My Black List

I usually don't possess enough vitriol towards any individual to keep a list, but I thought maybe I should keep track of people who irk me. Sooooo, the first person to go on my black list is...

James Carville!! now, I'm not going to sink so low as to make this about Mr. Carville's physical appearanc--



Whoa! Whoa! How'd that sneak in there? My bad. That won't happen again. That's juvenile and serves no purpose in supporting a legitimate argument. I guess my point is that James Carvil--



Man. I'm horrible. Sorry. Sorry. Fish in a barrel.

But seriously. Carville is a condescending political pundit who does little more than show outright disdain for anybody who disagrees with him. He compared Gov Richardson switching his support to (then) Obama's candidacy (from Hillary) to Judas betraying Jesus. What kind of analysis is that?

Mr. Carville: Welcome to my black list.

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Delusional Asian Sings

Oh boy. This gem is compliments of Josh M.

WARNING: Finish chewing/swallowing whatever food/drink you have, or it is going to end up on your monitor.



I echo Josh M's sentiment:

my asian side sort of felt bad for the kid but my white side was loving it

The song in and of itself is intolerable, but the rendering by an Asian-native makes it an absolute travesty/masterpiece.

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Optimism Poster -- Photo of the Week 9 Feb 2009

Back with PotW. Sorry about the hiatus last week. My extremely limited concentration and writing powers were being focused elsewhere.

This reminds me of the time JT set the large dumpster outside of our apt complex on fire with a checkbook. See, before the invention of the paper-shredder, JT burnt his unused/old checkbooks. And then, after putting out the checkbook flames, he would throw them in a dumpster full of other combustibles. One night at the end of a semester, we were cleaning the apartment and I looked out the window to see that something was burning in our complex's large dumpster. Fast. I yelled at JT to grab some water and we rushed out. I dove in headfirst and began pouring water in while sucking in toxic burning styrofoam fumes. It was like Backdraft and Ladder 49 mashed all into one.* The source of the inferno? You guessed it: An old, burnt checkbook.

I still "joke" that I am going to sue JT if I develop lung cancer.

*Seen neither of these movies.

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Random Thoughts From a 12-Hour Shift

--The more I think about it...and believe me, the more I think about it, the less I want to... Bundaberg, the Australian root beer that pulled a Matt Leinhart and essentially rode the pine as a non-competitor in the Root Beer Royal Rumble, was horrible. Absolutely horrible. I honestly think it's bottled kangaroo urine. So now I have three bottles of kangaroo pee chilling in my fridge that I don't want to toss because it was expensive. How pathetic is that?

Maybe this scenario bears a similarity to the bottling process? (No, I haven't the slightest clue as to the subtitle language):



A similar post-consumption facial tic (see 2:15) has presented itself in me, and has yet to go away.

--This is my notebook of thoughts:

She has endured a full year+ of sitting in the back-left pocket of my pants. If anybody in the future wants to recreate an accurate and precise die-cast replica of my left butt-cheek, this notebook will no doubt serve as the authoritative mold. It's no time-capsule (lame!), but just a little something for future generations.

--What with my weird work schedule and battle with insomnia, I run at strange hours. Worried people tell me not to run alone so late. And then ask if I have reflective clothing. Or a rape whistle. And if I have life insurance. And if they can be listed as the benefactor if anything happens to me.

But really, I don't have reflective clothing, and I'll tell you why: I live in gang-territory. I debated the merits of high visibility and decided that I'd rather be hit by a car than shot or beaten with a tire iron. That's just me, though.

--Get ready. Get ready. Get ready:

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The Root Beer Brouhaha

Remember Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs? The pyramid mapping out the basic needs of every individual, that works upward to higher functions as the basics are fulfilled? I guess I agree with most of it, but after some reflection (and copious consumption of root beer) since the last entry, I would insert the following level to the hierarchy:

Seriously. I would have stuck Henry's at a lower level, but friends and family would have raised a stink.

Since I just rewrote a fundamentally accepted psychological principle, let me make an unsolicited and unsubstantiated suggestion to psychologists: Give up. You will never be accepted as a "hard" science.

Anyway. A month or so back, BiL Ben made a borderline blasphemous statement:

Josh, I think I found a root beer that is equivalent to -- maybe better than -- Henry's: Bulldog Root Beer.

This was the root beer world equivalent to Martin Luther nailing his 95 Theses to the Wittenberg church door. Keep in mind, this is the same Ben who would -- before it was illegal to carry liquids onto planes -- buy a 12-case of Henry's every year in WA state and use it as his carry-on when flying back east. He would hoard it the entire year until his next chance to go back west; so for him to make such a statement was either the undeliberated delirium of someone experiencing severe withdrawal, or this new root beer had to be considered as a true contender.

So, unlike the BCS, I decided to allow head-to-head competition make the decision. DJA agreed to participate. We would stick five contenders into a de facto Royal Rumble of root beers. The three others ("Natural Brew," "Dominion," and an Australian import "Bundaberg") were really peripheral to the headliner: Bulldog v. Henry Weinhard's. This was the Ali-Frazier of Root Beer Face-offs. Proper preparation was essential.

We took turns doing a blind taste-test -- one would pour and track which root beer was in which glass, while the other mentally prepared himself for sampling. The line-up:



And then we sampled. And took notes. And assessed:



Not to brag, but I went 5 for 5 on identifying the correct root beer.

As for the Henry's-Bulldog Face-off, the jury is still out. This one is close, folks.

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