Ask and you shall receive...

I know, I know, St. Patrick's Day was almost two weeks ago and I am just now getting the pictures up from the Bus of Destiny. So, here you go, complete with captions for your enjoyment.


This fine group of ladies and me were enjoying some beers. Those of you who have had a beer with me in the past know how many beers I drink before I start flashing the devil horns. Let's just say more than 6 and less than 100.




Here I am aboard the bus, just like you remember from 3rd grade. Except on this bus, the driver wasn't the only one drinking.




This is what happens when a nice Irish Midget meets a fine German lady and marries her. The traditions get mixed together. In honor of Mrs. Angry Midget, we went to the Huber House, a local German beer hall, and ordered up several of these fine giant beers to pass around. I'm pretty sure that's I got herpes that night.




Here I am with another good friend drinking a Smithwicks at O'Connor's Bar in the Old Market. Great place.




As you can see, we rode on bus 20 that night. All apologies to the children who had to ride Bus 20 the following Monday.

If they called the cops, she must've been REALLY ugly.

And I mean, ugly even by Michigan standards....

Gonzales v. Truth

Alberto Gonzales says "You're Fired."


Just a brief note on the currently brewing fight in Washington about Our Most Favoritest Attorney General Ever, Alberto Gonzales, his puppet-master Karl Rove, and their odds of testifying before Congress. For those of you living in a cave, or in Texas (where the news is limited to rodeo results and terror threat level updates), there is currently a controversey brewing over the firing of 8 U. S. Attorneys. Every reasonable person with any knowledge of the facts surrounding these firings has come to the conclusion that they were politically-motivated. If anyone wants to dispute me, cite the U. S. Attorney in question and I will respond, in the comments, with his or her CV, job reviews, and career highlights. I will also put you in a rhetorical headlock, give you debate noogies, and make you cry argument uncle. And then I'll strip you naked, paint you blue and throw you in the girls' locker room.



Anyway, not surprisingly, people who aren't big fans of corrupt government, nepotism and the placing of incompetent horse judges in places of power (paging Brownie.....) have taken exception to the firing of a number of good civil servants. And those people (read: Democrats) have asked the AG and the White House to explain why 8 good public servants have just been pink slipped. The White House has responded that it is happy to make Albie and King Karl available to give "testimony" to Congress, but only (1) in private, away from television cameras that might create an irrefutable record about what was said, and (2) not under oath.



Okay, take another second and read that last sentence again. Why doesn't Bush just tattoo the words "We're going to lie" on Albie and Karl's forehead and send them out into the world? Even the room-temperature-IQ crowd who voted for Bush the first time (49%, at any rate) and the second time (50.5%, including misrecorded votes in Ohio) should be capable of discerning that THE ONLY REASON ONE WOULD ASK TO TESTIFY IN PRIVATE AND NOT UNDER OATH IS IF ONE WERE GOING TO LIE HIS FREAKING ASS OFF.



I worked for 2 years at the U. S. Attorney's Office in Minneapolis, so I know that these people are political appointees who are subject to being dismissed for any reason at any time. Just like me, Bling, the Midge, and every single one of you who doesn't belong to a union. That being said, that's not really how it works. Good USAs can expect continuing employment. Just like me, Bling, etc. What we have here, instead, are people who were brave enough to stand up to Bush/Rove, and have lost their jobs as a result. Someone should answer for this. Under oath. In front of the cameras. And if the Administration had a good reason for what it did, it would be willing to do so. The fact that it is not is telling.



By the way, one of Albie's assistants is going to take the 5th at a hearing he has been compelled to attend. Constitutional niceties aside, let me note that everyone who can spell their name consistently knows that the 5th Amendment's text reads "I am guilty as shit, and am therefore not going to answer that question because I hear they anally rape WASP Republican lawyers in prison." Stay tuned for more details. Hopefully, we can reunite Albie and Rumsfeld in the near future.

Name Changing

For those of you who keep emailing me about pics from the bus, they're coming. Until then....

A co-worker of mine brought this article to my attention. It seems that some number (I use this generic quantifier, because it's likely there are only a few idiots out there making a big deal about this) of men are taking their wife's name instead of the usual practice. While I am certain there are people out there who are bothered by this, I can't say that I care.

What I think is stupid is that it was worth having US Today pay someone to write about it. These people could change their names to Hugh G. Rection and (say it fast 3 times) Mike Hunt, and I wouldn't care.

There is no law that says a person can't change their name. Women have been keeping their own names and hyphenating after marriage since we started letting them go to college. And furthermore, how is it less sexist for the man to take the woman's name than the traditional way? Last time I checked, a woman didn't have to change her name when she got married, which means she made a choice to do that. All of this put together means that if you're a dude and you're taking your wife's name to make some kind of statement about sexism, you're only making the same statement in reverse, and you're the one being oppressed.

I guess if this were some sort of patriarchal nightmare society, where women were forced to take their husband's names without choice, this might be more interesting, but really it's just stupid. Why not change your name to Bobby My-wife-controls-every-aspect-of-my-life-sky or Steve My-life-is-so-boring-that-taking-my-wifes-last-name-is-the-most-subversive-act-i-could-think-of-son. Go protest something really harmful to women like the government or cheerleading or me when I was in college.

David Lynch's 'Inland Empire'

This year, Dallas hosted its first annual AFI International Film Festival, and my employer was one of the contributors, so I got to go to a screening of the new David Lynch film, 'Inland Empire.' I was able to briefly meet the man himself, and get a picture with him:


I also got him to sign my Region 2 import DVD of 'Eraserhead' too, although he wasn't too happy about it (I was told before I met him that he rarely, if ever, signs things for people). When I handed it to him, he frowned, but I mentioned that I'd bought it years ago, long before it was available here, and it was one of the main reasons why I got a region-free DVD player. He signed it, so either he bought my story, or he just wanted to shut me up.

So, the movie. I'm glad I met him before I saw it, because I honestly don't know what I would've said to him afterwards. I'm a big fan of his other films. 'Eraserhead' is a classic, as is 'Blue Velvet,' and more recently, 'Mulholland Drive.' However, 'Inland Empire' doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as any of those other films. In fact, the kindest thing I can say about it is that Lynch has successfully brought a living nightmare to the screen. Unfortunately, the nightmare is all ours, and the only way to wake from it is to fall asleep.

This film is truly 'Lynch untethered.' If you're a film buff, think about those words for a minute. And heaven forbid, but if you thought 'Mulholland Drive' didn't make any sense (and it took a couple of viewings and some web research for me), I'll bet dollars to donuts you won't make it through the first 60 minutes. Just the first hour alone was like watching a four-year old try to play Tetris. Once in a while, a couple of pieces may seem to fit together, but it'll be more by accident than anything else. Then you have hour two. Then, hour three.

The most upsetting thing about this film is that he's covering old territory, and not just of other directors (you'll see some not-so-subtle nods to Stanley Kubrick, Oliver Stone, Japanese horror, etc.), but of his own material. In a nutshell, 'Inland Empire' is another 'Fuck You' to mainstream Hollywood, but he did it a few years ago with 'Mulholland Drive,' and much better. He gave us a small amount of narrative, a character to root for, and even when the film seemed to go off the rails in the last 30 minutes, there were good reasons for it. With this film, it's not only off the rails, there were no rails in the first place. In fact, there's barely a train at all. I'm not one who complains when a film doesn't follow the three-act structure, but this film had about 50 or 60 acts. This is also why it felt like it had 20 endings, and yet felt like it never ended, even after the credits rolled. Talk about unsatisfying. Lynch makes one tiny effort to 'throw us a bone,' but it comes at about the 2:30 mark, and it adds more confusion than anything else, and by this time, I'd stopped trying long ago.

There are a couple of positives to take away, however. Laura Dern's performance is strong, but it may have felt that way because everyone else in the film acted like they were overdosing on Vicodin. Also, the score was very effective, and unsettling at just the right times. But these things aren't enough for me to even consider recommending this film to even the biggest Lynch diehards. Unless you like spending your free time putting together jigsaw puzzles of blurry pictures, and that have half of the pieces missing, stay far away from this one.

I was told that Lynch's original cut of this film was 11 hours long. If it were 30 minutes, it would still be too long. At 11 hours, there's only one way you would get me to watch it:


I like some abstract movies ('Begotten,' anyone?), but no matter what, a film has to make me care about something or someone in it. In this respect, 'Inland Empire' is a complete disaster. It may end up being my pick for Worst Film of the Year. I don't know if I've ever felt more disappointed while walking out of a theater, and I didn't read a single review beforehand (I saw that Ebert's website editor gave it four stars, but that's it), so my expectations were squarely on Mr. Lynch's shoulders. I appreciate when a filmmaker has the courage to take risks, but at least one of them has to pay off for it to make a difference for me. I don't want Lynch's next film to be Mission:Impossible 4, but I don't want it to bore me as much as this film did either.

Writing Letters by Hand is A Waste of Time

I'm on the road right now in Washington, D.C., doing my annual reacharound and pat on the back with the Nebraska Congressional delegation. In the Omaha airport this morning, I heard something that annoyed me. Now, I will in turn annoy you as well. That's how it works. Didn't you see that Pay It Forward movie? I thought since they killed Haley Joe Bob Osment at the end of that movie, it was pretty good.

ANYWAY, ff you ever need to find an elderly person, the Omaha airport is like Geriatri-Mart. This morning, there were flocks of them. While I was standing in the security line behind people who could have been George Burns's great grandparents, I overheard the following old-person cliche, which made me long for assisted suicide:

Old man that smells like he lives in the sewer "There's nothing like getting a hand-written letter. Getting an email isn't the same thing. If someone writes you a letter by hand, it shows that they really care. Kids don't understand that."

Elder McStinky then turns to look at me, shakes his head and says -
"I bet you've never even written a letter by hand."

It was early in the morning, but I immediately started compiling a list of thing this guy has never done, such as wiping his own ass or passing a test on multiplication. I just smiled, and didn't say anything, which I know those of you who know me are thinking "Yeah right, that'd be a first." But, really I did.

I wanted to say "So, if someone uses available technology to drive to visit you, instead of say riding a horse, does that make their visit less meaningful?" The irony that he was standing in line for an airplane and how that might affect the sincerity of the visit was completely lost on him.

Sentiments like this piss me off because writing makes my hand hurt. And because I'm left-handed, my hand gets all kinds of messy as I drag the fat part of my hand over everything I write. The idea that somehow writing by hand is superior to other available technology is absurd. The fact that someone takes the time to contact you, I think is the important feature. Not how they do it. Taken to its logical extreme, expressing yourself on stone tablets or by writing crude symbols on someone's wall is the ultimate act of consideration. If you're going to do it any other way, why bother?

Conversations with Drunk People

I'm sure many of you are wondering about the bus last night, and I am going to do my best to get pictures of the festivities sufficiently de-identified, so that they may be posted here for your review.

In the meantime, I can tell you that a fun time was had by nearly 30 friends and even some strangers and we consumed what can only be described as an asinine quantity of booze. The night ended without anyone puking on the bus, which frankly surprised me. However, another one of this blog's co-writers only made it 10 feet off the bus and into my neighbor's yard before dialing up our good friend Ralph. Here's to you Lepto.

What dawned on me last night was that there are certain topics of conversation that absolutely only occur when you're talking with either drunk people or small children, both situations lacking any entertainment value if you are sober. If I had started keeping track of these conversations in college, I could have written a book. Instead, I will highligh three of my favorites. Feel free to add more under comments.

The first example is best expressed by the following graph:

This might be an explanation why you hear a bunch of drunk people singing "Love on the Rocks" at the top of their lungs. I had no fewer than 3 conversations about how rad Neil Diamond is on Saturday night. Unless you're drunk, people don't talk about how much they love Neil Diamond.

My second example of a topic that people only discuss when they're boozed is application and management of sex toys. I would say a good number of people that I call my friends have some sort of sex toy. I only know this about the people I drink with, because otherwise, people don't discuss it. Give my friends and acquantainces a few beers and all that talk about sales figures and litigation and grant funding turns into butt plugs, dildos and butt beads. I think it's great that people use these things, but I find it interesting it only comes up when people consume a bottle of Jamison and two tall boys of the High Life.

The final example I will give is related to what people actually think of your girlfriend / spouse. Like any example of conversations had with drunk people, the lack of inhibition provided by Mormon Demon Water can steer the topic of conversation towards good things (see # 2 above) or bad things that create hard feelings. The bus crawl was not without an example of this sort of conversation either. While my lovely wife was telling her entire extended family what she really thought of her cousin's wife, another bus rider was getting read the riot act because his girlfriend had elected to stay home.

If the involved parties had been sober, the conversation might have started something like this:
"Oh, you have a girlfriend? What is she doing on this fine evening?"
What actually was said on the bus:
"Your girlfriend is a bitch for not coming on the bus with us. What is she too cool? Your relationship is doomed."

I wish I were making that up. Feel free to add your favorites under comments.

Friday, Stylized

This, gentle reader, is an account of my day of Friday last, submitted for your consideration and stylistic approval.

On Friday, I dressed and ventured forth from my apartment at my customary time and, boarding the nearby trolley-cart, travelled the broad avenues of California Street to the Financial District. I stopped, as has become my habit, at the shoppe of the local frozen fruit smoothie purveyor. After exchanging pleasantries with the counter-man, I paid and exited the establishment with my breakfast in hand.

Arriving at the office of the firm where I have been, for almost the last full year, employed in the very agreeable trade of barrister, I greeted our lady receptionist. "Good morning, Ms. M----," I said, "how does this fine morn find you?" "Why, sir," she replied, "it is indeed a good morn, and I am quite well and happy to be here." We briefly exchanged further pleasantries before I retreated to my office for my day's activities.

I toiled much of the day on the matter of our firm's client, one Mr. F-----, whom, it would seem, had become embroiled in a fairly significant and hotly contested matter with a local gentleman of some esteem. Being a man of significant means himself, and this being a controversy of great importance to his business in general, and his business in this area in particular, Mr. F---- had instructed us to spare no reasonable expense in the prosecution of his case. Thus it was that I came to strive on his behalf, busying myself for most of the day, as I have said, on various matters which required my immediate attention.

Shortly after noon, another barrister, one Mr. V----- of my office approached me and inquired whether I would be interested in joining him for lunch. I have always found Mr. V----'s company to be quite enjoyable, and in recent weeks he, like me, had been greatly busy, thus denying either of us the pleasure of the other's company. Therefore, seeing an opportunity to spend some time with the good fellow, I agreed to accompany him.

Another fellow, Mr. H---, who had only recently joined the firm, accompanied us as well. As we were departing, I observed Mr. H-- typing busily at his Blackberry Pearl, a rather slim and somewhat feminine cellular telephone and personal data assistant. I remarked that I had seen a number of people with such a phone as his, but that many of those phones were fuchsia, rather than black, as his was, and I inquired whether he might prefer a fuchsia phone. Mr. H--- replied that my experience with fuchsia phones was likely due to my habit of shopping for phones at IAmGay.com. Somewhat confused, I told Mr. H--- that I was unfamiliar with that particular website, although I did recall seeing it bookmarked in his computer. Mr. V--- found the entire tet a tet quite amusing, and we continued our riposte through the course of lunch.

Returning to my office both well fed and well rested, I parted company with Mr. V-- and Mr. H--- and returned to laboring on behalf of the good Mr. F--. Later that afternoon, I met with Mr. L---, who was a senior barrister at my firm, and with whom I had been working on another matter for another of the firm's clients. We discussed that matter at length in an attempt to determine precisely the course of action which we thought best to recommend to our client. This being a matter of some sensitivity, and the gravamen of this particular decision being significant, we spent long minutes discussing what the right, or, more accurately, best, move might be. After significant consultation, we arrived upon a course of action which, we both thought, allowed the greatest chance of the greatest success, while simultaneously admitting of the least chance of the greatest catastrophe, and also increasing, in like manner, the chances of lesser, but still favorable, results, and likewise (rationally) decreasing the chances of unfavorable, but not cataclysmic, results.

This matter attended to, and the hour of the day drawing late, I bade my fellows a good day, and returned home by a reversal of the same course outlined above. Finding my goodly wife already at home, and well on her way to the creation of a wonderful evening's repast, I settled in for what can fairly be described as a quiet and restful night.

Awesome.

The BUS OF DESTINY!!!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that's a keg of beer helping that nice young lad off of that school bus. What does this terribly arranged photo collage mean?

The Bus of Destiny. When the stars align and St. Patrick's Day meets my favorite day of the week (Saturday, for those of you without a calendar), there's only one thing to do - Rent a school bus, invite 50 of your closest friends, and hit the bars with authority.

If you're in Omaha on St. Patrick's day, post it under comments, and I'll send you a bus invite.

Photos will be posted here on Sunday or whenever I get out of jail.

Busy busy busy

I've been out of pocket a lot lately, so you haven't heard from me in a while. My job has gotten twice as busy (literally), and I've travelled for work, and as soon as I got back, I got a sinus infection. Anyway, a lot has happened in the world since my last writing, and yet, all I want to do is post THIS:


$70 million on opening weekend? I guess I wasn't the only one who liked that trailer.

I'll try to get inspired enough to write an actual post this weekend, but I assume that the Midget will have something better coming real soon. After all, Saturday is St. Paddy's Day.

Ryan the Angry Midget Cancer Diet

One thing that makes me really angry is when a group of people use their credentials to prey on people's fears. Like Dr. Phil, who is not a physician (not even in Mexico would they let that guy be a physician), but still feels the need to call himself "Dr. Phil" and give advice that would be considered practicing medicine if he didn't do it in front of a TV camera. A friend of mine at work recently told me about another example, a book called the China Study, which essentially tells people that our diets are very unhealthy and that we all need to become vegans to avoid lots of chronic health problems.

In this book, Dr. T. Colin Campbell and Thomas Campbell Part II make the claim that becoming a vegan will decrease the likelihood that you will get cancer. His claim is based on "research" in his book that looked at a number of factors in diets of people and their rates of cancer. Despite the fact that Dr. Campbell has his Ph.D., he must have skipped the classes where they explained that correlation is not causation.

There are numerous examples that jump out, but one of the most interesting is where he claims that children in the Phillipines with high protien diets have higher rates of liver cancer. Was there a control group? Nope. Were his results of sufficient scientific rigor to be published in a peer reviewed scientific journal? Negative. Probably because he didn't look at the children's exposure to pesiticides, lead or other risk factors for childhood cancer or genetics. That would have been a lot of work and research.

The sad part is that the jury is still out on how diet interacts with cancer. People who have cancer or who worry about getting cancer will do anything to get better or avoid cancer. This book has sold a lot of copies because of that. On the other hand, one recent study from Key, Appleby and Rosell (2006) from a little place called Oxford University concluded that "Studies of cancer have not shown clear differences in cancer rates between vegetarians and non-vegetarians. More data are needed, particularly on the health of vegans and on the possible impacts on health of low intakes of long-chain n-3 fatty acids and vitamin B(12)"

That means that not only does a vegetarian diet not differ from a non-vegetarian diet, but also there are health risks with becoming a vegetarian related to not getting all the nutrients you need. If you're a vegetarian for moral reasons or because you don't like meat, that's fine. Just don't become a vegetarian because you think it's reducing your likelihood of getting cancer or because two guys who can't get published in an actual journal wrote a book to scare you into thinking you're going to get cancer. If eating meat caused cancer, the city of Omaha would be one gigantic tumor. Some argue that it is.

Those sharp front teeth aren't the only reason that we were meant to eat meat. The Angry Midget Diet tells us that we eat healthy foods we like, excercise, and drink lots of beer. If drinking beer is bad for you, I don't want to be good. Follow the Angry Midget Diet and you still might get cancer, but you'll be happy that you didn't become a vegan, since the jury is still out about whether or not vegans are allowed to perform oral sex.

My Happy Joy Joy Trip to Houston

Recently, I had the pleasure and privilege to take a 2-day business trip to Houston. The following account describes why I will never go to Houston again in life.

The Flight Out

I flew on Continental. This was the first time I flew on Continental. At the time of my trip, Continental was the only major U. S. airline I had never flow on. Flights from San Francisco to Houston are surprisingly long (4 hours). Plus, you lose 2 hours on the way out. So, I had booked a flight leaving at 2:00 and ariving at 8:00. Except, of course, that the flight didn't leave at 2:00. The flight left at 4:30.

More on the details of the flight in a second. First, let me note my current working theory about how airlines determine arrival and departure times. As you and I and every sentinent being knows, there are literally hundreds of variables that can affect whether a flight makes it from point A to point B in a given amount of time. Winds, weather, equipment problems, slow ground crew, drunk pilots---all of these things can make flights late. For this reason, you can imagine that the process of determining flight arrival and departure times can be a very complicated process. I have now determined that the airlines have come up with a very scientific method for calculating arrival and departure times to publish to us, the flying public. The airline analyzes all of the variables, determines the effect the variables might have on the timeliness of the flight, and then ask this question: "If absolutely everything worked out exactly right, when would this flight arrive and depart?" And once they figure out the answer to that question, they publish those times.

Now, back to the flight. Thankfully, I had an aisle seat and there was no passenger in the middle seat. I remember the good old days, where people who were 6'4" could reliably count on getting exit row seats, provided we showed up an hour before the flight left and politely asked. Now, of course, airlines have decided that the better thing to do is to sell these seats for $15 each, more or less. Tall? Athletic? Too fucking bad. Anyone who believes the airline industry gives a leper shit about customer service has not flown in the last 6 years.

Sitting on the window in my row was an Asian man somewhere between 40 and 55 years old. For the first half of the flight, he was an ideal flying partner: didn't try to talk to me, didn't go to the bathroom, just sat there. Then, about 2 hours into the flight, I was listening to some Todd Barry (great comedian), and I suddenly smelled something......odd. Sour. Pungent. I couldn't quite place it. Then, like a punch with the meaty fist of the bridge troll, I was assaulted by aromas of fried sweaty ball sack, pig intestines baking in the sun, and sheep piss mixed with cat shit. My eyes watered. I threw up a little in my mouth. And I immediately looked around to determine if someone had thrown feces at me. And I noticed my Asian travelling companion staring, quite hard, out the window. Now, it was 7:00 at night in the timezone we were currently over, it was pitch-black outside, and we were flying over 100% cloud cover. If you want to replicate the view my companion was studying so hard, wait until nightfall, lock yourself in a windowless closet, put on a blindfold, and close your eyes. This is what was captivating the Asian gentlemen, who had apparently just instigated a biological attack on the 3 surrounding rows.

Now, I'll be the first to say that I, too, have farted in the past. And, on occasion, the result has been quite unpleasant. And, on a very few instances, I have test-ballooned a fart while in public, and discovered that it was not ready for prime time. I think we have all done this. And when a mushroom cloud emerges from your ass, you know not to continue down this path of destruction. And so, I presumed that I had smelled my last from my travelling companion. Perhaps he would excuse himself and pollute the bathroom. Perhaps he would suffer. But, certainly, obviously, he wouldn't fart again. Right?

Wrong, asshole. For the 2 remaining hours of the flight, the Asian gentleman proceeded to crack the top of another fresh bottle of eau de dumpster scum and hobo toejam just about every 10 minutes. After the first half-hour of this, I found myself in a real quandry. Most people who have met me know that I don't care much about what total strangers think about me. Fuck 'em. But everyone has their limits, and there was no way I was going to have the people in the adjoining aisles thinking that I was the source of this horror. So, how do you communicate to those nearby "Look, I smell that as well, and I want you to know that it absolutely isn't me"? After several solid minutes of pondering, I came up with this solution. Every time I detected a fresh assault, I swore. Out loud. Not screaming, mind you, but in a normal volume. "God damn!" "Jesus!" "Son of a bitch!" Etc. And I shook my head, as if to say "What nasty bastard would keep farting in the middle of an airplane?" The entire time, the Asian gentleman kept staring out the airplane window as though he was conducting a cartographic study. Or painting a picture, entitled "black cat sleeping on coal pile at midnight."

My Hotel

Finally, the flight landed, I collected my bags, caught a cab, and headed out into the vast nothingness/somethingness that is Houston. The nearest hotel to my meeting place was a Marriott Residence Inn, so that's where I was staying. I got to the hotel at 10:30. I was pleased to discover that there was a BBQ restaurant in the parking lot of the hotel. This was a nice surprise for 3 reasons: (1) there are few BBQ places in SF; (2) Houston, like LA and all of Texas, is city-planned in order to ensure that nothing is within walking distance of anything else, and I had no car; (3) I was hungry. The desk clerk informed me that the restaurant closed at 10:00. I actually responded like people do in badly-written TV shows: "What? I think I misheard you. When does it close?" I then managed to leave the front desk without saying "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Which, I think, demonstrates a lot of self-restraint.

Now, it may be that living in SF has spoiled me. But I want to go on record that the only people who would believe that 10:00 is a good time to close a restaurant are semi-retarded half-apes who have spent too much time huffing gold spray paint behind the Golden Corral. Or Bush voters. (Sorry, couldn't resist.) Thus defeated, I retired to my room. And made another discovery: because this is a Residence Inn, there is no room service. But there was a fireplace. In a hotel. In Houston.

My Cab Ride

The next day, having successfully completed day 1 of my meeting, I called a cab (Yellow Cab Cooperative of Houston) to pick me up and transport me the 2 miles back to my hotel. I then waited for 55 minutes for the cab to arrive. For a 10 minute trip. The people at the cab dispatch office believed this was not an issue. They had a hard time believing that I was displeased. Obviously, I was some kind of perfectionist asshole. Welcome to Texas! :)

The cab driver proceeded to seranade me during my cab trip back. Well, not really. But he did sing along to the radio the whole way back. Well, not exactly. It was more like yodelling. But not as good. Think about the way Canadians say "eh?" Take that sound. "Eh." Now, imagine just keeping up that sound, "eeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhh" while a song is playing on the radio, and varying the pitch to sorta-kinda-not really even closely match the pitch on the radio. For 10 minutes. 3 songs. I was actually starting to envy deaf people.

My Flight Back to the First World

I say this about Houston: the air is blue. No, not that blue. It's blue in exactly the way that diesel exhaust is blue. Exactly the way that diesel exhaust is blue. Mmmmmmmmm. Carcenigenorific!

By some absolute miracle, Continental managed to take off and land nearish to the times they said they would. But, my adventure was not quite over. I had changed my flight home. And, for some reason, the Continental website would not recognize my reservation, so I couldn't chose my own seat. By the time I arrived at the airport to sort it out, the only seat I could get was a window seat. My condition improved, because once again, there was no one in the middle. On the aisle, there was an Asian woman, between 30 and 40. I should have recognized that this was a bad omen. But I was exhausted, and not paying attention.

With about 45 mintues left in the flight, I smelled something.....odd. Sharp. Tangy. The Asian woman had thrown up. Now, thankfully, she had done so in the little bag the airline provided. No problem. Or so I thought. I soon discovered that, apparently, the insides of those bags are lined with a thin, perfumed film that dissolves when wet. To mask the smell of vomit, I guess. The problem is that the aroma they chose was bubblegum. The result was that it now smelled like someone had puked bubblegum. Bad call. I carefully breathed through my mouth for the next half-hour and hoped for no encore. I got lucky, got out of the plane, into a cab (no wait) and home.

I propose a truce. I will not mess with Houston, and I ask that Houston not mess with me. I will not visit Houston, and I ask those who live in Houston not to come to SF. We're just from separate worlds. It's better this way.

Movie Review: '300'

I was able to get into a screening of the movie '300' last night. The experience beforehand was weird enough to where it could be its own post (there was a talent contest on stage beforehand to win free stuff from a radio station, and UFC light-heavyweight champion 'The Iceman' Chuck Liddell showed up and answered questions for some odd reason), but that's for another post.

In my almost 32 years, I've seen many, many films (over 1,600 by my last count). I've seen most of the American classics, and I've seen many of the foreign classics as well. And yet, I can say that none of the films I've ever seen are quite as bad-ass as '300'. In fact, this may be the most bad-ass film ever made. The whole attitude of the film can't be summed up any other way. It talks the talk early on, and it walks the walk throughout the rest of the film.

Fans of the graphic novel will be ecstatic. If any liberties were taken with the story, they were extremely minor, and I'm going to have to go back and read it again to remember them. If anything, there may not have been enough blood (although there's plenty of carnage). For all the arrows and spears being run through people, there's a distinct lack of blood (other than some spurts in a couple of well-staged slo-mo scenes). All of the decapitations are clean, cauterized cuts. However, this is probably due to it needing an R rating. Why less blood would matter is pretty stupid, but there's a history of that, so I accepted it. I think most people will too.

Basically, when you see this on March 9th or later, you will see a beautiful film. Beautiful in the CGI backgrounds. Beautiful in the performers (who all seem to be carved out of silicon). Beautiful in the choreography of the violence. And, beautiful in the story, which gives you more than you might be expecting.

In fact, if I have but one complaint, it's the pacing. There are essentially two stories going on: The physical war at the Hot Gates (led by the king), and the political war at home (led by the queen). The build-up to the war at the Hot Gates is very intense, so once it comes, you're more than ready for it. Then, they cut to the war at home, to show more of how the queen is fighting for Sparta to send their entire army in defense of its land. It's a worthwile plotline, especially once it's over (the denouement got the loudest applause from the audience). However, you're worked up for the battle scenes, you get some, and then ... we're sent back to Sparta. It's quite a cocktease, and some aren't going to like it while it's happening, but trust me when I say that you'll get a good release from it. And I'm sorry, but this entire film is one gigantic sexual metaphor, so I think I can be excused just this once. Let's just say that fans of flesh (male or female) won't be disappointed.

Long story short? It's completely worth your eight bucks. My complaints are very minor, and my praise is very strong. Go see it on March 9th. Just don't bring the young children. It's one of the hardest 'R' rated films I've seen in years.

Further Evidence that the Bush Administration Foreign Policy is Determined by a Chimpanzee with a Dart Board

In a report to the International Atomic Energy Agency, the United Nations revealed today that (surprise!), Iran continues to enrich uranium in defiance of a UN resolution. Also not completely shocking is what the UN is going to do about it: sanctions. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that sanctions work in getting countries to stop making weapons. North Korea is a great example of a country that seems to enjoy sanctions as much as Britney Spears enjoys doing coke and having babies with guys you wouldn't hire to clean your swimming pool. Some might argue that the reason we didn't find weapons of mass destruction in Iraq is because of UN sanctions, but that's a topic for a different post.

The interesting thing about how the Bush Administration has responded is how differently they have handled this situation compared to Iraq. Iraq was a country that we couldn't prove definitively had a weapons program, and that we now know probably didn't have anything like what we're seeing in Iran. Iran has not denied the fact that they are enriching uranium, although they claim it's to make electricity. Iran's position, which is not completely insane, is that if the US and UN are allowing other countries to enrich uranium without sanctions, why should Iran be held to a higher standard?

If you look at the countries with known nuclear weapons programs, and you hold them to the same standard that we held Iraq to before we invaded, the last couple years of the Bush Administration could be pretty scary. If you look at non-allied countries with nukes, you have China and North Korea. If you look at countries where the government is of questionable stability, you have the same two countries. If you look at nuclear countries with documented ties to terrorism, both Pakistan and Israel fit the bill.

Apologists for the Bush Administration will argue that each country is a little different and each situation warrants it's own unique strategy. But the inconsistent nature in which the Administration handles their foreign policy makes any strategy look random, at best. Perhaps if they had been honest about why we invaded Iraq in the first place, this inconsistentcy would be more understandable.

Instead, we're left wondering if Iran is next on the docket. The sad thing, from a military standpoint, is that even if we needed to invade Iran to avert an imminent nuclear threat, we are so deeply involved in Iraq, that we don't have to forces to commit. The Iraq situation is so deeply screwed up, that there is no long range strategy that will produce a positive outcome as long as US troops are there. If you feel that there is an exit strategy, feel free to share it.

Oh, so THAT'S why I don't ride the train after 7:00 p.m.

I ride the train to and from work every morning. It's a pretty good deal, as my job pays for it, I don't have to pay for parking at the train station, and I save a lot on gas. Plus, it gives me time to get caught up on some reading, or PSP or DS playing. However, I was reminded tonight of why I shouldn't ride it after business hours.

I met up with a friend after work tonight at an Irish pub that's next to a train stop. We had a couple of Guinesses and chatted, and then around 7:45, I went down to the train stop and sat down. According to the schedule, I had about five minutes. It was a fun five minutes too.

I sat down next to some random dude. Here's how the conversation went:

Him -- 'You know when the next red line is comin'?'
Me -- 'In about five minutes.'
Him -- 'Great, thanks. It's my lucky day. Praise the Lord.'

(long pause)

Him -- 'Praise Jesus.'

(long pause)

Him -- 'Hallelujah.'

(long pause)

Him -- 'So, my friend, are you a Christian?'
Me -- (long pause)
Him -- 'Ahhh, so you're not.'
Me -- 'Well, I have nothing against Christians. I just try to live by the golden rule.'
Him -- 'Yeah? And what rule is that?'
Me -- 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.'
Him -- 'EXACTLY. Sounds kinda Christian, doesn't it?'

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Me -- 'Maybe.'
Him -- 'Yeah. So, do you believe in God?'
Me -- 'Uhhh ... I don't know. He might be out there, or he might not be. I don't know either way, but I'm okay with not knowing.'
Him -- 'Oh, okay. That's cool.'

(LONNNNNNG PAUSE)

Him -- 'I just said a prayer for you, for Jesus to find you and show you the way toward enlightenment.'
Me -- 'Well, that was nice of you.'

Seriously, what else do you say there?!?

At night, the Dallas train is either full of homeless people, lunatics, or gangsta-wannabe high school students who try to steal my PSP. And yes, I've stopped playing my PSP on the train after 6:00.

So, I've decided that the next time I get on the train, I'm gonna start saying, 'Praise Darwin!' or 'Praise the nothingness!' until people scatter out of my way.

At least I know I'll get a seat to myself.

The Greatest and Best Disaster Preparedness Plan in the Universe

And then we'll hit Best Buy and Car Toys....

The Department of Homeland Security wants me to be prepared for a disaster. Hurricanes, pandemic flu outbreaks, terrorist attacks, you know, all the things the Bush Administration is terrible at dealing with. They even have the website ready.gov to help me to prepare for a disaster.

Here's a link to a checklist that we should all complete to help us in the event of a disaster. You'll notice the kit doesn't tell you to get a personal firearm. I don't own a gun currently, but I think that a gun and a box of shells is about the only disaster preparedness kit I need.

The fact is that you don't need to stockpile food and batteries and flashlights, because none of those things will protect you from terrorism or a super virus or a hurricane. The whole idea of disaster preparedness is what Tyler Durden would refer to as the "Illusion of Safety". The best actual way to prepare for a disaster is to develop what I call your "Plan that maps out which stores you will loot when all hell breaks loose." Homeland Security won't endorse my plan, but I can tell you that it's as good a bet as drawing a map for your kids. You want to help little Timmy survive the next zombie attack or Chinese invasion? Teach him how to use a chainsaw.

Happy Leaving Las Vegas Day

Someone edited together clips from my favorite Valentine's Day movie to the tune of Jeff Buckley's 'Lilac Wine.' I liked it. Maybe you will too.



So, did Ben love Sera, or did he just love alcohol? Maybe he loved Sera, but he needed alcohol more? If they'd have met sooner in life, would it have worked out for the two of them?

Kansas: It's Evolution Baby!

Just when I thought there was no way that Kansas could redeem itself, it seems that they have. The Kansas State Board of Education ruled today that teaching creationism as science (aka intelligent design) is basically like teaching your kid that Jesus was the first President of the United States. Despite what George Bush might think, George Washington was actually the first President of the US.

Intelligent design is not science. Science would be much easier to perform if all the other problems were as easy to solve as saying "God made it that way." Such thinking has not at this point yielded a cure for any disease or solved our dependence on foreign oil from those evil Muslims. The main reason intelligent design could never be considered science is that it dismisses the burden of proof that comes with any scientific problem. Oh, and that whole lack of emperical data thing, as well.

Supporters of intelligent design use arguements that in order for evolution to have occurred without divine intervention would be like a tornado going through a junk yard and assembling a Boeing 747. God then, to use Richard Dawkins analogy, is literally the ultimate 747. What will immediately cause a blood vessel to pop in every single Darwin-hater's brain, is when you ask them "Who made God?" If God is the ultimate, all-knowing, all-powerful being, far superior to anything that exists on Earth, then why doesn't the same standard of proof apply to how God came to be? If evolution is to be denied based on it's lack of probability, I would imagine that the probability that God just came to be is quite a bit less. And we are in science class, so "Have faith." is not an appropriate answer.

You can see the problem with trying to bring religion into the scientific arena. The standards of proof in science are much higher than they are in Sunday School. Religion should not have to answer such questions, but religious people are subjecting it to such scrutiny when they pass it off as science.

Do us all a favor. Believe whatever you want to believe. Just don't try to teach your religion as science, unless you're prepared to subject your religious beliefs to the same high standards that science has been meetings for centuries.

How do you say 'Bling Bling' in Farsi?

Isn't there a Western Union in Iraq? Or did it become part of the glass parking lot?

Shameful amounts of U.S. government waste located here.

I want to be an astronaut when I grow up

What if you went to bed with this...

and woke up next to this

I learn something new it seem like each and every day. What I learned today was that you should never, ever take an astronaut home from your local bar. For one thing, it's obvious that NASA must have some completely superior beer goggle camera technology in order to pull off that first photo above. Despite the fact that both pictures are of astronaut Lisa Nowak, the bottom one looks like one of those "Don't use meth" billboard pictures.

The story, for those of you who live in a cave in West Virginia (there's your shout out, Steve), is that Lisa Nowak fell in love with fellow hunky astronaut and certified sex machine William Oefelein. Sounds like the makings of a fantastic love story that if it were made into a movie would star Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Problem number one is that Nowak is married to another guy (could be played by Tom Arnold) and has three kids (cast Dakota Fanning, the fat red-headed freckle-face kid from Sandlot, and that satanic little girl from the Welch's grape juice ads).

Oefelein, by the way, is like the world's master pimp. He's single and an astronaut. I bet his astronaut suit has the word PLAYA printed on it. He hooked up with every female astronaut in one weekend at the International Space Station, even the Russian cosmonaut who completely looks like a dude.

Problem number two is that Nowak decided to drive to Orlando from her home in Houston to confront Oefelein's non-astronaut girlfriend before her flight to Houston. The details of the story from this point are hilarious. I'll let the NYtimes.com take this part:

"Nowak raced from Houston to Orlando wearing diapers so she wouldn't have to stop to urinate, authorities said.Astronauts wear diapers during launch and re-entry."

I wish I would have been wearing diapers when I read that part of the story, because I laughed so hard, I almost dropped a deuce. The next time they show the astronauts taking the walk of glory to the space shuttle, I'll just be thinking "They're all wearing Huggies with leak-guard."

Nowak confronted the woman at the Orlando airport and sprayed her with pepper spray, while the woman hid in her vehicle. The woman called police, and Nowak was arrested. The creepy part of the story:

"During a check of the parking lot, an officer followed Nowak and watched her throw away a bag containing the wig and BB gun. They also found a steel mallet, a 4-inch folding knife, rubber tubing, $600 and garbage bags inside a bag Nowak was carrying when she was arrested, authorities said."

I'm not sure they sell a body dismemberment and disposal kit down at the Home Depot, but if they did, I'm fairly certain that the Deluxe Edition would include all of the items that police found in Nowak's possession.

The moral of this story is that you should not, under any circumstances, date an astronaut, unless you're ready for his jealous astronaut girlfriend to attempt to abduct you and kill you at your local airport.

Now HERE'S a man of the cloth.

If church was more like this, I'd be there every Sunday.

Lite Brite Terrorism

I recently became a fan of the Adult Swim show 'Aqua Teen Hunger Force.' I'd seen a few episodes here and there, and liked it, but not until after I bought the first four seasons on DVD did I truly appreciate the show's random yet subversive style. If you haven't gotten on-board with them, here's a good place to start:



So, the Mooninites are pretty much the breakout stars of the show. At least, that's what those who are marketing the upcoming feature film think. And it was a good idea to market the film around them, except for some fuckfaces in Boston who had to ruin it for all of us.

Blinking lights. I don't know if Boston is full of idiots or epileptics. So should we ban blinking lights now? The Massachusetts Attorney General was quoted tonight as saying, "It had a very sinister appearance. It had a battery behind it, and wires." Well, jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick. Maybe we should ban batteries too. Would that mean the terrorists won? I guess they aren't the only ones who hate our freedoms.

In typical marketing fashion, those behind the campaign buckled like a belt and apologized. And yet, according to the mayor of Boston, the apology isn't enough. He's thinking of sueing Turner Broadcasting for the 'hundreds of thousands of dollars' the city lost in chasing a bomb scare. "I just think this is outrageous, what they've done ... It's all about corporate greed." Until he takes down every billboard in Boston, that statement is completely hypocritical. Besides, Turner Broadcasting didn't call in the bomb threat, one of his fuckwad constituents did. Sue that person, and good luck getting six figures out of him or her. Come to think of it, how much does a bomb squad worker make in a shift anyway?

I'm guessing that this story will disappear in a couple of days, then reappear as a sidebar once the movie hits theaters. Well, I think it's more important than that. This country is full of complete fucking idiots, and for once, I'm not specifically talking about the 27% who still approve of the job our President is doing. We owe it to ourselves as a nation to band together, reach across party lines, and immortalize this moment, if only to remind ourselves just how stupid some people are. So, I made this:


Print and post this wherever you're surrounded by people who are incapable of forming an intelligent thought (work, bars, airports, stadiums, churches, jury deliberation rooms, monster-truck rallies, the White House, et. al.).

Never forget.

Gifts from Wonder Showzen

If you don't watch Wonder Showzen, you really should. Why you ask? The defense enters into evidence Exhibits A and B. These kids are rad.

Where do babies come from?


A hero comes in many sizes....

'300' movie (not about bowling)

I'm pretty excited about the upcoming movie '300', based on a graphic novel by Frank Miller. It's being directed by Zach Snyder, who previously made the new 'Dawn of the Dead' (one of the only remakes I've appreciated lately). I read an interview with him in Rocket Magazine recently and he seems to 'get it.' He understands the 'fanboy' mentality, but also wants to make a film that aspires to more than just please fanboys. He also seems pretty happy working with a lot of digital effects. I liked Sin City, but there's still so much that can be done with this green-screen style of filmmaking.



The story (based loosely on the Battle of Thermopylae) is definitely ready for a 21st-century update. Snyder has said on numerous occasions that this isn't going to be 'historically accurate,' but rather, a 'sitting around a campfire version' of the tale, as the graphic novel was.

While digging around the internet, I didn't like the wallpapers I found, so I made my own:


If the film is half as good as that trailer, it's gonna be a classic. Then again, if I had a dollar for every time I've said that...

Paper or Plastic?

While Kid Bling's test was both educational and important, there's really only one thing which needs to be tested. And that's the ability of the average Midget Blog reader to detect which women got their chests from their mom and which ones got them from Dr. Finklestein. Unless you work at a strip club, this test is not safe for work.

And just for the record, I got a 95%. The gauntlet has indeed been cast down.

Gonzales/Bush vs. Constitution/English

Lewis Black once memorably hypothesized that the true cause of strokes is as follows: someone near you says something so monumentally stupid that you can't wrap your brain around it no matter how hard you try. And since you can't understand it, the quote lodges in your brain and festers until your brain ruptures.

I would nominate our Attorney General, Alberto Gonzales, as the most recent source of such a brain-destroyingly stupid saying, except that I'm so horrified by what he said that it actually drains most of the humor out of the quote. Testifying before Congress, Gonzales was asked to justify Bush's practice of holding detainees at GitMo. As an aside, let me simply say that I believe history will rank the GitMo prison only slightly behind the Japanese internment camps in the list of Absolutely Horrible Things the U. S. Government Has Done. That being said, Gonzales was asked why these prisoners had been denied their habeas corpus rights---which is to say, the right to petition a federal court judge and challenge the legality of their internment. Gonzales replied that "The Constitution doesn't say every individual in the United Sates or every citizen is hereby granted or assured the right of habeas."

This struck the Congressmen, and indeed should strike anyone who has read the Constitution, as a bit odd. And so, Arlen Specter (whom no one would accuse of being a liberal) asked Gonzales if the Constitution does not, in fact, say "habeas corpus shall not be suspended unless...in cases of rebellion or invasion the public safety may require it." Gonzales acknowledged that the Constitution did, in fact, contain exactly those words. But he went on to explain that the Constitution does not say we have the RIGHT TO habeas corpus, it only says the government CAN'T TAKE IT AWAY. And, in Gonzales-logic, there is a difference between being given a right and a prohibition on the government taking the right away.

Now, my immediate reaction to this line of logic was, of course, to laugh out loud. However, the laugh died on my lips when I realized the following things: (1) this person is the Attorney General, the person essentially in charge of enforcing all federal laws; (2) he really believes this; (3) Bush really believes this; (4) this is likely not the only example of the use of this kind of logic in the Bush Administration. As these thoughts rushed through my brain, my mood turned from incredulous humor to absolute dread.

This is the problem when a country is governed by ideological zealots rather than by rational human beings. Logic, truth, and objective reality mean nothing to these people. They are, as Colbert would say, more interested in truthiness than in truth. And for 6 years, they have been governing with no checks or balances on their power. I expected Gonzales to finish his reality-adjusting testimony by saying "We have always been at war with EastAsia. We have never been at war with EuroAsia."

i phone: Another i ploy for your i money

Ever since Apple introduced the i phone a couple weeks ago, I have been talking to people about their impressions of this device. I'll admit that I was intrigued by the idea of eliminating the need to carry both a music player and a cell phone (particularly since I learned that the Blackjack phone doesn't have a headphone jack), but as the details have creeped out, I've grown more cynical about it, as I am sure you'll be surprised to know.

Why you might ask? Well, it could be that it's going to cost a shitload of money. It might be that Apple has an exclusive deal with Cingular Wireless, the absolute shittiest wireless company in the universe, so if you want i phone, you'll be paying for your cell phone plan ($50), unlimited data plan ($50) and WI-FI ($99), if you want to use your $600 phone to it's fullest potential. Want to replace to battery? Like ipod, Apple is going to anally intrude you for the honor. Nevermind all these reasons to question the iphone is a questionable investment, when Motorola will have a rip-off within 6 months that you can get free with a 2 year wireless plan. Oh yeah, and according to Apple, the iphone won't even run itunes.

The reason I am skeptical is not among those very valid reasons. Rather, the endorsement of the iphone by a particular individual that I know is the sole reason that I think the iphone will be a complete piece of crap. Techno Tim (obviously not his real name) is a friend of a friend, who hangs around at various social functions. Last weekend while watching the NFL playoffs, I got a lesson in what a magical device the iphone will apparently be courtesy of Omaha's leading technological expert.

At this point, the iphone could perform open heart surgery, cure cancer, and bring 4 generations of dead midget relatives back from the dead, and because Techno Tim is among the bandwagon jumpers of this particular device, his lack of credibility makes me even less likely to shell out $900 a month for something that I can currently achieve for a fraction of the cost with two devices.

If you only take one She-male quiz this year....

Since this blog hasn't been too serious about current events lately, I thought I'd continue that trend. Take this quiz, and let us know how you scored. Me, I got an 8 out of 16. I'm not sure what that means. Maybe I just flipped a coin on all of them, or maybe my taste in she-males is a little suspect.

Don't drink when your team is in the playoffs.

A friend of mine isn't feeling too well today. Rumor has it that he had more than a few to drink yesterday. One of the four NFL teams playing yesterday was one that he's a big fan of, and that may have had something to do with it. Whether he's got the bottle flu, or if he's actually sick, it doesn't matter. But it did get me reminiscing of how I learned not to drink when one of your favorite teams in in the playoffs.

In 1998, the Chicago Cubs made it into a one-game wild card playoff with the Giants, for the right to play the Braves in the NLDS. I went to a sports bar in Greeley with some friends and my roommate (I don't remember the name of the place, but their chicken-fried chicken was to die for). I got destroyed and don't remember much of the game, but a New Belgium rep was there, asking people random trivia and if you got a question right, you got a free Fat Tire hat. My roommate pointed at my drunk ass and said, "Ask him a movie question!" and so he did .... "What color was the swimsuit that Phoebe Cates wore when she got out of the pool in Fast Times?" and even though I hadn't seen the film yet, every straight male raised in the 80's knows the answer:

Bang, free Fat Tire hat. Anyway, this story does have a point. We all went back to our house and drank more, and watched the live celebration footage on WGN. Then my friends left, and I thought my roommate had already went to bed, so I locked up and ceremoniously passed out. Then I woke up the next morning and saw that my roommate's SUV was gone, and I had four messages on my answering machine.

beep!

'Goddammit, you locked me out of the house. (knocking sound) HELLOOOO!!! I'm knocking on your bedroom window ... wake up asshole!'

beep!

'GODDAMMIT, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WAKE THE FUCK UP! IT'S FREEZING OUT HERE AND I'M IN MY BOXERS ON THE FRONT FUCKING PORCH!'

The messages continued to get worse. Turns out that he was about to go to bed, and his fiancee called, and they got into an argument, so he stepped out on the front porch to have some privacy. Our walls were pretty thin, as you can imagine with a college-area house. It was an honest mistake, locking him out. Could've happened regardless of how much booze I'd had. He also could've put on some pants before going outside at night in a t-shirt and boxers in the first week of October in north fucking Colorado, but I'd have woken up easily if I was a little more sober.

So apparently, I finally woke up, wrapped a towel around my boxers (I was embarrased to answer the door in just my boxers?), and opened the door and let him in. Apparently, he called me words most sailors have never heard before. Then he packed a bag and drove that night to talk with his fiancee ... she lived about four hours south of Greeley. Of course, I didn't remember letting him in, so I woke up, heard the voice messages, saw his car was gone, and I just assumed he was driving around somewhere in Greeley, in his boxers, trying to buy a gun somewhere so he could kill me. I finally got ahold of him early that afternoon, and he wasn't mad anymore. He and his fiancee were struggling with the long-distance relationship thing, so he took a few days off and went to be with her. They ended up getting married about a year later and I was a groomsman, but I'm getting off-topic again.

Oh, and let's not start with the time when the Broncos won their second Super Bowl, and I got so drunk off of Fat Tire that I tried to bring a pistol to the 'impromptu street celebration' that was happening a block away, and then drank tequila straight out of a bottle that some random frat boy handed me, then put on a ski mask and was jumping through a fire in the middle of an intersection, then pro-wrestled with a coworker in some stranger's lawn and lost my Bronco hat, then got tear-gassed by jackboot-wearing riot police, then went home, then was drunk enough to try to go back to the riot and got tear-gassed AGAIN.

So, the morale to the story. I've learned that you shouldn't drink if your team is in the playoffs. After the Broncos' second Super Bowl win, I've never had more than three beers, and that includes all the Avalanche playoff runs. I was stone sober when Ray Borque raised the cup, and I'm glad, because it was a great sports moment that I actually remember.

Drinking when your favorite team is in the post season is fun for having stories to tell, but otherwise? Always a bad decision.

Girls Gone Wild? No worries, they're just being girls

Fark.com rocks. Just when I was feeling slightly guilty about all those late night TV ads on Comedy Central for Girls Gone Wild that I heard from some other people and did not personally see, experts are reporting that when girls go wild, it's completely natural. Keep on forgetting to take your meds, wild ladies. We salute you in all your natural glory.

The most addictive Flash game I've played yet

Someone sent me THIS today, and my productivity went down the shitter. I'd put it right up there with the Yeti Sports line, for those of you who remember.

I'm struggling with which approach to take. The laser-beam Shaq free throw technique got a coworker past 3,400 points, and it got me past 2,300, but now I'm doing underhanded shots, and they're a lot more satisfying when you make one (although the time it takes for them to come down eats more off of the clock). I think if you can get good at the underhand shot, it'll be a lot more consistent than the laser-beam style, but I'm not there yet.

/oh snap!

The First Time is the Best

The Angry Midget and I dreamed of it for at least the past two or three years. Sometimes it felt just like my fantasy about being seduced by Heather Locklear...I wanted it so badly, but only a tiny part of me believed it would actually become a reality. This past weekend, though, our idea became flesh and dwelt among us. Well, not really flesh, and I don't know if an event can be said to dwell, exactly. I guess I'm just trying to say that it HAPPENED. "Of what does he speak," you ask? I speak of the long anticipated Pub Crawl in the Benson neighborhood's downtown area. It will go down in history as the 1st Annual Historic Benson Pub Crawl and Winter Retreat. Call me biased, but I think it was a night to remember.

There was a time when I thought others would view our dream as puerile and nekulturny (immature and crass). I sent the invitations wondering if I would ultimately find out the answer to the question; What if you threw a pub crawl and nobody showed up? Quite the opposite occurred, however, because we had about 30 "crawlers" of both sexes in a broad age range. Everyone started with enthusiasm, and several have clamored for a repeat of the event in the near future. So while some people would say that I'm just a borderline adolescent for organizing this, some would say I'm brilliant. Well, at least they would say I'm not a borderline adolescent.

Everyone reading this is dying to know what happened, right? The scope of this blog doesn't really allow for all the glorious details. Highlights, though, included 6 local watering holes (not Mick's, though, because they were going to charge us a $5 cover to come in for one drink); pool; darts; shuffleboard; finding the differences between two pictures of naked people (a brilliant idea for a bar game); PBR on tap; snakes in a bar (soon to be a movie released by Paramount); two obtuse semi-literate Benson townies calling some of us the perjorative term for men who sleep with other men (apparently simplybecause we were strangers in "their" bar); those same townies pulling down their pants in front of some of the guys (I don't know, you tell me...); a round for $free.99 from the owner of Marnie's Place (yes, from Marnie herself); Whiskey Drinkin' Woman by Nazareth on the jukebox at The Musette (o.k., maybe that was only a highlight for me); getting to scream at and talk smack to some Dallas fans as the Seahawks whipped the Cowboys (America's Team, my ass) in a Wildcard playoff game; no fights; no arrests for indecent exposure or being drunk in public.

The seven of us who hung in there to the bitter end got a rare treat. We stood on the fringes of a crowd that had more blue collars and red necks than a convention of Blockbuster clerks in the Sahara and watched in amazement as a couldn't-get-on-pitch-if-she-had-a-ladder, rode-hard-put-away-wet lookin', Harley momma in a tight, black, spaghetti-strapped, motorcycle tank top , led the other bar patrons in a rousing karaoke rendition of Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA". You know, that song all the most insular right-wingers get so excited and misty-eyed and patriotic over. They talk about how they'd gladly stand up next to you to defend their USA, but, in this particular case at least, they would apparently really rather sit on their asses in a bar and drink cheap beer and judge anyone who doesn't look, think, and act like they do. There was one guy in there in Army BDU's. He's the only one there who had the right to sing that song, in my opinion. Unless, that is, all those other people just enlisted and were killing time while waiting for the bus to come and take them off to basic training. Putting magnetic ribbons on your car doesn't even come close.

I was just feeling proud of having organized and completed a successful crawl.

Tell me you're not praying you can make it to the next one. Will it ever be as good as the first one, though? I guess if it's your first one.

A recap of last night's Presidental speech

Scoreboard (and a Solution)

Our boy RedneckLaw might know his way around a courtroom, but his internet debate skills in regards to the NFL are suspect. He's always running misdirection plays by quoting worthless statistics, and ignoring the only stat that truly counts. We can talk about QB ratings, or interceptions versus touchdowns, or rushing yards given up in half a game, but let's be honest: What really matters to any of us?

My apologies to our friend Miles, who is also a Chiefs fan, and grew up a Chiefs fan, but is not a myopic one. Both of our teams have some holes to fill in the off-season, and the trash talking is fun, but let's not lose sight of the most basic of facts.

CowboyLaw, I'm sorry the Broncos disappointed you when you were growing up. I know this feeling well, as my Cubs did the same thing to me on many, MANY occasions. But I can never understand why you pulled a Benedict Arnold, and I can have no sympathy for you picking a team that doesn't have multiple pieces of championship hardware. If you're gonna sell out your team, why not go all the way and become a Cowboys or Steelers fan? Actually, I have a solution to your problem. You live in San Francisco now, so why not just become a 49ers fan? They've got five Super Bowl wins. They had a good second half of the season this year. AND, they spoiled Denver's post-season plans, so that would help fuel your prerequisite Bronco hate.

You switched once, so why not switch again? Why even have an allegiance to any team at all? They're all going to break your heart at one point or another.

The Difference Between A Blizzard and A Hurricane

In the last few weeks, I have received numerous copies of an email that is circulating the way annoying emails tend to circulate. If you haven't had the pleasure, I am an envious, and I won't glorify the author's self-aggrandizing ideas by reprinting them here. I do, however, want to take the opportunity to disassemble some of the complete garbage logic contained within it. The point of the email is simply that the recent blizzards in Colorado, Kansas and Nebraska were as devastating as Hurricane Katrina, and unlike New Orleans, citizens of Colorado were somehow better people than those in New Orleans, because they didn't blame President Bush or FEMA or white people.

The whole idea that a blizzard, no matter how severe, is somehow on the same level as a hurricane in which thousands of people died in three states, is laughable only if it weren't so disgusting. The author of this email obviously lacks perspective in addition to intelligence, as he or she contends that much of the problems in the aftermath of hurricane Katrina were somehow related to the lack of work ethic of the people whose entire lives were destroyed in a matter of hours.

Don't get me wrong. Denver got a fuck ton of snow (which is a lot, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the unit of measure known as the fuck ton). A lot of people in Colorado and Nebraska were without power. Thus far, fortunately, people haven't been killed as a result of these storms, thousands of homes were not wiped off the face of the earth or completely uninhabitable. Thousands of livestock have died, but I would be a hypocrite if I felt bad when cows and pigs die, since I enjoy eating them nearly every day.

The saddest part, in my opinion, is that people still have this perception that the people of New Orleans, particularly the poor black people who couldn't leave the city, are somehow at fault for their situation in the months following the complete devastation of their city. Some Americans obviously lack empathy and the ability to see the difference between a really terrible snow storm, and perhaps the most significant weather disaster in recent US history.

The ironic part is the while the author of the email's premise is that people in New Orleans had a sense of entitlement following that disaster, I'm not sure how that's clearly different than the sense that somehow having the resources at your disposal to deal with a natural disaster makes you a better person. It's as if the people from New Orleans had all the resources they needed, they were just too lazy or dumb to access them. It's such a disgusting sentiment, and yet based on the number of times I have received this email, it's obviously prevalent enough that some people have felt compelled to forward it to me.

Florida Beats Down OSU and Chiefs Potpourri

Florida's trouncing of Ohio State in the BCS Championship last night really brings up some interesting issues. First of all, for the second year in a row, sportswriters were so busy giving Troy Smith the reacharound that they forgot that they still had to play one more game. Just like with USC last year, sports reporters were falling all over themselves to crown the Buckeyes national champs without even having to play to the game, and they ended up being completely wrong. I think more sports writers picked Boise State to beat Oklahoma before that game last week than gave the Gators a chance to beat OSU. With the way Michigan got embarrassed by USC, combined with last night's game and the Big 10 Conference's losing bowl record this year, I think it's safe to say that the Big 10 is completely overrated.

Also, in the comments of Lord Bling's previous post, CowboyLaw wanted to know what other team, besides the Chiefs last weekend, intercepted Peyton Manning twice AND held them to 9 points or less in a half. As it turns out, this occurred in 25% of the Colts regular season games (4 for those of you who cheer for the Chiefs). It all started with Jacksonville on September 24th. The Jags held the Colts to 7 points in the first half of that game. On October 8th, Tennesee held the Colts scoreless in the first half and intercepted him.

The Broncos held Manning and company to 6 points in the first half of their October 29th game, a game in which undrafted Rookie RB Mike Bell had 6 times as many rushing yards as Larry Johnson did against the Colts D. The Dallas Cowboys held the Colts to 7 points in the first half of their November 19th game, intercepted Manning twice, plus, unlike the Chiefs, they actually won the game. As did Tennessee on 12/3, when they intercepted Manning twice, held them the 14 points and actually won.

As you can see, intercepting Peyton Manning and/or holding the team to less than 10 points in a half was not an uncommon occurrance. By comparison, the number of games where this occurred was more frequent than the number of games where Trent Green had more touchdowns than interceptions (once, against the intimidating Cleveland Browns Defense), as well as the number of opponants the Cheifs beat who would eventually be in the playoffs (again 1, San Diego).

Then again, if Damon Huard were the future of my football team, I suppose I might savor a pathetic playoff loss as well. But, that's what fans of teams that don't win Super Bowls but every 40-50 years do, I guess.

A brief check of the scoreboard...

After the 2006 season, the scoreboard still reads: Broncos 2, Chiefs 1.

Right now, it looks like Denver will also have a better draft pick this April, although they'll have one extra slot to fill.

BTW, was I the only one that saw this at the end of the Seattle/Dallas game? Either that Seahawks fan is clarivoyant, or he had a Sharpie with him:

The sign on the right says 'Where's Vanderjagt?' Almost as funny.