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.

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!

PMPin Ain't Easy

Last week I decided to make an honest pimp of myself. Well I decided a while back, but I made it happen last week. You see a pimp friend of mine--names will remain anonymous to protect the guilty--joined me in a crash training course for the pmp exam. Little did we know that meant a crash diet for some, a crash course in mathematics for others, and a crash head first into boredom.

It all seemed nice from afar, a course provider promising a success on the test with the added carrot of a week away from the office. Well sometimes the cheetah catches its prey because its just lame or retarded, and that doesn't make for much of a chase. I went to a cheetah course and it was lame, retarded, and more gulag than gitmo, but that's hardly reason to bust out the sparklers and champagne. Oh, and then there's the preechy no caffeine or carbs bs. Are you kidding me!?! That's how I graduated college in two years and have enough hokey financial services certifications to do a decent game of scrabble with the letters behind my name.

Sadly those letters don't matter, as afterall who's a better merchant than a pimp. At least I got to study under the tutelege of a savant who even tried to pimp me! Pimpin a pimp, who would havr thunk it?

So anyway I was trapped in Stalag 17 for a week and all I got was this blog. At least you got Hilton Rewards points at the Hanoi Hilton, let alone the bones miles doled out for suffering through "1 Night in Paris". Oh fyi. They could have called it five minutes in Paris.

I'm 17 years ahead of the world

Liz and I saw Hamlet 2 this weekend, and it was everything I'd hope it would be (among other things in included a sequel to Hamlet involving a time machine and Jesus--sexy Jesus in fact). Watching the clever sequel to the Bard's masterpiece seemed oddly familiar, like deja vu. It took a few moments for it to all make sense, but it wasn't long before it hit me in the face. This notion of a time machine to fix Shakespeare's tragic endings wasn't new, I had thought it up in 8th grade! No it wasn't Hamlet, we didn't have to read it until high school, and to be honest after seeing Kennith Branagh's version in a foolish moment masochism in college, I'd wish them all a horrible death. No need to go back in time to save anyone. Anyway, it was "Romeo and Juliet", which has a similar story to Tromeo and Juliet.

We read the play, watched the movie (yeah the one with the chick with nice hooters), and afterward we had to do some lame creative project. Dioramas, mobiles, scrapbooks, and other shit were heaved upon our teacher. Not being one to be outdone, I decided to fight fire with fire, and do a bit of writing--a new ending to "Romeo and Juliet". Sure it's rather adolescant, but for a good reason. I was like 13 or 14, and I was heavily influenced by what I saw on TV.

One day MacGyver and his boss Pete were out fishing. They caught marlin on MacGyver's homemade line. Pete was sea sick and he had already puked three times on "Phoenix I," the corporate boat, so MacGyver drove him home. MacGyver wasn't tired, so he decided to read the book he got this month. The book was a Shakespearean play, "Romeo and Juliet," to be exact.

LATER

After reading the play, MacGyver dozed off. He was saddened by the tragic ending. He wished he could do something. "WAIT," he thought, "Maybe I could build a time machine." He thought about what he would need.
He decided to call Dr. Bruce Banner a buddy of his; the good doctor was an expert on many time traveling theories. The doctor could warn him of any dangers. The doctor was not as smart as MacGyver; nobody is.
MacGyver knew he needed to travel to modern day Verona so he called the "A-Team." They could get him a plane and help fly it. The A-Team could build anything, but not with as few resources as MacGyver. MacGyver needed their help due to the little amount of time in a 60 minute episode.
Face, Murdock, B.A., Hannibal, and Bruce arrived. MacGyver acquainted them of his plan. The "A-Team," will build the plane and MacGyver will build the time machine.
B.A. quickly pulled the van up to the garage. Hannibal told Face and Murdock to unload the welding equipment. They did so. B.A. congregated the spare sheet-metal and steel tubing that MacGyver has lying around. Face detached the engine from MacGyver's truck. Murdock went up to MacGyver's attic to get the excess carbon fiber MacGyver has up there. B.A. welded a large frame. Face bent the sheet metal to form a fuel tank. Murdock modified MacGyver's truck's engine. He made it into a jet engine. Hannibal and B.A. weaved the carbon fiber around the frame B.A. made. Face took the glass from MacGyver's truck to form a windscreen for the plane. Murdock took the gauges from MacGyver's truck and put them in the plane. B.A. welded the engine on. Face welded on the fuel tank. Murdock connected the fuel tank to the engine. Hannibal cut a door in the plane's body.
MacGyver gathered ten coathangers, a potato, and a touch-tone phone. First he stretched out all the coathangers. Second he tied all of them together forming a loop. Next he separated one connection, putting the potato between the ends. Finally he wired the phone up to the potato. The machine would get its power from the potato. The date would be entered into the phone's keypad. The coathanger loop would be the gate between now and then. Bruce warned MacGyver of the ramifications of altering history. The group went out to the plane.
B.A. said "Good-bye," to the others. B.A. got into the van. Before he could start the van, face gave B.A. a shot that put B.A. to sleep. They boarded the plane. Murdock moved into the pilot's seat. B.A. was dumped on the floor. The plane whizzed down the street. Eventually it became airborne. The plane would just barely make to Italy.
During the flight MacGyver sewed some period appropriate clothing. The plane made it to Italy, but the plane did not make it to Verona. They had to ditch the plane in the middle of an open field. They did not know that Rambo IV was be filmed on that location. Explosions were occurring to the plane's right. B.A. woke up. Then Rambo came running towards them. He did not know that the plane was not supposed to be there. He sprayed lead into the plane. Fortunately all of Rambo's bullets were blanks.
"Cut," said the director, "I said cut dammit." Rambo ceased fire. The director approached the plane. MacGyver went to Rambo, while Hannibal tried to make up an excuse for the director.
"We have supplies for the Pope," said Hannibal.
"The Pope you say; what supplies do you have," said the director.
"Parts for the Popemobile," replied Hannibal. Meanwhile MacGyver persuaded Rambo to divert the director while the A-team fixes the plane.
"YO, Direcduh," said Rambo. The director went to Rambo. The A-team took all that was worth keeping. All was loaded on three Jeeps. The A-team, the doctor, and MacGyver boarded the Jeeps. Rambo jumped in one of the Jeeps. MacGyver grudgingly let Rambo come along. After three tense hours they arrived in modern day Verona.
MacGyver set up the time machine. Dr. Banner warned MacGyver once again. B.A. did not want to have anything to do with a time machine, so he suggested that he stay back, I mean forward, to guard the machine. Murdock called B.A. a coward. B.A. decided to go along. The group walked into the loop. Upon arriving in the past, they noticed that their hair was standing up. B.A. was not affected, as his hair stands up anyway. They were 100 ft. from the gates to the city. As expected, they arrived on Thursday, Juliet's second wedding day. MacGyver suggested that they all wait by the gateway, while he went to Friar Lawrence's cell.
Rambo had another idea; he grabbed as many weapons as he could. He raided the gates of the city. He sprayed lead into the guards that tried to stop him. He then ran into the first building he saw, and then he set a bomb to blow up five minutes from then. He ran out of the building carelessly mowing down anyone he could find, enjoying it. Meanwhile, Dr. Banner could not stand the violence. He got bigger, greener, and meaner. He became the "Incredible Hulk." He ran into the city randomly taking care of anyone Rambo hasn't killed. Rambo stormed the Montegue's home. He did not shoot anyone; he instead pulled out his trusty survival knife. He began gashing people with it. He cut into people, then pulled up with all of his strength. One by on he killed all the Montegues, but one, Romeo. He then pulled out three grenades, and then ran out of the house throwing the grenades on his way out.
B.A. encouraged the A-team to do the same. Hannibal instructed B.A. to retrieve a cart. B.A. did so. Hannibal told Murdock and face to gather wood. They did so. Within ten minutes the cart and the wood became a wooden tank. Hannibal retrieved a nearby horse and hitched it up to the cart-tank. The A-team boarded the tank. Murdock controlled the horses. The tank stormed the town.
Meanwhile, Hulk stormed the Home of Paris. He sought out anyone. First he picked up a servant, then he threw him 20 feet. Next he saw Paris; he then picked him up and crushed him. Hulk continued.
Concurrently, MacGyver arrived at Friar Lawrence's cell. He told him that Romeo will not be informed of the Friar's plan. At first the Friar did not believe MacGyver, but finally MacGyver convinced him. The Friar then went immediately to Capulet's tomb. MacGyver, believing his job was done, returned to the porthole.
As this was going on, Rambo stormed Capulet's place. He did not know that the A-team was attacking from the back of Capulet's place. The A-team fired at servants, and at Rambo. Rambo was hit by a bullet.
He turned and ran into the building spraying lead all over the place. Rambo had lost touch with reality. He no longer had full control of his body; primal instincts took over. He became the ultimate killing machine. He shot and killed all the A-team. He killed Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and anyone else he could see. He set bombs all over the complex. He stormed out of there. He ran into neighboring homes doing the same. He no longer knew why he was killing, he just knew he liked it.
Rambo saw Hulk; he immediately shot twenty, thirty, forty times. Hulk did not fall; he attacked Rambo. They fought hand to hand for minutes. Then Rambo pulled out his knife and stabbed Hulk with inconceivable power. He drove the knife upward. Hulk had a twelve inch gash stretching from his lower chest to his neck. Hulk then bit into Rambo with his last strength. Hulk fell.
Rambo, wounded, stopped for a minute. He stuck his knife in the hole from the bullet. He cleaned out the wound by twisting the knife. He then pulled out the bullet and the knife. He opened a bullet. He poured the powder in the wound. He then lit it. The ferocious heat sealed his flesh shut.
While this was going on, MacGyver arrived at the porthole. Only Colonel Decker and his merry men were there. "Where's Smith and the A-team?" asked Decker.
"Good question," returned MacGyver.
"Cut the crap kid, where is Smith?" yelled Decker irately.
"Colonel, I brought them here, and then they left. They refused to listen to me. Good luck finding them," said MacGyver.
"Put Mr. Angus MacGyver in cuffs," yelled Decker violently. "Damn you Smith," whispered Decker. "C'mon boys lets go after them," cried Decker. The group spread and searched for the A-team. MacGyver stayed behind handcuffed to a tree.
Rambo began his onslaught again. He attacked people, animals, even trees. He threw grenades everywhere. After destroying every building in town, he returned to the porthole. On the way he ran into a few of Decker's men. He slaughtered them with rapid bullet fire.
Back at the porthole, MacGyver used some lint in his pocket to unlock his handcuffs. He then waited for the rest to return. MacGyver saw Balthesar. He ran to him rapidly. "Balthesar! wait!" he yelled. "Juliet is still alive," he blared.
"What be you sayith," responds Balthesar. "I saw the fair Juliet put in her final resting place, she be as dead as Elvis," he replied angrily. "Do you hath say my dear eyes lie to thy?" questioned Balthesar.
"No, and you are right Juliet is as dead as Elvis," MacGyver stated with authority. MacGyver explained what happened to Juliet. Balthesar finally understood it all. MacGyver sent Balthesar on his way. Rambo returned. Upon seeing a familiar face Rambo got back in touch with reality. MacGyver and Rambo exited the past and entered the present.
Romeo talked with Balthesar. He then returned to what was Verona. The town and its residents were gone; only corpses remained. The only people left were Romeo, Balthesar, Friar Lawrence, and Juliet. Together with new residents, new town was built. Romeo ruled the town. Everyone who lived, lived happily ever after.

LATER

MacGyver woke up. He looked around. He realized that he was dreaming and that none of this really happened. He still felt dejected by the tragic ending.



Ok, the ending is a cop out. Throw out everything after that last "LATER", and it's so much better than the real thing. Still tragic, but kinda happy--right? The Tivo of life is 17 years behind me. Time to fast forward through commercials!

Tom Jones, Niel Diamond, and Magnus

Ever wonder what it's like being Tom Jones' tour manager or maybe Niel Diamond's roadie? Whew, I though I was the odd one. Anyway, besides being trampled by over exuberant ladies and maybe some confused dudes, I'm sure it's got its charms. You never get bored or are at a loss for good people watching. The closest any mortal will ever get to this insanity is taking Magnus out in public, as like the lure of Mr Jones and Mr Diamond, he's irresistible. Actually, his draw is much much stronger.

I suppose it makes sense, animal attraction to of all things an animal, but Magnus is so much more than an animal. I imagine maybe the Dalai Llama or some other quasi deity strolling through Tibet may get as much attention as our dear Magnus, maybe on a good day, but I doubt it. You don't believe me? Mom's abandon babies in shopping carts, cashiers leave their tills, and grown men become as sappy as a little girl with their first little pony. Even people used to being around puppies are compulsed to touch him, to dote over him, to merely be near him. Other dogs feel the lure too. Everyone wants to be near the Magnus, though ironically enough, Magnus just wants to lie by my (or Liz') feet and lay low.

I suppose he's a bit like a fluffy (1980s) Michael Jackson. Gosh, I hope his fur doesn't turn all white. He does has a high pitched bark, and I've seen him playing with my gloves. Hmmmm

Intervention time!

The End is Near

On Sunday August 3rd 2008, the Advantium became self aware.

Liz and I both like to cook, but we love kitchen gadgets. You name it, we've owned it, and with no one holding us back for sanity's sake, its a miracle we're not smothered in gadgets. With a solid household income, Amazon Prime, and infomercials, it's really only space that's holding us back. It really was an issue when her gadget collection united with mine, and until recently we were hovering at that rather restrictive ceiling.

We decided to kick things up a notch by building a new wall of cabinets to house gadgets plus a counter top to display our prized possessions. Out came the breadmaker and the blender, Cuisinart, and KitchenAid had proper homes. We really shouldn't get more, lest we go back to shuttling stuff to/from the garage, but there just had to be a better option. We need more stuff!!!

Like most folks, we have a microwave (two actually), and I'm not sure if this is normal, but we NEVER used it--err either of them. Our solution? Get a new (third) microwave. A cry for help? Not really, as this one can go over the stove. We needed a new vent anyway, and this hardly cost much more, and it's a gadget!

Oh boy, is it a gadget. You see it's a microwave, a vent, and a light ... but wait there's more: it's also a convection oven! But if you order in the next 20 minutes, we'll throw in the ability to cook with halogen lights! Geesh, how could we resist (especially on clearance). We couldn't, and the next thing you know, we're tearing out cabinets, running wires through walls, and rebuilding cabinets to make room for ... The Advantium.

The geniuses at GE (the company that brought us Lexan, Borazon, and ALF!) created this triumverate of cooking, and the halogen bulbs are the real advancement (seems a lot like a heat lamp at Mickie D's to me). The real kicker is how the thing thinks. It knows what you want to do, and then outsmarts you. It's more human than human, and all to scary. The end is near.

Now I just need to figure it out.

Putting the cart before the horse (part 4)

Our journey continued when we reached Dingle following the fool hearty trip through Connor Pass. Dingle, a quaint seaside town now brimming with tourists (we saw more tour buses in Dingle than we saw tourists elsewhere), still possess ample charm. Liz came in search of the legendary Murphey's Ice Cream, and I searched for the eponymous berries. At least one of us came away with the prize. Beyond foodstuff, Dingle offers a host of interesting characters, from the sharp witted dude in the ice cream shop to the tour guide turned B&B proprietor, the people were more interesting than the cows and sheep (which says a lot--really).

After strolling through town, and buying some umbrellas (Guinness of course--too bad it wasn't raining Guinness), we made our first journey around the Dingle Peninsula. While I was unsuccessful in my berry quest, we did rind roadside shrines, beehive structures, stone forts, and lots and lots of sheep in our first go round. We didn't stop for too much, as we were killing time (ouch bad pun, you'll see) while our B&B proprietor was attending a funeral. It was unfortunate, as when we met her, we discovered she had quite the attack plan for seeing all there is to see in the peninsula (and saving a few bucks with local knowledge and tricks). We also began our strategy for the next day's mission, the Ring of Kerry.

The Ring of Kerry, is a route around the Iveragh Peninsula, which has a spine of mountains, glorious valleys, and beautiful lakes. Oh, it overlooks the ocean too. We initially decided to follow the advice of the B&B proprietor and bypass the full blown ring, focusing on the Gap of Dunloe and a few other chunks of the ring without going whole hog on the 170 kilometer (105 mile) journey. On our way to the Gap of Dunloe, we saw goats (sadly the only two we saw in all of Ireland) on the roadside and followed signs to a nearby castle. We should have known that having goats lead us to a castle might make the castle a bit more WT than average, and the doublewide trailer, broken cars, and the "Villa Roma" sign indicated either we were in some long lost (very lost) Roman Villa, or in the land of Irish Rednecks with a sense of ironic humor. I'm not sure which would have been the better option.

The Gap of Dunloe is a valley that's composed of grazing land for sheep and a narrow road that's closed to traffic, unless its hoofing it. When we say hoofing it, we mean allowing an animal with a hoof to do the dirty work, in this case a horsee names Beauty. Bueaty was driven by a dude with a heavy Kerry accent, lots of stories to tell, and aparantly a cell phone with awesome coverage. We rode into the valley and back, passing folks who really didn't understand "hoofing it", running into horse traffic, and watching silly Americans develop saddle sores that will make them walk like the survived Deliverance.

After our horsee trek, we had plenty of time left, so we decided to throw caution to the wind and take on the ring. Along the way we had pancakes, visited some forts (being cheapskates and not paying), snapped a lot of pics of sheep, and enjoyed the breathtaking scenery. One of the most vivid moments was watching a bunch of tourists who were congregated in an incredibly windy break in the mountains try to take a picture. It must have been a sustained 50mph+ wind with stronger gusts--it was rather funny. Beside that we saw more trailers, surfers, lots of big ass buses, and more sheep. We made it through the ring in good enough time to make it home to Dingle for dinner, and another journey (remember it stays light until 10:30pm!).

After tapas, you know the traditional Irish dinner, we decided to re-do the Dingle Peninsula. I had the brilliant idea to go the opposite direction that we were given directions in, which likely would have just been novel had the map been more accurate than One-Eyed Willy's treasure map. Despite our wanderings, we visited an oratory that was 1400 years old (ie not built in 1400AD, rather 600AD) and still holding up well, some ruins that were ruined, and caught a glimpse of the Sleeping Giant. By then we were actually seeing the sun set, and it was soon time to retire. Our two days in Dingle, along with our journeys in County Kerry were wonderful. Sadly we only had one more night in Ireland.

Our last night was in Bunratty, which is conveniently (and I doubt not coincidentally) close to the airport. We made decent time, including another visit to Limerick, but alas when we left the charming company of our B&B there, we were too late to visit the local castle. Having already heard Sinead, or gracious host fail to get us a reservation at the castle for dinner, this was a rather crushing disappointment. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and damnit it was our honeymoon. In a land where divorce has been only legalized in my lifetime and where having kids out of wedlock is still tantamount to being shunned, I knew the power of marriage and being on a honeymoon had to have some traction. Fortunately our efforts to fly standy at the catsle paid off, and we were able to feast on soup, ribs, capons, and other medieval fare. Ironically enough, we were seated accross a family from Powell. Before you know it, the night was over, as was our Irish honeymoon. The memories will last forever, and we'll likely find ourselves back in Ireland someday.

Putting the cart before the horse (part 3)

You wanted more? I sure hope so, as here it is:

One thing that was omnipresent from our time in Connemara through the rest of the trip belies visualization, as relies moreso on other senses--notably smell. Ireland has a unique way of fueling fire, almost as creative as Cleveland's use of flaming rivers, they burn the dirt. You read that right, they dig up peat in bogs, slice it into bricks, and dry the lot. The dried bricks of peat can be burned. You can even buy peat briquettes in grocery stores. The sweet smell of peat permeates the landscape, and homesick Irishmen can even buy incense that smells like peat.

So we drove south from Connemara, smelling peat, and enjoying the countryside. Friday was a disappointing day, as everywhere we ventured seemed to be closed, off limits, or a secret place to park and fornicate. We spent an hour looking for the legendary Castle Mattrix, but we were unsuccessful in finding a way there.

Putting Friday's disappointments behind us, we set off from Adare and headed toward Dingle. The last words of the gentleman at the B&B were to warn us to avoid a certain town (Castlegregory) if it was cloudy. It was cloudy--Ireland and all, and we decided to head there. It wasn't that bad--how bad could it be? Well Castlegregory was fine, though the clouds and rain tempered the view quite a bit. We were able to see surf shops, surfing school, and lots of tourists. It was almost like Florida--well not really. Anyway, we had survived Castlegregory. We then set out to get to our final destination, Dingle. We had no idea what we were getting into.

There's only one vaguely direct route between Castlegregory and Dingle--the Donner Connor Pass. The clouds and rain hindered our view of the pass, but we clearly saw the "Turn Back Now" signs--both sets. We trekked on. The road, like most we encountered in Ireland, typically accommodated 1.5 normal sized cars, which is about the size of one US highway lane. Unlike that highway lane, which is meant for one car going one way, the roads in Ireland are meant for two going opposite ways. The road to Connor Pass started as 1.5 cars wide, with occasional moments that allowed for two, but it degenerated to barely accommodating one car passed the second "Turn Back Now" sign. This would be problematic with two way traffic on a cliff side, which was the case, but throw in one more variable, and it became rather crazy: fog. Aha, that's what we were warned about. The fog in the pass made it impossible to see more than feet in front of your car, which together with the blind corners, made it insane. To make a long story short, I f'ed up and backed into the mountain trying to find a way to let 10 cars coming head on pass us. Good thing we had that damage waiver! We finally made it through the worst part, and when we saw the "Turn Back Now" signs in our rear view mirror, we knew we were done with it.

We then made it to Dingle, and were ready for the final days of honeymoon. To be continued...

Putting the cart before the horse (part 2)

I told you there would be more!

In Doolin we noticed a lot of hokey Irish souvenirs playing up the sheep as an iconic symbol of Ireland. They were cute and all, but gosh, we saw 100x more cows than sheep. Maybe after one too many Guinness the sheep and cows start to blur together.

After the two joyful days in Doolin and the surrounding area, we trekked to Connemara. The region is divided by several mountain ranges (yes Liz they're mountains, not hills :p) and dotted, nee blanketed with sheep. Sheep on either side of the rode and on the rode. Fences seem to be more a suggestion of a boundary than a real indifference, and the sheep's brazen attitude toward oncoming traffic made Canadian Geese look timid. Maybe it's the punk rock inspired spray-painted doos? Regardless, they really are the most striking memory of our journey--well that is if you ignore the bizarre inhospitable manor house we stayed in (imagine the hotel from the Shining with a Frenchmen pretending to be Irish running the show).

The Zetland Country House really was in the country, which we found out when the only available lunch offerings was their own (based on their 60 Euro dinner prices and the readily apparent creepiness, we passed). Our wanderings led us on a 10 kilometer trek to a marginally less isolated place which featured a gift shop/pub/restaurant. Given that was our only option, we begrudgingly took them up on their lackluster dining options and watched an Irish soap featuring chlamydia and statutory rape as the main story line. Sadly the TV show was better than the food.

After this lackluster beginning to our Connemara stay (which we drove forever from Doolin to get to), we saddled up our mighty Getzy and drove on. We barely made it to the gorgeous Kylemore Abbey before closing time, but alas the gardens that interested us more than the abbey were already closed. The abbey itself is now home to an exclusive girls school--you know the type that you see in horror movies. We took pictures (and a passer by was kind enough to take our picture) and moved on (to the gift shop).

We also had to pass on the nearby national park. Irishmen take note: if it's daylight until fucking 10:30pm, don't close your outdoor activities at 6pm--that's lunacy! We enjoyed the the rest of our journey by driving through the countryside, taking in the beautiful vistas, and driving on the stunning Sky Road near Clifden. We finished our day by enjoying a delightful dinner on the patio of a pub.


Even more to come ...

Putting the cart before the horse

Before I start some long rambling blog or series of blogs about our honeymoon, I should write about our beautiful wedding. Well I should, but I won't (not today). Anyway, our honeymoon. I suppose our honeymoon began when we left the reception, but to avoid writing some torrid romance, I'll start with our flight to Ireland. Ireland is surprisingly close to the US, and our flight to New York and our layover there was almost as long as our trip to Ireland. In that layover, Liz and I had the opportunity to see the Ukrainian Special Olympics team. I never met an Olympian, but it likely was best that we didn't ask for autographs or photos. In hindsight, I wish I asked for both. Before long we were on our flight to Shannon, Ireland (no where near Kathy). After a bit of shock at the cost of the more or less required insurance (it will pay off later), we were rewarded when the kind unassuming lady behind the counter blurted out chuckling "drive it like we stole it". If we ever stole a car, it would not be a golden Hyundai Getz.

After whirling through two dozen or so roundabouts (and a few roads not on our Garmin) we arrived weary and jet-lagged in Doolin, a seaside town known for its music scene. A uber power-nap revived us for a trek to the Cliffs of Insanity Moher, which in true Irish fashion was cast in an overcast sky and on-again / off-again drizzle. The cliffs were a sight to behold, and you really need to be there. The fact that they had a suicide hotline # posted was a real clue that nothing good comes from getting too close to the edge. Seeking a better way to get near the salty spray, we went to the docks in Doolin. A quick glance revealed why there were no boats departing, but it sure was a great sight to see, let alone sound to hear. All of this is a whirlwind that was just day one.

I had been not so much persuaded but rather goaded into the Irish Breakfast, which is likely what the wicked witch fed Hansel and Gretal. It's huge, but I suppose you gathered that already, but it's also heart and well ... fatty. Irish folks love bacon (well they call it that, they like our confused friends to the north--and I don't mean Michigan-- call this odd hammy stuff bacon), and they love sausage (bangers in Gaelic) just as much. A few clogged arteries later, and we were off on our journey to the Burren. Ever wonder what the moon would be like with lichen and sheep? Well we were there, and we took pictures. Its really hard to describe, but its really amazing. What's sad is it's really just some giant ad for conservation efforts, as cave men (and cave women--time for you cave gals to stand up and take the blame as well) apparently damned themselves by felling a few too many trees. One thing led to another and everything lighter than boulders blew off into the sunset. Oddly enough conversationalists had to stop yuppies from boosting these rocks for zen gardens.

More to come ...

The White Death

Columbus, OH doesn't tend to get a whole lot of snow (compared to Cleveland or Buffalo), and until debacles in recent years, the city lacked any kind of adequate capacity to clear the streets to allow life to go on. Now this doesn't stop forecasters, reporters, and the average Joe from spreading frightful tales of the coming "white death" every time there is a chance for snow. The only thing more comical is watching reporters with little else to do but stand near a mound of stored up rock salt and and point cameras at the sky to watch little flurries fall.

So when these accounts began again on March 6th, foretelling a snowstorm like none other this year--one with 4-6 inches of snow on Friday March 7th, well Liz and I dismissed it, and we expected the usual weather Cheerio to save Columbus. Weather Cheerio: Liz's term to describe the phenomena where bad weather--notably rain and snow, tends to encircle Columbus, but not inflict its wrath on Columbus itself. Anyway, we both went to work and expected little if any drama. We even made plans to join my friend/coworker Shawn at a hockey game Friday night. In short, we heard the boy cry wolf before.

By mid morning, it appeared that they were underestimating the amount of snow, but it likely was just coming down sooner rather than later. After lunch rumors of my employer sending non essential workers home spread, and outlying school districts closed early. Then roadways began to get all jacked up, as folks couldn't see due to the whiteout, and the snow and ice were piling up faster than any plows could address. I dare not mention the overall incompetence of Columbus drivers. It was getting ugly. I let for work early, and Liz did too. This was before they declared a Blizzard warning.

We finally realized that they weren't crying wolf, but they were still wrong. We got the predicted amount of snow well before the worse was to be unleashed. Now they were forecasting 14 inches! Not being one to look a gift hockey ticket in the mouth, Shane persuaded Liz into braving the blizzard. Oddly enough, while 99% of all businesses were closed and the county recommended staying at home, it was clear and sunny--the calm before the storm.

After the game and for another 18 hours it snowed, and it typically was heavy. At times it was hard to see through the blowing driving snow, but the boys and I found some time to play in the snow and take pictures. I even ventured out to score some pizza, but that proved rather irrational.

In the end we got about 20 inches of snow, watched a whole lot of shitty movies, and suffered from cabin fever. While I got a bit of exercise shoveling snow, we were saved with some dudes and a truck plowing our driveway to freedom. Thank god for Mr Plow!

I am a Rock God

There are many things a lady can say to a man to make him all giddy, for for the purposes of this entry, I'll focus on one of them in particular "we should get Guitar Hero for Christmas".

After reaching a critical mass with whole episodes of South Park devoted to it (still awaiting the Heroine Hero game), it would be hard to resist. In fact, I've had lengthy discussions with a host of coworkers, all adults as I am--many even older than I, about Guitar Hero. Some even ponied up for Rock Band, and tackle the drums and guitar in an attempt to live out their dreams. Well for now, lets real it back in. Yes, Guitar Hero 3. Owning a 360, we opted for the easier to find Sams Club bundle (comes with the wired Guitar Hero 2 controller), and upon unwrapping it, the madness began.

At first it was pretty ugly. Getting booed off the stage sucks ass, even if it's just a game. Hell, it's even worse when it's a game, as you paid for the damn thing. Not one to get shown up, I persevered. Picking the right songs and finding my rhythm, I survived playing "Talk Dirty to Me", "Barracuda", and "School's Out"--all relatively easy for folks not in the know. I appeared to plateau, and soon I'd be washed up. Liz started to play, and she experienced the same blues, but then too she got better. I began to resign myself to musical parity or perhaps a parody of music. Then it happened.

My untapped potential got tapped, and then it was neither untapped nor potential. I was a rock god. Songs like "One", "The Number of the Beast", or even "The Devil Went Down to Georgia", bowed before me and my greatness. Now on to medium difficulty!

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.

I'm a Genius

Few things survive through the millenniums as pyramids, and few things can be guaranteed to succeed as those that have made it through the millenniums. These two facts are relatively benign on their own, but when a genius puts them together, well you have brilliance. Bask in my glow.

While others have built pyramids in recent years, they have made them into various trivialities as casinos, arenas, or entrances to museums. These aren't structures for the ages, and all in all, they are just rubbish. Greatness demands more, form must follow function. Pyramids, the structures people visit, the things on the dollar bills (which is what it is all about--money that is), and the structures one can see from space--they were the final resting place for royalty--ney gods who walked the Earth. What made them gods? The fact that they were buried in pyramids! We all want to be divine (that's why there are so many Mormons), and we all want to walk among the gods (that's why Zeus was such a mack-daddy--no real answer why no one wants to invite Mormons into their homes), so why not sell divinity?

Sell divinity? Yeah, that is my scheme dream. I need some help from investors, but why not take some abandoned land, scare off the hobos and shit, and build a giant pyramid. We could use prison labor (to make it authentic, we kinda made slavery illegal, but it seems to be a good compromise) to get it done, and when done it would be a giant mausoleum. If people pay thousands to be hacked up and frozen, why wouldn't they want to be hacked up and put in Canopic jars? Want to kick it old school and take it with you? We can offer treasure rooms, space for your loyal servants (you'll have to make arrangements to kill them, as I'm not a murderer--a scoundrel yes, murderer no), and even a fancy curse if you pay enough. Given that it would be quite an addition to the cityscape, I know I could get taxpayer funding for most of it, and hell it would be quite an urban revitalization. We could open up a Valley of the Kings shopping mall, a Nile River waterpark (crocs optional), and a Cleopatra's beauty school (she wasn't really that pretty, but we all have room to improve).

Once this works, I can sell franchises in other cities. Soon there will be pyramids everywhere and a whole prison system of really buff and rather tired inmates. Gosh watching COPs has become much more practical, as it is a form of job fair. I need to get to work! Anyone want to be my HR manager?

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 that Vol 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.

Gateway to the West and the Beginnings of a Jihad

This past weekend, Memorial Day weekend for those of you who may have missed out on it, was an occasion where Liz and I packed our bags and headed west. Not as far west as we had done for MLK weekend, but certainly enough to provide a pleasant change of scenery. The destination this time was St Louis, where our friend Michelle calls home.

Our journey out there was rather uneventful at first, with our driving past a 198 foot tall monstrosity of a cross in F'ingham being the only thing of note. Sadly it wouldn't remain that way for long, as we drove past two cows getting it on (well a cow and a bull). It's not as cool as it sounds, rather disturbing. Besides that, we pretty much could have forgotten the trip (dealing with the idiocy of Indiana gas stations is another matter).

So we get there, make our greetings, relaxed, hung out, and enjoyed one-another's company. We enjoyed their hospitality as well as the chance to meet Michelle's husband and sister. Being Memorial Day weekend, there was plenty of stuff to do, including a Greek Festival at an Orthodox Church, which also offered tours. Being that we all like learning new things and looking at different things, we took the tour. It started well enough, with an Orthodox Church architecture 101 as a beginning. We then we tricked into going church proper and grabbing a seat. The friendly approachable deacon type fella was replaced by an incredibly passionate priest, who thought we should pray as much as we breath. Finally, they brought in a recent convert to seal the deal, a former Lutheran minister no less. It didn't take long for him to basically say the world, with exception of the Orthodox Church, was going to hell in a hand basket. He proceeded to get into a spat with those who had the misfortune to sit behind us (ironically a former Orthodox Christian turned Lutheran--who could have asked for more?). We found a way to sneak out and make our exit. Good people watching, but the baklava was better.

Knowing us, it shouldn't be a shocker that we went to the zoo in St Louis (if nothing else the pictures should have been a clue). The zoo there is huge and free. Ironically enough, even given the free nature of it all, it seemed less crowded than the zoo here in Columbus. It was nice to see different animals and different environments. The zoo was in a large park, which also had an art museum and some space for festivals and performances. Both were used, with an interesting mash-up of a Shakespeare festival and a African Art show.. I'll let you picture it all.

I don't really have much to write about, but ...

I'll ramble on anyway. Recently the most prevalent matter for discussion in my life has been work, and I know better than to write about that. I suppose I could do the typical Ohio thing and write about the weather, but I suppose I could only do when I have reason to complain, and that ain't now. I did discover today that I could listen to one song in the time it takes to pull out of my garage, drive to work, and make my way upstairs and to my desk--the song is appropriately named Autobahn (if you've ever driven with me you'd know why it can be appropriate). Speaking of driving, last week my girl Ashley got banged up Old Testament style, she was stoned. Fortunately not to death, but it still sucks.

Liz and I have been hitting the theaters, with movies ranging from borderline suckdom to downright brilliant (Hot Fuzz). We've also discovered a pretty decent place to grab some chow, BJ's Brewhouse (where ironically enough they don't brew anything). Their signature dish, the Pizzookie, implies it's a mashing of pizza and a cookie, but it's not quite as good as that. Don't get me wrong it's delicious, but it's like when a dude describes a chick as a goddess, unless she's truly divine, and I mean able to shoot lightning bolts out of her fingers and all that omnipotent shit (none of that weak-ass demigod BS either), it's all hyperbole. Anyway, the Pizzookie is real good, just not pizza * cookie good. I guess that's it. I told you I didn't have much to write about.

Peace Out Homies!

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.

A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Feeling deceived is about the worst feeling in the world (well that and realizing that you really shouldn't have drank that water and Montezuma will be inflicting his revenge). Anyway, I and many other central Ohioans (those who say "pop" instead of "soda" and "mmmmmmmmmbye" instead of "goodbye" or simply "bye"), and it's the worst kind of deception. Far worse than a wolf in sheep's clothing (for after all the poor wolf must eat) is the sheep in wolf's clothing. The Christian guerrillas of the world, damn you to hell!

The story starts like many others, Liz and I were driving in my humble steed, Ashley, and we were surfing the radio dial for something to listen to (someone tends to tire of my iPod selections), and we stumbled upon 88.7, an odd frequency for anything other than NPR, college radio, or Christian radio. What we heard wasn't NPR, nor was it Christian radio. We didn't seem to hear any DJs or commercials, and the music was kinda good. Nothing was familiar and nothing was great, but it always seemed like there could be something good coming up, and neither one of us were playing too close of attention. Over the coming days we each listened separately for clues to the stations origins, and I heard them call themselves Radio U. Well, there we had it--a college station. Cool. We were a little skeptical still, as we were expecting an eclectic mix of formats and DJs, which is more typical of smaller college stations.

No, it was not cool. Liz listened a bit, and she seemed to here themes that were very Christian, and she was getting suspicious. I checked out their website, which revealed that they were owned by Spirit Communications, and they were all about anti-drug and anti-violence music (not all that bad in and of itself). Reading further I saw that they work with a local prayer line. Well damnit, they're Christians in hiding, pretending to be cool. Listening further, we heard one of the DJs bust out into a sermon.

Afterward I felt dirty--dirty and used.