Separated at birth? and other randomness

Are they the same guy?

Behold the picture Isaac Laquedem has at his website (presumably of himself; why else have the picture?




Now behold Victor Garber, who plays Jack Bristow on Alias.



What inspires this?

Well, having downed a whole bottle of Boone's Strawberry Hill in an attempt to not notice my lunatic dog helped. That and watching Alias.

Really, what ever happened to NBC? Back when I was a kid, ABC had Moonlighting and Who's the Boss, and that's the last time I was compelled to watch. Well, they had Growing Pains, too, and who could get enough of Boner?

Then, NBC swept in with eleventy-nine years of solid must-see TV, from Cosby to Family Ties to Night Court to Seinfeld to Mad About You to Friends to Frasier. And now? NBC's pretty much unwatchable, except for Scrubs.

Meanwhile, ABC is quickly assuming the mantle of Must-See status, having struck gold with Desperate Housewives, and adding to an already strong Sunday line-up with the new Grey's Anatomy and bolstering Wednesday (Alias night) with Eyes, which has alot of promise.

Whatever. I'm having trouble typing. I should go to bed.

About that last post: I am up for a blogger hockey night still (Denise), and if anyone was offended by my remarking that I'm afraid people won't live up to what I've built them into in my mind, I apologize.

Catch ya later.

Gotta run, no time for fun

I was planning on having a ton of time to write something insightful on some deep topic tonight, but (thankfully) my wife ended up getting home from work early and wants to have a tasty dinner. As such, I don't have the time to write anything really long now, as I sit in my office preparing to head home, and I know for certain my dog, still too exciteable to grant me much free time, will not allow me the time for deep blogging.

And so, something fast and empty, much like so many of my most recent blogging.

It is certainly true that sometimes the well is deeper than others. The last month has found me committed to checking in, but not with much to say. I tend to have more interesting stuff to say in my comments on other blogs than I do here, which saddens me.

Indeed, despite the heavy rains, I'm still suffering a drought, wanting for anything really worthwhile to write about.

And I can tell I'm not interesting. The hits are dropping, and I think for Denise's sake, I need to be uninteresting while she's off on her wedding holiday, so she can get her much-sought 5000th hit on my blog. (So, while we're on the topic, swing by and congratulate her -- soon, she'll be DNT, as opposed to her current initials of DD).

Which is not to say that I live entirely for the numbers my blog generates. I still suffer the same existential quandries I've always had about why I blog, what my blog means in the world, and whether it would be better just to stop blogging and shut the hell up. However, as I've currently decided to continue prattling on into the wind, it is gratifying to see that people are checking (and re-checking) me out, as if what I have to say about anything might mean something to them. It's even better to see comments.

My wife is astounded, by the way, by the whole notion of comments. She read my blog recently, and wondered at the fact that complete strangers comment on other people's stuff. And, when you think about it, that is an interesting aspect in the blogosphere. We're all strangers, yet we're all drawn to each other's writing and feel a need to put our two cents in.

As I read blogs I like, I wonder if they're written by people I'd actually ever hang out with in real life. While I know some of the bloggers I point to, some of them I only know by their writing, and writing isn't the best way to learn about someone, because writers have the luxury of taking time to craft what they're saying so that it is widely digestible and comes off as intelligent (although, the fact that so many people just spew a bunch of crap and hit send, without really having any insights into anything, tells me enough about them to not care if they'd be fun to talk to at a bar).

That said, I'm not really all that eager to meet any of my blog-buddies. I mean, I wouldn't avoid them if I knew them. If I saw a person who looked like Denise, I wouldn't shun them. I saw a person who reminded me of Betsy at the bank last week (granted, I've only seen this picture of her) with a young man learning how to deposit money in a checking account (thought for sure he was The Mogul), and I was ripped with a desire to ask if it was her, although at the same time I realized how outlandish that sort of question might be (I ultimately abandoned the thought as I imagine her to be more of a NE Portland person, while I was in SE). But I'm not the guy who is dying to set up a local bloggers meet-up. The fact is, I'm not sure I want to know people as more than the sum of what they write. As far as you all know from my writing, I might seem funny and deep. Some people who know me might suggest I'm just a crass a-hole. I'd hate to pop the bubble I have imagining how cool all these other people are. I'd rather just admire them from a distance, and let the illusion live.

Whatever. This is taking too long. The Missus just called and ok'd a run to the gym, so I need to get there before dinner gets too late. Besides, not too sure anything I wrote above was even coherent.

Catch ya later.

This just in

Thanks to the Drudge Report for a link to this article discussing the growing number of Germans who want the Berlin Wall back. Well, actually, that's a mis-statement. In fact, nowhere in this article do we learn if the number of people who feel this way is growing, increasing, or remaining the same. We don't know the age of respondents, so we don't know if it's just a bunch of old fogies decrying the loss of their cultural touchstone, or what's going on.

Amusing, though, are the sentiments that the Germans held towards their east/west counterparts. According to the article, "the poll found that 47 percent of the easterners agree with the statement that the West 'acquired the east like a colony,' while 58 percent of the westerners back the statement that 'easterners tend to wallow in self-pity.'"

I liken it to feelings that Portlanders from various parts of the city share about eachother. My friend BT, who lives on the west side, hates venturing east because he's sure he'll get capped by some thug as soon as he crosses the Marquam Bridge. I, meanwhile, being an east-sider, hate everything on the west side (except Multnomah Village), and my hatred grows the closer you get to Beaverton, because as you get farther west, it grows increasingly difficult not to get lost in some neighborhood, until you hit Beaverton, town of cul-de-sacs, where I'm convinced you don't get to leave a particular neighborhood until you in fact drop a tax bracket.

And I remember working at Clackamas Town Center in college and marvelling at the difference between your typical east-Portlander, who had the whole urban grunge thing going, and your typical Clackamite, with belt buckle and boots to match.

And the Clackamas area is mostly urban. I've never understood the urban cowboy thing, and I'm sure I never will.

Anyway, it's Saturday, and I'm at work for a bit, and I wish I wasn't. But it's better to get some work done now, when I have time, then to try to find time later.

To all who may see this, happy Easter-eve.

Catch ya later.

Babblin' Brook(e)

This post is dedicated to an attorney I once knew who had a knack for not knowing when to shut up. His name was Brooke. He babbled. Hence his nickname.

In today’s post, I intend to ramble. Movies, weather, pets…nothing is sacred. Today, I will be the babbler. Today, I will not be able to shut up.

MOVIES
It’s been an intense week of movie viewing for me. Mostly rentals or newly purchased films, but also one that’s new in theaters. Lucky you, you get a quick review of each.

The Bourne Supremacy
For anyone that’s read this blog(ue) for any length of time may know, I saw The Bourne Supremacy last summer, shortly before the Tour de France was finished. I remember that for a couple of reasons. 1) It was freakin’ hot out, and we went to theater to get out of heat, only to find that the A/C was out, and 2) while waiting in line, I became jealous of everyone’s pretty yellow “Livestrong” bracelets.

Anyway, due to the whole weather bit, I only mentioned that I thought The Bourne Supremacy was a pretty good flick, but provided no further insight.

The Bourne Supremacy picks up two years after The Bourne Identity ends, with Bourne and his annoying girlfriend shacked up in India, inexplicably drinking water from the tap and living a life of luxury as they hope that Jason’s past won’t catch up to them. Within 10 minutes, the girlfriend is (thankfully) dead (the first movie was seriously affected by attempts to force chemistry between Matt Damon and the chick who played Marie), and within 15 minutes Bourne has started to kick some ass. This movie is both less than and more than the first film. Less drama surrounding the question of “will Bourne find out who he is?” and more action. In many ways I found this movie superior, but if pressed I’d have to admit that it was only, in sum, about as good as the original.

The Ring Two
Yes, I caved and went to see this film. I was a big fan of the first Ring, which I thought was a good little fright-fest. Hoping to see something at least vaguely similar, I went to see The Grudge and was in many ways disappointed (although that kid with the cat scream still freaks me out). So, when I saw the opportunity to see R2, I jumped on it.

R2 appears to follow very closely in time to the storyline in R1, with Naomi Watts and her spooky little kid having uprooted themselves from Seattle and moved to lovely Astoria, Oregon to try to start over (and to escape the effects of the videotape they made to save her son’s life).

Only, the tape beat her to Astoria, and soon enough she’s again battling to save her son’s life from Samara, the little girl who never says die. Since this movie is new, I don’t want to spoil anything for you. I will say it was lesser than the first film, but better than the critics would have you believe. Definitely makes a good matinee, because you never feel guilty if you didn’t pay full price.

Shaun of the Dead
Got this one from Netflix, and convinced JLowe to watch it with me over steaming hot helpings of Cannon’s Brisket. This movie is sort of a zombie-film farce following a loveable loser around as he slowly realizes the world around him is getting zombified, then he fights to save his mother and the woman he loves (and a few tag-alongs) from becoming undead themselves. Entertaining film. Silly fun.

Addicted to Love
My wife rented this classic, starring Matthew Broderick and Meg Ryan (before I decided she was evil and before she decided to screw her face up with plastic surgery and botox) starring as two forlorn dumpees trying to exact revenge on their ex-mates, Broderick in hopes of forcing Kelly Preston back into his arms (and, really, that is a worthy goal in my book), and Ryan with the goal of tearing away every shred of dignity her Frenchy former fiancée ever had. In the process, they end up deciding “screw those other people, let’s just shack up and live happily ever after.” But not before some devious hijinx. Great film to watch with your spouse if nothing else is on and you have it sitting around. Seriously, Matthew Broderick can almost do no wrong (no, I will not admit that Inspector Gadget or Godzilla ever happened).

Collateral
I refused to see this movie in theaters, but did decide I should rent it just to check it out. I was surprised at how good it was. No description; go rent it yourself.

WEATHER
Really, nothing here to add I haven’t already written over on the Portland Metroblog. Go check it out (link to the right).

PETS
My dog is the bane of my existence this week. Which is not to say I don’t love her. I do. She’s just a pain in the keister.

This all started Tuesday when my dog had a vet appointment. I’d been hoping to adjust my lunch hour so that I could take her in, but I ended up getting stuck in my office, so my wife had to do it herself. Which is all well and good, except that Ollie doesn’t exactly listen so much when The Missus is trying to talk to her.

So, about 11:15 on Monday, I got a tearful call from The Missus decrying the foul behavior of our dog and demanding action, or the dog would have to find a new home.

So, now, I’m working on the prospect of dog classes. Pets, it appears, aren’t cheap. Feh.

Plus, how many baths does a dog need? I swear, she’s the smelliest dog in the world. In her defense, she’s currently getting de-mited, so she’s having some short-term skin problems. But, geez, at this point she’s requiring weekly baths, and that’s just not so fun. We’re hoping that we can avoid heat, because they won’t spay her until the mites are gone. Here’s keeping our fingers crossed…

THE ONGOING BBQ BRAWL
So, as I mentioned, I had Cannon’s (link to right) brisket last night. This was my second go-round with Cannon’s, where you can only get brisket if you show up early.

My first batch of brisket was good, but not that good. I had higher hopes for this batch, as it was earlier in the evening (6pm) and it was cold and raining, which seems to slow down foot traffic.

Verdict? Big Daddy’s, my favorite BBQ joint in town, still wins on brisket (hands down), and Campbell’s is superior as well. I will tell you that for ribs, Cannon’s is the best I’ve had yet. I just prefer brisket.

FUNNY CRAP
A few funny bits:

Easter Greetings

Too much of a good thing?

The truth about men:
Because I'm a man, when I lock my keys in the car I will fiddle with a wire long after hypothermia has set in. AAA is not an option. I will win.

Because I'm a man, when the car isn't running very well, I will pop the hood and stare at the engine as if I know what I'm looking at. If another man shows up, one of us will say to the other, "I used to be able to fix these things, but now with all these computers and everything, I wouldn't know where to start." We will then drink beer and break wind as a form of holy communion.

Because I'm a man, when I catch a cold, I need someone to bring me soup and take care of me while I lie in bed and moan. You're a woman. You never get as sick as I do, so for you this isn't a problem.

Because I'm a man, I can be relied upon to purchase basic groceries at the store, like milk or bread. I cannot be expected to find exotic items like "cumin" or "tofu." For all I know, these are the same thing. And never, under any circumstances, expect me to pick up anything for which "feminine hygiene product" is a euphemism. (F.Y.I. guys, cumin is a spice and not a bodily function.)

Because I'm a man, when one of our appliances stops working, I will insist on taking it apart, despite evidence that this will just cost me twice as much, once the repair person gets here and has to put it back together.

Because I'm a man, I must hold the television remote control in my hand while I watch TV. If the thing has been misplaced, I may miss a whole show looking for it (though one time I was able to survive by holding a calculator)...applies to engineers mainly.

Because I'm a man, there is no need to ask me what I'm thinking about. The answer is always either sex, cars, or hockey. I have to make up something else when you ask, so don't ask.

Because I'm a man, I do not want to visit your mother, or have your mother come visit us, or talk to her when she calls, or think about her any more than I have to. Whatever you got her for Mother's Day is okay; I don't need to see it. And don't forget to pick up something for my mother, too.

Because I'm a man, you don't have to ask me if I liked the movie. Chances are, if you're crying at the end of it, I didn't....and if you are feeling amorous afterwards...then I will certainly at least remember the name and recommend it to others.

Because I'm a man, I think what you're wearing is fine. I thought what you were wearing five minutes ago was fine, too. Either pair of shoes is fine. With the belt or without it, looks fine. Your hair is fine. You look fine. Can we just go now?

Because I'm a man, and this is, after all, the year 2005, I will share equally in the housework. You just do the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, the vacuuming, and the dishes, and I'll do the rest... like wandering around in the garden with a beer wondering what to do.

This has been a public service message for Women to better understand Men.

Ghetto Barbie

Got this bit from a cop I know:
Why Cops Harass people

Recently, California ran an e-mail forum (a question and answer exchange) with the topic being "Community Policing".

One of the civilian e-mail participants posed the following question: "I would like to know how it is possible for police officers to continually harass people and get away with it?"

From the "other side" (the law enforcement side) a cool cop with a sense of humor replied: "It is not easy. In California we average one cop for every 2000 people. About 60% of those cops are on patrol, where we do most of the harassing. One-fifth of that 60% are on duty at any moment and available for harassing people. So, one cop is responsible for harassing about 10,000 residents. When you toss in the commercial, business, and tourist locations that attract people from other areas, sometimes you have a situation where a single cop is responsible for harassing 20,000 or more people a day. A ten-hour shift runs 36,000 seconds. This gives a cop one-second to harass a person, and three-fourths of a second to eat a donut AND then find a new person to harass. This is not an easy task.

"Most cops are not up to it day in and day out. It is just too tiring. What we do is utilize some tools to help us narrow down those, which we harass. They are as follows:

"PHONE: People will call us up and point out things that cause us to focus on a person for special harassment. 'My neighbor is beating his wife' is a code phrase we use. Then we come out and give special harassment. Another popular one on a weeknight is, 'The kids next door are having a party.'

"CARS: We have special cops assigned to harass people who drive. They like to harass the drivers of fast cars, cars blasting music, cars with expired registration stickers and the like. It is lots of fun when you pick them out of traffic for nothing more obvious than running a red light. Sometimes you get to really heap the harassment on when you find they have drugs in the car, are drunk, or have a warrant.

"RUNNERS: Some people take off running just at the sight of a police officer. Nothing is quite as satisfying as running after them like a beagle on the scent of a bunny. When you catch them you can harass them for hours.

"CODES: When you can think of nothing else to do, there are books that give ideas for reasons to harass folks. They are called 'Codes'; Penal, Vehicle, Health and Safety, Business and Professions... They all spell out all sorts of things for which you can really mess with people. After you read the code, you can just drive around for a while until you find someone violating one of these listed offenses and harass them. Just last week I saw a guy smash a car window. Well, the code says that is not allowed. That meant I got permission to harass this guy. It is a pretty cool system that we have set up, and it works pretty well. I seem to have a never-ending supply of folks to harass.

And we get away with it. Why? Because for the good citizens who pay the tab, we keep the streets safe for them. Next time you are in my town, give me a single finger wave. That is a signal that you wish for me to take a little closer look at you, and maybe I'll find areason to harass YOU.

That’s all, kids.

Catch ya later.

Uninspired

I'm copying the name of the post I wrote at Portland Metroblogs (link at right) today, because I'm too uninspired to provide a new title, and further you have to click at the right because I'm too uninspired to provide you a link.

I'm so uninspired that, below, I posted my results on some alcohol test that Betsy put up last week.

Now, I'm posting a fortuitously provided e-mail with beer quotes sent to me by my friend at OC Girl.

THE FOLLOWING CAN BE USED IF WE NEED REASONS TO CONTINUE DRINKING BEER

Sometimes when I reflect on all the beer I drink, I feel ashamed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work, and their dreams would be shattered. I think, "It is better to drink this beer and let their dreams come true, than be selfish and worry about my liver. --- Babe Ruth

An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with the fools in his life. --- Ernest Hemingway

When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading. --- Paul Hornung

24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence? I think not. --- H.L. Mencken

When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep. When we fall asleep, we commit no sin. When we commit no sin, we go to heaven. So, let's all get drunk and go to heaven! --- George Bernard Shaw

Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. --- Benjamin Franklin

Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza. --- Dave Barry

BEER: HELPING UGLY PEOPLE HAVE SEX SINCE 3000 B.C. --- W.C. Fields

Beer: helping white guys dance, since 1632.

Remember "I" before "E", except in Budweiser. --- Professor Irwin Corey

To some it's a six-pack, to me it's a support group. Salvation in a can! --- Leo Durocher

One night at Cheers, Cliff Clavin explained the "Buffalo Theory" to his buddy, Norm. "Well ya see, Norm, it's like this. A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine!That's why you always feel smarter after a few beers...

Okay, enough slacking. But I only have two minutes to write. I'm still in my office, and I just texted my wife eight minutes ago to tell her I'd be leaving in "10 minutes or so," and then I spent those eight minutes formatting the e-mail so it wouldn't look weird, and now I've spent one minute typing this.

So, what can I type in one minute that might be interesting?

Nothing. That's why I said "10 minutes or so." Because I'm weak and must write something substantial.

Sadly, I have nothign substantial to write. So I can't write nothing, but I have nothing to write. Interesting conundrum...

So, a brief remark on one of my more recently-discovered physical features, then I'm off.

I have a shaved head. Why? In part because I'm balding. In part because Bruce Willis pulls it off, and he's secretly one of my idols (well, actually David Addison was, but that's beside the point).

I take that back. Maybe it's not beside the point. As you can clearly see if you click that link (I guess I'm semi inspired), David had hair. But, if you look closely, he probably shouldn't have. Kinda like me.

Anyway, after shaving my head, I noticed two little mini divets on the front of my scalp. I noticed them because I had trouble shaving there, due to a straight-edged razors unwillingness to bend into a mini divet.

Anyway, I've been curious for the last few months what these little grooves represent. Did I get dropped on my head (I know for a fact I did, and I cling to that truth whenever my faculties start failing me)? Did I run really really hard into some kind of fence or door, so hard I don't even remember? Apparently I had leg braces as a child, which I also don't remember, so anything could be true.

Well, I finally mentioned it to my mom, and the truth came out. When I was born, I was 8 pounds and 4 ounces of head, with 4 ounces of body weakly attached. This was quite uncomfortable for my mom, and perhaps just as uncomfortable for me, as I became wedged in during my voyage to the bright lights. So, forceps were applied, and until losing all of my lovely hair I never realized the painful reminders I've been carrying.

And that's all. Really, not that exciting, totally uninspired, but at least you know I'm still alive and I love each and every one of you. Well, that's not true. But thanks for stopping by...

Catch ya later.

Viral tests

Thanks to Betsy (link at right) for sending me this way. As this proves, I love beer.

Bourbon
Congratulations! You're 130 proof, with specific scores in beer (140) , wine (50), and liquor (95).
Screw all that namby-pamby chick stuff, you're going straight for the bottle and a shot glass! It'll take more than a few shots of Wild Turkey or 99 Bananas before you start seeing pink elephants. You know how to handle your alcohol, and yourself at parties.




My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 54% on proof

You scored higher than 99% on beer index

You scored higher than 85% on wine index

You scored higher than 92% on liquor index

Link: The Alcohol Knowledge Test written by hoppersplit on Ok Cupid

The Google appreciation blog

Many possibly interesting Google-specific thoughts:

• A search of my real name shows that there are more people with my name than I would have thought...
• A search of "The Pieman" shows that my Blogger profile is 70th in popularity for the phrase, my blog is 87th, and John Hays' reference to my Mexico vacation is 5th. That last part is most curious to me...
• A search of THE PIEMAN (no quotes) yields my blog at #5.
• A search of PIEMAN yields me way, way back there (though, again, John's pointer to my site shows up much earlier).
• Interesting. I still can't find my wife using Google. Does that mean she doesn't exist?
• My phone number continues to be Google-free, which is just fine with me.
• I love Google local, especially from my cell phone. Can't count the number of times I've needed to find a restaurant's address or phone number and, using my text messaging, have been able to get it using just the name and zip and sending them off to 46645 (spells googl, get it?)

Really, I'm just killing time here folks. I want to go to the gym, but if I leave now it will still be too busy. So, a few more minutes of surfing before I get on my way.

By the way, go to Mak's blog and harass her into explaining why Google is a person's best friend. She won't tell me, but perhaps she'll respond to peer pressure if we all pile on.

Catch ya later.

Gotta make this quick

So, I lulled lovely Olive into leaving me alone by feeding her, which will keep her attention for the 5 short minutes it takes for her to gulp down her puppy food.

Which is fine. I doubt I have 5 minutes of typing in me right now, so this should work out great.

Wait, I've only been here 2 minutes and she's already molesting me. What happened to the food? Hmm. She's getting quick, that one. Now she's sitting on the guest bed, licking her lips and giving me that look that says "in 45 seconds, if I don't suddenly fall asleep, you are so gonna get it!"

So, the clock is ticking.

Got off my first Portland Metroblog today, as you may have noticed in my previous post. I don't really have a concept of what my body of work over there will look like. So far, most of the posts I've seen there are short, innocuous, and glib. I'd like to put more substantial reading there for the peeps.

(Now Olive's bolted off the guest bed and is dancing around the living room with some unknown small inanimate object...now she's back in here, looking at me. Gonna be walk time soon...)

Of course, I don't want to compromise my writing here with my writing there. My main goal there, I guess, is to get exposure for this blog, which is my passion. Not that I'm passionate about it. I just like writing this blog, to get the writing out of me.

Whatever, this is boring.

Not as boring as my day was, though. In my ongoing quest to assist my superiors in any way asked (yes, I'm still working on the project I thought I finished two weeks ago), I'm now charged with doing a review of state constitutions to find some with certain similarities to our own, in the hopes that there is some persuasive case law relating to the issues I've been chewing on for the better part of the last 3 weeks.

Have you ever read a constitution? Maybe you've read the Constitution. You know, the Constitution, the one that works for the whole country. Well, when you get a chance, go to your state's constitution and give it a read. Multiply that by 50, and you have my problem.

Ugh.

Of course, there's the potential for all sorts of good stuff out there that will help my superior with his legal work, and I'm bound and determined to find what I can. Not only because it looks good to be the guy that gets the job done, but also because I like doing something that someone is relying on, and impressing them with the work I do. It makes me feel good.

Which is not to say I'm getting any happier about the legal writing bit.

(I know, I'm still typing. Ollie's currently just sitting there, scheming. I know the time's almost here...)

Tomorrow will be more of the same. Probably Thursday, too. Friday, I have another project to get cracking on, and then next week will be research on the constitutional provisions I manage to locate tomorrow and Thursday.

Great fun.

Last night, went to Tara Thai with the Little Dutch Boy and the JLowe family. Very good, but I still prefer Sweet Basil, for what my opinion's worth. Tara Thai won't be getting on my best of Portland list, but if you're in Northwest and jonesing for Thai food, it's certainly worth stopping by.

(She's losing her patience. I can see it...)

So, how 'bout those Blazers? Man, there's a whole mess I could write about for at least 25 minutes straight. Where to begin? Zach Randolph's knee? Van Exel's moping?

(Oh, no, here she comes....."NOOOOOO! AAAAAAAAHHH!")

[END OF TRANSMISSION]

At the Portland Metroblog today (click here to read)

The post is pretty generic; mostly re-tread material, but I've been too busy to come up with anything new and fresh.

The Missus gets home late tonight, though, and the dog is better behaved, so provided I can think of something good to write about, I'll throw it up here later...

If you got tickets, I hate you unless you gimme one (or two)

Let me start this by saying I was warned.

That said, hi everybody. Already alot to talk about this weekend, and it isn't even half-way through.

Yesterday, while busily pounding away on my keyboard at work, my long-lost friend Ren (who I haven't seen forever but who reads me religiously) started shooting me e-mails. Luckily, I was close-enough to finished with my latest round of legalese that I was able to divide my attention enough to dialogue with her. The upshot was that, last night, she ended up coming over for a movie night with The Missus and me and, due to her excitement at the impending U2 sales event, she agreed to road-trip with me down to Salem to buy tickets for herself and her beloved, as everyone in my life had already bogued out on the 6:45 departure.

For movie night, Ren brought over two films. The first one we watched was Eulogy, a so-so comedy about a dysfunctional family re-uniting for the funeral of the family patriarch. There were a couple of laugh-out-loud moments, but on my comedy scale, this one is merely Not So Good. Which is not to say I didn't enjoy myself. I don't really have very high standards when the movie is free. The second film we almost watched was P.S., which we watched for 20 minutes and then entirely bored of. Absolutely not recommended.

So, after that my night came to an end, knowing I'd have to be up fairly early for my trek to my musical Mecca. I slept through my alarm, but woke up at 6:43 and, due to Ren's femininity, had time to use the bathroom, take my dog out, put on clothes, and gather most of my stuff before her arrival. We left, and our day of disappointment began.

The trip to Salem was pleasant enough. Having read alot of my material, Ren knows I like restaurants, and picked my brain on a few. She knows restaurants better than I do, from talkng to her, so I got an idea here and there for future consideration. When we got to Salem, I went to where GI Joe's was, only to find that the location whence came all previous U2 tickets had closed. I should have seen the writing on the wall then.

I got on the phone with JLowe, and instructed him that he was our contingency plan. Further, I asked him to find me the closest GI Joe's, and he directed me to the one on Lancaster in Salem (which I'd managed to forget about, having ceased my daily voyages to Salem three years ago).

So, off we went on a frantic quest for GI Joe's. When we got there, there was already a line of about 10 people, despite the fact that the tickets didn't go on sale for another hour and a half. I held this to be a second bad sign, and a third accompanied in the form of another one of those annoying pontificators pontificating about things and sounding loud (and dumb) in the process. Reminded me of jury duty.

Realizing that 1) I couldn't stand these people, 2) Ren's injured foot was bothering her as we stood there, and 3) if there were this many people here now (and more were approaching), it was certain we'd be subjected to a lottery and might lose big, I got on the line with JLowe, who was at the ready on-line, and instructed him our fate was in his hands. And then we left.

We got back to Portland just shy of 10am, and as soon as my clock hit that time I shot JLowe a text message for an instant status report on getting tickets. The Pontificating moron had said these shows sold out in 17 minutes usually, so I decided that a safe bet was 20-30. At 10:01, JLowe informed me that he was in the system, placed "in line" for 5 minutes, and would report back once success was achieved. And, based on that representation, I was sure it would be.

When I hadn't heard from JLowe by 10:35, I knew that, somehow, his ancient computer (or Ticketmaster's evil machines) had screwed him. I logged into Ticketmaster (I hadn't due to my slower connection, which in the past has made it hell to try to order anything because I always get timed-out) and, to my non-surprise, found that I was able to get in, seek the four tickets we'd been shopping four, and be soundly rejected. As an experiment, I tried selfishly to just find two (for JLowe and I) and was equally non-plussed at the response. I called JLowe, who was still on-line and clearly agitated, and explained our defeat. He curtly hung up, in a way that told me that he was probably taking it harder than me.

Lessons learned?

1. If you're going to take the time to drive to Salem and get in line, stay there, even if your friend's foot hurts and stupid people abound.
2. Listen to the friends who say you can't trust Ticketmaster.com, and not Joe, who not only thinks that Harold & Kumar is the best movie ever, but who was also too lazy to get out of bed to try to buy tickets using his old, afore-mentioned, "tried and true" Ticketmaster.com.
3. Never, ever be the bearer of bad tidings to JLowe.

So, what now? Well, I'm hoping that someone out there will see this, realize I got screwed by the system, and when December rolls around and their trying to take a last-minute Christmast trip, will offer me the tickets at face-value (with a minor interest rate, I guess) out of sheer sympathy and kindness.

Until then, since the concert was to be my wife's birthday present to me, she is now on the hook for something else that I'd like (like Napoleon Dynamite or a head-shave and scalp massage at Hair M).

When life gives you lemons...

Catch ya later.

P.S. (no pun intended): Hannah finally updated her blog with a funny little story involving not painting all your toenails. I can't sympathize, buy maybe some of you can...

Time crunch, and subsequent lazy re-post

Well, the superior liked what I wrote so much that he's given me a new angle to cover, which means I'll be working through the lunch hour. So, today I'll just recycle another e-joke from Hannah, who still refuses to update her own blog.

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to takeany word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changingone letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners:

1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with. (Not identifying with this one this year)

2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period. (I do identify with this...)

6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late. (JLowe wishes he had this ability)

9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate's disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

And the pick of the literature:

18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an a ** hole."

Catch ya later.

Don't wanna work today

I suppose I join the rest of the world in having days where I don’t want to work. Sadly, today is one of my more demanding ones, so the option to simply ignore my work, although never really present, is absolutely absent today.

This week I’ve been suffering a case of the blah’s. I’m tired from waking up too early to deal with my dog (imagine how I’ll feel whenever I get around to having a kid). My stomach has been disagreeing with me for the last day or so (nothing major, just a kind of blah feeling down there as well). The weather has been nice outside, and my office doesn’t even have a window. And, to top it all off, I’ve been tasked to do some legal writing to assist one of my superiors.

I’ve noted in the past that I love writing, and that I found in working at the DA’s office in Salem that legal writing was something I enjoyed. Obviously, when I wrote that I hadn’t actually done any legal writing for awhile. I’ve been working on the current project for the last two weeks. It involves discussion of a variety of constitutional and statutory issues, analysis of a variety of cases, and in the end it numbs my mind in its complexity. Which is not to say I can’t handle it. It just requires focus, and solitude, and my job involves too many people coming into my office to ask questions to provide the quiet that I need.

It didn’t help that, as I took my computer home last night to work on the writing, I had forgotten about an after-work meeting that took up an hour of writing time, then I had dinner with my mother-in-law (lovely chicken and dumplings…scrumptious!), then I had to go home and walk the dog, then “Alias” was on, and then I was too tired to write and decided to go to bed instead. I got to work early today to meet my 5pm deadline, and just e-mailed off my last bit of work-product 15 minutes ago.

And, now, I have 20 minutes to finish preparing my in-service class I’m teaching to the local boys and girls in blue regarding how the courts have changed the legal landscape in the last year and a half. After that, I’ll finally get my lunch break, go give my dog her medicine, and come back to see if my superior has requested any modifications to my work. Which he won’t, because when I apply myself, I’m pretty good.

On a separate tangent, query for my readers: have you used ticketmaster.com to buy tickets for a concert that was sure to sell-out quickly, and if so, did you find it to work better than getting in line at a store? I’m trying to decide how best to address my U2 needs on Saturday. By the way, the infamous Joe may come up for the concert, if he can score tickets, and may bring Brother Danielle with him. That should be a treat.

Anyway, need to go over my outline again before class. Hope you’re focusing better today than I am. Why does it have to be so nice outside?

Catch ya later.

Random time-waster

U2 is coming!

So, word is that U2 will, finally, be here in December. Finishing off their world tour, no less.

I must confess to you now, that I am an unmitigated U2 fanatic. I discovered U2 back in 1992, when my dear chum Caleb saw fit to introduce me to their album “Wide Awake in America” during a random roadie we went on. During that previously-described trip, Caleb threw in the tape as the sun came up, playing the song “Bad” (the live version) and proceeding to wail along at the top of his lungs as the music got more and more intense.

The music was intoxicating. Caleb’s singing wasn’t, but we’d been friends long enough that I’d learned to block him out.

Soon after, I started borrowing Caleb’s U2 CD’s and copying them to tape. Eventually, I bought out Caleb’s whole CD collection for $200 (this is an interesting story—Caleb decided that, though CD’s were great, he was going to go back to tape, get CD’s from the library, copy them all, and eventually get over on the system. Of course, not long after he was complaining about how I’d bought his CD’s from him for $1 each and he was now having to deal with fast-forwarding and rewinding again…), which included every U2 CD released up to that point, and I became an unabashed fan.

I was almost tripped up with the advent of “Zooropa”, U2’s foray into techno-pop. However, I found that after scratching my head at the first listening, by the third I was back into it. Same held true for their next album, “Pop”.

I got into U2 just late enough that I missed most of their early concerts. But when the opportunity finally came for me to see them in Oregon (the “Popmart” tour in Eugene, Spring 1997), I jumped at it. I remember sitting way up in the bleachers of Autzen Stadium, looking at the clear, starry sky, and singing along to “With or Without You,” just as every other fan was, and thinking that, at that moment, my life was perfect.

I also remember that JLowe went to the December, 1997 “Popmart” concert in Seattle, that I’d been trying to get to, but hadn’t been able, and called me with his cell phone, leaving a voice-mail of Bono crooning undecipherably in the background.

The same held true for their “Elevation” tour in 2001. Only, that time, I was indoors, but that had a disco ball shooting stars around the room (sometimes, I was hit, and I became a star for a moment), and so it was almost as nice.

I had heard rumors that U2 was on tour again, but hadn’t really focused in on them. Recently, I feared I’d missed the ticket sales date, and wouldn’t be able to see them this time around. Until Monday, when my friend BT called to advise me that the tour was ending in Portland, in December, and tickets go on sale this weekend.

Joy! Utter joy filled my heart, realizing that I’d probably be able to eek some tickets out, despite a budget that’s rapidly collapsing, thanks to my puppy.

Turns out Ollie has mites, so I had to spring for a dip yesterday, and some more antibiotics for her almost-gone runny nose, and I feared that, at that point, I’d be relegated to hearing others talk about a concert that I never should have missed.

But The Missus, who still hasn’t bought me a birthday present, has advised that she’ll spring for my ticket. And so, Saturday, I’m going to be bad and skip out on the first part of my church’s “Work Day” (our annual tradition, which I’ve never attended, where we do touch-up painting, clean stuff, work on the plants outside, etc.), and drive to an undisclosed location where I’ve determined I’ll be less likely to be stuck in a long line, and more likely to get tickets for me and JLowe.

Now, in recognition of my upcoming joy, I will go back to work, listening to U2 on my MP3 player all afternoon. And dreaming of that night in December when, again, everything will be just right.

Catch ya later.

P.S.: I applied for, and have been accepted as, a writer for the Portland Metroblog, which I should start working on later this week or next week. My posts there should be less about me and more about the city I live in and love. Feel free to check it out. As I told them, I'm not really that opinionated (at least, not publicly), but do have interesting perspectives on things, and I hope that my posts over there will at least be interesting.

More, as promised

Pictures of Ollie, my dog.

Also, pictures of our visit to Multnomah Falls yesterday. Me, The Missus (in khaki's), JLowe, Lady Lowe, and JLowe's pugs, Lucy (the one my wife is walking) and Ginger.

Catch ya later.

Busy day

Currently cleaning the house for tonights "The Missus and Lady Lowe's Official B-Day Slumber Party."

So, I shouldn't really be taking any time away for this.

But, I just wanted everyone to know that I'm also spending some time taking puppy pictures. Hope to have them up by Monday.

Catch ya later.

Hannah's Daily E-mail

Hannah (link at right) is a friend from waaaaay back in the day. She has a blog, but doesn't do much with it. Instead, she just e-mails me stuff which I keep foolishly adding to my blog.

I was about to log out of my computer, and received the following e-mail. Darn it, Hannah! I gots to go!

Anyway, behold the Wisdom of Will Rogers.

Will Rogers, who died in a plane crash with Wylie Post in 1935, was probably the greatest political sage this country has ever known.

Enjoy the following:

1. Never slap a man who's chewing tobacco.
2. Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.
3. There are 2 theories to arguing with a woman...neither works.
4. Never miss a good chance to shut up.
5. Always drink upstream from the herd.
6. If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.
7. The quickest way to double your money is to fold it and put it back in your pocket.
8. There are three kinds of men: The ones that learn by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence and find out for themselves.
9. Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.
10. If you're riding' ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it's still there.
11. Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier'n puttin' it back.
12. After eating an entire bull, a mountain lion felt so good he started roaring. He kept it up until a hunter came along and shot him. The moral: When you're full of bull, keep your mouth shut.
ABOUT GROWING OLDER...
First ~ Eventually you will reach a point when you stop lying about your age and start bragging about it.
Second ~ The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.
Third ~ Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want people to know "why" I look this way. I've traveled a long way and some of the roads weren't paved.
Fourth ~ When you are dissatisfied and would like to go back to youth, think of Algebra.
Fifth ~ You know you are getting old when everything either dries up or leaks.
Sixth ~ I don't know how I got over the hill without getting to the top.
Seventh ~ One of the many things no one tells you about aging is that it is such a nice change from being young.
Eighth ~ One must wait until evening to see how splendid the day has been.
Ninth ~ Being young is beautiful, but being old is comfortable.
Tenth ~ Long ago when men cursed and beat the ground with sticks, it was called witchcraft. Today it's called golf.
And finally ~ If you don't learn to laugh at trouble, you won't have anything to laugh at when you are old."

Following Mak's lead

Been a long week, and it's too nice out to stay here, so I'm heading home (actually, I looked and it's not that nice out, but it was at lunch so I have faith in the future, and besides I haven't hung with The Missus enough this week).

First though, this from Mak's blog (link to right). Hey, Mak, thanks for the link!

You Are 70% Extrovert, 30% Introvert

You are quite outgoing You are a social connector - you know a ton of people While you aren't a wild extrovert, you are a great talker A fantastic storyteller, you keep everyone laughing

Are You An Extrovert or An Introvert?

Shotgun approach

So, the other day I listed a bunch of potential blog topics. As the days pass, these are less fresh and exciting to me (but, sadly, I’ve thought of nothing else to blog on) so, today, I will hit a bunch of them in one broad swoop.

Jury Duty
As I’ve mentioned, I’m an attorney in Portland. As a Multnomah County citizen, I am assured of a few things. Taxes. Vicissitudes in government. One other is that every two years or so, with remarkable regularity, I will be called for jury duty (my wife has only been called once in her life; I’ve been called twice in the last 3 years). And, as an attorney, I will never, ever get to sit on any jury.

Anyway, another colossal waste of a day was had on Thursday, as I went downtown to serve time in the jury room. Last time I went, I took a backpack full of things to read and ended up bored out of my mind. This time, knowing that boredom was inevitable, I decided against the heavy bag and instead just took a newspaper, a pen, and my MP3 player (to protect me from conversation).

After the initially entertaining experience of hearing one of our local judges give a pre-packaged speech on how great it was that we were here today to take an active role in the judicial system, I got the added thrill of hearing the Sheriff’s Office Captain who oversees Courthouse Security give his speech on courthouse safety and all the things you can, and can’t, bring in (I love the part about not going out during lunch, buying a bunch of booze, and trying to bring it in with you). Then the sitting began.

At least the courthouse is springing for cushy chairs. Slowly, but surely, the old plastic seats are giving away to more comforting places to rest your keister as you fight off sleep.

To my right, a seventh grade teacher sat trying to make conversation with anyone who would listen. I was honestly trying not to, but she was louder than my music, so I heard her talk about school, kids, programs, budget cuts, and being from Vermont (as a side note, when I heard her say she was from Vermont, I automatically assumed she was gay. This may be wrong of me, but I felt vindicated when the lady she was talking to mentioned she knew a nice, single young man and the teacher rebutted with at “Thanks, but I like women”).

To my left, a quiet lady with too much perfume.

On my lap, a crossword puzzle which was far too hard, and a jumble which took 45 seconds.

After two hours, the lady to my left asked me where there was good coffee. I directed her to JLowe’s coffee empire, City Coffee, and then when she decided I was a willing participant she chatted me up for 45 minutes until, thankfully, I was called to a jury.

As I made my way upstairs, I looked at the people on the elevator, heading to the courtroom with me, and wondered how long I would have to be with them.

We went to the seventh floor, the courtroom of Jan Wyers. Based on the number of jurors called, I assumed this would be a misdemeanor criminal case. I was wrong. I didn’t recognize any of the attorneys in the room, so I knew at that point that it was a civil case. Further, there were two attorneys on one side of the table, so it was one person suing at least two other parties.

We sat down, and the lady next to me said “when they said Jan Wyers, I was assuming the judge was a woman.” “He’s Dutch,” I replied. “Oh. Actually, I think I know a guy named Jan.” God, would this day ever end?

So, we sat in the courtroom, and were instantly sent to the cramped jury room for 15 minutes as the attorneys took a morning recess. At that point, after listening to some of the opinionated opiners opining back and forth, I realized I really, really didn’t want to be here today.

After court resumed, the attorneys began the process of voir dire, or jury selection. First, the judge seated us in order (I was relieved to see that I was the last person, and after doing some mental math, realized it was an impossibility that I would be called; the poor girl next to me might not be so lucky, though, and she obviously hated this more than me). The judge then asked us to answer a standard list of questions.

I’ve appeared before Wyers several times, but not in the past year or two. So I don’t know whether or not I should have been so offended when he butchered my hard-to-pronounce, but very distinctive last name. Or by how shocked he looked when I mentioned that I occupied my time working as a local attorney, who did make appearances in court. I did feel a tad put-off, though. But whatever.

The voir dire was awful. Voir dire is a time for attorneys to educate jurors about concepts surrounding their case, and to engage jurors in a dialogue about how they feel about those concepts. It’s a feeling-out period, and also your only real chance to really connect with the people potentially deciding the case. These attorneys were hideous at it. They all looked uncomfortable, they all asked general questions, and all were generally afraid of a real dialogue with anyone.

After voir dire, I sat in the jury room next to the poor girl from next to me in the courtroom, who I’d caught rolling her eyes and quietly, but audibly, pondering some of the dumber points raised by the attorneys. We sat away from the bulk of the jurors, who were all engaged in some vapid conversation. The girl ended up being a state employee. Another state employee hovered our direction, and we ended up talking about the PERS retirement system. Really, this was boring.

I also told the guy state employee that he should get comfortable, because I was fairly certain he’d be on the jury. I explained that I’d picked out three likely candidates for getting booted (only one of which I was right on), and that he was a mathematical certainty to be seated as a juror. I told the girl that she was safe, as was I. After too many minutes, me and the girl were excused, and the poor guy was, indeed, picked for the jury.

At that point I got to go home. It was 3pm, and sunny, and me and the dog had a nice, long walk.

Man, I hate jury duty. Of course, I’ll be blogging about it again in about 800 days. See you then.

Joe D’s Cold?
Joe had a cold when he came to town. He claimed that he’d received it from his “Brother” Danielle (actually his girlfriend, this is an in-joke which I can’t possibly explain). My dog also has some sort of cold or something. Between the two of them, they’ve left me infested with some sort of early-spring illness.

That wasn’t nearly as interesting as I contemplated it being. Oh, well…

Too much beer and Sunny weather
While Joe was in town, on Friday, we decided it was too nice a day out to waste, but also that we were too lazy to do anything special. So, I went to Safeway and picked Joe up some Alleve Cold & Sinus (the stuff does wonders) and, while I was at it, grabbed an 18 back of Coors Light tall-boys.

You should know that the beer was intended to last awhile. I got back to my place and Joe and I took the dog out back, where she played in the yard as we sat and shot the breeze under the nice, warm sunny sky. We drank some beer and ate some potato chips. Before long, we’d downed four beers a piece, and we’d be needing to go to dinner soon. We headed out with the idea of seeing a movie at the Laurelhurst Theater and Pub, where you can enjoy Pizzicato and drink suds (we would’ve headed to McMenamins, but their movies didn’t interest Joe). When Joe, JLowe, Lady Lowe and I (The Missus was feeling ill from some bad Baja Fresh), the theater was full. So, to Plan B. We drove out to Beaverton to Joe’s favorite restaurant, Noodles.

There, I had two beers (Bud Light).

Then, we went back home and decided to play video games late into the night. We also decided to drink more beer. The result? At 2am, we were up playing MVP Baseball 2005 and, sadly, realized we'd gone through the whole 18 pack. We realized that we were both not really fit to play baseball anymore, and we both retired to our respective rooms. The next day, Joe wasn't so happy. He's since rebuked me for subjecting him to such cheap beer.

Whatever. The best part of the weekend was the sunshine. I actually got to wear my shorts for the first time since my Mexico vacation, and in February that's a great, great thing.

Sushi night
Anyway, Sunday Joe finally left. Thank God. Just kidding.

After we dropped him off at the airport, we prepared for dinner. What to eat? Well, it was my birthday Sunday (31st, if you care to know), so for dinner we had Sushi at Yoko's (link to the right in my Finest Foods section). We invited several people from work, but only Hozay took me up on it (which ended up being just fine, because the place is small-ish).

What did we have? Some of the most delightful sushi I've ever had. And sake, at Hozay's behest, and also Kirin. Between the sake and the Kirin (which I've discussed in the past), we ended up racking up quite a bill, which I never saw because Hozay swooped in at the last minute and demanded to pay. Despite our protestations, he shelled out a pretty penny (my wife says she spied the bill and he hit triple digits), which was too kind, and very appreciated.

After, Hozay came over and met Ollie, and found out what anyone who's seen her picture already knows--she's an awesome puppy.

By the way, she made it through all day yesterday, last night, and this morning without pooping in the house. Is it possible we've turned the corner? Or have I just jinxed myself?

So, there's my shotgun blog. Don't know if I'll get back this weekend, but if I don't, rest assured I'll think of something more interesting than this drivel to cover. Until then,

Catch ya later.

Harold & Kumar (aka Mea Culpa, Joe)

So, as I announced last week, Joe came up to visit. Joe is many things, but a trustworthy movie critic is not one of them (note: some would say the same of me; I loved The Anchorman, but most people I’ve forced to watch it didn’t think it was nearly as funny as, say, Schindler’s List…)

Back in August, Joe sent me an e-mail declaring Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle to be one of the greatest cinematic triumphs in history. In keeping with my traditional sarcasm, I skewered his opinion on my blog, and it took him until February to actually figure out that he was the friend that sent me the e-mail I blasted.

Once he did figure out that I’d publicly quashed him, he was irate. He sent me a series of e-mails telling me how irresponsible it is for someone to cap on someone’s opinion without researching it. And, I think, he was serious.

“Fine,” I said, “bring Harold & Kumar with you when you come visit, and if I like it, I’ll apologize to you publicly.”

Joe, of course, waited with eager anticipation for me to eat crow. He flew up last Thursday, but already before that we had planned around H&K, making it the center of Saturday night’s activities.

So, the night came, and we watched.

And I liked it.

In the theatrical trailers, all I could see was that the movie involved two non-white guys trying to go to White Castle and get in hijinx along the way. Didn’t seem very compelling.

But little did I know about the underlying drug use in the film. Face it, whenever you get people using drugs, funny things happen. Just look at Dazed & Confused, History of the World Part I (remember “Mighty Joint”?), and Dude, Where’s My Car (which was stupid, but in a good way). In H&K, our heroes get baked, and decide to trek to the nearest White Castle to satisfy their chronic-induced munchies. With the combination of a search for a sacred item and antics surrounding getting ripped and trying to get ripped some more, how could you go wrong?

Not to say that it was the theatrical triumph that Joe described. But it was pretty good.

Maybe I should give you a scale to discern what “pretty good” means to me. Given my love of The Anchorman, and the public’s disdain for my love of it, a scale to gauge my tastes is fair to inform you of what my opinion’s worth.

Freakin’ Hilarious: Monty Python’s Holy Grail; Ferris Bueller’s Day Off; Napoleon Dynamite

Very Good: The Sandler Trilogy (Billy Madison, Happy Gilmore, and Mr. Deeds); The Anchorman; Animal House; Elf; The Focker films (Meet the Parents and Meet the Fockers); Tommy Boy; Dumb & Dumber; National Lampoon’s Vacation; American Pie; The Jerk; The Kevin Smith Trilogy (Clerks, Mallrats, and Jay & Silent Bob)

Good: Van Wilder; Dodgeball; Weird Science; The Blues Brothers; Bruce Almighty; Old School (borders on Very Good); National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation; The Grumpy Old Men movies; The Big Lebowski; Sixteen Candles

Pretty Good: The Sandler Also-rans (The Waterboy, The Wedding Singer, Anger Management); PCU; Zoolander; EuroTrip; Road Trip; American Pie II; Foul Play; Intolerable Cruelty; Not Another Teen Movie; Scary Movie; The Breakfast Club

Not-so Good: Starsky & Hutch; Black Sheep (aka Farley and Spade try to do it again); Beetlejuice; American Wedding; Major Payne; Chasing Amy; Scary Movie 2; Can't Hardly Wait

Sucked: The Sandler lapses (Going Overboard, Little Nicky; Bullet Proof); The Goldberg debacles (aka Sister Acts I & II); National Lampoon’s European Vacation; All Cannonball Run films and most of the Smokey and the Bandit ones.

So, Joe, my apologies. H&K was a good movie.

Hannah’s Joke o’ the Day
I’m trying to get Hannah to take ownership over her funny e-mail jokes by posting them, but she hasn’t yet, and I thought this was too funny to pass up.

In Pharmacology, all drugs have two names, a trade name and generic name. For example, the trade name of Tylenol also has a generic name of Acetaminophen. Aleve is also called Naproxen. Amoxil is also called Amoxicillin and Advil is also called Ibuprofen. The FDA has been looking for a generic name for Viagra. After carefulc onsideration by a team of government experts, it recently announced that it has settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin. Also considered were Mycoxafailin, Mydixadrupin, Mydixarizin, Dixafix, and of course, Ibepokin. Pfizer Corp. announced today that VIAGRA will soon be available in liquid form, and will be marketed by Pepsi Cola as a power beverage suitable for use as a mixer. It will now be possible for a man to literally pour himself a stiff one. Obviously we can no longer call this a soft drink, and it gives new meaning to the names of "cocktails", "highballs" and just a good old-fashioned "stiff drink." Pepsi will market the new concoction by the name of: "MOUNT & DO."

Catch ya later.

Frustrating times

I’m coming to the unwelcome realization that my normal blogging hours (in the evening) are no longer mine. When I try to get up early to blog, that time is no longer mine, either. Those are frustrating times.

My puppy, Ollie, is claiming my life. Which is fine. I knew, going in, that a puppy would be an attention whore and would crave company constantly for the first few months. I just didn’t think through how it would impact my favorite non-video game, non-hanging w/ wife, non-going out pastime.

Traditionally, I blog at night in part because my wife sometimes has to get up really early, and likes to fall asleep before I come to bed on those nights because I apparently am too fidgety and breathe too loud for her to fall asleep in my presence. So, I end up killing time on the blog.

But, now, there’s Ollie. Let me describe my day to you, in this new era.

6 am: Wake up to use the bathroom (or wake up because my wife wants me to keep the dog from bothering her while she’s getting ready for work).

6:03 am: Get done using the restroom, ponder the sniffing noises I’m hearing below the bathroom door, drink two large glasses of water, take my morning medicines, and put on my tennis shoes.

6:04 am: Walk my dog to the back yard, where I stand in my t-shirt and boxers (not caring who may see me) begging my dog to go potty.

6:12 am: After my dog has gone number 1 at least twice, and stubbornly refused to go number 2, I take her back in.

6:30 am: Realizing my dog is hyper and will not leave me in peace, I put on whatever pair of jeans she put paw prints all over yesterday (it was better when there wasn’t the raining going on) and take her for a 20 minute walk through the neighborhood.

6:50 am: Go to computer to blog. Dog follows me. I try to get her to lay on the guest bed, but she sees her reflection in the mirror and decides to bark at it or go and jump on the mirror.

6:51 am: Can’t blog. Take dog to basement (where our TV is).

Now, on this point: There is one place I know my dog will settle down. That’s on our couch, at least partially seated on my lap (or at least with her head resting on it) while I sit really, really still hoping she will stay this sweet and peaceful all day.

7:20 am: Finish playing video game or watching news or whatever I’m doing to kill time and go take a shower. With the fan on, I can’t hear the sniffing under the door.

7:30 am: One last bit of begging to go potty. Somewhere in the above timeline (it’s flexible) she’s been fed, so I know she’s got something in there, but in the mornings she can be stubborn, and I eventually have to accept my sad fate: lunchtime messes.

8 am: Squeak into the office barely on time. Commence day. Plan to blog over lunch hour, in lieu of my old life.

11:45-noon: Head home for lunch. Give dog her medicine (she’s still got the runny nose, so she gets “pilled” 3 times a day), clean up whatever gifts she’s left for me, and make her pee. Grab something out of fridge and get out quickly, so that I might have 15 minutes or so to write when I get back to work.

1 pm: Resume work, hopefully having successfully posted something.

5 pm: Assuming it’s a normal day (which today isn’t), head home. Otherwise go to whatever after-work meeting I have scheduled.

6:30 pm: Take dog for walk with The Missus.

7 pm: Dinner time, for puppy and for us.

8 pm: Consult my TV guide. If none of my shows are on, we’re probably renting a movie, or catching up on shows we’ve had to tape.

10 pm: The Missus goes to bed. I go to tuck her in, then sit with the puppy on the couch, giving my wife time to go to sleep, and pondering whether I can get a blog done.

10:05 pm: Fall asleep on couch, as trying to keep really, really still can tend to get boring.

Midnight: Go to bed, after taking dog out once more.

6 am: Rinse and repeat.

And so on.

Anyway, I have a delightful bevy of blog topics I’m planning on writing on. I’m guessing that, for the immediate future, weekday blogs will be posted during the lunch hour. At least for you working stiffs, that helps you economize your time-wasting by knowing where not to go first thing in the morning.

What blog topics do I plan on covering? Well, here’s the e-mail reminder I sent myself while brainstorming the other day:

• Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle
• Jury Duty
• Joe D's cold
• Puppy training
• The end of Angel
• Sushi night
• Too much beer
• Sunny weather

I think we’ve covered the puppy training, to some extent, so tomorrow I might move on to H&K, about which I owe Joe D a post.

Catch ya later.

Quick lunch post

Since I had to come home for lunch to give my puppy her antibiotics and clean up a little mess she made, thought I'd give you a couple quick links and a joke, all courtesy of my friend Hannah.

Here is a funny video of a white boy who thinks he can dance. May want to turn your speakers down a bit.

Here is a slideshow of some amazing pictures taken by the Hubble Telescope. Has music to inspire you.

And, finally, the joke:

A timeless lesson on how consultants can make a difference for an organization
Last week, we took some friends out to a new restaurant, and noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket. It seemed a little strange. When the busboy brought our water and utensils, I noticed he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket. Then I looked around and saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets.

When the waiter came back to serve our soup I asked, "Why the spoon?"

"Well," he explained, "the restaurant's owners hired Andersen Consulting to revamp all our processes. After several months of analysis, they concluded that the spoon was the most frequently dropped utensil. It represents a drop frequency of approximately 3 spoons per table per hour. If our personnel are better prepared, we can reduce the number of trips back to the kitchen and save 15 man-hours per shift." As luck would have it, I dropped my spoon and he was able to replace it with his spare. "I'll get another spoon next time I go to the kitchen instead of making an extra trip to get it right now."

I was impressed. I also noticed that there was a string hanging out ofthe waiter's fly. Looking around, I noticed that all the waiters had the same string hanging from their flies. So before he walked off, I asked the waiter, "Excuse me, but can you tell me why you have that string right there?"

"Oh, certainly!" Then he lowered his voice. "Not everyone is so observant. That consulting firm I mentioned also found out that we can save time in the restroom. By tying this string to the tip of you know what, we can pull it out without touching it and eliminate the need to wash our hands, shortening the time spent in the restroom by 76.39 percent."

"After you get it out, how do you put it back?"

"Well," he whispered, "I don't know about the others, but I use the spoon."

Yeah, it's sick. But it's funny, too.

Back to work. Catch ya later.

Playing some catch up

Well, I was anyway. Just wrote a whole post, which the computer ate up.

Come back tonight.

Here's a picture of the dog.


Ain't she cute?