Happy Trails

The one thing Lib wanted to do for her birthday, which is why we decided to come out this way, was to go horseback riding. She was placed on a sweet little mare named Honey, and I got a mottled fella named Little Joe. It didn't take long for Little Joe to get a little skittish, but I kept him on the trail with a little finesse. I think my favorite part, the part that made me feel most like a cowboy, was the chatter--"whoaaa" or "giddyap"--which was actually just "good boy" when the horse happened to do what I wanted him to. Problem was, Little Joe never did what I wanted him to; he had a mind of his own, so much so that when he decided to head off the trail, and I attempted to pull him back on, he bucked and begun going in circles in order to get me the hell off. Little Joe didn't count on having old Sode for a rider though, and even though I went off the side, I kept my leg draped over the saddle, staying completely upright, reigns in hand, and wrestling the untamed bronco back onto the trail. I don't mean to brag, but I was told it looked pretty awesome, and both Lib and the guide were pretty impressed. Little Joe, however, shamed but not beaten, refused to continue a little further down the trail, and decided he would head back to the stables, so our guide had no choice but to concede to the horse and take us back where they put me on a new horse, Comanche, and gave Little Joe to a new guide, who I must say had some problems with the little bastard himself. I dare say they will be retelling that tale for many years of the bald man who rode Little Joe like the wind and tamed the stormy creature with only the twitch of his wrist and a flash of his eyes. If Frederick Remington were still around, they would probably commision him to recreate the moment in a small statue or painting, but at the very least, I won't be surprised if I get a "Master Horseman" certificate in the mail some time soon.

Live From the Poconos

Given that I was berated and ridiculed for my last post because it wasn't funny enough and I had missed one day, I have decided to take a break from the relaxation and serenity of my mountain vacation to make sure that I don't disappoint my readers. So far I have eaten crocodile and elk(a bit gamey with a livery aftertaste, but I liked it a lot) and I ate my breakfast out of the pan it was cooked in at "Ham and Eggs in a Pan." I can't really figure out what the advantage of eating my breakfast out of the pan it was cooked in is, but I guess they save on plates, but then again, they must have a ton of pans...I don't know. My girlfriend said she could taste the metal and she had some difficulty with the curved edges. I was more worried about slamming my elbow into the pan handle and spilling my coffee. Liz can't understand how it's beneficial to anyone in any way. I think she's right: it's a gimick. You have to have something if you are going to compete in this dog-eat-dog market--like the guy down the street who cuts sillhoettes out of plywood; he must constantly have to challenge the industry standard and experiment with different kinds of black paint.

Absolute Zero

I was watching an episode of Nova last night called "Absolute Zero". It was about the history of cold and the theories of what people thought cold was. For instance, some people believed cold was a thing that crept into objects like people, and when they warmed up, the cold was leaving. So one guy weighed a barrel of full of water, then put it in the snow to freeze, but it did not weigh more when it froze even though it had expanded. Then another guy with an R name said, and rightly so, that when particles sped up they created heat, and when they slowed down, they were cooler. But another guy, Antoine-Laurent de Lavoisier, proposed that heat was a matter called "caloric" that slipped in between particles and loosened them up, and when it left things cooled down. Anyway, the R guy disproved Lavoisier by showing that the friction created by boring out cannons could produce limitless heat if the friction was continuous. Not only did he disprove his theory, but when Lavoisier was executed for political reasons, the R guy married his widow, but only for a year, then he left her for science. Great story. But as the show continued and they began to discuss absolute zero, I fell asleep, so even if absolute zero could be reached, I would have missed it.

Monkeys in the News

Not to seem like I am obsessed with monkeys, but there was a news article titled, "Why Chimps Don't Get Alzheimers" and I started to read it, but quit because they started talking about tags and DNA and plaque and such and such, but I don't think it takes a scientist to figure out that chimps can't tell the same old boring stories over and over. Even if an old chimp wandered off into the jungle because it was confused and disoriented, who would know?

He Lets the Ladies Come to Him

My girlfriend was explaining how single syllable names were "power names," and we both decided that I definitely did not have a power name, so I have created an alter ego named Rick Sode, who is the power version of myself. I have to say, it is quite empowering. Rick Sode likes scotch, Johnny Cash, and does not show any of the emotion that makes him a complex and intimidating presence. Lib would ask Rick a question, and I would have to answer as him. Not the easiest thing to do, but I kept imagining Don Draper from Madmen, and it became second nature:

"Rick Sode, how do you promote success in the work place?"

"Competition, animosity, and firm handshake. If you do a really nice job, maybe a pat on the back, but let's not get too friendly. Time is money."

I have to say, five minutes of being this guy is exhausting, and I am always glad to return to myself. 5'7" Bald as hell. 170 pounds.

Urban Legend

Alright. You can try this if you like. My work friends and I have decided to see who can create the best urban legend. The idea is to make an original story that is not just bizarre enough to get people's attention around the water cooler, but also believable enough to be possible. Whoever can make the urban legend with enough legs to make it into the mainstream population wins. If you try it, you have to consider what your medium for getting it out will be: will you create a bulk mail or rely on word of mouth. Also, make sure it can't be traced back to a source to be disproven. For example, you must make sure you don't say, "my brother went to Mexico..."becasue that person may ask your brother, and the legend dies. You have to say, "this guy my brother works with." A couple degrees of separation adds to the mystery, but the brother or close friend adds to the credibility. I'll keep you all informed of the entries, and you can keep your eyes and ears posted and let me know if any of them pop up around the water cooler.

Ol' Bean

I was out with my good friend, British Dave, last Saturday, and it had been some time since we cruised about Brooklyn and made a proper night of it. What makes Dave such a wonderful ol' bean is that he is the very model of depravity, which coupled with a British accent equals charm. In Brooklyn it wasn't the same if we didn't go out at least once a week and discuss UFC, drink some PBRs, and just talk like a couple of seventh grade boys who had seen their first boobs. We would go out early and generally have the patio area to ourselves, but the great thing about Dave was that regardless of what type of people began to fill in around us within earshot, he never cleaned up his stories to make sure that "polite society" wasn't appalled and sickened by his past. And of course there was the night we went out and met some Irish soccer goons who described the girl Dave was talking to as having a face "like a sack full of hammers"(and don't get me wrong Dave is as loyal as it comes in terms of his wife, he just needed an audience for a story)and I heard him finish his story with a line so disgusting that I cannot print in here. The girl got up, said "that's it" and was gone. Brilliant. One of my favorites. So for him to get embarrassed by something his best man said at his wedding--something about his "quality control" at university and that they should have installed a...well never mind. Just look at the picture above and it should clear things up. It was only fitting then that our evening last week ended with Dave telling a story to a young woman about how a man with no arms and legs sucked a mint out of is hand, and her saying that it was nice talking to us before promptly leaving. Last time she approaches two drunk, scrappy characters for some small talk. Toot toot!

Baby Kaboom!

The title may imply that Billy Mayes will be plugging a new spray-bottle product for cleaning babies, and that would be a pretty good invention because it may only take a quarter of an inch of water to drown, but a light mist will never hurt anyone. My topic today is simply that it seems everyone around me is having babies. I love kids, and I want kids, but I can wait a while. The strange thing is that so many people are pregnant and having babies (esoderica for Clint: people are dropping babies like Dale Earnhardt dropping babies) that I feel like the kid without Nikes and Guess jeans. I have never been one to let what others are doing influence me, but there is a part of me as a social creature who feels like I am doing something wrong (I know what you are all thinking, and I can assure you that I am doing everything right in that department) and need to get with the program. I don't want to give the impression that I'm dying for a baby, I just feel weird that babies seem to be popping up everywhere like mushrooms. Maybe it's because I just keep getting caught up in pregnant talk and baby talk and have nothing to add to the conversation; I don't like to be left out of a conversation and people who have kids look at disdain at those who make baby or pregnant jokes but have no children, or even a fetus. So I always end up asking the typical pregnant questions that they have been answering for months. It's not about having a child, it's like getting your driver's license or hitting twenty-one. I'm just not there yet. I get it. You don't want to talk to me anymore. That's why I feel alienated. I guess there's only one solution: Shut the hell up about your kids!

A Case of the Mondays

I was just on the yahoo homepage, and underneath "Today's Top Searches" it said, "Symptoms of Depression". I was trying to think if there were one singular event that happened in some part of the nation to cause everyone to be depressed, or if it is just something people look up on Mondays. So I then looked to other "top searches" and saw that "diet plans" and "lunch ideas" were right up there with "car dealerships" and "Notre Dame". So I guess people are feeling fat but hungry for lunch, and the issue of abortion upsets them. And they would like to buy a car, but so many people are out of work, which doesn't explain why "Eva Longoria" is still holding strong on internet searches...or does it? Either way, they may have to add one more symptom to that list: 11. Looking up "Symptoms of Depression" on the internet.

Don't Stop Believin

I don't want to give the impression that my gangsta rap phase is over, but I have to say that the past week has been incredible. The heavy, driving base; the in-ya-face lyrics; the complete, unapologetic disregard for the police, and the continuous catalogue of small arms has been invigorating and have created in me a sense of being a badass. But today after discovering my "Journey's Greatest Hits" cd and transferring it to my ipod, I have returned to being the whitest man on the planet. That is not to say I am ashamed or disappointed; on the contrary, it makes more sense that I would be blasting "Open Arms" as I drive down the street as opposed to "Straight outta Compton," and I am proud to be white, but anyone who has ever been white knows that sometimes you need a vacation.

Any Which Way But Lose

I did not mispell "Loose", it was the only monkey movie title I could tie to an news article I read on gambling monkeys. Scientists basically found that monkey behavior in gambling type games is similar to humans. We have known that monkeys respond to rewards and punishments for a long time, any vertebrate pretty much does, but the new study tested the "woulda-coulda-shoulda" reactions that happen when we miss out on a bigger reward, and are forced to settle for less because of our choice and reflect on our sucky fate, which in turn, often dictates our next choice. I don't know what this means for science, and I don't really care, but if monkeys start dressing in silk shirts, wearing sunglasses and smoking cigars with their hairy, little (but powerful) arms around cocktail waitresses, I might start gambling. How funny would it be to see a monkey lose a big hand and start pounding the table and monkey screaming while he upsets everyone else's chips? Or they would get wasted, end up marrying prostitutes and joining the rodeo where they would end up riding around on border collies dressed up as a cowboys (this sentence was only so I could use the greatest picture of all time that I found in my image search for "gambling monkey")?

Making Change

I was just reading an NPR article that said, people spend more money if they have coins instead of dollar bills, so one way we could jumpstart the economy was to create one and two dollar coins to put into circulation. A study showed that people given five dollars, in different denominations spent more the smaller the denomination. More Change=More Spending. My guess is that it would create a .00001% improvement in our economy. It says that people are digging into their cars and couches for loose change because things are tight. So I guess whoever wrote this article believes that people who are buying beer and cigarettes (because let's face it, no one digs for $3.00 to buy produce) with their last few dollars before payday (if they have a job) could benefit from having more coins, and that could pull us out of our current situation? I guess peoples' spending has nothing to do with not having a job. Maybe I'm wrong. Or maybe not having enough coins is what started this whole mess. Or maybe this is the "change" that people were really looking for by electing Obama. Or maybe we should all be taking and leaving pennies in the trays at gas stations. Or maybe the gas station attendants pilfer the pennies that are supposed to be everyone's pennies, and it has slowly deteriorated the economy. Or maybe this is just a novelty story that gives small minds hope, but even I, who know absolutely nothing about our current situation or economics had to scoff at this; however, it would be fun to see ATMs start barfing nothing but coins to unsuspecting patrons.

Call Me Jack

I have always suspected that if I were in Lord of the Flies I would have joined that savage hunters in a heartbeat. It is ten in the moringing and I am starving because I haven't eaten for three and a half hours--there is this Cuban deli across the street that has a roast pork sandwich where they ladel the garlic infused juices all over your sandwhich so it rolls off of the pork and soaks into the bagel--slap a slice of cheese and slather the top slice in mayo...ohhhhhhhh, that's a sandwhich! But it's never ready until after 11am, so I have to wait. I know that I would have snapped after one missed meal on a deserted island. Civilized? I would have gone native in five hours tops. Maybe, just maybe, I could have made it a couple of meals on fruit, and some fish or crab would have been great for a while, but the moment I got homesick for one of these sandwiches, I would have been fashioning a spear on my way down the game trail. I know it sounds a bit extreme, but I'm starving, and the sandwich is calling me. It think that's what they heard in the jungle, something primal and innate calling from the dark depths of instinct. And if some chubby kid with "asmar" gets in between my sandwich and me, I will not hesitate to drop a large boulder on his head, regardless of what he has to say about it, conch or no.

The Responsible Blogger

I was made aware that I had missed a post yesterday on my blog, and I apologize to anyone (out of the two or three of you) who came to my blog yesterday and was disappointed about my failure to post. My friend and coworker, Dave, said that people relied on the daily posting, but he has the word "daily" in his blog title, so I don't necessarily know that I have been tied to the mountain to have my liver eaten every day like he has. I have a more cryptic title, and maybe sometimes not posting will just add to the mystery and suspense, but I will promise you (all two or three of you) this: I will try to post as often as possible.

Serendipidous...ness

Had to create a special entry just for this. So my first blog title was "Ichoate Goes the Blog Route" based on the song "Inchoate Goes the Snow Route," which I haven't heard for years, but the day I posted it I put in old cd mix from 2005 and that song came on. Cool coincidence. And today(refer to my previous post) I was listening to my Ice Cube/EZ-E/NWA mix and "Bop Gun" came on, which I haven't heard in years, and it is Cube's sample of Parliment's "One Nation Under a Groove" and I just got an email from a concert venue with the subject title "One Nation Under a Groove". I don't really think it means anything, but I think it's a good omen for my blog, kind of like the albatross that is outside of my apartment right now, but I might kill it just to check my theory.

Someone Has to Represent

When you go bald, you have the choice of trying to cover it up or embracing it. Fortunately, I have been told I look good bald; unfortunately, I have also been told I look like Ed Norton on American History X. So when I'm in public I am always self conscious of the fact that I do kind of look like a skinhead, which is not exacly the image I am going for, but a shaved head is better than the male-pattern balding look. So today, when I found an old NWA cd in my car and cranked up the bass in my factory speakers, I think I may have just confused the hell out of anyone that saw me drive by, and I can only imagine what my students must have thought if they happened to be walking down the street wondering what my cracker ass was thinking.

The Land of Eyes and Honey

Whether it was pulled off smoothly or not, I'm not really sure, but my girlfriend told me last night that the nicest compliment she ever received was that somebody once told her that her eyes were the color of honey in the sunlight. Whether that meant her eyes in the sunlight were the color of honey or her eyes looked like honey coruscated by sunlight, I'm not sure either, but I do know this: I will never be able to come up with a compliment like that, and even though nine times out of ten, it probably sounds tacky as hell, there is the one in ten chance that it was executed perfectly because it has obviously made an impression on her. So, I have made it my life's mission, and I have told her this, to beat that compliment by far, but I am having a little trouble. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of good things to say about her, but I may be in over my head so I can't be too proud to take suggestions and try to pass them off as my own--look at the title of today's post, I'm obviously strugging with coming up with good material.

Inchoate Goes the Blog Route

I have been searching for a blog title, theme, idea, or shtick for months now, and this is the most creative, appropriate title I could think of; the beautiful thing is that only people who know my full name (middle name included) will get the joke, which is not funny, but it is witty. Is it worthy of it's own blog? Maybe not, but "Stalking Eric" had no shelf-life, and "Cracker Tax" never got off the ground and was even more esoteric than this one, so God only knows what this one will end up being, especially since "The Daily Sentence about Dave" was a blog about my friend's blog, "The Daily Sentence of Dave," which is funny, but did not deserve a blog just to make fun of it when I could just post a comment on his blog if I wanted to make fun of him--plus more people would see it there. Then, when I had planned on moving, "The Great Home Project" seemed like a good idea, but died rather quickly when I decided to stay put for a while, so I am left with my fifth attempt, another inchoate blog, that may not be viable, but maybe, just maybe this will be the one will grow to maturity and bear the desired fruits of intellect...or it will just wither and die.