get the winning picks to my bookie?

It should come to no surprise that my latest disappointment was so ... well disappointing. The culprit, Chocolate Lucky Charms. You see Lucky Charms was always a favorite of mine as a kid (it's why I grew so tall--kinda ironic since the leprechaun stays so small), and the notion of replacing those bland oaty bits with something like Cocoa Puffs or Cocoa Pebbles, well that's a match made in heaven--sorta a Count Chocula with all the magical Irishness of Lucky Charms. So why is it my hell?

The chocolate bits aren't chocolatey, rather they're just brown. Brown in color, but worse yet, brown in taste. You see when I close my eyes and think of the color red, I can taste Hawaiian Punch (Fruit Juicy Red), and when I do the same with orange, I taste McDonalds Orange drink. With brown, well I picture shit and a taste those oddly shiny crap nuggets that someone must have randsomed a leprechaun into putting in the box (better than giving up the pot of gold I suppose).

NIN

The opening act started off with a gong; it might as well ended with it.  Few opening acts ever really entertain me, maybe one or two more are memorable, and whoever they were last night, well they've been forgotten already.  I must be getting old, as I appreciate shows that start as early as a school talant show (especially if there's less talant) .  Fortunately the opening act started early, and even more fortunately they ended early.

Looking at all the lighting and electronic gear on the stage, things looked like this was going to be as much of a light show as a concert.   After a not too long intermission, NIN hit the stage.  NIN is Trent, plus whoever he drags along with him on that particular tour.  For this tour, Trent employed out of work Cenobites (not cinnabites) as his guitarist and basist.  One sported a boufant/mullet, and the other looked like a long lost member of the Hair Bear Bunch.  Is Trent Pinhead in disguise?

Things really didn't get going until several songs in, and with the overly nice (this is a NIN show--where's the angst) subdued crowd, they never really got to the usual rolling boil.  Before long, the screens decended, the lights got all weird, and the brown note montage began.  Experimental music and crap share a common thread, and there's a fine line betwix the two.  All in all it was kinda cool (thus it's experimental, not crap), but I thing I needed some payote or shrooms to appreciate it fully.  The giant touch screen Ableton setup was real cool however.

Once thing finnaly got rocking, Trent and co decended back to hell.  After the requisite pause, they returned--Hellraiser II!  All in all it was a great show, mostly because I got reunited with my old posse, which was a pleasant surprise.  Getting to see the redneck hobbits, now that was a bonus.

What a bunch of crap

Every day I drive by and hear commercials for Big and Tall stores or departments in stores. Being both big and tall myself, I should be delighted that our crazy world cares so much for me, but no there is no delight here. Why? Well there are no such things as Big and Tall clothes. Like the moon landing and those odd one horned goats that Ringling Brothers tried to pass as unicorns, it's a fraud. What is it . . . really? A front for fat people, plain and simple. 95% of what they sell is designed for enormous sumo wrestling folks who can pull of Jabba the Hut any Halloween they're too lazy to try to dress up like old Marlon Brando. The other 5%, well that's just in case the circus is in town and some skinny stilt walker needs a new pair of pants. I suppose it could be a Big or Tall store.

I'm not alone. I imagine most seventeen year old gals are rather bored by Seventeen Magazine, and I know that the folks I see in Forever 21 aren't, and I also there's nothing innately American about American cheese. Don't even get me started with Waterbeds and Stuff, which should be called Bongs and Stuff, with the stuff being old dusty and moldy tobacco to go in all those water pipes. What happened to the truth? At least The Dollar Tree, still has stuff that costs a dollar (no trees however).

hypermilers, damn you!

Ever be cruising along at a speed that actually gets you somewhere in a limited amount of time (unless you get pulled over) and have some jackass who's on the cruise control and putzing along slowly to use less gas get in your way? Those bastards are hypermiling, which is the lowest form of dorkiness--yes WoW geeks, you just moved up a notch, but don't let it get to your head, and no you didn't just level up. Anyway, those morons drive slow, tailgate, occasionally run red lights/stop signs, or even turn the engine off and cruise! All to save a few ounces of gas. Oh, they usually have a bunch of annoying bumper stickers all over the back of their cars (often none are on the actual bumper, aparantly they didn't understand the concept). If I'm going to be stuck beind some 1984 VW Golf diesel, I expect to see black sooty porn and not black sooty propaganda.

What's worse is that the nerds who write the OED, who are one notch above WoW players and two above hypermilers--unless they happen also to be in those other groups, decided that hypermiling is the word of the year. Kinda jumping the gun in mid November, eh? Anyway I was rooting for schadenfreude, which is my favorite word. I suppose it's not the end of the world, as I know sooner or later I'll be hypomiling (my word of 2009) and I'll get to watch some hypermiling jackass rear end a semi they're tailgating while their engine is off and their power brakes aren't so powered. Then I'll roll down the windows (keeping my AC on) and yell, SCHADENFREUDE! Don't think they make any hybrid hearses, nor have I ever seen any with any bumper stickers.

My knight in slobbery fur

I haven't dropped off the edge of the Earth--there is one ya know! I've just been busy, lazy, and sore. I could write about being busy, but that's no fun, besides most of its work stuff, and I don't want to get fired. Writing about being lazy seems oddly hypocritical, and well that leaves us with sore. You see a few weeks back, my back, decided that it wasn't really my turn to load the dishwasher, and I was hammered with the lovely reminder that you're alive that is deathly pain. That and an inability to move (even more than that brought on by lazyness), and I was in need of help. For centuries we've all had the reliable, loyal, and slobbery rescuer available at a beacons call--no not that Life Call I've fallen and can't get up shit. You see most of us are beyond earshot, but some of us gluttons have them on the premises for moments like this!


Kuma, my knight in slobbery fur!

Before I knew it, I was being attended to, and for once not leaned upon, as Kuma was there for me to lean on him! He was like a big lumbering walker, which is more than I can say for myself, as I was just big and lumbering. Kuma led me to a more modern lifeline, my Blackberry, which brought Liz and then the wonders of Columbus' wonderful ER experience. I just wish Kuma had his barrel, as I could have just drank my way to good health and bypassed the ER. Or I could have just went to his vet, which could have been cheaper and offered a less feral waiting room. Good to know in case this ever happens again, and I hope it doesn't.

I'm fine now btw

Feeding giraffes, rhinos, and mammoths

Day five of our epic California safari

It almost never got this far, as we arrived for our "10am" flight at 8:30--too bad it really was a 9am flight! Amazingly we ran, breezed through security, and luckily all was well. Despite a few minor calamities at rental car counters, over aggressive valets, and bum fights, we made it! Sadly these delays made us too late for the zoo, but we did get to go on a hippi safari in Balboa park.

We sought adventure on our first full day in San Diego, and we went to the San Diego Wild Animal Park. Being on vacation we spluged on a African Photo Safari, where we got to drive amongst the gazelles, antelopes, rhinos, and giraffes. We actually got to feed giraffes, but the cutest thing was watching the rhino rub his itchy back on the truck we were in. Almost as amusing as the rhinos was watching the people and their interactions with the animals. Sadly we really wanted to feed the rhino, and that was another tour. We had a blast nonetheless.

Afterward we got to chill with Liz's peeps, eat great mexican food, and watch a shitty movie on an awesome TV.

Another day, another adventure. This time the San Diego Zoo was open, and the place is huge! We trek through the humble Columbus Zoo often, but this place is off the hook. The rate paths for novices, intermediate, and experts--some have warnings for those with wheelchairs. We hiked and hiked, and finally, we fould the pandas! Damn things don't do much. They're sleepy pacifists (the speghetti monster gave them the digestive system of a carnivore but they eat bamboo). During our journey, we passed three different meerkat enclosures, and a whole lotta pigs. We've never seen so many pigs (or types of pigs) in our life.

We still wanted to feed the rhinos, and that's where our next day would take us (back to the Wild Animal Park). The rhinos are absolutely adorable, and they just sit there and chow apples. Well, first we had to track one down, and after some coaxing, we were chucking apples into their huge heads. They're a bit bashful at first, and once they're full, its time for a bath (ever see a rhino roll on his back--we have!). The rhinos actually reminded us a lot of our big dogs.

All in all I took thousands of shots (see below), and he had a blast. We did everything we could have wanted to do, plus a bunch of fun work stuff (dinners, conference, and a hokey conferment ceremony). After all was said and done, we began our trek north. Along the way, we stopped at a favorite restaurant of Liz's, and I got a t-shirt for winning the Gamblers Challenge (eat a 35oz sirloin). Kinda sad a rhino gets some apples and I get a sirloin the size of a cat!

Gastronomical molestation

Say that three times. Better yet try to erase those words from your mind.

Let's step back a second while you're cleansing your mind. Every day I swing by the Laake casa to fatten up our little warrior Magnus. Magnus gains about a pound a day in lean muscle mass (well bones too), so squeezing 5-6 meals in is a must (as he poops out 95% of what goes in). While he does his Eukanuba Dyson routine, I scavenge the DVR and channel guide for something ... anything to watch.

Thus we end up watching Hurl! Do I need to describe Hurl!? Well since I suffered through it, let's go into detail. For starters they eat food that looks like barf. Pot Pie innards do the trick. They get measured on quantity consumed, in pounds. The top performers move on to the next round, where they are spun around until one spews. Then more food, more vomit, and lots and lots of slow motion replay. Oh boy! Oh, the title of this blog, that's how G4 promotes this drivel.

What are they competing for? $1000!

I'm grabbing the bottled water and heading the the basement

There end is near!!!!

There will be a Cornhole game for the Wii! I've written about this exercise in laminess and idiocy, before. What is the world coming to! I'm still waiting for a decent curling game for the Wii. Now that's a sport worth promoting.

My Dream

You know I actually write a gazillion cryptoblogs, but many never really become tangible, thus the dearth of blogs lately. This got me thinking about my lifelong ambition, my manifestation of the "American Dream" (btw isn't it rather ethnocentric of us Americans to assume such aspirations are exclusively American? What's the Canadian dream? never mind, that was expressed in Strange Brew). Anyway, I was was thinking about not writing a blog about writing a blog about something I dream of that I always wanted to do but never have--kinda like the blog I wasn't writing ...

Gosh, no wonder I get headaches, it's like some tangle of wires thrown in a drawer! Still with me? Ok, my dream, the Cryptozoo! Duwha? We've all been to zoos, and most of us live to tell (those jackasses who harrass innocent and rather bored tigers excluded), and well they're big expensive, and the market is rather saturated. Yeah, elephants are adorable, Sun Bears are cute, and we've all seen monkey masturbate. Been there done that. My dream is so much grander, a zoo for animals that don't really exist! A cryptozooological paradise!

Who needs an orangutan when you can have a sasquatch? Who needs goats in a petting zoo when you can have the goat sucker! Who needs a zebra when you can have a unicorn! This is stuff P.T. Barnum can only dream of, and now I can only dream of! The beauty of my innovation isn't the wonderous nature of the critters, as others have already made them up (moonshine, marijuana, and other vices may have played a role as well--is it a coincidence that big foot gets sighted in forrests with shrooms or Nessie gets spotted by drunken fishermen?), rather it is the limited overhead. Yes this is a business (I suppose that's the American aspect of the "American Dream"), and there are costs and consumables.

The costs, next to none. It's a cryptozoo, so once the animal actually exists, well then it belongs in a real zoo. As long as it's a zoo for make believe animals, there only needs to be make believe exibits. A fenced in area with trees, large foot prints, maybe a nice pile of poo (readily available thanks to owning a Saint Bernard) and voila! an exhibit of a sasquatch. Set up some interesting sound effects, pay a cryptozookeeper to stand there and talk about seeing the sasquatch a little bit ago (heck there are whack jobs who would do it for free--and not even know how full of shit they are!). Next to that a pond, with a smoke machine running full tilt, maybe a few odd shaped logs floating around (and a beer cart selling concessions to boost "sightings"), and you have a Loch Ness Monster display. A few gnawed up goat carcased, a stand selling souvineer barf bags, and you have a chupacabra lair. The list goes on and on ... Oh, and don't forget the nightly alien light show!

As for the consumables, well that's the souvineer stand. Who would want to go to the worlds only crytozoo and not come home with a cute plush Abominal Snowman or the even more Abominal Snowwoman? How about souvineer sasquatch poo (time to turn Kuma into a cash cow)? T-shirts, lunch boxes, goat meat, the list goes on and on.

Any investors?

OMG

Today I had a craving for a sandwich, and I wanted to get as close to satisfying that craving as I could without breaking the bank, so I went to Subway. A month or so ago I made the mistake of trying the Subway Feast, which was there best attempt to shy away from the wussy Jared image they created. Big mistake.

My strategy at Subway has degenerated to trying to disguise the taste of the meat type stuff as well as I can with jalapenos, banana peppers, and other fixin's. The Feast defeats this tactic by inundating one's taste buds with huge quantities of mediocre meat of various ilks. It all kinda mixes and mashes to form some dreadful ubermeat that likely will outlive us all (I really shouldn't anger it, should I?). Anyway, it was far too much work to try to pretend it was good. I vowed to never try that again.

OK, back to today. There was a huge line, filled with all of the usual Dublin cube-monkey cliche looks and styles, and lots of Bluetooth all around. I patiently waited my turn, and when I was second in line, the gal in front of me, a smallish seemingly human entity, ordered a double Feast. To which the "Sandwich Artist" gasped: "Oh My God" and offered a look of sheer disgust with a touch of terror. Other "artists" couldn't help but gawk at the meat-like monstrosity that she created. I merely tried to avoid vomiting.

The Dark Side of Food

Lately I've been eating more than blogging--well, I tend to always eat more than blog, as it would be rather boring and my fingers would bleed down to the bone otherwise--where were we? Ah food. Well, I've had a few odd encounters and more than a few wise non-encounters with bizarre creations.

Living in Ohio, home to all things fried (including Pepsi), I'm used to encountering fried pickles, fried, Twinkies, and my favorite (really they're delicious) fried snickers, so I suppose it shouldn't be alarming that a recent commercial for Steak n' Shake mentioned its lighter healthier fare, including a sandwich with not one but two fried pieces of what they described as chicken. Speaking of Steak n' Shake, well more so speaking of having the shits, the documentation that comes with Alli mentions bringing extra undies with you everywhere just in case something leaks out:

• "You may feel an urgent need to go to the bathroom. Until you have a sense of any treatment effects, it's probably a smart idea to wear dark pants, and bring a change of clothes with you to work"
• "You may not usually get gassy, but it's a possibility when you take Alli. The bathroom is really the best place to go when that happens."

Now if that's not enough to help you loose a few pounds, I dunno what is. Oh, speaking of leaking out, recently they've been showing these macho older dudes riding on Harley's and shit and talking about pissing oneself. I can't recall what the things were called, but I joking call the dude diapers Hoggies.

Gosh, where is this going? Who knows--back to food. While wandering through the various midways and exhibit halls at the state fair I saw a poster advertising a roast beef sunday. Yeah, you read that correctly. Who needs, fudge, caramel, nuts, and that lone cherry when you can have mashed potatoes, gravy, meat that's claims to be beef, and cheese glorious cheese!. Maybe that have cans of whipped sour cream to spray on the top.Perhaps the only thing scarier than this is a poster I saw last week. While wandering the halls of my workplace I saw an advertisement for a lunch special for today (8/13/07--the day that will live in infamy). It mentioned that there will be sushi in the cafeteria. Next to McSushi, Nationwide cafeteria sushi is about as dubious as it gets. Oddly enough, my girlfriend designs ATVs or something like that at Honda, and they don't have sushi in the cafe--maybe that should be a damn good sign that we shouldn't have it here? Well I wandered down to check it out, and thankfully they veered clear of raw fish, but they did manage to create many combinations that should never ever be made again. Just because you can make some odd rice dish, it doesn't mean you should roll it in seaweed. They had some form of rice pilaf rolled up like sushi. WTF? At least the lady behind the counter looked passably oriental, not that that means much--some of the best sushi I've had was made by Mexicans. She probably got her degree in the sushi arts at Devry or ITT tech or OSU--they all blend into one school in my mind.

Maybe I should get my appetite back by ogling at a root beer float cupcake.

Friday Freak Show

Last Friday was a day many people have been looking forward to for some time--myself included. You see many of us dorks, especially those of us who have read books bigger than Myspace for Dummies, have been waiting for the last Harry Potter book to be read--well what for now will be the last Harry Potter book--my money is on a god awful septology prequal, with a whiny Voldebrat and Jar-Jar Wizard. Let's hope I'm wrong. Anyway, the book came out; lots of people pre-ordered books; and there were huge masses of people waiting to get their book--kinda like the iPhone launch but with costumes and people getting their money's worth.

While I do enjoy a good book every now and then, and I find the Harry Potter books to be worthwhile reading material (a one way ticket to hell would be reason enough), I mostly put aside my usual wild and crazy Friday nightlife aside for a week to freak watch at Borders, and I looked forward to it. I had some pre-work to do, as one needed to get their line position during the day, and when I showed up at 9:30am (they open at 9:00am) and saw a line of people who looked a little too much like they called the sidewalks there home, I was a tad bit scared. We (Liz was just as eager, but for reading every bit as much as people watchin--perhaps even more so) got place #116 in line, which altogether didn't sound bad. We planned on showing up around 11 to claim our place in line, gawk, and get out.

We got there around our planned arrival time, but to be honest I don't know when, and the parking lot was packed. Ugghhh! The store not surprisingly was packed too. It was loud, crowded, and there were more than a few annoying people. People can be annoying due to their loudness, their tone of voice, their sense of self importance, their smell, or sometimes for just being too ugly. We experiences all of those kinds of annoyances--sometimes in just one person! It wasn't all bad, as we got to see would be Quidditch players (complete with brooms), wannabe witches and wizards in their Hogwarts garb, wannabe Malfoys and other specific characters (including someone WAY too old to pull off Tonks), and lastly folks who thought their gear for the renaissance festival needed to be wore twice this year (what no theme weddings to go to?). beyond the annoying folks and those dressed up, we encountered people who obviously haven't left home in a while (I suppose when the last Harry Potter book came out), and they were overwhelmed by it all. Some of these folks were shaking (then again they could have been that pumped about Harry Potter). Anyway it all was good fun, but we were very happy to get the hell out of there.

Of course after all that fun there's nothing else to do but head home and start reading, which we did.

We Live in a Sick Twisted World

Ok, that's nothing new. Really, we all kinda already knew this, but there are some times when it becomes painfully obvious. Never is it more clear to me than when I see something suggesting that I eat it or worse yet, watching it eat it's own. Suicide and cannibalism, two disturbing words, and two even more disturbing concepts.

What am I talking about? M&Ms suggesting you eat M&Ms or watching them eat their own. Worse yet, a trip to the annual rib festival is loaded with imagery of pigs, often angry or deranged, eating their own and suggesting that you do the same.

Apparently I'm not the only one bothered by this, as their is a blog devoted to circumstances like this.

Now those Chick-fil-A cows have it right. They are what's right with this world.

Day of the (almost) Dead

Today I decided to be a good boy and do a bit of grocery shopping on my lunch break, so I could cook a nice dinner for my boo tonight. Being a bit of a meat snob, I tend to frequent only a couple of places to get ground up bits of cow and other critters, so I decided to go to The Andersons. The Andersons is a general store, kinda like one would find in the old west, but modernized to be more like a less Ozarky version of Walmart. Anyway they have good meat, and I could grab everything else I needed.

As I pulled in the parking lot, I noticed something was odd. No it wasn't the giant tent in the parking lot (some tool sale rather than Cirque de Soleil), rather the odd ratio of Cadillacs to other hoopties jumped to my mind. Being ever the optimist, I assumed there must have been some sale on pimp canes or purple velvet hats. Much to my horror, the store was packed with old people. Slow moving, wandering, almost zombified old people. Women in silly hats and men in shorts filled my eyes while a static hum of the feedback hearing aids filled my ears. Dudes wearing prescription socks (lord knows you're up shit's creek when the best tool a doctor has to treat your heart are socks) and lots of chick who needed prescription bras (an old lady might bruise their knees with those sad sagging not-so-fun bags) filled the aisles, as I tried to cut through traffic to get to the butcher. When I got their I saw more of the Geritol set holding lists, and it occurred to me that it was not only the first of the month, but also Tuesday--senior day. It was a perfect storm, and the shit was coming down on me.

My well intentioned trip to the store sucked ass, and it only got worse when I realized that they wheel out their chronologically gifted employees to work the registers on days like this. Fuck they should have given me a 20% discount for being young. When I get old I'm not going to be some slow moving zombie who clogs the aisles, even if I have to smoke crack to give me that added bit of pick-me-up I need. This will never happen to me!

I hate you fat--sweaty dude with the lawnmower

This afternoon while cruising home, I had the unfortunate experience of seeing some big fat dude with his gratuitous plumber butt transitioning to his sweaty hairy back. While this was horrifying, it wasn't for the aforementioned reasons, ney it was what he was doing. Mowing his fucking lawn.

Goddamn Ohioans love their lawns too damn much, and they seem to love all of the crap that makes having a lawn suck more than anything. They love to mow; they love to fertilize; the love to weed. For a city with so many Mexicans, you'll fine nothing more futile than looking for a Mexican gardener, as there are none. Everyone loves to garden too much to pay someone a few pesos to do it for them.

Granted, Liz has suggested that we hire someone to mow the lawn, but somehow I'd feel ashamed to do it. Not so much because no one here does it, as I'm growing tired of some of the neuroses of Ohioan,s no, I'd have a hard time dealing with the fact that my mother or father mows the yard in the Florida heat with twice the yard. Until I can put them in a home somewhere, I will just do my duties and mow my lawn, but I'll be damned if I will do it just because I can. You Ohioans are sick--sick lawn mowing bastards!

I hate you fat sweaty dude with the lawnmower

This afternoon while cruising home, I had the unfortunate experience of seeing some big fat dude with his gratuitous plumber butt transitioning to his sweaty hairy back. While this was horrifying, it wasn't for the aforementioned reasons, ney it was what he was doing. Mowing his fucking lawn.

Goddamn Ohioans love their lawns too damn much, and they seem to love all of the crap that makes having a lawn suck more than anything. They love to mow; they love to fertilize; the love to weed. For a city with so many Mexicans, you'll fine nothing more futile than looking for a Mexican gardener, as there are none. Everyone loves to garden too much to pay someone a few pesos to do it for them.

Granted, Liz has suggested that we hire someone to mow the lawn, but somehow I'd feel ashamed to do it. Not so much because no one here does it, as I'm growing tired of some of the neuroses of Ohioan,s no, I'd have a hard time dealing with the fact that my mother or father mows the yard in the Florida heat with twice the yard. Until I can put them in a home somewhere, I will just do my duties and mow my lawn, but I'll be damned if I will do it just because I can. You Ohioans are sick--sick lawn mowing bastards!

A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing Part II

Last week or whenever it was I commented about the hidden menace of Christian radio in disguise. Well this week I found out that there is an even more popular sheep in wolf's clothing on none other than American Idol. You see Chris Sligh, the nerdy mop headed dude is more deacon than dork. He's a former student at none other than Bob Jones University. Yes THAT Bob Jones university, the one even Billy Graham and President Bush (neither known for liberal views) distanced themselves from. Well Graham was practically disowned by Bob Jones because he actually had the nerve to talk with Catholics. You see Bob Jones Jr thinks this of Catholicism:

"not another Christian denomination. It is a satanic counterfeit, an ecclesiastic tyranny over the souls of men....It is the old harlot of the book of the Revelation—'the Mother of Harlots.'"

Well things are getting a bit more reasonable at Bob Jones, as they will allow interracial couples since 2000. Yes folks, it wasn't until 2000 that it was OK. Blacks weren't welcome at all until the 70's, and that was only due to tax implications (well money does come before bigotry).

Here are some of their enlightened rules:

• Freshman and sophomore residence hall students must sign out before leaving campus; students with junior and senior privileges may leave without signing out between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m.. Curfew is at 10:25 p.m., and residence hall students must be in their own rooms and quiet at 11 p.m. Lights must be out by midnight.
• Each student is provided with a filtered e-mail account. Using unfiltered Internet access via computer, mobile phone, or satellite phone is prohibited for residence hall students. The university provides content-filtered Internet access for student use that blocks pornography, "lurid violence," racial hate, and other "objectionable content."
• DVD/VCRs are not allowed in residence halls; DVD players on computers cannot be used for watching films. Televisions may be used only as monitors to play video games.
• Students are forbidden to attend movie theaters or, when visiting local homes, to watch any films with a rating higher than a G rating. Residence hall students are not permitted to play, use, or own video games that are rated T, M, or Ao or that include profanity, sensual or suggestive dress, rock music, graphic violence, or demonic themes.
• Students may not listen to country, jazz, New Age, rock, rap, or contemporary Christian music.
• Residence hall students are permitted to work off-campus only until 10:25 p.m. on weekdays and midnight on weekends, and students may not solicit door-to-door without a retail license or permission from the dean of students.
• The University will not allow anything displaying the logos of Abercrombie & Fitch or its subsidiary Hollister to be "worn, carried, or displayed" on campus even if the logos are covered because these companies have "shown an unusual degree of antagonism to the name of Christ and an unusual display of wickedness in their promotions."

Scary--ney, scarier than scary

What's scarier than a schizophrenic, a schizophrenic who's been brainwashed into being well through the power of Jesus.

Longtime readers recall I've written about the said state of schizophrenics before, and BTW, let me just pat myself on the back for being able to spell it correctly the first time!!!! More recent readers have read about the Jesusification of the FM dial. Well, imagine being schizophrenic, bipolar, severely depressed, or worse and pulling into Walgreens to get you happy pills or whatnot. As you pull in, you drive by the Jesus Outreach Center with a scrolling marquee, telling you that they can treat your mental ailments, which they listed in detail. Why pay good money for medicine, when you can just stop by and pray away your mental illness.

Let me tell you my deranged friends, listen to your neighbors dog, the voices in your head, even the advice Jerry Springer gives at the end of his show--anything instead of the marquee at the outreach center. There are enough crazy Christians out there--we don't need any more.

We came, we saw, we took pictures (finally over)

Before long it was time to depart SoCal and head back to Sacramento. We decided to take a detour via San Francisco to make our trip all that much more interesting. Mother nature almost made us make a detour of her own, but we were able to go as planned via I-5--unfortunately all was not well there. You see they had quite a bit of snow (a few inches, which might as well be a few feet in Southern California). Folks there just don't know how to handle snow. When I say that, I'm not just speaking of the average Joe, as the folks taking care of the roads appear clueless too. Rather than use something sensible, such as salt (likely plentiful too--they have that big ass ocean to get some from) , they used the only thing that is more plentiful--sand! While salt and sand may appear similar at first, only one of the two helps melt ice/snow, and they chose the wrong one! So to make things safer (both from the snow/ice and the man made obstacle: that stupid sand), they insist on escorting the cars at a ridiculously slow speed to make it all safe and retarded. I officially started to miss Ohio.

Spending an afternoon in San Francisco certainly falls short of seeing it all, but we packed quite a bit in. I got to see the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and we ate at Fisherman's Wharf. My quest for Rice A Roni went unfulfilled, but we enjoyed some great seafood with nice views.

Speaking of views, we got to spend a while admiring the wonderful characters that were at Pier 39. These included so many interesting people that Liz had to refrain from commenting to keep her voice in check, and there were the sea lions too. Even if I did get some Rice a Roni, the highlight still would have been the Sea Lions. They were huddled onto a few floating docks--packed almost like refugees (they likely smelled better though). These big fellas seemed to enjoy the sun and the tourists. Whenever a boat would pass, they would stand at attention and great the guests with a loud chorus and many waves. Every once in a while one of the sea lions would want to crawl on top of the others, which would create quite the ruckus.

The only other memorable moment of note after returning from San Francisco was flipper boy, a dude who wore a tank top that would qualify as long sleeves, since his hands were attached to his shoulder. Miraculously, we were able to watch him eat ice cream and watch others watch him eat ice cream (which was even more entertaining). Sadly no pictures.

California was interesting, enjoyable, and a nice diversion from our day to day life, but we were very glad to be going home after a week. Thankfully everyone was safe and sound when we got home. We're definitely going back (Liz's parents newfound liking of me would cease if we never went back), and hopefully we can spend more time towards to top half of the state, perhaps touring wine country as well.