This just in

Toxic chemicals spill into Ohio River

This is news because we all know the Ohio River is the model of purity. Not that I'm in favor of toxic spills, and kudos to Illinois for doing all they can, but why doesn't anyone report on the gallons of nasty chemicals spewing into the Ohio River every day in West Virginia/Ohio? I guess when it happens all day every day it's no longer news.

I can't believe my parents let me swim in it. You probably think I'm exaggerating unless you've seen it/smelled it/felt it for yourself. You wouldn't let your dog drink this slimy oily water. It wasn't uncommon to find random barrels of who knows what floating by.

We pulled one up on the dock and dumped it out to see if it was caustic (brilliant highschool logic). It was full of river water, no more caustic than usual. Bored, we tossed it back in and waved buh-bye.

The west coast hippie in me cringes, but really, it made no difference. Not when you could fill a large glass with ice and tapwater and see chemicals condense out of it. No one cared. God, no wonder the cancer rate is so high there.


Ahem! In happier news, here's a baby orangutan hugging a tiger cub.

Neat Mars pic

But I repeat myself. Hahaha! M so clevr.

Here's the link. Don't forget to click again for the zoom in. This pic was taken by Rosetta, a probe from a program I stumbled in hungover and cleaned out the cabinets for for summers in college. Was that english? It doesn't matter. My boss and I would do the crossword when I was done. I have him to thank for my hardnosed work ethic (and above average crossword ability) to this day.

So yeah, Mars. I notice the atmosphere is blue, its true color. I don't know how the rumor that it's green got started. Probably from that upstart Viking and its "pictures". This blue has clearly been enhanced, but I like it this way. It looks more inviting, like we could be there someday.

Joy

That's the feeling you get when you find another layer of burritos in the box. Yes!


Mexican food has been on the mind lately. I had a couple tacos at Jack in the Box. Ordinarily I avoid blatantly terrible food like that, but my ride was stopping there anyway. And c'mon, it's tacos from a burger place. What could go wrong?

Plus Jack in the Box seems so dirty from the midwest, which I still carry with me... kind of like what White Castle is to west coasters -- unknown but dangerous. You know you're taking your life into your own hands. So when you think about it, eating tacos at Jack in the Box is a privilege.

They were ok. They were pretty much exactly what I imagined a taco from Jack in the Box would be like: nothing spectacular, but great in a nasty greasy sort of way. It's in a crispy flour tortilla that seemed like it was deep fried. Surely it's loaded with transfats. It either makes you proud to be an American, or ashamed.

This information is my gift to you, dear reader. I sacrifice so you don't have to.


I don't know if bad food effects me more in my old age, or if I just pay more attention to what I eat now, but I am paying for my cuisine choice. Wow. In highschool and college I ate crap all the time and it didn't seem to effect me.

My favorite lunch in highschool was a tube of raw cookie dough and a large Mountain Dew from 7-11, though admittedly half the point was the shock value. Now I eat one greasy taco and it's a gut bomb (two, actually). Ugh. I guess this is what happens when your body gets used to tofu and fish.


Here's a neat video about the economics of gangs. Language NSFW. I notice that he used the "er" form of the word that shall not be spoken. I'd have thought a sociologist who spent ten years studying gangs would know proper use of racial epithets, but I guess not.


And here's a great clip from one of the best movies of all time. Coffee is for closers. Language.

There is no freewill

It took several years of intense contemplation. I've balanced gut feeling off reasoned argument for a decade, without reaching a conclusion. But I finally discovered irrefutable proof. Do you want to know what it is? I warn you, once you know what I know, you will be forced to give up any notions of freewill forever.

Do you still want to know? Ok, here goes:















Buffalo wing flavored cheese.


What in the world does something like buffalo wing flavored cheese have to do with freewill, you ask? Well, what self respecting agent of freewill would buy buffalo wing flavored cheese?

Uh, me, that's who. And now I doubt my ability to exercise my will upon the world.


It works like this. As soon as I said "buffalo wing", the women out there either went "yummy!" or "oh, yeah, those are ok". But all the guys immediately imagined a pile of steamy wings, perfectly sauced, next to a brimming bowl of the dip of their choice. You know who you are. Your mouth is watering right now and you can't help it.

They may qualitatively differ, but each of us guys has our own particular Wingpile of Eden that is completely irresistible. This fantasy is invoked every time we see anything remotely associated with wings. I can hardly watch hockey.

Those goddamn marketers know aaaaall about this little trick and they, get this, use our own desires to sell us stuff. Those bastards!


So when I saw the package for buffalo flavored cheese, I had to buy it. It wasn't a belabored decision. It's not like I was buying a toilet brush or anything. But to walk passed it without tossing it in wasn't going to happen. It had the potential to save my shopping trip (it didn't).

Certainly nothing else in my cart looked satisfying. Oh yeah, egg beaters and tofu really get me going. The highlight of my fucking week was buying a bunch of neat spice mixes at the Asian market. But buffalo cheese ... hey, that's borderline ok, it not being mostly fried chicken skin.

Cram the nostril wads and lash me to the mast, maties! I'm olfacting this scented siren first hand!


So how's the cheese? Meh. It's nice and spicy, and neon orange, but it tastes nothing like buffalo sauce. Another in a string of buffalo wing disappointments.


That's nothing new though. Very very rarely does any place make better than decent wings (or wing related products, obviously). I've found the odd place that makes great ones throughout the various cities I've lived in, but they're always rare finds.


I still can't believe I bought buffalo wing cheese. Really, what was I thinking? How in the world would that be satisfying? No freewill people. I didn't think so before, but there's no other conclusion now.


I should know better than to end a post with one of these questions because it basically guarantees no comments, but: what's your buffalo wing cheese?

UFO stuff

I get a kick out of UFO documentaries. I've seen alot of them. Most are bad and none are convincing, but I watch them anyway. I saw a really awesome one about how all the weird stuff in the bible was really aliens messing with us. Elijah going up in a firey air chariot or something. I got a good laugh out of that one.

This, however, is a good one (ws, video starts at link). It's as meticulously researched as a non-skeptic would do (he uncritically presents people's UFO stories, so I call him a non-skeptic).

Nick Cook has been a writer for Jane's Defence Weekly for 20 years, which is pretty much the Wall Street Journal of the defence/military world. He's not your average crackpot, though I imagine he's now unwelcome in certain circles.

I'm reading one of his books which is related to this, The Hunt for Zero Point, about anti-gravity technology. Interesting stuff, if you're into that sort of thing (ladies, he also watches Star Trek and has pushed mac and cheese cuisine to its logical limit).

Having seen lots of these UFO documentaries, I think it's not sticking my neck out much to say that there are no aliens visiting earth, but there are probably advanced saucer shaped aircraft being used by the better funded militaries out there (taking the scientists interviewed at their word, a saucer shape is ideal for certain types of propulsion). It's also obvious that the CIA and whoever else does these things, have been using UFOs/aliens as a cover.

Stealth what? No, that was aliens. Wooooooo!!! Have some crack.


What I found particularly intriguing was the cattle rancher who was talking about his mutilated cows. He saw one of the "saucers" with a carcass on a line over one of his fields, and the lights inside it went on for a little bit. It was then plain to see that it was a mocked up helicopter, rotors beating overhead.

I also liked the part about the secret underground Nazi bases where they worked on anti-gravity technology, but who wouldn't love that? All that part needed was Harrison Ford melting all the Nazis by whipping the machine into overdrive to make it the next installment of Indiana Jones (except Eva Braun, who redeems herself by helping Indy while scampering about in stylishly ripped clothes -- also she's taller and thinner than the pictures -- and she has a cute dirt smudge on her cheek -- and an adorable accent -- I've thought this out way too much haven't I?).

Overall this is a much higher quality UFO documentary than you usually see, because it's mostly about anti-gravity tech. Aliens seem to be an afterthought, almost like he threw that in there just to gain a wider audience.

It's not going to persuade you of alien contact. You either believe that or you don't. This isn't going to sway you from whatever your position is.

There may be alien contact, hell I don't know, but I find it highly unlikely. Seems to me everything can be explained by ultra top secret military aircraft and lots of deliberately planted misinformation. Occam's Razor and all that.

Food chain

Funny cartoon about killing your own meat. For garlic.

And just because I want to leave you with the bestest of all visuals, here's another cartoon for ya. You're welcome! (borderline ws)


I'm curious, would you kill your own meat if you had to? I think I would eat far less meat if I had to slaughter the animals first. But that's laziness talking more than altruism.

Before you answer, check out this picture essay on how Romanians make sausage (borderline ws, animal guts).


UPDATE: Here's the Sparky Jesus that garlic refers to in the comments. I emailed it to him with the caption: I told you to lay off the masturbation.

Marineria? Nautortilla? Taco Del Mar is too easy

I'm experimenting with being a vegetarian. I decided to give it a whirl after I heard the doctors tell my Dad the best thing he could do for his health would be to go veggie. It won't last; I don't have the revulsion to eating animals you would need. But I'm eating things like veggie burritos and tofu stir fry and saving my meat eating for 2 inch think t-bones over charcoal. It's not so bad.


Speaking of being a big huge pussy, I stopped drinking for a month. I didn't plan it, but that month ends February 13th, clearing my schedule right up just in time to drink alone on Valentines Day. I'm not going to, but it's nice to know I have the option.

Everyone wants to know why. I can't go into the details here because it's personal about a friend of mine, but no, I don't think my drinking is out of control. You'll know when that happens. Let's just say I figured a dry month shouldn't be that hard. So I stopped. As I suspected, it's not a big deal.

The main difference between drinking every weekend (and any weeknight I feel like -- and the occasional weekday, but only if I have a good reason (hangovers are reasons! (stop judging me!))) is that other people are alot less funny and/or amusing.

Make up some excuse to not drink (peer pressure never goes away, apparently), and go out one night with your usual crowd. The witty banter you've been enjoying all this time will be exposed for the sloppy humor that it is. The good news is that your boredom is easily rectified. The more you drink the funnier you think you are, so bottoms up, beholder!


It's rubbing off or maybe I'm getting old, because Gasparilla wasn't very appealing (that's the big party in Tampa I described as pirate mardis gras). It was right next to the hospital, so I went over around lunchtime to snag some grub and check it out.

The food was subpar, but good enough for drunks I suppose. I got some beads. Some drunk old lady tried to hit on me (at least she weighed in under 200 pounds). Everyone was either too young, too old, or shitfaced.

Many hours later, I walked through the aftermath on the way home. It was disgusting. Staggering puking drunks, and a street littered with broken bottles and other trash. Not to dishonor veterans, but it looked like a warzone. The grossest part was some girl hugging the portajohn. I would say that's got to be her lowest point, but I saw the guy she was with.


Which brings me to this site: Hot Chicks with Douchebags (after a quick perusal to ensure I'm not in any of the pics). No shortage of subject matter there. I thought that was called "the world".

I was wondering how the marginally funny Sarah Silverman got a show on Comedy Central, then I noticed this site's celebrity couple. She deserves something for banging him. Not sure I would give her a show, but I'm not in charge of karma.


I saw her at SeaTac Sunday. She had a show at The Showbox, a bar/stage I've had the honor of being thrown out of. My flight from Chicago and hers from NYC shared the same baggage claim. I looked over and thought, "Damn, that looks just like Sarah Silverman." She ignored me, but I was standing right there, no more more than ten feet away, looking at her.

When she didn't give me the icy stare of death or uncomfortably look away, like most girls would do if some strange guy were staring at them, it confirmed that she must be a celebrity. Either that or staring at women is ok now. Maybe I should hang around minority neighborhoods and stare at their women as a test. You can see the details on the 11 o'clock news.

And to answer your question guys, she's no more or less hot than on TV. Kinda goofy when she smiles. Definitely hot. She's not as tall as I thought she would be.

And to answer your question ladies, you're definitely hotter. I'm sure her ankles are like, way fatter than yours, but I couldn't see them under her fabulous clothes. And all that jewelry! But I'm sure in the end being beautiful and successful is unfulfilling.


Rome is back on HBO. I missed a bunch of episodes, but they're all on On Demand. This pleases me. Bring me a basket of your finest meats and cheeses.


Ok, so I mixed ground turkey in with my stir fry tonight. Does that count as vegetarian? I don't think turkey should count unless it's Thanksgiving style. Or fish. Basically anything besides beef should be considered a fleshy vegetable.


My baggage claim ticket says "Seattle Seattle Taco" on it. I don't know why, but that's awesome. Sea tacos, unite!

What do you call a family of sea tacos?

Hungry like a ...

Taken at the Shy Wolf Sanctuary.

Aaahhhttt

I went to the Naples Art Museum the other day (oh, I'm sorry, I mean the Naples Museum of Art, I'm sure it matters). I don't know a damn thing about art, other than I like art in the same way I like beautiful things: it looks nice.

But there are some types of art that don't count. One of those is American Modernism (I don't know about names; that's what they called it).

"Barf on Canvas" isn't creative, mmkay? Yes, it's nice to have a little orange here and some pretty blue there, on a background of white, with only hints of black which accentuates the blahdy blah blah.. when you're four. It's still a picture of nothing. Where's the technique? What's the point?

I used to smear random colors on paper and give it to my mommy because I knew she'd pretend it was the Taj Mahal and praise me. I'm not playing that game with these modern artists. Emerge from the body of a woman I'm in love with, and I'll praise your stupid paint by numbers. Otherwise forget it.


There was a room of Monets and it was striking to see the contrast. Get close to a Monet and it looks kind of like modern art, with splotchy colors here and there. But step back a few feet and it's a warm fuzzy nature scene that reminds you to camp out and eat more mushrooms.

Caterpillar droppings, or a beautiful meadow that has an expertly placed dot for every individual flower? I know which one I find pleasing to the eye. There was a quote from him on the wall, "Color is my day long obsession, joy and torment." His dedication and workmanship shows.


And there was a room of miniatures with teeny little sofas that looked comfy, little copper pots and pans, rugs woven on mini looms, and fully readable books. Stunning. The amount of work put into those is humbling to contemplate.

And in the modern art room there were chairs. I don't care if they're from France, they're still just stupid chairs. Art? You call that art?

It reminds me of the British guy who "wrote" a "symphony" that was nothing but rests. Silence. He sold tickets for this "show" and people bought them and showed up to it. What a stupid thing to do.

It's not witty. I'm not impressed. It isn't art. I respect the guy, but only in the same way I respect a con artist (no pun intended). The people who attended the "concert" are fools (this, however, is really cool, but also not art). I can take a dump in a can and call it art, but it wouldn't make me clever or an artist.


They also have a few Chihuly's, which are glass sculptures, that no one here seems capable of shutting up about. "Did you see the Chihuly?" everyone asks, as though I'm not going to see the gigantic prominently displayed thing at the entrance.

Dale Chihuly is "the" glass sculpture artist in the world (and he's from the Seattle area, I might add). They're beautiful creations, and certainly took great skill to create, but the first one you see in Naples looks like the flying spaghetti monster. I doubt that's what he was going for.



So anyway... I'm sure my dislike for modern art is really a lack of creative ability on my part. Or maybe it's deliberately vague and therefore unmoving. Or something.

Scourge of the blue hairs

I drove ~45 minutes one way, every day, for 5 years up and down a major highway in Chicago. I've seen countless wrecks and about 5 where the occupants surely died. I've been cut off, flipped off, and pissed off in every driving way you can think of.

I finally learned to "tune out" the traffic to preserve my sanity. I have thick driving skin. Honking at me has the same effect as a bug splatting on the windshield. I may glance your way, but don't expect me to sympathize with your plight.


But nothing prepared me for the drivers in Naples. These are hands down, the absolute worst drivers anywhere, ever. Worse than Wisconsin even (no really, I mean that -- Wisconsin).

I complained in an earlier post about timid female drivers being dangerous. Ok, take that nervous woman who's afraid to merge, and make her conceited and/or senile.


Today I saw a classic: an elderly woman who was afraid to turn left. She edged out into the intersection like you do when you want to go left, but oncoming traffic makes you wait. When the light turned yellow, then red, she just sat there, frozen.

The light was red, so she wasn't going. But moments before it was green. Oh my! What to do? This situation, and several presidencies, must have come up before. Everyone waited for her to go, but she wouldn't move. This wasn't just a pause while she hurried out of the way. She wouldn't go, despite us coaxing her.

It took a few minutes and a complete halt to all traffic at the intersection of 6 and 4 lanes before she finally idled herself out of the way. Then she took up both lanes. It's a miracle her blinker didn't stay on. Not her fault I suppose, but still dangerous.

If this were an isolated incident I would shrug it off. But driving in Naples is a never ending gamble. At least in Chicago I could just pick a lane and zone out. The average speed may be 30 miles over the posted limit, but at least you could count on capable drivers. Wha ho! Not here baby. You never know what variety of driving incompetency will rear its head.


Then there are the rich old white guys. These guys are the worst because their idea of being fucked with by the cops is being run out of lovers lane by Officer McFriendly after the sock hop. But now they're old, crotchety and rich. The only thing more annoying than money is old money. A lifetime of entitlement makes for insufferable prigs.

They all drive high end cars worth $85k+ (today I saw two bentley's which run about $175k new). Can you imagine the pretension? The most common are either german cars, or caddys with a fake cloth roof (not the best pic, imagine them higher end and in mismatched colors, like navy blue with a white roof). They find this stylish rather than garish. See also: combovers.

Seriously, who gold paints a car? Not counting pimps. I saw a gold bimmer, and I know that's not stock. That's worse than a bumper sticker about your bluetooth wearing honors student.


They stop at least 100 feet behind the car in front of them at every traffic light, then sloooooooowly, less than idle, inch up to the car in front of them, fully stopping at least 5 times on the way. They do this because they think it draws attention away from the scotch they're drinking, but really it just raises the chances of an accident because no one expects the car in front of them to slam on the brakes a fifth of a mile from the light.

And we see you knockin' back the whiskey, old timer. You're not fooling anyone with your "go cup". Nobody slugs metamucil.


Then they turn on their left blinker while in the right lane, and proceed to turn left in front of all the lanes. This would be remotely permissible if their reaction times were such that they could pull it off before any other lanes started going. "They know what I mean" I've heard them remark. Meanwhile the rest of us swerve to miss them.


Amazing. Stupid old rich fuckers. I hate this town. Pretentious fucks. I haven't been this stressed out driving since I commuted through Detroit when I was 19 years old and had never seen heavy traffic before.


I have to admit though, the "de facto no open container law" is a cool arrangement (Naples has an open container law, but it's unenforced). Whenever you leave one house to head to another, they bring out the keg cups. You put your drink in it, recently refreshed if you're on the ball, and head off, even if you're the driver.

Everyone does this. Everyone. To not do so raises eyebrows. I don't because I don't want to start any bad habits, but I'm the exception. The old farts just laugh smugly when I tell them such behavior is unheard of elsewhere. Now I'm the default DD. Oh well.

Past 5pm (that's 9pm for old farts), you can count on roughly 50% of the drivers in Naples literally drinking and driving. I've seen rich old white guys stagger to their gold benz's and putter away, slooooooowly inching up to the light...



I miss Seattle. I miss it alot. I want to slam cheap beer in the alley with the help, or bum smokes off the pimp on the overpass. I can't take any more of the plastic fantastic.

Just a few more days.

Space brain

I hate to be judgmental, but what a fucking psycho.

Police suspect [the suspect] intended to kill [the victim], based on the fact that she traveled about 900 miles from Texas to Florida, wore diapers so she didn't have to stop and had deadly weapons in her possession when she was arrested.

At least she was in the right state for adult diapers.

Super Bowl

Go Bears!

Here's a great post about everything Super Bowl, including the best and worst commercials.

Interesting Super Bowl myth verified:

Myth No. 7: Buckle up on Super Sunday
The auto repair industry loves the Super Bowl because Americans are more likely to crash their cars after the game’s final gun.

Fact or fiction: Four years ago, researchers at the University of Toronto examined this bloody piece of Super Bowl lore. They determined that automobile accidents indeed climb more than 40 percent in the hours after the Super Bowl — with the biggest increase coming in cities and towns closest to the home of the losing team.

The study pointed to alcohol consumption, fatigue and inattention as the primary causes. Researchers compared Super Bowl Sunday with adjacent Sundays when weather was the same and found a 41 percent jump in fatal accidents in the four hours or more after the game along with a 48 percent rise in non-fatal accidents.

I say this as someone with a fair bit of drinking experience: if you're drunk, call a cab. Considering the insanity of drivers in Chicago on average, I would be worried about this if I still lived there.

I don't understand why anyone would go for the Colts, unless maybe you like Manning. But c'mon, have you ever been to Indianapolis? What a craphole.


In other news, I have good reason to believe that my life is going to get much more interesting as soon as I get back to Seattle. I'm sure a few details will eventually percolate up to this blog.

Gosh I'd love to stay and chat, but the hottub just hit 104. Latah suckahs!


UPDATE: I forgot one of my favorite Super Bowl events, the British anthropologist studying the whacky "American football" ritual. Enjoy.