This weekend was a nice little 1,000 mile road trip to the Grand Canyon for my wifely friend and I's second wedding anniversary. Hard to believe we've been married two years. Well, honestly, hard to believe she has put up with me for two years.
The trip was made all the more interesting by the fact we made the trip in her Miata, which was designed for people about two inches shorter than myself. This produces a certain low throbbing in the leg region after the first 200 miles.
But the drive was nice. The wife drove and I gazed out the window, searching for feisty alien craft. If you believe the literature, those little guys are just zooming around all over the place out there, waiting for an opportunity to mess with unsuspecting motorists' heads. But I didn't see any.
The Grand Canyon is, of course, just totally breathtaking. There's no vertigo quite like Oh-my-God-I-could-totally-fall-off-this-mile-high-cliff vertigo. They should also give you those little signs that say "Yipes" that Wile E. Coyote holds up right before he falls off a cliff. Those could come in handy.
We stayed at the Bright Angel Lodge, which is right on the Southern Rim of the Canyon, and is the beginning of the Bright Angel Trail that goes down into the Canyon itself. This is also the trail that you ride burros down. We walked a mile or two (or maybe, like, 500 yards) down the trail, dodging packs of Gore-tex clad German tourists, until we began to fear our flabby bodies wouldn't make it out again, and turned around. Surprisingly enough, it's a lot more difficult going up.
Anyway, hopefully we'll get some pictures up soon.
On the way back we drove through the very confusing town of Wonder Valley, California, near Joshua Tree. In Wonder Valley, you have these huge expanses of nothing. Just desert and rocks and Joshua Trees, and every once in a while there's a little tiny shack. Do people live in these things, writing their anti-government manifestos and saying "Mr Gummint Man" a lot? I guess so, because there sure isn't anything else to do out there.
Friday, October 25, 2002
Flash Atari Adventure
Crazily fun. I bet if you gave this to a twelve year old now, he'd look at you like you were crazy.
"So. I kill the dancing chicken monster with this arrow? Yeah. Fun, old man. Fun."
Crazily fun. I bet if you gave this to a twelve year old now, he'd look at you like you were crazy.
"So. I kill the dancing chicken monster with this arrow? Yeah. Fun, old man. Fun."
Lurid Paperback Cover of The Week
I found this while searching for a Cthulhu-inspired book I read some years ago, "Dwellers in the Mirage" by A. Merritt.
Remembered why? Because of an excellent Snarkout entry.
I found this while searching for a Cthulhu-inspired book I read some years ago, "Dwellers in the Mirage" by A. Merritt.
Remembered why? Because of an excellent Snarkout entry.
Thursday, October 24, 2002
Hilarious court transcript of a man accused of stealing 40,000 hotel hangers.
Counsel: Now, Mr Chrysler – for let us assume that that is your name – you are accused of purloining in excess of 40,000 hotel coat hangers.
Chrysler: I am.
Counsel: Can you explain how this came about?
Chrysler: Yes. I had 40,000 coats which I needed to hang up.
Counsel: Is that true?
Chrysler: No.
Counsel: Then why did you say it?
Chrysler: To attempt to throw you off balance.
[thx Chimichanga]
Counsel: Now, Mr Chrysler – for let us assume that that is your name – you are accused of purloining in excess of 40,000 hotel coat hangers.
Chrysler: I am.
Counsel: Can you explain how this came about?
Chrysler: Yes. I had 40,000 coats which I needed to hang up.
Counsel: Is that true?
Chrysler: No.
Counsel: Then why did you say it?
Chrysler: To attempt to throw you off balance.
[thx Chimichanga]
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Monday, October 21, 2002
Double Secret Bonus Bradshaw Link: Terry Bradshaw Watermelon Carving
Supplementary Melon Carvings:
Jerome Bettis
Lynn Swan
The Somewhat Disappointing NFL Football
Supplementary Melon Carvings:
Jerome Bettis
Lynn Swan
The Somewhat Disappointing NFL Football
Another Big Movie Idea
Terry Bradshaw getting hit in the nuts with a bat.
That's it. Two hours of Terry Bradshaw getting hit in the nuts with a bat.
It's beautiful in its simplicity, really. The production costs would be really low, because you could film it all in one continuous take, as the wacky Terry Bradshaw begins to wail and moan, never knowing when the next blow will be delivered. Only knowing that it will be delivered, with crushing finality, to his nuts.
About an hour into the film he'll start to really lose it. Maybe he'll even start laughing as the next impact comes, or singing a song.
It's got suspense, too. Howie Long could come in and see his colleague Terry Bradshaw in such dire straits, and attempt to rescue him.
Howie Long, too, would be hit in the nuts with a bat.
The profit margins would be incredible. Because everyone hates Terry Bradshaw, and everyone likes that America's Funniest Videos show, which is really just an excuse to show a bunch of guys getting hit in the nuts, right?
This movie has it all.
Terry Bradshaw getting hit in the nuts with a bat.
That's it. Two hours of Terry Bradshaw getting hit in the nuts with a bat.
It's beautiful in its simplicity, really. The production costs would be really low, because you could film it all in one continuous take, as the wacky Terry Bradshaw begins to wail and moan, never knowing when the next blow will be delivered. Only knowing that it will be delivered, with crushing finality, to his nuts.
About an hour into the film he'll start to really lose it. Maybe he'll even start laughing as the next impact comes, or singing a song.
It's got suspense, too. Howie Long could come in and see his colleague Terry Bradshaw in such dire straits, and attempt to rescue him.
Howie Long, too, would be hit in the nuts with a bat.
The profit margins would be incredible. Because everyone hates Terry Bradshaw, and everyone likes that America's Funniest Videos show, which is really just an excuse to show a bunch of guys getting hit in the nuts, right?
This movie has it all.
Friday, October 18, 2002
We just had our quarterly meeting here at Purgatory, Inc, where the president of the company gets up and says really weird and enigmatic things. People clap and snigger and we get free grapes and danish.
It was very reassuring to know that all of our problems are over, now that we have gotten the problem solving software "MicroSoft 2000".
Also, I think he told us all to start doing speed. I just can't support that sort of thing. And maybe he can afford a daily drug habit, being president and all, but for the rest of us it might be a stretch on the pocketbook.
The grapes were very good though.
It was very reassuring to know that all of our problems are over, now that we have gotten the problem solving software "MicroSoft 2000".
Also, I think he told us all to start doing speed. I just can't support that sort of thing. And maybe he can afford a daily drug habit, being president and all, but for the rest of us it might be a stretch on the pocketbook.
The grapes were very good though.
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
I don't know if it was that last eyeball thing, which may have proved too disturbing for some of the more normal viewers of this site, but I just haven't been able to remember anything to write down lately.
Well, that's kind of a cop-out, really. When I write these little blurbs on My Life as an American Gladiator, I don't have anything grandiose planned out. There are no flowcharts. There are no ratios. I know that's probably obvious from the level of discourse generally seen here, but anyway, that's how I do it.
Sometimes, I'll leave myself little notes about something I was thinking about, so that a month later I'll find a post-it note that says "Footloose Dies", like I just found here on my desk, or "Clown injection" or something equally nonsensical. Seems like lately I've even been forgetting to write out the post-it notes. Too lazy for scrawled, indecipherable notes. That's ennui for you.
I had one brilliant thought today that combined the concept of a salad bar with the "claw" game designed to enfuriate arcade-goers, but I am pretty sure that if I think about it any more it'll turn out to be not really a very good idea, so let's leave it at that. For starters, there's the sanitation issue. And how much bleu cheese dressing can you really pick up with one of those claw things anyway?
Not much.
So, in the interim, here's a post that's been sitting in the "drafts" section of Blogger Pro for just about 6 months:
You know what's tons of fun? If there's a guy behind you on the road who wants to go really really fast in his souped up Nissan, go really slow. They love that. This is especially amusing because you know that they have nowhere special to be. This was confirmed to me recently when just such an incident occurred, causing the other driver to eventually roar past me, tires squealing, spoiler bravely spoiling, and pull into the McDonald's parking lot that was perhaps fifty feet away. I pictured the driver's tiny proto-mind flashing with images of the sort you find on McDonald's registers: "Must have Filet-O-Fish! Must Have Filet-O-Fish! Ngggggh! VW going speed limit in front of me! Must crush! Filet-O-Fish!!!" and so on.
I always wonder what would happen if I was ever actually confronted by one of these car guys in the flesh. I think I could probably convince them that my car goes one thousand miles an hour, if I use a couple of big words that they haven't heard before.
Well, there you have it. A little snippy maybe, but that's all you get today. Until I can get this salad bar claw game thing fleshed out, that is.
Well, that's kind of a cop-out, really. When I write these little blurbs on My Life as an American Gladiator, I don't have anything grandiose planned out. There are no flowcharts. There are no ratios. I know that's probably obvious from the level of discourse generally seen here, but anyway, that's how I do it.
Sometimes, I'll leave myself little notes about something I was thinking about, so that a month later I'll find a post-it note that says "Footloose Dies", like I just found here on my desk, or "Clown injection" or something equally nonsensical. Seems like lately I've even been forgetting to write out the post-it notes. Too lazy for scrawled, indecipherable notes. That's ennui for you.
I had one brilliant thought today that combined the concept of a salad bar with the "claw" game designed to enfuriate arcade-goers, but I am pretty sure that if I think about it any more it'll turn out to be not really a very good idea, so let's leave it at that. For starters, there's the sanitation issue. And how much bleu cheese dressing can you really pick up with one of those claw things anyway?
Not much.
So, in the interim, here's a post that's been sitting in the "drafts" section of Blogger Pro for just about 6 months:
You know what's tons of fun? If there's a guy behind you on the road who wants to go really really fast in his souped up Nissan, go really slow. They love that. This is especially amusing because you know that they have nowhere special to be. This was confirmed to me recently when just such an incident occurred, causing the other driver to eventually roar past me, tires squealing, spoiler bravely spoiling, and pull into the McDonald's parking lot that was perhaps fifty feet away. I pictured the driver's tiny proto-mind flashing with images of the sort you find on McDonald's registers: "Must have Filet-O-Fish! Must Have Filet-O-Fish! Ngggggh! VW going speed limit in front of me! Must crush! Filet-O-Fish!!!" and so on.
I always wonder what would happen if I was ever actually confronted by one of these car guys in the flesh. I think I could probably convince them that my car goes one thousand miles an hour, if I use a couple of big words that they haven't heard before.
Well, there you have it. A little snippy maybe, but that's all you get today. Until I can get this salad bar claw game thing fleshed out, that is.
Friday, October 11, 2002
You know, whenever things are going badly for me, I think about one thing: Having my eyeball ripped out by a hook.
I know, I know. Everyone thinks about that all the time. I'm not breaking any new ground here.
But I remember seeing some teevee show when I was a kid, and it was about eye injuries. There was a guy on who had only one eye, because when he was a child he was swinging a little chain (with a hook on it) around, and he pulled out his own eye. On the same program, they showed real eye surgery, and in one shot the doctor was holding a guy's whole entire eye in his hand.
What does it mean? I don't know. It does make me question the motives of teevee stations, to be showing that sort of thing*. I mean who, watching that, is not going to get the willies? I'm shuddering right now just remembering it.
Also, when I think about my eyeball getting ripped out by a hook, I also think about the movie "The Fog", that I must have seen around the same time, in which lumbering ghosts of sailors, apparently bored with sailing around in the fog all the time, decide to rip out people's throats with a big hook.
That would probably be worse. If you were given a choice between having your eyeball ripped out with a hook, and your throat ripped out with a hook, could you make that kind of decision? That's what I'm really getting at here.
*There was a time, a few years back, when it seemed like I couldn't switch on the teevee without seeing somebody's leg cut open or an appendectomy or tracheotomy or something. This trend seems to be declining, which is a great relief to me, because I eat a lot of tomato-based sauces.
I know, I know. Everyone thinks about that all the time. I'm not breaking any new ground here.
But I remember seeing some teevee show when I was a kid, and it was about eye injuries. There was a guy on who had only one eye, because when he was a child he was swinging a little chain (with a hook on it) around, and he pulled out his own eye. On the same program, they showed real eye surgery, and in one shot the doctor was holding a guy's whole entire eye in his hand.
What does it mean? I don't know. It does make me question the motives of teevee stations, to be showing that sort of thing*. I mean who, watching that, is not going to get the willies? I'm shuddering right now just remembering it.
Also, when I think about my eyeball getting ripped out by a hook, I also think about the movie "The Fog", that I must have seen around the same time, in which lumbering ghosts of sailors, apparently bored with sailing around in the fog all the time, decide to rip out people's throats with a big hook.
That would probably be worse. If you were given a choice between having your eyeball ripped out with a hook, and your throat ripped out with a hook, could you make that kind of decision? That's what I'm really getting at here.
*There was a time, a few years back, when it seemed like I couldn't switch on the teevee without seeing somebody's leg cut open or an appendectomy or tracheotomy or something. This trend seems to be declining, which is a great relief to me, because I eat a lot of tomato-based sauces.
Thursday, October 10, 2002
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
The Shat Doing Rocketman at the 1978 Sci Fi Film Awards (RealAudio clip)
[liberated from misterpants]
[liberated from misterpants]
Monday, October 07, 2002
First off, let me apologize to anyone who thought that I had been killed after reading that last post.
Some of you may have figured out that if I actually did get runned over, I probably wouldn't rush over to the computer to post an entry about it. This is because, being dead, I would have a hard time typing.
I was just menaced in variously deathward ways by a large truck with those stupid jet tires being driven by a neanderthal man. Obviously, this guy was threatened by my little Golf and his first instinct was to crush and destroy. Perfectly understandable. Luckily for me, I was saved by my quick thinking and very observant invisible elf co-pilot, Steve The Quick Thinking Elf, so it all worked out OK.
I'm just glad my Cheez-It car escaped any permanent damage.
Some of you may have figured out that if I actually did get runned over, I probably wouldn't rush over to the computer to post an entry about it. This is because, being dead, I would have a hard time typing.
I was just menaced in variously deathward ways by a large truck with those stupid jet tires being driven by a neanderthal man. Obviously, this guy was threatened by my little Golf and his first instinct was to crush and destroy. Perfectly understandable. Luckily for me, I was saved by my quick thinking and very observant invisible elf co-pilot, Steve The Quick Thinking Elf, so it all worked out OK.
I'm just glad my Cheez-It car escaped any permanent damage.
Friday, October 04, 2002
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
It is here!
My new car has arrived!
Perhaps you would like a ride in my new car, yes? Never! You shall never ride in it!
The Cheez-It Collectible NASCAR is mine and mine alone! I will rev its little tiny engine at my leisure, frightening insects and less complex forms of life, alone and free on a little tiny highway!
What's that you say? You will get your own Cheez-It Collectible NASCAR? Ha!
Perhaps it is within the realm of possiblity that you could cough up the $1.95, but are you truly ready for the challenge of procuring two proof of purchases?
I thought not.
On my frequent road trips up to the Bay Area, I'm all about the jerky. There are many factors to consider in your purchase of jerky, however.
1 - Do you wish to allay any dental wounds?
You may wish to opt for the softer jerky. Some jerky seems to have been made by leaving it out on the interstate and letting it get run over by large trucks, like the kid in Pet Sematary. This results in jerky roughly the consistency of burlap.
The softer jerky, while worrying in its own way, is far safer on your teeth. There is a dilemma inherent in the soft jerky hunt itself, though.
2 - How to find the soft jerky?
Whenever we stop for jerky on our road trips, my wife and I gaze at the plethora of jerky choices laid out before us like an open, salty road. Once, we found the primo jerky of all time. It was soft, succulent, did not remove any fillings, and had no inexplicable cow parts within. This supreme jerky experience has tainted us.
Now, whenever we stop for jerky, we search in vain for this particular brand. The odd thing is that neither of us can remember what brand it was. This is similar to the concept of Missing Time, experienced by many alien abductees who say really ludicrous things and have unreliable timepieces.
What am I saying here? Just that there may be a relationship between the good jerky and probing. So be careful.
3 - The Dirty Jerky
Sure, you've got a lot of jerky choices, but I beg you, people of earth, do not venture into the arena of Dirty Jerky. You know what I'm talking about. The jerky that sits up by the gas station register in a little cubby hole or giant plastic jar. You reach your hand in and pull out a slab of jerky that's just sitting in there unwrapped, like a jerky nudist.
God knows how many grubby hands have fondled that jerky before you. Maybe someone whose hygeine habits are less than 100% effort-wise, I don't know. They should just call that stuff Hepatitis Jerky.
4 - The somewhat daunting price consideration
Jerky is unreasonably expensive. I have paid anywhere from a couple of dollars for a bag up to about 9 dollars. 9 dollars! Why the hell does jerky cost 9 dollars?! Why would anyone pay that much for jerky?! Are you some kind of idiot, Kafkaesque?
Quite possibly.
1 - Do you wish to allay any dental wounds?
You may wish to opt for the softer jerky. Some jerky seems to have been made by leaving it out on the interstate and letting it get run over by large trucks, like the kid in Pet Sematary. This results in jerky roughly the consistency of burlap.
The softer jerky, while worrying in its own way, is far safer on your teeth. There is a dilemma inherent in the soft jerky hunt itself, though.
2 - How to find the soft jerky?
Whenever we stop for jerky on our road trips, my wife and I gaze at the plethora of jerky choices laid out before us like an open, salty road. Once, we found the primo jerky of all time. It was soft, succulent, did not remove any fillings, and had no inexplicable cow parts within. This supreme jerky experience has tainted us.
Now, whenever we stop for jerky, we search in vain for this particular brand. The odd thing is that neither of us can remember what brand it was. This is similar to the concept of Missing Time, experienced by many alien abductees who say really ludicrous things and have unreliable timepieces.
What am I saying here? Just that there may be a relationship between the good jerky and probing. So be careful.
3 - The Dirty Jerky
Sure, you've got a lot of jerky choices, but I beg you, people of earth, do not venture into the arena of Dirty Jerky. You know what I'm talking about. The jerky that sits up by the gas station register in a little cubby hole or giant plastic jar. You reach your hand in and pull out a slab of jerky that's just sitting in there unwrapped, like a jerky nudist.
God knows how many grubby hands have fondled that jerky before you. Maybe someone whose hygeine habits are less than 100% effort-wise, I don't know. They should just call that stuff Hepatitis Jerky.
4 - The somewhat daunting price consideration
Jerky is unreasonably expensive. I have paid anywhere from a couple of dollars for a bag up to about 9 dollars. 9 dollars! Why the hell does jerky cost 9 dollars?! Why would anyone pay that much for jerky?! Are you some kind of idiot, Kafkaesque?
Quite possibly.
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