Hempfest in Seattle

I went to one of these (okay, four) in Ann Arbor. It was pretty lame. First, you have to get up and to the diag by noon. Then it's crawling with cops. The cops were cool actually. They carted off the occasional dumbass who lit up a joint right there, but otherwise seemed to enjoy the spectacle as much as I did.

Which brings me to the real attraction of such an event: people watching. You've got your usual cadre of bozos, hippies, wanna-be-hippies and punks. There's always a few straight edgers who are double reversing the irony on you by dressing smart, thus super bucking the establishment (man). But my favorite are the straight up freaks.

There was this one guy at one of the hasbashes in Ann Arbor who was dressed up like a shaman. He had some kind of robe on, a skull of some animal on his head so that his face stuck out its mouth, and a rattle that he would use to put "hexes" on the cops as they walked by. He was hilarious. He made the day as far as I was concerned. And the best part, aside from the look on the cops' faces when he pointed at them and shook the rattle and muttered out some incantation, was when he would occasionally answer his cell phone.

As a former pothead, I have no problem with decriminalizing it. As anyone who has used both can attest, pot belongs in the same category as alcohol. Spend some time with a heroin addict, or recovering addict, and you'll understand the very extreme difference. I've not spent time with meth-heads, nor do I want to, but I hear they're just as bad. Those are the kinds of drugs to go after.

Here's the Hashbash website. I note they still hold it in early April on the diag at "high noon" (haha, get it? they're so cleverer than us, they've used the same slogan for years). Despite my sympathy for their cause, they still get some lunatics to represent them. One speaker at one of the Hashbashes said TWA flight 800 was shot down by the government so they could increase security to take away our pot. Um... okay dude. Put the lighter down and step away from the bong.

I may or may not attend the rally here in August. But if I do, once again the main attraction will be the people.

Anyone want to buy a couch?

But first, here's a hilarious SNL skit sent in by glorious former Chicago roommate and fellow West Virginian hellraiser, BS. It makes some pothead jokes, but there's no nudity, so make your own judgement on work safety. I'm sure it's a parody of some famous rap song, and I'm equally sure I have no idea what it is.

So this is my last day in Florida and I've come to some conclusions regarding my life and what I'm going to do next. I'm not sure how much you all know, so I'll just start from the beginning (note: this is where you should bail, unless you want to read a self indulgent tale about my life).

I moved out to Seattle from Chicago in December '05 for a combination of reasons, only one of which reflects the quality of Chicago as a city. I hated my job, I hated my commute, and I hated what I was turning into. There's really no way to sugarcoat it, I was fat and unhappy.

It had to be obvious that I didn't like my job. I wasn't bad at it, but it couldn't have been hard for my coworkers, and I'm sure my boss, to tell that I wasn't happy there. Add a 45 minute one-way commute to that, and you'd reach your end too.

And on top of that, I had gained a frightening amount of weight, especially considering my Dad's poor heart. I avoided mirrors and pictures. I didn't recognize myself sometimes. This touched off a bit of depression. I played video games and read copius amounts of whatever I could get my hands on. The only women I met were skanks from the club.

I wanted to get out more, but I was in such a rut. Weekdays were shot because it took me so long to get home. I had just enough time to eat, watch a couple hours of TV, and go to sleep. Plus I have a pretty severe case of sleep apnea, so I almost never had energy to do anything. The best I could manage on weekends was going to the club with my friends -- something I would never do of my own volition. That was fun and I love my friends for sure, but I still wasn't happy.

Someone asked me how old I was and I said 24, but I was really 26. I had forgotten my own age. Someone else asked me how long I had been working at my job, and I said 3 years. My coworker and best friend at work, Garlic, corrected me and said no, you've been here 4 years. I was in limbo, spinning my wheels, not getting anywhere but fatter.

That comment from Garlic was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was looking for an out from that moment on. I was on a team with 50-60 year old engineers who were doing the same damn crap I was doing. No fucking way was I going down like that.

Around this time, my brother called me up and pitched this idea to start a company together in Seattle. Quitting my job in Chicago was the best thing I ever did. It felt great! I never ever doubt my decision to do that. People still ask me if I miss my old job, and I always reply NO without a moment's hesitation. I am 1 billion times happier for that decision. But it isn't just the job.

I got to Seattle in the rainy season. I didn't know anyone, so I didn't really have anywhere to go other than my brother's place, and the rain kept me from any serious exploring. Except for The Bar, of course, which is conveniently located across the street. The potential for falling into bad old habits was there.

Yet it didn't happen. Oh sure, I snarfed some pizza and wings and guzzled my fair share of high carb beer and low brow whiskey. But I knew I had no more excuses for being unhealthy. It was time to turn things around. I started slow. I took walks, looong walks all around the city (2 to 5 miles). Even in the rainy season you can find parts of the day where it's merely overcast and cold (yay!).

In the meantime, the business thing fell through with my bro. The details aren't important. This is for the best.

While I was winding things down with my bro, I was using my extra time to work out a little more and a little more. I got on the South Beach diet, thanks in no small part to RCR's Tuesday night drunken diatribe(s). I can't even remember the last time I ran 5 miles (everyone knows elliptical miles don't really count, but let me have my illusion anyway).

I already felt pretty good, but when I combined it with South Beach, the pounds just started melting away. I felt great. I was sleeping better and having more energy. I went by the mirror and noticed that my double chin had disappeared. The weather turned sunny and beautiful. I met a girl. My life was firing on all cylinders. But there was one thing missing: what the hell was I gonna, ya know, DO?

Since my rodeo clown gig fell through, the next easy answer is to go to law school and become a patent lawyer. An engineer can do that with relative ease (as easy as one can call law school). That's been my preliminary plan for a couple months now. It's not like I sit up at night thinking how great it would be to pour over legalese and spend late nights at the firm, but I do think making good money sounds good.

Plus, I'm in the market for a good woman, and all women say they want "stability". I always laugh a little when I hear that, because we all know that "stability" really means expensive restaurants, designer shoes, and the good minivan with the foldy seats that go in the floor. But I digress.

Since I'm recently unemployed, I came to Florida to visit my parents, who I basically neglected for 4+ years in Chicago. I changed my flight to stay later to help out my Dad. His health isn't so good, and he just moved into his new house, and he needs help. I probably lost 5 pounds of water weight alone putting together and mounting on the wall a bunch of garage tool shed things. He better friggin' use those.

But none of this is the point about Florida. Being here has changed my outlook on life. Florida is an, um...., interesting place. Southern Florida especially. Southwestern Florida particularly.

Let me try to describe the culture. First there's the rich old people from up north or Europe. New Yorkers, Midwesterners, Canadians, Germans, etc. They run the gamut. They're a little harder to peg because they bring their culture with them (along with scandalous amounts of cash). They all drive like assholes. Outside of rollin' down highway 41, they're not my concern.

Then there are the Cubans and Mexicans and other Latinos. For whatever reason, they don't mix with the whites. I suppose it's money and class. That's just how it is. My step-brother-in-law runs a construction-type business, and he mentioned that he never has any problems with Mexicans, if that's any consolation (probably not). That's the same old story about them. Nobody will make you look worse on the job than a Mexican. Say what you will about how they feel entitled to break our laws, you have to respect their work ethic. But that isn't who I want to talk about either.

The natives are the real interesting specie. Through my step-family (the family my Dad married into), I have met a number of locals, most obviously exemplified by my step-sisters. I have three hot blonde step-sisters, which I would be a little bummed about, if it weren't for all the other hundreds of hot blonde women cavorting about.

You know how all those hot blonde female teachers from Florida keep "raping" their 13 year old male students? Those ladies are average. Ho hum. Dime a dozen down here. Go to any beach or club, and you'll see younger hotter (and drunker) versions of them everywhere. And for the record, the only reason I lost my virginity at age 15 is because I was unsuccessful for 3 years.

I went to one of the big clubs in Naples, which is hilariously quaint by comparison to the clubs I went to in Chicago. It's still pretty frickin' wild, but the scene here is much more muted than Miami (like everywhere else). The girls in this club, the ones taking their shirts off and dancing on tables, are supposed to be 21 to get in the door. But I swear some of those girls had to be like, 14 or 15. Had to be. I've never felt so old in my life. I felt really uncomfortable, and I was probably the youngest guy there at 28.

If you're going to go out in Southwest Florida, you're going to have to learn to suppress your innate anti-pederasty (ahem, you do have innate anti-pederasty, don't you?). Every woman looks like your best friend's knockout 16 year old sister. Except she's not off limits. She's actually 24 and a college graduate with a decent job. AND, due to the shortage of good men, you actually stand a good chance with her or one of her bombshell friends.

It's a big thing here to go to Keewaydin Island, run your boat up on the ground, and drink beer and swim in the 87 degree ocean. Almost every woman there is drop dead gorgeous and they're all in bikinis. This one lady I thought I was doing ok with, turned around to scold her two kids who were like, 8 and 10. I'm telling you. I asked this one guy if his little sister was old enough to drink because she was asking me for a beer. "That's my wife." I thought she was 17, tops.

I have never seen so many off the hook gorgeous women, who are genuinely good people, with potbellied unrich dorky guys. Guys, I know what you're thinking, and I'm way ahead-a-ya. This is where we belong.

God made this place to reward dorky nice guys.

I'm not saying female beauty is the end all be all. What I am saying is that you can have everything you ever wanted in Florida, a knockout wife included. Call me shallow if you want. I can assure you, I don't give a shit what you think. I found out the hard way that being thin and good looking gets you places, and I'm a white male. I feel no guilt whatsoever for wanting a sexy wife.

It's fucking paradise down here. When was the last time you saw a palm tree or worried about the low tide? After being here for 2 and a half weeks, I can't believe I never moved here before. I've been such a fool.

A downside is that the weather here isn't perfect. It's extremely hot and muggy right now. I would expect no less for summertime in southern Florida, but it still sucks to walk outside and instantly sweat through your shirt.

And that reminds me, I am no longer taking shit for Seattle's rainy weather. Fine, it drizzles a little bit (or a lot bit) everyday in the winter and is overcast alot. But you want talk about rainy weather, try going to southern Florida in frickin' hurricane season. To see what I mean, check out Seattle's weather and then Naples' weather to see the difference (this effect will only work in the summer months).




All of this brings me to my post title. I now know what I have to do with my life. It was so obvious all along, I can't believe I didn't see it before. I have to get a sex change operation and sell kazoos in Mumbai. No wait!

I'm selling all my possessions, except for what I can fit in my car, and becoming a nomad. I'll leave Seattle in the Fall, once I take the LSAT and apply to law schools and so on. I'll work my way down to Florida, stopping off to see everything remotely of interest. I won't miss Crazy Horse this time. I've always wanted to go on the tour of that underground Cold War era missile base. And whatever else I can think of. All my friends will get a visit, until finally I end my journey in paradise, where I should have been all along.


So. Anyone want to buy a couch?

Sparse posting for the next couple weeks

Bring out your hankies, honkies. My main computer went to the big swap meet in the sky last night, so I won't be posting regularly for a little while. I'm sure that's devastating news to the 5 people who read this. I'm writing this on a really old crappy Linux box. I type and then wait for the letters to appear on the screen, that's how old it is.

Also I'm going to Florida to see my parents for a couple weeks on Friday. I'll probably post a couple things while I'm down there. I have a little essay on politics that I'm almost ready to release to the world (try to contain your excitement). But I probably won't be posting daily again until June 26th or so, and only then if my new computer is set up (I'm going to shop online for one while in Florida).

I hope you all have a great time in the meantime! Don't do anything I wouldn't do (or anyone).

666

You've probably heard that the date today is 6/6/06. I know I don't have to tell you, but it needs mentioned in a public forum so the sheeple can open their eyes and take a look around once and awhile.

Okay, let me do the math for you knuckle draggers. The date is June 6th, 2006. That means, you guessed it, it's been 47 days since Hitler's birthday and there's not even one mention of it in the librul MSM, heh heh, not that that surprises anyone who's been paying attention of course, you mouthbreathers.

Only us brave bloggers can shed the light the sheeple need to see the way.

But in all seriousness (?), here's a song my cousin wrote for his death metal band when we were kids (at least that's what he told me):

You will die by the edge of my sword
As I make love to a dying whore
The crucifix doth burn my flesh
I will not yield ...
until I die...!

[chorus]

Satan, Satan, he's my friend!
His love and kindness will never end!
He buys me drugs, he buys me booze!
So I grow my hair down to my shoes!

There were some other verses, but I forget them. My senior year in high school, I got a certain Catholic friend of mine to write this up on the chalkboard the day before Christmas break in Calculus, right in front of a really religious girl. I was busy erasing the star on the chalk Christmas tree and redrawing it as a pentagram. To her credit, she laughed, but erased it about 15 minutes later.

I can think of no better day to tell that story.

Danes justify drinking on a weekday

And we thank them.

An alcoholic drink a day can significantly reduce the risk for heart disease in men, a new study finds, but women get almost the same benefit with only one drink a week.

The report, which appears online in the British medical journal BMJ, suggests that for women, alcohol intake is the primary protective factor, while for men, it is drinking frequency.

Sorry ladies. And there's another problem:

[In t]he Danish study ... [a] drink was defined as containing 12 grams of ethanol, a little less than one-half ounce.

They're using the laughably undersized definition of a drink used here in the US that makes all of us by-defintion binge drinkers. I'm assuming the "a little less than one-half ounce" of ethanol measurement is taken from a standard one ounce shot, at 40% ethanol, which is the alcohol content of most liquor (80 proof).

One shot counts as a drink? Since when? Are they all Mormons? And as we should recall from high school health class, one shot of liquor is more or less equivalent to one beer or one glass of wine. Beer doesn't even count as a drink unless it's a hopped up IPA or some other high alcohol content beer.

But it's not all so bad:

For men, the more they drank, the lower the risk. One drink a week lowered the risk by about 7 percent, two to four drinks by 22 percent and five or six drinks a week by 29 percent. Those who drank every day had a 41 percent lower risk of heart disease than those who did not drink at all. Even among men who had up to 35 drinks per week, the protection persisted.

With women, the trend was different. One drink a week lowered the risk by 36 percent, but daily drinking lowered it by 35 percent. In other words, for women, alcohol consumption had a significant protective effect, but the frequency of drinking had none.

[emph. added] But what if we take a pro-active stance on our health? What if, due to concerns about our longterm health, we choose to go beyond the guidelines and do more? Who will take care of all the cute little puppies if we die? Who, I ask you???

I humbly volunteer for this brave experiment. For the puppies and The Children^TM. I'll take it upon myself, for the sake of science and cute furry animals, to drink on average more than one shot of liquor per day. It is my duty.

According to this study, my exhaustive calculations show that I should live to approximately age 4.7 billion, give or take a millenia.

The researchers also stressed that their data said nothing about binge drinking or about the number of drinks per occasion, and Dr. Gronbaek said that drinking was not a substitute for exercise or good diet. "You shouldn't avoid exercise," he said, "and then try to compensate by drinking."

Oh pish posh. When you think of health, think of liquor. We need to get this message out to The Children^TM.

Seattle Scribe, your one stop shop for news on the benefits of alcohol.

Random confession time

I occasionally eat fortune cookies, but I never bother to read the fortunes.

Best informed drivers are in the Northwest

Oregon and Washington take the number 1 and 2 spots in a state by state survey of driving knowledge. Rhode Island ranks 51st, and other Northeast locations takeup the next bottom 8 spots, with 2 exceptions (Washington D.C. is included in the list, and is ranked 50th). To its credit, Vermont is in 3rd.

I'm as surprised as you are that West Virginia and Mississippi aren't ranked the lowest. WV actually pulls off a respectable 19. Go the Mountain State! Illinois is 22 and most of the top ranks are filled by the vilified midwest, I think. Does Idaho count as the Midwest? When does it become Mountain? Is Mountain just a time zone and not a region of the country? Well, it's rubeville anyway.

Granted driving isn't exactly rocket science. Notice that I phrased the title, "best informed drivers". This is all based on a test of driving knowledge, not on accident records. Driving in a place like DC or NYC is helluva lot harder to do than Boise, so accident rates wouldn't necessarily denote a city of poor drivers per se. But in my highly scientific study, consisting of living in Chicago for 4+ years and taking a couple airport shuttles in Boston, Bostonian drivers are the craziest effin' drivers you'll ever encounter in this country.

If you have a crazy driving story, leave it in the comments.

Here's the article, and here's the list.

Funny Viagra story

Yes, yes, we all know pee-pee jokes are the epitome of cleverness, right next to poopy jokes and fart jokes. But this is an actually entertaining story of a guy who answered one of the shady Viagra emails and got some shipped to him. Then he took one and went to church. Really.

Have a great weekend everyone! Try not to think about how you only get two days off this time.

She's single, fellas

A German woman has been found guilty of the manslaughter of eight of her newborn babies. ...

The bodies were found buried in a fish tank and in flower pots and buckets in her parents' garden in a village in east Germany, near the Polish border. ...

DNA tests had shown that [this fine upstanding woman] and her ex-husband [he sure knows how to pick 'em] were the parents of all nine dead newborns.

Notice that says "ex" husband, guys. But she hasn't sealed the deal yet. What other trait could she exhibit to woo me completely?

A jobless dental assistant, ... [s]he said she could not remember what happened with her other pregnancies because she had drunk large quantities of alcohol each time she went into labour, and did not know if the babies had been born dead or alive.

Yes, that'll do nicely.

Open Thread

I'm opening a thread due to the overwhelming number of comments.

URGENT UPDATE: Morningstar Farms veggie "sausage" patties: not so good.

Laptop revenge

If you're going to rip someone off on Ebay by selling them a broken laptop, don't include a working harddrive full of your personal details and your gay porn collection.

Otherwise you'll be humiliated on teh interwebs. Note, this site starts off as though it's written from the guy who did the ripping off, but it's really written by the rippee. Or something.

I would call it borderline worksafe. The porn pics are of the clean variety, insofar as that's possible. Underwear, blacked out wangs, foot licking, etc. The funniest part is all the pics of some random dude with his shirt off.

Navy Simulator

This reminds me of an SNL skit that was a fake commercial for the Navy. It showed guys doing laundry, mopping the floor, serving slop, etc. It's one of my favorites.

This is a list of ways to simulate being in the Navy at home (complete list at link):

1. Lock all friends and family outside. Your only means of communication should be with letters that your neighbours have held for at least three weeks, discarding two of five.

2. Surround yourself with 200 people that you don't really know or like: people who smoke, snore like Mack trucks going uphill, and use foul language like a child uses sugar on cereal.

3. Unplug all radios and TVs to completely cut yourself off from the outside world. Have a neighbour bring you a Time, Newsweek, or Proceedings from five years ago to keep you abreast of current events.

4. Monitor all home appliances hourly, recording all vital information (ie: plugged in, lights come on when doors open, etc)

5. Do not flush the toilet for five days to simulate the smell of 40 people using the same commode.