First World Problems

So, as I occasionally do, I decided it was high time for that first pool/spa cleaning of the year.  It was an unusually warm early Spring day (sunny and 80 degrees), and since the pool/spa was suffering from winter neglect, I figured today was the perfect day.  First thing I was going to do was vacuum out the spa.  However, this presents a problem because only after I've started my chore in earnest do I suddenly remember the vacuum head is broken.  What to do?  All is lost, right?  Well, if you have duct (often popularly called "duck") tape, the situation is never dire ("If you can't duck it, fuck it"), and nearly any crisis can be resolved.  Duct tape cures a great many ills...and this was no different.  Ladies and gentleman, I give you "the ghetto pool vacuum system".  Rejoice in its splendor and beauty!

Also, since we're talking pool maintenance, what's with the cryptic instructions with pool equipment? "Zodiac G3 pool sweep starting and stopping?  Possible solution: realign the Ferguson valve next to the parabolic hyphenator, and make sure the grommance chamber is aligned at a 22 degree angle with the satellite fed electron beam.  Once synchronized with the lunar cycle, chant to Poseidon the incantation of clean waters and hop on one foot.  Test for leaky protons, and immerse molybdenum o-ring with ground unicorn horn and pixie dust.  If that doesn't work, smack it with the hammer of Thor, but only after ensuring electron beam is now aligned at 24.3 degrees off center." 

Anyways, pool was all sparkly clean when I got through with it yesterday (duct tape did its job for the spa portion), which pretty much guaranteed that today the temperature would drop 20 degrees with a gale force wind and a storm on the way.  My pool now, once again (thank you neighbors with untrimmed trees), currently looks like the Okeechobee swamp.  Better check for 'gators and rednecks.  Time to set the traps with deer carcasses and Pabst Blue Ribbon (equally effective for both 'gators AND rednecks) and see what bites.* 


*Not my first lamentation about my ability to bring on foul weather by the mere act of cleaning my pool.  See "I have superpowers" blog from 2009.  

Life lessons at the liquor store...

So, I'm at the liquor store.  I have a purchase in mind (Glenfiddich 15 for those of you who are curious).  When at the liquor store, I like to take my time and window shop and see if anything new, exciting, or exotic has been stocked since my last visit.  I slowly go up and down the aisles, taking in all the bourbons, Scotches, Irish, ryes and Canadians.  As I'm doing this, a nattily dressed gentleman of about 70 years of age briskly walks into the store.  He immediately goes to one spot ignoring all the other glistening bottles around him.  He grabs one very specific bottle of something (a Scotch of some sort...I didn't look that close...it all happened too fast) and makes a beeline to the register.  He pays and directly leaves.  Time in store from selection to purchase to exit?  About 47 seconds.  This guy knows what he likes, and doesn't have time for all the other superfluous bullshit.  He's probably been drinking the same whiskey for 40-50 years, and could give a rat's ass if another brand has an essence of honeyed heather or has been aged in port barrels.  He simply doesn't have the time for such meaningless distraction.  "Listen junior...are we having a dram?  Or are we pulling our dick?  You want to go "shopping"?  Then perhaps you'd be better off looking at shoes with your lady.  You want a drink?  Get in.  Get out.  Go home.  Pour two fingers (all things in moderation) and begin."  I had the impression this guy was the Yoda of distilled spirits.  I had to fight the urge to go over and shake his hand.

Although there's a fair chance this guy may be an alcoholic, I was left pondering on the greater philosophy that his approach to whiskey purchasing reflected...especially with romantic relationships.  Find one you truly like, stick with it, and be satisfied.  You can go on some sort of Quixote-like quest endlessly searching for perfection and undetectable nuance (triple matured in two kinds of oak and finished in three kinds of sherry casks!), and hold onto the belief that different is always better.  It's not.  It's all just marketing...even with people.  Different is different, and not always better...and sometimes far worse.  If you truly know yourself, and are capable of making rational, mature, as well as heartfelt, decisions, the odds of you continually finding something better are non-existent.  So, really, stop fucking around, grow up, and start really enjoying life.  Stop continually wondering what is just around the corner, and start enjoying what's actually right in front of you.*


* There's probably a joke to be made about enjoying a special someone and "two fingers" (to complete the whiskey/relationship analogy) but I am FAR too classy to make it here...although, safe to say, in my head, I already did.      

Unintentional irony

Unintentional irony department: Just noticed the small print on a Viagra commercial which states "this drug does not protect against sexually transmitted diseases". It would seem to me that if they were about FULL disclosure, they should have to follow that statement with: "In fact, if we at Pfizer pharmaceuticals are to be completely honest, if you are suffering from a condition that requires the use Viagra, if you avoid our, or other competing, products, we can almost guarantee your STD risk will, in fact, be greatly reduced (if you know what we mean...).  Oh, you DON'T know what we mean? Here's a series of metaphorical graphics to help you better understand..." (the graphics then show a guy on the side of a desert road standing at the front of his car. The hood is up, there's steam shooting from the engine compartment, the car has four flat tires, and the man is holding a piece of broken, limp, radiator hose. He's frustrated, but in one piece without a scratch on him. As he stands there, another similar car goes screaming by with an old dude behind the wheel. It is obvious the old guy is in over his head, slightly panicked, driving too fast, and cannot control the high performance vehicle he clearly shouldn't be driving. He then slams into the side of a cliff and the car explodes in a spectacular fireball)

Anywhoo, when I saw the commercial, this imagery went through my head, and actually made me laugh out loud as I sat on the sofa in my sweats. I dunno, I'm easily amused, and felt compelled to share.

2014: RIP Hipster Culture

The destruction of hipster culture by corporate America is almost complete: a car ad featuring a bearded 28-30 year old with ironic handlebar mustache, desert boots and a vintage blazer (yes, I own some of those clothing items myself, but let's stay on point here). When Toyota America and KFC start identifying you as a target demographic, your days as the underdog, rebel, and counter culture icon are pretty much over. Sorry, but you've been officially assimilated by The Borg, and resistance is futile. Welcome to adulthood. So, what do you have to look forward to, hipsters? Nothing...for about 15 years...and then you'll notice golf, e.d. drugs, and Cadillacs will start being marketed to you. It should be fun. I can see it now: a bearded, skinny jean wearing man with salt and pepper hair, staring lovingly at his wife as she sits at a pottery wheel (it's either a pottery wheel or "his 'n hers" outdoor tubs on an island beach somewhere) when a voice over begins "You just never know when the moment is right, but when it is..." and Bon Iver plays quietly in the background...

So, enjoy your last frosty PBR, as your days going forward will be filled with looking in the rearview mirror and wondering where all your "edginess" went (answer: it left with your 20's...nobody wants an edgy 30 or 40-something. "Edgy" makes for shitty employees and unreliable romantic partners. Upside? You'll have a few dollars in your pocket now so you can drink something OTHER than PBR, AND afford to treat your partner to some cuisine other than something served from a truck parked outside your favorite ironic dive bar).

The true value of modern technology

64K processing power. One floppy drive. $2100 in 1985, or, in todays dollars, over $4000. It's computing power was 250,000 times LESS than a new MacBook Pro from today. Think about that. Can you just IMAGINE the patience an internet porn addict would have to have with that kind of computing power? "OK. Midgets in Spandex Who've Gone Bad and Need a Spanking, part IX...directed by Alan Smithee. Let's see...and click save. Alrighty, now, what can I do until this is completely downloaded? Oh yeah...finish grad-school AND repaint the garage." Thank you modern technology for making life easier for pervs with ADHD...and people who like "lol-cats" and "fail videos" (which are folks who are really two sides of the same coin).

Sandra Bullock, Cruz'n for love, and the gubmint

So Sandra Bullock said something along the lines of, "Expecting an actor to NOT be a narcissist is kind of like expecting a bird NOT to poop when it's flying. It's kind of what they do." I agree completely, and she has perfectly stated why it’s a good idea to avoid any sort of relationship with an actor: Much like a bird flying high above, they will crap on you. It's kind of what they do.

Moving on to the truly insane: Ted Cruz and Paul Ryan stated one of their core problems with The ACA was its mandate that employers provide birth control as a part of their employee health care plans, because it could violate the religious beliefs of certain employers. But why stop there? Shouldn't Viagra and other ED drugs also violate the religious beliefs of these same employers? Surely, if some gray haired dude cannot get a boner, it is because it was ordained by The Lord, and a medically induced stiffie would be an abomination in His Eyes. In fact, I think this very issue was mentioned in Corinthians (so sayeth The Lord "He shall not spring heavenward from his nether regions like a fresh stalk of grain with the aid of unnatural substances created by soothsayers and other necromancers. Amen."). Anyways, they're strangely silent on this issue. Typical of the radical set, afraid to make the "hard" decisions. (Zing! See what I did there????)

When people say, "I love my country, but I hate my government", I like to ask them, "What do mean by that? Your country IS your government. Otherwise, you're just talking about a large chunk of dirt bordered on its east and west sides by an ocean." In the future I'm going to suggest to them, "Don't you mean I love this continent? Or perhaps this particular combination of tectonic plates? Because clearly, you HATE this country, based on your views about the government. Simple deductive reasoning indicates you must rather be a fan of our particular brand of clays and top soils." They invariably will answer, "Well, I loved this country when it was different...how it USED to be!" Then the logical query would be ,"Used to be...when? When slavery was legal? When the average life expectancy was approximately 47 yrs (as recently as 1900)? When the average household income was $740 a year (in 1913...which adjusted for inflation was $15,000 in 2006, when the average household income for the USA in 2006 was over $49,000...so things weren't so hot in 1913)? When the majority of people lived in homes with dirt floors and without electricity?  The Reagan revolution when the national debt went from $900 billion to $3 trillion (over a threefold increase)? The Dubya years when middle class incomes stagnated and declined?  When is the great USED TO BE in your statement?"

I doubt they will have much of an answer...because the "USED TO BE" only exists in their head, and in fiction...which of course is the same thing.

The Phase Changes of Microwavable Items

A microwave is an interesting thing, and, of course, a handy way to quick heat a tasty morsel for a nearly instantaneous meal.  The following is a quick guide to your standard microwave on "hi temp" setting and its minute by minute effect on your reheated food:

-one minute: food is still a frozen block of ice, reminiscent of something chipped out of Siberian tundra.
-two minutes: food still frozen, but now in a slushy state...akin to a snow cone served up during a Fresno afternoon in July, or, and perhaps more accurately, similar to the interior chamber of Mitch McConnell's reptilian heart.
-three minutes: congrats...it's now (almost) defrosted.
-four minutes: you could eat this, but it's 30 degrees lower than the ambient room temperature, and somewhat gag inducing.
-five minutes: coolish. Food is now warmed to a tepid 64.27 degrees Fahrenheit.  You COULD eat this...but only if you're truly desperate.
-five minutes and one second: holy christ, is that a plate of magma in there?  Did my burrito just achieve nuclear fusion and turn itself into a self sustaining plasma reaction?  This thing is hotter than Satan's butthole and putting it into my mouth (the burrito, not Satan's butthole.  BTW, Satan's butthole is a theoretical temperature often used in physics circles to describe high heat values along the Planck scale) would not only induce a third degree burn from the surface of my tongue all the way down to my lower colon, but would, in all probability, cause me to self combust in a puff of pure oxidized carbon.  The remnants of the burrito would then fall to the ground, it's radiating heat still not exhausted, and burrow its way to the earth's core in a China Syndrome type scenario.

Unfortunately, there is no five minutes and one half second time setting on microwaves, and the preceding examples are all that a modern microwave is capable of achieving in food preparation.  So, my advice to you, is just choke down that gag inducing 64.27 degree burrito, and save yourself from the ruinous experience of the last thing your mind comprehends as you explode in a cloud of carbonized particles is a hole opening up in the earth's crust, and the contents of the earth's molten core exploding across the continent in a sea of molten nickel, iron, rare earth elements, and left over beans, cheese, rice and carne asada.