I'm writing this from the safety and security of Kentucky, where all in all, things are far less weird than Utah. It's scary when Kentucky is better than some alternative, but I suppose I already dealt with that in regards to Tennessee. By the time I publish this I'll likely be home in Columbus (currently stuck waiting for a delayed flight from Cincinnati to Columbus, but the Cincinnati airport is actually in Kentucky). Anyway, I've already written twice about Salt Lake City, especially it's weird quirks. I'll miss the mountains, and the dry air was really nice, but the weirdness, well that's definitely something I'll leave behind.
It started off normal enough, a giant Abercrombie Billboard (though I could do without the half naked dude on it). But besides that, it looked like some weird Sim City creation. From overheard, you could see the odd squareness of it all, in unnatural gridlike harmony. The city had areas devoted to industry, commerce, and residency, but they were strictly segregated, much like Sim City. Oh, there was no variety either. What was also odd was that there was one football stadium, one golf course, and one baseball stadium, and all kinda looked like what you'd see in Sim City--the airport too. A few years back, there was this odd tornado (they tend to mostly hit trailer parks in rural areas, not so common in cities), much like someone had turned disaster mode on. I'm glad there was no Godzilla sightings.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Trapped in Utah (continued)
Well after finding all the watered down beer (oh, and no wine at all) at grocery stores, I decided to embark on a quest to find the real McCoy. In Utah (like Soviet Russia) you have to get the real stuff from the government. There aren't many such stores in the state, but most of them are in Salt Lake City, so I was able to find one. It was quite a drive, and when I got there I drove past it, as it's deep into a shopping center with no sign on the street and only a small one on the building.
When I enter I see it's all utilitarian and there are no specials, gift boxes, or anything cool. Booze isn't much pricier than Ohio, but beer certainly is. Many six packs had one or more bottles missing, as someone could only afford a bottle or two. Beer is in fact sold by the bottle, and since any bottle of alcoholic beverage requires a special stamp. This per-bottle tax seems to hit beer the hardest, especially 12oz bottle of cheaper beer. Basically if you drink 1 liter bottles of high alcohol German beer your better off than Bud or something less exotic. Fortunately, the store did take credit cards (none of that lame cash only shit we have in Ohio), and they had a decent selection.
Now I just need to find a coffee shop. Seriously
When I enter I see it's all utilitarian and there are no specials, gift boxes, or anything cool. Booze isn't much pricier than Ohio, but beer certainly is. Many six packs had one or more bottles missing, as someone could only afford a bottle or two. Beer is in fact sold by the bottle, and since any bottle of alcoholic beverage requires a special stamp. This per-bottle tax seems to hit beer the hardest, especially 12oz bottle of cheaper beer. Basically if you drink 1 liter bottles of high alcohol German beer your better off than Bud or something less exotic. Fortunately, the store did take credit cards (none of that lame cash only shit we have in Ohio), and they had a decent selection.
Now I just need to find a coffee shop. Seriously
Trapped in Utah
A few months back I stumbled upon some information regarding conferences in Boston, San Francisco, and Miami. Having suffered the indignity of a conference in Toledo last year, I figured I deserved better. I passed along hints to my boss and his boss about some of the opportunities available at these conferences, but they didn't need to do the math on the costs to dismiss those options as less than ideal. I quietly went back to my work, and I hoped that things would change.
Well things changed, as my boss' boss read up on this cheap conference in Utah. The registration fee for the one in Utah was half as much, and it included meals. Adding to the cheapness was lodging, which was in the form of dorms (the former Olympic village from the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City). Well the writing was on the wall, I was doomed to Salt Lake City and not South Beach. Trying to make the most of it all, I booked a room in the university hotel, which must be nicer than the dorms, and I reminded myself that I'd eat well (though not necessarily the free fare included in the conference). After putting off the final arrangements for a while, I managed to find a non-stop flight to Salt Lake and a roughly direct flight back.
I certainly wasn't looking forward to the trip, mostly due to the fact I have something (and especially someone) to miss back home, but all-in-all the trip started well. After the aggravating experience of being squeezed into an airplane seat design for regular folk (I'm 6' 7"), I arrived in Salt Lake. The first sign that I was in Salt Lake was looking out of the window seeing mountains all around and a big ass lake. The plane landed, and I didn't quite see what I expected.
I imagined a big clean modern (though modest) airport to suit the Mormon culture and the fact that they hosted a recent Olympics and must have wanted to make a good impression (to boost tourism in future years). I also expected to see big families waiting for the arrival of their loved ones (picture five wives and fifteen kids waiting for dad to come home) or a bunch of missionaries. Well, none of that, and it kinda was dirty, old, and just not welcoming at all. At least my luggage arrived quickly.
Next was my rent a car experience. I never had to walk outside to get to a rent a car place, and since I know it rains and snows in Salt Lake City, it seemed quite retarded. After getting to the counter, I was surprised that the dude walked me all the way to my car (offered to lug my suit case) and let me pick my car. He was oddly nice and friendly, which says a lot coming from Ohio. This overall state of friendliness seems to be quite consistent in my travels. In fact, so far I haven't seen anyone get cut off, anyone flick someone off, hear any horns honking, or any profanity. FUCK, this is weird.
Also weird are the giant 3 story Smith's grocery stores, which sell everything in them. Wandering around seemed eerily familiar until I saw Big K cola and other Kroger branded stuff. I did see beer, but it was all watered down 3.2% beer. They even had 3.2% Boone's Farm, which is a travesty, since the whole point is to get wasted before you can taste how shitty the crap is. Oh, it all was pricey and no malt liquor. That led me to a journey, a certain right of passage, which I'll save for part 2.
Well things changed, as my boss' boss read up on this cheap conference in Utah. The registration fee for the one in Utah was half as much, and it included meals. Adding to the cheapness was lodging, which was in the form of dorms (the former Olympic village from the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City). Well the writing was on the wall, I was doomed to Salt Lake City and not South Beach. Trying to make the most of it all, I booked a room in the university hotel, which must be nicer than the dorms, and I reminded myself that I'd eat well (though not necessarily the free fare included in the conference). After putting off the final arrangements for a while, I managed to find a non-stop flight to Salt Lake and a roughly direct flight back.
I certainly wasn't looking forward to the trip, mostly due to the fact I have something (and especially someone) to miss back home, but all-in-all the trip started well. After the aggravating experience of being squeezed into an airplane seat design for regular folk (I'm 6' 7"), I arrived in Salt Lake. The first sign that I was in Salt Lake was looking out of the window seeing mountains all around and a big ass lake. The plane landed, and I didn't quite see what I expected.
I imagined a big clean modern (though modest) airport to suit the Mormon culture and the fact that they hosted a recent Olympics and must have wanted to make a good impression (to boost tourism in future years). I also expected to see big families waiting for the arrival of their loved ones (picture five wives and fifteen kids waiting for dad to come home) or a bunch of missionaries. Well, none of that, and it kinda was dirty, old, and just not welcoming at all. At least my luggage arrived quickly.
Next was my rent a car experience. I never had to walk outside to get to a rent a car place, and since I know it rains and snows in Salt Lake City, it seemed quite retarded. After getting to the counter, I was surprised that the dude walked me all the way to my car (offered to lug my suit case) and let me pick my car. He was oddly nice and friendly, which says a lot coming from Ohio. This overall state of friendliness seems to be quite consistent in my travels. In fact, so far I haven't seen anyone get cut off, anyone flick someone off, hear any horns honking, or any profanity. FUCK, this is weird.
Also weird are the giant 3 story Smith's grocery stores, which sell everything in them. Wandering around seemed eerily familiar until I saw Big K cola and other Kroger branded stuff. I did see beer, but it was all watered down 3.2% beer. They even had 3.2% Boone's Farm, which is a travesty, since the whole point is to get wasted before you can taste how shitty the crap is. Oh, it all was pricey and no malt liquor. That led me to a journey, a certain right of passage, which I'll save for part 2.
Monday, August 07, 2006
I have a confession to make
I'm not really a pimp. I never have been, and despite my best efforts to look the part, people seemed to have noticed my lack of pimpage. I don't have a cane, a hat, or even a tiger print trimmed purple velour suit. I guess even more telling is my lack of hoes. I know ladies, even some gals who have a questionable level of selectivity in the men they chose, but none are hoes, and they certainly aren't my hoes. I guess my inner capitalist and my innate desire to be cool has driven me to my pimp ambitions, but they've done little to lead me to a successful endeavor as an entrepreneur of the flesh. Am I not savvy enough? Not cool enough? Perhaps I just don't know the right gals (I hesitate to use the term ladies when describing gals who put a price on nookie).
Maybe I just have trouble with the whole institution when you get down to the nuts and bolts of it. Sure the pimp rides and groovy attire are alluring, but the real intent behind it all is just a bit much for even me. I wouldn't let someone rent my kitties, piggies, puppies, or bunny so why would I do the same with a friend. I guess I could employ gals I didn't give a shit about, but to be honest, I can't stomach girls I don't give a shit about. Girls just aren't worth the trouble unless I can at least be friends with them.
So there it is. I'm just a poser who wants the superficial accoutrements of pimping without the harsh reality. Kinda like some redneck who'd rather get fatigues from some Army/Navy store or US Cavalry than enlist. Even if I had a pimp suit, a fly-ass hoopty, or a dope cane, I'd be no more than someone who'd buy a 4x4 to haul their mountain bike to and from a city park and keys stowed upon a carabineer. A sad collection of heavy duty equipment destined for a sad life on pavement and in the safety of pockets.
Maybe I just have trouble with the whole institution when you get down to the nuts and bolts of it. Sure the pimp rides and groovy attire are alluring, but the real intent behind it all is just a bit much for even me. I wouldn't let someone rent my kitties, piggies, puppies, or bunny so why would I do the same with a friend. I guess I could employ gals I didn't give a shit about, but to be honest, I can't stomach girls I don't give a shit about. Girls just aren't worth the trouble unless I can at least be friends with them.
So there it is. I'm just a poser who wants the superficial accoutrements of pimping without the harsh reality. Kinda like some redneck who'd rather get fatigues from some Army/Navy store or US Cavalry than enlist. Even if I had a pimp suit, a fly-ass hoopty, or a dope cane, I'd be no more than someone who'd buy a 4x4 to haul their mountain bike to and from a city park and keys stowed upon a carabineer. A sad collection of heavy duty equipment destined for a sad life on pavement and in the safety of pockets.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
A Home in Search of a Critter
I'm always interested in cryptozoology, and when it comes down to it, mysterious legendary (even if merly urban legendary) creatures are cool. They add a certain sense of identity and local color to a community, and they sure do wonders for tourism. From the Jersey Devil to the Loch Ness Monster these creatures are quite interesting, and whether yeti or sasquatch, I'm always thirsty for more information.
Living in Columbus, I can't help but feel isolated and alone. We don't have any mythical creatures. In Florida there was the Chupacabras, which always lurched in the darkness. Odd noises had an explanation and farmers had a good cover story for not protecting their critters from wild dogs. Locals here in Columbus have tried to spice things up, as quite a few have seen wild lions in Gahanna. Another attempt at change for the positive were the desires of local artists to build a mountain to break the monotony of the flatness by building a mountain. If this were to succeed, we would have a home for our mythical creature! Not a mountain lion, as that's not exactly so exotic. Not a man bear pig (been done already), but something similar. Sticking within the realm of reason, maybe a half jackass half white-trash creature. To make it real scary (and believable), it could be a buckeye fan. It would be big, smell, guzzle beer, and have one of those ugly buckeye necklaces (it would being a big white trash fella, it would likely be neckless as well). The jackass part would be a grey, and the white trash bits sunburnt, so it would possess the local colors. Possible existence of its 'existance' would be missing cheap ass beer from drive throughs (places where one can drive their car through a convenience store to buy beer from the comfort of a car--scary shit and quite common up here).
Living in Columbus, I can't help but feel isolated and alone. We don't have any mythical creatures. In Florida there was the Chupacabras, which always lurched in the darkness. Odd noises had an explanation and farmers had a good cover story for not protecting their critters from wild dogs. Locals here in Columbus have tried to spice things up, as quite a few have seen wild lions in Gahanna. Another attempt at change for the positive were the desires of local artists to build a mountain to break the monotony of the flatness by building a mountain. If this were to succeed, we would have a home for our mythical creature! Not a mountain lion, as that's not exactly so exotic. Not a man bear pig (been done already), but something similar. Sticking within the realm of reason, maybe a half jackass half white-trash creature. To make it real scary (and believable), it could be a buckeye fan. It would be big, smell, guzzle beer, and have one of those ugly buckeye necklaces (it would being a big white trash fella, it would likely be neckless as well). The jackass part would be a grey, and the white trash bits sunburnt, so it would possess the local colors. Possible existence of its 'existance' would be missing cheap ass beer from drive throughs (places where one can drive their car through a convenience store to buy beer from the comfort of a car--scary shit and quite common up here).
Monday, July 31, 2006
The End is Near
Recently I have been watching more than a few shows about the apocalypse, the antichrist, and other cheery subjects. As a cult leader, a familiarness with these topics is essential, and I figured I'd catch up on these topics, especially with the swell in interest in topics such as this. While watching these shows I've determined that I need to secure a place as an "expert" on these shows to secure an added element of visibility to get the word out about me and my cult.
I've discovered that those who may be the most likely recruits are not exactly the type of folks I hang out with, so TV seems to be a suitable medium to reach them. Unfortunately I can't just appear on TV, so I have to do something else first. Hmmm, maybe a book. I can write a book, which needn't be anything to special, as folks eager to hear about the end of the world (and believe in it) likely don't devote too much time to higher education. Perhaps one of my artistically inclined friends could draw illustrations. If something subliminal slips in oh well. Then I can branch out into other media. Maybe a hokey Jesus song for some Time Life compilation. I have friends with ample talents in these areas, and again, a little subliminal brainwashing might not hurt either. Something like, "It's the end of the world as we know it, so why not send me all your cash anyway."
I figure literary success begets TV stardom begets musical superstardom begets $$$ :)
I've discovered that those who may be the most likely recruits are not exactly the type of folks I hang out with, so TV seems to be a suitable medium to reach them. Unfortunately I can't just appear on TV, so I have to do something else first. Hmmm, maybe a book. I can write a book, which needn't be anything to special, as folks eager to hear about the end of the world (and believe in it) likely don't devote too much time to higher education. Perhaps one of my artistically inclined friends could draw illustrations. If something subliminal slips in oh well. Then I can branch out into other media. Maybe a hokey Jesus song for some Time Life compilation. I have friends with ample talents in these areas, and again, a little subliminal brainwashing might not hurt either. Something like, "It's the end of the world as we know it, so why not send me all your cash anyway."
I figure literary success begets TV stardom begets musical superstardom begets $$$ :)
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Ever Pee in a Library or Church? I have.
Doubtlessly this will not be a surprise, but men are weird. Some more than others. Having not resigned myself to the simplicity of Depends, I need to use the bathroom from time to time, even while at work, though oddly enough there is no bath in the bathroom there. Anyway, some men do some really odd things (worry not, I won't be writing about dudes who poop in urinals--oops), but for now, I'm confused with reading habits. I like to read, probably read more than all but the most scholarly book worms (though my choice in subject matter can fall a tad short of scholarly), anyway, I tend to leave my love of reading at the bathroom door. I simply have found better places to read, and when it comes to the bathroom at work, it's an in and out affair, without much delay. So I wonder who not only feels the need to read while, uh, doing their business at work, but also feels the need to leave materials behind for other enjoyment? Do folks who bring a paper to the John and leave it behind for others, think they are doing a public service? What's odder is when I lived in Florida, I'd often see radical, often deeply bigoted, "Christian" comic books on the top of urinals for folks to read. I guess folks looking for a new take on religion should look in the bathroom. Well, I guess public bathrooms are centers of religion and scholarly endeavors.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Sheena Was a Man ... or was she?
This weekend I made a horrible discovery, the likes of which shook my world. When it happened, all I could compare it to was Tone Loc's horrific discovery that Sheena was a man. What could be such a horrible surprise? Well I discovered what I have taken for granted, what I sleep with, what I knew to be true wasn't. I discovered that my down comforter was ... down alternative. It felt like down, and it was quite nice, but the tag said 100% polyester. It was like finding out Hitler was a Jew or something (uh, nevermind). Living in Columbus, I've built up a strong hatred of Canadian Geese, their attitude, and the shit they leave on the sidewalks at work. Knowing they've given their annoying lives for my own comfort makes me happy, but to hear that my comforter is really polyester is quite a let down.
Anyway, my close sleeping companion was shunned, and I rather lay in bed freezing uncovered than allow the the bedding that betrayed me. I grabbed another blanket, likely filled with polyester itself, but certainly not masquerading as anything else. Yesterday I cleaned the duvets on several comforters, including the one that betrayed me. Upon replacing the duvet on the wretched betrayer, I noticed a different tag, one that said 75% down. Had I wrongly accused my comforter of being a fraud? Was I rash and quick to judge an otherwise innocent comforter? Well, I guess I was wrong, and I accepted my comforter back into bed. All was well again, and my comforter kept me nice and warm. I suppose I can be a bit silly at times.
Anyway, my close sleeping companion was shunned, and I rather lay in bed freezing uncovered than allow the the bedding that betrayed me. I grabbed another blanket, likely filled with polyester itself, but certainly not masquerading as anything else. Yesterday I cleaned the duvets on several comforters, including the one that betrayed me. Upon replacing the duvet on the wretched betrayer, I noticed a different tag, one that said 75% down. Had I wrongly accused my comforter of being a fraud? Was I rash and quick to judge an otherwise innocent comforter? Well, I guess I was wrong, and I accepted my comforter back into bed. All was well again, and my comforter kept me nice and warm. I suppose I can be a bit silly at times.
The World's Game: Finale
Last Tuesday I was enjoying the bliss of cheering on the Fatherland against Italy in the World Cup. It was another nil - nil game, and it was headed to overtime. My fellow Kraut Darlene had invited me and my girlfriend over for a Fourth of July grilling event, which had me cut the game short, but thanks to DVR, I was able to pause it and return to the game after a bit of sangria and some burgers. I thoroughly enjoyed the grub, and I returned to watch 27 or so minutes of scoreless overtime (after 90 minutes of scoreless regulation time) until the Italians (at the time I was more likely to use an ethnic slur) scored--twice. My heart was broken, the master race had fallen, and the Italians were going to the finals while the losing krauts had to settle for the consolation game. It couldn't get any worse.
Well, looking back to 1998, it was worse. The World Cup was in France; the French were unbeatable, and I had to listen to Chumbawamba's Tubthumping every time I played World Cup 98 on my PC "I get knocked down! But I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down" Let me tell you that goddamn song is a cancer than grows in your mind and drives you crazy "He drinks a whisky drink, he drinks a vodka drink, he drinks a lager drink, he drinks a cider drink..."--almost as crazy as watching those godforsaken frogs win "Pissing the night away". Now this past Wednesday the French played the weak-ass wussy Portuguese, who dive and pretend to be hurt, and I had no choice but to cheer the Portuguese. Growing up German, the only thing as fun as watching the Germans succeed was watching the French lose. Well Wednesday the Goddamn French won. I was in hell--it WAS worse!
Yesterday it was Italy vs Germany. My disgruntled anger towards the Italians had to wane, as nothing could stop me from hating the French. I initially avoided the game, but alas while shopping at the local Italian market, I saw the game was not only on, but all of the Italian workers and patrons were watching intently, feeling an innate bond with their brethren across the pond. I couldn't help but be swept up in their enthusiasm, mostly because they too were rooting for the French to lose. When I got home, I put the game on, and kept watching the tie game, trying to will a goal for my swarthy Italian brothers. The goal never happened, but as the game ended in a tie, even after an overtime, there were penalty kicks. Italy is notoriously bad in penalty kicks (which is why I was so devastated when they scored minutes before meeting such a circumstance against my beloved krauts, who are invincible on penalty kicks), but I knew they would win. God doesn't hate me that much, and in the end the French choked, and my Italian homies won. I smiled, and all was Ok--not good, but OK.
Well, looking back to 1998, it was worse. The World Cup was in France; the French were unbeatable, and I had to listen to Chumbawamba's Tubthumping every time I played World Cup 98 on my PC "I get knocked down! But I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down" Let me tell you that goddamn song is a cancer than grows in your mind and drives you crazy "He drinks a whisky drink, he drinks a vodka drink, he drinks a lager drink, he drinks a cider drink..."--almost as crazy as watching those godforsaken frogs win "Pissing the night away". Now this past Wednesday the French played the weak-ass wussy Portuguese, who dive and pretend to be hurt, and I had no choice but to cheer the Portuguese. Growing up German, the only thing as fun as watching the Germans succeed was watching the French lose. Well Wednesday the Goddamn French won. I was in hell--it WAS worse!
Yesterday it was Italy vs Germany. My disgruntled anger towards the Italians had to wane, as nothing could stop me from hating the French. I initially avoided the game, but alas while shopping at the local Italian market, I saw the game was not only on, but all of the Italian workers and patrons were watching intently, feeling an innate bond with their brethren across the pond. I couldn't help but be swept up in their enthusiasm, mostly because they too were rooting for the French to lose. When I got home, I put the game on, and kept watching the tie game, trying to will a goal for my swarthy Italian brothers. The goal never happened, but as the game ended in a tie, even after an overtime, there were penalty kicks. Italy is notoriously bad in penalty kicks (which is why I was so devastated when they scored minutes before meeting such a circumstance against my beloved krauts, who are invincible on penalty kicks), but I knew they would win. God doesn't hate me that much, and in the end the French choked, and my Italian homies won. I smiled, and all was Ok--not good, but OK.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Nothing Like the First Time
Well I finally fulfilled one of the few remaining rites of passage that have alluded me, going to a drive in movie theater. As a kid there weren't many drive in theaters in the area, and the most notable one was an adult drive in. I really don't want to know what people do in their cars there. Anyway, Saturday night I took some potential cult members to the drive in. Drive ins pretty much only exist in the country, so off to the country it was.
Now there's something that being in small town America always has in common, no matter what part of the country you're in--there ain't shit to do. Thus the drive in was packed, and there was a large line of cars several hours before the show began (which was rather late due to the days being longer--a sign of the apocalypse--join my cult!!!). We came prepared with various mysterious candies from the Japanese market. I dunno exactly what we ate, but everything had MSG in it (I'm not shitting you, it all had MSG). While we waited, we enjoyed the real highlight of the evening: people watching.
Lots of white trash, big belt buckles, big hair, oh, and someone had a black power T-shirt. It's been a while since I've seen one of those (this one was black with the word "black" with a fist in the backgound. What was odd was the dude that was wearing it--the fella was a middle-aged white guy. Odd, really odd.
Anyway, it was a good time. The movies weren't bad, the atmosphere was interesting, and the overall experience was one I enjoyed.
Now there's something that being in small town America always has in common, no matter what part of the country you're in--there ain't shit to do. Thus the drive in was packed, and there was a large line of cars several hours before the show began (which was rather late due to the days being longer--a sign of the apocalypse--join my cult!!!). We came prepared with various mysterious candies from the Japanese market. I dunno exactly what we ate, but everything had MSG in it (I'm not shitting you, it all had MSG). While we waited, we enjoyed the real highlight of the evening: people watching.
Lots of white trash, big belt buckles, big hair, oh, and someone had a black power T-shirt. It's been a while since I've seen one of those (this one was black with the word "black" with a fist in the backgound. What was odd was the dude that was wearing it--the fella was a middle-aged white guy. Odd, really odd.
Anyway, it was a good time. The movies weren't bad, the atmosphere was interesting, and the overall experience was one I enjoyed.
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