Photo De La Semaine: A Reflection

Greetings, y'all.  First off, let me say this.  If I was a robot, I would want my designated model number to be as follows: X68FE47BUJWH

No... I am kidding.  There's apparently something called "Technorati", which is some kind of blog indexing service.  I am trying to register with them, and apparently the only way for them to efficiently verify that I am indeed the purveyor of this blog is for me to (this is fuckin' stupid) place that weird number somewhere in a new blog post.  I find it to be ass-backwards, and saddening, considering I am a little bit anal (not in reference to yesterday's post) about the look of the blog.

We surpassed 200 followers today, which is about 180 more than I thought I would ever have.  I am super excited about that, and am excited to share all kinds of wackiness with you guys in the coming months and, who knows, maybe even years.  I am honored to have you all reading, even if you are just dropping by.

I am also very excited for today's "Photo De La Semaine".  For you new followers, I will briefly re-explain: the "Photo De La Semaine" feature is one in which I post a photo taken (and digitally touched up) by Jera Dobroth.  The photo of the week will appear (approximately) every week, give or take a day depending on what else is going on.  You can always see the current photo on the sidebar to your right, and you can review all previous photos by clicking the "Photo De La Semaine" link up top under the logo. Tomorrow, I will regale you with some tale of my discontent with the mass media in the US, or perhaps a nice story about sexual dysfunction...

...but today, I give you:

Suspended Fairy

I'll give you one guess as to who the model in this photo is, and then I will give you one guess as to why the title Jera chose is not at all funny, and frankly, borders on the inappropriate. 

Love to all.

Thing I Love #1

Thing I Freakin' Love #1: Adult Wet Wipes

First and foremost, before I get into too much trouble here, let me tell you all that this list, which we are concluding today, is definitely not a list of the "top things I love".  It's just a list of "five random things I love, numerically ordered based on pretty much nothing".  

Were this a "top things I love list", I would have replaced them as follows:

#5 Good Hip Hop is replaced by: the iPhone4

#4 Craigslist Best Of is replaced by: the 12 Steps

#3 Huge Sandwiches are replaced by: my awesome friends 

#2 Being a Blog of Note is replaced by: my unbeatable family

and...

#1 Adult Wet Wipes are replaced by: my girlfriend Jera

'Cause if you look to the left, you will see that she is the clear winner...  if not, I receive no more sex (I've been told).

It has been an awesome week here, and I am glad to have all the new followers.  I have had great fun with the list of things I love, and I have had not so much fun trying to keep my swearing to a minimum (it fuckin' sucks!)  But enough of that.  Let's get to the meat of this thing.

I have decided to spin you a tale of a little thing I use in my (usually) everyday adventures.  A product that truly symbolizes how far we have come as a race.  A product that indicates that we have transcended what people traditionally referred to as "civilization", rising rather into an era of "post-civilization", where people live in a kind of luxury that was never imagined, even by the most daring and expansive minds in history.

Any of my long time readers (all two of you) will recall that early on, I wrote a review about the toilet here in the new apartment.  The toilet got generally good reviews, and has stood the test of time thus far. It never clogs up.  It's relatively resistant to staining, and the tank refills at a reasonable rate.  You can read that original post here, but you don't really have to.  The thought from that blog most pertinent here was the following:

The last thing I would like to mention is that I am in the market for one of those machines that they use at Qdoba to heat up and steam the tortillas at the beginning of the prep line. My plan is to mount it to the wall in front of the toilet, and provide a rack of bleached clean washclothes next to the steam machine. When we are ready to begin wiping procedures, we will have the fine luxury of a hot steamed washcloth, as opposed to that horrid toilet paper that everyone else is still using.

I mean.... paper...?!?! Really?! We are still destroying the environment and chafing our precious anuses in this barbaric way in 2010? Are we animals?

What I was imagining there was something like the following:

This would be a million dollar idea... if I knew where the used towels were going.

I stand by the comments I made that day, but I have to confess that I misled you all a little bit by failing to mention that I had found, some time ago, a solution that is midway between my awesome Qdoba hot towel idea, and the gritty terrible toilet paper that people have been using since god-knows-when.

The solution is a variety of products I call "wet ones".

There are several companies manufacturing these bad boys, including Scott, Charmin, and Cottonelle.  The ones currently sitting on top of my toilet are of the "Charmin" vein (pictured above).  That's right ladies and gentlemen.  These are soft moist towelettes for YOUR sweet cheeks.  Yes, they have baby wipes for your dried, chapped and sensitive butts.  No longer do we have to suffer, seeing babies get the very best of what mankind has to offer while we wrestle with the physical and psychological pain associated with daily anal sand-paperings.  I don't know how the babies were able to dupe us for so long, keeping wet ones to themselves, but the jig is up on this one.  We have entered a new time, and I will never be fooled by a baby again.

I don't recall exactly when I made the switch to moist butt-wipes, but I know that it changed my life forever.  No longer do I struggle with any of the following:

Desert Crack

Itchy Hole Syndrome

Have-To-Wipe-Again-Later Disease

Wonder-If-I-Got-It-All Anxiety

Wishing-I-Felt-Cooler-and-Fresher Depression

Writing Blogs Containing Way Too Much Personal Information

I know this sounds really gross, and it probably sounds like I'm again just stooping over to the lowest common denominator in a vain attempt to make people laugh, but that's really not it.  I am being completely serious with you when I say that if you have not tried these fully flushable wet wipes, you OWE it to yourself to go to your local market and pick some up IMMEDIATELY.  Do not wait.  This will change your life.  

I have reduced expenses related to laundry washing by 20% and I have reduced time spent in the bathroom by a whopping 25% with these things.  When I used to have to sit endlessly counting out toilet paper squares, four for each wipe, and folding them into a 4-thick square (this proper technique illustrated below), now I am in and out of the bathroom in the same amount of time it takes me to check my e-mail (because, as mentioned yesterday, I check my e-mail during this whole process).

There have been so many pivotal moments in my life.  My first day of kindergarten.  The day I started college. The day a few weeks later when I realized that I had been arrested almost as many times as I had made it to class on time during that first semester of college and decided to call it quits.  The day I saw my first episode of the "Simpsons".  And the fateful day when I discovered the soothing and emotionally uplifting feeling of a moist, aloe infused, strong and soft baby wipe made for adults.

I have never met a single person who has tried these things and not loved them.  They are the best.  I refuse to poop anywhere where I don't have immediate access to some manifestation of this product.

"Adult Wet Wipes" receive five out of five Charles Heads.  Congrats to the fine men and women of Charmin, Scott, and Cottonelle for being the first to garner the prestigious Five Head Rating (not to be confused the Reese Witherspoon's "Fivehead" rating... yuk yuk).

And that wraps things up.  Tomorrow is "Photo De La Semaine" day, so we will have a new photograph posted up.  And then, if I still have any readers after telling you all about what I use to wipe with, I promise to write something with a little more substance on Sunday.  I hope you all have enjoyed the series of "Things I Fuckin' Love".  What was your favorite part?  If you are new here, what would you like to see out of my blog?  And do you have any experience with adult wet wipes?  Let me know.

Ever expanding love.

Thing I Love #2

Thing I Freakin' Love #2: Being a "Blog of Note"
(Or: Welcome To "In Review")

So this is probably the most exciting day in the history of my little blog here.  I woke up this morning, and was doing my morning ritual (sitting on the toilet) and checking my e-mail.  I had a couple of comments on the blog that I had posted yesterday, and I was reading through them.  And then one of them informed me that I had become a "Blog of Note"! 

Holy Moses!  Me?!  A blogger of note?!  I could barely believe it, but I went back to my "Blogger" dashboard, and there I was on the "Blogs of Note" list!  What a way to start the day.

I have often hypothesized about what I would do if I ever became "Blog of Note", even though I don't know the strict definition of a "Blog of Note", nor do I understand the qualifications or parameters that make one eligible for this highly sought after status.  I thought for a while that Blog of Notedness would be a good starting point for my plan for total world take-over, but my robot army is not ready yet, so today won't be the day for that.  There is something wrong with the bi-pedal movement algorithm, and the robots won't stop singing "Vogue" by Madonna when they are attacking test victims... woe is me.

A robot doing this is bound to arouse millions.  But world domination and "voguing" don't go hand in hand.

Later, I considered using Blog of Notedness to create a wonderful internet soap box for myself, from which I could unleash all of my verbal (or written, rather) fury on the two institutions that pose the greatest threat to our democratic society here in America: The Girl Scouts of America, and the fast food chain "Chik-Fil-A".

I knew they were up to something.

(Them too.  It pays to read the fine print.)

All of this was merely conjecture, though, as I never actually thought I would become Blog of Note.

Well, now that it's happened, I am at a loss for words.  So, as I have seen other Bloggers of Note do in the past, I guess this will be a good opportunity for me to introduce myself to anyone who is new to the blog.  I'll give you a brief run-down of what goes on around here, tell you a little about me personally, and let you know my answer to that eternal question: "what the hell am I doing with my life?"

About me: I am twenty five years young.  I enjoy writing, reading, listening to nerd/informative podcasts, lifting weights, and the act of sexual congress.  I have been clean from any mind or mood altering substance for five months and one day, thanks to a 12-Step Fellowship of my choice.  I don't trust the government or the media and I watch very little television.  I do like video games and mobster movies.  

I will be returning to school, a community college here in Longmont, Colorado, in just a few weeks.  I have tried the higher education thing on many occasions, only to fall on my face as a result of drugs, police interaction, slothfulness, etc.  But I'm feelin' positive about this next run.

Here are the favorites:

Favorite Book: Probably Frank Herbert's Dune, or Hesse's "Siddhartha".

Favorite Music: Probably Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

Favorite Movie: Probably Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Favorite Food: Feta cheese.

Also, I live with my girlfriend Jera, with whom I am very much in love.  If you are a new reader, you will see that she figures prominently in this blog with her photography and artistic input.  I told her yesterday that I don't know what I am supposed to do with my life exactly, but that I want BILLIONS of people to know how much I love her.  That shouldn't be too hard... right?

I write this blog because I love to write, I wish for a career writing, and because I love to read what others have written.  I write a lot of funny stuff, none of which should be taken seriously, and I write some heavier things from time to time, which you probably also shouldn't take too seriously.  If I had to direct you to three of my favorite blog posts from the past, I'd choose the following:

The One With the Excerpt From My Book (a small portion of the memoir I am trying (unsuccessfully) to finish.)

The One Where I Poop My Pants In a Girl's Car (pretty funny)

The One From Father's Day (this one proves to you non-believers that I can be insightful and heartfelt.) 

So, in conclusion, I can't tell you all how seriously stoked I am to be a Blog of Note.  If you choose to become a reader, make sure to note the surgeon general's warning at the bottom on each page, and also be sure to note that normally, I swear a whole f*$% of a lot more in my writing... I have just eased off for couple of days as part of a kind of bet.  Also, don't forget to check the "sites I like" link up top, or any of those other buttons.  Because I drew them myself.  It was hard work.  The least you could do is acknowledge my hard work by clicking on them.  

Tomorrow we will be wrapping up the five part series of "Things I Love", so leave a comment, let me know who you are, and stop by tomorrow.  Love to everyone.   

Thing I Love #3

Thing I Freakin' Love #3: Huge Sandwiches

This one is really heavy, guys.  I am writing today about one of the most important things in my life.  A subject that is near and dear to (and clogging) my heart.  A subject that brings a smile to my face, a tear to my eye, and a jiggle to my butt.  I am talking about huge HUGE sandwiches.

Me with a fantastic sandwich, and a woman's body for some reason.

Foot longs.  Paninis.  Turkey sandwiches containing two and a half turkeys.  Roastbeef piled higher than the Empire State Building.  Italian meatballs, tuna salad and everything in between.  These are the things that dreams are made of.  Shangrila is a world full of sandwiches.  The hills are made of provolone.  The mountains are made of delicious breads of all shapes, sizes, colors and consistencies.  The rivers run rich and deep with mustard, spicy mustard, ranch dressing, oil, and vinegar.  The grass is made of red and white onions.  Golden-green rainbows of banana peppers paint the sky.  Black olives and bacon are as common as flies are here in our reality.  In the land of my fantasy, every day is both Christmas, and free-sandwich day.  And they never remember your face at the counter, so you can walk back and get as many sandwiches as you want.  They will never know.

In Shangrila, my heaven full of deli meats and condiments, the clouds crack open once daily with the peel of tremendous thunder, and God rains down Frank's Red Hot Sauce in sheets across the land.  It is a beautiful place.

Me in Shangrila.  Sandwich tree.  River of spicy mustard.  Onion fields.  Provolone mountains.  And a Red Hot storm approaching in the distance.  

I recall the time of my first sandwich.  Some people doubted my parents when they gave me, a four-year-old child, a sandwich that was twice as long as me and almost as tall.  But I have been given a gift, friends.  A holy gift.  I have been given the gift of loving, appreciating, and being able to consume, ginormous sandwiches.  I put that first sandwich, a turkey club, to rest and asked for seconds.

I continued eating my mom's delicious sandwiches for years, occasionally having a Subway sandwich here and there, but always wanting a little bit more.  Then came that fateful day when I consumed my first "Silver Mine Sub's" sandwich.  A glorious masterpiece of culinary craftsmanship, the "Dodge City", a sandwich overflowing with various Italian meats, nearly brought me to my knees in tears because of the stunning flavor and texture and the sheer weight of it.  If you haven't had a "Silver Mine" sandwich, please believe me when I say that your soul is gently sleeping, never having been truly awake, and all you need is one of these big fat sandwiches to bring you to LIFE, brothers and sisters!

From that point, I was hooked, and have since eaten probably four and a half, or nine MILLION sandwiches from Silver Mine.  Their restaurants are located all over the northern Colorado region, and so I am blessed to live here.  When I say that I will never leave Colorado for long, I'm sorry to say, it's not because I have family and memories here.  It's because of these gargantuan sandwiches that bring me more pleasure than any combination of drugs or carnival prizes ever did.

Speaking of "gargantuan", along these lines, we cannot forget to mention Jimmy John's.  They are the national sub sandwich chain of choice in America, and they deliver their sandwiches fast, including their "Gargantuan" sandwich, which is described as follows on the Jimmy John's menu:

This sandwich was invented by Jimmy John's brother Huey. It's huge enough to feed the hungriest of all humans! Tons of genoa salami, sliced smoked ham, capicola, roast beef, turkey, and provolone, jammed into one of our homemade French buns then smothered with onions, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and our homemade Italian dressing.

It is a modern marvel and a triumph.  I have eaten enough of these to kill a normal man.  But, again, I have a gift.  My mother knew when I was only four.

Every SINGLE time I see an advertisement for a sandwich, I get on the phone and order one right away.  It is an illness, some say.  But to me, it is a way of life.

I succumb to my baser instincts in this photo.

All in all, I would have to say that a world without gigantic sandwiches would not be one in which I would want to exist.  And until I transcend this earthly body and mind and enter into the paradise of Sandwich Shangrila, that beautiful landscape in my dreams, I will just have to continue eating all of the sandwiches I can possibly get my hands on in this realm.  

I would expound further on this topic... but I have some work to do. 

(I would like to thank my lovely girlfriend Jera for helping with the art on this particular post, as well as for taking the photographs.)

Thing I Love #4

Thing I Freakin' Love #4: Craigslist's "Best Of" Section

Next up on the countdown of stuff that I just can't get enough of is the "best of" section on Craigslist.  You can access the section here.

The internet is such a sick place.  And I don't think any of us would have it any other way.  It's sick, it's informative, and in the end, it's a gold mine of comedy.  The "best of Craigslist" is a particularly rich vein of sweet comedy goodness.

I hope you don't all find this to be a cop-out of a post.  I try pretty hard to entertain you with original material, but when it comes down to it, this belongs in my things I love series, and if you enjoy my blog... then you will enjoy the following REAL posts from Craigslist, which I am reproducing here exactly as they were originally posted.


I call this one "Sadness in San Fran Finds New Hope".  It went like this:

To the guy doing my wife. You know who you are. Yes I know. No I am not angry; I would just ask a few things of you. After all you are giving it to my wife. 

1. Please stop leaving the seat up, I keep getting blamed and it is starting to get old. 

2. You may be giving me a chance to go fishing more often but please stop drinking all my beer. It is fine if you have a couple while you visit (god knows I drink plenty before I find her attractive), but please leave me a few as I have to be there longer than you. 

3. If you do drink the last one buy more or leave money on the counter I will pick some up. 

4. Please replace the toilet paper when you use it all. For some reason my 5 year old son believes if its not there he does not have to wipe. We keep it under the sink, unless you can recommend a better spot? 

5. After doing my wife please use something disposable to wipe off with. The basket of clothes on the right is mine and the clothes are clean as my wife does not do my washing, I run out of time rushing to work. Last week my sweatshirt was crusty (thanks). 

6. Please do not tell my children that you are their uncle, they are young not 

mentally challenged. 

7. Please stop turning the heat up, you pay nothing and MUD is putting it in my ass, my wife may like it but I think it hurts. 

8. When she asks "do these pants make me look fat", say no. You may think giving a different answer will make her think twice about eating a gallon of ice cream a day but all you are doing is giving her a reason to go buy more pants that she will look just as fat in. 

9.Stop eating the baked goods. The brownies you ate were from my mom for my birthday. My wife has not cooked anything that good for years and if she does she will not share. 

10. Try shifting your weight when you sit on my chair. The recliner that I rarely have time for (soccer games and practice, basketball camp for the kids takes much of my time and I try to help with school work too) has a grove in it that forces me to roll to the left. 

Lastly I would like thank you for taking her to lunch on Valentines Day. She was not as hungry as usual and only ordered one meal. I may be able to use the money I saved to take the children to a movie. I hope you can help me with these items, it may become awkward if I have to confront her. If you can do this for me I will give you a heads up on when I will be gone and for how long so that you don't feel rushed. 

P.S. I am going to take the kids to the Sunset State Beach Camping on the 26th of September for two days; I have a bottle of vodka above the fridge if you find yourself low on beer. 

Thanks. This was not written by anyone named [deleted]. 

Too rich, right?!?  Then there is this guy, who posted the following on 9/11/2009:

I'm offering a reward for the first person who shows up with at least a 25 foot ladder to the well off of rt. 322 and Sugarsbridge Rd. My friends won't come because they think i'm joking. I'm definitely NOT... I have water but have not eaten in two days. 

Reward is negotiable depending on how quickly you get here. And FYI to the kid that threw rocks down the well at me yesterday evening, I'm going to find you and do terrible thing to you. 

Was this guy really down a well with a phone and unable to call or text a single person who would believe him?!  Did he really have to post a Craigslist ad and "hope for the best"?  He must have been a real jerkoff if he couldn't get help from a single person.  Also, I wonder if he ever caught the kid.

There is so much of this stuff on the "best of page".  It goes on and on.  But the best of the "best of" is absolutely this gem.  The original posting title was: "Want it from behind while you play Super Mario Brothers?"

Do you love to play Super Mario Brothers on the Classic Nintendo System? Do you like to get tagged from behind while you do it? This is the post for you then. 

You must know your way around the game before we meet, must be open to anal sex, also able to fake an orgasm is a plus. 

I will send you the address to a hotel and a room number. When you arrive the door will be open. Please come in close and lock the door and close the shades if they are still open. I will be in the bathroom and the door will be closed. Turn on the TV and the Nintendo. Remove all of your clothing. Turn off all lights in the room and kneel down on the bed so you are directly in the light of the TV. You need to be facing the TV with your butt in the air pointed toward the pillows on the bed. 

Press the start button on the controller when you are ready. I will hear the sound and turn the light off in the bathroom and come out. You will not look directly at me, only look at the TV. When the first level starts I will begin to finger you and lick you. I will be using lots of lube as well. 

When you reach the end of level one, make sure to trigger the fireworks. This is vital to the entire experience. I must hear the fireworks. When level 2 begins and Mario walks into the pipe, I will penetrate you. You may say things like, "MORE", "HARDER", "YES", "F&$% ME", but nothing else. I will continue having sex until the level ends. DO NOT take the secret level skip. If you die I will pull out and spank you until the level restarts. 

When you reach the flag you must again trigger the fireworks, and also orgasm. I will pull out. When the 1-3 starts I will penetrate your a$$. You are allowed to say something like "OH GOD", "YES", OR "IT HURTS" no other conversation is allowed. 

When level 1-4 starts I will alternate between holes as I see fit. You may beg me to cum inside or outside of you, depending on what you want. When boss falls and you reach the princess I will pull out and blow my load where you have convinced me I want too. You may then say something like "Thanks", "It was great", "I loved it", "Don't stop" 

If I am impressed you may continue playing and I will continue to pleasure you. If I am not, I will turn the Nintendo Off and return to the bathroom. At this time you may clean your self with the towel that is beside the bed. Turn the lights on, redress yourself and leave. 

I may come back out and talk to you as you dress but the conversation will most likely be short and revolve around scheduling another time to get together. 

Ok.  The first time I read that, I laughed for like an hour straight.  My favorite part was the portion about the fireworks.

The morals of the story are as follows:

1. "Craigslist Best Of" gets 4.25 shining Charles heads on the "Charles Head Rating Scale".  That's out of a maximum of five, people, so this comes highly recommended.

Congrats To Craigslist

2. Procrastinating writing a blog post 'til the wee hours affects quality.

3. Whether you are down a well, or need to satisfy your love needs on an avid Nintendo Entertainment System fan, the internet will solve all of your problems.

4. I haven't worn underwear in YEARS.

Love.  

Thing I Love #5

Let's start the countdown.  Watch for a "Thing I Love" everyday this week.

Thing I Freakin' Love #5: Good Hip-Hop

First thing's first: so so much "hip-hop" or "rap" today sucks.  So so bad.  Actually, it has been that way for a while.  I am not sure where this started, but I think it was somewhere around the time all the feminists and the NAACP got together and said: "you know what...?  We've been working hard for decades.  It's time to let the media/recording conglomerates take a perfectly good style of music, and turn it into something that will almost single-handedly destroy everything we have been working on all this time, and for a profit!"

Then all the parents of America got together, I presume, and said: "goddamn! Our kids sure have been getting incrementally better educated for generations.  And you know what?  That's pissing us off!  Let's see if MTV and Clear Channel Radio can help us steal away our kids' brains and futures in a nightmarishly diabolical way!  Hopefully they will turn record profits while doing it."

Then, of course, Big Brother, or the "Federal Government" as all the cool kids are calling it, said "hey, democrat or republican, we sure win when we have a brain dead constituency.  Let's subsidize the largest recording companies by over-regulating radio and television with the "FCC", making it nearly impossible for hip-hop artists with IQ's over 70, or respect for women, to get heard through the monopolized air waves.  That will keep everyone docile and stupid."

Here's their ultimate plan for the future:

Because let's be frank here.  This is our culture now:

He's young.  He's "jeezy" (whatever the hell that means).  And he's the perfect role model for today's youth.  His pants fit exactly as much as he respects women or understands that the plight of urban America is actually exacerbated, not improved, by substance abuse and crime. 

I don't have to make fun of him.  I don't have to point out to you that he is a piece of human refuse.  I just have to show you the picture and tell you that his name is "T-Pain".  What an ass clown.

That said, I am here to offer you hope in the form of some of the best music in the entire world.  I grew up on The Doors, Tom Petty, Pink Floyd and the like.  I grew up listening to music that had balls and meant something.  And I demand that out of most of the music I listen to today.  Despite what some people may believe based on the two jackasses pictured above, there is a LOT of good hip-hop out there today.  All you have to do is turn off your TV and your radio and visit your local campus record store, order it off of Amazon, or listen to it on Pandora.  Thank GOD for the internet and for college-know-it-all-hippies.  They may suck at hygiene and social skills, but they know good hip-hop. 

For a long while, I listened to hip-hop almost exclusively.  "Underground" or "Indie" hip-hop.  I started with "Atmosphere", and I think it's a damn good place to start.  Most of Atmosphere's albums are tremendous, but my favorite one I think is "Headshots Se7en" (pictured right).  The lyrical landscape is deep and rich, and the story-telling ability of Sean Daily, the MC, is top-drawer.  The beats, constructed by "Ant" are out of this world.  This is music to live by.  It truly is poetic.  And the entire album isn't a fucking endorsement for marijuana use and "bitch slappin".  Learn more about Atmosphere here.  Please, if you haven't been totally turned off of hip-hop by BET yet, check out any of Atmosphere's stuff.  (This album is THE album to make love by.)

Next, there is Hieroglyphics.  Hiero, for short.  These African American gentlemen, simply put, have a flow that is unstoppable, and a cohesive sound across the breadth of their work that really leaves me with a lasting feeling of comfort with their music.  I don't know how well educated any of them are, but their vocabulary and ability to push words together in rapid succession so that you have to hear it a few times to capture the full depth of their meaning make them SEEM very educated.  They do endorse the smoking of "weed mixed with hash mixed with keef", but since they are from the Bay Area, I think we kind of have to give them that.  And the fact that they have their own record label and have remained independently successful for years is a testament to the fact that, although not appealing to the masses, intelligent and well constructed rap music does appeal to those of us who haven't undergone the "MTV brain drilling procedure".  Check out "Full Circle" (pictured left).  A bonus with Hieroglyphics: Del Tha Funky Homosapien, one of my very favorite artists around, is part of the group.

Another one to try out would be Buck 65.  Richard Terfry is his real name, and he is a Canadian hip-hopper that, frankly, opens doors to concepts that will one day define new genres of urban music all together.  A fantastic way to get into Buck is the album "This Right Here is Buck 65" (pictured right).  Buck is the kind of guy who quotes Ginsberg in one song, takes us on a hill-billy fishing adventure in the next, and then wraps it up with a song about how he is "built like a horse from the waist down".  It's the perfect mix of hipster, beatnik and urban culture.  Some of his music borders on being outside of the realm of hip-hop, and the beats and music production are almost always eccentric, trippy, surreal or some combination of the three.  This man is a vocalist, but first and foremost, he is a poet.  Top-notch listening.

I know it's hard for some people to hear this kind of stuff.  I know that "Young Jizzy" (is it jizzy, or jeezy? jizzy would make sense, since he is a Hollywood culture whore, and probably finds himself extremely "jizzy" after meeting with the rich, white record executives whose lusts know no bounds...) is probably "so cool".  I am certain that we all wish we could live like "Eminem" and "50 Cent", shooting people left and right and slappin' bitches so frequently that we have to have a separate Blackberry dedicated solely to our "bitch slappin' schedule".  And I am certain that this is how American parents want their kids to grow up.  Because we all know that mainstream music doesn't totally dehumanize women and young African Americans.  Right?  

Or maybe someone has once again sold the hugest bill of goods to all of us.  Maybe kids today don't know what REAL hip-hop is... that real hip-hop indeed has nuts, brains, culture and insight.

If you are one of the many who listen to MTV's version of music exclusively, please stop before it's too late.  Don't look now, but there is a huge drill aimed at the back of your dome.  Save your brain, and find some indie-hip-hop.

If you are one of those that never got into any hip-hop at all because the only stuff you were ever exposed to looked like this pile of garbage...

... please trust me and give real hip-hip a chance.

'Cause I love great hip-hop music.  And even though the mainstream can sound so seductive with it's overproduced-everything, I prefer to stick mainly to that music resting squarely outside of the mainstream.  

Anyone with me on this?

Contest Winner and Blog Business

Monday again.  Time to announce the winner of the recent contest here at In Review.

After careful deliberation, Jera has decided upon the last entry, submitted by (of course) "Anonymous".  The name of her photo from here on out (on this blog) will now be: "Ready".  Jera felt like this short and direct title really conveyed the feeling that she (and her model) were looking for at the time of shooting this picture.  I am inclined to agree with her when she says "it fits".

We liked many of the entries, and we thank you all for your participation.  I even learned a little something when Waldoni (who failed to post anonymously) submitted his title "The Gunsel".  He explained that "gunsel" is 1920's slang for a homosexual young man of sorts.  Click here to verify that.  Thanks for the new word, Waldoni.

Now, I would ask the "Anonymous" who submitted the winning title to send me their address or bank routing number, that I might send them their prize money (all the money that was in my pocket at the time of the contest posting), but we have a bit of a problem here.

My Wallet, And The Prize Money (Lack Thereof) 

So with that, I will just offer my congratulations to the Anonymous winner.  If you are reading this, Anonymous, you should comment with your true identity here so that you can at least get the credit.

We have a couple of other changes to highlight.  First, I have it on good information that the "e-mail" gadget on my blog wasn't working as I wanted it to, so I have removed that broke-dick piece of crap.  But I have added (to your right) a twitter feed which will display my last three tweets at all times, and gives you a link to follow my twitter in perpetuity.  The functionality of this is merely to give you a deeper glimpse into my everyday existence, proving decisively that not only can I occasionally write blog posts that make me seem like a raging inbred nitwit, but I can behave like that throughout the day, even when not on such a public display, as I am here.

I have also changed the list of "Blogs I Try To Keep Up On" under the "Sites I Like" page, which can be accessed here or by clicking the "Sites I Like" button underneath the title/logo at the top.  I assure you all that I read many more blogs than those I have listed there.  I did remove a couple of the blogs I had listed there, due to slightly reduced interest.  I try my best to keep up on the blogs of all the people who comment here, and I enjoy them all.  The truth is, though, that the people who appear under my "Sites I Like" link are people who I have developed a rapport with in a special way over time, or people who have sent me pictures of themselves cross dressing in public.  If you would like your blog to appear there, e-mail me some cross-dressified photos of yourself and we will get you right up there.

Last, but not least, I will point out that I am now "comment moderating" on the blog.  I really feel the love from all of you, and normally the discussion here is witty and (as we proved with the recent book review) sometimes it transcends wittiness to become educated and insightful.  But I do have some people out there who don't like me.  They think it's wrong for me to "talk about my balls" in a public forum.  They think it's "negative" when I refer to Elena Kagan as "mentally handicapped".  They find my use of toilet humor to be "base and derivative at best".  I tire of assholes like that, and like the one that threatened to sue me a week or so ago, commenting here.  So we've moved on to the comment moderation.  

Most of you are always great, and I appreciate your input, even if it is critical, and I will as always be approving 99% of all comments.  But if you are one of the folks who thinks my blog is too "poopy" "juvenile" or "negative", let me refer you to a website that might be better suited to your needs: NAMBLA.  (The North American Man-Boy Love Association's website was down at the time of this posting, but that is their official web page.  You can find out more about them here.)

Today will be a two-fer day, as this week will be a "Things I Fucking Love" week.  Until Friday, I will be showcasing things I really like, to counter-balance the "Things I Fucking Hate" which were posted here.  Let me know what you think of the blog changes.  Anyone out there have any suggestions?  I live to serve.  And, as usual, love to all of you (even to the people who continue to read my posts despite your hatred of all things Charles).

In Review: Nomad

It has been a while since I have actually "reviewed" anything here on "In Review".  So I figured I would let you all know what I thought of the book I just finished reading.  This ought to bore the hell out of you, but at least I will be living up to the name of my blog.  I can't be a sarcastic prick 100% of the time.  I'm sorry.  Enjoy, with love.

Books In Review: Nomad

A couple of years ago I read a book called "Infidel" by a woman named "Ayaan Hirsi Ali" (pictured left).  No doubt some of you have read this book.  If you haven't, I would recommend it.

The book was a memoir detailing Ayaan's life in northern Africa and Saudi Arabia as a young Muslim girl.  Gut wrenching in so many ways.  The book opened my eyes to the world of Islam as it exists still in tribal areas all over that area of the world.  

Her story recounted her essentially being forced into a life of submission in the name of Allah throughout all of her childhood and early adult life.  Moving from place to place through war-torn landscapes, fearing, arguably, the most vengeful god, and fearing the family that raised her, she struggles to find her own identity and a way to understand life in a place where her life meant, it would seem, so little.  She details things as dehumanizing as being "genitally mutilated" and being beaten by Quran instructors.  

The book's triumphant, if not totally certain, conclusion sees Ali all the way to Holland, escaping an arranged marriage, graduating from college, and becoming an influential and visible public figure in Dutch politics.  She has transcended the bigotry and violence of her clan and become a heroine of sorts.  She became like a hero to me for sure.  

I just finished reading the follow up book to Infidel.  The book (pictured right) is called "Nomad", and it picks up where "Infidel" left off.  Ali, as she mentions at the end of Infidel, is under constant threat of assassination by Islamic extremists, and has to be protected round the clock by a private security detail, because she has solidified herself as THE outspoken critic of Islam.  Due to some political backlash in Holland, her citizenship comes under question, and Ali makes her way to America to work for a conservative political think tank based in DC.

The book starts off with a retelling of the stories of some of the people she was closest to growing up.  She explains the plight of all of her relatives, including the sad and (what seemed) early death of her father, perhaps the only character from her childhood that I came away having any sympathy for.  The situation for everyone in her family can only be described as terrible.

She then explains to the reader what it was like coming to America for her.  She describes the shock she felt when she found out that liberals (spelled with a lower case "L" in America) had little to no interest in fighting the effects of radical Islam on the populations that it appears to subjugate.  Multiculturalism, she decides, has caused the left in America to turn a blind eye to the abuses inherent in the faith from which she came.  She seems particularly appalled, not surprisingly, at the lack of motivation in America to rescue or assist women who fall prey to the kinds of physical and psychological violence that she and her family members did (namely, genital mutilation, the wearing of the hijab, forced marriages, beatings and the like).

The content of this book sheds light on the reason that Ali has become something of a darling of certain right wing groups here in America.  As the book moved forward, I felt incredibly challenged by the read.  The woman has been through so much, and seen so much, that I can't imagine arguing with her about the merits of Islam and getting anywhere.  At times I wondered if her experience with radical Islam had merely poisoned her perspective about the whole of the religion, and other times she had me convinced that the faith in Allah is, in fact, inherently one of violence and misogyny.  She spoke about being stunned to see so many women at American universities who were happy to wear a head scarf in public, and who were willing to rally protests against Ali when she gave speeches.  I wonder: is her fight for human and women's rights, or merely a vindictive fight against Islam?

The book takes a bizarre turn when Ali claims that the world's antidote to radical Islam, to honor killings and female circumcision, to terrorism and all the rest, would be campaign by Christian leaders to convert Arab immigrants in Europe and America.  An atheist advocating for the mass conversion of an immigrant population to Christianity in any form just smacks of... something.  Perhaps smugness.  It seems to me that perhaps she thinks nearly as little of the Christian base in America and Europe as she does of the radical base of the religion she so abhors.  Almost as if she sees religions as pawns to be played against each other while the (to her, correct) intellectual atheist elite garner further and further acceptance in the mainstream.

This book left me with a lot to think about.  To be sure, it left me with questions that maybe I would not have previously asked about Islam in general.  The ramifications are deep and wide, as we continue a campaign of war in the Muslim world over seas.  But in the end, I tend to believe that maybe the winds of progress and human rights might eventually bring change to the Arab world as they have in Europe and the Americas.  Nomad was an interesting book, and caused me to delve a little deeper into my beliefs about the topic of radical Islam, and I would recommend it to anyone who read "Infidel" first.  Despite the odd turn Ms. Ali has apparently taken in terms of her social ideas, it's still worth it to find out the next part of the story.

The obvious questions:
What should be done with this issue?  Should Christians try to convert Muslims?  Should we bomb them out of existence?  Should we ignore the problem or assert that there isn't one, as Ali says the left in America has?  Should we support those poor nations with food, health resources and better opportunity for education and hope for the best?  And, most of all, will anyone keep reading my blog if I don't write about my balls or emo kids again soon?  Tell me what you think. 

Photo Of The Week (and contest)

Ok folks.  Here is the photo of the week, by Jera Dobroth.  She did have to travel back in time to take this photo.  Back to the time of bank robberies and Bonnie and Clyde style escapades.  Any of you concerned about all the time travel that has been going on here at this blog, don't worry.  I contacted the folks working at the LHC, as well as the top theoretical physicists at MIT.  They have informed me that there is almost no chance of us tearing apart the fabric of time and space itself.  The possibility of us inadvertantly destroying the entire dimension with our folding of time is nearly non-existant.

We have not done a contest at In Review for a while, so this week we are going to let you all submit names for the photo of the week.  Jera will select the name she likes best 24 hours (give or take) after this posting. The winner will get all the money that is in my pocket right now.  Seriously.  I will mail it right to you.  But you must post your entry anonymously, as to avoid any favoritism.  Good luck to all of you.  And now, I give you:

Untitled

I Shit You Not...

Any one of you who knows much about me probably knows that I had a little (fucking HUGE) problem with substance abuse for a good number of years.  The photo below illustrates some of the things that cause me to become a horrible horrible excuse for a human being.

It was a terrible time in my life, and thank God for the Twelve Steps.  With their help, I have been able to stop drinking Listerine, drinking cough medicine, huffing spray paint out of paper bags, and drinking heroic quantities of 100 proof liquor all the time.  Yes, I am, today, drug and alcohol free, and it feels great.

Occasionally, I see some advertisement for some kind of beer or liquor that makes that dark part of my brain say "hey... we haven't tried THAT...."

That same dark part of my brain is the one that tells me that "I never really had a problem."

But that dark part of my brain has no attraction to what I am about to share with you.  I need to tell you all about a little thing called "Jenkem".

The first time I got clean I was living in Grand Junction Colorado with one of the highest calibre people I have ever met.  I won't sacrifice his anonymity here, but he quickly became my go to guy for anything, including advice on recovery, sex, and life.  He also became my laughing buddy.  You know... the person that you can't hang around without cracking sarcastic jokes fifteen times per minute?  The guy (or girl, I guess) who is just a non-stop laugh machine?  Anyway, we'll call him "J".

So J was (is) a real sick cookie, like myself, and has this ability to find the coolest stuff on the internet.  Like information about "docking" (look it up) and horrible horrible videos that should be illegal in the US.  One day, J directed me to look up something called "Jenkem".  

He never would tell me what I was looking up.  He would just tell me to look it up for myself.  So I looked it up and, as it turns out, Jenkem is the new way to get high that I don't at ALL want to try.  Not even the sickest part of me wants to try it.  So here's how it goes:

Step One: Fill a 2 liter Coke bottle with your (or anyone's) excrement

Step Two: Affix a balloon to the mouth of the bottle

Step Three: Bottle of shit sits in the sun

Step Four: Balloon fills with Jenkem over a period of hot fermenting days

Step Five: You breath out all the oxygen in your lungs, and then breath in and out the contents of the balloon repeatedly

Step Six: You are higher than Rush Limbaugh the day Obama was elected President

So that's pretty much all there is to it.  Me and J laughed our asses off at this, postulating that if we ever used drugs again, we would try Jenkem.  For a while I wasn't totally convinced, but further research has shown this to be legitimate.  

One website I read said that people using Jenkem were happy with it over all, but their biggest complaint was that it made their mouth "taste like feces".  Which, to me, is considered a draw back in almost any event.  Unless I just ate Red Lobster.  In which case, I am begging for the taste of feces.  

Check out the Wikipedia article on this here.  They have some interesting information, including the fact that Jenkem is supposedly most popular in Zambia, where the country is beyond poor and access to other drugs is limited.  I guess people really will do anything to get high.  I thought drinking Listerine was bad enough.  Someone needs to send some cocaine to those folks.  That or start up some Twelve Step meetings there.

Snopes verifies that Jenkem is a real thing, although it also reports that there has never been an epidemic of US school children using Jenkem.

Someday I will get back to writing something serious for you guys.  Poetry.  Short fiction.  Some inspiring tale of woe and triumph.  Politics.  But today... I had a lot of shit on my mind.

Anyone out there willing to try Jenkem and report back to me?  I'll pay for the balloon and the 2 liter.  Hell, I'll even let you drink the Coke.  Let me know.  Love.

Mr.Emerson Goes To Washington

Hey all.

Sorry it has been several days since writing.  The weekends preclude me from getting a lot done, sometimes, as was the case for the past couple of days.  Just a few things for you today.  They are really important, so bear with me.

First off: I have a twitter account now.  I still don't totally understand the concept of a twitter... I guess I am just too young to really "get it".  But I have one, and we are giving it a shot. If you add me, you will be able to get a couple of random stupid thoughts that pop into my head throughout your day right there on your little tweet-deck or whatever it is you use to look at your twats.  *ahem* Sorry.  "TWEETS".

The address is: http://twitter.com/alkalibloo or, as a twitter person would say it, as I have come to learn... @alkalibloo.

Second, I need to tell you about my new moustache that I just grew.  Here it is:

(So Super Hot)

It became really important for me all of a sudden to figure out a way to be really super hot.  I thought that it might help me and Jera around the bedroom, and in our relationship generally.  But I didn't know what to do.  Facial reconstructive surgery was out.  Atkins diet was out.  Getting some clothes that made me look reasonable to look at was out.  All of that stuff costs too much money and time.

I deliberated and fretted over this for days, as I am wont to do.  I just couldn't stand to look at myself in the mirror anymore.  I seemed... lifeless almost.  I seem flaccid and fearful.  A little little man stuck in an unremarkable body.

What was I to do?

Then I noticed a photograph of my father on my bookshelf.  I looked with awe at the profound visage of my dad.  He appeared educated.  Poised.  Self-assured and infinitely attractive to probably any woman who looked at him.  What was the DIFFERENCE?  "Why is my dad so good looking?!?!?" I wondered allowed.  Thankfully, my girlfriend heard this comment, but merely let it slide.  I would not have enjoyed explaining it at the time.

I looked again, and it came to me.  My father's moustache.  That was the key!  There had to be a real reason my father has never appeared in public in the last three decades without his handsome 'stache.  His key to success lied within that full-fledged lip-mane.  The origin of his power and his ability to command respect from those around him was centered right there on his top lip.  I had it now.

After several hours of pushing really hard (like trying to poop through the top of your head), I was able to push this hot moustache out of my very own upper lip.  I was totally surprised when it turned out black and decidedly Al Queda-ish.  But that didn't bother me.  The point is, the next time Jera saw me, she passed out smack dab on the floor.  Overwhelmed, to be sure, by my new found sexiness.

Thank you dad.  Thank you Al-Queda.  And thank you, moustache-providing-hair-follicles.  

The last thing I need to run by you all today is that I did recently make a trip to Washington DC to visit with President Obama about the most important matter of our day: giving my blog a shout out during his next public address.  

Me Havin' A Smoke Before Goin' In To Chat With President Obama

Generally, me and Obama were in pretty frequent contact.  He and I used to go to the same bingo place in Chicago back in the day, and he turned me on to all kinds of cool reading, i.e. "Capital: A Critique of Political Economy" by Karl Marx (one of his favorites) and Frank Herbert's "Dune" (another one of his all time favorites).

Point is, since he became Mr.Big Shot Leader of the Free World, he hasn't had too much time for yours truly.  I remember back in the day he used to say "Charles, if I were ever President, and you were ever caught in some kind of time vortex causing you to age unbelievably slow, and you were writing a blog in the guise of a 25 year old loser in Colorado, I promise I would mention the URL to your blog at many of my public addresses."

So.... what the heck happened, dude?

I went into the White House and sat right down there in front of the President and said: "So... what the heck happened, dude?!"

True to form, he was incredibly polite, and promised again that he would mention me as soon as possible.  Apparently, he is on several pretty tight leashes as it is.  Pelosi pretty much tells him when and where to crap.  The ACLU and NAACP never get off his back about "civil rights this..." and "gay marriage that....".  And his wife forced him to select that beast-master Kagan as the next Supreme Court Justice based on the fact that "you won't be able to flirt with that horrible looking thing.  You wouldn't in a million years.  I'm tellin' you Barack, I won't go through what Hillary did."

Kagan=Ugly.  By Michelle's Design.

No way Obama's Fraternizing With This.

Obama told me that originally he had wanted to appoint The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders to that Supreme Court slot.  That made sense to me as well.  Not because of the way they look, but because of their firm stance on gun control issues.  They are all highly educated, fair, and peppy.

I ended up feeling kind of bad for bugging the President about my blog, which, after talking to him, appears petty and stupid compared to what he has on his plate.  I mean... there's still Afghanistan to destroy and rebuild in our own image so that we can secure energy resources and military power in the area, as well as a geo-political foothold in a region that we have previously been unable to control with ease.

Of that, Obama said: "Screw Afghanistan, and screw my socially liberal base."

Please, dear reader, tell me what you think about my new moustache and add me to your twitter feed.  Love.

Update:

Upon reading this, ol' girl was pretty frustrated with me going to Washington DC without her.  So I told her not to fret, and I used the super-secret-ultra-mega power of my mind to bend space and time and take her to DC with me. 

Bound To Happen When Your Girlfriend Is Good With Photoshop

The mechanism of bending space and time involves moving the neurons in your mind so fast around each other that they create a gyroscopic effect, eventually sucking in ambient gravitons until the gravity field becomes stronger and stronger and stronger.  Eventually, if you do this quickly enough, a black hole with no mass will occur, and you are able to hop through the Einstein-Rosen bridge into another place or time.  Caution to anyone trying this: you can really end up in some wacky spots if you don't control it just right.  Remember the six day war in the Middle East?  Well.... that was all me.  It was an accident.

Anyway, I have to tell you all that Obama wouldn't even talk to me this second time around.  He just kept staring at Jera and winking at her like some kind of psychotic pervert.  Then Michelle walked in and saw it and started hittin' on me to jab him.  They are totally dysfunctional on more levels than foreign policy, I will tell you that much.

Photo Of The Week (Again)

Ok folks, I am so sorry about the delay on this.  A couple days ago I announced the new Photo of the Week section of the blog.  Then we had some technical difficulty.  Now, we will start again.  Remember, you can view the archived photos of the week by hitting the "Photo De La Semaine" link underneath the main logo, and there will be a little thumbnail on the "super-slap-happy sidebar of love" in case you want to see the photo of the week really tiny.

Jera calls this:

Flying South

If you would like, leave comments or questions for me or Jera here, and we will cross our fingers and hope nothing catastrophic happens with this photo.  Love to all.

Defeated On All Fronts

Ever had a shit day?

They look like this:

Let me run down the list for you:

Shit Day Event #1: My Car Gets Broken Into

That's right.  At about 1:00 AM this morning my car got jimmied open.  The little white trash tweaker sons-of-bitches who got in there took:

a printer that had been sitting in there (I know... this makes the break in essentially my fault.  I accept that.)
a $100 Kershaw pocket knife (I loved that knife)
and... an iPod cable for some god-forsaken reason.

These little bastards must have been SO twacked out.  The thing in the vehicle of most value was the Pioneer stereo deck, and they didn't even TOUCH it.  There was a nice pair of sunglasses.  Some clothes.  A cool tea pot.  But they grabbed the fucking iPod cable?!  Morons.  I was PISSED.

I was upset even more so because I had to call the cops.  My normal experience with cops is the one where they put the handcuffs on WAY too tight and by the time I wake up in jail or detox the next morning, there are scabs and dried blood on my wrists because those bastards think it's fun to make people suffer.

I hate cops.  And last night was no different.  The police came to "help", reminding me of a Ronald Reagan quote:

"The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, "I'm from the government and I'm here to help."

Instead of helping, though, this flat-foot drove around the parking lot area of the apartment, but didn't see me standing out there.  So I briskly jogged after the cop car, shouting "officer!?" I jogged after him almost all the way around the parking complex.  He stayed a little bit ahead of me the whole time, oblivious to me running after him.

He was supposed to be looking for someone behaving suspiciously.  But this fat jack-off couldn't even see ME when I was TRYING MY HARDEST to be seen.

The pig drove away without talking to me, and I was left with that helpless, vulnerable feeling that you get when someone rips you off.  Jera was freaked out, like I was, and I didn't sleep at all last night because it was about four o'clock and I had to be up to my parents' house at 6 AM (an hour drive away) to help my father out with some things.

Shit Day Event #2: My Blog Gets Fucked Up

I arrive at my parents' house and get on the road to Denver with my father.  During some down time in Denver, I decided to check the blog here to see if anyone commented on the new feature Jera and I added last night, and there were very nice comments (thanks guys), and one comment contesting the legality of my use of the photo in said "new feature".  

To be fair, Jera is the one who LITERALLY took the photo and touched it up and all that.  But, the person commenting on my blog seemed to mean business, so I deleted the photo and her messages.  I e-mailed her, advising her that I wasn't (of course) aware at all that the photo would have been considered private property, and I also informed her that perhaps... just MAYBE... she might have done everyone a favor by simply e-mailing me with her complaint, rather than posting it in this public setting.  

Oh well... I will discuss this situation more at length later, but needless to say it was frustrating.  I have never had to delete any reader comments before, and I felt like a real piece of shit doing it this morning.  

Jera was irate.

Shit Day Event #3: Apple Guy Lips Off To Me

I love Apple Stores.  They are heavenly.  Akin to what my Xanadu would be like.  

While in Denver, my father and I waltzed into an Apple Store and looked around.  We were dicking with the "Apple TV" product (a product with which I have no familiarity), and when I pressed the wrong button, it suddenly began playing some Dan Auerbach (class act) really loud.  My dad and I were standing there like a couple of dorks trying to figure out how to turn it down or off as quickly as possible, and up from behind us comes an Apple worker who tells me in a REALLY stern voice: "Hey, turn that down.  NOW!"

That doesn't sound so bad, but he was quite condescending, folks.  The tone of his voice and his posture indicated that he wanted me to plow his head through the nearest iMac.

I gasped.  First off, this guy was half my size.  I could have eaten him right then and there.  Secondly, I have NEVER... but NEVER... received anything but the very VERY best service in Apple Stores.  Whether I bought anything or not, they have always been so cool to me.  Helpful.  Patient.  Polite.

Where did this little prick come from?

I walked away, but my dad himself was having a shit day, and went up to the guy and had some words with him.  I don't know exactly what was said, but I'm sure my dad gave him an earful.  The guy backed down like a pussy, refusing to back up his crappy attitude.  

I was furious though, and from now on I will avoid the Cherry Creek Apple Store whenever I can.

Shit Day Event #4: Lady Pukes On My Products

Later, I went into a 7-Eleven after leaving my parents house to head back to Longmont.  I needed to purchase a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of "Fiji" water (I drink the crap water on normal days, but on SHIT days, I drink Fiji), and Diet Coke.

I walk up to the counter, and the lady working there is sitting a few feet away from the counter, eating a hotdog, and looking... well... ill.  I waited patiently for her to notice me.  She eventually did, and immediately after noticing me, she vomited on the floor in front of her.  Then a second purge of puke came up and she kind of... I shit you not... caught it with her hand.  

"WHY!?" I wondered.  

It got even weirder when she merely wiped off her hand with a damp rag sitting nearby, and walked up and began ringing up my order.  She almost puked again as she rang up my things.  I thought she was going to puke right on me.

I was so shocked that I just let her puke-handle my products.  I didn't say anything.  She mumbled something, from under her pink sequin baseball cap, and gave me the total.  I paid, took my bag of products, and left.

I didn't know what else to do really.  I kinda thought if I stayed there for another minute she would keel over in front of me and then I'd REALLY have a problem on my hands.  I think she was drunk or something.  A real freak.

Me, For a Good Portion Of The Day

Moral Of The Story:

As usual, there is no freakin' moral.  But take heart, readers.  The day was not all bad.  I got to kick it with my dad, and he made me laugh all day.  He got a Motorola Droid, and so it was fun playing around with that.  Lots of people seem to be reading the blog of late, which is awesomer still.  And having that lady's vomit on my products has yet to give me some kind of rapidly reproducing strain of malaria mixed with the hantavirus.

My mom made cabbage rolls for dinner, and they were AMAZING.  I listened to "Talk of the Nation" on NPR on the way back to Longmont, and was soothed by Neal Conan's sexy intelligent voice.  And now that I have purged all my emotional gunk onto you, I wish for you all to do the same.  Tell me about a shitty day you had recently.  Or at least sympathize with the marked shittiness of my day.  And remember, any shitty day can turn out all right.

Unless you have pubic lice.

Love.