He went to the great ruckus in the sky

Since I haven't gotten around to posting about my weekend exploits yet, you'll just have to get over your grief at the loss of my indispensable wisdom, and read about the death of the principal from The Breakfast Club.

Breakfast Club's Paul Gleason Dies

BURBANK, Calif. (AP) -- Paul Gleason, who was in "Trading Places" and "The Breakfast Club," has died. He was 67.

Gleason died at a local hospital Saturday of mesothelioma, a rare form of lung cancer linked to asbestos, said his wife, Susan Gleason.

RIP. One of the funniest lines from the movie, aside from when the "bad boy" asks the principal to "describe the ruckus", was when the same guy told him to "eat my shorts". That was as bad as the language got. Back in 1985 that was high drama.

Yeah, so I got nuthin'.

Colbert giving it to Bush

I know this is old hat, but I have nothing original to post. This video of Colbert ripping apart Bush is hilarious. Some of the extra video links on the page are not worksafe.

Neato art

Cool M.C. Escher like art here.

Kitty dinner interrupted

I didn't think it was possible, but the internet just got weirder.

(video, none of the ads I saw were unworksafe)

And since I'm being lazy and linking videos, you may as well check out what happens when you put a can of hairspray on the fire (also worksafe).

Worst job story ever

Keeping with my theme of things never being as bad as we think, this is a funny story for all of you who think you have a bad job. This guy sent an email to his sister, and she entered it into a radio station contest about who had the worst job experience.

Hi Sue, Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother.

Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all.

Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job.

As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea I wear a suit to the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater.

This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose.

Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints.. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.

Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my butt started to burn I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt

I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically Needless to say I aborted the dive.

I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.

When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.

Needless to say, this guy won the contest.



Have a great holiday weekend everyone! Don't forget to slug beer and nosh on dead animals in honor of our fallen soldiers. That's they way they would want it, I'm sure.

It's never as bad as you think it is

Luckily I've recovered quickly from my health problems, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little depressed sitting there in the hospital, my mind racing with worst case scenarios. Hospitals are depressing, lonely places to be anyway, but it's doubly so when it's about you.

And then sometimes we see that it's not so bad afterall. My problems aren't much at all compared to people my parents' age. One of my Mom's friends, some old Italian singer from the 50's (I think) who has always been sweet on her, is basically about to die. She's at that age now where friends start dying rather than just going into the hosiptal. She's pretty upset about it.

I won't go into the details because they're revolting. Let's just say that an inflamed large intestine is nothing compared to this. It is not the way that anyone should have to die.

Sure, I can always find things to bitch about. But my life is about as close to perfect as you can reasonably assume to get. Yours probably is too. Be thankful for that everyday.

Planes avoiding a thunderstorm

I thought this was going to be a stupid video, but it's actually interesting. It's a time lapse of the Memphis radar, showing FedEx planes avoiding a thunderstorm. I like the few guys who said screw it, and just flew through the thunderstorm. Totally worksafe.

News you can use

Diet drinks make you drunker.

Diet mixers make people drunk faster

DIET mixers in alcoholic drinks get people drunk quicker than full-sugar alternatives, scientists have found.

Taking a drink with sugar-free versions of mixers, such as tonic water, cola, bitter lemon and lemonade, produces higher blood-alcohol levels.

...

The blood-alcohol concentration peaked at 66 per cent higher, according to a study in which volunteers were given an orange-flavoured vodka drink made with either a diet or non-diet mixer.

Now go forth my students, and unleash the power of this knowledge on the world.

Shoulda seen the look on your face though

That whole emergency alert about the volcano blowing up and threatening the Puyallup Valley? Just kidding.

False alarm: Radio broadcasts mistaken mudflow warning

THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

TACOMA, Wash. -- An emergency radio station mistakenly warned that a massive, volcanic-caused mudflow was headed from the flanks of Mount Rainier and that listeners in the valley below should rush to higher ground.

The emergency lahar warning was broadcast Wednesday for nearly an hour on the 1580 AM frequency in the suburban Pierce County town of Puyallup. Some listeners said they were horrified.

...

"It kept repeating, 'This is not a test,'" she said.

...

Emergency officials in communities around Mount Rainier routinely test the system that would, in the event of a real lahar from the volcano, activate 24 sirens around the valley and broadcast a radio alert. But on Wednesday, 1580 AM picked up the test signal as real and said the lahar was coming.

I had to look it up too. A lahar is a mudflow from a volcano.

Anyway, glad to see the false alarm only went out on one AM station rather than sending up the full alert. Kind of makes you wonder about living in the Puyallup Valley though, what with there being an alert all set up for a Mount Rainier explosion and everything.

Vicodin is overrated

Sure, it amplifies the effects of alcohol, but so does more alcohol. Plus it gives me really weird dreams.

You know those dreams where you know it's a dream, but you still can't wake up? And then when you finally do, you wake up in another dream that just seems real by comparison to the old dream? And it keeps going on like that for about 3 or 4 levels? And every one of the dreams really sucks somehow? And then when you finally wake up for real, you're so damn tired, you just fall back asleep again, and it all starts over?

Yeah, I hate that.

I'm done taking Vicodin.

How you can tell someone is telling the truth

When someone tells you they can't hang out because they want to hurry up and rent some porn before their wife gets home, you can be pretty sure they're not lying to you.

Drunken Wisdom

Is there any better kind? As we all know, our bestest ideas of all come from drunkenness.

To counteract the possibly controversial post below, I offer you something completely ridiculous: drunken quotes (from Modern Drunkard Magazine).

A few favorites:

“If you don’t drink in the morning, you can’t be drunk all day.”

“Now that I can see two of you, you’re twice as hot.”

“So, have you always been a tool, or are you just going for the ‘look’?”

Heh, heh. The Seattle Scribe is back!

Please leave any drunken wisdom you may have in the comments. I will add them to my growing text file of gems.

American blogger goes to the West Bank

Same guy again. As I said before, I wouldn't keep linking this stuff if it weren't apolitical and fascinating. It's impossible to stay completely apolitical when you're talking about the Palestinian territories, but I would say he's uncontroversial about it, insofar as possible. A little long, but a good read.

I'm adding this quote in later:

Sufian took me to a cafe and bought me a gigantic glass of freshly squeezed juice. We sat at a square wooden table. I sipped my juice through a straw while flipping to a blank page in my notebook.

“Who did you vote for in the election?” I said.

“I didn’t vote,” he said. “There was no one worth voting for. Our parties are terrible.”

I would have said I know the feeling, but Good Lord. Whining about the Democrats and the Republicans to a guy who is stuck with the likes of Yasser Arafat’s Fatah and Hamas would just sound pathetic.

Good stuff people.

A Hospitalization Retrospective

Friday afternoon, completely out of the blue, I got severe cramping in my stomach. I had just eaten some beef for the first time in over a month, and I thought that was it. Nope. I wish.

I may as well tell you up front, since everyone has to know what it was before I get to any other part of the story: I have a busted large intestine. It was leaking bacteria and such throughout my innards. My Dad and his brother had the exact same thing, so it runs in the family.

I didn't get the diagnosis until Saturday afternoon, after a CT (aka CAT) scan. This was not the best of news to be getting. The cute doctor's assistant told me this usually means surgery (maybe that's why they sent her to tell me).

They kept asking me to rate the pain on a 1 to 10 scale and I kept saying 5 because I didn't have any idea where to rate it. It was pretty bad, I kept saying. "Do you want some pain medication?" the cute doctor lady asked. My ears perked up. "Sure!" I said, hopefully not too enthusiastically.

The pain was pretty bad, but it wasn't so bad I couldn't be my curious chatty self. I kept pestering the ER nurse with questions until the pain drugs came. Time between injection of the drugs and my head hitting the pillow: 2.3 seconds.

Having pain drugs injected into my bloodstream is a new experience for me. I don't recommend shooting up drugs to anyone, but I have to admit, it was pretty cool. It was a feeling of warmness coursing through my body, followed by a headrush, and then numbness. It was like a bear hug from God -- a sweet merciful loving God. I didn't see any ship smoke on the horizon, but at least my stomach didn't matter much anymore.

At some point the surgeon came in to introduce himself. I noticed he has the same first name as me. That's about all I remember from that encounter, though I do recall being vaguely upset that the surgeon felt he ought to introduce himself.

They put me up in a room upstairs and this wonderful, awesome nurse kept giving me more pain killers. If we hadn't just discussed my bowel movements at length, I would have proposed right on the spot. If you're out there baby, I miss you. Let's meet up (bring more painkillers).

In the end I didn't go under the knife. They said my body was healing it over and fighting off the infection on its own. I'm home now. I have a followup appointment with the surgeon this week though. From what they say, it probably means surgery at some point in my life. Basically I have to never get constipated ever again. Anyone want some yogurt? I won't be needing it.

And yeah, this means I missed my Diabetes Walk and the date on Sunday. Poor girl probably thinks I'm insane. What girl wants to go out with a guy with a busted large intestine? "Sorry for missing the date babe, but my shitter was full." How do I recover from that? Well, I'll give it a try anyway.

And just for fun, here are a few observations from my hospital stay:

* The ER's mode of thinking is a little more quick and dirty than the people in other departments. I don't mean to imply they're unclean, I just mean they're all about getting the job done now. The nurses upstairs clucked at the IV the ER guy gave me. An IV in the crook of your elbow is the easiest to get in, but it causes pain and can fall out. They prefer the top of the hand.

* If there's one gorgeous woman on staff in any department you're in, she'll be the one who comes in to discuss your bowel movements with you. She'll then ask if you have pain in your penis. This happened to me in two out of two departments.

* The CT scanner thing is a marvelous piece of technology. It's a high level scan they do, before they decide if they need to do more extensive scans, like ultrasound. In my case that was all they needed. Before you go in they inject you with dye. It's warmed up for some reason, probably to make the dye work better. The nurse told me I would feel really warm and get a sensation like I peed my pants, but that it was normal. I didn't feel like I peed, but that was a very strange sensation. Usually injections feel cold. This felt sort of like the pain medication, but the heat was more intense and there was no buzz.

* Nurses do the real work.

* Be nice to your nurses. They have the power to give you pain medication, and they're the ones holding the needle. They know where the extra jello is after the kitchen is closed. Your goal should be to make your nurses your best friends. This is your surest ticket to smooth sailing.

* Some nurses are nicer than others. Some of them will stagger your pain medication out so you get 1 milligram every 2 hours instead of 2 mgs every 4 hours (thus allowing you to keep a rolling buzz). And some won't. Best to find out which kind of nurse you have right off the bat. Guess which kind the potential Mrs. Scribe is?

* If you're a difficult patient, you don't get the best care. If you need help getting in/out of bed, don't ask to get back in bed 5 minutes after getting out. "GUESS who wants back in bed?" I heard two nurses discussing just outside my room. Don't be that person.

* Apparently speaking English is not a requirement to become a doctor or a nurse. This is my only complaint about a couple of the nurses. If you can't conjugate verbs, you can't tell me how to take the medication. Don't bother miming me the directions to the pharmacy, I'm just going to ask the next English speaking person I come across.

* Don't bitch about the IV being put in. Once that's in, you're saved from, according to my calculations, 40 bajillion other injections. If being friends with the nurses is your ticket to smooth sailing, then the IV is the bump up to first class.

* Not to knock on doctors, but they seem to just come around and approve what the head nurse has surmised for them. Making friends with the doctor is a great idea, but you won't see them more than 5 minutes in a 24 hour period. Still, best to use that 5 minutes. Save up all your questions and ask him/her. It's a good idea to research your symptoms on the internet before you go in (I always do this). Doctors are naturally inquisitive people and will listen with an open mind to your ideas, as long as you catch them in that brief window.

* The probability of the doctor coming in is inversely proportional to the amount of time since your last pain medication injection.

* Some doctors have attitude problems. You can just tell they can't believe they're wasting their time talking to you. The small minority who act this way (only 1 in my recent experience), hide it well and are cordial, but they're curt and try to walk out before you have a chance to say anything. Don't be afraid to ask them questions anyway. It's your health, and for all you know, he/she had the lowest passing grade in medical school. If they're just "too important" to stick around talking to you, sometimes going through his/her assistant is the path of least resistance.

* Whoever invented the automatic shutoff arm for the icemaker was a genius.

* If you're going to the ER for yourself, by yourself, take a backpack with some clothes, bathroom items, and books/mags. I was saved by my books. My brother is one town over and I have friends who would have gone to my apt to get things for me, but it's better to just have what you want with you.

* I'm used to my pain medication coming in whiskey form, so these 500mg vicodins are going to be a new experience for me. Rumor has it, "they work".


UPDATE: Uh, yeah. They work.

Slow news day?

93-year-old man's pants catch fire

A 93-year-old man’s pants caught on fire Thursday afternoon while he fought a brush fire in [] emergency responders said.

Emergency dispatchers received the call at 2:34 p.m. about a small brush fire on the [] Road.

No structures were damaged, and the man was not seriously injured, according to initial reports.

Walnut Hill firefighters responded to the fire. No other information is available at this time.

In other words: a non-newsworthy event took place. Wow. I'm reminded of this "prediction" for weather made by Pat Robertson.

VIRGINIA BEACH, Va. -- Religious broadcaster Pat Robertson says God told him storms and possibly a tsunami will hit America's coastline this year.

...

"If I heard the Lord right about 2006, the coasts of America will be lashed by storms," Robertson said May 8.

Really Pat? There may be some weather on the coasts this year? Don't stick your neck out too far there. And I don't know what it's like to be spoken to by the Lord, but I would assume what he says wouldn't be in question. I'm guessing that if the divine savior of humanity speaks to you, you would pay attention, is what I'm saying.

It's obviously a slow news day here at Seattle Scribe headquarters, so here's a funny clip from Robot Chicken where The Emperor takes a call from Darth Vader (worksafe, bleeped curses). Seth Green can be annoying, but this show is still underrated.

For when the boss is coming

Click here.

UPDATE: If you'd rather your boss see you looking at this, be my guest (technically worksafe).

What really is fashion sense?

Women are our fashion superiors. At least this is what we've been led to believe. But I submit to you that they have a special trick that I'm going to expose, right here on the non-existent pages of this blog.

Let me clarify, some women have fashion sense. My sister, for example, has fashion sense. She could make drapes, a rubber band, and a torn sweatshirt into some sort of presentable outfit. Maybe I'm just saying that because as my older sibling, she's perennially stuck in 80's chic fashion in my head (think Boof from Teen Wolf), but I think there's more to it. She makes and sells her own jewelry. Some people are just like that.

But I am convinced that the vast majority of what passes for "fashion sense" in the female realm is just looking at clothes in magazines and then buying them. Hey guys, we can do that too!

I first learned this from my good ole' buddy RCR. I ran into him sometime in our early college years back home (we went to separate colleges) and he was all dressed up. I was still wearing worn out jeans and flannel shirts, probably atop a black concert tee. I had a set of dress clothes around for family functions and whatnot, but nothing I liked or wore with any frequency.

A mutual female friend of ours mentioned to me how great a dresser RCR was. I was shocked. I thought he looked like a tool. His pants weren't even torn up, and they weren't even jeans! And his shirt, well, it sure wasn't a black Allman Brothers t-shirt like I had. Pfftt, to that, I said. Yet, I was intrigued by this ability to please the eye of female persons. I decided to learn more.

Me: So what's the secret here? How do you pick such great clothes that girls like? My gf's birthday is coming up and it would be really sweet to get her a nice sweater or something.

His response: Dude, just buy what the mannequin is wearing. It never fails.

And I've lost respect for the fashion sense of women ever since. He's totally right. They just buy what the mannequin is wearing. As long as you know your lady's size, and you have a general idea of her colors, just buy her what's on the mannequin. It's so easy! This should be one of the pillars of wisdom men are taught when they slay their first bear.

Along with never, ever, ever, EVER, let someone else pick out your tie.

This is all on my mind because today, for the first time in years, I bought a pair of jeans. I couldn't wear jeans to work in Chicago (wouldn't is more like it), so over 4 years of purging my clothes for the Salvation Army, they all rotated out. I haven't worn jeans in about 4 years. But Seattle, this city is forcing me to downdress. I look a little out of place wearing khakis and a nice shirt everywhere I go. Next on the list, some crummy shoes and a [shudder] vest. I figure I can just let my current crop of shirts deteriorate, and then they'll look normal.

This post is inspired by one of RCR's, one of my personal favorites. I'm not positive, but I get the feeling this one was more off the cuff than usual. I prefer that kind of blogging (of course, look at what I produce here). In the post after that one, he tells us he's going on hiatus. As I tried to say in the comments, a wise man once said, "I'm in a groove now, or is it a rut?" You gotta quit blogging when it's no longer fun. I've been there for sure.



But right now I'm in a place where I type just to read myself blog. I definitely appreciate all you guys and gals coming by. Even though I purposely avoid winning a large audience, the interaction with you regulars makes it all worthwhile. Here's a stupid bonus(?) story for you, you gluttons for punishment(.):

We (me and some Seattle friends) were on top of a hill at a park watching parasailers, and a young family walks by. A seaplane starts taking off from the lake and the Mom says in her best kiddie sing-song voice to the little boy (who I'm calling Jake just 'cause): "Look Jakie! It's a water plaaaaaaaaane!" Now I know she's just being a good Mom and there are valid reasons why talking to children in their formative years like this helps them remember correct pronunciations and all that.

But. The tone was way overdone even for those purposes, and the look on the kid's face was priceless. He just looked over at the plane, watched it for a sec, and then turned to his Mom with a look that said, "Well yeah, dummy, what did you think it was?" and then he went back to playing with the dirt. I almost peed my pants I was laughing so hard.

Oh fine, so you had to be there. There were some guys smoking pot nearby, maybe some of it wafted over.

I'm finally home

I made Indian friends last night (Saturday night). I don't know why, but I never feel right in a place until I have Indian friends. Yeah, my ex-gf was Indian, but I think that was more a symptom than a cause, if you know what I mean (speaking of India the country).

I met a bunch of people down at a beach called Golden Garden. It's a family place in the day, but it's a drunken bonfire once the sun goes down. Me likey.

I cut my foot wide open on a rock. That sucked. Still does. But at least I brought back half a frickin' tree for the fire. I even had a cheering section going. The tide came in while I was getting the wood, so my path was blocked by, well, the ocean. I sucked it up and hauled the wood over a pile of rocks (hence the injury). The fire was bright and warm. Girls I didn't know were impressed. It was totally worth it.

My plan for Mother's Day, after calling my Mom and telling her how much I love her of course, is to go to the store, get all the fixins', and make a ginormous batch of my trademark sangria, and go hang out at a park in the sun. Football, anyone? My Seattle friends have yet to enjoy my sangria too. Awesome, because I was just waiting for a blue sky, sunny day -- just like this, to make it.

That's all I got for now. I'll leave you with what I wrote in the aftermath of the Drive By Truckers debacle (...mutter, mutter...). This is unedited, so take it for what it's worth. Y'all oughtta get a laugh out of it anyway.

------------------------

I don't believe there are occasions for which a Hawaiian shirt is not called for. I think Hawaiian shirts are the height of fashion. Weddings, Christmas dinner, funerals, you name it, I'll wear a Hawaiian shirt to it.

That was my thinking as I began my big night out. I've been salivating over these Drive By Truckers tickets for weeks now. I don't know why. I'm not a huge fan of the band, though I do enjoy them. I was just pumped to be going to a show. Plus, it was a prime occasion for the wearing of the Hawaiian shirt. I'm halfway convinced that I make plans just so I can shame everyone else with the magnificence of my shirt(s).

I have about 5 of them, and I usually go for a mid to low-tier one, but this was a special event. It called for the best. I wanted the Hawaiian shirt that made everyone else jealous. I wanted nothing but the finest. The big kahuna, if you will.

If I weren't a worthless piece of garbage, I'd be using Wordpress instead of blogger, and I could post a picture of it for you. Instead you'll just have to look at this and imagine it wrapped around the chestal/torso region of one big hunk of The Seattle Scribe. The yellow one. But the leaves are blue. And the fabric is of high quality. It's really nice, I got it in Naples, FL. God, strike me dead now for not switching to Wordpress earlier.

But wait! I know what you're going to say. "The Seattle Scribe, aren't all Hawaiian shirts just totally awesome?" No, dear reader. Not by a long shot. It takes a skilled eye and a trained style to not only pick out, but to wear well, a Hawaiian shirt.

A Hawaiian shirt is not just the classiest piece of attire you can wear, it's also a responsibility. You have to know how to be Hawaiian shirt guy. If Hawaiian shirt guy isn't spreading joy, who will? Dipshit over there in the sweatervest? Please. No one's inspired by a sweater. He's just happy his girlfriend let him out to play. She probably picked out his outfit. You know Hawaiian shirt guy's girlfriend doesn't pick out his clothes.

A Hawaiian shirt is an open invitation for everyone else to come over and be sociable. Not everyone can be Hawaiian shirt guy. We know this. It's what keeps us special, so we make no bones about it. But nothing irritates me more than a jerk in a Hawaiian shirt. So if you're feeling antisocial, don't wear it.

And if you're buttoning your Hawaiian shirt all the way up, you're missing the point completely, and I am a miserable failure at explaining who Hawaiian shirt guy is supposed to be.


Ahem. But I digress. The night begins...

Showered up and thusly attired, I embarked on my long journey to ... The Bar across the street. I met up with BrewKiller, my new buddy. Guess where I met him? Hint: it wasn't at the museum. The man, he can kill some brew. Usually ones I paid for.

Sufficiently pre-sauced, we cabbed it to the show. Son Volt was already on and the place seemed empty. We wondered if southern rock was going to make it in the Pacific Northwest. We had nothing to worry about. The place was packed soon enough, too packed.

There was no where to stand, and the bouncer kept yelling at us to get off the stairs. I understand they're a business and they want to sell as many tickets as possible, but they really ought to limit the number of people just a bit. Down about 100 from however many people were there last night would give just enough room to actually move around.

None of this would have been much of a problem if BK were a normal drunk. Don't get me wrong, I was clipping a healthy buzz at this point, but BK was trashed. He was becoming a problem. Now I'm all for forgiving drunken hi-jinks, but at some point you have to handle yourself as a man. Agree with it or not, you can't fucking smoke in the bar, and nobody wants to hear your goddamn harmonica at a concert where music is already playing, that's what those people are doing up there on that thing called a stage.

You want to know how the Drive By Truckers were? So would I. I never got to hear them because dipshit got tossed from the bar for being too drunk. The whole night I was snapping smokes out of his mouth before he could light them. When that wasn't working, he kept going outside to smoke every 5 minutes and then barging back into the crowd. At one point he tried to give me his jacket to hold for him? WTF? Do I look like your girlfriend? He asked the same bouncer four separate times if he could go outside to smoke and come back in. Four times, to the same guy. It's no wonder they finally wouldn't let him back in.

Now, ordinarily I would let him stew in his own juices outside and enjoy the show. Fuck him if he can't follow simple rules. But I went outside with him and then I was guilty by association. They weren't letting us back in. I'm still kind of pissed about it, but the place was so overcrowded anyway that I was kind of glad to be out of there. I saw about 30 seconds of the main show.

I'm not going to be a dick to him. He wasn't that drunk, he was just being a nuisance. But I doubt I'll be suggesting any more concert nights out with him.

So we went back to The Bar, which doesn't kick people out, and ended the night there. Not exactly what I had in mind. I won at some darts and cheated on my diet with some delicious, wonderful beer. Ho hum.

I'll give BK one thing though, he flat out insisted that we go to the hottub on the roof. That was a good call. Then he went home.

I wasn't tired at all. When I decide to get drunk and party, I'm usually all wound up and raring to go until the birds are chirping. So... I decided I would start writing about the night. Not exactly party-tastic, but I wasn't going to sleep. I threw some salmon on the barbie and started writing. I'll include below some of what I wrote, but keep in mind that I was drunk and pissed off about missing the show.

To put it in context, BK is from Texas, and he makes a big deal about how we have something in common, both being southerners. It's been 10 years since I lived below the Mason-Dixon line, and my family all moved out of WV, so I don't really feel very southern anymore, but whatever. The build up to the night was about how us southern boys were gonna go get drunk and listen to some southern rock. Yeah!

I thought he could hang. He said he could hang. He can't hang.

Please keep in mind that I do not stand by my blanket characterization of the entire state of Texas. Texas is a great place and I can say that with authority because I've never been there, but I got drunk with a guy from there, so...

Anyway, here we go, with a few eff words edited out:

I took my friend out for some drinks and a show, and the drunk bastard, he got so fucking drunk, he got us tossed from the goddamn show we went to in the first fucking place!

Drunk ass punk muthafucka. Texas is full of some bitch ass punks, I'll tell you what.

And this is why I don't write when I'm drunk. I tried to write about other things, but all of my stories kept morphing into how everyone from Texas sucks, and how Texans can't drink, and what a crappy place Texas is, etc...

Here's an example of what I'm talking about:

BK was hardcore about the hottub. I had never been to my own rooftop hottub, so we went.

We had a splash fight. A *MEGA* splash fight. It was the splashfight to end all splashfights. I won, of course (I got you wetterer than you did!), but that's not the point. The point is, people from Texas can't fucking drink. I'm not causin' trouble, I'm just sayin' these Texas mofos are bitch ass punks is all.

And this is how pretty much everything I wrote came out like. If you're reading this and you're from Texas, it's nothing personal. I have nothing against Texas. I've never even been there. I was just pissed about the show. It was my own fault really. I should have just let him get booted and left him. Stupid amature drinkers.


Oh, and after all that, how was the Hawaiian shirt, you ask? It was aweome! I was the only one wearing a Hawaiian shirt in the entire building. Everybody else looked like douchebags. What's with the drab clothing Seattle? There are clothing items other than vests and jeans, you know. The next best dressed person there, including women, was from a gaggle of sweater-dorks, and he just looked like a well dressed tool.

I'm hardly one to be big on fashion. My friends would laugh at the notion of me giving fashion advice. I just don't see why everyone is so happy to go out in public looking like idiots (an ironic statement coming from a guy in a Hawaiian shirt, huh?). Don't you people have mirrors? I don't know who I'm talking to. No one from Seattle actually reads this.

There was another person who was the only guy wearing something: a guy in a cowboy hat. Before things took a turn for the worse, I ended up near him in the crowd and said hello. He's a pilot in the Navy. I don't know if you've ever known any pilots, but they kind of all act the same. Very deliberate. That's been my take anyway, but that may just be military pilots.

And that's that. I can't believe you read this far. How was your Tuesday?

The problem with Seattle is you can't justify sunglasses in the morning

me, walking down the middle of a busy downtown street, comes up to a cop standing at the end of an extended huge construction site that I just walked past

cop: Sir, this whole side is blocked off for like, three blocks.

me: I noticed that.

cop: You're walking down a lane of traffic.

me: I know.

cop: [shakes head]

me: [keeps walking]

Have a great weekend everyone! Not that anyone cares, but I'll toss up the Drive By Truckers story this weekend.

Breasts are cool

This link is courtesy of garlic (video-ish). Probably not work safe, though if you're a woman, you could always argue it's for health. The breast kind of health.

It's a site that explains how to give yourself a breast exam. It also inlcludes a sexy woman probing her own breasts that you get to click around.

Hey, the link has boobs. Take it for what it's worth.

In other news, I saw a hilarious comedy show tonight and then went to The Bar and got enamoured with a lesbian. She says she's gay, but I'm not so sure. If she's a dike, she's a cool one.

Things being blown up

Lots of demolition videos here. Breaking stuff is cool.

Cool Earth photos

I got nuthin', so here's some cool Earth pics.

UPDATE: More cool Earth pics.

Since you were wondering

Two weeks into South Beach: ten pounds lost. It works.

I'm not sure how much I trust the bodyfat percentage feature of my fancy-schmancy scale, since it flucuates wildly, but according to that I'm making progress there as well. I haven't found the diet terribly hard to stick to, though at times I would throttle your first born for a freakin' pizza. Or some wings... mmmm .... wings ....

This weekend I made myself a wonderful asparagus-garlic and edamame-garlic (notice a pattern?) dinner, with a swordfish side that lasted me two days. I'm making meat the sidedish now. Two veggie dishes, plus a meat side. The science is behind vegetarianism, healthwise.

At least I don't abstain from meat for moral reasons. BTW - Swordfish has a fishy taste. I like that, you may not. Take note.

I'm obviously out of entertaining things to say, so if anyone has good fish recipes, I would love to hear them. Feel free to leave them in the comments or my email is over to the side there.


In other news - I'm going to see The Drive By Truckers tomorrow night (Tuesday night) at The Showbox. Their music makes me nostalgic for WV, which is hard to do. I know little about them other than the albums, so this will be my first live encounter. A full report is forthcoming.

Toothlessness broken down by state

Guess who's number 1. Yep. Where was ya this time, Mississip'?

For those not familiar with West Virginia, we have a special love affair with Mississippi. Whenever there's a state by state list of attributes, like teen pregnancy, or illiteracy, 49 is always WV and 50 is always MS. We love Mississippi because they're always keeping us out of last place. But not this time.

Joke: How do you know the toothbrush was invented in West Virgnina?

Because if it were anywhere else it would be called a "teethbrush".

What does the XP EULA actually say?

EULA = End User License Agreement, the thing you quickly scroll past and click OK on when installing anything. This explains each section of the Windows XP EULA in plain english.

I never actually read through the entire XP EULA of course, but I'm glad to see my layman's take on this flavor of legalese turns out to be almost entirely correct.

Key bit:

You agree that at any time, and at the request of “content providers” Microsoft may disable certain features on your computer, such as the ability to play your music or movie files.

Gotta love Microsoft.

Mappy time waster

Here's a bunch of maps where the size of countries is based on the number of whatever is in them. This should help you kill at least half an hour at work today.

And I guess I'm the only one who likes this sheep playing musical instruments thing, but I'm linking it again anyway.

Happy Friday! Everyone have a great weekend.

We'll call it "research"

I'm not a huge fan of his show, but I find some things from Mind of Mencia pretty funny.

Woman: Does this dress make me look fat?

Man: No, you being fat makes you look fat!

Woman: Oh my god. That's is horrible. Why would you say this?

Man: Wait, hold on, I am the one stuck with a fatty and you are the one complaining?

Woman: (crying) You don't love me!

Man: That's not true, I love you and I can prove it. Where were we going right now?

Woman: We were going out to dinner.

Man: Exactly. You are fat, and I am still with you, and I am also taking you out to eat, and you are saying I don't love you? If that's not love, I don't know what love is!

And this works both ways ladies, so no complaining about the insensitivity. I am flat out sick and tired of hearing that men are shallow and women aren't. Men may be shallow about looks, but women are shallow about looks and money. I think everyone knows that. I just thought this was funny.

I could have gone off on a rant here, but I didn't. You may now mourne at you're loss of my genus.

Here's an interesting article (NWS) that argues that the reason supermodels are so skinny and tall is because the industry is run by gay men (fashion designers), and skinny tall women most resemble young adolescent boys. I thought that was nuts until they pointed out how supermodels tend to have masculine looking faces, with a strong jawline, no breasts, no butt, and such. Interesting. And those who like to see semi-naked female models, don't forget to follow the various links for more, um, research (none are worksafe).

And while I'm at it, it's the 60th anniversary of the bikini. Hubba hubba! (if a girl in a bikini is worksafe, then this is worksafe)

UPDATE: After actually reading through most of the article, I have to say that I don't endorse all of what this person is saying. It's linked only because it's an interesting perspective (and the pictures don't hurt).

He says alot of stuff about how some women aren't attractive because their hips are too narrow and their ribcages are too large. Um... do I really care if that means that woman developed under higher androgen levels than a more feminine hourglass looking woman? He (I'm assuming it's a straight guy) seems to have a phobia of any masculine trait in a woman. I'll agree that super tall skinny girls aren't the epitome of sexiness, but I don't have the patience to judge women's looks so critically like this.

In conclusion: I like women.

And not to be accused of neglecting male beauty, here's an article on that. For some reason, I'm not as inclined to opine on this subject. But I did learn one thing: I'm overusing colons. No wait, I already knew that.

Apparently I'm attracted to women this article refers to as "women who rated themselves as more attractive", women who make over $30,000 and have a positive self-image. There's a "duh" factor there for sure, but according to the research done for this article, that group of women places alot more importance on male beauty than other women. Other women value personality more.

Depending on the amount of alcohol consumed that night, I tend to go after women who are either well employed or are in school to be so. And any woman with a low self esteem gets "friended" right off the bat. Maybe that's why I'm so interested in dieting and working out lately, health reasons aside.

No chile for me

A bit of background: I'm doing the South Beach diet and so I've had to change my eating habits. Lots of salad, eggs, and nuts. I've had alot of soy milk, etc.

RCR gave me a turkey chile recipe that looks pretty good, and I was gonna cook 'er up. Then I wrote the following email to him:

I was just about to try out your chile recipe. I even went out and bought enough stuff for two batches, but then it hit me: I would have to stand there, in the kitchen, not really doing anything other than watching stuff cook.

And I lost all interest. I'll eat nuts for dinner again.

God I'm lazy.

UPDATE: Since I shamed myself with this post, I sucked it up and made the chile. It was boring, but now I have a pot full of chile. It's not bad.

Maps maps maps

Here's a map that breaks down gas prices by county. I'm a little surprised by how clearly the price changes at state borders. I thought it was illegal to set prices in interstate commerce?

There's a case where some Washington wineries challenged New York and Michigan to allow them to sell directly to consumers, and they won. The commerce clause "prohibits discrimination against out-of-state business". So why isn't whoever the hell is selling gas in Wyoming sending their trucks across the border? Surely they want to sell more product. There has to be some form of price fixing going on.

And you thought the oil industry was low enough.

I'm also linking this pop vs. soda map, because it sort of resembles the gas map.

Steroid abuse

I mentioned earlier that some women are crazy. Here's an example of male craziness (second link NWS).

Everything could explode at any moment

This is the third time I've linked this guy about his stories in the Middle East. I wouldn't keep doing it if it weren't fascinating and a-political. This is good stuff. If you like it, make sure to read through his blog.

This particular entry is about being in Israel and visiting the volatile northern border.