Rambling Rhodes

Jiu-Jitsu Redux

Ow. Sore. Ouch. Ow ow ow. Arms. . . lifting. . . impossible. Pain. Neck. . . sore. Ouchy, ouch ouch. etc.

A Testicle PSA

There's something really hot about a chick with a British accent telling you to inspect your testicles. She didn't have to take a bite out of that damn thing though. Totally broke the mood.

Via Joseph, who saw it and immediately thought of me, which I guess is nice. I think.

Babies In The News

For those of you familiar with this blog, you know that I sometimes, occasionally, perhaps regularly, engage in potty talk. Potty talk is, to be perfectly honest, my default mode of communication, and it has served me well.

But, today, I'm going to engage in baby talk, rather than potty talk, because babies have been big news over the past week or so.

Again, for those of you familiar with this blog, you know that I'm about to take the lazy blogger's way out and treat you to news excerpts from assorted media outlets while interjecting my own whimsical commentary.

For our first first bout of baby-related news, we travel, of course, to Texas, a state that has been heavily featured here before, both because Texas is a large state with a lot of people, and because a lot of those same people are arguably not that bright. With apologies to Mandy and Tammy, and many other readers I'm sure.

From a June 28 Fox News report, we learn that "An East Texas college student finally learned why she'd gained weight and was having abdominal pain — she was about to give birth."

Now, stories such as this aren't all that unique. Girls have given birth without realizing they were pregnant before. What makes this story fantastic is that the girl in question, 19-year-old Annie Cohen, was already a mother of a three-year-old, so one would expect she'd have picked up on the pregnancy cues with a little more skill.

What also makes this story fantastic is the sheer number of astounding quotes featured in the article; quotes such as:

After the delivery, Annie Cohen ran inside, yelling at her mother to call 911. "I said 'Why?'" recounted Julie Cohen (the mother). "She said, 'There's a baby in the yard.' I said, 'Whose is it?' She said, 'It's mine.'"

One could almost imagine this Einstein-inspired conversation going on into infinity. In fact, let me try:

Yours? Yes, mine. As in, your baby? Yes, my baby! So, you're pregnant? No, not any more! Because you gave birth? Yes, in the yard! So, there's a baby in the yard? Yes, my baby! Because you were pregnant, but not any more? Mom, knock it off!

But even my wondrous imagination can't compete with the actual additional quotes featured in this article.

"It was like a natural instinct," marveled her mother. "She knew to push to turn the baby's shoulder and to get the baby out."

Yes, her daughter exhibited the natural instinct of childbirth, except for, of course, picking up on nine months of pregnancy signals. One wonders how this mother/daughter duo couldn't ascertain that a pregnancy was in the works. Thankfully, the observant mother offered up her own personal explanation.

"It's a big surprise," said Julie Cohen. "I thought she was just really liking her pizza."

We travel now, thankfully, away from Texas, over to Milwaukee, Wis., where, according to a June 29 CNN.com report: Weighing in at 13 pounds, 12 ounces, Delaney Jessica Buzzell isn't your average newborn. Her parents have even dubbed her the "Big Enchilada."

Nothing helps a child's self esteem better than having their mother and father make fun of their weight just minutes into their worldly existence. That's bad enough, but when even the nurse chimes in. . .

"It was ready for a steak," the nurse said. "It had quite an appetite."

Poor Delaney. I can almost imagine the thoughts going through that newborn's massive head.

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'M A BIG BABY! Please, knock it off with the big baby jokes already. Har har. Big Enchilada. Yeah, THAT will go over well on the playground a few years from now. Guys will just be clamboring to take the Big Enchilada to prom, I'm sure. Thanks for dooming me to a lifetime as a social pariah, everyone. I appreciate that."

And that wraps up today's installment of baby talk. Join me again next post when I'll try to get back to my regularly-scheduled potty talk. See you then.

Here's a list of famous women I'm posting to boost Web traffic: Christina Aguilera. Jessica Alba. Lindsay Lohan. Tina Fey.. Carrie Ann Moss. Kate Hudson. Summer Glau. Jennifer Love Hewitt. Jennifer Connelly. Christina Aguilera. Jessica Alba. Lindsay Lohan. Jessica Alba. Jenny Garth. Jenny Garth. Alyssa Milano. Alyssa Milano. Kate Hudson. Summer Glau. Jennifer Love Hewitt. Jennifer Connelly. Evanna Lynch. Evanna Lynch. Evanna Lynch.

Breaking The Rut

It's been just over a year since I last participated in a hapkido class. My reasons for taking a martial arts hiatus are varied, but I think I was mainly just burnt out. Today, however, I'm going to poke my curious nose back into the realm of the martial arts.

At 5:30 this evening, I'll be visiting this place to see what Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu has to offer. It should be interesting.

Hey, Good Advice!

Ha! Ha! < - Nelson Muntz

Oh, please let this happen.

Please, oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please.

Via Mitch, who offers commentary of his own.

Holy Fark!

Fark PhotoShop Contest. . . Create a movie poster for a "prequel" to a famous film

Too many fantastic entries to choose just one. I laughed a lot.

UPDATE: Now that I think about it, "Dirty Whore" should probably be the winning entry.

Nick Coleman's An Idiot, But I Repeat Myself

It's been awhile since I've mocked the journalistic geezerisms that spew forth from Nick Coleman's fountain pen. It's not that he hasn't been worthy of derision, it's just that his written ruminations are so bad, it's tiresome to pick apart each of his mental bird-droppings.

Well, the drought ends today!

When Daniel was thrown into the lions' den, angels came and shut the mouths of the lions. Then, when King Darius saw Daniel had been spared, he set Daniel free and put his accusers in his place. They got eaten.

No Nick Coleman column is complete without a lead paragraph intro that is eight million degrees away from the actual point of his column. Nick's not happy unless he's treating his readers to a Bible/History lesson. Actually, now that I think about it, Nick's not happy EVER. No problem is too small that it doesn't warrant the patented Nick Coleman overreaction, as we shall see.

We need leaders like Darius.

Of course, old Daniel would never have found himself in the lion's den in the first place had King Darius not issued an order banning prayer to any one god EXCEPT HIMSELF for thirty days, so yeah, Nick, we need more leaders like self-absorbed King Darius. You fucking moron.

If we had some, Minnesota would have fewer kids being mauled in back-yard zoos, like the 10-year-old from Royalton, who was nearly killed a few days ago when he was attacked by a tiger and a lion that had bolted from their cage.

Annnnnnd, the segue is complete. Nick has now glommed onto his point for this column, such as it is. A child was mauled by an exotic pet, and Nick's pissed off about it.

Angels may have saved the boy, but they got timely assistance from the Morrison County sheriff, who called upon a veterinarian to shut the animals' mouths. Permanently.

That's Nick Coleman-speak for "the vet killed the tiger and lion." Leave it to Nick to use 27 words to explain what most people could explain in seven.

Nicely done. If county authorities hadn't been so thorough in their duties, I would suggest that the animals' owner spend some time with his charges. Alone. Inside the cage.

You get that? The owner should have fed himself to his hungry pets in the wake of this tragedy. Old Nick is so subtle and clever, it's a wonder to me that he's not nationally syndicated.

There's a bit of Ol' King Darius in me, I guess. I'll take little kids over big cats, every time.

And, also, there's a bit of Nick Coleman who wouldn't mind if people were required by law to pray and worship only him for 30 days. At any rate, Nicky Boy has established that he's mad at exotic pet owners. So, now let's see if he has any further points.

What a kook-ridden, cat-scratch-fever state this has become. Just think about the large and unknown number of your neighbors who keep killers in their yards.

Ummmmmm. . . none?

Then ask why the state hasn't done anything about it that amounts to more than tossing bunny rabbits to tigers and saying, "Nice kitty."

There you have it, folks. In Nick's walnut-sized mind, the STATE should get down and dirty and start addressing this atrocious epidemic of rampant lions and tigers and bears. . . OH MY!

I remember writing a story more than 20 years ago about a guy who staked a lion in front of an abandoned farmhouse he owned in order to keep vandals at bay. I don't remember the guy, but I remember the lion. His name was Spike. In those days, a lion working as a watchdog seemed kind of cute.

For those familiar with Nick's writing, information like that found in the preceding paragraph is what Nick believes entitles him to the claim that he "Knows stuff."

Then kids started getting eaten, bite by bite.

Whoa. That's a big claim. Got anything to back that up, Nick?

I don't have to list all the recent incidents in which people have been attacked in Minnesota by animals that should be breaking the necks of gnus.

Without consulting Google, I can recall only two incidents in the last five years during which a child was mauled by an exotic animal in the state of Minnesota. There was the recent Royalton incident, and the more local case of a few years ago where a child was dragged by a white Siberian tiger. Of course, Nick makes it seem like lions and tigers are roaming the streets like cows in India. And he doesn't have to list all the recent incidents because, well, that would counter his argument too much.

We can accept that we live in a state where there is a small risk of confrontation with black bears, gray wolves and mountain lions (that last species is making a comeback and has a taste for joggers, which helps motivate them).

*rim shot* *uncomfortable cough from the back* *crickets chirping*

Oh, and by the way, Nick, are the mountain lions motivated, or the joggers? Never fucking mind.

But all of these animals were in Minnesota before we were. Whether you want to hug them or make rugs out of them, you have to admit: They make an honest living.

You couldn't hear it, but trust me, I just groaned out loud. Although, I did just remember the Loony Toons bit with Ralph Wolf and Sam Sheepdog, punching their time cards, which made me grin.

Back yard maneaters from other continents have no excuse. These maneaters (more accurately, kid-eaters) are a menace. Their "owners" (can anyone "own" a tiger?) are morons. But the state is worse.

Minnesota is a mouse.

Nick's right. This state has become a haven for exotic animals that prey daily on the luscious entrails of Minnesota youth. We need an exotic animal control task force, not unlike the Bear Patrol episode of "The Simpsons." "We're here! We're queer! We don't want any more bears!" What does it tell you about Nick Coleman logic that his columns can be boiled down to episodes of Loony Toons and "The Simpsons?"

Like many folks, I had thought that the Legislature had taken care of the tiger threat by banning the ownership of all exotic animals down the throats of which heads can disappear. But I put too much trust in politicians, many of whom might drag you into a cage and gnaw on your femur themselves, if they could get away with it.

One can almost imagine the heated debate in the Minnesota State Legislature regarding exotic animal ownership. It has to be item #3 on the list of pressing state business, right below "IMPORTANT SHIT THAT MATTERS" but above "INSIGNIFICANT SHIT THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN ALL THAT OFTEN."

Here's all the Legislature did: They stopped more morons from chaining dangerous beasts in their back yards. But they didn't do anything about the deluded and already existing morons who believe that putting lions and tigers and bears in their yard makes it Oz.

Yeah, a grandfather clause can be a bitch like that.

Those morons got grandfathered in: All they have to do is register their killers, reduce the ambient odor of moldy meat stuck between giant teeth, and keep the neighborhood kids from disappearing.

The requirement about disappearing children is #8 on the registration list, by the way. The actual wording reads: "The undersigned agrees to keep his/her "insert animal species here" from feasting on neighborhood children, including, but not limited to, children visiting from other neighborhoods."

Nicole Scherzinger. Nicole Scherzinger. Nicole Scherzinger. Nicole Scherzinger. Nicole Scherzinger.

One wonders what Nick thinks about, say, Dobermans, or Rottweilers or German Shepherds or Pit Bulls, all of which can be lethal pets to children, if not properly trained and supervised.

They're not even doing that much.

Many have ignored the deadline for registering their dangerous darlings. As a result, no one knows how many are out there.

Again, Nick, do you have anything to back up that claim? Not even a Google search? Nothing? Just good, old-fashioned "Nick-Coleman-Knows-Stuff" wisdom, eh? Pardon me if I'm a bit un-convinced then, mmmkay?

All we know is that many a lion has come to light only when it is seen loping across Otter Tail County with a Cub Scout in its mouth.

Holy Unrestrained Hyperbole, Batman!! To hear Nick tell it, you'd think we Minnesotans are living on the fucking Serengeti.

There is an easy way to end this menace. All we have to do is make the ownership of dangerous animals illegal.

End of mauled children.

Except for the occasional attack by, say, Dobermans, or Rottweilers or German Shepherds or Pit Bulls, all of which can be lethal pets to children, if not properly trained and supervised, but I repeat myself.

Yes, I know: When lions are outlawed, only outlaws will have lions. But that's all right.

You!! Nick Coleman!! Stop stealing my material!! fucking thief.

We have a lot of really well-built cages for outlaws.

Few ever escape.

Nothing wraps up yet another crappy Nick Coleman column better than a terrible conclusion.

The real irritating thing? Coleman probably gets paid over $50k a year to write moronic drivel like this. It's enough to make me cry.

Breast effect

Heh, over 800 visitors to this site today already, and it's not even noon yet. Tara Reid's breasts are apparently still a hot commodity on the Internet today.

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Farts, But You Were Laughing Too Hard To Ask

This is from an e-mail received from my sister-in-law, Jody, so I can in no way claim credit for any of this material. It's good information though. Very useful.

#1 - What makes farts stink?

The odor of farts comes from small amounts of hydrogen sulfide gas and mercaptans in the mixture. These compounds contain sulfur. Nitrogen-rich compounds such as skatole and indole also add to the stench of farts. The more sulfur-rich your diet, the more sulfides and mercaptans will be produced by the bacteria in your guts, and the more your farts will stink. Foods such as cauliflower, eggs and meat are notorious for producing smelly farts, whereas beans produce large amounts of not particularly stinky farts.

#2 - Why are stinky farts generally warmer and quieter than regular farts?

Most fart gas comes from swallowed air and consists largely of nitrogen and carbon dioxide, the oxygen having been absorbed by the time it reaches the anal opening. These gases are odorless, although they often pick up other (and more odiferous) components on the way through the bowel. They emerge from the anus in fairly large bubbles at body temperature. A person can often achieve a good sound with these voluminous farts, but they are commonly (but not always!) mundane with respect to odor, and don't feel particularly warm.

Another major source of fart gas is bacterial action. Bacterial fermentation and digestion processes produce heat as a byproduct as well as various pungent gases. The resulting bubbles of gas tend to be small, hot, and concentrated with stinky bacterial metabolic products. These emerge as the notorious, warm, SBD (Silent-But-Deadly), often in amounts too small to produce a good sound, but excelling in stench.

#3- How much gas does a normal person pass per day?

On average, a person produces about half a liter of fart gas per day, distributed over an average of about fourteen daily farts. Whereas it may be difficult for you to determine your daily flatus volume, you can certainly keep track of your daily numerical fart count. You might try this as a science fair project: Keep a journal of everything you eat and a count of your farts. You might make a note of the potency of their odor as well. See if you can discover a relationship between what you eat, how much you fart, and how much they smell.

#4 - How long does it take fart gas to travel to someone else's nose?

Fart travel time depends on atmospheric conditions such as humidity, temperature and wind speed and direction, the molecular weight of the fart particles, and the distance between the fart transmitter and the fart receiver. Farts also disperse (spread out) as they leave the source, and their potency diminishes with dilution. Generally, if the fart is not detected within a few seconds, it will be too dilute for perception and will be lost into the atmosphere forever. Exceptional conditions exist when the fart is released into a small enclosed area such as an elevator, a small room, or a car. These conditions limit the amount of dilution possible, and the fart may remain in a smellable concentration for a long period of time, until it condenses on the walls.

#5 - Why is there a 13 to 20 second delay between farting and the time it starts to smell?

Actually, the fart stinks immediately upon emergence, but it takes several seconds for the odor to travel to the farter's nostrils. If farts could travel at the speed of sound, we would smell them almost instantly, at the same time we hear them.

#6 - Is it true that some people never fart?

No, not if they're alive. People even fart shortly after death.

#7 - Why are beans so notorious for making people fart?

Beans contain sugars that we humans cannot digest. When these sugars reach our intestines, the bacteria go wild, have a big feast, and make lots of gas! Other notorious fart-producing foods include corn, bell peppers, cabbage, milk, and raisins. A friend of mine had a dog who was exceptionally fond of apples and turnips. The dog would eat these things and then get prodigious gas. A dog's digestive system is not equipped to handle such vegetable matter, so the dog's bacteria worked overtime to produce remarkable flatulence.

#8 - What things other than diet can make a person fart more than usual?

People who swallow a lot of air fart more than people who don't. This can be cured somewhat by chewing with your mouth closed. Nervous people with fast moving bowels will fart more because less air is absorbed out of the intestines. Some disease conditions can cause excess flatulence. And going up in an airplane or other low-pressure environment can cause the gas inside you to expand and emerge as flatulence.

#9 - Is a fart really just a burp that comes out the wrong end?

No, a burp emerges from the stomach and has a different chemical composition from a fart. Farts have less atmospheric gas content and more bacterial gas content than burps.

#10 - Is it harmful to hold in farts?

There are differences in opinion on this one. Certainly, people have believed for centuries that retaining flatulence is bad for the health. Emperor Claudius even passed a law legalizing farting at banquets out of concern for people's health. There was a widespread belief that a person could be poisoned or catch a disease by retaining farts. Doctors I have spoken to recently have told me that there is no particular harm holding in farts. Farts will not poison you; they are a natural component of your intestinal contents. The worst thing that can happen is that you may get a stomach ache from the gas pressure. But one doctor suggested that pathological distention of the bowel could result if a person holds in farts too much.

#11 - How long would it be possible to not fart?

A captive fart can escape as soon as the person relaxes. This means that a lot of people who assiduously refrain from farting during the day do so at great length as soon as they fall asleep. Having been on a great many overnight field trips, long bus trips, and trans- Pacific flights, I can personally vouch for the fact that lots of people do fart voluminously as they doze off. So the answer to the question would be, you can refrain from farting as long as you can stay awake!

#12 - Do all people fart in their sleep?

The gas accumulates in the night and they vent it upon awakening.

#13 - Where do farts go when you hold them in?

The doctors agree that the fart is neither released nor absorbed. It simply migrates back upward into the intestine and comes out later. It is reassuring to know that such farts aren't really lost, just delayed.

#14 - How can one cover up a fart?

There is a company called Fartypants that sells underwear designed to absorb the odor of farts If you should be caught without your Fartypants, another ploy is to blame the dog or cat, if one should be present, or complain about how the wind must be blowing from the direction of the paper mill. As for the sound... if you are in a large group of people, act oblivious and innocent, or glance quickly at the person next to you, as if you think he/she did it. Other strategies include coughing or suddenly moving your chair so that people think that they misheard the fart. If you are with one other person, you can act as if nothing happened, and the other person may believe he was mistaken in thinking he heard a fart. Another strategy is not to cover it up, but to proudly proclaim the fart as your own grand accomplishment and to issue a challenge to the others to outdo that one if they think they can.

#15 - Is it really possible to ignite farts?

The answer to that is yes! However, you should be aware that people get injured igniting flatulence. Not only can the flame back up into your colon, but your clothing or other surroundings may catch on fire. A survey done by Fartcloud (the site, alas! is no more) indicates that about a quarter of the people who ignited their farts got burned doing it. Ignition of flatulence is a hazardous practice. However, if you want to try it, and you don't have a friend to light your fart for you, might find it easier to accomplish the job using the Fartlighter. There have also been cases in which intestinal gases with a higher than normal oxygen content have exploded during surgery when electric cautery was used by the surgeon.

#16 - Why is it possible to burn farts?

Farts burn because they contain methane (usually) and hydrogen, both of which are flammable gases. (Hydrogen was the same gas that was used in the ill fated Hindenburg dirigible.) Farts tend to burn with a blue or yellow flame.

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Avoiding The Language Barrier

I've never been comfortable when it comes to confronting language barriers, a minor phobia that stems, I believe, from living the first 17 years of my life pretty much fully immersed in a purely English-speaking small town community.

Therefore, when I went to live in Tokyo in 1992, I was genuinely unprepared for the culture shock inherent in suddenly living amongst over 20 million people for whom English was a secondary language. Those darned Japan natives seemed intent on speaking. . . Japanese. Who would've thunk it?

Over the first few weeks, I experienced any number of language barrier surprises. For example, I bought a Game Boy cartridge, which I thought was a super awesome good deal, until I fired up the game and realized that all the text was in. . . wait for it. . . Japanese. From a culinary standpoint, the language barrier led to all sorts of distasteful mistakes, most notably the pastry I purchased one morning, which was quite good, until I hit the cream filling, which turned out to be bean paste. And, just a quick note about bean paste: BARF!

Given all the surprises I encountered early on during my Japanese living experience, I think it's understandable that I started developing language barrier avoidance mechanisms to ensure I didn't squander money needlessly, or end up with a mouthful of bean paste, or cow tongue, or both.

One thing you quickly learn upon living in Japan is that you build up a collection of spare change, or Yen, rather fast. This is because, in Japan, the lowest denomination paper money is the U.S. equivalent of a $10 bill. Everything lower than that comes in coin form. So, you start accumulating spare change almost immediately. And, it's not like the pennies and nickles you squirrel away here in the States. In Japan, spare change can mean real money, what with all those coins worth $1 and $5 floating around.

The obvious solution to all this spare change is to go to a bank and have it tallied up and converted into bills. Obvious though such a solution was, I was firmly in the throes of language barrier avoidance syndrome. For some reason, I thought that if I went into a bank with a Folger's can full of coins, I'd come out of said bank with the deed to a scooter or something. When it came to my money in Japan, I had become almost pathological in trying to protect it. I had spent it foolishly too many times thanks to language misunderstandings.

Well, one day, I was purchasing a soda from one of the city's omnipresent vending machines. I was using a handful of 10 Yen coins to buy a Coke that cost 110 Yen. For you math whizzes out there, that equals 11 coins. Unfortunately, the machine was out of Coke, so I pushed the coin return lever, and out popped a 100 Yen coin and a 10 Yen coin. I had magically gone from a pocket-heavy load of 11 coins, to just two. Out of curiousity, I put in five 100 Yen coins, and pushed the coin return lever, and out plopped a 500 Yen coin.

See if you can guess where I'm going with this.

Inspired by my discovery, I raced home and grabbed my Folger's can full of Yen, and returned to the magic vending machine, and I started a most laborous process of inserting Yen until the coin load equaled 500 Yen, at which point I'd pull the coin return lever and retrieve a 500 Yen coin. As you might imagine, this was a fairly time-consuming process, but I was avoiding any language barrier faux pas, so I was immensely pleased.

However, I also realized, deep down, that my actions were somewhat odd, so any time I saw someone approaching, I'd quickly gather up my Folger's can, and walk around the block. I didn't want anyone actually witnessing my eccentric behavior, after all. All told, when it came to repeatedly feeding coins into a vending machine, and the occasional walk around the block, it took me over an hour to convert my Folger's can of coins into 500 Yen tokens.

As the year progressed, I performed this odd routine a few dozen times, whenever my Folger's can started overflowing. I even had a mental map in my head as to which vending machines functioned properly when it came to dispensing 500 Yen coins. I knew where they were located, what goods they dispensed, and how secluded they were. I became so proficient, in fact, I brought my overall time down to about 40 minutes per Folger's can.

Overall, it was a harmless activity, but I often wondered what the vending machine maintenance people thought when they found their machines depleted of 500 Yen coins, while overflowing with every other coin denomination. That, and my classmates often wondered why I carried so many 500 Yen coins around with me.

If they kept asking me, however, I'd just threaten to buy them some bean paste. That usually silenced them.

When The Lions Are Outlawed

Only outlaws will have lions.

Teen Girl Squad!!!

Episode #9!!!

Quite good. Quite good.

We Could All Use One At Some Point

Helping Out The Boss

Doug says: Can you minimize the cold air coming into my office?

Ryan says: I'll have to sacrifice a chicken, and coat your doorway with its blood, if you have the stomach for that.

Buyer's Remorse

I bought one of these on Saturday.

It was an impulse buy. It was an open item on sale at Best Buy that was about $500 below the usual price. I have 30 days to decide whether I want to keep it. It's huge. Thing is, I can't shake the thought that "hey, that money could've gone towards remodeling the basement."

But what fun is that?

It Occurs To Me. . .

I didn't form much of an opinion regarding the whole Terri Schiavo thing. There were pretty strong arguments being made by both the parents and the husband. The pain on both sides must have been pretty real, and the only person who could settle the argument was left staring blankly into whatever world was left to her. I do think the federal government shouldn't have gotten involved, but it tends to do that it seems.

That said, I'm peeking around different sites that have far stronger opinions than I do, and what I'm consistently seeing from people who sided with the husband and the removal of the feeding tube is an almost tunnel vision devotion to science and medicine. The medical community says she had half the brain mass of a normal human being, ergo she was braindead, braindead BRAINDEAD dammit! A persistent vegetative state (PVS)!!

Don't get me wrong, I love science and medicine. I think we've made remarkable progress in both fields, and more breakthroughs occur practically on a daily basis. Thing is, science and medicine have, throughout history, repeatedly corrected themselves. It was once concretely believed, for example, that an item twice the size of another item, would fall twice as fast. That was established scientific doctrine for generations, until Newton came along and said "no, they fall at the same rate, as per the physics of earth's gravitational constant." As for medicine, bloodletting and leaches were common practice, until they were abandoned as foolish medical nonsense. And now, both practices are being reconsidered as actually useful in some cases.

So, here I find myself agreeing that, yes, the autopsy certainly makes a solid case that Schiavo was likely blind and in a PVS. And yet, there's a part of me that can't shake the feeling that, ten years from now, the medical community could discover that people in Terri's condition actually escape into another, undamaged area of their mind in a sort of alternative reality that we "normal" people simply can never understand. Just as Newton discovered that an item half the size of another item falls to earth just as fast, so too it could be discovered that a brain half the size of a normal brain still functions just as well, just in different ways.

I get thinking along these lines a lot. Scientific discovery amazes me on a daily basis. The fact we have two Mars rovers still toddling along on the Martian surface well beyond their life expectancy is fascinating to me. The way science and technology are reshaping our understanding of the universe is humbling, to be honest.

But they're also perpetually self-correcting. Dinosaurs were reptiles. No, wait, they were birds. No, wait, there's a new explanation. Now, potato chips cause cancer, and Yahoo.com/s/nm/20050617/hl_nm/acne_heart_dc;_ylt=ArUjyKnR5CIT61ewnE3hOFOs0NUE;_ylu=X3oDMTA2bXJyZDI0BHNlYwNobA--">acne's good for the heart.

I absolutely believe that Darwin's evolutionary theory is correct. Yet I also believe that spontaneous and explosive evolutionary processes probably factor in there as well, because science still has yet to adequately explain how human beings developed such monumental obscenely large brains in such a relatively short period of time. I'm sure it will be explained expertly somewhere down the line, but for now it's still up to conjecture.

The same thoughts come to mind practically any time a popular phrase comes up on the news or in conversation. People often cite with absolute certainty the phenomenon of global warming. And I admit, the evidence certainly seems to support the theory of global warming. But, then I find myself self-correcting by thinking "who the hell are we to know what's going on with such absolute certainty? Perhaps this is all a natural process. Maybe it's a combination of natural processes AND human activity. Who really fucking knows? Maybe global warming is the result of aliens teraforming our planet for their own habitation."

Anyway, all this is just me rambling incoherently about something that slithers through my mind once in awhile. None of which seems to make much difference, and Terri Schiavo is still dead, and the band plays on.

Crap On The Carpet Funny (COTCF)

I don't know how familiar any of you are with Fark. I'm not a member because, well, I try to keep away from Internet memberships that require payment. Thankfully, you can still troll Fark just for the surprisingly timely news items and laugh out loud commentary. And their links to a nude Karen Dejo.

But, it's the PhotoShop contests that keep me coming back for more, and today they have a doozy in the works. The theme for the PS contest? "Worst possible spokesperson for common products" Go now. Laugh. Out loud. Jeez, it's worth it for the Sony one alone.

WARNING: This PhotoShop contest goes beyond bad taste with some of the entries. Which, of course, is why I think it's so funny, I suppose.

UPDATE: Here's one example of the hilarity that went on during that PhotoShop contest:

Updating The Resume

Last week, I realized that maybe, just maybe, there are jobs in the world other than the one I currently work at. Such realizations occur occasionally, usually after a particularly bad day on the job.

Thing is, I'm a rut living kind of guy. I'm an expert when it comes to living in a rut. Not a rut goes by that I don't consider living in. You ever notice that if you type the word "rut" enough times, it starts to lose its meaning? I need a quick refresher course. . .

Rut. Noun. An annually recurring condition or period of sexual excitement and reproductive activity in male deer.

Whoops. Wrong rut. Rut roh! This is not the rut I'm looking for. Okay, here's the real rut:

Rut. Noun. A fixed, usually boring routine.

Realizing that I may be a bit too immersed in a rut when it comes to my employment, I decided to dust off and update the old resume. It had been awhile since I last accessed the "My Resume" file on my computer; over three years ago, in fact. So, some serious updating was required.

Crafting a resume really is an art form. You're given about one page to explain why you're good at something. What's more, you have to write it in such a way that someone else will read it and reach the conclusion that you're possibly the best person to fill an employment position. In other words, you have to lie, or at least bend the truth so incredibly far, it forms a circle.

I remember way back when I first wrote my resume. I was fresh out of college and eager to land a journalism job of some sort. ANY SORT. The problem, of course, was that I didn't have much in the way of journalism experience. Somehow, listing three years as a meat department employee didn't seem like the kind of job experience a major newspaper or magazine was looking for.

So, I was basically left with no other choice but to approach my resume as an exercise in creative writing. For example, writing for the little-known campus newspaper became "I coordinated with and interviewed various university officials to provide news and information to the students and faculty of Winona State University by writing for the campus quarterly publication known as 'Bravura.'"

In addition to exaggerating what little actual journalism experience I had, I also found myself plugging in details that looked somewhat impressive on paper, but in actuality were fairly mundane. I found that overstating my experience with computers, in particular, made for good resume fodder.

Keep in mind that I graduated in 1998, so I was able to get away with such claims as: "I have extensive experience working with Microsoft Windows 95, as well as such applications as Microsoft Works and Outlook Express. Additionally, I'm well versed in working on Macintosh computers, and am proficient with the desktop publishing application QuarkXpress."

Where I had the most creative leeway, however, was under the open-ended resume heading that I conjured called "My Abilities." Granted, nowadays, after seven years of actual work experience, I have no need for a "My Abilities" section, but back in 1998, it was a crucial area in which I could write about myself.

"My Abilities" included "Being able to meet tight deadlines and work effortlessly in high stress environments while working well with others to produce high quality written content." Of course, none of that was true. I work horribly with others, and I deal with stress about as well as a postal worker with a concealed semi-automatic weapon. And I don't think I've ever produced quality written content. But, still, it filled space and made me sound like a good candidate, so that was all that mattered.

Finally, after four months of sending out my resume for every writing position I could find, I landed my first post-college journalism position at a newspaper that actually took my resume seriously, the Stewartville Star.

Those suckers.

*Sideshow Bob Shudder*

I just accidently ran across this picture. It horrifies me on several levels.

Yes, the girl died.

Attention, Minnesota Readers

Vote for the Minnesota quarter, if you'd be so kind.

Personally, I like the Minnesota quarter. Except for the outline of the state hovering over the water like some sort of monolith. I mean, come on, if you don't know what Minnesota looks like, consult a fucking map. I realize we have 10,000+ lakes. Apparently, that's out defining characteristic. It just seems they could have called out that bit of geographical identity through a different means. That hovering state outline kind of kills the overall tranquility of the rest of the design. Anyhooooo. . .

That said, the Colorado quarter has its own drawbacks. Namely, the slogan "Colorful Colorado" is kind of a braindead stupid claim to make on the back of a freakin' SILVER quarter. Just sayin'.

Some things about me you may not know

1. My middle name is Carroll, because my brother's middle name is Jon, after my dad, and my mother, Carol, thought she was being clever.

2. Yes, I do get a lot of shit about my middle name.

3. During college, I worked about three years in grocery store meat departments. Working with animal fat made my hands soft and smooth.

4. I sliced off the tip of my right forefinger on a deli slicer. Those freakin' blades are hella sharp.

5. I attended an all boys school my senior year of high school. I missed girls. A lot.

6. I used to have the biggest celebrity crush in the world on Loni Anderson during her WKRP years.

7. Nowadays, it's Salma Hayek.

8. Daisy Fuentes ain't bad, either.

9. I have a unibrow.

10. Okay, I don't have a unibrow right now, because my girlfriend plucked out the middle part last night.

11. Eyebrow plucking is an irritating pain.

12. I had knee surgery when I was 16-years old due to a wrestling injury. They removed a piece of cartilage, and even today I notice it when I run.

13. I had a front tooth knocked out in 9th grade when a wrestling teammate threw a heavy pillow at me while I was doing pull-ups.

14. I was the only kid in my 9th grade class who had to put a fake tooth in Polident each night.

15. Boxers. Oh, wait, you already knew that.

16. When I moved to Tokyo my senior year, it was over a month before I ate anywhere other than McDonald's or KFC.

17. My favorite food is Naan bread dipped in Moti Butter Chicken. If you don't know what this is, your life is roughly 70 percent incomplete.

18. Through five years of college, I made the Dean's list twice: after the first quarter, and my last quarter.

19. I only had one D grade in college.

20. It was in my broadcast journalism class. That's pretty much when I decided to stick to the writing end of journalism.

21. After getting that D, I bumped into the broadcast journalism professor in the hall, and he asked me if I knew why I had been given a D. I said, "yeah, because you're a jackass."

22. That, obviously, came back to haunt me during the two other classes I had to take with that prick. He made life particularly unpleasant, although I still managed to get a C+ and a B, respectively.

23. I've been told I have a good voice for radio. I'm sure it's also been implied that I have a good face for radio.

24. My first computer was a Macintosh Performa 405. I thought it was really cool that it had Scrabble installed on it, although I played it, maybe, five times.

25. I didn't participate in my college graduation. Instead, I had to cover the graduation as a reporter for the Winona Daily News. That always struck me as ironic, for some reason.

26. I have recurring dreams about tornadoes.

27. I know the religious significance behind "Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start."

28. I don't know how to drive a stick shift.

29. My first car was an '89 Chevy Cavalier. It was baby blue and got over 30 miles to the gallon.

30. I think Lenny Kravitz is one of the most over-rated musicians of our time and that all his shit sounds exactly the same.

31. I used the soundtrack to Rocky IV to help get me pumped up before a wrestling match.

32. I won six wrestling tournaments in high school, to which I largely credit the Rocky IV sountrack.

33. I've discovered over the past month and a half what I've suspected for most of my post-college career: I'm not a particularly good managing editor.

34. I'm picking up my parents from the airport today. They're back from Tokyo.

35. They're going to take me out to eat at a Thai Restaurant. I'll probably order green curry.

Making Up Words

Caroline says: Oh, I never saw the forecast where it was supposed to be nice on Sat, which is why I was surprised you'd try the rollerblading thing again.

Caroline says: I figured you were brave.

Ryan says: We rollerbladed once last year, right into a total downpour. Six miles of complete and total drenchitude.

Caroline says: Please use the word "drenchitude" in an article.

Caroline says: That is most excellent.

Ryan says: "The mainframe can continue running, despite conditions that would destroy most systems, including extreme heat and overwhelming drenchitude."

Caroline says: Awesome.

Caroline says: That right there is a $5 word. No more of that silly $1 per word stuff.

Ryan says: I'm a wordsmith of the highest order.

Darth Vader Can Do ANYTHING

I didn't think he had a chance.

He sure knows how to piss off R. Lee Ermey.

The United States Of. . . well, you get the idea..

Quitting

One of my most truly inspired moments of negotiating came about when I was 17 years old. My parents had just been offered teaching jobs at an international school in Tokyo, and we were having a family pow-wow in the living room because I, having lived my entire life in the Minnesota small town of Harmony, was not all that keen on spending my senior year of high school half a world away from everything that was familiar to me. Obviously, in retrospect, it was one of the best experiences in my life, but at the time, I couldn't see how that could possibly be the case.

Anyway, as we sat there, negotiating terms, I had already scored the promise of my own car come college the next year. That was a good start, but I wanted to hit them where it hurt. I wanted to conjure a demand that would truly make them pause and consider whether all this Tokyo talk was worth it.

"If I go with you, Dad has to quit smoking," I said.

There was a tangible feeling of shock in the room, as if I had settled on a topic no one dared to think I'd even consider addressing. My Dad was a smoker's smoker. The man was at a pack a day, easy, and he'd been at that level for my entire life. I imagine he probably bottle fed me as a baby with a Winston hanging from his lips.

"That's asking quite a lot of your father," my Mom tried to object.

"No," said Dad. "He's right. I should quit."

What transpired after that was over four years of my Dad gradually coming to terms with the ultimatum. You have to understand, my father is a man who operates at an extremely high stress level. Everything he does is, at a minimum, of the utmost importance. Sending him out to buy a gallon of milk is a minor adventure for the man.

So, cigarettes were an important stress-coping mechanism. Now, on the verge of living in a foreign land after over 20 years of the same town and teaching job, here was his son telling him cigarettes were hereafter taboo. He must have thought I was the biggest little prick on the planet. Still, much to my amazement, he acquiesced.

So, my father embarked on a quitting program that was entirely his own, by which I mean he just didn't smoke where any family member could catch him. Upon settling down in our Tokyo apartment, he started running all sorts of unnecessary errands. He'd decide, for example, that we really needed a bottle of Coca-Cola, even if there were already three bottles in the refrigerator. Off he'd go, to the little 7-11 on the corner, and he'd come back smelling faintly of nicotine, and looking decidedly more relaxed then when he left.

My mother and I always knew what he was up to, but we both basically thought it was a little cruel to deny the man a little respite from the uber-stressful reality of assimilating ourselves into an entirely different culture.

Yet, four years later, with Dad still sneaking out to puff his cares away, we all came to the conclusion that it was starting to become a little ridiculous. After all, I had fulfilled my end of the bargain years ago, and my parents had more than adjusted to the Tokyo lifestyle.

So, my father decided that it was time to enlist some help in his quitting crusade, and he found that help in the form of a nicotine patch. And, despite lingering doubts by me and everyone who had known him as a chronic smoker for over two decades, the patch actually started working for him. His unnecessary errands started to cease, and his clothes started to smell less and less like a brush fire.

Finally, after several months of slapping a patch on his shoulder, my father didn't even require that any more. It only took him four years to go cold turkey. And I'm still pretty proud of him.

Not sure why I wrote this, except that Father's Day is on the horizon, and my parents get back from Tokyo for the summer on Friday.

No Comment

Makes Sense To Me. NOT!

WILMINGTON, Del. -- General Motors Corp. plans to eliminate 25,000 jobs in the United States by 2008 and close plants as part of a strategy to revive North American business at the world's largest automaker, its chairman said today.

Sooo, in order to revive business, the sound strategy is to close plants and fire people? I only took a couple of business classes in college, but I don't remember this particular business strategy being discussed. Then again, I may have skipped that day or something.

Hey, Mac Lovers, A Differing Opinion

Gawd, watch this. It's a scream.

Via.

Think Different. . . Okay, Don't

So, Apple computers has decided to dump PowerPC processors in favor of Intel chips. Obviously, this concerns me because PowerPC processors are built by IBM, and IBM pays me money to write good things about the Power Architecture (and, yes, I'm aware of the duplicate lead paragraph).

But, beyond that, Apple has managed to cling to a 2.6 percent computer market share largely because of a PC architecture that thumbs its nose at Windows-based PCs. Now, suddenly, they switch gears and adopt the same underlying chip that powers most of the Windows PCs in the market. Strikes me as an odd, and risky, move.

Adding to the bizarro world of today's IT market, the next generation Microsoft X-Box 360 is supposedly going to leverage IBM PowerPC processors. What's next? Proprietary Linux?

Mein Kampf

This, reminded me of this.

Attack of the big ugly ants

About a month ago, during a pleasant evening of laying on the couch and watching TV, my girlfriend started to mildly freak out.

"Oh my gosh, Kat must have cut his lip or something!" she exclaimed.

As a point of clarification here, I should explain that Kat is one of the cats that roam the house. His brother, Kit, also roams the house at will. I'm mostly indifferent to both animals, except when it's my turn to empty the litter box or clean up a hairball, during which times I somewhat despise them.

I looked over at my girlfriend, who was attending to Kat with the concern one would otherwise expect to see expressed by an Army medic assessing the wounds of a fallen comrade. She was very, very worried about Kat's apparent split lip. For Kat's part, he just seemed happy that he was getting so much attention.

I did my boyfriend duty and starting inspecting Kat's lip. There was, indeed, something irregular about it. There was a jagged piece of something black protruding from his lip. However, since there was no apparent blood, I came to the conclusion that something was simply stuck to his lip. So, I went and retrieved a tweezers.

Clasping the unknown lip object in the tweezers, I started to pull, much to Kat's apparent displeasure. Just when I thought the cat was about to bite me in retaliation, the foreign object detached and, upon further examination, I realized that it was a fairly large ant head. Apparently, Kat had been toying with an ant earlier in the day, and the ant bit him on the lip just before Kat swallowed the rest of the ant's body. I really didn't put too much thought as to where this titanic battle between cat and ant took place. Until last week. . .

Last week, my girlfriend was out in the porch, exercising on the treadmill, when suddenly she ran into the house and started, once again, to mildly freak out.

"There are some huge flying bugs in the porch," she said urgently, and I immediately knew it was my boyfriend duty to squash the airborn insects.

As I set about smooshing the insectoid creatures, I started to wonder how in the heck so many large, winged ants managed to get inside the porch. My question was answered when, while searching for other flying ants, I noticed a swarm of large, black, ugly ants squiggling in and out of a space between the wall and the window.

I feel I should note here that, while I'm a tough, swaggering male when it comes to killing individual insects, when it comes to confronting dozens of ants pouring from a hole in my wall, I jump back and scream a little bit like a girl.

A little investigation revealed that I very likely had a colony of carpenter ants nesting somewhere within my porch walls, and what I learned about these ants brought me to the conclusion that I really didn't want them living there. What transpired was a week-long battle between myself and the hundreds, if not thousands of carpenter ants that had taken up abode in my porch walls.

I tried ant bait traps, which the ants didn't seem all that interested in. I also caulked around the outside of the house, cutting off entry points I was pretty sure they were utilizing to get within the walls. So now, they can't get in. That still left the pesky buggers that were already inside.

Finally, I sprayed insect killer directly in the space from where I originally saw them emerge. After several applications of the spray, I think it's safe to say I wiped out most of them.

If not, I'll send the cats out there, because apparently they're pretty good at hunting ants, even if the ants manage to get a parting bite in once in awhile.

My Halo 2 Experience

When I read awhile back that there were people actually making considerable tournament money playing the popular X-Box game sequel, Halo 2, I was naturally intrigued. You can make money playing video games? It’s like every geek dream I’ve had since I was 12 years old.

The drawback, however, was that I didn’t own Halo 2. What’s more, I didn’t own an X-Box. What’s even more, ever since PC-based Command & Conquer came out years ago, I’d barely even touched a video game console. The last console I owned was a Sega Saturn, so my opinion of game consoles had ended on a particularly sour note.

The obvious solution to not owning an X-Box or Halo 2 was to go out and play Halo 2 on somebody else’s X-Box. To accomplish this, I consulted the 14-year-old step-son of a good friend of mine. What transpired was about three hours of getting schooled in Halo 2 by a 14-year-old who made a habit of sighing loudly at my incompetence, and pointing out obvious facts like “you’re really bad at this” and “I’ve never played anyone this bad.” Not surprisingly, such constructive criticism did little to improve my game play.

Don’t misunderstand me, I did actually enjoy playing the game. Visually, it’s a stunning achievement and, as first person shooters (FPSs) go, I can see why it could be an addictive pastime with legions of devoted fans. That said, I don’t think I could ever be one of those devoted fans.

It boils down to this: PC-based FPSs have spoiled me. I have been conditioned by nearly a decade of PC gaming to play using a mouse and a keyboard. It’s what I know and understand and, in my opinion, there no better way to play an FPS than with a mouse and keyboard.

Playing Halo 2, I was consistently vexed by the X-Box controller. There are just so many buttons, to say nothing of those maddening dual thumb-sized joysticks that I couldn’t toggle to save my soul. Oh, sure, I could see the avatar being run by the impatient 14-year-old sitting next to me, but I couldn’t target him even if somebody offered me a briefcase full of cash. The right thumb toggle required a precision touch that most surgeons would envy. I’d see my enemy coming toward me, and I’d try to maneuver my targeting reticle over the oncoming assailant, only to pass by him by several yards. Then I’d try to come back, and I’d overshoot him yet again. Only about one out of every 20 shots found their mark, which simply wasn’t enough to finish him off before he got within range and fragged me with a sword (which he used because “it at least made it a little challenging”).

My solution, such as it was, was to run around the map until I found a tank I could drive. I learned that landing precision shots with a tank wasn’t all that necessary. All I had to do was get a round in close, and the concussion would do the rest. This technique worked for awhile, until my opponent started zooming in close with a speeder, disembark, jump aboard my tank, and slice me where I sat.

I experimented with other techniques, weapons and vehicles through the course of my Halo 2 trial. Some worked briefly, others not at all. So, we switched over to collaborative play which. . .whereas I thought a 14-year-old sighed a lot and was overly impatient during combative play, I was in no way prepared for the level of impatience encountered during collaborative play.

“Come ONNNN,” I’d hear. “What’s taking you so long? Where ARE you?”

Again, such impatience did little to actually improve my Halo 2 playing ability.

So, I won’t be playing Halo 2 again in the near future. Although I thought it was visually stunning, and the overall FPS game concept was great, I just can’t see myself weaning away from the mouse and keyboard approach to FPSs, on which I’ve grown to depend.

Besides, I didn’t win any money playing Halo 2, which was what attracted me in the first place.

Hmmmm. Maybe later.

Ryan says: Damn you VITSEEEEE!!!!!! http://msnbc.msn.com/id/7912464

Caroline says: "You just see them glistening in the sun. It’s just gross."

Ryan says: I'm sitting in here, giggling at the whole article. Too funny.

Ryan says: "Disposing of trucker bombs, aka torpedoes or pee bottles. . . "

Caroline says: I just got there

Caroline says: heh

Ryan says: And I can't stop imagining Vitse producing two or three of those of his own. Top of the line humor, I tells ya.

Caroline says: I love the poster. "Okay, one last time: This is not a urinal."

Caroline says: Oh, he's admitted to peeing in an empty soda bottle, but not a huge jug.

Ryan says: "Mowers 'hit them, they explode'"

Caroline says: heeeeeeee

Caroline says: best. subhead.ever.

Ryan says: Oh, God, I wish I had written that article.

Caroline says: Seriously.

Ryan says: Think of the Nick Coleman-like man-on-the-street interviews I could have conducted.

Caroline says: oh man

So true. So very true.

"We Need A fucking_preview.jpg">Deep Throat"

They Keep Pulling Me Back In. . .

Just when I think I'm taking a break from geo-political blogging, Joshua goes and punches all the right buttons, and I get sucked right back to it.

Oh, and Leblanc has some tits up on her blog, which took me by surprise today. It's safe for work now, but it wasn't when I dropped by earlier.

Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker.