You know what pisses me off? I'll tell you what pisses me off.
I'm a hairy motherfucker. Hairy arms, hairy chest, hairy legs, hairy FEET (feet looks wrong all capped, doesn't it?)--I'm a fucking six foot tall Hobbit, I swear--hairy ass, hairy balls, and it just seems to keep spreading, like Tiberium, or something (extra points if you get the Tiberium reference). Shit, even my cock shaft has hair--no kidding, honest to God, cock shaft hair (not a bunch, but strands here and there, mostly here) extending right up to my circumcision scar (I bet you wanted to know that--I report, you vomit, or fantasize).
But, the fucking top of my head, which incapsulates my brain, which shoots out the most heat, which should be protected? Nothing. Nada. Not a Goddamned sprout. It's like an ice cap. I mean, COME ON! About a third of my individual (individual, as in SINGULAR) chest hair follicles sprout as many as THREE fucking hairs! THREE! But the top of my pate can't bother with even ONE fucking hair per follicle. And this all started taking place when I was 20 years old, for fuck's sake. fucking genetics, man. Thankfully, I realized the benefit of shaving my head about that time.
Then again, I've saved, roughly, $8,000 in haircuts over the years (maybe more, maybe less), opting instead to shave my noggin.
Why, yes, I shaved my armpits and lower back today, because I'm sick of people accidentally grasping my armpit and back hair during my Jiu-Jitsu classes, which hurts like a motherfucker.
I'm not bitter. Really.
"Demoted on a Celestial Scale" c. Ryan Rhodes, Aug. 24, 2006
In case you missed the news last week, Pluto is no longer considered a planet. That's right, that little period at the end of our solar system is gone, relegated to "large floating rock" status. Our solar system is now the equivalent of a run-on sentence, babbling on into the Kuiper Belt and the Oort Cloud and on into the infinity that is the universe.
"Oh, Ryan," you say. "You're exaggerating."
No I'm not, I say! I grew up believing in Pluto. I'm a card-carrying Pluto-crat! I was educated to learn the mnemonic device that explained our solar system in such a way that we would never forget it. Namely, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto were taught to me as "My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Nine Pickles."
Now, this little mnemonic device took me awhile to wrap my head around. I wasn't accustomed to thinking in such abstract ways. I just kind of sat there at my desk, trying to imagine my mother, on her 12th cup of coffee, hurriedly dealing out pickles to me and my nine friends during my birthday party. Why pickles, Mom? We're hungry! We need more than a pickle diet! This is the worst birthday party ever! And why are you so eager? You want my birthday to be over, don't you? You want my friends to leave! You want my friends to tell all my other classmates about my weird pickle-packing mother and my terrible birthday parties so I'll be unpopular and made fun of. Don't you?! Don't you?!
At that point, the teacher told me to pay attention and I realized we were talking about the planets in our solar system. After about a month or so, I eventually caught on to the little memory game and the solar system was, from then on, a cocaine-addled matriarch anxiously feeding a hungry throng with nine vinegar-soaked cucumbers. Who says the American educational system is in need of an overhaul?
I kid, of course, but that doesn't diminish the insult leveled at poor little Pluto. After all, having been considered a planet since the 1930s, it had accumulated a certain level of street credibility with the other planets. Jupiter was even inviting Pluto to some of the more upper crust social functions, and Saturn was considering donating one of its rings to make Pluto look a little more presentable. All and all, things were looking up for Pluto.
Then the International Astronomical Union had to step in last week and treat Pluto like a baby treats a diaper. Not only did they go and strip Pluto of its coveted planet status, they had the audacity to go and label our solar system's afterthought a "dwarf planet." A DWARF PLANET! My very eager mother did NOT serve us nine dwarf planets! I will have none of this demeaning treatment of poor Pluto. First, it's stripped of its planet status; now it's practically being deemed handicapped; all because some uppity-up body of international know-it-alls couldn't resist being prejudiced on a planetary scale.
I mean, how depressing is this? Pluto was once a proud member of the "Gang of Nine," as the planets liked to refer to themselves. It had status, prestige and enough power to accrue three of its very own moons. Oh, sure, it wasn't the Jupiter "Donald Trump" of the solar system, and it doesn't have all the methane gas found around Uranus (What? You knew I couldn't resist!), but Pluto had its own charm and influence. Now, it's just the dwarf planet at the tail end of our mighty solar system. All the other planets are now shunning Pluto. They've reformed their clique into the "Gang of Eight," leaving poor little Pluto to its mournfully cold fate, destined to swing sadly along its Neptune-intersecting orbit into infinity.
The worst part about all this is that a new mnemonic device has to be invented to adjust to the new Pluto-less solar system. It's a challenge, but I'll take a stab at it:
Most Veterans Entering Medieval Jousts Suffer Unbearable Nervousness.
Eh, it's okay, but it really needs a pickle.
Evelyn says: Now that's liberal: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/14469770/
Ryan says: LOL!
Ryan says: "And what's the weather look like today, Bjorn?
"Well, it looks like it will be clear this afternoon, but this evening we can expect rain to fall, and it will fall harder and HARDER and HARDER and HARDER!"
Evelyn says: lol
My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Nine. . . Kuiper Belts? Oort Clouds?
President Bush paid Minnesota a visit this week, so you could practically count the seconds before Nick Coleman used his column to whine about it. The great political mind of Nick Coleman is on full display in his latest descent into journalistic obscurity.
Like George W. Bush, I am unfamiliar with Bracketts Point Road in Wayzata. Unlike the president, I wasn't invited to visit Tuesday.
Nick Coleman would be lucky to be invited to a pot luck dinner held by his own family.
So when I drove up to a traffic barricade that blocked off most of the road hours before the president arrived for a fundraiser, I turned my car around and pulled into the driveway of a home that had a sailboat in the back yard, a family of ducks swimming along the shore and a dog named Max that came to bark at me.
Okay, so, what does any of that have to do with anything? Is the family of ducks somehow an allegory for how Nick perceives how the Bush administration ducks responsibility? Is the sailboat in the backyard a metaphor for how America has run aground? Is Max the dog, in fact, Nick's representation of chickenhawks: all bark and no action? Am I giving Nick way, way, wayyyyyy too much credit here? Abso-freakin-lutely. The truth is he's just a terrible writer who can't stay on topic to save his withered old soul. So. . . NEXT!
That's when I noticed something I thought I'd never see on Bracketts Point: signs protesting a Republican president.
So, first off, Nick writes I am unfamiliar with Bracketts Point Road in Wayzata, so why would a protest sign be something he thought he'd never see? He's unfamiliar with Bracketts Point Road, but his preconceptions were apparently pretty firmly established.
Oh, and also, isn't it just so cute how Nick makes it seem like he just stumbled, by accident, into the driveway of a home sporting protest signs. Why, by gum, how's that for a coincidence? It's not like Nick specifically chose that house probably from 20 blocks down the street.
We live in strange times.
True, and as long as Nick continues to write professionally, we'll continue to live in strange times. Strange, fucked up, totally unfair times.
Bracketts Point is the heart of the Republican vineyard, a prestigious address in the state's most generous political gift-giving ZIP code (55391, which means Wayzata). The president's visit drummed up a half-million dollars for Republican congressional candidate Michele Bachmann. But a protest against George Bush here? That's like finding a Baptist information table at the Vatican.
Rrrrriiigght, because everyone in Wayzata is under lock-step GOP marching orders. Nick, you can also find Bush protesters in Texas if you look around. Just because an area votes heavily Democrat or Republican doesn't mean there aren't dissenters in the ranks.
I rang the doorbell and introduced myself to Betsy Hannaford, whose yard was sporting the protest signs. She said I shouldn't have been surprised. The Bracketts Point natives are growing restless.
So says Betsy Hannaford, so it must be true. Er, except for the $500k raised for Michelle Bachmann, but never mind that little detail. Betsy says the natives are restless, so that's that. That's the type of investigative reporting we've grown to know and love out of Nick Coleman.
Hannaford, 49, describes herself as "a reformed Republican." While her husband, Jule, has contributed to the campaigns of George Bush and Republican Sen. Norm Coleman, she, in recent years, has contributed mostly to Democrats, including to Amy Klobuchar's campaign for the U.S. Senate.
So, apparently, dissention in the ranks only applies to one-half of the Hannaford household.
She still calls herself a Republican. But she says she is a "reformed" one. And that the president has "reformed" her.
Oh, snap!
"I'm no longer voting that way," she said, meaning Republican. And she said she isn't the only "reformed" Republican.
Oh, she isn't, eh? There are others, are there? According to who? According to Betsy Hannaford, of course!
"People have issues with Mr. Bush," she said. "I think people are troubled by the war, his energy policies, a host of things. And his position on choice."
His position on choice? Why, just the other day, Bush was drafting proposed legislation dubbed the "Anti-Choice Initiative." Yeah, yeah, I know she probably meant abortion rights, or possibly gay marriage, or something. It's still poorly worded, and Nick could have asked for, you know, CLARIFICATION.
There are only a handful of homes along Bracketts Point, big homes with big lots sweeping down to big water where big boats stand ready.
Today's special word is: big. Look at all that big water, just standing there, being all BIG. And then look at that Nick Coleman brain, being all small.
But as far as Hannaford had heard, only two of her neighbors were hoping to see the president.
Uh, so, out of a handful of neighbors, two were hoping to see the President. I guess it depends on how big a handful is in Nick's mind, but two out of a handful doesn't sound like that bad of a percentage. You know what's sad? I learned to not report on a handful when you can do a quick count during my very first newspaper job. Here Nick is 56 and he still hasn't learned that lesson.
"I don't know anybody who's going," Hannaford said, nodding toward the end of the leafy peninsula that juts out into Lake Minnetonka between Smith and Browns Bays.
Oh, jeez. The leafy peninsula here is a metaphor for George W. Bush's hairy penis, effectively screwing America and dividing the country between the GOP Smith Bay and the Democrat Brown Bay. It's all so clear!
And now we get to the real gem of the article. You've been thinking all this time that Betsy Hannaford took the initiative to put out her BIG protest signs, but no. . .
The protest signs were made by Hannaford's daughter, Mary Connolly, a high school senior. "We Believe in Global Warming" one sign said. "You Should, Too," said the second.
Okay, Mary Connolly! *salute* I always listen to high school seniors, because they know SOOOOOO MUCH!
The cops wouldn't let Mary put up her polite signs until they could verify that she lived on Bracketts Point. Their heads probably are still spinning. A protest on the point.
Yeah, that's a real protest Mary's got going on there. Two signs. Gosh, I hope she doesn't get tazered during such a madhouse protest (or do I?).
Who'da thunk it?
Or, in Nick's case, when did he last think?
"I don't want to pay $5,000 to have my picture taken so I can have a Christmas card with George Bush's arm around me," said Mary. "And I won't be out there with cookies and lemonade, either. I'm passionate about global warming, and this administration has not recognized it is changing our weather."
Just a point of order here, but I wouldn't pay $5,000 to have my picture taken so I can have a Christmas card with George Bush's arm around me, either. Come to think of it, what the hell is a high school senior doing with enough money to even have that as an option? Kee-rist!
And, Mary, sweeheart? I'm pretty sure this administration recognizes that global warming is changing our weather; they're just questioning to what extent humans are further affecting a climate change that has been going on now for a few thousand years. Mmm-kay?
Something sure seems to be changing.
Yup, something sure seems to be changing in this neighborhood of which Nick Coleman is not, by his own admission, familiar with. "Never been here before, and I can't believe how much it's changed."
The Hannafords received four invitations to attend the $1,000 fundraising event. Two were phone calls from Bachmann, whose campaign in the Sixth District (which does not include Bracketts Point) was the target of the Bush visit. What did you tell Bach- mann, I asked Hannaford.
It was "the target" of the Bush visit. Not the location. Not the venue. THE TARGET. Good God.
"Nothing," she said. "I didn't talk to her. I never picked up."
Wow, now THAT's political activism! Well, according to Nick it is:
Not picking up your phone. Ouch. It's not scientific evidence, but maybe the polls are right: Bush and his policies are deep in doo-doo.
You read that right, folks. Nick Coleman, metro columnist for the Star-Tribune, the state's largest newspaper, wrote the phrase "deep in doo-doo." Not since the great Young Plukey column, where Nick wrote "his best rap is called "Son of Perdition," and it preaches a message of turning to the Bible and the Qur'an, or what have you" has Coleman wallowed in such pathetic literary backwash. Perhaps a close second was when he wrote: "What have we learned, class, about free speech after listening to Coulter call Democrats traitors to the country, threaten to give a Muslim student's name to homeland security and toss insults faster than a kid with a Dixie cup full of fish parts can toss herrings at a seal exhibit?" Any other columnist with that many groaners within a year would probably have a career that's deep in doo-doo, but not Nick. He's untouchable, much like his columns.
"My grandparents have been Republicans a long time," Mary Connolly said. "And they look aghast at the idea of going to see the president. We know a lot of people who, at one time, would have attended.
According to 18-year-old, high school senior, Mary Connolly so, again, it MUST be true!
"Now, they're looking around and asking:
Come on! Big Nick Coleman finish!
" 'Why would I?' "
Oooh! What punch! What style! What flair! Watch out for the flying doo-doo!
BIZARRO WORLD UPDATE: My evil doppleganger, LearnedFoot, also did a tap-dance on Nick's stupid column. The similarities are. . . disturbing.
ANOTHER UPDATE: Cyber-sleuth commenter, Joe, shares the following:
There's only 9 addresses on Bracketts Point Road, so having two of the neighbors hoping to see the president seems like a pretty good percentage to me.
Of course, fact checking has always been a weakness for Nick. The Hannaford home is actually in Orono, though the ZIP code is Wayzata. Pretty nice home, too - Hennepin county values it at over $2 million. No way Nick saw the ducks or the boat from the drive - the place is huge!
Nick also apparently missed the fact that Mr. Hannaford is a partner in a law firm that specializes in, among other things, helping big corporations structure benefit packages for corporate executives. I bet he's thrilled with this column.
UPDATED UPDATE: This appeared in my comment box. Not sure what to make of it, but it's apparently another example of Nick Coleman being a dismissive ass to legit concerns.
I am Elizabeth (Betsy) Hannaford. I live at 919 Park Avenue, Mahtomedi, MN 55115, e.hannaford@comcast.net.
I am the sister-in-law of the Betsy in Coleman's article. I am an Attorney at Law. I ASKED cOLEMAN TO PHONE ME SO THAT HE COULD WRITE A CORRECTION IN THE sTAR tRIBUNE. tHIS IS PART OF MY RESPONSE TO HIM CONCERNING THE FLIPPANT EMAIL I RECEIVED FROM HIM.
"Had you called, you would have been invited to visit me and my two dachshunds, Rumsfeld and Bismark at my 1870's cottage on White Bear Lake. You would have discovered that most of my friends do not feel the way that people "alledgedly" feel in the Brackett's Pt./Wayzata area do. You would have learned facts, not conjecture. And in fairness, you would have had the opportunity to coorect your misguided opinion of the twin cities community.
This past March, I attended a fundraiser for Congressman Kennedy. I got to know Mark and his family, who could not have been kinder or more gracious to me. When I spoke to Congressman Kennedy, at the State Fair this past Sunday, I had to explain that I was not the Betsy HANNAFORD IN YOUR COLUMN. hIS RESPONSE WAS "THAT WAS YOUR SISTER-IN-LAW, Oh...". You cannot imagine the sick feeling I experienced at that moment.
I am not some unhappy Republican. I think George Bush is the greatest President since Washington. In fact I am starting a web site. BushforRushmore.
Finally, your assumption that my step neice and sister-in-law and I are in conflict couldn't be further from the truth. I deeply resent the last sentence of your email.
Rumors are flying in White Bear Lake about me. I feel violated and wronged. I would like the chance to clear up the mistaken identity."
I learned that a neutered cat still has the ability to spray disgusting pheromone-laden yellow liquid out of its ass, and coat my shin in the vile-smelling brew, thus necessitating the most frantic showering in recent memory.
All of God's creatures are just plain gross.
I just checked my Site-Meter for the first time in about two weeks. Apparently, the increased visitor traffic continues as strong as ever, with over 35,000 visitors so far this month (smashing my previous monthly record of 25,000, and the month isn't even nearly over yet). And, judging by the referrals, a third of those (or about 11,000 for you who are bad at math), continue to arrive here looking for the picture of my ass that is now so famous.
Unfortunately, none of this means anything in the fiscal sense (after two years of sporting Adsense banners, I've only made about $20 so far, and they don't mail out checks until you surpass $100, so I'm not holding my breath).
Oh well, it's not like I'm ThunderJournaling for the financial payoff anyway. I ThunderJournal purely for the amazement of watching my Site-Meter going through the roof. That, and the unfettered freedom of being able to post a picture of my ass, and to poke fun at Nick Coleman, and whatever else comes to mind.
I love my ThunderJournal.
"Too Caught Up In The News" c. Ryan Rhodes, Aug. 10, 2006
I work within the walls of a very large, international corporation that specializes in high technology. I won't say, exactly, what that company is, except to hint that you can rearrange the letters to spell "BIM."
Now, working at BIM, I basically spend eight hours a day staring into a computer screen, which isn't necessarily as exciting as you might think. To keep myself informed about the world around me, I always keep at least one Web browser opened to a news site, such as MSNBC.com.
Something I've noticed about having round-the-clock access to breaking news with the click of a mouse is that I've gotten caught up on world events to an almost unhealthy degree.
For example, five years ago, if you had told me that some guy named Joe Lieberman lost a Connecticut primary election to some other Democrat named Ned Lamont, I would have responded with an exasperated "Who cares?" Well, in today's Internet world, I can confidently answer my own question. Apparently, EVERYBODY cares. It's the most important news ever to happen since the history of everything. It even trumps the news that Connecticut is spelled with a totally unnecessary, superfluous letter "c" tucked right there in the middle. Now, THAT'S news.
After filling up on all-Lieberman-news, all the time, I needed to takea break and find news that's, you know, actually interesting. And, as many of you know, I like to share that news with you, my valued readers, and Marisa Miller topless.
Last week, as the online world was focused on all things Lieberman, big and important things were happening elsewhere on the planet. Take Brazil, for example, where a man died after trying to open a grenade with a sledgehammer.
According to an Aug. 9 Reuters news report out of Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, "a Brazilian man died Tuesday when he tried to open what police believe was a rocket-propelled grenade with a sledgehammer in a mechanical workshop on the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro."
I used to hit rolls of caps with a hammer when I was a child. I'm guessing this was probably pretty similar, except, instead of the ringing in my ears I experienced, this guy experienced, um, death in his body. Okay, in retrospect, maybe our experiences weren't all that similar.
I can see you're losing interest in this column already. Clearly, you were interested in the political commentary and Lieberman, and all this talk about grenades and Brazil aren't what you want. You want politics. Fine, I have your politics RIGHT HERE!
According to another Reuter's news report, this one on August 10 out of New York, "a 'Presidential Bust' of U.S. Sen. Hillary Clinton was unveiled on Wednesday at New York's Museum of Sex, where sculptor Daniel Edwards hopes it will spark discussion about sex, politics and celebrity."
Because I am a bastion of journalistic integrity, I did what any good journalist would do, and I found an online picture of that sculpture. What can I say about it? Well, it's a sculpture. Of Hillary Clinton. And she's online/Smallville/Erica_Durance7.jpg">topless. Having viewed an image of the sculpture, I can confidently state that there's something deeply wrong with the art world today. DEEPLY WRONG!
So there's your news report from the second week of August. To recap: Joe Lieberman lost a Conne"C"ticut Democratic primary to another Democrat, Ned Lamont, and if you can't grasp the sheer enormity of this incredibly important news (like I can't) you really have no business being online; Brazillians open grenades using sledgehammers, with fairly horrifying mortality rates as a result; and out on theInternet, if you're willing to search for them, are pictures of a sculpture of a topless Hillary Clinton.
I really need to unplug from the Internet.
