Friday, June 16, 2006
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Because Nobody Listens When I Say It
Hawking: Humans Must Spread Out in Space-
And damn it! I want to live in space! Can't ride my chopper there, but I would make that sacrifice.
Humans could have a permanent base on the moon in 20 years and a colony on Mars in the next 40 years, the British scientist told a news conference...I did a video project on this very topic for my college astronomy class. The ideas espoused in this recent article have been around for a long time. The technology to do what he suggests has been around for a couple of decades. We just need to make it a priority as a species.
"It is important for the human race to spread out into space for the survival of the species," Hawking said. "Life on Earth is at the ever-increasing risk of being wiped out by a disaster, such as sudden global warming, nuclear war, a genetically engineered virus or other dangers we have not yet thought of."
And damn it! I want to live in space! Can't ride my chopper there, but I would make that sacrifice.
No Worries
Some scattered showers after work. Strapped on the government mandated helmet and let the water wash away any cares I may have had as I rode off into the rain. Actually, I love my job. Getting a machine operating well is music. In fact, an assembly machine has a 4/4 rhythm with a back beat. Get it running and you are rewarded with some rockin' tunes, if you like industrial.
Riding an old school stripped chopper in the rain has it's down sides. Without the front fender the water on the street rooster tails up and over the headlight. Getting stuck in the rain in Minnesota, where I always rode without a helmet, meant a face full of street rain. It's not just water. All that dirt and oil that normally coats the road lifts up and flies onto you with the rain. So the full face helmet has that small advantage on nights like these. I can still get a lap full of the wet stuff, though.
In typical Portland style, the rain was gone in less than a minute. Within a mile or two almost no road spray at all. Just another pleasant ride home.
There on the other side of the street is an ambulance, lights flashing, parked in front of the adult video store. I ponder what kind of emergency could have taken place in such an environment, who was involved, and if they maybe didn't need that little extra bit of excitement this evening.
As I take a fast right I remember what it was like to ride this old chopper years ago when I first built her. I was not only new to riding choppers but fairly fresh to motorcycles in general. Each ride was an adventure leaving me wondering if perhaps I hadn't gotten myself in beyond my abilities. It was a constant state of alertness and fear as I rode the over-powered and under-weight old girl through dense city traffic. Fight to stay alive. Let the engine scream so that guy in the SUV on his cell phone knows you are there. Over time as I learned the ins and outs of chopper riding, I got comfortable. The dangers have persisted, but my skills are honed. I ride with confidence. And that is what now scares the hell out of me. My reactions are all second nature. No thinking is necessary. Will this 'riding on automatic' lead to a tragic end?
No worries. The future reveals itself however it chooses. Even with all the guys at work hovering over the article about the football player who went through a windshield while riding his motorcycle this week, I know that I will continue to ride. I'll ride hard and dangerous. And this weekend, I'll ride without a helmet with no worries at all.
Riding an old school stripped chopper in the rain has it's down sides. Without the front fender the water on the street rooster tails up and over the headlight. Getting stuck in the rain in Minnesota, where I always rode without a helmet, meant a face full of street rain. It's not just water. All that dirt and oil that normally coats the road lifts up and flies onto you with the rain. So the full face helmet has that small advantage on nights like these. I can still get a lap full of the wet stuff, though.
In typical Portland style, the rain was gone in less than a minute. Within a mile or two almost no road spray at all. Just another pleasant ride home.
There on the other side of the street is an ambulance, lights flashing, parked in front of the adult video store. I ponder what kind of emergency could have taken place in such an environment, who was involved, and if they maybe didn't need that little extra bit of excitement this evening.
As I take a fast right I remember what it was like to ride this old chopper years ago when I first built her. I was not only new to riding choppers but fairly fresh to motorcycles in general. Each ride was an adventure leaving me wondering if perhaps I hadn't gotten myself in beyond my abilities. It was a constant state of alertness and fear as I rode the over-powered and under-weight old girl through dense city traffic. Fight to stay alive. Let the engine scream so that guy in the SUV on his cell phone knows you are there. Over time as I learned the ins and outs of chopper riding, I got comfortable. The dangers have persisted, but my skills are honed. I ride with confidence. And that is what now scares the hell out of me. My reactions are all second nature. No thinking is necessary. Will this 'riding on automatic' lead to a tragic end?
No worries. The future reveals itself however it chooses. Even with all the guys at work hovering over the article about the football player who went through a windshield while riding his motorcycle this week, I know that I will continue to ride. I'll ride hard and dangerous. And this weekend, I'll ride without a helmet with no worries at all.
Pointing and Giggling: ZeFrank is Creeped Out by Minnesota Nice
Jewbacca posted a video blog of ZeFrank being Creeped Out by Minnesota Nice. As a Minnesota escapee I can say that it is a decent overview of what the MSP is like. However I take issue with his definition of 'cool'. For myself, what he describes would more appropriately be labeled as 'hip'. People often confuse the two, especially if they aren't cool.
When looking for property in Portland our realtor kept showing us all the neighborhoods he though 'cool people' like my wife and I would appreciate. They were, in fact, the 'hip' neighborhoods full of 'hip' people. And that's just freakin' annoying.
When looking for property in Portland our realtor kept showing us all the neighborhoods he though 'cool people' like my wife and I would appreciate. They were, in fact, the 'hip' neighborhoods full of 'hip' people. And that's just freakin' annoying.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Bovine Love Doll
For those who thought the Kiwis were just into sheep, think again. Seems bovine voyeurism is the new trend.
Actually, I'm pretty sure this was reverse engineered from alien technology found in Nevada. Remember that night you got smashed, met a gorgeous babe who thought you were smart and funny, the two of you did the deed in the bar parking lot, and then you never heard from her again? Yeah.
Live "sex shows" of bulls mounting a simulated cow have become a big attraction at an agricultural exhibition taking place in New Zealand.Hey. No need to be ashamed. Whatever floats your boat.
The fake 'cow' -- a small go-kart with natural cowhide on its roof -- was developed by Ambreed New Zealand Ltd. to collect semen from bulls more safely and efficiently and improve artificial breeding of cows.
Actually, I'm pretty sure this was reverse engineered from alien technology found in Nevada. Remember that night you got smashed, met a gorgeous babe who thought you were smart and funny, the two of you did the deed in the bar parking lot, and then you never heard from her again? Yeah.
Rave
Walked out of work tonight and thought all the young twenty-somethings were holding glow sticks. Then I realized they all had their phones flipped open and were smoking.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Ugly Fish Hat: Bloodthirsty
A wee bit of discussion over at UFH about Zarqawi: Man or Monster.
Bree says Zarqawi=Man
Rothman says Zarqawi=Monster
As a presidential candidate, I am a uniter. I am reaching out across the aisle, so to speak. I may not be short or use a fake Texas accent, but I can still pretend to do these things. I am presidential material.
And a Libra (astrology, like the Reagans used). Can't we all agree that at times Zarqawi was a man and at times he was a monster? You know, a Monsterman. We all get the impulse to smash a person's head in now and again. Zarqawi had the misfortune of having a faulty restraint synapse, like Hitler, or Bush. I myself will be walking around the factory with a huge wrench and think, "Wouldn't it be funny to drive this thing through the back of that guy's skull? He'd think I was joking around, and then it would hit and we could all have a good laugh at his expence." Then the restraint synapses fire, reminding me that he would be dead, and that wouldn't be very funny to a lot of very serious type people.
To be fair, he probably thought his brain was controlled by God, so it was God keeping that synapse from firing. He also probably didn't spend enough time participating in creative activities like oil painting or poetry. Creative exercises help stimulate synaptic activity throughout the brain. So can we really fault a man for having a brain malfunction? Even if he was a Monsterman?
Bree says Zarqawi=Man
Rothman says Zarqawi=Monster
As a presidential candidate, I am a uniter. I am reaching out across the aisle, so to speak. I may not be short or use a fake Texas accent, but I can still pretend to do these things. I am presidential material.
And a Libra (astrology, like the Reagans used). Can't we all agree that at times Zarqawi was a man and at times he was a monster? You know, a Monsterman. We all get the impulse to smash a person's head in now and again. Zarqawi had the misfortune of having a faulty restraint synapse, like Hitler, or Bush. I myself will be walking around the factory with a huge wrench and think, "Wouldn't it be funny to drive this thing through the back of that guy's skull? He'd think I was joking around, and then it would hit and we could all have a good laugh at his expence." Then the restraint synapses fire, reminding me that he would be dead, and that wouldn't be very funny to a lot of very serious type people.
To be fair, he probably thought his brain was controlled by God, so it was God keeping that synapse from firing. He also probably didn't spend enough time participating in creative activities like oil painting or poetry. Creative exercises help stimulate synaptic activity throughout the brain. So can we really fault a man for having a brain malfunction? Even if he was a Monsterman?
Posers vs. Posers
I am a poser. There is another guy at work that I consider a poser. We are on opposite ends of the poser spectrum.
This other guy is trying desperately to portray a biker image. He bought a rigid bike at the height of the chopper craze and never rides it because it hurts his back. But he has several shirts proclaiming "Choppers Forever". While he has two electric start motorcycles and lives only a few blocks from work, he drives his truck every day. He brings his motorcycle and custom car magazines to work and scatters them around his work bench for all to see. He is a really nice guy, but he is not what he is trying to portray himself as.
I'm not really what I try to portray myself as, either. I may love my bikes and ride the hell out of them. I may love my old leather jacket with the spikes and studs and handcuffs. I may love my mohawk, piercings, and tattoos. To the world at large I may look like a punk rock biker delinquent. "Jake" is a character I've played so long now that he is indecipherable from "me". To the best of my understanding, Jake seems to make very deliberate choices about his appearance based not on gaining acceptance into a particular sub-culture, but on making certain that he does not fit into any of them. That seems like a bloody stupid thing to do, but I can't wait to see where it all leads.
So maybe it's all just a matter of who is the better actor. To believe that is just as pompous as believing I am a better brand of poser. No matter how I choose to look at it, I feel superior. Some days are like that. An alcohol binge ending with me hovering over a toilet puking my guts out is one of the few things that can kill the superiority complex. That has only happened once. On two other occasions I was outdoors and had no need for a toilet, so that made me feel superior again.
While pondering these things on my chopper on the way home, thankful that the rain storm I narrowly missed on my way to work had passed by for a dry ride, I came up with this simple line to explain it all. Because we all, deep down, love catch phrases that gloss over the pesky details of a much more elaborate reality. It sums up not just posing but all of what we could consider as modern cultural movements.
There are those who do it, and those who buy into it.
This other guy is trying desperately to portray a biker image. He bought a rigid bike at the height of the chopper craze and never rides it because it hurts his back. But he has several shirts proclaiming "Choppers Forever". While he has two electric start motorcycles and lives only a few blocks from work, he drives his truck every day. He brings his motorcycle and custom car magazines to work and scatters them around his work bench for all to see. He is a really nice guy, but he is not what he is trying to portray himself as.
I'm not really what I try to portray myself as, either. I may love my bikes and ride the hell out of them. I may love my old leather jacket with the spikes and studs and handcuffs. I may love my mohawk, piercings, and tattoos. To the world at large I may look like a punk rock biker delinquent. "Jake" is a character I've played so long now that he is indecipherable from "me". To the best of my understanding, Jake seems to make very deliberate choices about his appearance based not on gaining acceptance into a particular sub-culture, but on making certain that he does not fit into any of them. That seems like a bloody stupid thing to do, but I can't wait to see where it all leads.
So maybe it's all just a matter of who is the better actor. To believe that is just as pompous as believing I am a better brand of poser. No matter how I choose to look at it, I feel superior. Some days are like that. An alcohol binge ending with me hovering over a toilet puking my guts out is one of the few things that can kill the superiority complex. That has only happened once. On two other occasions I was outdoors and had no need for a toilet, so that made me feel superior again.
While pondering these things on my chopper on the way home, thankful that the rain storm I narrowly missed on my way to work had passed by for a dry ride, I came up with this simple line to explain it all. Because we all, deep down, love catch phrases that gloss over the pesky details of a much more elaborate reality. It sums up not just posing but all of what we could consider as modern cultural movements.
There are those who do it, and those who buy into it.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Competition
Looks like I've got some stiff competition for the 2008 Presidential election. I can handle the talking apes that Reps and Dems throw my way, but Doug Stanhope? It's a good thing I don't want to actually win.
My Gut Saved My Ass in Nam!
Or in this man's case, his gut saved his ass when run over by a VW.
A 440 pound German man discovered that being overweight can be good for your health... German police said the extra body mass prevented the 30-year-old man from suffering potentially fatal injuries when a Volkswagen Polo drove over him...
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Extreme Caution
Blizzard has started a Recruit-a-Friend campaign for their hit title, World of Warcraft. As you may know, I got into this game early. It sucked the soul right out of me, I quit for a while, and have now returned on a much more occasional basis. My wife plays far more than I, but she always was more of a gamer.
So here's the deal:
If for some reason you have always wanted to see what this World of Warcraft thing is all about and you meet the system requirements, drop me a line and I'll give you the hook up for a free 10 day trial. But I am dead serious when I warn you that if you have an addictive personality, this game will suck you through the Dark Portal never to be seen again. People have flunked out of school, lost their jobs, and gotten divorices because of this game. So only ask for the free trial if you think you can handle it. Serious, this stuff ranks up there with crack and meth. And I'm not going to let Bliz turn me into a pusher. But if you REALLY want to try it...
On the other hand, everyone over 30 should try LSD. Hell, go ahead and smoke some grass, drink some beer, eat some mushrooms, engage in casual sex, have a ball. Kids should do it too, but saying that tends to get people into trouble.
So here's the deal:
If for some reason you have always wanted to see what this World of Warcraft thing is all about and you meet the system requirements, drop me a line and I'll give you the hook up for a free 10 day trial. But I am dead serious when I warn you that if you have an addictive personality, this game will suck you through the Dark Portal never to be seen again. People have flunked out of school, lost their jobs, and gotten divorices because of this game. So only ask for the free trial if you think you can handle it. Serious, this stuff ranks up there with crack and meth. And I'm not going to let Bliz turn me into a pusher. But if you REALLY want to try it...
On the other hand, everyone over 30 should try LSD. Hell, go ahead and smoke some grass, drink some beer, eat some mushrooms, engage in casual sex, have a ball. Kids should do it too, but saying that tends to get people into trouble.
Chopper Economy
Filled the chopper up with gas today. I have no way of knowing with any certainty what my gas mileage is as I have no odometer. No gauges of any kind as I have stuck to the pure minimalism of the chopper form. Instead I have to make guesses at my chopper fuel economy based on what I have experienced on the less stripped down 73.
The Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ, 1973 Sportster) gets approximately 35 mpg city and 40 mpg highway. Some serious fuel economy for a high power ride. Seraphine (or Sera, 1965 Sportster chopper), based on a daily commute of 15 miles plus a little putting around town for errands, is getting somewhere between 40-50 mpg. Probably really close to 43 mpg city driving. That is some SUPER serious fuel economy for a rolling work of art.
Why the difference when both are powered by Ironhead Sportster engines? The devil is in the details. TAZ is a 1200cc engine with a Super E carb, battery powered ignition, generator, swing arm frame, saddle bags, inline oil cooler, and has a small diameter sprocket sticking out of the transmission. Sera is a 1000cc with Bendix carb, batteryless magneto ignition, alternator conversion, rigid frame, and larger sprocket. The street geared TAZ weighs over 200 pounds more than the highway geared Sera. Somehow all that comes together and manifests as a nearly 10 mpg difference in fuel economy. Cool. But some of that just seems backwards to me.
Above the economic sensibilities of the chopper in these times of rising gas prices, there is the art. It is not uncommon for someone walking down the street to stop and stare at my bike for a while. This can happen in front of my house or while parked at the coffee shop. Just last week as I sat at an outside table writing at the Red and Black, a man appeared on the corner and yelled, "Whose chopper is that?" Early this week a biker on a new Sportster pulled along side of me and yelled, "What year is that?" These people don't need to know this information, they just want to make the extra connection to the artist. You don't need to see your favorite band in concert to appreciate their music, but backstage passes to hang with them are awesome.
Then there are those who roll their eyes and say, "Boys and their toys." Next week I am hauling the chop up to Car d'Lane, a street gathering of classic and custom vehicles from around the Pacific Northwest. Some will see a playground full of boys and their toys. For me it is an open air gallery for artists who work in steel, rubber, and high octane. Much of the offerings will be paint-by-numbers restoration jobs. It is a craft to completely restore and old vehicle to its former glory. Those who are master craftsmen will stick out from the crowd. Then there will be those of us who transform the mundane into the exceptional. There will be fully functional works of art from the full on customs of the expert builders to the rat chopper assemblages of outsider extremists. From starving artist velvet Elvises to She Wolf like Pollocks, they will all be there. And I'm sure there will be some playing in the streets, too. Artists should never take themselves too seriously.
The Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ, 1973 Sportster) gets approximately 35 mpg city and 40 mpg highway. Some serious fuel economy for a high power ride. Seraphine (or Sera, 1965 Sportster chopper), based on a daily commute of 15 miles plus a little putting around town for errands, is getting somewhere between 40-50 mpg. Probably really close to 43 mpg city driving. That is some SUPER serious fuel economy for a rolling work of art.
Why the difference when both are powered by Ironhead Sportster engines? The devil is in the details. TAZ is a 1200cc engine with a Super E carb, battery powered ignition, generator, swing arm frame, saddle bags, inline oil cooler, and has a small diameter sprocket sticking out of the transmission. Sera is a 1000cc with Bendix carb, batteryless magneto ignition, alternator conversion, rigid frame, and larger sprocket. The street geared TAZ weighs over 200 pounds more than the highway geared Sera. Somehow all that comes together and manifests as a nearly 10 mpg difference in fuel economy. Cool. But some of that just seems backwards to me.
Above the economic sensibilities of the chopper in these times of rising gas prices, there is the art. It is not uncommon for someone walking down the street to stop and stare at my bike for a while. This can happen in front of my house or while parked at the coffee shop. Just last week as I sat at an outside table writing at the Red and Black, a man appeared on the corner and yelled, "Whose chopper is that?" Early this week a biker on a new Sportster pulled along side of me and yelled, "What year is that?" These people don't need to know this information, they just want to make the extra connection to the artist. You don't need to see your favorite band in concert to appreciate their music, but backstage passes to hang with them are awesome.
Then there are those who roll their eyes and say, "Boys and their toys." Next week I am hauling the chop up to Car d'Lane, a street gathering of classic and custom vehicles from around the Pacific Northwest. Some will see a playground full of boys and their toys. For me it is an open air gallery for artists who work in steel, rubber, and high octane. Much of the offerings will be paint-by-numbers restoration jobs. It is a craft to completely restore and old vehicle to its former glory. Those who are master craftsmen will stick out from the crowd. Then there will be those of us who transform the mundane into the exceptional. There will be fully functional works of art from the full on customs of the expert builders to the rat chopper assemblages of outsider extremists. From starving artist velvet Elvises to She Wolf like Pollocks, they will all be there. And I'm sure there will be some playing in the streets, too. Artists should never take themselves too seriously.
Cleaning Up, Down and Dirty
Pretending to be a geek today and doing a little house cleaning around the blog. My curious little human nature got the better of me, so you can now subscribe to Vote Jake via FeedBurner.
In other news, had to laugh at Brit talking about riding around MSP on her scooter. One of my favorite hobbies while on the chopper is Vespa chasing. It's fun to watch a hip young thing in a shiny leather jacket being followed by a punk rock refugee on a rolling roaring big black and chrome phallus. Some might call it Cat and Mouse. When you are howling and leaving a trail of fluids in your wake, I think it more appropriate to call it Hound and Fox. I'm glad Brit doesn't live here. She's the kind of fox that would whip around and jump all over the hound.
In other news, had to laugh at Brit talking about riding around MSP on her scooter. One of my favorite hobbies while on the chopper is Vespa chasing. It's fun to watch a hip young thing in a shiny leather jacket being followed by a punk rock refugee on a rolling roaring big black and chrome phallus. Some might call it Cat and Mouse. When you are howling and leaving a trail of fluids in your wake, I think it more appropriate to call it Hound and Fox. I'm glad Brit doesn't live here. She's the kind of fox that would whip around and jump all over the hound.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Guilty
If you found a USB thumb drive in your workplace parking lot, what would you do? I'll admit that before reading this, if I still worked at a computer every day, I would have done the same as these other workers.
Interesting piece on the role of human curiosity.
Interesting piece on the role of human curiosity.
Friday, June 09, 2006
AWPC
Jess: Can I ask you a stupid question?
Jake: Can I give you a stupid answer?
Jess: Sure.
Jake: Then yes.
Jess: Is there anything you can do to fix this?
Jake: Hmmmm. Neeep neeep nip whooop puhtang WAAAHH! That stupid enough for ya?
Jess: (Laughing hysterically) Yeah, that was pretty stupid.
Jake: Can I give you a stupid answer?
Jess: Sure.
Jake: Then yes.
Jess: Is there anything you can do to fix this?
Jake: Hmmmm. Neeep neeep nip whooop puhtang WAAAHH! That stupid enough for ya?
Jess: (Laughing hysterically) Yeah, that was pretty stupid.
This is America- Speak Stupid
A restaurant owner in Philadelphia has put up a sign that reads, "This is America -- when ordering speak English." I have no problem with a restaurant owner's right to request a specific language be spoken when ordering in their establishment. I'll admit that if I was forced to order bento in Japanese I would be at a total loss and as such, would probably choose an establishment that used English. I could limp my way through ordering in French and could at least get a beer in Spanish. I'm linguistically handicapped.
My problem with this guy's sign is that he prefaces his language request with, "This is America." Is this the same America where the first amendment to the constitution supposedly guarantees freedom of speech? Excuse me, but I have the freedom to place my order in any language I please. Freedom of speech protects not just what we say but what language we choose to say it in. In return you have the option of disregarding anything I say, even if it is spoken in English.
To make things worse, along comes another idiot.
Und I'm spuooteeng ignurunt cunsteetooshunelism. Bork Bork Bork!
My problem with this guy's sign is that he prefaces his language request with, "This is America." Is this the same America where the first amendment to the constitution supposedly guarantees freedom of speech? Excuse me, but I have the freedom to place my order in any language I please. Freedom of speech protects not just what we say but what language we choose to say it in. In return you have the option of disregarding anything I say, even if it is spoken in English.
To make things worse, along comes another idiot.
Roberto Santiago, executive director of Philadelphia's Council of Spanish Speaking Organizations, said he was "appalled" by the policy.Nothing racist on that sign. Looks to me like the guy doesn't want me ordering in Swedish. "I vuoold leeke-a a pheelly cheese-a steek und a cuke-a. Bork Bork Bork!" No, the restaurant owner is spouting ignorant nationalism and Roberto is spouting ignorant reactionaryism.
"I think what's coming out of his mouth is racist," said Santiago.
Und I'm spuooteeng ignurunt cunsteetooshunelism. Bork Bork Bork!
Profiled
I got profiled today! Not by FARK for my insane blogging. Not by Street Chopper for my insane working class chop and scary knowledge of Easy Rider. Not by any literary review journal for my insane book.
No, I was profiled by the Portland Police Department. Riding home from work on my chopper I watched as a squad car, upon sighting me, did an immediate Y-turn in the middle of the street to follow me. They tailed me for two blocks then turned around and headed back the other way.
It amuses me that cops not only do this all the time but that such strategies are actually part of police doctrine. They are encouraged to profile. I sometimes wonder what they are hoping to find. It used to make me giggle when I was a state employee returning from my night job of teaching college. If any of them had searched me they would have found me with a bag of text books, lesson plans, tests to grade, and an array of dry erase markers. Once my tail light had broken off and an officer pulled me over thinking it was a deliberate absence. He kept telling me that I had no tail light. Yes officer. I'll get that fixed right away. You have no tail light. Yes, you've said that. I've got spare bulbs at home and I'll fix it there. He pointed out the spot where my tail light should have been. Oh My Gawd! I need a whole tail light! YOU BET YOUR DAMN FLAMING PHOENIX YOU NEED A TAIL LIGHT! I could not keep a straight face at that moment. To hear him say that was well worth the repair ticket.
The times have changed and tonight they would have found on me a Swiss Army knife and a pocket full of cough drops. Maybe they were hoping I was one of those rough and tumble outlaw bikers who was driving with a suspended license and had three warrants out for my arrest. Perhaps they thought I had been drinking, since that's what ALL chopper riders do in their spare time. I can imagine their hearts sinking as my plate came back clear and I executed a near stop at a light that was about to change without wavering an inch and without putting my foot down for balance. This is a move more common amongst the Honda and BMW crowd, not some crazy chopper guy late at night.
I did resist the urge to give them the finger as they drove away. They don't need any more profiling ammo.
No, I was profiled by the Portland Police Department. Riding home from work on my chopper I watched as a squad car, upon sighting me, did an immediate Y-turn in the middle of the street to follow me. They tailed me for two blocks then turned around and headed back the other way.
It amuses me that cops not only do this all the time but that such strategies are actually part of police doctrine. They are encouraged to profile. I sometimes wonder what they are hoping to find. It used to make me giggle when I was a state employee returning from my night job of teaching college. If any of them had searched me they would have found me with a bag of text books, lesson plans, tests to grade, and an array of dry erase markers. Once my tail light had broken off and an officer pulled me over thinking it was a deliberate absence. He kept telling me that I had no tail light. Yes officer. I'll get that fixed right away. You have no tail light. Yes, you've said that. I've got spare bulbs at home and I'll fix it there. He pointed out the spot where my tail light should have been. Oh My Gawd! I need a whole tail light! YOU BET YOUR DAMN FLAMING PHOENIX YOU NEED A TAIL LIGHT! I could not keep a straight face at that moment. To hear him say that was well worth the repair ticket.
The times have changed and tonight they would have found on me a Swiss Army knife and a pocket full of cough drops. Maybe they were hoping I was one of those rough and tumble outlaw bikers who was driving with a suspended license and had three warrants out for my arrest. Perhaps they thought I had been drinking, since that's what ALL chopper riders do in their spare time. I can imagine their hearts sinking as my plate came back clear and I executed a near stop at a light that was about to change without wavering an inch and without putting my foot down for balance. This is a move more common amongst the Honda and BMW crowd, not some crazy chopper guy late at night.
I did resist the urge to give them the finger as they drove away. They don't need any more profiling ammo.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Too Much Information
Today I completed the final stage of my vasectomy. First I had to masturbate into a medical specimen jar. When I was first told of this, I was a little disappointed. They gave me a jar to collect the sample at home and bring in. Or am I the only one who would like hospital permission to masturbate on premises? Not that permission is necessary, it just would have been an interesting twist.
Masturbating into a medical specimen jar isn't the easiest of things to accomplish. Enjoying the act and getting to the moment of truth is simple. I'm not some old fashioned guy who needs to take the jar out for some dinner and dancing first. No amount of alcohol was needed to ease this partner into the relationship. The hard part has to do with geometry and biology. Pointing an erection down towards the collecting vessel tends to cut off the flow. That is unnatural.
You would think the nurses at the clinic would be used to this sort of thing. They've seen puss filled wounds, cancerous tumors, and regularly handle urine samples. So why when I placed the specimen on the counter did the nurse blush and look away? She stammered and glanced around then finally said she would make certain the doctor received it right away. Maybe they aren't used to tall handsome men sauntering up to their desk and proudly plopping down a semen sample with a smile.
Back at home I got the call. "No sperm living or dead."
In my swingin' singles days I used to start some conversations with, "So I was beating my wife the other day..." Then I fell in love and got married and it wasn't so funny anymore. Now I can stand tall and proclaim, "So I was beating my kids the other day..."
Masturbating into a medical specimen jar isn't the easiest of things to accomplish. Enjoying the act and getting to the moment of truth is simple. I'm not some old fashioned guy who needs to take the jar out for some dinner and dancing first. No amount of alcohol was needed to ease this partner into the relationship. The hard part has to do with geometry and biology. Pointing an erection down towards the collecting vessel tends to cut off the flow. That is unnatural.
You would think the nurses at the clinic would be used to this sort of thing. They've seen puss filled wounds, cancerous tumors, and regularly handle urine samples. So why when I placed the specimen on the counter did the nurse blush and look away? She stammered and glanced around then finally said she would make certain the doctor received it right away. Maybe they aren't used to tall handsome men sauntering up to their desk and proudly plopping down a semen sample with a smile.
Back at home I got the call. "No sperm living or dead."
In my swingin' singles days I used to start some conversations with, "So I was beating my wife the other day..." Then I fell in love and got married and it wasn't so funny anymore. Now I can stand tall and proclaim, "So I was beating my kids the other day..."
AWPC
I can't believe I kept a straight face throughout this actual workplace conversation.
Jess: Can you fix this?
Jake: What's the problem?
Jess: This doesn't fit in my can.
Jake: Let's see. Hmm, looks like your can is tapered.
Jess: Tapered?
Jake: It's too small on the bottom.
Jess: So it's not because of the pole?
Jake: No, I'd say it's your can.
Jess: Can you make it fit?
Jake: Well, maybe if there was a slit in your can right here the pole could go a bit deeper.
Jess: Can you do that for me?
Jake: Just try to stop me.
Jess: Thanks so much! Just give it to me when you're done.
Jess: Can you fix this?
Jake: What's the problem?
Jess: This doesn't fit in my can.
Jake: Let's see. Hmm, looks like your can is tapered.
Jess: Tapered?
Jake: It's too small on the bottom.
Jess: So it's not because of the pole?
Jake: No, I'd say it's your can.
Jess: Can you make it fit?
Jake: Well, maybe if there was a slit in your can right here the pole could go a bit deeper.
Jess: Can you do that for me?
Jake: Just try to stop me.
Jess: Thanks so much! Just give it to me when you're done.
Wings for Marie
If you have the new Tool album, 10,000 Days, try this trick out.
Listen to Viginti Tres (track 11) followed immediately by Wings for Marie (pt 1) (track3). While listening to these two tracks in sucession, simultaneously listen to 10,000 Days (Wings pt 2) (track 4). Some theorize that this combination of listening to 10,000 Days while simultaneously listening to Viginti Tres (Latin for 23) followed immediately by Wings for Marie (pt 1) is the 'conplete' Wings for Marie.
I tried it, enjoyed it immensely, and could not get it out of my head the entire day at work. More on the mix here. At the very least, it's better than Dark Side of Oz.
Listen to Viginti Tres (track 11) followed immediately by Wings for Marie (pt 1) (track3). While listening to these two tracks in sucession, simultaneously listen to 10,000 Days (Wings pt 2) (track 4). Some theorize that this combination of listening to 10,000 Days while simultaneously listening to Viginti Tres (Latin for 23) followed immediately by Wings for Marie (pt 1) is the 'conplete' Wings for Marie.
I tried it, enjoyed it immensely, and could not get it out of my head the entire day at work. More on the mix here. At the very least, it's better than Dark Side of Oz.
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