All right, I understand that "Hey Jude" can be a divisive song, with people loving or hating it and not really in between. However, I do believe that there is not a single person alive who can't enjoy this kid's devotion to his passion: being cute.
This Kid epitomizes (perhaps?) that wonderful childhood quality of self-gratification and self-satisfaction. He's doing what he loves because it makes him feel good. He loves the song, so he's gonna sing it. And he's gonna do it in his diapers, by gum. Anyway, the cutest kid ever.
22.2.08
Fame
I'm gonna live forever!
Check it out, everyone, I'm Famous!
That link probably won't work forever, but not to worry, I'm copying the file to a DV tape. Oh memories.
Check it out, everyone, I'm Famous!
That link probably won't work forever, but not to worry, I'm copying the file to a DV tape. Oh memories.
19.2.08
Infectious Fun
Ha! OK, Kudos to Tristyn for pointing me toward this delightful video. I think we can all get behind it.
Lollipop!
I guarantee you'll feel great after watching it.
Lollipop!
I guarantee you'll feel great after watching it.
18.2.08
Twitterlee-Dee 2
OK. So I updated the Twitter account (months ago) to be updated via SMS. I'm finally actually USING it on a somewhat regular basis.
And If you'll roll your eyes to the right (not that kind of roll... jerk) you'll see that updates are right there! The last three! What a world we live in, eh?
My weekend:
Friday Night: Hung out, drank wine. Good times. Naps. Etc. etc. Then I drove Joe, this guy who crashes here, to The Station and he watched the glory of a Nick-directed show that aired on Fox. He was also drunk for the first time in months.
Then we went out to Brian Boru's and met up with Luke and had birthday pleasantries. Which mostly just meant hanging out like we usually do. I drank an energy drink on the way out and consequently felt sorta like shit for most of the time I was out there. I guess that's what I get for being up since three in the A.M.
Saturday I drank more wine and met up with work folks for celebrations of Matt's birthday. We started at Dogfish with delicious foods, went over to the White Heart for boogieing (yep, I was dancing. ...I had had a few. It was ridiculous, you would have loved it). We ducked out of The White Heart a bit early and jetted over to Empire and met up with Nick's Ladyfriend and associate. From there Wendy took us in to the PSC where I may or may not have wheelchair jousted and removed my pants. Not at the same time.
Then I went home and slept.
The next day Mum came over and we had a pleasant dinner involving Pizza made by yours truly, a bottle of wine and an apple pie. I also bought her flowers. Happy Birthday, Mum!
Then I went to bed and from there to work. Then I wrote this post.
And If you'll roll your eyes to the right (not that kind of roll... jerk) you'll see that updates are right there! The last three! What a world we live in, eh?
My weekend:
Friday Night: Hung out, drank wine. Good times. Naps. Etc. etc. Then I drove Joe, this guy who crashes here, to The Station and he watched the glory of a Nick-directed show that aired on Fox. He was also drunk for the first time in months.
Then we went out to Brian Boru's and met up with Luke and had birthday pleasantries. Which mostly just meant hanging out like we usually do. I drank an energy drink on the way out and consequently felt sorta like shit for most of the time I was out there. I guess that's what I get for being up since three in the A.M.
Saturday I drank more wine and met up with work folks for celebrations of Matt's birthday. We started at Dogfish with delicious foods, went over to the White Heart for boogieing (yep, I was dancing. ...I had had a few. It was ridiculous, you would have loved it). We ducked out of The White Heart a bit early and jetted over to Empire and met up with Nick's Ladyfriend and associate. From there Wendy took us in to the PSC where I may or may not have wheelchair jousted and removed my pants. Not at the same time.
Then I went home and slept.
The next day Mum came over and we had a pleasant dinner involving Pizza made by yours truly, a bottle of wine and an apple pie. I also bought her flowers. Happy Birthday, Mum!
Then I went to bed and from there to work. Then I wrote this post.
9.2.08
Besides a good band name, of course
What on earth is a "Chinchilla Beard"?
I've been reading Sherlock Holmes stories lately. It's way more enjoyable than when I tried as a younger man. Largely, I think, because of the steady evolution of the English language. But this particular story, "The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb," features a man with a "chinchilla beard growing from the creases of his double chin."
I leads me to believe it's one of those beards that grows on the soft, fleshy part of the neck. The part that I hate shaving because I worry about slipping and cutting open my carotid and bleeding out on the old-soap-green linoleum tiles.
I think it's the beard you see a lot on basketball players? Almost like chin straps, but further back on the neck. Under the jaw.
I'm also, of course, puzzled by the name. I've been looking at pictures of Chinchillas (Awwwwwwww) and they don't seem to have any sort of beard. The name "Chinchilla" is Spanish and means "Little Chincha." And the Chincha in this case refers to the Chincha People of the Andes. They were conquered by the Aztecs about a century before the Spaniards showed up BUT their taste for wearing and eating Chinchillas lived on.
Maybe those guys had beards like that?
Maybe it looks like the beard you'd have if you strapped a Chinchilla under your chin. Which sounds like a highly worthwhile adventure, if you ask me. And if you don't care about my opinion, I must question why you're reading this.
I don't know. If anyone has any answers, I'd like to hear them.
A mystery solved?
Mum pointed out to me an article about a Beard Growing Competition in a town in Queensland, Australia called Chinchilla. The town, it seems, is named after an Aboriginal word for a kind of vine. BUT a "famous" resident was an explorer by the name of Ludwig Leichhardt. Apparently he disappeared and was never found again. The important thing here, though, is his Great Bushy Beard.
If he instilled in the town of Chinchilla a sense of Beardy Pride, could it be that it's fame creeped out like some insidious fungus? Much like the name Sideburns coming from General Burnsides?
Mum also suggested that perhaps the Chinchilla Beard is rather soft. I would guess that hard to infer from Sight, although it's possible Holmes walked up to the man and caressed his beard.
Also, holy crap, check out Henrik Ibsen's Sideburns.
And also, a handy list of Facial Hairs.
I've been reading Sherlock Holmes stories lately. It's way more enjoyable than when I tried as a younger man. Largely, I think, because of the steady evolution of the English language. But this particular story, "The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb," features a man with a "chinchilla beard growing from the creases of his double chin."
I leads me to believe it's one of those beards that grows on the soft, fleshy part of the neck. The part that I hate shaving because I worry about slipping and cutting open my carotid and bleeding out on the old-soap-green linoleum tiles.
I think it's the beard you see a lot on basketball players? Almost like chin straps, but further back on the neck. Under the jaw.
I'm also, of course, puzzled by the name. I've been looking at pictures of Chinchillas (Awwwwwwww) and they don't seem to have any sort of beard. The name "Chinchilla" is Spanish and means "Little Chincha." And the Chincha in this case refers to the Chincha People of the Andes. They were conquered by the Aztecs about a century before the Spaniards showed up BUT their taste for wearing and eating Chinchillas lived on.
Maybe those guys had beards like that?
Maybe it looks like the beard you'd have if you strapped a Chinchilla under your chin. Which sounds like a highly worthwhile adventure, if you ask me. And if you don't care about my opinion, I must question why you're reading this.
I don't know. If anyone has any answers, I'd like to hear them.
EDIT:
A mystery solved?
Mum pointed out to me an article about a Beard Growing Competition in a town in Queensland, Australia called Chinchilla. The town, it seems, is named after an Aboriginal word for a kind of vine. BUT a "famous" resident was an explorer by the name of Ludwig Leichhardt. Apparently he disappeared and was never found again. The important thing here, though, is his Great Bushy Beard.
If he instilled in the town of Chinchilla a sense of Beardy Pride, could it be that it's fame creeped out like some insidious fungus? Much like the name Sideburns coming from General Burnsides?
Mum also suggested that perhaps the Chinchilla Beard is rather soft. I would guess that hard to infer from Sight, although it's possible Holmes walked up to the man and caressed his beard.
Also, holy crap, check out Henrik Ibsen's Sideburns.
And also, a handy list of Facial Hairs.
5.2.08
Ron Paul: Not That Great
Ron Paul has created a lot of buzz by being conservative but wanting to end our Iraq occupation. He also supports getting rid of the Federal Income Tax. That's kinda neat. Also cool? He opposes the War on Drugs.
I think he opposes it for the wrong reasons, but opposition is opposition.
But he's not that great. He wants to build a 700 mile wall on the Mexican Border, because the only immigrants we want sneaking in are Canadians and those who know how to swim. He's pro-life, but I don't think he expects other people to also be. However, he introduced the Sanctity of Life Act which would repeal the federal effects of Roe V. Wade and leave it all up to the states. He personally believes that marriage should be man and woman. He doesn't think there needs to be a federal definition as such, but that each state can go ahead and do that if it wants. Paul doesn't want federal courts hearing matters about any of those things. He opposes the Patriot Act but he also opposes Gun Control.
He supports pulling out of NATO and the UN. That scares me.
Basically, why Ron Paul isn't that great, or even great at all, I'd say, is that being a hermit doesn't work. It seems that his basic strategy would be to be that kid who shuts his eyes, puts his fingers in his ears and yells, "LA LA LA LA LA CAN'T HEAR YOU LA LA LA." There's a lot of shit that government does that sucks. But there's a lot of good. If you want to abolish all programs not specifically stated in the Constitution, you get rid of great things like LI-HEAP, Federal Housing Funding, Free and Reduced School Lunch etc. etc. These are things people really need.
He's probably a nice guy. I bet he's an ideal candidate for running something small and self-sustained. Let's give him Delaware. I don't think he should be meddling in the affairs of one of the most influential, wealthy (sort of) nations of the world. Isolationism. It doesn't help anyone.
Remember when the Ents didn't want to get involved in that big war in Lord of the Rings? And then they were fucking sideswiped and taken advantage of?
Remember how the United States was Isolationist before Pearl Harbor? Germany before WWII?
I don't know, I think Isolation just gives you a chance to go crazy and be taken advantage of. It doesn't solve problems. Ron Paul won't solve our problems.
I don't think I'm making myself completely clear. He's unfit to lead, though.
I think he opposes it for the wrong reasons, but opposition is opposition.
But he's not that great. He wants to build a 700 mile wall on the Mexican Border, because the only immigrants we want sneaking in are Canadians and those who know how to swim. He's pro-life, but I don't think he expects other people to also be. However, he introduced the Sanctity of Life Act which would repeal the federal effects of Roe V. Wade and leave it all up to the states. He personally believes that marriage should be man and woman. He doesn't think there needs to be a federal definition as such, but that each state can go ahead and do that if it wants. Paul doesn't want federal courts hearing matters about any of those things. He opposes the Patriot Act but he also opposes Gun Control.
He supports pulling out of NATO and the UN. That scares me.
Basically, why Ron Paul isn't that great, or even great at all, I'd say, is that being a hermit doesn't work. It seems that his basic strategy would be to be that kid who shuts his eyes, puts his fingers in his ears and yells, "LA LA LA LA LA CAN'T HEAR YOU LA LA LA." There's a lot of shit that government does that sucks. But there's a lot of good. If you want to abolish all programs not specifically stated in the Constitution, you get rid of great things like LI-HEAP, Federal Housing Funding, Free and Reduced School Lunch etc. etc. These are things people really need.
He's probably a nice guy. I bet he's an ideal candidate for running something small and self-sustained. Let's give him Delaware. I don't think he should be meddling in the affairs of one of the most influential, wealthy (sort of) nations of the world. Isolationism. It doesn't help anyone.
Remember when the Ents didn't want to get involved in that big war in Lord of the Rings? And then they were fucking sideswiped and taken advantage of?
Remember how the United States was Isolationist before Pearl Harbor? Germany before WWII?
I don't know, I think Isolation just gives you a chance to go crazy and be taken advantage of. It doesn't solve problems. Ron Paul won't solve our problems.
I don't think I'm making myself completely clear. He's unfit to lead, though.
20.1.08
Stick that in your pipe and Drink it, Dow.
The 1855 Governor of Portland, ME, Neal S. Dow was an ardent Prohibitionist. He set into place the Maine Law of 1855 which banned the sale and manufacture of liquor except for "medicinal and mechanical" purposes.
Which interests me. I understand where the medicinal part comes from but what on earth is the mechanical bit?
Anyway, the point of this missive is that on Neal Street there's a Gulf station and on Dow street there's a 7/11 and since both are within easy walking distance, they serve as the purchase points of most of my beer not bought at a bar.
Irony? Perhaps. I'm sure Dow's spinning in his grave thinking about it.
EDIT:
Here's a map!
View Larger Map
Lemme walk you through it. My house is there on Marshall Street in the lower left corner. It's on the left next to the "St." Walk up Marshall, hang a right on Brackett and then walk the wrong way down Neal Street. That's the Gulf station on the corner of Neal and Congress. Take a right on Congress and walk to Dow Street. That's where the 7/11 is.
Neat!
Which interests me. I understand where the medicinal part comes from but what on earth is the mechanical bit?
Anyway, the point of this missive is that on Neal Street there's a Gulf station and on Dow street there's a 7/11 and since both are within easy walking distance, they serve as the purchase points of most of my beer not bought at a bar.
Irony? Perhaps. I'm sure Dow's spinning in his grave thinking about it.
EDIT:
Here's a map!
View Larger Map
Lemme walk you through it. My house is there on Marshall Street in the lower left corner. It's on the left next to the "St." Walk up Marshall, hang a right on Brackett and then walk the wrong way down Neal Street. That's the Gulf station on the corner of Neal and Congress. Take a right on Congress and walk to Dow Street. That's where the 7/11 is.
Neat!
16.1.08
The Porcupine Trail
While skiing on Sunday, Dad and I met up with a couple of other instructors and regulars while out on the trail Dudley Do-Right.
"Did you see The Porcupine Trail?" They asked.
"There's one up there and just down there."
We hadn't. We skied a bit down and stopped above one of those trails of anti-freeze that Snow Cats sometimes leave while grooming the trails late at night. Except, on closer inspection, this trail had quills. And bits of flesh.
This was where a porcupine, an animal with no natural predators on the mountain, had met its end in the steely crush of a rolling tread. Not unlike a tank tread. There were some skull fragments. There was a complete claw. Which, despite the best efforts of one of the guys, would not be stuck to a nearby light pole.
"Best groomed porcupine in all of Maine."
"Did you see The Porcupine Trail?" They asked.
"There's one up there and just down there."
We hadn't. We skied a bit down and stopped above one of those trails of anti-freeze that Snow Cats sometimes leave while grooming the trails late at night. Except, on closer inspection, this trail had quills. And bits of flesh.
This was where a porcupine, an animal with no natural predators on the mountain, had met its end in the steely crush of a rolling tread. Not unlike a tank tread. There were some skull fragments. There was a complete claw. Which, despite the best efforts of one of the guys, would not be stuck to a nearby light pole.
"Best groomed porcupine in all of Maine."
Skiing
I've been skiing this year. It was pretty good. The snow was OK and the weather was phenomenal and the slopes weren't crowded.
I skied up to Mt. Abram. It's about an hour and a half from here in Portland, but a lovely drive up Route 26. Plus I've been skiing there for 22 odd years. Plus Dad gets me in for free.
Plus it's part of the ritual. Skiing has a whole, unrecognized ritual which is equally as important to the experience as whizzing down the trails on a pair of flat boards. Or on a single board if that's your (lame) "style."
Kidding! Snowboarding's OK. And we can all agree it beats the hell out of telemarking.
So the ritual. Get up early on a weekend day. Pack your stuff. You need a whole new suit for this exercise. You pack your snow pants, parka, mittens, spare gloves, specialized boots, hats, goggles, scarves, face warmers, sweatshirts and extra layers. Grab the skis and the poles and throw them in the car.
Drive out to the country.
Often a scenic and lovely drive. Route 26 certainly is.
Arrive. Unpack the car. Purchase your ticket. Change! This is an important part of the ritual indeed. You can't just change. It's important that as you're putting on your ridiculous costume which (ridiculous though it may be) will keep you warm and dry you chat with the folks changing around you. Talk about favorite trails. Things you've missed. Funny anecdotes about desperately having to pee while out skiing (happens to everyone). What sort of liquor you have in your flask.
Make sure you're wearing a sweater. And a sweater you normally wouldn't be caught dead in. A sweater that would embarrass one of those snooty frat guys in College Movies. It's important.
You're all set. You've strapped on your bulky boots which make walking a new adventure (though I'm a pro). Stumble out of the lodge, grab your skis. Click in. Get in the lift line.
Ride up. Enjoy it. When was the last time you were hanging out in a chair lift? Floating twenty or more feet in the air. Turn around, crane your neck around and look awkwardly above the heads of those on the lift behind you. You can see for miles across wilderness and snow and roads carving patchwork patterns across the landscape. Occasionally a cell tower juts up or a silo. Appreciate the majesty of what you're about to do. Think about the edges of your skis melting the snow to water as you turn. The sounds you'll hear. Maybe you'll start a conversation and have to stop for the wind rushing past your ears. Maybe you'll keep shouting louder and louder. What will this view look like when you're descending the mountainside at 30 MPH on a pair of thin wooden planks with sharp metal edges?
Slide off the lift. Maybe you've got a favorite first run. Maybe you're playing it by ear. Letting the skis decide. Either way, inhale, point them boards downhill and push, because baby you're off.
And at first it's a little slow going while you remember what to do. For some (ahem) this is only a turn or two. For others it's most of a trail. Some might even need refresher lessons.
My favorite thing to do when skiing is to try and not think at all. To try and almost achieve a sort of Zen-trance. Those moments of pure ecstasy as your edge sinks in after a rooster tail cascade of snow shot up and you take off on a turn. Go over to the edges and feel some of that untraveled and still fresh snow. Traverse the middle and watch out for bumps. Catch a little air.
Stop. Breathe. Look around.
Think about technique. Think about other people's techniques. There used to be a guy who skied Mt. Abram fairly regularly who would put his poles up to his armpits and hold his arms out like a T. His turns weren't great but he'd try and touch the tip of his pole to the ground, dragging it for a few yards before turning the other way. He wasn't the most technically accomplished skier. But he was a Skier. He was there for himself, appreciating his sport in the way only he could.
Slide to a stop at the bottom.
Get ready to do it again. But beware, Gravity is a Harsh Mistress and you might well fall. It's all part of the experience, though. Laugh it off. Even if you've broken something, you broke it while skiing. It's a story. Something for the lounge after the day is out. They've got Ski Patrols for that sorta shit, anyway (Mt. Abram's Ski Patrol motto: You bag it, we drag it).
After a while, you need some hot chocolate. Your face is a bit chilled. You're invigorated by the cold but your legs need a minute. You just like hot chocolate. You'll need it at some point. Ski down to the lodge, pop out of your bindings. Clunk into the cafeteria area. Put one of the cups under the Hot Chocolate machine and press the button as in a nearly profane orgasm of hot water and chocolate mix your cup is filled. Wait! Release the button just a moment after the machine recommends. It's better this way.
Sip.
Enjoy.
Do it all again.
I skied up to Mt. Abram. It's about an hour and a half from here in Portland, but a lovely drive up Route 26. Plus I've been skiing there for 22 odd years. Plus Dad gets me in for free.
Plus it's part of the ritual. Skiing has a whole, unrecognized ritual which is equally as important to the experience as whizzing down the trails on a pair of flat boards. Or on a single board if that's your (lame) "style."
Kidding! Snowboarding's OK. And we can all agree it beats the hell out of telemarking.
So the ritual. Get up early on a weekend day. Pack your stuff. You need a whole new suit for this exercise. You pack your snow pants, parka, mittens, spare gloves, specialized boots, hats, goggles, scarves, face warmers, sweatshirts and extra layers. Grab the skis and the poles and throw them in the car.
Drive out to the country.
Often a scenic and lovely drive. Route 26 certainly is.
Arrive. Unpack the car. Purchase your ticket. Change! This is an important part of the ritual indeed. You can't just change. It's important that as you're putting on your ridiculous costume which (ridiculous though it may be) will keep you warm and dry you chat with the folks changing around you. Talk about favorite trails. Things you've missed. Funny anecdotes about desperately having to pee while out skiing (happens to everyone). What sort of liquor you have in your flask.
Make sure you're wearing a sweater. And a sweater you normally wouldn't be caught dead in. A sweater that would embarrass one of those snooty frat guys in College Movies. It's important.
You're all set. You've strapped on your bulky boots which make walking a new adventure (though I'm a pro). Stumble out of the lodge, grab your skis. Click in. Get in the lift line.
Ride up. Enjoy it. When was the last time you were hanging out in a chair lift? Floating twenty or more feet in the air. Turn around, crane your neck around and look awkwardly above the heads of those on the lift behind you. You can see for miles across wilderness and snow and roads carving patchwork patterns across the landscape. Occasionally a cell tower juts up or a silo. Appreciate the majesty of what you're about to do. Think about the edges of your skis melting the snow to water as you turn. The sounds you'll hear. Maybe you'll start a conversation and have to stop for the wind rushing past your ears. Maybe you'll keep shouting louder and louder. What will this view look like when you're descending the mountainside at 30 MPH on a pair of thin wooden planks with sharp metal edges?
Slide off the lift. Maybe you've got a favorite first run. Maybe you're playing it by ear. Letting the skis decide. Either way, inhale, point them boards downhill and push, because baby you're off.
And at first it's a little slow going while you remember what to do. For some (ahem) this is only a turn or two. For others it's most of a trail. Some might even need refresher lessons.
My favorite thing to do when skiing is to try and not think at all. To try and almost achieve a sort of Zen-trance. Those moments of pure ecstasy as your edge sinks in after a rooster tail cascade of snow shot up and you take off on a turn. Go over to the edges and feel some of that untraveled and still fresh snow. Traverse the middle and watch out for bumps. Catch a little air.
Stop. Breathe. Look around.
Think about technique. Think about other people's techniques. There used to be a guy who skied Mt. Abram fairly regularly who would put his poles up to his armpits and hold his arms out like a T. His turns weren't great but he'd try and touch the tip of his pole to the ground, dragging it for a few yards before turning the other way. He wasn't the most technically accomplished skier. But he was a Skier. He was there for himself, appreciating his sport in the way only he could.
Slide to a stop at the bottom.
Get ready to do it again. But beware, Gravity is a Harsh Mistress and you might well fall. It's all part of the experience, though. Laugh it off. Even if you've broken something, you broke it while skiing. It's a story. Something for the lounge after the day is out. They've got Ski Patrols for that sorta shit, anyway (Mt. Abram's Ski Patrol motto: You bag it, we drag it).
After a while, you need some hot chocolate. Your face is a bit chilled. You're invigorated by the cold but your legs need a minute. You just like hot chocolate. You'll need it at some point. Ski down to the lodge, pop out of your bindings. Clunk into the cafeteria area. Put one of the cups under the Hot Chocolate machine and press the button as in a nearly profane orgasm of hot water and chocolate mix your cup is filled. Wait! Release the button just a moment after the machine recommends. It's better this way.
Sip.
Enjoy.
Do it all again.
11.1.08
Mustache Feeling
So, this clip from The Tick pretty much sums up how I've been feeling for the past week and a half. And if you haven't seen my face, you might be able to guess why by the end.
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