I saw Taj Mahal play last night at the Boulder Theatre with a bunch of friends. Great show from a blues legend, but damn, it was a short set. An hour and a half with a short encore was all we got.
I can’t wait to be famous and get paid shitloads of money to do something fun for a very short while.
Things have been quiet around here lately. Or rather, I’ve been rather busy with non-bloggable activities, so you get a dearth of posting. Sorry.
In other news, it seems that HP have picked a new CEO: NCR chief Mark Hurd. I’m optimistic that this story is peppered with quotes such as:
Hurd — the antithesis of the celebrity CEO — is a sharp contrast to Fiorina.
And
“Mark is a complete, 180-degree turnabout from Carly, and very low-key,” said Jeffrey Alan Sonnenfeld, associate dean of the Yale School of Management. “I like that he’s not an opportunistic job hopper — he hasn’t been out shopping himself around.
Cautious optimism abounds.
So a buddy from NJ (what up Tom!) has been out visiting for the past week or so, and we’ve been hitting up the standard Colorado front range touristy things, like skiing at the I-70 resorts, hiking around in Rocky Mountain National Park, checking out Boulder and Denver, and brewery tours.
Last night, we ate balls.
Bruce’s Bar in Severance, CO has their “famous Rocky Mountain Oysters” and we made it an event to go partake in testicles. Fried, flat, and chewy, they were served over a bed of french fries and had a strange ketchup based dipping sauce for a condiment. Overall, not puke territory, but I definitely wouldn’t consider them “tasty” or “enjoyable”. Glad to have done it with no need to do it again.
Still, the award for most disgusting thing I ever ate is still solidly held by the guinea pig I ate in Peru. Sorry, balls.
The CSM reports that gas may hit $2.50 a gallon soon.
First, let me just point out that even at $2.50 a gallon, this is *way* cheaper than most other countries. In Chile, gas costs $500 pesos for a *liter*. This means it costs about $4 US per gallon. From what I understand, that price is about par in Europe too.
In any case, my only comment on the rising gas price is “good”. I firmly believe that the only way to get people to change their habits is to hit where it hurts — in the wallet. People don’t really care about saving panda bears and baby seals and the rainforest and the rest of the environment. They just think they care because panda bears are cute, but as soon as the next reality TV show comes on, they’re back to mouth breathing again. As my dad loves to say, “Do you know how long a goldfish’s memory is, Alex? 5 minutes,” while holding his hand up with the fingers splayed out and looking very grim. What people really care about is money.
And if all of a sudden they have less of it, they will adjust their habits so they can have more of it. It just happens that saving the environment is a side effect of people’s generally greedy natures.
Hey, whatever works, man.
The US Senate voted to open ANWR refuge to oil drilling by putting it in the budget rather than opening it up to a floor vote.
This is terrible. If you agree, then write a letter to your senator and tell him/her how you feel.
Ugh. I am just glad that I only have to live on this planet for another 40 years or so before I die.
I am slowly getting all the pictures online. Between the two of us, we ended up creating 2 GB worth of photos. Selecting through all those will take quite some time, but for my loyal blog readers, here’s a sneak preview. In fact, I encourage you to peruse them now, so that when I do send out my next mass email, my server won’t get hammered by *everyone* looking at *every* picture — you’ll already have seen the majority.
So that’s the bulk of the pictures. Still missing are my shots from Tierra del Fuego and a few photo essays. Look for those in the coming days.
If you are from NJ, you should know what a fat bitch is. For those readers not fortunate to hail from the Garden State, you should know that the students of Rutgers University have a hallowed tradition of eating at what are colloquially known as the “grease trucks” after the bars close. The grease trucks serve such delectable treats as the fat bitch, fat cat, fat darrell, fat sam, etc. One such sandwich might be a cheesesteak, chicken tenders, french fries, and mozzarella sticks all on the same bun.
And now, GLBT fucktards have forced the grease trucks to change the names of these culinary delights, claiming that they are offended. All I can say is, if you identify with the phrase “fat bitch” or “fat dyke” and you are offended that these phrases are also used to describe sandwiches containing upwards of 1000 calories each, then maybe YOU SHOULD GET A FUCKING SENSE OF HUMOR OR PERHAPS GO EAT A BAG OF HELL AND BY THE WAY, *I* AM OFFENDED THAT *YOU* POLLUTE MY GENE POOL (OR WAIT, MAYBE YOU TECHNICALLY DON’T), YOU FAT FUCKING BITCHES AND DYKES!
Yeah.
The lack of, well, anything really, occurring in my life since reentry to the States has been due to me being knocked on my ass by the flu (and then some). I don’t get sick very often, but when I do, it’s usually pretty debilitating. I started feeling ill on Thursday, stayed home from work on Friday, and by Friday evening, was starting to feel moderately better. Of course, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to go snowboarding at Vail on Saturday, which definitely did not help my cause. Saturday night was hellish, waking up every 15 minutes or so, and Sunday wasn’t much better. Yesterday, Monday, I felt ok enough to go to work, but wasn’t actually feeling “good” per se. A coworker dropped by and casually mentioned that he had just gotten over bronchitis, which was just what I needed to enter slight-panic mode. I made definite plans to go see a doctor the next day (today, Tuesday).
Last night, I got to thinking. What is it we need most from a doctor? Usually it’s not the pills he can prescribe. What we really want is twofold.
First, it’s to put a definite name on your condition. In your mind, you are sick with “something” and having “something” remain undefined is scary. If the doc comes back and says that you have influenza or the common cold or even pneumonia, that’s a marked improvement over the vagaries of “something”. To name something is to have power over it.
Second, you want to be reassured that you are not going to die. This is related to naming the evil “something”. Once you’ve been diagnosed with bronchitis or pneumonia, you are comforted, because you know that these days, people don’t just up and die from these somewhat common maladies. If the doctor comes back and waves his magic wand over you, saying “the flu — let it run its course and you’ll be better in 3 to 4 days”, you actually feel like you got something out of your $20 copay.
In short, we want someone in a position of authority to tell us that everything is going to be alright.
That in mind, I did a quick google search on bronchitis and came up with this page: http://www.mckinley.uiuc.edu/health-info/dis-cond/cold/bronchit.html. (Interesting side note that the #1 hit belongs to my alma mater’s health center, a place we lovingly referred to as “McKillme”). After reading through the page, I decided I could indeed self-diagnose myself with bronchitis, and also realize that there really isn’t much you can do about it except to let it run its course. Some docs may prescribe antibiotics, but it’s not recommended because of the risk of creating penicillin-resistant superbugs.
So, no doctor for me (and saved myself $20 copay, w00t). I remain slightly amused that I was able to transfer my paragon of authority from a professionally trained and extremely experienced human being to a web page so easily. All we want is *some* sort of authority to tell us that it’s all going to be ok. Turns out that sometimes the internet is a valid substitute.
I’ll close with one of my favorite Jack Handey quotes. “Dad always said that laughter was the best medicine. Which is probably why three of us kids died of tuberculosis.”
Friends, family, other sundry folk –
This email is brought to you by the letters “U”, “S”, and “A”.
That’s right, I’m writing from Stateside right now, having
survived a rather hectic six straight days of travel.
I’d like to write a brilliantly funny and coherent email. Alas,
that’s a bit beyond my mental capacity right now. Plus, I
finished reading Don DeLilo’s “White Noise” during my trip, and
now my brain is polluted with postmodernism. (btw, for those of
you out there looking for a new book to read, I *highly*
recommend it. Hard to describe, but for our generation, think of
a more intellectual version of Seinfeld in book form.)
So, a collection of a few disjointed thoughts is what you get.
First, thanks to all those who replied to my mails (and even more
thanks to those who told me they actually enjoyed them… ;).
Your travelling friends look forward to news from home (and for
those with fragile egos like me, they need to be constantly
reassured that they are missed). You might not get an (immediate)
reply (such is the limited time of a backpacker), but trust me,
they are much appreciated. So keep this thought in mind next time
someone you know embarks on a major journey.
Being home is odd at the moment. Things never really change much,
especially in a short a time as a single month. As I left the
airport today, I was immediately stuck on a traffic jam for 1/2
an hour on I-70. The absurd surreality was delicious, and made
me wonder if I’d just been in a dream for the past month. Only
two days ago, I was in Tierra del Fuego.
From the department of too much information… I had the pleasure
of taking my morning constitutional today on my flight from
Buenos Aires to O’Hare. Of course, in America, we simply toss our
toilet paper into the toilet. This is not the case in Argentina
(indeed, most of South America), where almost all toilets have a
small wastebasket next to the toilet to hold the used TP.
Somehow, watching the poo/tp combination get sucked into oblivion
and knowing that even our airplane toilets are stronger than the
plumbing of an entire *country* made me feel strangely patriotic.
It was all I could do to stop myself from screaming “U-S-A!
U-S-A!”. Trust me, this would not have gone over well at 5 AM on
an international flight. And from the department of *way* TMI, I
was the master of my own domain for an entire month. Beat that.
Seinfeld fans know what I mean. Everyone else will just have to
wonder what the hell I’m talking about.
By this time, Jules should be done with her 36 hour bus ride to
Bariloche. After spending a month in constant contact with a
single person, I can certainly feel a void right now. Let’s all
wish her “buen viaje” and “mucha suerte” in her travels.
Jules — I’ll miss you, kiddo.
Speaking of which, let me put one last plug in for my blog. If
you got added to my email list late in the game, or were left
wanting for more details than I provided and wanted to get Jules’
side of the story (since she did play by play and I was the color
man), you can read the archive of all the mails the two of us
sent back to our respective collective friends:
http://www.chizang.net/alex/blog/archives/cat_patagonia2005.html
I do update the blog on a semi-regular basis, and in the next few
weeks or so, I’ll probably have some more thoughts on the trip
that weren’t worthy enough for mass email.
I’ve been blasting Radiohead throughout my house for the last
hour or so, and am realizing that I’m nattering on. So with that,
I’ll draw to a close. Thanks again for reading along. I hope you
had as much fun reading as I did writing.
This machine will
will not communicate these thoughts
And the strain I am under
Be a world child form a circle before we all go under
And fade out again and fade out again
— from Street Spirit, by Radiohead
signing off,
/Alex