Midnight Pruning

No, the title is not referring to some catchy new euphemism. It refers, instead, to a story of unsurpassed ridiculousness, courtesy of your old pal Vice. And I promise you, every word of it is the truth.

Our satellite has been having problems for a couple weeks now, with the signal cutting in and out. It goes out for long stretches of time, causing us to miss programming on occasion. I've been trying to get someone out here to look at the problem. It hasn't been easy (e.g. the first person told me to call back when it wasn't cloudy, to which I wanted to say how about I just call back when you're done going and fucking yourself), but we finally got someone out to the house yesterday. Naturally, they have you block off a 5 hour period in which they might arrive, and then arrive half an hour past the 5 hour period. But he got here, and checked things out.

Ultimately he concluded that foliage was blocking our receiver. Whether or not this is the entire problem, I'm not sure. But he did show me this cool device where I could look up into the sky and see the exact spot our signal was coming from for both receivers. Sure enough, there was a patch of branches and leaves that was blocking both the upper and lower receivers. The repair guy told me there wasn't anything he could do, because we'd have to either (a) have the satellite moved, which our landlord probably won't go for, or (b) have the offending branches cut down, which we'd have to consult our landlord about.

Problem was, we didn't want to wait. We've been screwing around with this damn thing for weeks, and we wanted it fixed. So I got a picture of the offending branches, and decided to cut them down myself. We went to Target and bought some shears, labelled (I shit you not) "The Lopper." It was bad-ass. We brought it home, and contemplated when to do the deed. I decided on doing it late at night, so people wouldn't see me and contact the landlord. As it got later, pH asked me when I was going to do it, and I hadn't quite got the nerve yet. Ten pm rolled around, and we made the decision to just go to bed and deal with it another time.

3:45 am. I woke up, checked out the scene, and decided to give it a go. I figured nobody would be out at that time, and we just got new stadium lights outside our complex which would make it easy to see. So I grabbed the camera with with picture of the branches, our mini step ladder, and the Lopper, and headed outside.

As I suspected, no one was around. I walked over to the satellite, took a look up at the tree, and tried to find the branches. But it didn't look right. In the picture, there was one big clump in the middle, with one little solitary branch hanging above. Now it looked more like two big clumps, and I wasn't sure which was the right clump, or if all of it was. I thought fuck it, I'll hack 'em all down. So I walked my mini step ladder over and took a look.

Now, those of you familiar with your old pal Vice knows I'm not the tallest individual in the world. Abundant heighth is actually a serious disadvantage in the world of ninjaing. So let's just say I roll with a pretty low center of gravity. The mini step ladder I was using gave me about an extra clearance of maybe 1 1/2 to 2 feet. The Lopper had a handle over a foot long. The branches, on the other hand, were about 15+ feet off the ground. In other words, I couldn't come close to reaching those branches. I wouldn't have been able to reach those branches even with a tall ladder.

Buckle up, because this is where things get retarded.

At this point, I had a decision to make. I envisioned several options. 1. Go back to bed, call the landlord in the morning, have them deal with it. 2. Go back to bed, buy a bigger ladder, buy a bigger Lopper, and try again another time. 3. Scale the tree, climb out onto the branches, and start lopping. 4. Rip the tree out of the ground by its roots with my bare hands.

I passed on all of those options, for several reasons. It was like 4 am. I was already awake, and no one was around. I didn't have to get up early the next day. I didn't want to wait for the landlord. I had my Lopper. I am a man. I don't climb trees well, and probably worse while holding the Lopper. And I saw no reason to destroy the entire tree at that point. So I did the only thing I could do. If I couldn't go to the tree, I had to make the tree come to me.

My first thought was that a few well-thrown ninja stars would do nicely, buzzing the branches right off. My second thought was that a few poorly-thrown ninja stars would crash into the nearby cars, buzzing the car parts right off. I passed on that.

Then I decided that a little rope might do the trick. My thinking was if I could throw the rope over the branch, I could pull down on both ends, which would lower the branch toward the ground. Recognizing this as the stroke of brilliance that it was, I came inside to look for rope, while trying not to disturb my light-sleeping fiancee who had to get up early. The only rope I had was a small bit of rope I used while tying things to my car once while moving. I decided that wouldn't be long enough, so I kept looking. Then I found a pair of extension cords. One was about 15 feet long, the other about 5. I thought, this is perfect - tie them together, and away we go.

Got outside, tied the cords together, and tossed them at the branch. Missed. Tossed them again. Missed. My goal was to toss it far enough over so that enough cord hung down on both sides so I could just grab them both and tug. The first time I got the cord up there, I flung the whole thing too far. The entire cord got stuck on a branch much higher up than the original branch.

So there I was, with my whole plan stuck in a tree. At this point, I had a decision to make. I envisioned several options. 1. Forget the cord, go to bed, landlord, etc. 2. Forget the cord, go to bed, taller ladder, etc. 3. Find some way to get my extension cord down, then cut my losses and go to bed. 4. Find some way to get the extension cord down, then continued what I'd set out to do. I think you know where I'm going with this.

As I started trying to think how to get the cord down, a car rolled into the parking lot. I stopped, walked around a bit, got a bottle of water from my car, and came back when the person was safely inside, a couple buildings away. I decided if I could find something long enough I could poke the cord or hook it and pull it down. Not wanting to risk one of my golf clubs (which I've been known to bust in half over foliage), I grabbed the Swiffer Sweeper. Only problem with that was the head wobbles. Without giving it much thought, I grabbed a clotheshanger and the Swiffer, and brought them both outside.

By this time it was starting to sprinkle. But a little rain never hurt anybody, right? So I took the mini step ladder and the Swiffer and tried to prod my extension cord out of the tree. No dice. I could reach one part hanging down, but the Swiffer couldn't latch on. So I took the clotheshanger, bent it so the whole wire part was vertical except for the hook, and attempted to position the thing on the Swiffer. After a few minutes, I got something workable, and I tried again. Success! I got the extension cord down. Then I set back about trying to throw it over the branch.

Occasionally I'd get the cord up on the branches, but the other end wouldn't hang far enough down so that I could reach it. That didn't help, so I just had to tug it back down and try again. Deciding I wasn't putting enough mustard on the toss, I reared back and gave it a solid heave. Success! An almost perfect throw, with plenty of cord hanging down on both sides.

Before I set about attempting to do some lopping, I felt something strange on the back of my head. I reached back to feel it. It was blood. My fingers were sticky with blood. My scalp was bleeding. I vaguely recalled something hitting me. Turns out, when I tossed the cord up, the bottom plug struck me in the skull on the way up. I kept rubbing the spot, and wiped the blood off on the grass.

At this point, I had a decision to make. This task had cost me a half hour worth of sleep already. I hadn't cut off any branches. It was raining. And now I was bleeding from the head. I envisioned several options. 1. Screw the cord, go inside, wipe the blood off, go to bed, landlord, etc. 2. Screw the cord, go inside, wipe the blood off, go to bed, taller ladder, etc. 3. Wipe the blood off, keep working. 4. Screw the blood, keep working.

So...I set up my ladder, grabbed the lopper, and started tugging on the cord. Sure enough, the branches bent to my will. I started trying to cut. It still wasn't easy, as I had to bend the branches a long way down. I cut off a few bits, and then the cord dislodged. I took a look back up at the tree. Didn't look like I'd done enough damage (to the tree, at least). So I scooped up the branches, tossed them in the dumpster, and took a moment to reflect.

Another car came by. This time, it parked closer to my building. Plus, the guy didn't go inside right away - he stayed outside and had a cigarette. Asshole. I decided to take this opportunity to go inside and wipe some of the blood off with a paper towel. That seemed to help, so I went back out and kept working. As I kept tossing the cord, I made sure to hang on to the other end so as not to (a) get the whole thing stuck in the tree again, or (b) let it impale me in the skull again. I gave it a few good tosses. I was getting better, and routinely got it at least partially stuck in the tree. Then I got a really good one, as both ends were nice and long on each side, and the middle was stuck firmly in the trees. I positioned my ladder and Lopper, and tried pulling. But I was having trouble trying to lower the branches and raise my Lopper at the same time since I'd gotten more brances tangled this time. I tried tying the ends of the cord around the tree trunk, and I almost got there when the point where the two cords met came apart, and the cords fell down. No branches cut that time.

So I kept going, and made sure to tie the cords in a loop around where they met so when I started pulling, I'd be pulling on the loop rather than directly on the connection between the cords. That seemed to work better. The next time I got the cord stuck, I got a few more branches, but not many. Another car rolled past, so I took a short break. Then I set back at it. After a few close misses, I got it caught tenuously. I decided to give it a shot, and if it came down when I tugged, so be it. But the cord held on the branch, and brought it close enough for me to do some lopping. This time I got a good amount of foliage, and a nice thick branch before the cord slipped and the larger branch returned skyward.

I cleared the lopped foliage away and took another look. Quite frankly, I couldn't tell if I'd gotten the right branches. I know I got some of it, but the whole thing looked so different from when I took the picture earlier, I couldn't be sure.

It had taken me an hour, and I was sweating and tired, and I didn't know if I could do any better with the tools at my disposal. Given that I hadn't completely failed, I decided to call it a night (morning). I grabbed the mini step ladder, the Swiffer Sweeper, the bent clotheshanger, the extension cords, and the Lopper, and wobbled inside. Washed up a bit, and crawled back into bed at 4:55 am.

Couldn't sleep, of course. I was pretty awake, and struggling not to laugh at my own stupidity. Plus, the back of my head was still sore, and it hurt to lay it on the pillow. Eventually I drifted off, followed by dreams of even more stupidity.

That, my friends, is what they call midnight pruning.

BTW - I've now checked the television. I'm not sure if I did any good or not. One of the satellites still seems blocked, but the other is free and clear now. But we're getting programming at least. Yay me.

Why I Own Cats

Scene: I set a sandwich down on the arm of the couch, wrapped in a paper towel.

K1 was sitting on the back of a nearby chair.

K2 was sitting by the patio door, looking out the screen.

As I walk out of the kitchen, I see K1 creeping over toward the sandwich, very slowly. I get closer, and K1 still doesn't notice. Finally she spots me and freaks out. K1 leaps over the back of the couch, directly at K2. K2, thinking she's under attack, freaks out, and goes tearing out of the room. K1 rushes head first into the screen door, then sits there in a daze.

For the next half hour, anytime the kitties see one another, they all have puffy tails and fur standing up on their backs, and they keep hissing and chasing one another around the room.

Classic.

1,000 Words

On the Prowl

Sometimes your fat, lazy, can't-figure-out-how-to-shit-in-the-box kitten catches a baby chipmunk.

Sometimes it's really gross.

Goodbye, and Thanks For All the FIBs

As far as I'm concerned, Illinois is done. Throughout the years, I've found plenty of reasons to hate Illinois. Where to begin? You've got FIBs that come to our state and ruin all that is good and decent. You've got the never-ending stench of skunk on some of the highways. You've got tolls, making people stop and pay to continue driving on their god-forsaken roadways. That right there is morally offensive. Plus you've got Illinois Nazis. I hate Illinois Nazis.

Lately, however, Illinois has really upped the assholery, to the point where I am vowing never to drive in that state again until the facism stops. On my most recent trip, I got hit with a ticket for failing to stop at a red light. To be fair, I blew the light. Not on purpose, but because it was really late and I turned left when the green arrow for the straight lanes came on. But I didn't even get pulled over by a cop. No, I got flagged by a goddamned video camera. $100 down the drain, thank you very much.

Next, I had skipped some of their rat-bastard tolls and intended to pay them when I got home. But I waited too long (8 days. 8 fucking days. Apparently me waiting 8 fucking days was inexcusable to those asshats). Therefore, I was not able to pay them online. I wasn't able to pay them at all. I had committed a "violation." That was it. So I got something in the mail saying I owed the great state of Illinois another $146. For missing $3.00 worth of tolls. It was either pay it, or get hit with another $300 worth of fines that would get sent to a collections agency. On the off chance they would ever come to collect, I decided to save the hassle and just pay it.

But now they're really crossing the line. The highways are all torn up with construction, and they've got their stupid signs saying "Hit a roadworker, serve 14 years in prison." As someone who actually works in criminal justice, I know full well that that in itself is completly fucking ridiculous. But compared to all the other assholery going on, that's toward the bottom of the list, so let's move on ahead. Due to construction, the speed zones have reduced from 65 mph to 45 mph, even less in places. Of course, nobody actually drives the speed limit, right?

Well, they better fucking start now. Check this shit out:

Illinois will begin using photo radar in freeway work zones in July. One mile per hour over the speed limit and the machine will get you a nice $375.00 ticket in the mail. Beginning July 1st, the State of Illinois will begin using the speed cameras in areas designated as "Work Zones" on major freeways. Anyone caught by these devices will be mailed a $375.00 ticket for the FIRST offense. The SECOND offense will cost $1000.00 and comes with a 90-Day suspension. Drivers will also receive demerit points against their license, which allow insurance companies to raise Insurance rates.

That right there is some bullshit. In Illin-we're-too-fuckin-good-to-pronounce-our-'S's, one mile over the speed limit is a $375 fine.

Well, if the whole point of this is to completely discourage people from ever entering your shit-tastic state ever again, congratulations. You can kiss my black ass goodbye.

Hypocrisy is the New Black

That crashing sound you hear is Senator John Ensign falling flat on his gay-bashing face. Sen. Ensign has now entered rarified air in joining former Senator Larry Craig and Representative Mark Foley, as a family values conservative shot down by a sex scandal. Like Sen. Craig, Ensign was another staunch protector of traditional marriage and GOP congressman to reveal he has had an extramarital affair.

Personally, I can't be more proud of the fact that we've got stand-up guys like Ensign, Craig, and the thrice-divorced Rush Limbaugh preaching to us about family values. And the message? Marriage is a union between one man, one woman, a female staffer, a second woman to replace the first one, pre-teen boys, a third woman to replace the second one, and the occasional diddle in a men's bathroom stall.

The Landed Gentry UPDATED

Just put an offer in on a house. Soon I shall own property. I also own a business, a car, and some cats. I'm also getting married.

I'm almost like one of those people...you know...uh, what are they called?

Right. Adults.

Almost.

UPDATE: 6/9/09 - Countered by a swift kick in the nuts.

UPDATE: 6/9/09 - Countered with a headbutt to the ovaries.

UPDATE: 6/10/09 - Countered by pretty much conceding defeat.

We win!

UPDATE: 6/10/09 - Nevermind. We just got bent over by the bank. It's not happening, at least for now.

Huh?

I have a Blackberry. However, I have not yet learned all of its little tricks and nuances. This is partially due to my own laziness, and partially in an effort to frustrate Ismael.

At any rate, today I got a little graphic in the upper right corner where the missed calls and voicemails show up. The missed call graphics are like an X, and the voicemails are an envelope. But the graphic I have right now is a smiley face. It says I have one smiley face, with an asterisk. Whatever the hell it is, it doesn't show up in my emails or as a text message. I don't know where the fuck to locate this thing.

Please, somebody, tell me what the hell is going on.

This One's For You, Utah

I'm Barry F'ing Gibb!



Also, here's the new one from Andy Samberg and JT. Not as good as "Dick in a Box," (which they actually admit during the song), but still pretty dec:

Stay of Execution

I watch a lot of television shows, and much of what I watch tends to be quirky, serialized sci fi/fantasy with low ratings and cult status. As a result, most tend to be on the chopping block when the networks have to make their renew or cancel decisions. Shows like Angel, Veronica Mars, and Wonderfalls all got the axe while I was watching; I wasn't part of Firefly when it was on the air, but that was another travesty that happened to a show I now love. There are many other shows I watched when they started that all got cancelled, so many I can't even remember their names. Spring is nice, but it is also where my shows go to die.

This year appeared headed for a fate worse than most. The number of shows I watch regularly increased significantly this year, even after I gave up on Heroes for good. Some shows were pretty popular and were guaranteed renewals (Lost, The Office, and to a lesser extent, 30 Rock), so I knew about those in advance. I just started watching Supernatural, and that got an early renewal notice as well. Good news on those fronts.

But there are several others I feared for dead: Dollhouse, Joss Whedon's struggling but promising new show on FOX, Castle, the new ABC mystery/crime show starring Nathan Fillion (Mal) which I really really enjoyed, Reaper, the CW's fairly entertaining Kevin Smith-style comedy/fantasy show, and Chuck, NBC's wildly entertaining spy comedy show. The news was grim for most, made all the more frustrating by the fact that Heroes got an early renewal notice. No accounting for horrible, horrible taste, I guess.

But here we are at the zero hour, and the news is incredibly good.

Chuck got renewed!

Castle got renewed!

Even Dollhouse got renewed!

Still waiting for word on Reaper. I had heard this was dead in the water for a long time, but now there may even be hope on that front.

Quite a relief...

The Great Debate

Thanks to PH for forwarding this. Witness the greatest theological debate of our times, as played out on signs at two opposing churches:

http://evilbeetgossip.film.com/2009/05/05/just-because-21/

Why Did the Turtle Cross the Road? UPDATED

Word of advice - don't believe everything you read. Contrary to Ismael's tweeting earlier in the day, I did not kill a turtle. I ran over a turtle, but I didn't kill it. This was the scene - We were on our way into Portage, driving down Highway 33. I saw what looked like a rock in the road. It was big, kinda grayish. But I thought I could drive over it without a problem. So I did. Except, right when I got within a foot of the thing, I learned it was a turtle. A frickin' giant-ass turtle at that. A moment later, I was over it. The car definitely scraped a long the turtle. But it wasn't dead. In fact, I looked in the rearview, and noticed that the turtle was still walking around afterward. It was probably shitting itself, certainly. But not dead.

But now we have an answer to an age-old question:

Why did the turtle cross the road?

To get the fuck out of Portage. For realz.

UPDATE: 2 hours later, on the drive back, we saw the turtle. It was now clearly dead. Lying on its back on the side of the road, guts ripped out. I swear, I didn't do it.

The Whirlwind

Ever have that feeling where you've suddenly stepped into some alternate reality, where everything that happens is surreal and awesome? We had one of those moments about an hour ago. PH and I had just left the mall, where we had purchased some clothing, a new suit, and a couple of frothy beverages. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the air was warm and pleasant. We had walked there, and we started walking back. We walked along the parking lot behind JC Penneys, just passing the Chilis, and contemplating how to spend the rest of the beautiful day.

Just then, the wind picked up. Soon it became difficult to walk or speak. Debris battered us like stinging hail. For a moment, I seriously considered trying to duck and cover, it was so ridiculous. But we kept going, past the area behind the Boston Store where the cars were parked, into the barren wasteland of a parking lot As we marveled at the force of the wind, a shopping cart appeared across the lot, moving of its own accord. It raced toward us as though by jet propulsion. It had apparently escaped the Cub Foods area, and was on a mission to destroy. First it was just bizarre, then it was a little scary, as it was seriously moving toward us. Then its trajectory carried it past us, and it was hilarious. But then we realized it was heading for the rows of parked cars, and it had a serious head of steam going.

Making a snap decision, I dropped my new suit bag on the ground and chased after the cart. I only had sandles on, making it a little difficult to run, but I sprinted after it and began gaining ground. But the cart was still about fifty feet ahead, with about fifty feet before it would smash into the side of a car. I put the burners on and snagged that sucker about fifteen feet short of hitting the car.

After taking a moment to process, I walked the car back towards PH, who by now was laughing gregariously at the absurdity of it all. I couldn't help but join her. Strangely, the wind had all but disappeared by then. And although it reared its head again later during the walk back, it remained pretty still as we marched the intrepid shopping cart back to the Cub cart corrals.

Now we're just left with questions. Mainly, WTF? Also, was what I did heroic? Well, it depends on what you...yes, of course it was. In fact, it was a lot like Xander Cage chasing down Ahab and plunging it into the river, except I didn't deploy my harpoon. It was one of those defining moments that comes along once in a decade or so, and you have to decide for yourself whether to let the magically speeding shopping cart go and put a sizeable dent in someone's car, or whether you have to chase it down and corral that motherfucker. I chose the latter.

Someday, you may have to choose for yourself.

Act of Contrition

I'm willing to admit when I've been wrong. Previously, I scoffed at the idea of seeing the movie Knowing. Now, having seen it, I apologize to all of my friends who knew better. Most of all, I apologize to Nicolas Cage for ever doubting him. Let me break it down like this:

If you want to see a good movie, do not see Knowing.

If you want to see a great movie, absolutely do not see Knowing.

If, however, you want to see an AMAZING movie, then this is the movie for you. Where does the awesomeness start, you ask? Sure, it's got Nic Cage's ridiculous over-acting. (Witness him bashing a baseball bat against a tree and shouting, "You want a piece of this?" at the aliens. Then try not to die laughing.) But that's just the tip of the good-ass iceberg. You want flaming elk? You got it. How about alien angels? Done. Nic Cage running around looking bewildered? Hell yeah there is. But what about math, you ask? Believe me, there's math. There's shitloads of math.

What more do you need?

Another Way to Ride Dirty

Ever heard the song "Come On Get Higher" by Matt Nathanson? It's that same type of pleasant little acoustic rock song that gets so much play these days on the pop stations, the type that I just can't stand. At first glance, it's all about love and faith, presented in a syrupy sweet package of earnestness. At second glance, however, it's about something quite different. At least I think so, anyway. I'm going to post some lyrics, you tell me if you agree:

"Come on get higher
loosen my lips
faith and desire
and the swing of your hips
just pull me down hard
and drown me in love

I feel the pull of your heart
I taste the sparks on your tongue
I see angels and devils and god when you come on
hold on...

come on get higher
loosen my lips
faith and desire
and the swing of your hips
just pull me down hard
and drown me in love

come on get higher
loosen my lips
faith and desire
and the swing of your hips
just pull me down hard
and drown me
drown me in love

it's all wrong
it's all wrong
it's all wrong, its so right."

Okay, now take another look, and try to tell me this song's not about cunnilingus.

Because it totally is.

Ultimate My Ass

I'm sure you've all noticed a changing landscape regarding the sizing/labelling of products over the past 5 years or so. Like fast food chains that dropped the term "small," and now they have large, extra large, and colon-buster. I can understand that, as this is America, dammit, and we don't want no small nothin'. Then there's Starbucks, with sizes tall, grande, and venti. Of course, "tall" actually refers to small, and "grande" is medium. Same concept, only trendier, I guess.

But how about labels that just don't make sense? Today I stopped at a gas station/car wash. There were four different levels of car-washing I could choose from. From lowest quality wash to highest, those levels were labelled as follows:

1. Deluxe Wash
2. Ultimate Wash
3. Triple Wash
4. Extreme Wash

So here's the deal. You want to start with "deluxe" rather than "basic" or the like? I understand that. Deluxe just sounds better, and that's the point. But from deluxe, you move up to "ultimate." Here's where it gets problemmatic. How can something described as "ultimate" be only third best? Did the people who designed this system not know what "ultimate" means? Try the following: not to be improved upon or surpassed; greatest; unsurpassed. In other words, they are claiming to improve upon something that they also imply cannot possibly be improved upon. How, you ask? Do it a third time. Seems like if something has already been done perfectly, doing it a third time does nothing. The law of diminishing returns has to come into play.

And don't even get me started on "extreme." Maybe whoever designed this was just a fan of Harold and Kumar. Still, as a wise man once said, "read a book, nigga."

The Finer Things

Today I've taken a moment to reflect on one of the best parts of my move to Madison a few years back. There are several, of course, not the least of which are (1) my fiancee, (2) my friends, and (3) my job. Next on that list may have to be food. Now, this is not to say that before coming to Madison, I did not eat food. Some may claim that I didn't eat "real" food -- i.e. that I ate only fast food, junk food, and packaged food. This is largely true, though I did grow up with home-cooked meals and parents who tried desperately to get me to eat vegetables. But that's really not the point either. Nor is the point that after coming here, I branched out from the All-American diet to eat a wide(r) variety of foods, such as sushi, Indian food, Tex-Mex food, gyros, and (all thanks to Mr. Utah) cheap Chinese food. And even the occasional salad.

The real point I'm trying to make is that before coming here, I didn't know the correct way to enjoy the foods I liked. And I'll thank my friends for setting me straight on these. Here are some expamples of what I'm talking about:

Steak - Before I came here, I didn't give much regard to how a steak was cooked. Steak was steak, and always welcome unless it was rare. I assumed rare was gross, based primarily on the common hyperboles (serve it bloody; knock its horns off, wipe its ass, put it down on my plate, etc.). I believed that A-1 was a necessity to really enjoy steak. But now I know better. Now I know well done doesn't translate to done better. In fact, I know that any steak cooked beyond medium rare may as well be a blackened lump of shit. And I know that steak sauce, while tasty, is never necessary unless you're eating a terrible steak. And if it's that bad, what's the point?

Ranch - Back in Oshkosh, ranch was just a dressing. Here, it's the wonder condiment. Got a burger and fries, but no ketchup? Dip 'em in ranch. Got a pizza that's perfectly fine on its own? Dip it in ranch. Now it tastes twice as good. Got a mystery meat that's been in the fridge for an untold number of months, and no money for other food? Dip that fucker in ranch. Now it's gourmet. I cringe when I think of how many times I'd be stuck at home with a fridge full of food and a bottle of ranch, but never thought to start picking things at random and seeing what happened rather than resorting to another box of mac and cheese. Or at least, never having slathered the mac and cheese in ranch. Now that's an idea...

Which brings me to the main event -

Cheese - Before law school, my world involved four kinds of cheese: cheddar (yellow cheese), mozarella (white cheese), parmesan in a shaker (ground cheese), and cheese curds (yellow or white). I knew there were other cheeses out there, but they were so strange and foreign, I never really strayed from the big 4. And why bother? Yellow cheese went with everything. It was mild and pleasant and worked with 95% of my cheese cravings. Mozarella was strictly for pizzas, and parmesan was to only supplement the mozarella. Cheese curds were strange and exotic, a luxury item my parents brought back on occasion. I had tried others, of course. Blue cheese was gross. Sharp cheddar tasted funny. Anything else was just a minor variation on yellow cheese. So no need to venture elsewhere.

Then I came here and saw the light. People swore by sharp cheddar, so I gave it another shot. Turns out, it was just like the yellow cheese, only you could actually taste it. And it was damn good. Also, there's an actual block of cheese called parmesan. It doesn't just come in a shaker. And the cheese block is a billion times better. Blue cheese is like a flavor injection for steaks, burgers, and wings. Plus, all the other cheeses have their place for different occasions. Now, one of my favorite past times is hitting up the local Brennans and sampling 10-20 different cheese and cracker combinations.

And that's the real point - if I had never come here, I may have lived my whole life without discovering these things. So I just wanted to say thanks to all my friends and the wisdom they've imparted. Here's hoping I can return the favor some day.

Right...

Quote of the day:

My fiancee, trying to sell me on seeing the new Nicolas Cage move:

"It's going to be like National Treasure, but with more math."

Truthiness

Just caught the Colbert Report from March 5th. In case you missed it, the Tip of the Hat/Wag of the Finger section was brilliant. Here Colbert applauds Rush Limbaugh for re-writing the Constitution, then scolds Sean Hannity for whatever theoretical comment Hannity must have made to lead Hannity to begin praising all things Rush. Colbert then divines what that theoretical comment must have been, and it's a doozy. Watch below.

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Tip/Wag - Rush Limbaugh

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Political Humor

Joke of the Day

Or, if you don't have the patience for that, here it is:

"I mean to warrant obsequious crack-licking like that, he must have said something terrible," theorized Colbert of Hannity's praise. "I mean -- something like the vacuum in Republican leadership has allowed a mean-spirited, lard-assed talk radio host to become the de facto leader which is turning an already crippled party into a bickering laughingstock."

Quote of the Day

"But in America, if you want to spend some time with the ladies, you gotta show 'em some sausage."

Dave, Flight of the Conchords