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Plans change
Posted 3/1/2008 1:36:26 PM So you asked me if a girl could change my plans to go to Chile... I think you got me figured out. Almost anything can change my plans. In fact, I'm usually disappointed when I plan something out, so I tend not to plan beyond the general idea.. Haha, I know I fed you that line about making short term goals, but I guess I don't really practice what I preach. I let things come to me, and then when they're close enough to grab, I shoot for it. That's how I got into mountain climbing. I love national parks so much that I kept finding myself at the base of mountains - so I started climbing them... and what a rush, being at the top of a mountain! So yeah, I suppose you're right, but who knows?
Another one from the archives of gear grinding dance...
Posted 11/13/2007 1:52:40 PM How's that, Silly?
A slice of extraordinary life
Posted 10/19/2007 5:47:12 AM Tonight, a party of nine came into my cafe and I could tell right away they were conference people. See, Long Beach has a pretty famous convention center in downtown where my cafe is and people from all over the country (and world) come to participate in some of the strangest conferences you've ever heard of. And there's a new one every weekend bringing its special brand of person, weird or otherwise. So one weekend we might get a bunch of baristas gathered from throughout the world for the annual coffee conference (who knew?) coming in wanting to see how I use the expresso machine - and that's pretty embarrassing for me because what I do is what I did the first time I used the damn machine. Or usually it's some mundane conference involving an industry that you had no clue was an actual industry but inevitably seems to involve A LOT of money, such as the Society of Cosmetic Chemists or the Petrogeology Forum. Yeah. This weekend's batch of conference people are from the Herbalife Leadership Training conference, a quarterly fixture here in Long Beach. I'm not too sure what Herbalife is, but it has something to do with a pill and it's sold like Amway, and well, you get the picture. Basically all these people are salesmen - or saleswomen really, because the only ones that come into my cafe seem to be house wives from the south, and they've got that whole Mary Kay vibe going for them. These women always leave me their business card with the tip. Always. So I clock these 9 as probably being of that sort, as 8 are women and the only guy in the group seems fairly open about what team he's on. They jostle in and I negotiate with them about where to sit. Our piano player comes every Thursday and he's squished in the corner and between him an the entrance there's just about enough room for these nine to stand, let alone put three tables together and squeeze everyone in. But they insist, even though our outside garden is big and the temperature is southern California perfect. A large group coming into a restaurant is cause for excitement. It's like the hairpin turn of the race, the midterm after so many pop quizzes, like bringing a condom on a night of drinking "just in case." A large group by itself means you're normal night just got challenging, but add to this that immediately following these 9, two businessmen came in and took an inside table, followed by an elderly couple who took that last remaining table inside, followed by another group of four conference people who took a table outside, followed by a lone woman, whom I recognized from last week's conference, who also took a table outside. I'm the only server at this joint. I fought panic down and raced to fill orders in bits at a time so as to make everyone feel like they were getting some service. I busted out a bottle of wine to the elderly couple and then accidentally stained the shirt of one of the businessmen opening a bottle of Shiraz because he was accidentally being an asshole. I got the big table of Nine waters and then darted outside to pour some wine to the woman flying solo. In the background, the pianist played show tunes throughout. And here it is, this is the part where it gets good, the crescendo of my story: I was taking the Nine's order, working my way from the piano to the entrance, when in pops this man who shouts out, "Are you British?" kinda loudly as if he knows the Nine. But the Nine keep talking as if they haven't noticed him, all except for the girl closest to the door, who looks at him, confused. He asks a little louder, swaying in the doorway, "Are you friends of our gay ol' British friends over there in Britain?" I stop my order and take a good look at him, realizing something's wrong about this situation. He's middle aged, well dressed in a black tweed jacket with a full black beard, and my first impression is that he looks a little like Stephen Spielberg, and that throws me off a little cuz, c'mon, Stephen Spielberg equals ET and everyone knows he wouldn't hurt a fly, right? He's smiling casually like he knows what's going on, but I can see that his eyes aren't smiling - quite the contrary, and he's gesturing his hands in a way that I can only describe as carrying an undercurrent of violence to them, and I get this sinking feeling in my gut as I realize this guy is about to do something that doesn't follow the normal rules of society. And I'm the guy who has to deal with him, quickly, before the customers get scared. He starts ranting about British people doing something or other and gay this or that, still swaying in the doorway and I walk up to him and get his attention focused on me. I smile and ask him kindly what he means, giving him one chance to be normal that he promptly refuses by shouting over my shoulder, maniacally, "You know what I mean! Everyone in here knows what I mean!" I keep my smile and tell him he has to leave, trying to usher him out without actually having to touch him. He turns away from me and takes a step out the door, but then turns again quickly and squares up to me. He's saying something more but I'm not really listening because I'm telling him just as vehemently that he has to leave and that's when he hits me. Square in the chest, he hit me. Not hard, and with all the power of a cautious shove, but he hit me. His fist was clenched. He said "You don't want to push me, not today." He hit me and I saw red. I see red. It's a figurative statement that could probably also be described as something less cute, like fucking losing it, and I don't know really why it happens sometimes and sometimes not, but when it does all rational thoughts leave my head, all promises to society fade and my mind suddenly turns to the sole problem of how I am going end the conflict that brought this demon out of me, violently if necessary. My body tenses, my fists clench and my face undergoes a visible change for the worse. I've never seen it but from the reaction it gets, it's fucking scary. I was looking him in the eye when this transformation occurred, and he immediately retreated out the door a step. I yelled at him, "You need to leave NOW," and followed him a few more steps out into the street, the violence welling up inside of me, making me shake, a target on the retreating head that was walking away but looking back. "You're so close. God you're so close," I remember thinking, or perhaps I said it, but I was willing him to stop and turn and fight me so that I could destroy him, shaking, violently end him, but I stopped in front of the doorway shouted "Keep walking!" again and again as he finally walked away. And with that the violence left my body in a hot mist from my mouth, I yelled, "Don't even fucking look back!" and he took to a run down the sidewalk. I looked around me dazed. People on the sidewalk had all stopped. I was right in front of the front window, all 18 eyes of the Nine watching me from inside, likewise the other tables behind them. Suddenly my manager was beside me. "Sorry," I mumbled. "It's OK, just go back inside," she said, "and remember to smile." I walked back inside to the hush of everyone in the cafe and the cruel joke of me trying to smile. Mercifully the pianist was still playing. I immediately went back to the Nine and finished their order as quick as I could, mumbling apologies about having to witness that. "No, it's OK," said one woman. "No, no, you handled that good," another woman said. I apologized again, embarrassed beyond relief. The businessmen started calling me Bouncer, which didn't help. Well, beloved reader, I suppose I could go on and on with this story before reaching my point. I could tell you about the 5 minutes of shaking in the back office trying to calm myself down while the manager took over. I could tell you about the stares I got when I returned. But what I really want to relate to you is this: At the end of the night, I realized that everyone tipped me an unusually large amount of money. And I had to stop to think about it. Did the people tip extra because they felt protected? Or was it because of the violence...? Did the violence stimulate them into tipping more? A non-ordinary event requiring a non-ordinary response...? I'm not sure. But tonight, I lost my temper and the people paid me for it.
Newblog is so SLOW.
Posted 10/19/2007 3:16:58 AM And getting so impatient that I click the SavePost button again trying to hurry the damn thing up?
Newblog is so SLOW.
Posted 10/19/2007 3:14:00 AM Seriously guys... Am I the only one waiting a minute for each page to load?
Another fable...
Posted 10/9/2007 9:28:03 PM I came home and was taking off my shoes when I noticed this little spider creeping across the carpet. My first impulse was to slam my shoe down as hard as I could on its miserable little body, smothering the life that seems to be so unfalteringly alien from my own. Die! I thought. Die, because you will always be an enemy combatant to me, and anywhere I see you will be an act of trespass. But my hand stayed still as I watched it struggle across my fuzzy carpet in front of me. A second impulse washed over me. My voice of reason said: How many more other bugs has that little thing eaten already? Sure, it violates every instinct in your body to share a living space with a spider, but it's earning its keep! Let this little one live, and I'm sure it'll pay off somehow. And so, in the span of a few seconds, the little spider, who had the audacity to cross the floor right in front of me, made it's way under a chair and disappeared unmolested. A surge of inner buddhist pride swept over me. 30 minutes later I was sitting on my futon putting a video tape into the VCR when I felt a tickle on my leg. I looked down and to my utter horror saw the very same little spider climbing up my calf. I swung my arm around and down and slapped it so hard that all that was left was a liquefied spot of spider goo staining my hand. Fucking spider! The moral of the story? ALWAYS go with your first impulse.
The Wedding Years
Posted 7/1/2007 10:31:29 PM What a way to start the summer... Every weekend's booked up by friends getting married. The one two weeks from now, I'm actually the best man. Me? A best man? I must be getting old.
I got a bike, you can ride it if you like
Posted 5/29/2007 4:04:47 AM My friends pitched in and bought me a bike for my birthday! How cool is that?  (Thanks live4life, you rock. And no worries Silly... i know we're going camping, but you just being my voice of reason when it comes to the spider is present enough)
musings: The dragonfly and the spider...
Posted 5/8/2007 11:09:40 PM I know I haven't been too active on here recently. It honestly feels like it's been years since I've been on, but really it was only a couple months ago that I was driving to the College every morning at 7:30 am, turning on my work computer and immediately logging onto Newblog. I used to have some things to say about my world. But lately, I've been mesmerized by the random ebb and flow of my life like a kid with his nose to the telly. And unsuspectingly, my ebb and flow took me right to the edge of love... and then hurled my ass over the edge... to land on very real jagged rocks... and it hurt. Listen up, and I'll tell you a story: Yes, your humble narrator Lazybones got caught by a girl, like a big fat dragonfly who's become so used to destroying spider webs that he didn't know what to do when he ran headlong into one strong enough to hold him. So charmed was he in this web that he didn't even struggle to free himself, even though he knew a spider web is no place for a dragonfly to dwell for too long. Sedately, he waited for her to come to him... 5'9" slim, brown haired and beautiful, the spider cozied up to him and together they pondered how perfectly odd this pairing was. So hungry was she that he invited her to take a bite from his body, knowing full well the nature of a spider and not caring... for she did again and again, more so than he planned. And he relished the poison that was making him sick, for he could see how she grew healthy, and of course thinking all along that he could leave the web anytime he wanted. But as he gave nourishment and received none, the dragonfly grew thin and before long, he was so sick that he couldn't move. The spider, realizing that her food supply was nearly spent and having no use for an empty carcass taking up valuable space in her web, warned him that he should fly away. But his wings were too weak, so, even though he knew he would fall, he told her to cut the corners of her web and release him. So she did. And down he went, the only thought in his head before he hit the ground was that his beloved spider would be able to spin another web before she suffered from hunger again. The blow was harsh and he cried out. A cry for help? No. But a cry of pain? He lay there drained, and looking up he could see the spider rebuilding her web, occasionally looking down with sad eyes, wondering how long before his wings would mend and fly up again?
It's not a war on drugs...
Posted 4/10/2007 12:16:10 PM It's a war on personal freedom. Keep that in mind at all times, thanks.
Hemp and History facts you weren't force-fed in school 3
Posted 4/1/2007 9:39:00 PM "The most violence-causing drug in the history of mankind" It's mind-boggling how just a few people can be responsible for the prohibition of cannabis hemp.  There once was a man named William Randolph Hearst. He is probably best known as the father of yellow journalism. Hearst was the owner of the largest chain of newspapers on the west coast in the early 1900s. He also owned millions of acres of timberland in the U.S. and Mexico, which he used to make his paper from.During the Spanish-American war, Mexican forces, led by Pancho Villa, seized around 800,000 acres of Hearst's timberland in Mexico. Outraged, he used his newspapers to propagate hate and fear against Pancho Villa's people, thus escalating the war. Sometime after their victory at Torreon in 1913, a journalist for one of Hearst's newspapers heard Pancho Villa and his men singing a drinking song called, "La Cucaracha." One of the lines from the song translates to "The cockroach cannot walk because he has no Mary Jane to smoke." Hearst got wind of this little song and was soon warning the American public of a new drug the Mexicans were using: Marihuana No one had ever heard this term before. That's important. The American public had never before heard of "marihuana." Hearst could've been talking about smoking banana peals for all anybody knew. But through fictitious accounts of madmen using this evil drug, the American public soon came to fear marihuana, whatever it was.  There once was a man named Lammot DuPont, who owned a synthetic petrochemical company. In 1937, he patented a method for making plastics from coal and oil, and also devised a way of using sulfates to make paper from wood pulp. This was about the same time that new affordable machines for hemp harvesting and processing were finally being introduced into the American economy. Hemp's natural long fiber and biodegradable oil was a direct competitor to DuPont's synthetic cord, Nylon, and petroleum-based plastics. Hemp's larger bounty of paper was a direct threat to Hearst's investment in wooded tree fields. Both men stood to lose billions of dollars as hemp gained popularity. And we're talking about the depressed 30s; that's a lot a cash. Hearst passed on his little secret to DuPont: Marijuana was none other cannabis hemp  Rich people have allies in government. Both Hearst and DuPont were friends with Secretary of the Treasury, Andrew Mellon. Mellon's own nephew-in-law, Harry Anslinger, was the newly appointed head of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs. With powers in the public and economic market and now the government, the plan to use marijuana to outlaw hemp was simple. Hearst continued to use his newspapers to beat the word "marihuana" into the English language (with headlines such as Marihuana makes fiends of boys in 30 days; Hasheesh goads users to blood-lust) while Harry Anslinger testified before Congress saying, "Marijuana is the most violence-causing drug in the history of mankind."A laughable claim to anyone who has actually used it before, but then you've got the benefit of knowing what it is. On April 14, 1937, the Treasury Department introduced a prohibitive marijuana tax bill to the House Ways and Means Committee, who in turn sent it sailing through Congress and to the President. Did congress know they were talking about the most important plant in history or were they duped into thinking that they were banning a horrible drug. Who can really say? But it's important to note that they didn't outright ban marijuana, like one would expect if you're trying to protect society from a violent drug. No, instead it was taxed, in some cases to the tune of $100 for every ounce. It's only my opinion, but I think they knew what they were doing. Hemp farmers and manufacturers, upon discovering that "marijuana" was actually hemp, rushed to lobby against the bill. But it was too late. Hemp was outlawed. Families that had been growing hemp since colonial times were quickly forced to change their crop for fear of foreclosure on their farms. Suddenly, it was much more economical to produce paper from wood pulp. Suddenly, it was much more economical to make plastics and oil from petroleum. Suddenly, it was much more economical to continue making clothes from the soil disaster known as cotton... ...and so it's been for 60 years and counting. And if you've read this far, I'm sure you're asking yourself: Why is hemp still outlawed? Well, I'm glad you asked, cuz that's the focus of the next and final installment of this history lesson.
Hemp and History facts you weren't force-fed in school 2
Posted 3/27/2007 1:08:12 PM  A plant not so new to usHemp has been utilized by man across the world for close to 12,000 years. In China, where hemp originated, pottery was found wrapped in hemp dating back to 10,000 b.c. The plant came to Egypt about 3,000 b.c. and was used in the quarries during the construction of the Pyramids. The Vikings used hemp sails and rigging on their ships around 850 a.d. And can you guess how the Bengal region of India and the country Bangladesh were named? That's right, for the Aryan word bhang, which means hemp. In 1150, Moors founded Europe's first paper factory in Xativa (as in sativa), Spain using hemp cultivated around the city. In fact, up until the late 1800s nearly all of the paper in the world was made from cannabis hemp fiber. The Gutenberg Bible was printed on hemp in the 15th century and can still be viewed today in the Smithsonian Institute in Washington D.C. (a tribute to hemp's archival properties). So was the King James Bible in the 17th century. Thomas Paine's pamphlets, Mark Twain's works and Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, to name a few, were all printed on hemp paper. Virtually all of the classical painters, such as Van Gogh and Rembrandt, painted on hemp canvas. Interestingly enough, the word canvas is the Dutch pronunciation of the Greek word kannabis. Perspectively, only in recent history has hemp been in disfavor, and only with one of Earth's youngest nations... But up until 1937, even the United States had a rich history in hemp. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were both hemp farmers. Jefferson himself went undertook considerable risks to smuggle hemp seeds out of Europe and into the colonies. The first and second drafts of the Declaration Of Independence were completed on hemp parchment. And had it not been for their hemp uniforms, our Continental Army would've frozen to death during the American Revolution.  Want some more American History that was conveniently left out of our history books? How about Betsy Ross sewing the first American flag out of hemp; Benjamin Franklin's printing press circulating hemp newspapers; our covered wagons blazing the Oregon trail under hemp canvas; and Levi Strauss making his first jeans out of hemp to combat the harsh conditions of the California gold rush.And what about Henry Ford building dent-resistant, hemp-made plastic cars that ran on clean-burning hemp fuel (methanol) in the mid-1930s...? In the 1930s!! Right before it was outlawed... I hope some of you are asking yourself now, how could we outlaw something this valuable? Why would we outlaw something this important to our well-being? And I'm sure some of you will think, That's easy, it's because hemp is marijuana, right? Wrong. Stay tuned to found out why.
Hemp and History facts you weren't force-fed in school 1
Posted 3/21/2007 4:07:35 PM What's in a name? Most people think of marijuana when they hear about hemp, and they're right. Both are terms for the same plant, Cannabis sativa. The difference is that cannabis hemp is grown and bred for its long stalk and has no mind-altering properties, whereas medical cannabis is grown and bred for the potency of the flower buds.  The most important plant in historyWhy is hemp the most important plant in history? Because it contains the strongest and most durable soft-fiber of any plant on Earth. these strands can withstand heat, mildew, weathering, insects, light and time. Hemp also grows like a weed: fast and in bulk. And it will grow in almost any climate and environment. Furthermore, it has been used as a medicine worldwide for the last 3,000 years and has penetrated the social castes of nearly every culture and religion. As a fabric, hemp is softer, warmer, more water absorbent, more breathable and more durable than most natural and man-made fibers. Its tensile strength is three times that of cotton. Approximately 50% of all chemicals used in American agriculture today are used on cotton. Hemp, on the other hand, needs neither herbicide (it grows so close together that little sunlight penetrates the ground to nurture weeds) nor pesticide (it is impervious to insects). Cotton is a soil leeching plant, that is, it takes nutrients out of the soil with every planting, which can leave valuable farmland severely lacking. Hemp, because of the way the stalk is harvested (roots, leaves and flowers are left on the ground to decompose), returns more nutrients into the ground than it takes with each planting. As paper, hemp is stronger, more durable and archival compared to paper made from tree pulp. One acre of hemp produces as much fiber pulp as four acres of trees. It takes anywhere from 50 to 500 years for a tree to mature, whereas it takes a crop of hemp approximately 3 MONTHS to grow to harvest. You do the math. In addition, tree pulp must be bleached to make it white, where hemp is naturally white. As lumber board and building materials, it is superior in strength and flexibility, fire-resistant (!) and noted for its thermal and sound-insulating properties. These are just a few examples of the 50,000 plus documented uses of the cannabis hemp plant. Amongst he most famous uses for hemp is weather and rot-resistant rope. However, the seed is rich in oil that can be used to make nontoxic paints and varnishes, lightning oil, soaps and shampoos, clean burning ethanol and methanol fuels, and BIODEGRADABLE PLASTICS (hello everyone??). And to top it all off, it is one of the world's healthiest foods, as the seed itself comes loaded with more Alpha-omega-3's than even the world's #1 food source today, the soybean. Quite the resume, eh? So why haven't we been using this miracle plant to our benefit all this time then? you may ask. Well, the answer's simple really. We have! But you'll have to wait for the next post to find out more about that.
little skinny, that's ok
Posted 3/12/2007 3:53:35 AM I'm doing alright. Escaped from the office, and I'm working at a wine bar/crepe shop in downtown long beach every night now... serving! money sucks, but i'm in crazy downtown every night... and long beach is starting to feel like home again. did a little busking with my buddies in the Fullerton bar district the other night and walked away with around 50 bucks. for some reason, that measly bit of money is worth so much to me. sorry, the linksys in my area is totally unreliable.. i get a signal maybe once every couple days. The hassle kinda makes me wanna buy internet again - but i'm not. so while i'm doing some necessary research in the real world, please feel free to flirt / fight / fuck with my better half, smokedsilly as he's still rocking the cubicle everyday and needs your support. anyhow, keep on doing what makes you you and don't forget to pay the bills
i'm FREE!
Posted 2/28/2007 3:48:12 PM Today is officially my last day of working for a veeeery long time. From here on out, I am officially a bum. Or a musician. Whatever's clever. In order to celebrate, I've decided that tomorrow i will not wake up. I'll see you in 2 days!
musings: What men and women see are two different things
Posted 2/20/2007 8:02:23 PM Landlockedlunatic, a newbie on Newblog, posed a good question in her first blog about unconditional love. Personally, the only unconditional love i'd really want is from my parents... not really what i'd want in a lover. But she also goes into what makes a man like a women, and that's what i wanted to respond to here. I wonder how many women really understand that the majority of the things they do to make themselves look "pretty" are for other women to appreciate... not men. Make-up, hair, clothes, and especially SHOES are all things that women notice, not so much men. Here's what men notice: 1) Face, not make-up 2) Body, not clothes 3) Whether or not she'll sleep with me ...and number 3 trumps the first two in most situations. Now of course there are other factors that vary from guy to guy.. such as age, personality, smell, etc. I would put hair in my list cuz hair has the potential to drive me crazy (in a good way). But it almost always comes down to the big three listed above. So women! Here's some insight to the game. Face: accentuate what part you like the best about your face. You don't need 3 foundations and 5 different colors - just enough to make you feel confident about your positive features. Body: its much more about shape than it is size. Here's another secret: men like curves, and curves are curves whether it comes from fat or muscle. You don't have to lose 50 pounds to attract men.. think shape. Got a big butt? Hit the gym and round that thing up, mama. And most importantly, number 3: They say women decide whether or not they will sleep with a guy in the first 30 seconds of meeting him. Let them know, kitty cat. But not in a "you seem like a nice guy i can grow to love" kind of way. Hint at sex... it's called flirting. I know you don't want to degrade yourself, but here's why it's important: A man stores a picture of every woman he sees that turns him on in his head for later use when he's alone at night. Call it a sexual file cabinet in his brain, but you want to get your picture in that file. Do you know why? Because suddenly your picture is consorting with the likes of Angelina Jolie and Keeley Hazell in his head, except that you're a much more realistic target in his primitive mind. And flirting is the key to that file. Happy hunting
Bea and Rock - Turning On (Sniff, Swig, Puff)
Posted 2/15/2007 7:18:13 PM http://www.youtube.com/v/Cn8osyv-W94 Ah, those gay old 70s..
THC
Posted 2/12/2007 6:42:34 PM  Tetrahydrocannabinol The chemical compound tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) is a psychoactive substance found in cannabis.  Its molecular formula is C21 H30 O2, with a molecular weight of 314.45. Its chemical name is tetrahydro-6,6,9-trimethyl-3-pentyl-6H-dibenzo[b,d]pyran-1-ol, and it may also be known as (L)-delta-1-tetrahydrocannibinol, or trans-delta-1-tetrahydrocannibinol. It has a boiling point of 200°C (392°F). It has a LD50 of 1270 mg/kg (male rats), 730 mg/kg (female rats) orally (administered dissolved in sesame oil). Its actions on the body are the result of its binding to a receptor, which was known as the cannabinoid receptor. Since cannabinoids are not naturally produced in the human body, the search began for this receptors' endogenous ligand (the substance that normally binds to it), leading to the eventual discovery of anandamide. Studies of the distribution of the receptors in the brain explain why toxicity of THC is so low (i.e. the LD50 of the compound is so large): parts of the brain that control vital functions such as respiration do not have many receptors, so are relatively unaffected even by doses larger than could ever be ingested under any normal conditions. Effects include relaxation, euphoria, altered space-time perception, enhancement of visual, auditory, and olfactory senses, disorientation, and appetite stimulation. What about becoming horny? A number of studies indicate medical benefits for cancer and AIDS patients by increasing appetite and decreasing nausea. It has been shown to assist some glaucoma patients by reducing pressure within the eye, and is used, illegally, in the form of cannabis by a number of multiple sclerosis patients for relieving spasm. Other studies indicate a variety of negative effects associated with constant, long-term use, including memory loss, depression and loss of motivation. The long-term effects of THC on humans is highly disputed, and the issue is politicized because of its status as a schedule I drug according to the Controlled Substance Act. Since Sep 1, 2003, the medicine Dronabinol (which contains THC) is available in Dutch pharmacies, for cancer and AIDS patients. An American analogue called Marinol is also available. http://www.worldofmolecules.com/
Pumping CO2 into old oil reserves
Posted 2/12/2007 1:49:21 PM The article is a little too long to post here, but it's the first real scientific solution to the CO2 problem besides the 3 R's, so it's worth checking out. And you should be aware that we're already doing it. http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/LAC.20070210.GEO10/TPStory/Environment *** Stoner version *** (for SmokedSilly) Oil sits under the ground until we drill it up, kinda like coconut milk sits inside the coconut until we drill a hole and drink it with a straw. After the oil is removed, a hole remains - just like a hollow coconut. Well, a dude in a white labcoat thought: 1. CO2 comes from oil. 2. Oil comes from the ground. 3. The holes are still there. 4. Let's put the CO2 back into these holes. Now, some think it's a bad idea because they think the CO2 will contaminate the surrounding area, kinda like what bong water does to a carpet if you knock over the bong. This is a very bad possibility. However, there are some who think that because the ground held the oil in the first place, it should be good enough to store carbon dioxide gas as well. There are also other scientists who think that certain salts in the rocks will make the CO2 turn into solid carbon over time, just like resin collects on the inside of your pipe over time. Despite whether the long term effects are good or bad, the result of pumping as much CO2 as we can fit into these old unused holes could reduce the amount of CO2 in our atmosphere to pre-industrial revolution levels. One scientist estimates the reduction to equal almost 7 million cars worth of pollution in a year. That's like smoking bowls in your car without it ever reeking of pot! haha, i just realized i said old unused holes
travel: Escape from Saigon and the rusty nail
Posted 2/11/2007 3:49:15 PM For Sunshineyellowgummie I arrived in Saigon safe and sound... well at least sound. It was kinda like Bangkok, just a little more gritty and -real-. Flying out of Nagoya, I had a layover in Taiwan, and spent the second plane ride really digging into my head. I wasn't sure what to expect when I got off the plane, but I was more afraid of what I might meet here than anywhere else I've traveled... extreme sports? Who needs em, I travel alone. I stepped outside and a taxi driver immediately latched onto me. He wanted 10 bucks to take me into town.. hell, I wouldn't even pay that much in Japan-- then this guy told me the place in town I wanted to go was all under construction ("But how about this lovely area of the city?"). I shook him off and then played two taxi drivers against each other until the price was 5 bux.. which I think is still the higher side of average, but I was sweating my ass off by now, so I hopped in and enjoyed the ride into...  ...fucking motorcycle hell. Bikes like gnats in summer surrounded the taxi as soon as we pulled onto the street, swerving this way and that, driving down the wrong side of the rode, onto the sidewalks and off. The rule of the road is more or less that bigger goes first and smaller ones swerve outta the way (or get hit)... but my driver was kind enough to warn motorbikes that we were about to run down by laying into his horn a good 3 or 4 times. We had bikes constantly juking left and right while the driver kept blasting the horn. The problem was that as soon as one bike would make way, there'd be another 5 in front of it, so needless to say, I got a 30 minute horn seranade. Oh, and Saigon's got traffic lights, but I think they're just decorations for the Tet festival or something, cuz nobody was paying attention - least of all my driver. So we'd suddenly find ourselves in the middle of an intersection with traffic on all sides stopped around us, waiting for us to inch our way out of the jam. By the time we got to the hotel, my jaw was sore from clenching my teeth so hard.I got out, played frogger across the street, and haggled a few bux off the room. I got to talking with the guy at the front desk, Dak, maybe about 21, whose English wasn't that good, but I could instantly tell he was an honest guy. I checked in, bought a beer and went outside. A motorbike driver approached me and we started talking about Japan and the Vietnam war (I had a feeling I'd be talking about these two things a lot over the next two weeks)... but the vibe was friendly and we continued chatting even after he realized I wasn't going to hire him. His English wasn't the best, but better than Dak's, and I liked the guy so much that I didn't even realize he was missing his two front teeth until a good half hour in. His name was Jun (or something that sounds like Jun) and he said he was gonna hook me up with a tour of the city on Tuesday. But I didn't want to stay in Saigon that long, so I went to a travel agent and booked a domestic flight to Phu Quoc (pronounced Foo-Wok), a large island that's actually sitting smack dab under Cambodia. For its relatively large size and untold beauty, it's still somewhat of a secret as far as the Asian backpacker-trail goes... for the moment. We'll see... It was getting dark, so I went back to the hotel to ask Dak where I could find some good food and maybe a bar where I could watch some soccer (it's HUGE here). His buddy was there hanging out and after Dak translated my question to him, he gave me this smimey look and started making calls on his cel phone. Through Dak, I found out he was calling around to see if he could hook me up with a "bad girl" or a "bed girl" for the night -- not sure which, but Dak turned to me and said "He is bad boy." Well like I said early, Dak's an honest kid, so I politely turned him down and went out to explore on my own. I found a little hole-in-the-wall down a little alley, away from the motorcycle exhaust and had some awesome pho (rice noodles) with shrimp and a beer -- for under 2 bucks. While I was finishing my beer, a little orange kitten came and fell asleep on my feet, a woman with her baby strapped to her neck by its feet tried to sell me gum, and a guy holding a tied stack of about 30 of the grooviest books ever written (I felt all warm and gooey knowing I had read most of them already) tried to sell me pot. I decided to move on and find that bar, but I found an internet cafe instead. I still wanted to get a beer before I headed to bed, but I didn't want to stay out too late, cuz i was going to get up early in the morning to see the Viet Cong tunnels of Cu Chi. I went to bed feeling surreal... I couldn't believe I was actually in Viet-fuckin-nam. *** I woke up with a sense of urgency unlike any of my travels... I really needed to get the hell out of Saigon. The day before I had gone to the Cu Chi tunnels, and that was all well and good-- met a young Japanese guy named Yuji and we hung out speaking Japanese; did about 10 minutes  in the tunnels but chickened out after a few forks in the way made me paranoid of getting lost; opted not to shoot the AK-47, although at a dollar a bullet, who could resist; our driver disappeared and the 8 of us who had booked the same tour had to haggle with another tour bus to take us back to Saigon. It was fortunate that the Phillipino elementary school happened to be on a field trip that day and we all fit on the bus by sitting the kids on our laps.Afterwards, I was planning on having Jun drive me to the War Remembrance museum which offered the Vietnamese side (the ones who won, that is) of the Vietnam War -- interesting side note: up until a few years ago, it was called the War Crimes Museum, and some tour brochures still call it that -- But as it turned out, the tour that gave us a lift back to Saigon was going there too so I just stuck with them. I said good bye to Yuji and got back on the bus. I ended up sitting next to Steve, a 49 year-old carpenter from Calgary who looked like a skinny Robert Duvall. There was something bold in his attitude that attracted me to him right away, kinda like he wasn't afraid to show that traveling alone filled him with fear but that in overcoming that fear he was free to do anything, if you get my meaning, and that struck a resonance with myself. We ended up getting a beer in one of the many storefront bars along Pham Ngu Lao street in Saigon after the museum (which by the way was satisfyingly depressing). And then I saw Yuji and we became three. The three of us immediately went bar hopping, and the momentum in which three solo travelers suddenly finding themselves in a group of trusted friends caused us to act like complete idiots-- we got into trouble that's not worth bragging about throughout the night, and I'm sure lent a little bit of our own truth to the negative stereotype of western tourists in Vietnam. I woke up ashamed at the memory, and also panicked about possible repercussions. I called from my room for the hotel to have a taxi waiting at the door to take me to the airport. I tried to make my getaway quickly, irked a little at having to wait at the counter while Dak went next door to get proper change for my bill. From the door of the hotel to the door of the taxi.... a few familiar faces, don't stop, just smile, just smile, just smile, close the door, phew.  I checked into the airport, the sensation still not completely gone I knew until I was actually in the air. It was Monday, and the domestic flight terminal was nearly empty, except the flight I was taking, the flight to Phu Quoc (again, pronounced Foo-Wok). At the appointed time, we all took a shuttle into the middle of the airstrip and boarded a twin propeller plane, maybe large enough to hold 60 people at most. All I kept thinking was that it would serve me right if the fuckin thing crashed head-first into the ocean. But if I've learned anything in my life it's that anger and regret aimed back at yourself can only be a disguise for not wanting to learn from your actions -- they make the boundaries of your mind smaller, and I certainly don't travel to grow smaller.I landed after an hour and dodged the taxis outside the airport- the island was small enough that I would just walk to the beach myself and find a bungalow. However a young man approached me on the street and said 5000 dong for a motorbike ride. He had a timid smile and nervous laugh, wore his hat almost down to his eyes, talked with a shrug in his shoulders that told me he was definitely full of shit, but also that he didn't care cuz he had nothing to lose. His name was Francis. I liked him right away and hopped on. The way to the beach turned out to be much longer than I thought. The streets were dirty and the smell was overpowering as we went through the fresh fruit and fish market, over a rickety harbor bridge and down a dirt road that ran behind the guest houses and hotels parallel to the beach. He kept turning to talk to me over his shoulder, full of "These hotels too expensive - I take you farther down - nice beach, good price - cheap, cheap!" to which I objected at first, but as he continued to turn his head to insist, I consented to get his eyes back on the road. Anyway, I was laughing inside- he was such a bad con, someone who could only last a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter at his own lie.. like I said, I liked him immensely and let myself be driven down a rocky path to a shitty part of the beach where his friends ran a second rate guest house. I humored him by going down to look at the beach, which was more of a tide pool, and took a look at a few rooms, which off the porches they had to shoo a few of the locals to show me the room. In a conspiratorial tone, I told Francis to take me to a better place, one that has a beach with sand, and he laughed and we left after he said a few embarrassing words to his friends who were sitting around a table playing cards. I was glad to leave. The next place he showed me was the real deal -- a great beach, nice room, inexpensive, and a restaurant on either side of the place. I booked it, tentatively telling the staff that I would probably be staying only a few days. Haha, little did I know.  I hadn't brought a pair of swim trunks with me, so I asked Francis to drive me back into town so I could buy some. Like the first bungalow, the first "store" he drove me to turned out to be his friend's house. I gave him a look and he smiled his smile and said, Ok! Ok! I take you to good store. She my friend, nice lady." We found his friend's shop and after trying on a few trunks, i found one that would work. While i was looking around, Francis kept bringing me clothes that he liked and nudging me. I knew he wanted me to buy him something. He finally found a pair of swim trunks he wanted (the silliest-looking things I'd ever seen), and I bought them for him because they were only a dollar. He took me back to my hotel and said goodbye. That first day was spent exploring my immediate surroundings, mainly the beach and my porch, where a little portable hammock was placed. I made the acquaintance of the two German girls next to my bungalow and the two German guys next to them-- coincidentally all of us had been on the same plane and ended up at the same place. I met the German couple staying to my left, and then another German couple who were staying next to them... Surrounded by Germans! How odd. I read and passed out in my hammock about 7pm and woke up 12 hours later, my legs screaming with mosquito bites. Tuesday was uneventful... so wonderfully uneventful. Wednesday, as I realized I wasn't about to leave anytime soon, I thought to walk into town and see about renting a motorbike for a couple of days to see the island. I took my time and looked around, but honestly couldn't tell which places rented bikes and which didn't because there were motorbikes parked everywhere. Also a certain timidness had overtaken me, a bubble feeling I've grown quite familiar to, such that everywhere outside lies clues into the human condition, but are only to be viewed unless the bubble should break, like I'm in a antique shop surrounded my delicate knick knacks, each with a secret if I look closely enough. I gave in to this overbearing sensation and walked about 2 hours outside of town and back-- the entire way filled with countless smiles and an often "Hello!" from a passing child who would run away giggling immediately after, absolutely tickled with his or her own prowess. I was much more impressed with this vision of the Vietnamese people. How they loved to smile and laugh.  At one point in my walk, I was well out of town and hot and thirsty, so I stopped at a storefront- no more than a garage really which probably served as the family's home, displaying one lonely box of sodas and a small glass counter filled with cigarettes. A family sat together in the shade of a palm tree directly in front of the store. I motioned that I was thirsty and said, "Water," but the grandma fetched me an odd-looking white soda. The mother of the family, holding her baby while the father spooned what looked like salsa into its mouth, pulled out a tiny stool for me to sit down on while the grandmother used an ice pick to crush some ice. I was so surprised by the offer that before Ii realized it Ii was bashfully accepting and taking a seat. I finished the little bottle of soda, forgetting that the grandma was busying herself crushing my ice, but they were amused by how quickly I had drank, and we seemed to stare back at each other, delighted by this rare experience that just sort of... happened to have happened. I walked back in a good mood.I was on the road parallel to the beach, about 10 minutes away from my hotel, when it happened. I had just passed another house where the children came trotting out as I came by to practice their "Hello!" and giggle sillily away, and these two kids were especially adorable, making me smile and think to myself as I continued down the road, that "Gosh, I can't believe how friendly----" when pain shot up through my foot and I froze. I knew what had happened but I couldn't believe it even after I saw the proof sticking obscenely out he bottom of my rubber sandal: I had just tread onto a rusty nail about the size of my thumb and as thick as a pencil. In horror I examined the gap between my foot and the sandal to see how far the nail had entered my foot. It was at least 3 centimeters, or a little over half an inch... "Oh my god." Shock and numbness. Me, balanced on my left foot, hunched over holding my right foot in one hand, the top of the rusty nail in the other, perched, ready to yank the nail out of my foot and back through the sandal, but unable to move... 1 minute, 2... 5 minutes passed in that horrible stance, trying to build up enough courage to just.. YANK. And out it came, rustier than an old umbrella, while from the hole, suddenly unplugged, blood gushed forth. Not knowing what to do, I took a few wobbly painful steps towards the direction of my hotel, but the idea was ludacris so I sat down and washed the puncture off the best I could with the water I had with me. An old Vietnamese man saw me and came running over. Still in shock I jabbered away what had just happened to me, but it was obvious to him because he immediately took my foot in his hands and began to squeeze the wound as hard as he could. Blood was pouring out but with each squeeze, a little less poured forth. Quickly a small crowd had gathered around me on the street. Among these was a plump 70 year old Vietnamese woman, her face completely covered in make-up and wrinkled from waaaaaay too much sun, who began talking to me. Her sudden appearance had frightened me a little, but I realized that she was speaking English. She told me not to worry-- this happens often enough in the fields and it is the same treatment given to workers who must go on with their work, injured or not. "He is making sure there is no piece of the nail left inside your foot. Very good. Vietnamese medicine," she proudly concluded. I had been distracted while she talked, and I looked back down at my foot, which the old man had just stopped squeezing and was no longer bleeding. Vietnamese medicine, I said to myself with a wonder. And then he said something to his friend to fetch him something, who ran into a nearby house. When I saw the axe in his hands, I struggled to get up and said "No Vietnamese medicine!" But the woman laughed and assured me he wasn't going to cut me. I poised to fight if I had to, but the old man took the small axe in his hand by the blade, and instead began using the handle to beat the living shit out of my foot, especially right over my wound. It hurt like hell. The old woman must've noticed that my tolerance had just about reached its limit for "Vietnamese medicine" for she said to me softly, "It hurts now, but later, it is better, you'll see." The beating stopped suddenly and the old man smiled at me, obviously satisfied that he had done his best for me. Strangely, I felt that I had indeed been well cared for. The crowd was talking amongst themselves and about the same time everyone came to the general conclusion that I should go to the hospital and began making gestures of injecting themselves in the arm with invisible needles. The scene turned quite silly.  The old woman then struck a dialogue with several of the men and informed me that one of them would drive me to the hospital on his motorbike for 10,000 dong (less than a buck). I didn't know how to thank the woman enough. I asked her where she had learned English and she told me that she had lived in Australia for 52 years with her husband, and that this was the first time she had been back to Vietnam since. She was a true angel. I forget her name.The tetanus shot only cost 20,000 dong, but the nurse wouldn't clean my wound. The man who drove me came into the room with me, and I think he told her that I had already received "Vietnamese medicine." I asked again, trying different words, "clean, disinfectant, wash, cleaning..." The nurse looked at me blankly and then exchanged a few words with my driver, who made a disdainful gesture and whispered, "No problem." My heart sank. I asked if I could at least have a bandaid. The nurse, recognizing the word bandaid, said: "Town buy bandaid. Go town, you buy." I left the hospital without delay and the man drove me back to my hotel. I paid him double. I tried to stay off my foot that night, but I exulted in the thought that I had received a secret Vietnamese treatment, and I honestly believed in my heart that my foot would hastily recover from the wound. It also came to mind that, this being the first time I had ever stepped on a rusty nail, if I was ever going to do so in my lifetime, a tropical paradise is the place I would wish to do it. I came to the conclusion that I was about to stay on the island for much longer than I had originally intended, but the decision didn't bother me too much. In fact it rather freed me. Over the next few days, as I lazed around and did simple island things like, eat, drink, swim, read, sleep, and play pool with the locals, I began crossing cities off of my itinerary that I knew I wasn't going to have enough time to get to. I felt more and more satisfied with my trip to Vietnam. Slowly the burden of trying to bear witness to Vietnamese culture in the space of 2 weeks lifted itself from my shoulders. What relief! Well, I suppose I should wrap this up. I've rented a motorbike from Tuan at the restaurant for 20,000 dong an hour and I told him I was only going to need it until 2pm-- that was about 3 hours ago! I still have to go to the Vietnam Airlines office and put my name on the waiting list to get off the island because the flights are all full until Wednesday, which would leave me about one day to get up to Hanoi for my flight back to Japan.  (This is a journal entry from the time I spent in Asia. I went to Vietnam in the spring of 2006)
Damn.. global warming was real after all
Posted 2/9/2007 6:20:07 PM A lot of things have happened since "Global Warming" became official, February 2nd by the UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). I've collected snippets from different articles over the last week that'll give you an idea about what we're dealing with. The most poignant conclusion in the report is this: global warming is "unequivocal," and that it is "very likely" caused by human activity. (1) The most alarming conclusion in the report is this: There is so much carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases in the atmosphere that even if concentrations held at current levels, the effects of global warming would continue for centuries. (2) That means: the Earth's average surface temperature will probably rise by 3.2 degrees F to 7.2 degrees F in this century, and could rise as much as 11.5 degrees F. (3) And: Typhoons and hurricanes are likely to increase as ocean temperatures rise, while decreased precipitation will lead to harsher droughts, which will hit Africa in particular, and melt polar ice and damage the climate system for a thousand years to come. (4) Yeah, we're fucked. So, what's happening now? Jacques Chirac, president of France, said in an interview with the International Herald Tribune that he will push for a European-Union-wide tax on imports from nations that have not signed the Kyoto Protocol, including the United States. The EU is the largest export market for US goods. What else? China plans to spend 1.5 billion dolars to turn island city Dongtan (near Shanghai) into a zero-emission "green" city, relying on solar energy, recycled water, and battery powered vehicles. The initial phase will be finished by 2010, when the Expo fair comes to Shanghai, and planners hope to be finished by 2030. The Mayor of London Ken Livingstone is reportedly interested in Dongtan as a possible blueprint for development in London. (5) Thanks Australia.. Australia will not end its biggest single export, coal, as part of the government's strategy to curb greenhouse gas emissions, according to Prime Minister John Howard. "We must respond to the challenge of climate change, but we have got to do it in a measured and practical way that doesn't unfairly disadvantage the economy of this country," said Howard. "We are the largest coal exporter in the world," he added. (6) Are you 'avin a laugh, UK? In a sign of how carbon-conscious the British have become, residents in the southwestern London district of Richmond will soon pay annual parking fees based on how much CO2 their cars emit. The biggest polluters will pay £300 ($590). (7) And last (but not least?), the US? Well.. What are you going to do about this? In case you care: 1 - Dr. Sharon Hays, Associate Director/Deputy Director for Science at the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, in a White House statement. 2 - Alan Zarembo, L.A.Times, February 5, 2007 3 - IPCC report, February 2, 2007 4 - UN's International Strategy for Disaster Reduction (ISDR) secretariat, Geneva (AFP) February 7, 2007 5 - Clifford Coonan, Independent News and Media Limited, February 6, 2007 6 - (AP), CNN.com, February 8, 2007 7 - Mark Rice-Oxley, The Christian Science Monitor, February 8, 2007
musings: So i laughed
Posted 2/2/2007 11:16:13 PM i remember i was driving through nevada on my way to utah at the end of a month-long road trip right before i went out to japan- i had already packed my stuff in boxes and dumped them off in family garages, had moved out of my apartment in long beach a month early, had a cooler in the backseat with nothing but ice and red bull in it, camping gear, about 3 sets of clothes, 8 rolls of already exposed film, and nothing to go back for except a gig i had arranged the night before my plane left.. anyhow, i was driving and i had just come out of a windy (wine dee) little canyon and before me was an expanse of just nothing, i mean the road ruler-straight as far as the eye could see and absolutely nothing on either side.. then it started to sprinkle, but the kinda sprinkle that smears when you turn the wipers on, so i let it collect on the windshield. and then i saw the sky light up because somewhere out of my vision lightning had struck, and all of the sudden i started to cry. I know. 80s rock video. bear with me. it started small. i don't know if it was the song on the radio, the loneliness of the road, or three weeks of heart-weary freedom, but the past wrangled out from my grip, everything i had refused to confront at the time and packed away into boxes started leaking out, every heave brought a bigger sob, until i was wailing down this empty road. there wasn't a car in sight. my breath catching in my throat, i cried harder, summoning every bit of repressed emotion that as a man in this world i'm taught to subdue- nothing was left unrevealed as it came out, good things and the bad things.. it felt like i was prematurely mourning the loss of my own life. for a moment, so brief it seems now, but for a moment the walls had come down. the rain had beaded up on the windshield, and up ahead i could see a car coming. in a couple of sniffs and a rub of the eyes, i composed myself, and hit the wipers just before our cars passed. in that second, through the smeared windshield, i saw a young woman, also alone in her car, looking back at me. She was crying. I was drained and my face was sticky. Again i was alone on the road, and i tried to bring back the tears, but they wouldn't come. i wanted so bad to return to the state i was just in, to recapture that intensity, a moment when my mind, body and soul merged, but i couldn't. so i laughed. I laughed out loud until i felt the fists in my mind clench again- the walls came up and the world returned, and even my laughter dwindled away. eventually, all i was left with was this feeling that something had happened, exactly like that startlingly important dream you wake from and immediately forget. I drove on and continued my trip, forgetting the experience... until just now
Embarrassing Medical Exams
Posted 2/2/2007 1:45:01 PM Embarrassing Medical Exams 1. A man comes into the ER and yells, "My wife's going to have her baby in the cab!" I grabbed my stuff, rushed out to the cab, lifted the lady's dress, and began to take off her underwear. Suddenly I noticed that there were several cabs ---and I was in the wrong one. Submitted by Dr. Mark MacDonald, San Antonio, TX. 2. At the beginning of my shift I placed a stethoscope on an elderly and slightly deaf female patient's anterior chest wall. "Big breaths," I instructed. "Yes, they used to be," replied the patient. Submitted by Dr. Richard Byrnes, Seattle, WA 3. One day I had to be the bearer of bad news when I told a wife that her husband had died of a massive myocardial infarct. Not more than five minutes later, I heard her reporti ng to the rest of the family that he had died of a "massive internal fart." Submitted by Dr. Susan Steinberg 4. During a patient's two week follow-up appointment with his cardiologist, he informed me, his doctor, that he was having trouble with one of his medications. "Which one?" I asked. "The patch, the nurse told me to put on a new one every six hours and now I'm running out of places to p ut it! " I had him quickly undress and discovered what I hoped I wouldn't see. Yes, the man had over fifty patches on his body! Now, the instructions include removal of the old patch before applying a new one. Submitted by Dr. Rebecca St. Clair, Norfolk, VA 5.. While acquainting myself with a new elderly patient, I asked, "How long have you been bedridden?" After a look of complete c onfusi on she answered..."Why, not for about twenty years - when my husband was alive." Submitted by Dr. Steven Swanson, Corvallis, OR 6. I was caring for a woman and asked, "So how's your breakfast this morning?" "It's very good, except for the Kentucky Jelly. I can't seem to get used to the taste" the patient replied. I then asked to see the jelly and the woman produced a foil packet labeled "KY Jelly." Submitted by Dr. Leonard Kransdorf, Detroit, MI 7. A nurse was on duty in the Emergency Room when a young woman with purple hair styled into a punk rocker Mohawk, sporting a variety of tattoos, and wearing strange clothing, entered. It was quickly determined that the patient had acute appendicitis, so she was sched uled f or immediate surgery. When she was completely disrobed on the operating table, the staff noticed that her pubic hair had been dyed green, and above it there was a tattoo that read, "Keep off the grass." Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a short note on the patient's dressing, which said, "Sorry, had to mow the lawn." Submitted by RN no name AND FINALLY!!!................ 8. As a new, young MD doing his residency in OB, I was quite embarrassed when performing female pelvic exams. To cover my embarrassment I had unconsciously formed a habit of whistling softly. The middle-aged lady upon whom I was performing this exam suddenly burst out laughing and further embarrassing me. I looked up from my work and sheepishly said, "I'm sorry. Was I tickling you?" She replied, "No doctor, but do you realize the song you were whistling was, "I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener?" Dr. Wouldn't submit his name
A to Z
Posted 2/1/2007 7:10:33 PM A - Z A – Availability: Unavailable B - Birthday: May 31 C - Candy: Peanut butter and chocolate D - Dream Car: an Opal with a blown out window, duct taped shut with saran wrap, no bumper, but a bumper sticker on the back window that says "Smile if you give head" E - Eggs: mexican omelette F - Favorite color: maroon G - Giver or taker: both H - Height: 178 cm I - Instrument: guitar J - Job: bum K - Kids: not that i know of L - Longest Car Ride: 3 weeks M - Movie: My dinner with Andre N - Number of Siblings: only child O - One Phobia: drowning P - Pet Peeve: racism Q - Quote: Those who can't hear the music, must think the dancers are mad R - Reason to smile: song writing S - Shoe: brown suede skateboard shoes T - Time for bed: too late U - Underwear: flannel boxers V - Vacation spot: the Mojave and the Sierra Nevadas W - Worst Habit: thinking for myself X - X-Rays: just saying, this is disgusting. i did some snorkling off the coast of Vietnam and my ear got water logged. By the time i got back to Japan, my ear was nice and infected. By the time i went to see the doctor, i had lost most hearing in that ear. So the doctor actually took an x-ray of my head and saw that it was clogged with wax and dirt god knows what else. So the doctor pulls out these needle-nose plier looking things, except they're really long and skinny, and slid them in my ear. The first bit of gunk he pulled out looked like a lump of hash, and he went back in for more. The second time he grabbed something in there that at first didn't want to come out, but with a little yank comes flying out off the end of his little pliers and.... i swear to god... onto the nurse's face next to him! A big goo-ball of waxy sludge right near her mouth. I was in near hysterics :D AND my hearing came back with that one so i was pretty stoked. Y – Yes or No: the answer you can live is usually best Z - Zoo Animal: panda
Japan anascotsi: Let's surviving America!
Posted 1/30/2007 10:36:38 PM http://www.youtube.com/v/YS2GY8C_2sY ROFL!! ya, it is. |
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House of Leavesby Mark Z. Danielewski 2000 "On the surface, this is a naration about an academic critism about a film about a man who discovers a labyrinth in his house and disappears. Yeah. A jumbling mass of footnotes make this a daunting book to pick up, but if you're brave enough to do that, I garauntee you won't be able to put it down. Ultra spooky and very intelligent, the House of Leaves is has become somewhat of a cult classic in the short time it's been around. If you're confused, look up ergodic literature in Wikipedia." Verdict: enthrallingly creepy
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The Moon and Sixpenceby W. Somerset Maugham 1919 "There's a line in Maugham's famous The Razor's Edge when Darrell encounters the stranger that ultimately sends him off to India to seek his destiny and it's not without a Maugham's usual sense of subtle humor: The stranger tells him of the Hindu holy book The Upanishads and when Darrell clearly does not understand, the stranger exclaims, 'You mean to tell me you've never read The Upanishads??' Such is the irony in me when I exclaim to anyone, 'You haven't read anything by W. Somerset Maugham?' because truly, like the stranger, I say it knowing it's not my loss, but yours. This book is loosely based on the life of painter Paul Gauguin and it's filled with insight and the brilliance that makes Maugham one of the masters of our time. It's short and sweet, however, if you've not read Maugham before, I'd suggest starting with one his classics, The Razor's Edge or Of Human Bondage" Verdict: Maugham is brilliant Verdict: Almost as good as Shampoo Planet Verdict: Faulkner can always be a little confusing while you're reading the book, but the impressions stay with you FOREVER. Verdict: twisted! Verdict: a Classic |
All Families are Psychotic
As I Lay Dying
Number 9 Dream