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!

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.

My little Fight Club

For whatever reason, Fight Club, both in it's book and movie forms resonated with me. I'm not sure if it's being stuck in a corporate America morass, a fondness for Ikea, or just a taste for violence. Whatever, it's cool, I'm cool, and I'm doing my part--well if you ignore those first two rules.

Do I show up to work with shiners, spit out needless extra teeth in meetings, or try to pick fights at work? Maybe, but that's beside the point. Fight Club is bigger than Tyler Durden, it was an institution--a way of life. That's what I'm on to. While the soap making has yet to kick into full gear, the ass kicking is alive and well. I guess my fight club started when I had two eager disciples who weren't separated by bars, but bloodlines tended to quash matters more than steel bars. Fresh blood, new blood, hungry blood really livened things up.

Michael Vick really got into a quagmire with his whole operation, but he had it all wrong. Rather than train animals to be aggressive, violent, and hungry, one can just adopt ones who have that potential. Then all you have to do is feed, nurture, and support them. In time it all takes care of itself; all you need is a camera. Leo and Adler (above) sometimes have epic cat fights, but they are nothing compared to the earth shaking chaos that is a Kuma and Stuart bout. Kuma is sorta like an Emo Andre the Giant. Big, strong, but somehow not that menacing. Stuart is rather like X-Pac, little, greasy, and really really really hard to root for. At first Stuart defied logic and all reason, by whipping up on Kuma. Poor Kuma wasn't getting enough calories to have the energy to fight back. A hearty diet, some encouragement, and maybe a little goading, and Kuma the Giant found himself. Stuart was never the same.

Things got worse for Stuart, as little Magnus is fast becoming the Kimbo Slice of Columbus. He's never ran from a fight, and I've never seen fear in his eye. The little warrior tears toys from Kuma's mouth, makes Stuart run like a coward, and has even tried to gnaw his daddy into submission. His training has just began, and he's gaining a pound a day. We may have to bring in Godzilla to give him a good workout or fly him to Spain to run with the bulls. Until then, Kuma and Stuart will have to do. Poor Stuart!

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?

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!

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 End of The Year

Well, it's that time of year again. but I will spare you the monotony of a year end recap (well, for today at least). Last weekend, well weekend before last, as I've procrastinated a bit, Liz and I attended the year end party for her employer (rhymes with Yolanda). Now I've been to a couple of events from my employer (rhymes with Haitian Pride), though I kinda expected something much nicer, as Liz's coworkers have described this party as a prom of sorts. Anyway, enough of the buildup.

The party was at the Arena Grand, which is a newish mid-sized downtown theater. The Arena Grand has 8 screens, a large central lobby, and a couple of mezzanines above that. I half wondered how a company party could occupy all of this space, but the invite mentioned quite a few destinations (it had a New York City theme), each complete with food and activities. As we approached the garage, it was obvious that only company employees were welcome, and as we walked toward the theater, we were greeted with covered and heated walkways instead of a cold windy sidewalk. We get to the theater, and most people are dressed rather nicely, with many guys in suits and tuxes and many ladies in dresses and gowns. Some took it to the next level, with dress kilts, kimonos, and full cowboy regalia. We quickly got over our people watching, and sought out the food.

Our quest was brief, as we were bombarded with salmon hor'dourves and butternut squash shooters (yeah, there may be a NYC theme, but we're still in Ohio). We walked past a huge spread of meats and cheeses, as we were on a quest for sushi. We came, we ate, and we conquered. Damn there was a shitload of sushi there, and since we were unfashionably early, we could chow down. Afterwards, we sought out dinner. Yes, there were hor'dourves, sushi, and dinner. Dinner included all kinds of meats and mashed potatoes in martini glasses.

After dinner, came desert (chocolate fountain), and then pictures, a movie (Fred Claus), a comedy showed (we ducked out), video games (Wii), and karaoke (of course). There was a jazz band at dinner, which like the sushi was outside of the theater. Back to the video games, watching a couple in a suit and gown play Wii Tennis is a hoot. I never used a Wii before, but I got quite a workout bowling. On our way out we scored cotton candy and a Coney Island hot dog.

Needless to say it was very grand, larger than I expected, and blast. Next year I'm bringing a doggy bag.

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!

Our First Vacation

My employer (rhymes with Haitian Pride) was kind enough to send Liz and I on a trip to Walt Disney World last week, so I could officially receive a couple of professional designations (CLU, ChFC, and CASL for those non-existent people who care). To be honest the free trip was a huge part of my motivation for getting this motley assortment of letters to append at the end of my name and stamp out some of the white space on my business cards. While it would have been nice to spend all of my time with Liz and my parents (who joined us for a couple days, as they are still Floridians), I had to be fettered and tethered to the conference that went on (for IRS reasons--this is a "business" trip after all). Liz did manage to spend a lot of time at the theme parks, and oddly enough I did too (a real pimp can be at two places at once).

For the past few weeks, we both were very excited about the trip, as we haven't had a real vacation yet, and well who wouldn't be excited to go to "The Happiest Place on Earth"? All of that anticipation seemed in vane, as Liz informed me that Disneyland is "The Happiest Place on Earth", and Walt Disney World is merely "Where All of Your Dreams Come True". Damnit! If I want to dream that Disney World is the "Happiest Place on Earth", well then IT IS! I was going to be fucking happy! After being reminded that Disney World is a whole lot more expensive as an Ohioan (they have all sorts of Florida discounts that I've exploited over the years--next time I'm getting a fake Florida ID beforehand), we placed our fingers on the biometric turnstiles (EPCOT technology at work) and got happy--err had productive dreams.

We spent the better part of the first two days at EPCOT, which is dork heaven complete with animitronic dinosaurs, purple dragons, and lots of simulated culture. Liz even got to ride Test Track, which is kinda like a French chef touring a McDonalds kitchen. Oh speaking of smelly hairy types, one of the many fanciful meals we enjoyed was Liz's first encounter with es cargo. We also got to dine with the princesses in Norway, though I thought it would have been cooler to dine with the trolls, provided we weren't the main course. We also got to chow with Pooh, Tigger, and Eeyore in the Crystal Palace and some fellow dorks at the hotel (who knew there was another financial services nerd/engineer couple?) Crazy world indeed. Oh speaking of hotel, if you don't mind power outages (for "homeland security reasons") or intermittent construction that sounded like a moose getting unwanted dental work done, give Hilton a call.

Beyond EPCOT, we went to the Animal Kingdom, where we conquered Everest (really cool ride btw), brought elicit dinosaur contraband back from the past, and got to see many animals (which would seem obvious, but the first time I went there I saw more vultures eating a skunk carcass than anything I wanted to see). Too bad we missed the "Blackhawk Down" parade through Little Mogadishu. The following day we overcame Liz's dislike for free fall rides and being trapped in an Aerosmith themed roller coaster at MGM Studios. Lastly, we wrapped it all up in the Magic Kingdom, where we learned that it pays to complain to Disney employees. In between we got to witness my mom's amazing ability to use her Jedi mind tricks on the greater at the Polynesian meat feast (previously Disney Dining said they were booked full all week and suggested we try a night 180 days in advance!--that's not making my fucking dreams come true!)

Speaking of dreams coming true, I found out that it will be easy to add some more letters after my name and get a free trip to San Diego next September and something else which I'll save for my next blog.

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.

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?

I guess I like Craig more than that dude Tom

As y'all know, I'm an avid photographer, and some might say a good one (my philosophy: if you take enough pictures, one has to be good). For the past 3+ years, I've enjoyed my trusty Panasonic FZ10, which somehow came to be known as the "Fluzi" among its owners. Now, it wasn't some cheap fluzy--it cost most of my bonus a few years ago, but it certainly paid for itself through not having to buy/develop film. It also made the film camera I got just a few months before rather unnecessary. Anyway, I got a new camera a few weeks ago, one camera to rule them all!!!

Believe it or not, this blog isn't so much about getting a new camera as it is about an odd phenomena--Craig's List. While I got my new camera along with a lens, the combination is best for nearer subjects, not the distant critters one sees at the zoo and other places I wander. I knew this getting into the whole affair planning on using the proceeds from selling my two cameras to buy an uberlens. That's where Craig's List comes in. I had sold things via the company classified ads (they're online), but I knew the bigger net I cast, the higher price I could get. I really didn't want to mess with eBay, so I instead posted a few ads on Craig's List. at first it seemed too easy, offers started pouring in, then I realized that when you filtered out morons who thought a 35mm camera was digital, scams involving mailing it to Nigeria as a wedding gift in exchange for some dubious money order, or people who got cold feet and suddenly needed to tend to sick puppies (heard that a few times), it wasn't as easy as it seemed. In the process I mentioned Craig's list to a coworker who sold a boat in a manner of hours. Frustration set in, but in the end I got rid of both cameras and a PS2. Not bad.

All in all the place really seems like quite the active marketplace, and I suppose I'll use it again (you can't beat the price). I'm still amazed how close to the price of a new item someone will pay for a used one. Geesh. Oh, for you camera buffs out there, I got a Nikon D70s (refurb--yeah I'm a cheap German bastard), 18mm - 135mm f/3.5-5.6G ED-IF AF-S lens, and a 70-300mm f/4.5 - 5.6G ED-IF AF-S VR lens.

All of my newer pics can be found here.

Musings of a Peoplewatcher

One of the rules I tend to live by is thou shall not blog about work, and fortunately I have not only been able to live by it (save for a few bring your brats to work days), but I also still have a job. Anyway with a lead in like this, you know where we're going.

Well the other day my boss' boss' boss took me and a few others to lunch. She was also kind enough to drive, and her vehicle likely was the only one equipped to handle us five folks. Being taller than tall, I tend to be given the option to ride up front, which past experiences have always led me to take advantage of. I quickly hop in the front seat while four people, three with newborn babies and the fourth with young grandkids, tried to remove a child seat--you know, the kind that claim to be easy to remove. It took a good five plus minutes, and all along I couldn't help but think to myself, gee I could probably figure it out in five seconds and remove it in five more. the pleasure of watching it was so much more fun than any instant gratification of accomplishing the task.

Bob Barker is a Prophet

Everyone should be spayed and/or neutered. If you guessed today is take your brat to work day, give yourself a pat on the back. I'm no marketing guru, but Trojan man should make appearances all over the country today, at workplaces inundated with bright-eyed, sometimes bushy-tailed little tykes, running around, getting in my way, and otherwise making it hard to do my job.

Now don't get me wrong, it's not so much them stopping me from working that makes it a living hell, rather the fact that they stop me from working AND make it hard to enjoy it. Nothing bugs a slacker more than not getting any satisfaction from loitering.

What's odd is I had forgotten that today was the day, despite dreading it all week, but subconsciously I was really dreading heading in today. I had chalked it up to dreary weather and a desire to crawl back into bed, but now I know better, and I should have just followed my instincts, as last year was no better.

Oh well, at least yesterday was a good day, and maybe I'll survive to tomorrow. If not, it has been a good life--until today.

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!

Time to get that can of whoop-ass back off the shelf

Well, once again it is time for those nutty Buckeyes to face a reality check, and sadly once again it will have to come from my Florida Gators. Looking back to December, there was a lot of talk on the TV, the radio, and most annoyingly everywhere else up here about how Ohio State was gonna kick Florida's ass in basketball, then again for the national championship in football. For the record Florida won by 26 points in basketball. Well, that didn't really put a damper on all the talk that they'd kick Florida's ass in football for the championship. For the record Florida won by 27 points in football.

Well tonight Florida an Ohio State will meet again for a national championship, and they will meet again in basketball, as it is the basketball championship. Will the Gators win by 28 tonight? Who knows, and they may even lose--I seriously doubt that, but I won't be as arrogant as Bubba Buckeye, who incidentally seems very quiet today. That swagger was absent all day at work, and I think that a bit of humble pie has been consumed. I hope it stays that way, and worst case scenario, I know any Buckeye fan would trade 10 basketball championships for one in football. We already won that one.

Go Gators!

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!

If All Else Fails, There's Always Starbucks

If I recall correctly that was the motto of the Department of History at the University of Florida, and if it wasn't, well it should have been. Worry not, things are going well at work, so well we even got a bonus--not too much, otherwise I'd be writing about far cooler stuff--say maybe a new digital SLR.

Anyway, this is going somewhere ... yeah, with my bonus, I got Liz and I a new friend. No I didn't buy some slave on the internet, though having someone to clean the house, shovel the driveway, and amuse the dogs would be nice, but I did get a helper. His name is Frank. Unlike the somewhat creepy bunny dude in Donnie Darko, he's rather friendly looking and has a clear purpose.

Well, here's Frank, why is he called Frank, well he's the FrancisFrancis X5, and I'm not calling anything Francis, so we decided on Frank. I'm pretty much fueled on caffeine, hell I already had four different coffee making apparatuses (including another espresso machine), and I've been wanting a real espresso machine for a while. Deciding that I should get something fun with my bonus I decided I should splurge on an espresso machine. Given that Liz and I have started to amass a small collection of handsome appliances (and the great deal Illy has on these things), I decided to get an extra perdy machine.

So, in the days that have passed since Frank has stormed into our life, I've done what I do best, and learned everything there is to know about him and making espresso (lattes, cappuccinos, and other drinks too). There are quite a few interesting resources, ranging from geeks to champion baristas and everything in between. Now i just need a home still to help me unwind at the end of the day.