Blog pimping

Just in case anybody missed it, click here for Brian's post on the Presidential coins. Hilarity ensues.

The fork in the road

I applied to five schools for PhD programs for this fall, and I've finally started to hear back on my status. I got my first notice in the mail today, and it wasn't good: Pitt rejected me. That means I'm down to four schools, and I honestly am not liking my chances at this point for most of these schools.

One the bright side, now that I'm officially a failure in the academic world, I'm finally free to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a tawdry male stripper. I'm aiming to work in an employee friendly strip club, one that allows me to pick out my own music to accompany me, so I've started to craft a potential playlist in my mind. So far I've only got a few songs, but I like the way it is shaping up so far:

1) Fame-David Bowie

2) I feel you-Depeche Mode

3) Come into my world-Kylie Minogue

Der Kommissar

Brian mentioned that he had to work on Dia del Presidentes. If people can't even get the day off, we should go the whole hog and have a separate day set aside for each President. I eagerly look forward to celebrating Calvin Coolidge and Rutherford B. Hayes Day.

Speaking of Presidents, I still haven't laid hands on the new Washington dollar coin, which I'm aching for. Glorious. Look how furious he is! Now that is some quality currency.

Salesmen

Someone tried to sell me crack for the first time in my life Saturday night. I think I'm moving down in the world, previous random people on the street always tried to sell me weed, ecstasy, or amphetamines. Do I look so shabby these days I look like a likely candidate for crack-dom?

Bridget Jones's diary

Well, the scales have finally tipped. I did what I could, fought a valiant battle in trying to stave it off as long as possible, but on this last Valentine's Day, my true nature was finally revealed to me. It's sad to say, but I have crossed over into Bridget Jones territory: I'm single, not quite as fit as I used to be, and my salad days are clearly behind me as I hurtle towards middle-age.

But since misery loves company, I thankfully had someone to share the night with: Richard. Romantic, yes? He had an insightful perspective on this day that I quite agree with. After Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Eve, and now Valentine's, we've just been bombarded with many holidays, packed into a short time-frame, that are associated with spending time with your loved ones. And guess what? That makes a big 0 for 4 on recent holidays. God forbid either one of us had a birthday during that streak.

And after living through all these holidays, what can we say? We get it. Okay? Fine? We know we're sadsacks. We've been beaten down. We submit. Jesus, can we get a bleedin' break already?Any more holidays on the horizon to really hammer the point that we're lonely hearts? Any more holidays that take place during the winter so we feel trapped in our homes by ourselves?

I think I really came to terms with how objectively low we were when I looked at the two of us while we watched a performance of Hamlet on video. But which of us was in worse shape? I've tried to devise a quick scoring system that breaks down our Valentine's eve along a handful of categories.

Evening festivities:
While we both spent the night watching videos, I did manage to not cry myself to sleep like I anticipated, so I'm counting this as a victory for me. WINNER: Andy

Attire:
Richard was dressed in regular clothing, while I was sitting around in my pajamas. If that wasn't degrading enough, I happened to be wearing Incredible Hulk pajamas. And I couldn't be arsed to put my contacts in, so I was sitting around in my ancient glasses. WINNER: Richard.

Refreshments:
This is a tough call. Richard was drinking beer, while I was gorging myself on Lucky Charms cereal. Is it worse to get drunk or stuff your face on Valentine's Day? Actually, I have to admit that it wasn't Lucky Charms-I can't afford cereal of that high quality. Instead it was generic Lucky Charms, the ones that come in the giant bag from Malt-o-Meal. Richard, in contrast, was drinking name brand beer. WINNER: Richard.

Well, that about covers it. It looked like it would be a tie, but I pipped him at the post. Thank God we have a bit of free time until the next major "love" holiday. I can handle President's Day, Labor Day, and the Fourth of July, but I'm already dreading the Fall/Winter lineup of holidays again.

Viva la resitance!

I'm long resisted joining facebook or myspace because everytime I look at somebody's page, it seems it's littered with about 1.21 trillion photos of them drunk around town. And let's face it, nobody looks their best when soused. So it was with mild horror that I stumbled across some photos of myself on Brian's photobooks online. Ossification is not attractive. Here, let me make my point clear at the risk of personal embarassment.

Management material

Jim was complaining about the trials and tribulations of technology breaking down on him while working on the ice planet of Hoth. Well, what do you expect, you live in the Outer Rim! One particular source of frustration was White-Out, which he was trying to use to edit some paperwork, which, instead of cutting down on the amount of work he had, actually created more for him. My solution? Fire everybody who needed to read that piece of paperwork. He could even force them to walk out into the snowstorm until they simply disappeared, thereby creating his own "White-Out."

Desperate Housemates

Anyone have any mucho plans for Valentine's Day? I think I'm going to spend the day walking around downtown and the Portland State campus yelling out at the top of my lungs, "Are there any girls here who want to give me their phone number?" I think Richard is in the same dire straits as me, so maybe he'll join in.

A touch of the hayseed

It appears you can the boy out of Idaho, but not the Idaho out of the boy. The other night an episode of Mythbusters was on TV, and it was the episode during which they were testing out various methods to start fires without matches. I told him I had a whole winter survival setup in the trunk of my car, with several ways to start a fire included. He seemed a bit taken aback by this, since "Idaho" and "survivalist" bring up very negative connotations.

Richard and I then saw the experiment where they tried to use gunpowder to light a fire. The team on TV soon found that blackpowder works much better than the more explosive, quicker burning modern gunpowder. For those confused by what I'm talking about, gunpowder is what most modern guns use now, while blackpowder is what muzzle loading muskets and such used a century or more ago. Just think of the kinds of old guns they used during the frontier days or the Civil War. Blackpowder burns slower, and thus is more likely to help start a fire, that is, if I understand things correctly.

While watching this, I mentioned to Richard that I had shot a .50 caliber muzzle loader before, and he looked at me as if I had just fallen off the turnip truck. He asked when and where I did such a thing, I told him we own a blackpowder muzzleloader. His eyebrows raised further when he found out we have a blowgun that shoots sharp metal darts. Apparently, for all my refined tastes in art, food, and travel, I still have an awful lot of Idaho hayseed in me at my core.

Stymied

This fall Tom and Gregg went to an Idaho State University football game, where the Bengals, more commonly known as the Bungles, took the field yet again in their eternally futile quest for gridiron glory. The contest we saw was against the fightin' Wildcats of Weber State University. While the contest was close and moderately thrilling, the thing that got the pulse of the three of us up the most was the Weber State cheerleaders, which I like to refer to as the Wildcat-ettes.

Stunning is an apt word to describe the quantity and quality of beauty on parade that halcyon afternoon, seductive as they were in their midriff baring attire. More than once we missed some of the action between the lines of play, as our attention was diverted to the other side of the field to watch the gymnastics and exhortations of the Wildcat-ettes. Wonderful.

And since that day the legend of these gals has spread throughout the West, reaching all the way to Portland, whose Portland State Vikings compete in the same athletic conference as Weber State. Because of that, the Weber State basketball team rolled into town last Thursday, giving Richard a chance to see first-hand these nigh mythical nymphs I've spoken of before. Alas, mythical they will have to remain for Richard. For you see, they never appeared in the gym that night last week; only the Portland State cheerleaders were on hand. That motley crew of lasses was a poor subsitute for the Weber State girls, poor enough that I found myself actually watching the basketball game more intently than I had planned to. The horror.

If you get a chance, anyone out there, to catch Weber on their home court, take it. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by the Wildcat-ettes.

On a side note, I have to confess that this whole experience with the ISU/WSU football game was sort of emasculating. First off, ISU plays in Division I-AA, meaning that their division is lower than the I-A, which sports 117 football programs. At best, then, the top I-AA schools are probably only 118th or lower in the country; nevertheless, none of the three of us were fit enough to take the field for either time. Rubbing salt into the wound was the fact that the male cheerleaders for Weber State were all considerably larger than us, meaning that not only are we too wimply to play in I-AA football, we are too weak to even cheer for it.

Want to join my street gang?

I was watching the news the other night, and apparently there is a troublesome gang of local homeless youths called the "Sick Boys". Sick boys? I'm a little let down by that monker. To be honest, I think this gang could have used a bit more pizazz in the name game. Perhaps I'm judging them by too harsh a standard, but after the top-shelf names that appeared in The Tick, I've come to expect a lot from character names these days. How can you top great names like, El Seed, Sarcastro, and American Maid? Or how about The Evil Midnight Bomber What Bombs at Midnight? Check out here for more, and more here.

As much as kid, I'm not going to lie to you and say I'm not afraid for my safety now that these nasty sick boys are about. What to do? By pure chance I've stumbled on the solution tonight, during a walk around some of Portland's more tony neighborhoods. While out and about with Richard, I came across a very friendly cat who, after a minute or so of petting, decided to walk along side us for several blocks. That was it! My own street gang! And this orange cat was member numero uno! Soon I had visions of my gang dancing in my head: cats, dogs, pigeons, frogs, all manner of mammals and reptiles trailing behind me. I was all set to fight fire with fire, taking my army from the animal kingdom to match forces with the Sick Boys. I could even make them actually sick, by having rabid animals in my posse.


I need a name, though, before we hit the streets for good and all. Any suggestions?

I wore my sneakers, for sneaking

So I finally managed to do the illicit movie double-header at the theatres, and it was only a cruel twist of fate that prevented me from seeing the triple bill. The problem was, essentially, that one of the movies I wanted to see was in another wing of the multiplex I went to, and would thus require me to walk near the ticket taker, who could theoretically cause the jig to be, as they say, "up". So instead I had to satisfy myself with the double feature of "Children of Men" and "Notes on a Scandal". The former was amazing, and the latter was fairly good, so if you get a chance to see either, do so.

As I exited the theatre, though, I noticed that there was a man in a yellow "Security" jacket just outside. Was he waiting for me? I pulled my hood lower over my face and made a quick left turn away from him just to be safe. For now I am still one step ahead of the Johnny Law. And because of my good fortune last time, I think I'll do another double header soon, since there are still some flicks I need to catch.

Incidentally, though, both movies took place in London, and after spending four hours being immersed in British film, I honestly had this bizarre feeling of dislocation in my gut when I left. Using the men's room, I was shocked to hear an American accent, and it took me a moment to realize I wasn't in London anymore, but in Portland.

Has this every happened to anyone else? Have you ever so immersed in multi-media that it affects your daily life for a few minutes after you are done? I can imagine someone playing some video games and wanting to swing some swords afterwards. Another recent example was after I saw Batman Begins during a late showing in downtown Portland, and I badly wanted to fight crime after I left that film, so much so that I actually slowed down because I saw two men walking towards a woman and thought they were about to mug her. But, unlike Bruce Wayne who dedicated years of his free time to perfecting his mind and body in order to fight crime, I couldn't be arsed to put in more than about ten good minutes in my crime fighting career. Once I saw that the men were just walking down the side walk, and were not in fact about to commit a crime, I jettisoned my crime fighting ego for good.

What I need, I've come to realize, is super powers that originate from some mystical or alien power. The Green Lantern, for instance, gets his super rank from an alien ring that manifests his willpower, while Superman gets his strength from Earth's yellow sun interacting with his Kryptonian physiology. That's what I need. I am far, far too lazy to put any effort into being a crime fighter; but if somebody gave me a magic ring, or the Flash's speed force, I would pitch in for the battle for good. Any takers?

The deadly period

I was looking at a file that contained my statement of purpose for PhD applications, and it looks like the copy that I sent to at least two schools contained a sentence that had two periods at the end of it, not one. So, being the obsessive worrywart that I am, I'm panicked that this slip in proofreading could be the thing that kills my chance at getting in to these schools. Ugh. Years of schooling and now a stray period may do me in. What a world.

I got flashed by KITT

Last night I was driving Richard's Jeep back to the house, since he was, shall we say "tired" from his night at the bar. On the way there was a car stopped on the side of the road opposite me, and as I neared it their running and fog lights flashed on and off twice in succession, and then after a brief pause, it happened again. Being unfamiliar with Richard's auto, I assumed that his lights may have been naturally bright, to the point of being objectionable to drivers in cars who find that their sightline is even with the higher lights on his truck. To put this driver's qualms to rest, I flashed my brights quickly as I neared to let him know that these were, indeed, the regular setting.

A mere one or two seconds after flashing the brights I came up even on the car, I realized it was empty, and the flashing of their lights was a product of the owners using their remote locking device. And if you were in the car, you would have heard me say this as I came up on the car and was surprised by its emptiness, "Take that...unoccupied car!"

Let the wookie win

What the hell is this?

Shall we play a game?

Does anyone out there remember Wargames? I caught the last bit of it on tv recently, and the final analysis of the futility of nuclear war, commonly known as mutually assured destruction (M.A.D) really struck me not on the political level, but on the romantic level. At the end of the movie, after the government supercomputer realizes that the only way to "win" a nuclear war is to simply not "play the game", it stands down the US nuclear arsenal it had earlier seized. So what relation does this have to my love life? Well, considering the disaster that it has been for a while, the only way to win is to simply not play. I find that sentiment oddly comforting sometimes.

Fear

I imagine you have all heard about a cartoon character freezing Boston in its icy grip of terror recently, so as a public service, I decided to share some of the best photos from the net in order to help keep our country safe.