You want antidote, I've got the poison

Listening to The Hives on shuffle while doing yardwork gets the thumbs-up from Maki. What's great about them is that every song is less than 3 minutes long and catchy as hell. I can also appreciate a band whose lead singer describes them as "a tank with a brain." That is just a great thing to be thinking about while pushing a machine whose primary function is to spin a giant blade the size of my arm around as fast as possible.

I hate weeds, for those that care. Weeds are the enemy. This is why I should've bought a damn condo. Remind me of that statement some day when I sell my house for twice as much as I bought it for, please.

Things I saw tonight

1. Mike Anderson's stand-up act. Great, funny guy. Go see next time he updates with the whereabouts of his next performance. You'll have a great time checking it out.
   
2. What a Sonic cheeseburger looks like. Plan on it getting messy, since I think there's still chunks of onion and lettuce on the front seat of my car.
3. A girl win a maple syrup chugging contest. This little 100 lb. girl put down 3/4ths of a bottle of maple syrup Super Troopers style and didn't throw up. I know a marriage proposal may feel a little premature, but it was hell of tempting.
   

A constant cavalcade of crap

These days I read a lot of blogs. It's become a sad addiction, but I guess it's better for me than heroin or prostitutes. Cheaper, too. One thing I've noticed about them (blogs, not prostitutes) is when you discover a new one that's got just an awesome post at the top of it and you go through, going, "holy shit, I need to read like everything this person has ever posted because it fucking rocks and stuff." So you start from the beginning of their blogging life and read forward (at least, that's what I do because I'm pretty sure I have obsessive compulsive disorder). Anyway, you're enjoying things immensely. Shit is funny. Shit is profound. Shit is cool. But, like the way of all relationships, chemical imbalances, music acts, underage girls, etc., you get disappointed as time goes on. Things just aren't the same. The things you thought were cool and funny before have become annoying as fuck. You skim their latest posts, barely reading. You remove your link to their site. You eventually give up and delete their bookmark in your browser. They're dead to you.

Blogs are like bands, I guess. Either you catch them before they get really popular and you can be all cool going, "I was there way back when they only got like 2 comments per post." And then you can be a pretentious dick all going, "it sucks now that everybody reads it, man." You can also be someone who jumps on the bandwagon too late and be all like, "check this shit, homey!" and your homey is all like, "yeah, that was pretty tight when I first saw it like 6 months ago, you sorry bitch." Then you go and cry a little into your bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's a cutthroat world, this blogiverse. A constant struggle for survival, really.

Anyway, I figure that's how my little blog here will end up for a lot of you. You'll come to hate me eventually, and I'm cool with that. Even I'll admit that most of my past glories are, well, in the past. But, in an effort to stave that off somewhat, the observant among you will notice that I've added a "Greatest Hits" listing on my sidebar over to the right there. It's a blatant nostalgia pull, like making movies based on old TV shows, I know... But at least I'm man enough to admit it. Besides, is it really a nostalgia pull if the blog is only 5 months old? I think not. I've also added links to a few more blogs that I'm sure I'll hate someday. So enjoy them while they're linked on my ever-expanding sidebar.

Yeah, I realize that I shouldn't take the blog universe that seriously. Y'know, if you were thinking that before I mentioned it, you can just FUCK RIGHT OFF, BUDDY.

Hey, looks like I'm not vulgar.

the Cutting Edge (60% dark, 47% spontaneous, 22% vulgar)

your humor style: CLEAN | SPONTANEOUS | DARK Your humor's mostly innocent and off-the-cuff, but somehow there's something slightly menacing about you. Part of your humor is making people a little uncomfortable, even if the things you say aren't in and of themselves confrontational. You probably have a very dry delivery, or are seriously over-the-top. Your type is the most likely to appreciate a good insult and/or broken bone and/or very very fat person dancing. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: David Letterman - John Belushi

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 69% on dark You scored higher than 75% on spontaneous You scored higher than 18% on vulgar

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating

PS: Thanks to Holly for finding and posting this first.

And my birthday present had better be...

I am the type of guy who can appreciate nifty gadgets. Let me tell you, friends, that gorgeous son of a bitch right there is a bonafide miracle of modern technology. It's an Egg And Muffin Toaster. That's right. A GODDAMN EGG AND MUFFIN TOASTER.

Imagine if you will, a device that can change the course of human history. A device that can cook an egg, warm up some pre-cooked sausage, bacon or canadian bacon and toast your choice of bread, croissant, english muffin or bagel. And do it all at the same time. This is that device. Humanity will one day acknowledge the greatness that is The Egg And Muffin Toaster, but I suspect it won't be in my lifetime. It's a shame, really, because this thing seems like it would be capable of bringing about world peace... one egg and muffin sandwich at a time. Screw this whole war in Iraq thing. We should be air dropping these things into the country.

The best part? It's only going to cost $49.99. It costs less than a car. It costs less than a washing machine. It costs less than a refrigerator. It costs less than your monthly rent/mortgage payment. It costs less than a Jacksonville prostitute (actually, wait, scratch that). These are things we consider necessities in life. Shelter. Clothing. Transportation. Sex with trashy women. Toasted Egg and Muffin sandwiches. I think you see where I'm going with this.

I'm going to get married just so I can have a wedding registry and I can go around Bed Bath & Beyond (it'll be a big day, don't know if I'll have enough time) and add this beautiful bastard to that list of stuff that people will give me just for getting hitched. And I'm damn well gonna have a pre-nup drawn up that has only these listings on it:

• She gets: house, unwanted children, car, etc.
• Maki gets: Egg & Muffin Toaster, DVDs, iPod.

Seems like a fair settlement to me. We live in fantastic times, friends. FANTASTIC TIMES.

We are all violent bastards... Or are we?

Please read this first, then come back here.

Have you read it? Good. What did it tell you? Did it tell you that on the whole, our nation is less violent than it was 10 to 15 years ago? Did it tell you that crime among 14-17 year-olds is at the lowest level it's ever been? Did it tell you that most of the kids in this less-violent demographic have played video games at some point? Did it tell you that of the video games produced in 2004, a whopping 54% were rated "E" for everyone? Did it tell you that again, a whopping 55% of the movies released since 1968 have had an "R" rating?

Did it tell you that there is no epidemic of violence in our schools? Did it tell you that it's solely media hype that has perpetrated this image?

I hope it did. So let's get Congress back to talking about important stuff, like baseball players taking steroids and whatever stupid crap we can think up instead of dealing with problems that are actually, well, problems. Like maybe this war thing that doesn't seem scheduled to be wrapping up at any point in my lifetime. Or maybe social security, which is destined not to exist by the end of my lifetime. Thanks.

It's the Billy Bob 'Bad News Bears' review.

Got to see Bad News Bears tonight. Not much of a review I can give. It's a solid, fun film that's pretty much exactly what you'd expect it to be. Did you like School of Rock? Well, you're going to get the same thing here, except with Billy Bob Thornton and baseball. This is not a bad thing.

Nobody plays drunken asshole like Billy Bob, and he uses it to its fullest here. He's not quite as far into the abyss as he was in Bad Santa, but he gets close a few times. It's pretty much his movie, and you like him in spite of yourself. The kids are great also, and actually get something to do. The kids that play Tanner and Engleberg are great, and Hooper gets some of the best lines in the movie. Note to movie execs: when you need an ensemble cast of kids to star in your movie, you'd better be smart enough to hire Richard Linklater as your director. The dude knows how to get great performances out of kids. Well, at least the ones who are trained actors. You can tell right away the ones that were hired simply for their baseball skills. But still, they're minimized enough that it doesn't matter or detract from the film too much.

Speaking of kids, I'm not sure I'd recommend taking yours to see it. There's a lot more swearing than you'd probably expect in a PG-13 movie, if that sort of thing bugs you. Don't say that I never warned you.

This is the part where I'd make my comparison to the original film and see how the new one stacks up, but I only vaguely remember the first film. I'd guess it's been close to 20 years since I've seen it. So no, I can't tell you if it's better or worse. You'll see the same characters in the same setting, but I did notice that the ending isn't quite the same. So don't expect it to be an exact remake of the original. It does feel a little predictable, but this is one of those movies where the destination isn't what's important, it's more about enjoying the ride you take to get there. And this is an enjoyable ride with an enjoyable cast. I did feel like I should have a beer in my hand the entire time, though. I guess watching Billy Bob drink nonstop has that effect on me.

3 stars out of 4. Nothing life-changing, but you won't be asking for your money back, either.

I love Cinnamon Toast Crunch!

I love it so much I'm ready to take a box home to my parents and be like, "mom, dad... I'm in love with this Cinnamon Toast Crunch and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with it. I hope we have your blessing." That's how much I love this stuff. My last four meals have consisted of cinamonny toasty crunchy goodness... And I'm not sure how many more meals will share the same fate. Damn, this shit is good.

I'm realizing I could eat cereal every meal. I'd sure as hell have strong bones from the milk. Well, as long as teeth don't count as bones, because I'm sure my beloved Cinnamon Toast Crunch will rot them straight out of my skull if given the opportunity. That's the problem with these passionate relationships. You always see the downsides once they're over. The passion between Cinnamon Toast Crunch and I will burn bright, at least for the moment. But the box is running low, and so is the milk. I sense a breakup depression coming on. Cue up a Morrissey CD...

I see the best people at Taco Bell.

I eat at Taco Bell way too often. That's pretty much common knowledge by now, but I figured I'd mention it anyway. They tore down the old Taco Bell near me and built a brand new state-of-the-art Taco Bell on its smoldering, mild-sauce-flavored ruins. It's pretty nice inside, all shiny, new and clean. This won't last long, of course, but I'm going to savor the newness of the restaurant while it's there. Why? Because the dregs of the earth seem to be the only people that frequent this Taco Bell. Wow. I mean, these people are scum. It's kind of like what the crew at prison would be if it were coed, children were allowed, and we had access to Bean Burrito Especials. We're all cons out in the yard at Taco Bell.

I saw one of the ugliest women I've ever seen there yesterday. Her ugliness was enhanced by the fact that she was wearing a beat-up old t-shirt that said "Dangerous Beauty" on the front. It had one of those patterns like with roses and roses bushes intertwining around a six-shooter and stupid crap like that. It was awesome. She actually had a rather thin frame, which made her gut and breasts that appeared to be inverted somehow all the more evident. She had on a jean skirt that was way too short to cover up the hair on her legs. The hair on her head was a greasy, dirty brown and looked to have been brushed and washed around the same era that the legs were last shaved. Her rotten, crooked teeth were stained yellow, likely from an intense combination of nicotine and Meximelts. The wrinkled, leathery, pockmarked skin on her face showed how hard a "dangerous beauty" lives. In other words, she was the complete package. She was probably only about 24 or 25, which makes one wonder what her potential is for the future. The sky's the limit. I'm sure she had a great personality, though. Anyone willing to wear a shirt that says "dangerous beauty" just screams awesome personality. Either way, it was considerate of her to give everyone a warning about the whole dangerous part. Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt by her beauty, after all.

Waiting in line behind this woman, I realized something. It's in those moments that I most wish I had a camera phone. I think the concept of a camera phone is pretty stupid in general, but I always wish I had proof to show you guys that I don't make up this stuff about the westside. I'm sure the guy who saw the Loch Ness Monster had the same thing go through his head, too.

Before you ask, no I didn't get her number. I did have a rather tasty Baja Chalupa, though.

Random memories of Santa Barbara.

Sadly, not the city. I've never been there. I'm talking about the soap opera.

Yeah, I said it. The soap opera.

I saw a car today that had one of those license plate borders that said "Santa Barbara" on it and somehow it just popped into my head. I can honestly say that Santa Barbara the soap opera hadn't bounced around my head for at least 10 years now. And suddenly, there it was. Maybe it's the complete lack of television lately or something. Who knows?

So anyway, why the hell would someone like me have watched Santa Barbara? It all stems from me misbehaving when I was younger. See, I went to catholic school, and doing pretty much anything meant you got detention and your parents found out about it. So I'd pull stupid shit like not doing my homework or finishing my work too early and drawing on my desk or telling jokes or whatever. Now that I think about it, I was in trouble all the damn time. Friggin' weak. The problem wasn't detention, that was always lame crap like writing, "I will not make baby Jesus cry by telling jokes in class," or something else idiotic like that 100 times. It was boring, but it was easier than whatever crap my parents would have had me do at home in its place. The problem was that my parents would find out I was in trouble again and ground me. Grounding usually meant no television for a week, a month, the rest of my natural life... Depending on how extreme the transgression was, that's how long I got. I tended to get a lot of month long TV groundings. It got old, real quick.

And that's when it struck me.

If I was going to be punished, I was going to take my mom with me. You see, my mom was a stay-at-home mom. Either my dad was a sucker or they both felt it would be better for my development or something. Take your pick, glass half-full or half-empty and all. (You can see how wonderfully that choice paid off.) So what do stay-at-home moms do? Watch soap operas. Which one came on just as I was getting home from school? Santa Barbara. So I figured, if I can't watch TV, ain't nobody gonna watch TV. So I got home from school and plopped myself down on that couch next to my mom and waited to see what would happen. Would she angrily shut the TV off? Would she send me to my room and extend my TV ban for another month? Well, either she was trying some reverse-psychology stuff, hoping it would be so bad that it would be like punishment to watch or her fascination with Santa Barbara seemed to preclude any sense of crime & punishment. Regardless of her motivations, my plan had backfired.

That is how I started watching Santa Barbara. It was the only show I was allowed to watch during my rather frequent groundings. I guess it's like when you're desperate at the bar and it's closing time. Suddenly that 3 jumps up to an 8 or 9, only because you've got no other options. I was desperate for anything television, and Santa Barbara was the only one who'd go home with me.

I can't even tell you much about it now, except that there was a dude who starred in it named A Martinez, which I thought was the single coolest name ever. Just an initial for a first name? Sold. Of course, if my parents were complete bastards and my real first name was Adolf, chances are I'd be going by A, too. No wonder he played the hot-headed cop character. There was a guy named Mason too, and his name was almost as cool, but not quite. I also remember that Sean Penn's wife was on Santa Barbara. I know nothing about her character except I think she was A Martinez's sister or something. She then went on to star in the mind-bogglingly overrated The Princess Bride and then played the character I just might loathe the most in any film ever (Jenny in Forrest Gump, for those keeping score). So, we've got a guy named Adolf, a guy whose only characteristic is his name and the chick who played the single least-redeeming character in the history of cinema as the three characters I remember the most. I'm only just now realizing that watching Santa Barbara was indeed punishment. I hear it was HUGE in Russia, though. I guess I should have asked my old Russian roommate Pavel about it. He may have killed me in my sleep for that, though. You never can tell with those smelly Russian guys. His favorite show was The Commish, after all. NEVER TRUST SOMEONE WHO LOVES THE COMMISH.

Anyway, I guess I never really did get out of my punishment by watching that show, did I? My mom was a crafty one when it came to punishment, that's for sure.

I have no idea why I just told you this.

I had a sudden realization.

My television has not been turned on in over 19 days. Granted, I was on vacation for 10 of those, but still. I wonder if it works anymore? Guess I'll find out whenever I try to turn it on again (probably in another 19 days). I'll let you know in September.

I'll admit I watched the baseball All-Star game tonight at a sports bar with Matt, so I'm not 100% television-free. I also watched a little bit of coverage on Nightline on the one TV station we could receive at the cabin in Minnesota. I had to find out the details of the London bombings, after all. It was all for educational purposes. Honest!

I guess working for a TV station way back when really did turn me off from TV for quite a while. That still doesn't explain the copious amount of DVD's I have that cover entire seasons of television shows that I may never end up watching... Did I really buy Miami Vice: Season One? Crockett and Tubbs rule, but honestly, that was a DVD set I was better off passing on.

In other news, my sister now has a blog. My mom would be so disappointed.

Anyone else find it ironic that Blogger's spellcheck doesn't find the word "blog" in its dictionary? Or the word "spellcheck" for that matter?

Ok, going to bed now. Seriously.

I am officially back home again and posting in a completely random manner.

I am back in my home, with its comfortable bed and demanding cats and girl I thought was cool but won't call me back now. I also went back to work today. Um, life is good?

I had to mow the lawn last night as soon as I got home because the grass was approximately 15-18 inches tall. Wonder if anyone figured out I was on vacation?

Well, I lost the family golf tournament. My team didn't just lose, we came in last place. The worst part is that Golf was extremely kind to me that day. Unfortunately, Golf was just an utter bitch to the rest of my team. It was so like Golf to pull that one. I'm all like, "look what you did!" and Golf is all like, "hey, I was nice to you, wasn't I?" And I'm all like, "but look how you treated my teammates!" And Golf is all, "I though this was about us, not them, asshole." And I'm all, "That is so you." And Golf is like, "I hate you too." Now it looks like we'll be going our separate ways again. At least until next year's tournament. Crap.

I picked up a bunch of CD's for $1 apiece in a sale at work. I'll write up some reviews when I get through them. I'm actually quite pleased so far with what I grabbed through completely random selection involving 3 things:

1. Whether I'd heard any songs by the band or artist before
2. What label published the CD (you'd be surprised how well this works)
3. Whether the cover looked lame or not (I'm a graphic artist, sue me)

Look for another mega-fun capsule review post sooner or later. I know I promise a lot that I don't deliver around here, but I haven't reviewed any music lately. I'm inspired, though, since I seem to have become one of the premier sites on the internet to find a review of Lucas' Lucacentric. Who knew I'd be just about the only one to review that CD? My persistence paid off for all 3 of you Lucas fans out there. Maybe this next batch of capsule reviews will be the next time I strike internet gold. You never can tell. Expect my IPO soon.

This is why my mom is hilarious.

This is a conversation I had with my mom Friday evening. Keep in mind that it is my goal in life for my parents to never find out about this blog since it's likely they'd disown me when they realize how warped and messed in the head I turned out. Anyway, here's the conversation...

Mom: This USA Today article says these "blogger" people went home and wrote on their "blogs" after being involved in the London bombings. What's a blog?
Me: Blog is short for weblog. It's like an online journal.
Mom: So what reason is there for having it? Do these people just write about themselves?
Me: (getting slightly defensive now) Well, some people have theme blogs, like they write their own movie or music reviews and stuff.
Mom: But not all of them, right? The rest just write about themselves if it's just a journal?
Me: Um, yeah, I guess... Some people do it to keep relatives updated about what they're doing and stuff. Some people just use it as a soapbox.
Mom: Ok, so how would you find someone's blog?
Me: (measuring my steps here, avoiding saying, "do a google search!") Usually they'll give you the address or other people will provide a link to the blog from their own blog.
Mom: Wait, so people who write about themselves will point you to other people that write about themselves?
Me: Um, I guess, yeah...
Mom: These blogger people have too much ego. The whole blog thing sounds kind of stupid, if you ask me. Who would read that anyway?
Me: Um, right. Say, you know what TV show I really miss? Seinfeld. That Kramer sure was funny...

And people wonder how I ended up so cynical. I doubt I need to worry about my mom finding the blog. Please, nobody tell her. Thanks. Her opinion of me is low enough as it is, what with me not being a doctor or a lawyer and not being married with kids and all. No need to add "raving egomaniac who spends entirely too much time updating his blog" to her already-diminished image of me.

For everyone that was wondering about my sister...

Hillary's fine. She's not in London anymore, she's living in Shanghai for the summer. Who'd have figured that she'd be safer in communist China than in England? The scary thing is that the Edgware Road stop was right along her daily commute. What seems even odder is that there's a very large Muslim population that lives around that area. Who knows why they picked that stop? Convenience? Who knows. Being so cut off from news up here, I'm only just now getting details and such. Turns out I used 3 of the 4 Underground routes that were hit. Scary stuff...

So yeah, I'm glad my sister is in China, even if it means she can't even visit my blog since it's blocked from entering China. I'm banned! How cool is that?

This is a letter to Golf.

Dear Golf,

I've been meaning to say this to you for a while now, but after the time we spent together yesterday, I finally found the words. There's really only one way I can come out and say it, so I'm just going to come out and say it.

I hate you, Golf.

I really, really hate you. As in, "I hope you catch a combination of Super AIDS, Gonorrhea and Mad Cow Disease all at the same time" hate you. And then, just when you think things can't get any worse, I hope you catch that flesh eating bacteria on top of that. That's how much I hate you, Golf. I had to put this down in writing so I tell you properly. I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate you, you dirty fucking whore.

The sad part is that it never used to be like this. We used to have a pretty good thing going together. But then things changed between us. I guess it was inevitable, really. But still, what you did yesterday was the last straw. There's a point alcoholics and drug addicts reach that's known as "hitting rock bottom." Yesterday was rock bottom. Yesterday held such promise. We really started out on great terms. Things were looking up. But after only a little while, it didn't matter what I tried to do for you, Golf. All you did was throw it back in my face and laugh at me. Taunting me. Belittling me. And that's just something I can't abide.

I feel bad that things got this bad between you and I. But you know as well as I do that rarely is it ever just one side's fault when things just don't work out. I'll admit that I can take some of the blame for this. I really didn't spend the time with you that I should have, especially lately. I know friends and family would try to get us back together fairly often. The problem was that you made it such an uphill struggle every time I gave in and tried to put forth the effort. Our time together just isn't the same anymore. My blood pressure and anger management training can't take any more exposure to you. So this is goodbye. So long, farewell. We had some good times, Golf, you and I. But those days were long ago. Now there's nothing left but wreckage and ruin between us. I've got better ways to spend my time. I hope you're happy. Sorry things worked out this way. I really hope you don't hate me as much as I hate you... But I wouldn't blame you if you did. I put my share of abuse on you, but I think we both know who took the brunt of the punishment yesterday. And it wasn't you.

Sorry,
Maki

PS: I think we should have one last fling for that family tournament tomorrow. After that, it's goodbye. I'm serious this time. Let's put on a good face for the kids, at least.

My little cousins think I am like the awesomest ever.

I have a lot of cousins. I'm never sure how the first cousin, second cousin, once removed, twice removed thing works, but with the extent of relatives I have, I guess I should figure it out for sure by now. Anyway, I spent the fourth of July at a big family cookout at my aunt & uncle's cabin on a lake. Different, um, more responsible uncle from the previous post, by the way. My, um, less responsible uncle from the previous post cooked up 3 turkeys and 1 venison roast on a giant half-barrel grill with rotisserrie. Let me tell you, it was damn good eating. Makes me glad I did about 300 crunches earlier in the day and 100 pushups since the first course probably negated the effects of that exercise after about 30 seconds. Such is life.

So, back to the cousins. I have 12 first cousins, and I am almost the youngest of all my generation's cousins. My oldest first cousin is in her fifties and my youngest first cousins are 21-year-old twins. The only one between them and myself is my sister, who is 3 years younger than me. What this means is that all are at the age to be married (or not) and have children. Or neither, as I seem to fall into and am reminded of rather often up here. Most of my cousins have children, which adds up to 21 first cousins once removed (at least I think that's how it works). So you could say I have a total of 33 first cousins between the ages of six months and 50-something. And that's just on my dad's side of the family and not even counting cousins' spouses or my second cousins (grandchildren of my grandparents' siblings). I'm amazed anyone even cares about my marital status, to be honest. I'm somewhat surprised anyone even remembers, really, with all of that to keep track of.

Anyway, I spent most of the day playing basketball with four of my cousins, ages 14, 13, 11 and 9. I realize they like playing basketball with me more than anybody else because:
A) I'm still good at basketball, even if I haven't played in a year
B) My shot looks like a textbook shot should look, even if it doesn't go in all the time
C) I tend to hit really dumb lucky shots
D) I let them beat me in P-I-G and don't make it seem like I threw the game
E) I let them make fun of me if I miss a shot by a lot
F) I will make just as much fun of them when they miss a shot by a whole lot
G) I don't get ticked when I get beaned in the head by someone whose shot was way, way, way off
H) I don't get ticked the fourth time this happens
I) I tell them how to do basketball-related stuff better without being condescending

So yeah, I guess there's plenty of reasons for them to want me to be back there every day for the rest of my vacation. Maybe I will change my views about children being punishment for sex. Maybe. I guess I wouldn't mind playing basketball with them for the rest of the week. That is, if I didn't have 3,000 other commitments to deal with. Why do vacations end up that way, anyway? My only plan was to sleep in every damn day and win the family golf tournament. Suddenly I'm supposed to be somewhere doing something almost every hour I'm awake while I'm up here. Not cool if you ask me, even if the vast majority of it is stuff I don't mind doing with people I don't mind seeing. Still, I'm on vacation. Don't talk to me about schedules. That's what iCal at work is for, and I ain't seein' no Macs around here, y'know? Now that I think about it, I ain't seein' many computers, period. No wonder I'm having to pay $3.95 at Caribou Coffee just to check my e-mail and give you wonderful people blog updates. I should set up one of those PayPal things so you people can make it worth my while. Ah, inspiration always strikes while one is on vacation, doesn't it?

Next stop: frozen tundra!

It's time for a little compare & contrast section. As I prepare to board a plane that will send me to lovely Minnesota, I take a look at the weather forecast for the next 10 days.

Jacksonville, FL, USA
Grand Rapids, MN, USA

Now maybe it's just me, but something tells me that second one looks a little more appealing. I could stomach living up there, at least until I try to hold a New Year's party when it's -30 degrees Fahrenheit outside and everybody is snowed in. You take the good with the bad, I guess. Whatever the temperature there, I intend to sleep in as much as humanly possible. Maybe if I do that for another 8 or 9 years I can catch up to the level I should be at already.

Oh yeah, don't mind that post below, I'm partially idiotic. Trust me on this.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, these aren't the droids you're looking for, nothing to see here, move along.

A one-item list of things I hate.

Things that bother me:

1. Going out on that always-fun first date and having no idea how to read her because you got more mixed signals than a broken traffic light.

This list of things I hate brought to you by Maki!