Monday, September 29, 2008

Nothing Like Spending Time with the People Who Get You the Best

Inky loves that MasterCard commercial where the dorky kids dance to "We Want the Funk." In it, the announcer says "Spending time with people who understand you: priceless." And, as we all know, it's true. There's nothing quite like getting to just be yourself around people you've known and trusted for years. The kinds of people who truly get you, can finish your sentences and perhaps most importantly, people who have learned to be forgiving of your shortcomings.

This weekend, I spent a lot of time with the two people in my life who most embody these traits. XL came up to York to hang out with Inky and I, and to watch a ton of sports. We started off on Friday night having some Aussie meat pies, which we all washed down with some Toohey's New, an Aussie beer. Then we set about the process of readying ourselves for the evenings viewing, which would commence at Midnight, in the form of the 2008 AFL Grand Final, live from Down Under. To keep ourselves up till that late hour, we gorged ourselves on candy and each of us rode the sugar high till different points in the game.

The rest of the weekend was could have very easily been a snippet of the time we all lived together back in 1998 or any other point in the last dozen years for that matter. We quote movies and TV shows to one another, or we make light of the absurd things going on around us, and most importantly they make me laugh. It's important to have bedrock people in your life that help remind you of the good things in life and forget the bad. For me, I'm lucky to be married to one and have the other as a best friend.


Sunday, September 28, 2008

Kind of Fucked Up, But with a Salient Point

Once a beauty queen always a beaty queen I guess. The deer-in-headlights look is the same no matter when or where you see it. I've given answers like this when I had no idea what I was talking about too, but then again, I wasn't running for national public office. This answer to Katie Couric was the kind of misinformed rant that would make John "Bluto" Blutarsky blush.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Next Stop: Moscow Idaho and Paris Texas

I guess she shouldn't have made that left turn at the Falklands, huh? An Argentinian woman wanted to take a vacation to one of the world great cities, so she booked her flight online to Sydney and set out. She flew up the Atlantic coast and switched to the small turbo prop plane you have to take to Cape Breton Island and finally she realized that something wasn't right. She wasn't flying over the Australian countryside, she was flying over Eastern Canada.

To be fair, the small city of Sydney, Nova Scotia was founded around the same time as Sydney, New South Wales with the former settled in 1785 and the latter in 1788. They were both named in honor (or honour as the case may be) of the British Home Secretary, Lord Sydney, and they both are near water. Sydney Canada is just to the North of Port Hawkesbury which empties out into Chedabucto Bay, which in turn opens up to the North Atlantic. Sydney Australia is just south of the Hawkesbury River, which makes it's way to the South Pacific. Additionally, both these bodies of water were named for Baron Hawkesbury, the Earl of Liverpool.

See! They're practically the same place! I can totally understand how someone would set out to go to the Emerald City of the Southern Hemisphere and end up in a town of 25 thousand in the Northern Hemisphere. Not that I'm knocking far eastern Canada, mind you, because I'm sure it's lovely during the two or three months when it's not covered in snow. My family lives in Maine, which is like Florida to the people of Sydney Nova Scotia.

The best part of this story is that the wayward tourist stuck it out in Canada and tried to make the best of things. Wow! That's one hell of an optimist for you. I can't even tell you how unbelievably heartbroken I would have been if we had been dropped in Canada back in May rather than Sydney, Australia. I can't imagine a scenario wherein Inky and I would have been able to just "make the best of it."

I'm sure the largest fiddle in the world is quite a thing to see, but I know the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I've climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge, walked over it and rode on ferries under it. And you Worlds Largest Fiddle are no Sydney Harbour Bridge. None of this is meant to say that Sydney Canada is a hole that no one should ever visit, because some of the pictures I've
seen taken there in the summer time are beautiful, but few cites in the world can compare to the shining emerald of Oz. So had Inky and I found ourselves in the same situation as this unlucky tourist, and the others who this has apparently happened to, I think we would have just walked home, stopping every once and a while to tap a tree for some delicious maple syrup to maintain our strength, all the while weeping.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Does the Imminent Collapse of Our Economy Have you Blue?

Then try one of Greazy and Inky's special Tim Tam Slam Sunday's and turn that look of terror and shock upside down! While enjoying our Tim Tams a few months back, I mentioned how much I'd like to take the Aussie cookie to Dairy Queen and have a Tim Tam Blizzard made. While that sounded delicious, it took Inky's inventiveness to take it to a whole new level.

She rightly pointed out that a Tim Tam is never as good as when a hot liquid is drawn succulently through it, into the mouth. When said cookie is "slammed" the cookie part collapses (like the housing market, but more delectably and with less ruination) and the chocolate coating gets all melty. The cookie tastes different when in this state, and it would not be a stretch to say that it is bordering on heavenly.

So Inky got her proverbial peanut butter in my chocolate and the result was this amazing sunday. After preparing a base of Hagan Dazs vanilla bean, we slammed three Tim Tams in succession, laying the melty cookie on the frozen foundation. The cold of the ice cream cause portions of the melty cookie to reconstitute, kind of like that Magic Shell crap that was so popular in the 80's. The gooey cookie insides also sucked up the liquid ice cream, much in the fashion of a brownie sunday.

Hot and cold working together. The stark white of the ice cream, the dark loveliness of the Tim Tams all coming together to make me feel better. All that was missing was a few dollops of whipped cream and a cherry which may have brought me to the brink of full body orgasm.

If you have the means, I highly recommend getting one. They're so choice!


Monday, September 22, 2008

Less is More

If they'd just get rid of the vows of chastity and silence I think I would be getting ready to sign up for monastic life. Amid ever increasing worries that our economy could crumble at our feet, and the near trillion dollars some are prepared to throw at the problem, I can't help but be fed up with the world today. Although most who read this blog know me, others who don't, might not know that as a young man I enrolled in the seminary. There was so much I liked about the Vincentian Fathers, not the least of which was the life they offered. But, in the end, it was my attraction to the ends of the opposite sex that proved to be my undoing.

Yes, good people, it was that simple. I couldn't forsee a life were I would never be allowed to clumsily try and get a girl's bra off, let alone the whole girl. That was just the first crack in the damn, however. What ultimitly prevented me from continuing on in my studies toward a priestly vocation was not just the whole no sex thing. I also suffer from a pesky, but well developed, loathing of hypocrisy, arbitrary rules and blind unquestioning faith. These are all traits that don't make for a good man of god, which, coincidentally, are also the traits that kept me from enlisting in the Navy at 18. My Father was right there to bring these items to my attention in both cases, and ultimately it's a good thing he did. I would have made a lousy Priest and I'm sure I would have been court marshaled the first time I told my commanding officer that I worked best under last minute pressure, and so I still hadn't gotten around to following his orders.

All that said, I still think longingly about the best parts of the lives of the Vincentian Fathers, also know as St. Vincent dePaul's Congregation of the Mission. Their charge was to serve the poor, while also focusing on education both at the secondary and University levels. Some of my classmates have gone on to become Professors at Niagara University or at St. John's in Queens while others serve in some of the poorest neighborhoods in Cities like Philadelphia and New York. The work they do everyday matters, and while I'm sure they are saddled with many very serious concerns one thing they don't have to think about is the stock market.

That is because in addition to their vow of chastity they have all taken a true vow of poverty, which your average Catholic priest doesn't actually take. Franciscans, Vincentians and Redemptorists all live true communal lives, where they don't own anything, even the clothes they wear. Parish Priests don't draw a paycheck as such, but they are allotted money for spending and can own their possessions as illustrated to me by the beautiful Mustang one of my childhood priests owned. One of the amazing things I noticed in the priests that taught us at the seminary was, with few exceptions, they lived very long lives, during the latter stages of which, the would stop teaching or serving and move to a beautiful home on the Jersey shore.

I always attributed their long lives to the fact that they woke up every day with thought of doing good in the world, absent of the worry of where the next paycheck would come from. They didn't have to worry about most of the things on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, save the sexual intimacy part. In fact, with most of the base level needs all but guaranteed (eg security of body, employment, resources etc) they were much more likely to achieve esteem and then, self-actualization, which these days is a bit of a dream for us work-a-day folk.

I guess what I'm really saying, is that I'm pretty fed up by the perpetual motion that is modern life. I don't know if I'm to the point where I could think about "going off the grid" but I will say that I understand more and more the people who strive for that. Life has gotten so complicated, and those complications have in turn begun to shorten the lives of so many of us. Sadly, I have no real solutions to this quandary, only more questions and desperation to send hurdling out into the void. What I do have is a dream. A dream that involves doing work that sets my soul alite, and makes me a better person to be around. And that in doing so, I help to make the lives of those around me a little better, happier, and more worth wild. Now where did I put that brown robe?


Friday, September 19, 2008

It's the Little Things

A few months Inky and I got new phones, mostly because we could get them for free from Verizon. So I picked the most expensive phone I could get for free thanks to my "new every two" promotion, which was the Motorola Moto w755, in black for me and purple for Inky. It does all the usual stuff, calling, texting, picture taking and so on, but it has one feature that has managed to impress the shit out of me, and in doing so has turned me into Morty Seinfeld.

My phone has a tip calculator! Just like "the Wizard" that Jerry said he bought hot, one of the many things my new phone can do it calculate the tip, and even split up the total check by the number of people in your party. Amazing! It really is the little things with me, but then again it's the little things that make life worth living. Say I'm having a meal with Inky, the XL's and another couple. We all get pretty similarly priced appetizers, drinks and entrees and the bill comes out to 177.56 with tax. Well if we're all paying with cash, and the waitress is a real bitch and won't split the check then all I have to do is open my phone and type in $177.56 and 20% if the service was good and I'll find that the tip should be $35.52 for a total of 213.08, which in turn would be 71.03 per couple. If we want to pay separately, then it would be $35.52, which creepily enough is the same amount as the tip. Who knew? My wizard that's who.

Now if I can just find Bob Sacamano's number in here, I can call and see if he can get me a few dozen of these so I can give them out to the members of my HOA in an effort to win the coveted spot as HOA president.


Wednesday, September 17, 2008

4 Month Pie Itch.

I can't tell you how staggered I was when I realized that it was a third of a year ago that Inky and I found our way to Woolloomooloo to experience our first Aussie Meat Pie. We were excited to have a "tiger pie" at Harry's Cafe de Wheels, and then we had another. There are many things that we had in Oz that we miss now, and others that we are able to have from time to time to remind us of good times past.

So when fate, and work, took me to New York City on Monday I couldn't help going a bit out of my way to lay in a supply of pies for the Aussie Rules Football playoffs. I went into Brooklyn to a place called Let Them Eat Pie: the Down Under Bakery, the makers of the DUB Pie. After putting them on ice, and making my way back to Pennsylvania, Inky and I decided that we should sample them before XL comes up for the AFL Grand Final in two weeks.

As the pies were baking, we set about the task of making mashed potatoes and peas. Harry's serves their pie layered with potatoes, peas and then gravy, and we were out to recreate what we had 4 months ago. Mashing the peas was easier than I though it might have been. I just used a little milk to help them bind together and hit them with the potato masher before pulsing them in the blender to chop the skins up a bit.

Inky handled the assembly, lovingly spreading the potatoes on the pie, then the peas on the potatoes before making a reservoir for the gravy. (see the process for yourself below.) Then it was time to eat, and the DUB pie is every bit as good as the ones we ate 4 months ago under the hot Sydney sun. (The Pie on top above is ours, the one on the bottom is one of the pies we ate at Harry's in May.)

The chunks of steak are tender and flavourful, and the sauce is rich while also serving as the perfect suspension liquid for the meat. In short, perfect balance. The pie shell is light and flaky, but also sturdy enough to allow for in hand eating. The owner of the shop points out that they import their margarine from down under to ensure authentic tasting pastry, and I can attest to it's positive result. They were so good that Inky and I decided to split a third pie to be sure we had our fill. If you are ever in Brooklyn and want an authentic taste of the antipodes find your way to 193 Columbia Ave and enjoy!

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The Other 9/11.

On September 11th of 2001 the world changed for everyone. On September 11th of 2008 it got worse for some, but a hell of a lot better for the rest of us. On that day here in Pennsylvania a public smoking ban went into effect prohibiting smoking in restaurants, bars (both titty and otherwise) and just about anywhere else you can think of. What may surprise people who have ever read my blog before, is that I'm torn on this subject at it's base.

Obviously, as a nonsmoker, I'm happy that I don't ever have to be choked to death by the cloud drifting toward my table from the cool group of high school kids in the next section. That's a big plus. I also like the fact that I won't have to be tempted into sitting in the smoking section because it's a shorter wait anymore. I also happen to think, that if this inconvenience gets even a few people to quit it's a good thing, since there is obviously no redeeming qualities to smoking.

On the other hand, I am nervous about how easily we take people's freedoms away these days. Even after 7 1/2 years of King George VII have dulled us to the notion of personal rights, I get uneasy anytime something is taken away. I don't like being clouded in smoke anymore than the next guy, but what's next. There are already states that are trying to make people castrate their pickup trucks, what's next? I'm actually being serious here, what is next? Do they say that fat people can't wear tank tops? Do they say that ugly people aren't allowed to kiss in public? Because there are people out there who see these things as just as much of an affront as smokers. For that matter, I think people who talk on their cellphones at a volume loud enough to be heard on international space station should be forced out of restaurants too. I find them to be just as annoying as smokers, shouldn't they have to step outside too?

What's that you say? These examples don't pose a health risk like smoking does? Well, if you could feel my blood pressure at that moment Trip Wellington Esq takes a business call at Outback Steakhouse, you might think otherwise, but I'll go with that line of thought. People say that smokers had to be banished for the sake of public safety. Won't someone please think of the children, they cried. Well pardon me if I'm not to worried about the children's health, and why should I, their parents don't seem to worry too much about it. I'm sure they are only letting them eat a salad in that all new, smoke free Denny's.

In the end, the problem is the same now as it always was, and always will be. People can't handle their own shit, and want the government to do so. Most of the places that went smoke free here in the Keystone State on 9/11/08 did so happily. They didn't want people smoking in their joint anyway, but the needed uncle Sam (or in this case Uncle Ed) to say it was ok for them to do so. Of course the problem, as always, with letting this kind of thing be decided by Government is that they can never allow for creativity. Shouldn't you be able to open a smoking only establishment, with the expressed purpose of being a place smokers can go? Under the law, the answer is no.

And so, September 11th 2008 is a day that will live in emphysema... I mean infamy.


Sunday, September 14, 2008

What Am I Missing?

Anyone who's watched any tv over the last few weeks has undoubtedly seen the new line of Microsoft ads featuring Jerry Seinfeld and former Chairman Bill Gates. Now, I fancy myself a pretty smart guy, and I'm not one to throw dirt on a once great entertainers grave, but I have two points:

1) These ads are terrible. Unless I am missing something, or they are just a rope-a-dope for a big payoff later, they are bigger waist's of time than Paris Hilton's existence. If they were going for a fish out of water feel with two people that we are most familiar with in another context, then they went about a mile and a half past the mark. If they were going for odd for odd's sake, then this would be called a failure by resounding success of a plan. If they just threw these two guys together and said "let's see what happens" they waisted a few million in production and a few more in add buys and gained nothing.

Apple pays very little for there "Mac vs PC" adds in talent and production and gets far more return. It's what some might call a safe, but winning bet. Whereas Microsoft tried to swing for the fences and mighty Casey has struck out.

2) Jerry Seinfeld hasn't done a single funny thing since before I graduated from College. It was the end of April, 1998 and the forum was the third to last episode of Seinfeld entitled "The Maid." The following week was a letdown, and the two part finally was a crime of situation comedy perpetrated upon the loyal fans who followed the show for years. Since then, he has hardly made anyone crack a smile. Why didn't they just get the guy who played Balki Bartokomous to be in the ads with Gates? Now that would have had a chance to be funny. This garbage? Not so much.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

How is That Possible?

Since moving to my new office on the other side of campus, I've had a few changes to make. For one, I've had to get used to having a window on my door, which sometimes makes me feel like an animal on display at the zoo. I've also been able to shave time and mileage off my commute by cutting through the city, as opposed to taking the faster but more out of the way highway. But, this new route home is not without peril of it's own. And I'm not even talking about the gang infested streets of downtown York, either. No, the danger I refer to is the vortex of logic, chance and probability that is.....

The White Rose Triangle! It is formed by King Street to the north, S. Newberry Street to the east and a line at a 45 degree angle from the corner of Penn and King to the West to the corner of Princess and Newberry to the east. (as seen in the above picture. Mad props to google maps) Much like it's more famous cousin to the south, the Bermuda Triangle, the WRT is a place where things are lost. Unlike that area of the Western Atlantic it isn't ships and planes that go lost. No, in this anomalous swath of my hometown it is time that is lost.

You see, on my way home from work I have two choices of how to get though the triangle. One is to continue up Penn, and hang a right on King taking me to the corner of King and Newberry, where I would turn left at the light. The other is to turn Right onto Princess then hang left on Newberry which would, again, take me to the corner of King and Newberry, where I would go straight at the light. The problem is, good people, I never catch that light green, no matter which way I go. Never! This is not hyperbole either. Since first detecting this pattern, I've been taking special note of it, and alternating my route each day. In accordance with the scientific method, I've been through there at all times of day, and still the result is always the same. And so you see, that within this triangle, in downtown York, minutes of my life go missing each and every day.

What's worse, I've never rolled to a stop at the corner of King and Newberry, only to have the light turn green right away. No, I always seem to pull up to the light and have to sit through the whole cycle. In the two months that I've been paying close attention, I haven't once seen the light turn red as I approached it, thus giving me the chance to break the law, and break the hold the triangle has on my time. Ergo, the light is turning red at just the right moment to hold me at the corner of King and Newberry for the maximum amount of time.

And where is the UN on this? Or at least the Discovery Channel. Someone needs to take along and involved look at this phenomenon, probing the depths of this mystery until it's supernatural secrets can be unlocked. If accomplished, we may have a greater understanding of our universe, and I may be able to get home in under 20 minutes. Both are of high importance to me, and should be to you as well.


Tuesday, September 09, 2008

The Sears Catalog is to Pot as:

Internet porn is to heroin, apparently. Or so we're led to believe by the producers of the unintentionally hilarious Lifetime Move: "Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life." Sadly I missed this gem when it came out in '05, but thanks to Inky's itchy trigger finger during timeouts in Monday Night Football, I've seen enough of it now to know that it is fucking genius.

Like any Lifetime movie, Cyber Seduction is a drastic oversimplification of an issue, presented at its base level, and in trite fashion. They take a simple real life issue and spin if forward, and out of control, to it's least logical and most remote possibility, all while painting it as an everyday tale. In this case they take 16 year old Justin from zero to sixty in about two flips of his wrist, and stomp all over logic and common sense with each stroke, so to speak.

The young, All American boy is just happy living his life with his cute little girl friend and his spot on the swim team. That is, until he's shown some porn. What follows is a precipitous downfall that would have even made Dante say "Come on!" After getting a few hits of gateway porn, Justin ramps it up quick. He's starts downloading S&M pics from the net, and burns a DVD copy of Virgin Vaginas, which his mom later finds. As he continues spiral out of control, he starts downloading porn onto his girlfriends PDA. Once the kids at school find out about Justin's predilections they castigate him as some sort of unimaginable pervert, as shown in this clip from the movie (it's long, but you only need to see the first minute or so):

I got the impression while watching this that the writers were approached to write a script about the dangers of kids view porn, and decided to just take an old After School Special about drug use and swap out the subject matter. I kept seeing Ben Affleck in that TV movie he did about steroids, what with all the over acting and hackneyed family interactions. Justin's story comes to its absurd end after he gets the shit kicked out of him by the guys in the above video, ostensibly for refusing to have sex with the school whore, who lured him in through her own porn site. When he turns her down, she is dejected (one would assume at her failure to get back at mommy and daddy for something, since she wanted to do it in their bed) and she slams her own head into the sink, and blames it on Justin.

I know, right? It was ridiculous to just type that, let along call action on a set and watch people that you're paying act it out. Of course, my problems with this movie are many, and diverse. The idea that a kid could go from looking at a few up skirt shots on the web to hardcore S&M freak, without any other underlying causes such as abuse, all within the span of his junior year of high school is preposterous. Which says nothing of the fact that all the cool boys at school put him down for looking at naked women. The capper is the scene where the husband and wife (played by Kelly Lynch of Roadhouse Fame!)are laying in bed, and she asks him if he ever fantasises. "You are my fantasy" he says, going on to say that he doesn't have to look at photos of other women naked, let alone think about if from time to time. All he needs is Dr. Liz Clay from Jasper Missouri. Hilarious!

This movie is basically the 21st century version of telling kids that if they tug on it they'll go blind or get hair on their palms. It loses all credibility when it trys to portray masturbation as some sort of deviant sickness and that in doing it, a young person is in the minority. The truth is that nothing has really changed from then to now in young people's hormones. What has changed is the access they have to filthy porn. In my day, you were lucky to get a Playboy or a Penthouse that someone swiped from their old man. A hustler was an absolute goldmine. Absent of these scores, you were stuck tossing off to the unmentionables section of the Sears catalogue or a Victoria's Secret circular. Hell, I'm convinced that 97.5% off all jungle fever stems from young men who jacked it to the naked pictures of tribeswomen in National Geographic back in the day.

As with everything else, today's kids just have it easier then we did, or our parents did before us. All the luscious porn they could ever desire is right at their fingertips, if you will. And whereas the movie would have you believe that the only way a person can see porn on the web is to lay out huge amounts of cash, that couldn't be further from the truth. I say: whack away kids, just don't charge up mom and dad's credit cards!


Monday, September 08, 2008

Greazy Law: Don't Get Two Kinds of Gas.

Well it's lunchtime again, and like millions of people in the workforce, I have to make a choice of what to eat. Do I go home, or eat out? If I eat out, what should I have? There are tons of choices, Pizza, Deli, Chain place, Chinese buffet, gas station, sandwich shop... wait, gas station? That can't be right, is it? People don't actually eat at gas stations do they? They do? On purpose? That's nasty!

I've got a few important rules to live by in life, that I call Greazy Laws. On Greazy law clearly says: You must never eat at a strip club, ever! I don't care if the place has a businessman's lunch special, or they have a happy hour buffet, the rule is simple, you never eat food at a place where people take their clothes off for a living. If I need to explain the finer points of this rule, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help you.

The same goes with food made at Sheetz, WaWa or any other of these new Mega Convenience stores that have a deli in them. Do you really want to eat a sandwich made from deli meat, with a side of a mayonnaise based salad that was prepared by the kind of help these places get? I know what you're thinking: "But Greazy, can their help be any worse then what fast food places get?" The answer, sadly, is yes. Then you say "but Greazy, it's so cheep, and fast" to which I say: So are paper towels, but you shouldn't eat them either.

If you must eat shitty food (which I'm not castigating mind you) please do it from one of the recognized peddlers that I noted above. Hell, try going to one of my favorite lunch places (Panera) and get a salad. Whatever you do, no matter how hungry you are when you are gassing up, don't ever eat at a gas station! Do what the rest of the civilized world does and snack there. Get a bag of Chex Mix and a Mt. Dew or a King Sized Twix and a Vitamin Water. Just promise me you won't get a sub and a side of fries.


Sunday, September 07, 2008

Anatomy of a Late Night: Caffeine, The Cats and The Captain

There are many things that are fantastic about the Australian game of football. The only negative is that they don't play their games at 2AM. The middle of the night down there it the middle of the day here, and visa versa. So when they play a Sunday day game, it is live on Setanta after midnight here on the east coast of the US. During the regular season, I would just TIVO these games and avoid all coverage until I got to watch the game the next day. That was the regular season, this is the finals.

So it was that I drank a few huge cups of tea after midnight last night so I could stay up to watch my Geelong Cats play their first playoff game against the St. Kilda Saints. On our last trip to Melbourne Inky and I stayed in St. Kilda, which we found to be a beautiful part of the town. On this night, however, I was only thinking about how the Cats could use the sands of St. Kilda Beach as a litter box. Many footy fans don't like the Cats because they win a lot of their games in blowout fashion, thus negating the suspense. I, on the other hand, have never been great at dealing with close games. In the one close game the Cats played in the finals last year, I was on my knees in front of my computer listening to the dying seconds of the game on the net. So, a blowout was fine with me.

By the end of the first quarter I was starting to get a bit tired. Not sleepy, just tired of the Cat's inaccurate kicking. Of their 10 shots at goal, they had come away with just 3 goals and 7 minor scores adding up to 25 points. What I was excited about was the Cats amazing defense which held the Saints to just one goal and 7 points. I ate a few more Starburst, and had another cup of tea to try to ensure I would make it to halftime.

The second quarter saw the Cats straighten out their kicking a bit, as they pushed the lead from 18 to 32. Inky's crush, Jimmy Bartel, had some amazing plays in that second quarter that had me jumping out of my seat, thus negating my need for another cup of tea. What I did need during the quarter, as I need when ever I watch the AFL, is my footy. While on our trip, I picked up two Aussie footballs which Inky, XL and I have gone to campus to kick around from time to time. They get most of their use as I sit watching the Cats and I handball the ball in the air and catch it.

During the halftime break in the action, and knowing that the result was well in hand, I began to get pretty tired. At the start of the second half it was past 2:30 and had switched to a laying down position on the couch. My eyes were heavy and my response time was nearly as slow as that of the Saints. I needed to make a decision about if I should watch the fourth quarter live, or just let the TIVO keep recording it for me to see in the morning.

I decided to compromise, as I took my footy upstairs to the captain, which is what Inky and I call our king size. I started the fourth quarter sitting native American style on the edge of the captain, footy in hand, but by the end I was laying down, thumb on power button ready to give in to sleep. The Cats won big time, even though they lost a few key players to injury in win, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face. Two more weeks and I get to do it all over again, and depending on how that goes, I'll be up late for another Grand Final.


Friday, September 05, 2008

Equal Treatment

For years I have wondered what it was about powerful yet average looking men that makes women interested in them. I have always been mystified by the women who think Bill Clinton is hot, be it then, now or ever. Likewise, the idea of James Gandolfini as a sex symbol makes me want to puke, but some women think he's hot (in real life mind you, where he is not a mob boss) because of some perceived power. The list of such men and the women who lust after them is long, and I'd rather not list more, but there is another list that interests me.

Powerful women who men lust after. Sara Palin has about as much power as Governor of Alaska as the director of residence life at Ohio State, but now that she is on the ticket there are all sorts of people talking about how hot she is. She's been referred to as a MILF and I guess she is technically on her way to being a GILF, but what she is not is hot. Not even in that "naughty librarian" way either.

The same can be said for Australia's version of a VP: Julia Gillard (pictured above right) who serves as Kevin Rudd's Deputy Prime Minister. Soon after taking power away from the Bush friendly Howard Government the Rudd=Gillard team began making change in Oz. Perhaps the good feelings of the ALP made them fall head over heals for Julia, who they named the second sexiest woman in Australia, behind Jennifer Hawkins.

Maybe there are a lot of guys out there that need to find themselves a madam or something. If you see hot, where there is only power, then you are looking for someone to stick a stiletto in your ass.


Thursday, September 04, 2008

Headline: Youth Still Waisted on Young.

Getting older is bad enough, but being constantly reminded of it is worse. One of the bad parts about working on a college campus is, I consistently have my face rubbed in how good the life of a college student is. What's worse, I happen to work on the campus of my Alma Mater, so I am haunted by the ghosts of good times had everywhere I look. It's not like I didn't see this coming, either. I sacrificed a few ticks on my GPA to be sure that I was always having a great time with my friends, and maximizing all that was available to me.

What I never was, however, was bored, insidiously or otherwise. The sound of my jaw hitting my office floor must have echoed for miles after reading this Article in the campus newspaper today. The headline, as headlines are supposed to do, caught my eye right away "What to do when society has not prepared you to entertain yourself." Are you shitting me? It seems to me that all our current society has done is give kids countless entertainment options. The fact that they have become more bored shows a complete and total failure of their imagination to develop, not for entertainment options to manifest.

If you can't come up with a way to spend your staggeringly plentiful free time as an 18 to 22 year old college student then you don't deserve the privilege of being: A) that young and B) a college student. Hell, if you can't figure out a way to "pass the time" while surrounded by five thousand other young, toned, hormone factories, then I should probably be worried about the propagation of the species. Lucky for us, there are places where it's really cold, and you can only "go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing, shoot some shit" for so long before you get around to unprotected sex with the daughter of the Governor, thus ensuring that there will be a next generation. Have you ever seen Idiocracy? I digress.

Back to the point at hand, which is the poor, poor college students who are facing, as the article calls it, "creeping, insidious boredom that threatens so much of our nations youth." I can't believe there isn't a telethon for C.I.B.T.T.S.M.O.O.N.Y. Or M.A.C.I.B.T.T.S.M.O.O.N.Y.A.D.D. (read: mothers against creeping insidious boredom that threatens so much of our nations youth, and drunk driving.)

Sorry kids, you don't get to live a life like they have on The Hills, The OC, Gossip Girls or even the new 90210. What you do get is tons of free time in a week, in which 15 credit hours is considered "full time." You get fast metabolism's that allow you to be young and hot, which, when used right leads to being able to rub your junk against someone else's, with protection of course. You get a fresh start from high school which allows you to start anew, and cultivate friendship's based on similar personal interests, or, of course, a desire to partake in the aforementioned safe junk rubbing, perhaps leading to friendship.

Don't tell me you're bored. Jesus, I think I just had a flashback to my childhood, when, if I ever dared to say I was bored, my folks would point out all that I had before me. That, or put me to work around the house, which led to my desire to never be bored. Maybe that's what the writer means when she says "society has not prepared {them} to entertain {themselves}" that their expectations have not been appropriately set. Either way, it's time they realize that after this, boredom will set in for totally different reasons, all of which are hard to combat while still maintaining a job and a place to live.

Kudos to the writer of the article for, at least, pointing out all of the things to do around our little town. A further tip of the hat to her for not only talking about bars, clubs and chain restaurants, even if she did recommend the county park and lake because there is no "cover charge" perhaps belying her true disposition. Least I sound too curmudgeonly, I do know that there are plenty of good kids out there, seeing, doing and experiencing. It just saddens me that they appear to be in such a minority.


Tuesday, September 02, 2008

The Maury Povich Show: The Home Game

I was walking through the local CVS today when something caught my eye. It was the words "cocaine" and "phencyclidine" on a box, you know: PCP... Angel dust holmes! I was pretty sure that they were still illegal, but with a cokehead in the Whitehouse you never know. So I backed up to see what this product was. It turned out to be a "FirstCheck 7 Drug" home testing kit. For the low low cost of $29.99 you can demonstrate your complete and total lack of faith in your loved ones. No more trips to New York City to take them on "Maury" so they can say "whatever. You don't own me, I do what I want." Now you can just have them play the home game version.

"Alright Billy and Katie, I need you to pee in this cup so mommy and daddy can be sure that you aren't snorting blow or smoking the Sherman Hemsley. Don't worry kids, we'll still let you have cel phones, and dress like you're a whore in a Jay-Z video, but we want to be sure you aren't on Meth or E."

I know I'm not supposed to have a say in these issues, since Inky and I have decided to forgo the rugrat game, but what does this say about the world that we've made for our kids? Or our spouses and potential dates for that matter. The result of this test is ready in 5 minutes, so it is plausible that a girl can ask a guy for a few squirts to be sure he's not chasing the dragon before she goes to Red Lobster with him. And by going to Red Lobster, of course, I mean have bareback anal sex with him.

Our whole society is devoid of trust, and a big part of that is the way the kids are raised now a days. That coupled with the instant information culture of the web, cable tv, and cel phone/text message technology have allowed kids to grow up way too fast, turning them into horrific examples of adults. How can you expect your kids to be trustworthy when it comes to the big stuff if you give them cart blanche on the little stuff. Compound that with the "I'm the cool mom" mentality and you get dickhead kids who are fuckups. Deal with it and save your $29.99. The state will do that test for you for free the first time Dakota gets picked up sucking cock in the mall bathroom for a few expired Oxycodone.

Oh yeah, and one last thing: how in the fuck does this test give you a result in 5 minutes but the toxicology tests in high profile cases always take, like, 5 weeks to come back?