Updates, suckas!

Behold! Kregg Gemp!

2008-12-24T00:55:00.002Z

Yes, this is an actual fan from a recent Seahawks game. Yes, I am convinced he is somehow related to Gregg.

When the thunder rolls...

2008-12-05T01:35:00.004Z

I recently was invited by my friend Josh to attend Celtic Thunder. At least, I hope it is Celtic Thunder, kinda like this:

I fear the alternate type of thunder. Please, don't let it be the Thunder from Down Under:

The revenant

2008-10-30T04:46:00.003Z

What is it? What could it be? What force, be it on earth, in the stars above, or beyond the veil of the fourth dimension, could bring me back to blogging? This:
Yes indeed. The Volcano Taco, from Taco Bell. Who knew lava got it's rich, lustrous red color from Red Food Dye #5?

More than anything, I'm excited this item was released just in time for the Christmas season. I mean, jeez, just look at that thing. The red-dominant color scheme, with just a few green highlights? It screams Feliz Navidad! I know what I'm leaving out for Santa this year: a massive platter of Volcano Tacos. And do you know what Santa will leave me in return? Care to guess? That's right: a toilet bowl filled with spicy Santa volcano craps.

Thanks Taco Bell!

A bad trip

2007-11-16T04:53:00.000Z

Well, the Winco employees were most certainly glad to see me leave their store today. In less than ten minutes I managed to bounce a glass bottle of pomegranate juice off an elderly lady's foot, breaking it all over the floor. And then while checking out I stepped on the toes of the check-out lady right behind me. When I apologized to her, I told her it had been a bad day for me in their store, telling her that I also broke some juice in the produce section. Her response? "Oh, so you're the one!"

Come in with the milk

2007-11-16T04:48:00.000Z

You've all seen the Aviator, yeah? With Howard Hughes slipping into repetitive loops of language? Does that happen to anybody else out there? When things need be done I tend to say something over and over again, usually along the lines of "Gotta get rye bread, gotta get rye, gotta get rye."

Well, it happened again today, but the fabulous part was that I was getting my laundry sorted for wash day. The most pressing issue was doing my white t-shirts and socks, so I was repeating this mandate time and again. But because I tend to talk in marginally sensical slang sometimes, what came out of my mouth was this: "...gotta blow up the whites, gotta blow up the whites, gotta make those whites blow up..."

I imagine if anyone heard me I probaby some like sort of race traitor about to send out mail bombs to other white people.

Tony

2007-11-01T22:37:00.000Z

So I need some new shoes for fall. I need a touch of class in my wardrobe, since all I have right now are garishly bright sneakers and massive, ugly hiking boots. Time to get some tony new footwear in Portland this weekend. Anyone up for some hot shopping action?

Dirge

2007-11-01T01:22:00.000Z

Part of growing up is facing the fact that some people from your core group of friends will splinter off as they start their own families. Three days ago I had to say goodbye to my closest friend here in Eugene, as it seemed like she would be starting her own family at some point in the near future. Who is this mystery woman? The spider who lived in my bathroom since I moved in.

For the last few weeks she has been above my mirror every single morning, and while occasionally she'll move over near the toilet or by the shower, she always returned to the corner by the sink. It was rather nice, in a way, to know somebody was waiting at home for me each day, but as the season turns to winter, I feared she would decide to lay a sack of spider eggs somewhere and I would be overrun with little kiddies everywhere. Since I still live like a homeless man and sleep on the floor (I have no bed), the idea of potentially hundreds of tiny spiders running around was a bit too much to stomach. So I decided to release her into the wild and put her out in the bushes.

It was actually kind of a touching goodbye. I think she knew I was sending her off to greener pastures, because when it came time to gather her up she was suddenly gone, and I had to search until I found her hiding on my shower sponge.

So this is what is sounds like...when doves cry!

The Chronic

2007-10-30T02:56:00.000Z

Anyone who has worked in a campus post office is familiar with the Chronicle of Higher Education, the massive newspaper that deals with all things related to academia. The arrival of the Chronic, as we lovingly referred to it, would add what seemed to be several hundred pounds to the amount of mail to be delivered around campus. Honestly, though, I never really minded the Chronic because there were quite a few interesting articles in it, and I enjoyed leafing through it in the post office.

I've been giving serious thought to bonking on my PhD studies recently, and I've been reading through a lot of information on the attrition rate of doctoral studies. Yikes. A recent NYT article said that the average length of time to finish a PhD is almost 9 years, and the dropout rate is about 50%. And this article in the Chronic puts the social sciences flop rate at over 60%. Sweet! Apparently what is puzzling to people is that there is no discernible, significant difference in the academic profiles of people who finish PhD programs and those who don't; the GRE and GPA numbers are essentially the same between those who finish and those who don't. What caught my eye was this passage, because it sort of sums up what has been in my head the last few weeks:

Yet the pot of gold at the end of the Ph.D. rainbow may not be there for every candidate. For many of them, despite their love of the subject and their dreams of reveling in the life of the mind, the most logical decision may be to leave.

After a year in a Ph.D. program in history at City University of New York, Nicole Kalian left to take a job as a publicist with a book publisher. Hers was the sort of early attrition that almost everyone agrees is the best kind.

"I didn't see any prospects for when I graduated," says Ms. Kalian, who was shocked to read an article about new Ph.D.'s who couldn't find jobs as adjuncts on enough campuses to earn at least $25,000 a year. "It was frightening, and I could never really shake that thought from my head."

Yup, that is about the size of it for me too. What I found bizarre, though, and rather alien to me, was this part:

The most important reason to care about attrition, most researchers agree, is the effect it has on students' lives. "This is tremendously painful," says Barbara E. Lovitts, who left two doctoral programs before finishing a third one, in sociology, at the University of Maryland at College Park in 1996.

Now a research scientist at Maryland, she is the author of Leaving the Ivory Tower: The Causes and Consequences of Departure From Doctoral Study (Rowman and Littlefield, 2001). She saw several people who had not completed their degrees cry during interviews about their grad-school experiences and the effect it had on their lives -- no matter what their reasons for leaving.

"There is a tremendous opportunity cost," Ms. Lovitts says. "These are people who have never failed before in their lives. They were summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa. And for the first time in their lives they've experienced failure. It takes people a lot of years to get over it."

Thankfully, I've become intimate with failure in my life, so dropping out of a PhD program and seeing my entire plan for my life crumble into dust in less than 6 weeks is hardly the worst thing I've gone through. I guess I have never really known that many people like this in my life, or at least known them that well, these fortunate souls who have never had to brush up against abject failure or complete and devastating heartache. I wonder what that is like, to live a life so devoid of trauma...

Teh kewtnuz

2007-10-26T01:38:00.000+01:00

I know I've posted some of these before, but I just have to put more up. Darling.

Does this help?

2007-10-26T01:30:00.000+01:00

Lodged in my inbox today was an email from a professor that was sent to everyone in my class, in which she responded to two student questions asking for a point of clarification before a quiz on two readings we did for class. Anticipating something useful, I read through the questions and responses. Note my careful word choice here: I used "responses", not "answers". And with just cause. Her response to both questions was, essentially, "read the material and make sure you can answer the questions in your own words." Seriously, that's all you can give us? Advise us to read the material again?

Not helpful.

Lesser of two evils

2007-10-23T21:36:00.000+01:00

Is it wrong to have vague aspirations of getting in a car wreck or being falsely arrested just so you can avoid a class you really detest?

Infringement

2007-10-23T05:39:00.000+01:00

The inspiration for genuis can come when you least expect it, and so Ross and I were pleasantly surprised to stumble upon a brilliant idea for a film. His wife, Rachael, dreamt that all the constituent parts that combine to make Ross were partitioned up, and there were two Ross Morans in the world. Let us be clear here: I'm not referencing clones or doppelgangers, but rather one man who has been disaggregated, so his singular personality now has different parts residing in two identical bodies sharing the same name. For instance, one body may get his love of his dogs, while the other body gets his hat affinity. And so on, until he is completely split into two. Rachael, in dreamland, falls in love with Ross Moran A, while simultaneously having an affair with Ross Moran B.

Brilliant! Ross put out the dream director for the project: David Cronenberg. We were both immensely satisfied with this choice, and amazed at our own brilliance at marrying concept with director most capable of handling it. Anyone seeing the problem with our genius yet? That's right movie fans. We apparently just heard the plot to Dead Ringers, and decided that David Cronenberg was best suited to direct it. Which he already did.

Stay off drugs, kids.

The Great War

2007-10-23T05:33:00.000+01:00

I made the mistake of visiting Portland while wearing sneakers this weekend. Dumb. My feet were soaked for two days straight. I think I have trenchfoot now.

There was actually a guy in our building in London who claimed to be an EMT who specialized in foot and hand injuries. This was one of his more transparent lies. A girl sprained her foot while drunk, and he attributed her continued bruising and pain to trenchfoot. Diagnosis wrong, Dr. Dumbass. If memory serves I asked him if he was qualified to treat elbows as well as hands. I don't think he ever gave me a clear answer.

Shell shocked

2007-10-22T05:42:00.000+01:00

Portland, like many cities, has undergone gentrification over the past few decades, and the neighborhood my friend Ross lives in is no exception. Whitey has moved into his neighborhood, in abundance, over the last few years, and the NE Alberta to Fremont area has gone from shady area to only slightly shady area. Still, there are remnants of the hard-knock life in the area. There are still streets nearby that are notorious drug spots; I, for instance, had a man wave a bag of crack at my from the sidewalk as I drove through the area one night.

A few weeks ago, I got a taste of the thuggish-ruggish life, when Ross and I got shot at in my car. I had just pulled up across the street from his house when my car came under fire--two kids on their porch had lit a bottle rocket and let it loose just as I was pulling up, and it skipped off the roof of my car, caromed into Ross' yard and exploded. So that's what it is like, growing up in the hood, coming under fire on a daily basis. Respect.

Edit: Changed NW Alberta to NE Alberta cuz I am dumb with typing directions.

U see those diamonds? U haul them out.

2007-10-16T04:55:00.000+01:00

I don't know how many of you have had to move around the country before, but I know all of you have at least a passing familiarity with the U-Haul trucks that have ads for particular states on them. Has anyone taken a close look at one of these recently? Apparently their traditional understated ads for locations isn't enough for post-literate modern man, because their graphics have gone completely over the top. My friend Andy was helping his friend Cathy move some stuff across country, and Saturday morning her U-Haul truck showed up in front of Richard's house, giving me the chance to see these new graphic first hand. This one, in particular, was for Arkansas. Here is the classic design I was used to:

Not bad, all in all. Fishing seems like something I would probably go to Arkansas for. Truth in advertising, yeah? Well, here is the new advert for that same state, and I have to admit that I cannot bloody wait to go to Arkansas now:
Yes, that's right, the new campaign for Arkansas shows a volcano exploding with diamonds shooting out of it. Note that it says acres of diamonds are there. Acres! Although the text is missing, the truck said that an average of three diamonds a day are found at this state park, and you get to keep any diamonds you find. This is the greatest tourist attraction in history: a state park with an actively erupting volcano that showers you with diamonds. At the earliest opportunity I'm heading to Arkansas. If you are in the area, keep an eye open for me, I'll be the one running around with a bucket, laughing like a school girl as I catch diamonds from above.

How can other states compete with this? Pennsylvania is going to have to start advertising cities with streets paved with gold or, even better, platinum. Missouri needs to have show cloudy skies with thousand dollar bills raining from above. Florida needs to promise sex with busty University of Miami co-eds to every tourist. How else can they possibly compete withe promise of diamonds from heaven?

Note: If you want to see all the new state graphics, they are posted here, along with their traditional designs.

No help

2007-10-11T01:01:00.000+01:00

Saturday I received a pleasant surprise: Brian called up to say he was in Eugene for the day. Even more pleasant? The fact that he somehow found his way to my apartment without me having to get in my car to drive and meet him somewhere. Truly world class, that chap is.

However, I now realize that he is, much like myself, someone you don't want around if you need a voice of common sense and reason on your side. There was a man at the almost entirely hippie-run Eugene Market with a sign that said "Free Hugs" on it. Deciding I badly needed to hug a complete stranger, I set off in pursuit, with Brian goading me on. This must be what it is like to hang out with me sometimes, as I'm known to push people into doing very questionable things.

The strangest part was that I had to barter with this guy to get the advertised price on the hug. Here is how the exchange went:

Andy (A): Hey, how much are those hugs going for?
Free Hug Guy (FHG): 5 dollars.
A: Really? How about I give you a high five and call it good?
FHG: Actually, high fives costs a nickel.
A: Damnit.
FHG: Hey, we go a long way back, though...remember that time we did that stuff!
A: Yeah, it was awesome.
FHG: For you? You can have it for free.
A: Come here you.

When using a turn signal is not enough

2007-10-07T21:41:00.000+01:00

On my way to campus this afternoon, I was driving in the left lane behind a woman in teal Ford Explorer who had decided she needed to get into the right lane. She put her turn signal on, to no avail, since traffic was fairly thick in both lanes. Since just using a signal didn't remedy the situation, she inexplicably started to point wildly into the right lane with her hand; how she expected this help I can't imagine, since nobody in the right lane could possibly see her doing this. But being behind her, I could quite clearly see her grow increasingly agitated, and she began to absolutely lose all control of herself. She began to point more and more forcefully at the other lane, and her wild gesticulations caused her to begin to swerve wildly in her lane; at one point she nearly went up on the concrete divider on her left. I have never seen anyone flail about so while behind the wheel, and it was pure comedic platinum.

The Slump

2007-10-04T19:57:00.000+01:00

I admit I'm a bit worried about myself right now. Last night I woke up in a sweat, and stood up to turn the heat down in my bedroom. I distinctly recall turning the knob all the way to the left, but what happened next is mainly a blank. Apparently I blacked out while standing up, because I have a foggy recollection of banging my head on the door, and the next thing I knew I was waking up slumped against the corner in my room. The back of my head is a bit tender, so that would jive with my impression of falling backwards into the door. I wonder if there is a gas leak or something at my place, it just doesn't seem normal for me to suddenly pass out and lay in a lump against a door like that.

Red Rain

2007-10-04T19:47:00.000+01:00

Anyone familiar with Peter Gabriel's Red Rain? It's a great song, covered (in part) fantastically by R.E.M. One of the lyrics near the end goes thusly:

I come to you, defences down
With the trust of a child

Last Friday we were at my man Ross's house, enjoying a few drinks and some food, when Richard decided he needed to warm up some spicy soup in the microwave. Let me back up for a moment to set the scene: Ross's microwave is perched on top of his refrigerator, like some sort of electronic god on Mount Olympus, so Richard had to approach it almost as a supplicant with his soup. In his stupefied state, his only apparent plan of attack was to randomly stab at the buttons on front, mashing them in hope that his soup would heat up on its own accord. In a stunning display of situational awareness and intelligence, the microwave rendered judgement on Richard, and the phrase "Child" began to blink on the front of the screen in green letters. The room froze. You could feel the seething disgust roiling off the microwave, and the awkwardness this caused.

It could be worse, I suppose. At least it didn't label him "Sexually Inadequate".

The killing stroke

2007-08-30T06:24:00.001+01:00

If you live anywhere near a theater that is playing the Irish film "Once", go see it. Now. It's been a while since I've seen such a beautiful and haunting story of love. And I've never been so devastated by one line of spoken Czech in my entire life...absolutely crushing.

Don't be fooled by the posters for the movie; yes, I'm aware they make it look like something Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts would be in, but it is vastly better than what you might think. I don't want to give anything away, but it's a stunning depiction of people coming together at the right time for the right reasons...but will they do the right thing in the end? When this movie ended I wanted to run out onto the street and confess my love for the world, and I think anyone who sees it will want to as well. That is, if you have a soul.

Vicious praying action!!

2007-08-30T06:18:00.001+01:00

Not enough toys come with "Forgiving Action" these days.

The Dumping Ground

2007-08-29T05:53:00.000+01:00

Man, life in Utah this summer has been weak tea. I'm dying for some craziness to break out in my life...I've been trying to manufacture my own zaniness at work by being fairly inappropriate at all times, but it just isn't enough. I swear I'm about five minutes from snorting some coke and flying to Belize to join the circus. So, watch out everyone in Idaho and Oregon, I've got some pent up energy to burn off over the next few weeks. In the interim I've been using my blog as a dumping ground for links and videos that I don't want to forget about.

Today's video dump is dedicated to international rap. Enjoy.

This first video is from Finnish rappers Bomfunk MCs, and is shot on the underground system in Helsinki. The very beginning reminds me of when some random Finnish guy challenged me to a fight at a bar in Helsinki. His reasoning, as he explained it to me? "You...you are larger than me. But I...I am smarter. I think it would be a good fight." I eventually talked him out of it by giving him the Yoda speech from Star Wars, where I advised him not to stray down the dark path, because once he did, forever would it dominate his destiny. I think his last words to me were, "You've given me much to think about."

This one is a very catchy tune, and I love how you can't even tell the girl is Swedish and the guys are Finnish.

The Brits check in next, starting with Dizzee Rascal.

Here, also representing the UK, is Mike Skinner.

Finally, here is Mala Rodriguez from, I believe, Spain.

The prophecy has been fulfilled!

2007-08-29T02:04:00.000+01:00

Any Harry Potter fans out there? Do you recall the prophecies made by Professor Trelawney, and how she tends to slip into a trance-like state as the rare bit of true soothsaying comes tumbling out of her? Apparently, I experienced the exact same thing myself.

It's been, oh, two years now since I was at a bar in Portland, Oregon, with some friends, enjoying a few drinks. All at once a lunatic's calm came over me, and I felt compelled to take out my cell phone and dial up my US Senator from Idaho (where I'm registered to vote), Larry Craig. In a drunken stupor, I left the following message on his voicemail: "Dear Senator Craig, you are gay. Sincerely, you constituent."

Why I needed to do this, I didn't understand at the time, but it has all been revealed to me now. I wasn't just making a joke designed to zing the notoriously conservative and homophobic Idaho political establishment. No, it was much more than that. I was much more than that. Blinded by alcohol though I may have been, the deeper workings of the universe were made plain to me; I was a modern-day Teiresias. Why, you may ask? What is the terrible and beautiful truth that I foretold that has now become manifest? Well, it turns out that Senator Craig is, indeed, gay-o-rama.

Moooooooooooosssssss!!!!

2007-08-22T03:01:00.000+01:00

Nalley has left the plane of existence that the rest of us mere mortals exist at and has now entered the realm of the patently absurd. I just got a text message from him in which he informed me that he now has five tvs (which he apparently paid cash for)in his Cadillac. That reminds me of the greatest quote in Randy Moss history, which comes at the end of this Randy Moss highlight video.

"Did you write the check yet Randy?"
"When you rich you don't write checks."
"If you don't write checks how do you pay these guys?"
"Straight cash homey."

The who?

2007-08-18T17:14:00.000+01:00

How have I never heard this song? 1980's New Wave synth-pop meets ballet dancing? The 38% of me that is gay is ecstatic.

Fun for the family!!

2007-08-10T16:02:00.001+01:00

Dementors

2007-08-10T03:57:00.001+01:00

In light of my recent Girls Aloud post, I decided to follow up in order flesh out my comment about liking their videos, despite the obvious musical limitations they exhibit. Make no mistake, their music is fine bubblegum confection, and I enjoy it when I've heard strains of it strike up at a club or bar. But let's call a spade a spade: the main draw is five gals shaking it.

With this caveat, I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting what I clicked on the following link at youtube; it promised a Girls Aloud cover of Amy Winehouse's "Rehab". I'm not the biggest Winehouse booster around, but I fairly enjoy her music, so I was curious what a cover of her biggest song would be like.

Egads. It is with some regret to inform you Girls Aloud are like the Dementors from Harry Potter: if they get the chance, they will perform their kiss on you, sucking your very soul out in the process. Winehouse makes the regret, defiance, and self-destructive bravado of Rehab manifest, while Girls Aloud speak on the same issues with all the authority of people who have led lives unencumbered by dependency and terrible instincts. None of this is meant to speak to the actual lives of the member of the group or Amy Winehouse; indeed, I have no idea what any of them have lived through. As far as I know, Winehouse is a thoroughly middle-class gal from London, but that point is irrelevant. Art is about tapping into truth and making it real, even through the use of lies. In some ways this recording reminds me of something a music writer once penned about the madding appeal Tom Jones; he essentially argued that Tom Jones was blissfully oblivious to any subtext-let alone text-in a song. He muscled his way through every tune in the same bombastic baritone, wholly disregarding subtlety and craftsmanship. All the same, we listen enthusiastically. Just listen to this and you'll understand.

Heel

2007-08-10T00:30:00.000+01:00

This video of Ted Dibiase is hilarious, and why the golden era of professional wrestling in the 1980's will never be surpassed. His upper crust shtick is perfect, and if Wikipedia is to be believed, the suits at WWF helped sell the gimmick by booking him on first-class flights, in five-star hotels, and by giving him large bills to spread liberally around in public. If I ever win the lottery, I'm going to model my lifestyle around the Million Dollar Man, mainly so I can have exchanges like:

"Mr. Dibiase! What a terrific honor to meet you!"
"Well of course it is."

And I would be damn sure to wear my Count Dracula pimp cape around in public and announce my entrance in any building by yelling out "I'm here!! I'm here!!" Splendid.

The Final Frontier

2007-08-08T16:09:00.000+01:00

I'm quickly running out of ways to be low-class and generally inappropriate at work these days. The other day during meetings they actually had to post a guard right behind the table I was at to keep us from having side conversations while our bosses were giving presentations. I could scarcely believe it.

I think the last thing I need to do is to drink on the job. Will it happen? Inquiring minds want to know.

For the sake of posterity

2007-08-08T00:46:00.000+01:00

Future generations may one day wonder what the colloquial definition of "cheesecake" is, and as a service to those historians yet-to-come, I submit the following video as exhibit A, overflowing as it is with cheesecake goodness:

Oh, you tarts!! I have to say I love Girls Aloud videos, even if the music is generally awful.

Who am I?

2007-08-07T05:41:00.000+01:00

We were doing "get to know you" games at work last week, and one exercise involved going around the class and voting which cartoon character each of our classmates most reminded us of. After the class assigned a character to a person, we were able to answer who we thought we were most like. Strangely enough, I wasn't even voted as cartoon character; Dr. Evil took the victory lap in this contest, with Professor Farnsworth taking second place.
Who did I think I was most like? I made it a tie, the first one I nominated was Race Bannon from the Johnny Quest cartoon:
My reasoning, and I quote myself accurately here, "I'm a two-fisted adventurer who likes to punch out the locals."

My second character was Bender B. Rodriguez from Futurama.
The justification for Bender? Again, I quote: "Like him I drink, I swear, I smoke cigars, I'm always on the verge of being arrested, and I like hooker-bots." The topper was when someone actually asked me to clarify this last point by putting this question to me: "Hooker-bots? Are those robot hookers?" "Yes, yes they are."

I'm actually going out of my way to be inappropriate at work these days. I met with my new bosses on Sunday and we had to do an ice-breaker, and my question was name one embrassing moment. I proceeded to regale my new overlords with tales of me drunkenly stripping in front of people. Totally appropriate.

A charged atmosphere

2007-07-27T06:06:00.001+01:00

Part of my workday was spent discussing how to negotiate billing issues with customers, and we, quite hilariously, were given a sheet of steps to follow. The final, most comical step was this: "delight with options." Now that I have an mandate to delight our customers, I can't wait to help people out again. This is how I anticipate my next interaction to shake out:

Customer (angry): I have a problem with my bill. You guys overcharged me for my service last month.

Andy (seductive, with Barry White's "I'm qualified to satisfy you" playing in background): Ooooh baby, you get me overcharged with your passionate voice. Do you have any of that spicy Latino blood in you?

Customer (taken aback): What?

Andy: Aw, come on now...don't play so coy. You're the one who called me up, remember? I knew you couldn't stay away for long, I knew my number was hidden away in your nightstand...haunting you, beckoning you with its siren song. You can say what you want, but we both know why you're calling me at 1 in the afternoon while you're hubbie is away at work...a little afternoon delight on your mind, perchance? Just cool out honeybunny, I'll justify your love.

Customer (regaining composure and anger in equal measure): You need to give me your supervisor right now.

Andy: So you want the boss man, yeah? Into the master/servant stuff, it seems. Don't fret pretty mama, I can get kinky like that if that is what it takes to satisfy; I'll dominate your pleasure zones and supervise your climax. Just relax and let Andy give you a few things to think about, because I'm about to make your account blow up with the awesomeness that only I can bring. How about this...I can set you up with butterfly kisses. How about foot massage? I've got some sensual oils I can bring by later, would that delight you? Hmm? Are these options delighting you yet, or should I tease on?

Customer: click

Andy: Honey, you there? Can you hear me now? Did I delight you with options and catapult you into the exalted realm of sheer ecstasy?

The mirror has two faces

2007-07-27T03:33:00.000+01:00

You can now create your Simpson's clone online. These are my own ham-fisted attempts at duplicating myself; quite clearly, whatever else I am, I'm certainly no police sketch artist.

Chris Nalley: Renaissance Man

2007-07-26T05:12:00.000+01:00

Not only is my friend Chris Nalley a fast-food mogul, but he is also a man known for generating new and stirring ways of punctuating victorious hands at the poker table. One of his early moments of inspiration was to christen me "The Crane", a nickname derived from the relatively classless manner in which I conduct myself after winning a big hand. Rather than being a good sport and allowing a vanquished opponent a moment of repose before collecting my winnings, I instead tend to throw out my cards and scoop up my winnings without the faintest trace of hesitation. This has happened more than once, and with such startling rapidity that it is not uncommon for my opponent's chips to be taken from them while their cards were still in mid-air, en route to the table top.

His latest stroke of brilliance is a remote controlled construction vehicle, with which he could drive across the table and haul off his winnings. For the cherry on top of this assholish sunday, I suggested we add a horn that blares out "Zap yo dumb-ass!" every times it takes in some chips.

For no reason at all, here's Aimee Mann

2007-07-26T05:03:00.000+01:00

Okay, that's not quite true. Here are two good reasons: Aimee Mann is a fantastic musician. Aimee Mann is sexy. I'll let the public decide which had more to do with me posting these clips.

Remora

2007-07-26T04:44:00.001+01:00

Tricksy. That is the only way to describe the horror that has for years lurked, invisible, in my gym shirts, all the while scheming and waiting. Apparently some parasitic organism has, over time, attached itself to my workout t-shirts like a remora on a shark. Oh, it blends in well enough, never giving you even the courtesy of a "how do you do?" when you first sniff around for it. Do not be fooled. It is only waiting to spring its trap. And spring it does.

The problem is that my shirts, whether fresh out of the wash or in the drawer, smell perfectly fine. But once I put one on and go to the gym, the foul stench of hundreds of workouts long forgotten comes out of hibernation and is released on an unwitting world.
Imagine, if you will, that Satan himself, the Crown Prince of Darkness and Bane of Humanity, created some version of evil Degree: my body heat turns it on. As much as I like these tattered old clothes, a time comes when a man must bid a fond adieu to clothing that has turned on him, and so it was with great reluctance that I purchased some new gym shirts last week. May these shirts, and me, never know the foulness that cursed their predecessors.

Cometh the hour, cometh the man

2007-07-25T04:06:00.001+01:00

This weekend a friend of mine paid me a fantastic compliment, saying that in a time of need, he would place absolute trust in me. Then, in glorious fashion, he promptly suggested I should go home with his wife. I love my friends.

When a patrician facade lets slip

2007-07-20T05:43:00.000+01:00

This clip is 5000% awesome. You know what I blame this kind of stuff on? Rap music and Marilyn Manson. Oh, some might say it is harmless fun to listen to this kind of stuff, but I can't tell you how nervous I get every time a senior citizen pulls up next to me at a stop light, bumping some Three Six Mafia or Nas. I know this might not be what the "politically correct" crowd wants to hear, but just look at the kind of culture these old people are exposed to every day. Everyone knows that it is this kind of garbage that pushes these blue-bloods to roll up and clap someone.

Still don't believe me? Just look at these thugs in their native environment, trying to play hard to impress dem bitches in the hood:

So just...give up

2007-07-20T05:38:00.001+01:00

This is one of those songs that hurts just to listen to.

Which is it?

2007-07-13T02:30:00.000+01:00

So I'm attending a potluck this Saturday afternoon, and there were spots on the food sign up sheet for different categories. Are Jello shots considered a beverage or a dessert?

Make em say uhhhh!!!

2007-07-12T03:33:00.000+01:00

Today different work groups had to give brief powerpoint presentations, and one team inexplicably added a tank graphic that slowly moved into the screen from the lower right hand corner. I immediately thought of Master P and the No-Limit Soliders when I saw the tank creepin', so I had to make a public reference and give an "uhhhhhhh" to those around me. I wish I would have known that was in the powerpoint program, I totally would have changed the color scheme to pure gold and emblazoned No-Limit on the tank. If you don't love a video that has a gold plated tank in a gymnasium, one that even features a man in a gorilla costume performing trampoline-assisted dunks, then you truly have no soul.

Training follies

2007-07-08T17:15:00.000+01:00

Yesterday our trainer was showing us a new system at work, and he said to see if there was a "click in the box" on a certain screen. I narrowly averted a work-inappropriate moment when I bit my tongue instead of singing out loud this song:

Late pass

2007-07-08T05:15:00.000+01:00

Okay, this has been out for a while, but everyone owes it to themselves to see this at least once. Behold the majestic sweep of R. Kelly's epic, "Trapped in the Closet." There are quite a few chapters, but here are the first two. Unvarnished gold.

The power cosmic

2007-07-07T05:46:00.001+01:00

I've yet to see the new Fantastic Four movie, but I imagine I'll catch it on DVD. One of the most glorious plot devices in Fantastic Four/Marvel Comics history is the Ultimate Nullifier, which does precisely what it says on the tin: it is the pinnacle of nullification technology. Entire races, entire galaxies, even the universe itself, can be made non-extant with this device. You'll see it below used to stave off Galactus and his planet-devouring hunger when he came for Earth.

At my new job I have to speak to customers over the phone all day. I've discovered my own version of the Ultimate Nullifier: the disconnect button. I've gone so far as to develop my own comic book-style catchphrase to punctuate hang ups: "Verily, thou hast been nullified!"

Life in literalism

2007-07-06T02:30:00.000+01:00

There was a classmate of mine named Kenny, and we used to play together while both growing up in Omaha. The most robust memory I have of him consists of his bizarre "house rules" while playing with He-Man figures; the primary rule was that we couldn't make our characters "hop" along the ground, which was the otherwise universally accepted shorthand for making our figures "walk" in the imaginary world. Instead, we had to hold each leg, and make the action figures take one step at a time. I cannot fathom what would make a child so pedantic as to want to recreate, as fully as possible, the gait of character he saw on a cartoon, but demanded exactly such a thing. Many painful seconds were passed trying to get Stinkor or Beast-Man to slowly mosey their way across the carpet as accurately as possible.

I hated playing with that kid. Much laughter ensued when I found out a few months later he burnt most of the contents of his room when he started a house fire by playing with matches under his bed. I genuinely hope he tried to rescue his He-Man figures by trying to walk them out of his burning room one step at a time, and that the pitiable cries of those plastic souls left behind still haunt him to this day.

I predict you'll anger me

2007-07-03T18:48:00.000+01:00

Does anyone here love predictive text on their phone? I used to, until my new phone turned out to be the Miss Cleo of presaging. Sure, it will get things right once in a while, perhaps even enough to give you the sense it may have some powers of clairvoyance, but you know deep down it is just random chance. And like the vaguely-esteemable mystical Miss Cleo, my phone veers unexpectedly into heavily accented gibberish that I can't quite understand. Take my recent attempt to text someone the following message: "Did u get tickets for the game?" The outcome: "Did u 438 tickets dos vié gané?"

My phone, bless his little soul, is steadfast in his conviction that I never use the word "get"; instead, it is his opinion that I really intend to write 438. The errors are seemingly endless. Wal-mart comes out as Y2K Mast. Ugh. Sprint or Samsung need divination upgrades for their products.

The Fabulist

2007-07-01T16:11:00.000+01:00

The best part of my new job is the company gym; not only is it only $15 per month-with the first month and a half free (steroids not included), it is also staffed by two trainers and an sports nutrition/rehab intern. I'm generally in there from about 8:45 to 10 each morning, and during that time there is generally only one other person in the gym, the net result being that the people who work in the gym get quite bored and like to talk while I work out. On Friday I mentioned that I once saw a football player at ISU working out with a reverse grip bench press at a tremendously high weight, and the intern expressed some confusion at this claim. Reverse grip bench press? I explained that it is when you flip your hands around so your wrists face you while you bench. She asked the full time trainer if she had heard of such a thing. Negative.

At this point I myself began to wonder about my own claim. It had been years since I saw this, and if a personal trainer and a sports medicine student (who is also on the track team at University of Utah) had never heard of this style, it occurred to me that I may have once again mistaken dreams for reality. You see, I sometimes have these intensely vivid, starkly potent dreams; when coupled with my own poor memory and rather cavalier attitude towards reality, the result is that I periodically have difficulty separating the realm of the fantastic from the tangible reality around us. I must caution you that I don't go around thinking the absurd is real--I don't genuinely believe in unicorns, fairies, or a corruption-free White House. Instead, it is small things that confound me...did I genuinely see those cherries on sale at the store the other day? Like I said, minor things blend together in my mind. Was this one of them?

Normally my confusion is internal, and therefore not much of an issue for other people. But in this case, I began to fear that I would be publicly labeled a prevaricator, and calumnies would cascade about me in whispers as I wandered the halls of both gym and work. Spending the rest of the day fretting, I immediately went to the fount of all wisdom in the modern era, Google. It was true, there genuinely is a reverse grip bench press (though it appears to be highly dangerous and now banned in competitions). Thus spake the oracle.

The only issue now is how to slip this nugget of truth into a conversation next week, thereby salvaging my sterling reputation as a purveyor of all things truthful?

Sweet Jesus that's smooth, good work guys!

2007-06-23T03:25:00.000+01:00

Come sail away with some smooth friends on this ten-part series:

My crushes of the moment

2007-06-22T03:04:00.000+01:00

Okay, so the first of these ladies I've had a crush on for a while, but it is time she got her proper due on my blog. First up, the incomparable Goldfrapp:

Second, the girl from the Beta Band's video for Human Being:

Now that's a spicy meatball. Incidentally, my sister claims the last time she was visiting my dad in the hospital in Utah, his nurses were replicants from movie hospitals, as she described them all as being Swedish buxom babes. If this is remotely accurate, I genuinely wish I were sick.

The Wiz

2007-06-15T04:42:00.000+01:00

The message came before dawn. Ross sent me a text to let me know that Mr. Wizard had gone to that big science experiment in the sky, and the world was a little bit poorer for it. Without Mr. Wizard I never would have created a massive pool of fire in my street as a child, which I tried to beat out with our plastic doormat, causing it to melt slightly. Vaya con dios, amigo.

Reversing the atrophy

2007-06-15T04:22:00.000+01:00

Preposterously lazy, I believe, is how I've often been described. Spectacularly slothful would be fitting as well. Nothing I've done has proven those descriptions inapt, at least not recently. But a shocking turn of events has revealed something akin to a work ethic inside, apparently long dormant but assumed dead. I started my new job in Utah this week, and it has really given me some motivation to get much accomplished. Wednesday, for instance, was stunning for me. I got up at 7 to help my mom get to the airport, drove to work (where my sister had left her car after getting a flat) and changed a tire, worked out at the company gym for an hour, worked for eight hours, stayed in the building for lunch to work on a paper I need to finish, and then finally got home and jogged for a few miles before doing some more school reading before bed.

If this sounds anything like the Andy you have long known, then you have a much higher estimation of me that I thought.

Footie withdrawal

2007-06-14T05:20:00.000+01:00

I'm far from the world's biggest football fan, but Brian, Gregg, and Mandy love them some of the oblong leather-based game. If you are finding yourself missing the NFL, or if you are interested in some keen football blogging, give the Kissing Suzy Kolber blog a spin. Here is an example of the goodness contained therein:
That blog name, by the by, is inspired by what was perhaps the most entertaining thing to happen during Monday Night Football in decades:

Wedding fever

2007-06-14T05:08:00.000+01:00

Approximately two years after I graduated high school, I remember seeing a rash of marriage announcements in the newspapers for people I knew from school. Now, years later, this summer has seen a similar boom in weddings, with both Dominic and Adam joining the married team. Kudos to both of you, I wish you all the best, in every sense of the word.

Speaking of the "best" in marital matters, I sincerely hope that cakes will be furnished by Mike, from Washington's Mike's Amazing Cakes. These things are dizzyingly superb, and if I wasn't having so much trouble capturing some images to post here, I would give you some examples; still, please click through the link to see his gallery. Wonderful.

Hot-Rod Muscle Never Dies!!

2007-05-26T07:12:00.000+01:00

I've been accused of being an overly cynical man; someone supercilious and detached, a quality that has sometime been a detriment to me in my personal life. Yet today I witnessed something that warmed my heart like passionate sermon from a old-timey fire-and-brimstone preacher. Just as I approached an intersection near a highway in Salt Lake City, a red Mustang came towards me on a sliproad that fed onto the main street I was on. Rather than stop at the red light and wait to turn right, he put the hammer down, and those ponies surged as he fishtailed, leaving only a slight wisp of smoke as he cut me off.

What made this so utterly life-affirming was the fact that this Mustang had an emergency donut for a rear, driver-side tire. Now I know the warning label on these generally advise one to travel something like fifty miles per hour, with only a fifty mile range, but what is conspicuously absent from that caution? As near as I can tell, it says nothing about avoiding some bad-ass, muthafuckin' fishtailing as you cut-off some pansy in his Toyota. At no point did the driver (who was wearing a full-bandanna over his head) ever contemplate not rocking out and laying down some skidmarks, spare tire be damned. To paraphrase Kent Brockman, that is the kind of "never give up, never think things through" spirit that makes this country great.

Weak Tea

2007-05-26T07:06:00.001+01:00

I have lazy urine. There is no other explanation for the phone call I got today, in which a kindly woman explained to me that my drug test sample from Thursday was too diluted to register on their equipment and I would have to re-submit.

Joy.

Happy early father's day to me!!

2007-05-25T20:53:00.000+01:00

I had to submit to a drug test via urinalysis yesterday, and as I approached the counter of the diagnostics company to fill out some paperwork, the lady in charge asked me a question the brought me to a halt.

"Do you have a paternity?"

"Say what?" My mind was racing, I assume that this diagnostic company did a host of tests, paternity tests among them. "A paternity?!"

"No, no, a picture ID."

That wasn't at all embarrassing.

Lazy man's blogging

2007-05-25T20:10:00.000+01:00

The cheapest, laziest way to blog is to be a dumping ground for links to other things of interest around the web, and since I'm the laziest guy in the universe, that is precisely what I have been doing for the last few days. To keep that trend going, here is a great performance you can file in the "died too young" category:

Those sterioids paid off

2007-05-23T20:52:00.000+01:00

Brian's list of sequels shockingly forgot one film: Rambo 4. I'll give him a pass, because it doesn't have a distributor or release date yet, as far as I can tell, and until recently I wasn't even sure they had started filming yet. That has changed, for the better it would seem. New footage of Rambo has hit the interwebs, and I admit to being interested in it. Look, I have no fondness for the Rambo movies, mainly because I don't really remember them at all. I've actually been vaguely meaning to rent them and catch up with them, and that mission has taken on a renewed urgency with this footage. I love the grit and documentary style it displays, incidentally.

Tune in

2007-05-23T01:27:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow afternoon is the Champions League Final featuring Liverpool and AC Milan. Check it out for lots of kicking.

Back on skynet

2007-05-23T01:21:00.000+01:00

So my computer access has been spotty, but I should have some new posts up soon. Until then, enjoy a little Henry Lee.

LULZ

2007-05-12T22:01:00.000+01:00

Absurd. Yet so darn cuuuuuuuute!!!

Mid-morning ballet break

2007-05-12T16:21:00.000+01:00

Polina Semionova and Alessandra Ferri. Enjoy.

Lordi

2007-05-12T16:12:00.000+01:00

It occurs to me in that my previous post about Eurovision, I neglected to include last year's winner, who was both Finnish and an absolute aberration in style. Behold the glory that is Lordi, who won with their song "Hard Rock Hallelujah".
Believe it or not, these guys actually had their own cola out in Finland last summer, and I have the picture of it from the grocery store, but I'm not at home and can't get it right now. I'll put it up later so you can see what heavy metal soda looks like--though I must admit I can't speak to its taste, since I lacked the courage to buy it.

Eurovision

2007-05-12T15:42:00.000+01:00

Eurovision. Heard of it? Likely not, so allow me to encapsulate its essence: it is a Frankensteinian mix of "Pop/Insert your country name here Idol" and "Rocky Horror Picture Show" during which European countries send D-list talents to a "music" competition for national bragging rights. And, cursed fate, it is in Helsinki this year, and I badly wish I could be around for it; even if I can't attend any performances, the atmosphere of the city takes on a decidedly more, ahem, fabulous mood. That's right, just like Andy, Eurovision is a phenomenon in the gay community, and the acts reflect this. As I see it, most acts fit neatly into four categories: outrageously gay, super-hot girl, genuine musicians (a distinct minority), or the outrageously gay man trying to preserve record sales by appearing ostensibly straight by having super hot backing dancers. At the risk of feeling like the sorting hat from Harry Pottery, here are some of this year's contestants, pictures via The Guardian:

First, the flamboyantly gay:
Second, the super-duper hotness:

Finally, the "I swear to God I'm not gay" contingent:

Oh, and I didn't include the actual artists, because they want to be judged on their music, not their looks. Fair enough, I say.

Thanks, Netflix

2007-05-12T15:36:00.000+01:00

I finally saw The Departed yesterday, and loved what a master like Scorsese does when remaking an already good movie (Infernal Affairs). I won't go into a long, rambling review of it, but boy do I love it when a director trusts his audience to pick up on key subtleties during the film...the pregnancy pamphlet, the "man who thinks he can do what you do", the Bill the Butcher-esque moments, etc.

Oh, and I can't get this song out of my head now:

Lose the fucking tail!!!!!

Foreign Legion

2007-05-11T21:41:00.000+01:00

Who out there knows people abroad they are trying to keep in touch with? I know Michelle has Jim, who is biding his time on Hoth until the Ion Cannon can clear enough of the Imperial Fleet out of orbit so his transport and X-Wing escorts can get away, but who else? If there is anyone out there, I like to use this service, which lets you send up to 5 free texts overseas a day. Sweet.

Bumper > Face

2007-05-11T21:34:00.000+01:00

Under no circumstances should you watch this if you have any human values such as decency, empathy, or pity. I usually don't care for "accident videos", but I put this up because it still ranks as the most painful thing I've ever seen, and it happened to teenagers trying to smack little kids riding bikes.

Jackie Boy

2007-05-10T19:57:00.000+01:00

Jackie Wilson is, sadly, somewhat unknown and certainly under-appreciated these days. That makes Andy cry lonely, lonely teardrops.

Go west for love, young man

2007-05-10T19:33:00.000+01:00

Apparently there is some confusion about the nature of the relationship between Brian and myself, since someone recently claimed that we had some sort of romantic connection. This faulty supposition was based mainly on the fact that I said I would be seeing him when I move to Oregon for school this fall. That is, by my estimation, flimsy evidence for a homoerotic relationship.

Much better evidence would be the fact that I drunkenly returned his phone call from Friday night on Cinco de Mayo. Now that makes more sense, and that evidence would stand up much better in court (though, I should stress, it is still erroneous).

Shape of things to come

2007-05-10T19:10:00.000+01:00

Each spring I start to get inexplicably excited for the summer blockbuster season, despite the fact that I almost always end up disliking the big-budget popcorn movies that litter the theater. Maybe it's psychological inertia, with the good will that winter films have generated giving me undue optimism; this year is no exception, as Volver, Pan's Labyrinth, The Fountain, Children of Men, The Queen, and Notes on a Scandal have all been excellent, giving me hope that this summer's slate will be up to snuff.

From the sounds of it, Spider-man 3 is mediocre (haven't seen it yet), but I have to admit that I am, against my better judgment, anticipating the Transformers movie. Call me a fool, but I really want to see big robots on the movie screen, and some of the designs that have come out are better than I expected. This somewhat silly one, in particular, has me salivating:

B-Boy carts

2007-04-26T04:54:00.001+01:00

Has anyone here ever had the distinct pleasure of getting a shopping cart with all four wheels capable of independently rotating? Most of the carts I've gotten have the just the front two wheels free, meaning then can essentially just turn left or right, like an automobile. But man, when you get your hands on one of those luxurious babies that have all four wheels free, that is sheer shopping bliss. There is something liberating about being able to spin your cart 360 degrees as you walk, or push it down an aisle completely sideways. They are like the breakdancers of shopping carts, freestyling their way up and down the aisles.

Containment

2007-04-25T22:40:00.000+01:00

I've gone lawn crazy the last week I've been at my sister's house. Determined to get her lawn whipped into shape, I've been working away at during the day. I feel like a necromancer, actually, since I brought this rusty old lawnmower the previous owners left at the house roaring back to life through the judicious application of new gas, oil, and a fresh spark plug.

But all this yard work has carried with it an unfortunate price: trips to Wal-Mart. Since my sister lives in the western Salt Lake City developments, Wal-Mart is the only reasonably close place to buy needed supplies. Yes, I'm making excuses for going there, but the key point in all this is that I've been to Wal-Mart more in the last week than I have in the last year. And after experiencing it so many times first-hand in such a compact time-frame, I've decided that Wal-Mart needs designated "befuddlement zones" for its customers.

I simply cannot emphasize the depth of my visceral loathing for people who amble down the aisles, only to suddenly stop, turn their cart sideways to block all traffic, and then stare around them in a daze as they try to recall what they were looking for, where it is located, who they are, and what the meaning of life is. I don't understand this Wal-Mart amnesia, this bizarre stupefaction that paralyzes nearly every shopper there. I'm picturing a roped off area in the middle of the store where people can wander around aimlessly, gaping off into the distance harmlessly, all while decidedly not clogging up the aisles. It brings a smile to my face when I think of these lost fools bumping into each other with vacant looks on their faces.

The Gatekeeper

2007-04-22T08:34:00.000+01:00

For anyone out there wondering if Hot Fuzz is worth seeing, the answer is unreservedly yes. It is deliriously entertaining, fully living up to the promise of their earlier film, Shaun of the Dead. It is genuinely a massively superior film, even working in very, very sly references to movies such as Chinatown and Straw Dogs. (As for the latter, I'm not just talking about the mention of the man who worked as an extra on that film, but a very specific event that will be obvious to anyone who saw Straw Dogs. Sweet.) Can't wait to see it again.

Anyway, what was also of note was the thoroughly confounding system set up at the Jordan Landing 24 Cinema in Salt Lake City. After we got out tickets, we were directed to a cordoned-off area next to the restrooms that looked as if it served as a holding area until the theater was cleaned out. But when I asked other patrons in the holding zone, they were waiting for a variety of movies to start, so I decided to ask a worker so I could clear up the confusion. The first kid I asked claimed he didn't even work there, so I moved on to the ticket-gal who pointed me there in the first place. She cryptically mumbled something about "open", so I gave up on her. Other people in line were just as confused, and I saw a third employee claim no knowledge of the purpose of the roped-off area. What a system they have.

Illiteracy sux

2007-04-20T02:47:00.000+01:00

What the hell was with my post from the other day? Three sentences long and rife with spelling errors? Jeez...here is the original, with proper fixes added in bold:

I had (hate)April in the inter-mountain West. Yesterday it was 65 and sunny, and now (a) minor blizzard has moved in to Salt Lake City. Go to sleep, Old Man!!

Old Man Winter Strikes Back

2007-04-18T20:39:00.000+01:00

I had April in the inter-mountain West. Yesterday it was 65 and sunny, and now minor blizzard has moved in to Salt Lake City. Go to sleep, Old Man!!

So sorry

2007-04-18T20:33:00.000+01:00

This is an official apology to Gregg, who was hurt that he took me to two free movie dates so far and I didn't extend the ballet offer to him during either of those times. Sorry Gregg, next time I'll invite you on a ballet date when the opportunity arises. That being said, perhaps I can make it up to you with a similarly high-brow cultural event? 2 Live Crew is playing this weekend...I'd be interested to see who goes.

Big Plans

2007-04-18T20:26:00.000+01:00

What can I say? Brian is on to me. In the comments to an earlier post he made the bold proclamation that my impending move to Eugene (say, does anyone think this is where eugenics originated?) was merely a pretext to be closer to him. I admit that visions of drunken tomfoolerly are dancing in my eyes, particularly in Portland, a place where we can be free-wheeling and then slip out of town in shame at the end of a bad weekend.

Now that I think about it, though, this theory of moving to be close to Brian is likely to be believed most readily by his co-managers at his workplace. They were the ones, after all, who thought that we were a gay couple at his Christmas party this year. Turns out this was a couples event, and well, Brian invited me along, so I'm not surprised the people there drew their own conclusions.

The Big Four-Oh

2007-04-12T21:12:00.000+01:00

I've got tickets to the Wednesday performance of Giselle at the Capitol Theatre next week, and I am hoping to get some last minute tickets on the cheap for at least one or two other performances during the week. Doing the math in my head, if I can manage to catch a few shows next week, I'll be coming up on my 40th ballet soon. I've been meaning to writing a long post articulating the basis for my obsession with the ballet for some time now, but haven't quite done it yet.

I have to say, though, that while 40 may sound like a lot, it doesn't seem like nearly enough for me at all, and I think that stems from the fact that I attended over 30 ballets in the course of a single year. Consequently, I have long periods of my life that have been ballet-free. I'm looking forward to that changing next week...it's been too long.

Funhouse

2007-04-12T21:07:00.000+01:00

Gregg got comped with some free movie tickets from a local radio station recently, so he treated me to a hot date at the Grindhouse monday night. Our tickets caused a minor sensation at the moviehouse, though, and the issue had to be escalated through three levels of management before we could get in. It started with the standard-issue teen who works every counter in every movie theatre in America, then went to the floor manager, who finally had to get approval from some higher authority. Once we got the go-ahead, Gregg had to sign in on their log, and I'm pretty sure I caught one guy surreptitiously trying to take a hair sample from Gregg for the DNA database they keep on free-ticket redeemers.

For those of you who haven't seen Grindhouse (and judging by the box office totals, most of you haven't), I would heartily recommend it for a blast at the movies. And for the gents in the audience, I must say that Rosario Dawson was looking spectacular. Oh, and I totally want to date a New Zealand stuntwoman now.

Scene Missing

2007-04-12T20:58:00.000+01:00

I've scarcely done much online the last few weeks, mainly because I've had scant new information to impart to my good friends out in the nebulous world of cyberspace. The big news is that I accepted the offer of admission to the University of Oregon's PhD program for this fall, turning down Boston University and American University. Getting in to Boston and American is a double-edged sword; on the plus side, they are both highly ranked schools (American is one of the top 10 schools for my field) and are very competitive, as American admits less than 10% of applicants while Boston lets in less than 7%, if what the graduate people told me was correct.

The main issue, as with many things in life, turned out to be money, a resource that I alas have next to none of. As much as I would have liked to live in Washington D.C. or Boston, the financial aspect couldn't be ignored. So while I got into great schools, I can't afford to attend them as they only give out limited scholarship funds. The estimated cost of attending American University is close to $40,000 a year, and Boston is similarly priced. Oregon, meanwhile, is about half that cost, and I managed to get a full tuition scholarship and a paid teaching job while I study there. Oregon is still a fine school, so I don't feel bad about going there at all; my main issue was wanting to live in a large urban environment again, like Boston or D.C. Ah well. I guess I can apply for jobs in larger cities when I'm finally done.

Still, this means that Brian will be seeing me this fall, along with everyone in Portland.

Convene a fact-finding mission!

2007-03-27T21:39:00.000+01:00

I was reading through the news today and came across a preposterous article about fisticuffs in the National Hockey League. For the sports illiterate out there, the prevalence of fighting in the NHL can be summed up by the old joke Rodney Dangerfield used to tell: I saw a fistfight the other night, and a hockey game broke out!

It seems that more and more people are calling for the league to curtail fighting, since it slows down action and seems somewhat foreign to new fans of the league. Here's the money quote, though, from NHL commissioner Gary Bettman, reacting in the wake of a player being taken off the ice on a stretcher after a fight recently by saying he doesn't want to see fighting disappear from its traditional place in the game:

The discussion that we've been having is about player safety and injuries," said Bettman. "We've had a number of injuries resulting from fighting recently.The question is whether or not that's an aberration or whether or not it's something we need to be concerned about."

Gee, that's a real puzzler commish. I wonder if there is any link between fighting and injuries. We should really call for a team to investigate whether or not players who fight intend to hurt each other or not.

I'm not on the truck, so send me some internets on the tubes

2007-03-27T02:45:00.000+01:00

I finally decided to jump into that series of tubes known as Myspace. If that link fails to take you straight to my profile you can search for me by name, Andy Robinson, but be aware that my location is listed as Vatican City; alternately you can search by email, kaivopuisto@hotmail.com.

And in case you are wondering about my tubes mention, that means you missed out on the time when Ted Stevens, Senator from Alaska and then Chair of the Senate's Committee on Commerce, tried to describe his understanding of the internet thusly:

I just the other day got, an internet was sent by my staff at 10 o'clock in the morning on Friday and I just got it yesterday. Why?
Because it got tangled up with all these things going on the internet commercially...
They want to deliver vast amounts of information over the internet. And again, the internet is not something you just dump something on. It's not a truck.
It's a series of tubes.

Yup, sounds like he has an iron-clad grasp of the situation.

UPDATE: Apparently this is the visual aid Senator Stevens decided to use to help out with his presentation. So, if you have sent me an internet and it doesn't get to my in a timely fashion, it is bear in mind the possum in the tree is somewhat unreliable, so it may take some time for it all to get through the tubes to me.

Segregation works

2007-03-24T18:00:00.000Z

The weather is unseasonably warm here in Idaho, and I'm reminded of last summer in London when it was unbearably hot for weeks on end, when riding the Tube became a gamble for life and olfactory safety. There isn't any air conditioning on the London underground, and given the vastness and age of the system, various lines will be broken down during different parts of the day, meaning it is entirely possible that one can be stuck on a 100 degree train deep under the earth for some time. Even if you aren't stuck for an extended period, one faces the problem of people who don't seem cut out for this sort of climate. Let's just say they are flowers, blooming into fragrant goodness in the summer sun, but instead rot like fetid garbage.

After one trip on the Tube I declared to some people that I was coming out as a full proponent of segregation: from now on, there would be "Stinky/Non-Stinky" carriages on the system. "No Stinkers Allowed" signs, coupled with visual aids like crossed-out stick figures with stink lines rising from them, would make it clear to anyone they need to step aside. My friend quickly seized on this opportunity to blackmail me, holding me for ransom over the quote "I'm in favor of segregation", but I'm taking the opportunity to clear up any confusion and get in front of this nascent scandal in case I ever run for office (county coroner, maybe?).

Recently I had a run-in with some foodstuffs that caused me to again come out in favor of segregation of items. Have you ever had chocolate covered fruit? You know, it comes in a bin and there are various sizes and colors of candy coating over the chocolate, each which identifies it as strawberries, blueberries, etc.? I had grabbed some of these, and had also picked up my daily vitamin pill, and was walking down the stairs to use the computer. Absentmindedly I popped in my vitamin and bit down; I think I should make it clear that my vitamins are the big, fluid-filled ones. Once my teeth pierced the soft gel coating, the innards sprayed out every which way. I can't recommend staying away from tasting the inside of a vitamin strong enough.

So, everyone, let's keep our vitamins and candy separate, yeah?

Life at the rodeo

2007-03-20T18:53:00.000Z

As I said earlier, I finally attended the rodeo for the first time on Saturday, and actually rather enjoyed it, though I admit my expectations were a wee bit skewed. Over-the-top would be an apt description for what I expected to be on display, and for a brief moment at the beginning of the rodeo I thought I was about to get it. Just as the national anthem was about to start, a man in garish clothes came out positioned standing astride two horses, one foot on the back of each. As he charged towards me, my eyes widened as I came to the (faulty) conclusion that this man would be singing the national anthem while standing on two trotting horses. Alas, this was not to be the case, as some elederly chap serenaded us instead. Damn.

Interesting note: at the rodeo, the national anthem has been pushed out of the limelight by "I'm Proud to be an American" song. The former is played while a dozen or so gals in sequined red, white, and blue outfits ride about in different patterns while each carrying a large American flag; the audience, meanwhile, dutifully places hat over heart for the duration. Quite the spectacle. The actual national anthem, in contrast, is quickly run through after this, with only the double-horse guy doing laps to commemorate it.

A few things I can't quite fathom about the rodeo, though. One was the scoring system for the timed events. As I understand it, each day the riders participate in their event, and the cumulative scoring determines who eventually wins on Saturday night. During the afternoon session I attended, scores from each event were posted, along with the leaderboard. The puzzling aspect was that the "average" scores on display were all much higher than any of the individual times I witnessed. For instance, if people were routinely scoring, say, 15 seconds on a given event, the leaderboard nevertheless showed the top riders as having an "average" time of 30 or more seconds. Don they mean aggregate time, instead of average? Anyone with more rodeo familiarity out there care to help me out?

Also, I'm a little troubled by the "No Time" designation for those who fail at an event. Wouldn't "no time" (i.e. zero) be a boon to those determined by average time. Wouldn't infinite time be more appropriate as a punishment? But this lends itself to a logic problem: what is the average of a given number plus infinity? The mind boggles.

Finally, I was dismayed that the bulls were considerably more tame than I desired. Perhaps it is because I just watched "The Last Unicorn" recently, but expected nothing less than bulls with glowing red eyes and steam being snorted out of their nostrils to be chasing hapless rodeo clowns around the arena, goring them and otherwise tossing them over the barricades into the audience. Instead they furiously buck for a few seconds, and then benignly trot back to their pen. Boo. How about this instead?

See? That's much more like it.

Entropy

2007-03-20T03:55:00.000Z

I find I'm having a tough time giving away my favorite pair of pants, even as they disintegrating at the atomic level right before my eyes. Part of the problem is that I want them to go out with a bang; I need to win the lottery or get Angelina Jolie's phone number while wearing them. Something.

Wearing these jeans has become a chore akin to wearing a skirt, since the entire crotchal region has two mammoth tears in it, so I have to wear boxers under them and keep my legs crossed while seated. Disastrous is the only term that I can think of to describe the situation that would arise if I had my bikini underwear on or, worse, an ancient pair of boxers that also had the crotch worn out.

With the shame of my shabby underwear looming over me, I went to JC Penney's to buy some new underwear, and it turned out to be the most expensive packages of boxers ever purchased. I paid with a $50 bill, but got into a conversation with the elderly woman behind the counter, and in doing so distracted her from her change-related duties, meaning that I never got any money back from the transaction. I eventually got it back, but trying to tell people you didn't get your change invariably results in you being looked at like a crook. Ugh.

Double pimping

2007-03-18T20:42:00.000Z

And so another St. Patrick’s day has come and gone, with this year’s edition being notable for three things: I attended the first rodeo of my life, there was a minor scandal concerning the greenness of my shirt, and I was (for the second time in my life) officially dubbed a pimp by total strangers.

I’ll address the rodeo in a different post, so let me speak to the wild accusations made last night that I was not actually wearing green for St. Patrick’s Day. To this I can only say, “balderdash”. Some rubes claimed olive and mint don’t pass muster for this booze-soaked holiday, but I say my shirt was clearly green enough to ward off any pinching. I’ll let you be the judge, but I maintain that their preposterous claims are entirely spurious.

Of note, though, was the person who came up to me and told me, “shaved heads are pimp.” Oh? Well, I’ll have to accept this person’s judgment, since they clearly are more in tune with extremeness than I am, since this girl sky dives and rides a bullet bike. I, in contrast, have been considering taking up unicycle riding. Clearly one of us is more a product of the Mountain Dew Generation than the other.

This is the second time I have been dubbed “pimp” by the general populace, the first time being at Idaho State University’s campus, when I was walking by a group of ISU athletes and they took time out of their busy schedule of loafing to tell me my clothes were “pimping”. I believe their exact words were, to the best of my recollection, “yo man, that shirt be pimping right there, man.” All this was punctuated with this chap popping the collar on his shirt to emphasize his favorable impression of my attire.

All this has made me wonder how I can best capitalize on my apparent pimpness, since I must admit it hasn’t done much for me recently. I’m still hopeful that I can find an aging “sugar mama” who can fund my vagrant’s lifestyle, though I’m not sure a “pimp” is what most elderly gals are looking for. Any suggestions?

So cute

2007-03-14T00:33:00.000Z

While waiting in a hospital lobby the other day, I overheard the two elderly ladies working the reception desk talking about movies they were interested in, and they brought up Amazing Grace. The thrust of this movie concerns attempts to end slavery in England, and the view these two gals had was summed up by this line, which I quote verbatim: "It's a cute movie. A cute movie about slavery."

Yes, human bondage certainly is fodder for cute movies.

Blog pimping

2007-02-27T07:43:00.000Z

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

The fork in the road

2007-02-27T07:33:00.000Z

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

2007-02-20T04:20:00.000Z

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

2007-02-20T04:17:00.000Z

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

2007-02-20T03:44:00.000Z

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!

2007-02-14T21:40:00.000Z

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

2007-02-14T07:41:00.000Z

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

2007-02-14T07:36:00.000Z

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

2007-02-14T07:24:00.000Z

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

2007-02-14T07:11:00.000Z

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?

2007-02-12T07:38:00.000Z

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

2007-02-12T07:21:00.000Z

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?