Friday, March 30, 2007

Would you still enjoy this blog...

...if you knew it was written by this guy?

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Remember when this happened?

Strap yourself in for a gripping tale of survival and tenacity. A tale so inspiring that I believe you will someday read it again in an e-mail forwarded from your aunt, right alongside pictures of baby animals and stories about young Winston Churchill & Arthur Penicilan.

So I drop a friend off at her car, which is parked at our mutual workplace. I begin the drive home down 3rd West, and just a little bit north of 33rd South (southbound). I see something in the road. A skunk! I don't know about you, but where I come from this is not something you see everyday. I didn't even think skunks really existed. I thought they were the fanciful creation of brilliant cartoon writers. Since skunk sightings are all too rare in my life, and since I have my camera with me, I decide to snap some photos. That's when I realize the horror of the skunk's predicament.

Look closely! THERE'S A CUP ON HIS HEAD!!!

But not just any cup.


Yoplait Creamy Yogurt is so good even giant rodents can't resist!

So I have a dilemna. The poor little guy can't see. It's a busy street, he's going to get hit, and that would be sad. The only thing he did wrong was give in to the tempation if Yoplait. But still, he's a skunk. I don't want to get sprayed. I call my brother Sean. He always knows what to do. After much deliberation he suggests I take off my shirt (so it don't get all stanky) and go for the cup. It's the right thing to do. I wanted to do that because seriously, a shirtless man chasing a skunk with a yogurt cup stuck on its head at one in the morning? Hilarious. I honestly cannot think of anything funnier than that.

Maybe not a good idea though, so I have him get me the number to Animal Control. In case you need it, the number is (801) 269-7499. They're only open M-F from 9-5, so they are worthless to me. I press 4 and the recorded voice gives me a different number. I call that and they transfer me to a woman that asks if it's an emergency, I say "Um...I don't think so." I'm placed on hold. Another woman answers. I explain the situation. I am transferred now to the Highway Patrol. They advise against getting involved with a skunk. I tell them that I'm not looking for a relationship, I just want to help the little critter (ka-zing!). They tell me to drive away because I shouldn't help it and no one else will either because skunks are pests.

Okay fine, I tried my best. I can live with that.

Then the unthinkable happens. A car driving northbound on 3rd West swerves to hit the animal. Swerves to hit it. The animal is motionless. I am completely mortified. I don't see the driver, but I assume he looks like this:

I stare at the skunk. Then miracle of miracles, he gets up! Hooray, the skunk lives to fight another day! But he still has the problem of the cup on his head. Fear not. The ambush by the jerkass in the car has only strengthened Herbert's resolve (oh, by this point I have named the skunk Herbert). He finds his way to the side of the road and climbs a fence. He'll get that cup off yet.

See, he's got a plan. He climbs a little ways up the fence and then jumps down. He's hoping to hook the cup so it comes off.

Third time's the charm. The skunk has risen from the dead and freed himself from the shackles of Yoplait. He is eager to get back to his skunkly activities, so I am unable to get a good photo of the free Herbert, but here's a picture of where he was standing at one point.

The end.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

I must voice my displeasure

When I awoke this morning I noticed that my teeth were involuntarily chattering. It's March 28, and but a week ago I was wearing sunglasses and cabana wear so I could only assume that during the night I had picked up some sort of brain disease. I flipped on the heat (note to self: did you turn it off before going to work? hope so) and parted the curtains and to my horror I saw this!

That's my neighbor, uh...Larry.

The plummeting temperatures outside were compounded by the fact that all night I had a fan blowing right in my face. Why? The damn neighbors. I don't know if it was the people that live above me or on the other side of the wall from me, but someone has having a very loud argument or political discussion or whatever. This was at 2:30 in the morning so I turned on the fan to drown out the noise.

The man had a high, whiny, out-of-breath voice and the woman sounded like a squeegie against a mirror (note to self: don't forget to windex the tv tonight). I couldn't make out any of the words so I didn't even get the pleasure of eavesdropping. One thing I could hear loud and clear was this horrible gagging cough that I think was coming from the upstairs neighbor. I don't know what my logic was (it was 2:30am) but I was very worried that somehow vomit would get on me or my stuff. I don't need that.

I decided to wear a white shirt today so as to better blend in with the snow (makes me a more difficult target for snipers). I tell you this because it leads into what has apparently become a recurring feature on this blog:

What I'm wearing today, and what "character" I look like.

So today I'm wearing a white dress shirt (do you call these Oxfords? what is an Oxford?) and it's a couple sizes small because I hate it when my shirts are all puffy. I've got the sleeves rolled up to my elbows for ease of movement. I caught myself in the bathroom mirror and it turns out that my burnsides are particularly robust today, giving me the appearance of an Irish farmer. An Irish farmer that just sat down for dinner (probably corned cabbage and potato cakes) but then there was some kind of farm emergency so had to go back out to the farm and do some farm work.

So that's what I look today. I must not be the only one that thinks I look like a gentleman farmer because one of my co-workers just walked up and handed me a pansy. She had as whole thing of pansies for some reason. I told her I had no lawn nor garden that the flower could call home, but she got all defensive and said "Well then put it in a pot!"

I bet you're glad you read this.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

hijacked review

Mel Gibson's Apocalypto doesn't come out on DVD for a few more months but I haven't been able to get it out of my mind since I saw it. There's a lot I want to say about this film and if you've seen it I'd like to hear your thoughts as well. Anyway, the film starts out with... uh, this guy who... sorry, hang on a second...

Danny Glover, what are you doing here?

"Man, who cares about some dead civilization anyway? Forget Apocalypto, it's time for A Nice Calypso. You ready fellas?"

"Ready, Danny!"

"Attention everybody! It is dance!"


"Limbo time!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it!"

"Jazz music should never be infused with the loin-stirring rythms of the islands. I'm here to shut down this little party."

"On no, it's The Coz! His angry gaze has frozen me mid-beat."

"Don't worry everybody. I'll take care of The Coz."

"Curses! Danny Glover!"

"You win this time Glover, but suffer no delusions: next time I hear the clink of a steel drum you better watch your back."

"Man, I'm gettin' too old for this shit."


Well. That was unusual. Maybe I'll talk about Apocalypto some other time.

Monday, March 26, 2007

sit back and read this tale

By now you've heard.

I mean, this happened what, six months ago? A year? No matter.

Sexy is back.

During the dark years of Sexy's absence I always knew that if someone were to bring it back that that someone would be a 120 pound white boy with permed hair and a bastardy face, dancing like Michael Jackson.

Now that Sexy is back, I fear that we're all taking it for granted. Not a day passes that I don't hear someone say "Well, I'm gonna go watch some E! network now" or "Angelina Jolie! What a dish!" or do a bad impression of Borat and say "Sexytime!"

When I hear these things I just want to grab these people by the lapels and shake them, screaming "Do you even know what it was like? Were you there when Sexy was gone?"

These kids, they don't know what members of my generation - The real Greatest Generation -had to go through.

You couldn't walk to the corner to get a cup of coffee without stumbling over dozens of out-of-work backup dancers. Shampoo commercials featured old men in lab coats monotonously talking about chemicals. The famous windows along 5th Avenue in NYC displayed nothing but bib-overalls on wire hangers. When people said they were buying a ... certain magazine "just for the articles" well by golly they actually meant it.

It was a terrible time, but America sacrificed! I kept my subscription to Us Weekly, even when the Hot and Not section was replaced by the Not and Slightly Less Not section. I put a Nicole Kidman poster on my wall, even if it was a picture of her from The Hours. I even started riding my bike to work after seeing that movie with Dan Quayle where he linked the lack of Sexy to Global Warming.

But nothing worked. Nothing anyone did could bring Sexy back. Did we give up hope? Never! No one gave up hope.

Especially one Justin Timberlake.

Justin thought he could bring Sexy back on the world's biggest stage: the Superbowl Halftime Show. He knew that it could cause negative repercussions in his personal and professional life, but he didn't care! He did what he thought needed to be done. At a precisely timed moment he ripped off Janet Jackson's shirt to reveal ... a boob.

Collectively America said "Eh." Those that didn't say "Eh" said "Oh!" and complained to the FCC.

Justin disappeared for a while. While the state of Sexy deteriorated even further, insane rumors spread. "He's dating Cameron Diaz!" "I hear he's working on a new album" "Yeah, well I hear that he gave up all of his posessions and hopped a freighter bound for Nepal."

They were all true.

While in Nepal he made contact with a shadowy but sexy group called the Mai Spayse. They weren't exactly sexy per se but they did wear scant clothing and enjoyed taking pictures of themselves.

Through various feats of strength and dance Justin bested them all. He was ready for the final challenge.

High above the plains of Nepal rests a mountain with no name, where even goats dare not tread. Justin climbed that mountain, carrying a candle that musn't go out. Gone for forty days and forty-two nights he was (don't ask), and no one really knows what happened atop that mountain. Some say that he encountered the very King and Queen of Sexy, while others dismiss that as mere hogwash. The man himself refuses to talk about it, so perhaps we will never know.

Nevertheless! When Justin came down from the mountain he was a changed man. Clad in a tank-top style undershirt and one of those fedora-type hats that I hate, he had rechristened himself "JT."

One week later he gave us this...

...and America was whole once more.

The Mondays

The week got off to a rough start when I arrived at the office and saw that some jerk had parked his llama in my space.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

slice of life

"You're not the real Saddam," the boy said, folding his arms defiantly.

"Saddam is very busy," the mall Saddam patiently explained, "but I'm one of his very special helpers. Saddam trusts me, so go ahead and tell me your Arbor Day wishes and I'll make sure Saddam gets them."

Then the boy in the blue shorts farted.

Friday, March 23, 2007

all you can eat

"King Leonidis, my heart is full of hate but my belly is empty."

You are a good captain. Assemble the men, I've a speech to make.



We dine!

At Sizzler!

We all know that Spartan women lust for fried prawns as much as Spartan men, so you'll be happy to know that Sizzler has all you can eat shrimp for $9.99!

"$9.99? This is madness!"

Madness? Madness? THIS! IS! DELICIOUS!

"My king, I want to join you. May I have a steak?"

You? You wish to have a steak with the Spartans? Can you lift a steak knife slightly above your waist?

"Uh, yeah. Really not a problem."

Then you are one of us! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!

Remember this day! This day will be yours for all time. On this day 300 men stood against few. 300 men enjoyed all you can eat shrimp and soft-serve ice cream.

"Hey, King? What if there isn't enough room at the Sizzler for all 300 of us?"

Then we will dine in the shade.

"How do you figure?"

I mean, we'll dine outside. Maybe at Sugarhouse Park. It's a nice day after all.

"Isn't the ' the shade' supposed to be my line?"

I am your king! Kneel before me!

"Kneel? But not kneeling is like, our whole deal."

I know! That was a test.


Let's go!

Get some chow!

Then afterward let's go to the mall and mess with people. You know, block their way and stuff.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Existential Crisis

This weekend I was playing guitar and suddenly I started hitting all the wrong notes. At first I was all "drmh drmh drmh drmh drmh drmh" but then I was like "dunrn dunrn dunrnrrnr clank."

I looked down and it turns out my hand was fading away. I pulled out an old picture of myself that I keep in my pocket and I was fading away in the picture too.

I read in a medical journal that when that happens you're supposed to go back in time and make sure that your parents meet up, so that's what I did.

Though it wasn't easy and ended up taking up most of my weekend, I made sure that my folks got together at the big High School dance. It wasn't until I returned to the present that I realized my mistake. My parents didn't know each other in High School. They met in their mid-20s. I mean, duh.

Everything seems okay though. I don't think my misguided tampering with the very fabric of time and space has caused any long term problems, except now I speak with a thick Canadian accent and I'm really into popcorn, which is weird.

Monday, March 19, 2007

An Illustrated Adventure

This is the Cottonwood Mall.

It is haunted.

I haven't verified this. In fact, there aren't really any rumors about this. Come to think of it this is the first I've heard about it.

So maybe it isn't haunted.

Hmmm...maybe the Mall isn't haunted, but I'm certainly haunted by memories of it. (play on words, kapow!)

I took this picture on a recent visit there. I went for no other reason than to check it out, see what has become of the place where I spent so much time from ages 5-18. The mall, once full of life, has fallen on some hard times. Almost all the store fronts are empty, and there is nary a soul to be found there. On this trip I didn't see a single person, though I did hear maniacal, demonic laughter at regular intervels (this is true).

Ususally I visit the mall and the smell of frying corn dogs brings back wave after wave of nostalgia, but on this visit all I got was an erie, empty feeling. It really made me uncomfortable and I got out of there as soon as I could.

Looking at this picture reminds me of another time where I felt the same way, also in a landscape devoid of human life. I had my camera with me that time too. Away we go. All the way back to:

November 2005!

I have this hobby. Actually calling it a hobby is going overboard. "Hobby" makes it sound like I subscribe to magazines and go to conventions. So let's start over.

There's this thing I like to do sometimes, on the rare occasions that I have a lot of free time and nothing to occupy it. I like to pick a direction and drive that way, taking lonely roads I've not yet taken. Now and then I'll find something interesting, but mostly it ends up being a huge waste of time.

It's a warm November Sunday in 2005. The night before I had gotten in an huge fight with my soon to be ex lady-companion. I want to go for a drive, so my brother and I decide to take Road Redwood as far as it will go, and then see where that takes us.

I turn my phone off. When She calls to apologize what, I'm just gonna answer? Come on!

This trip could end in disaster and I don't want to be one of Those Guys. You know, Those Guys that end up dead 50 feet from their car when it breaks down and they look for help, so I pack a case of water in the trunk and some of those aerosal foamey things that you can use to temporarily inflate flat tires.

We get as far as Lehi and then veer Westward. There's an old military encampment called Camp Floyd out there and I'm pretty sure I went there on a field trip when I was but a lad.

Just outside of Camp Floyd we spy this old schoolhouse or church or whatever. I bet it has a storied history, probably involving schooling or churching.

There's a highway that runs due west, into the wilderness. We have found the Old Pony Express Scenic Byway. Because there is nothing more scenic than dead grass and sagebrush.

I turn on my phone and see no new messages. So She hasn't called yet. That's cool.

(the oppresive and turbulent sky in the picture above represents my troubled mind)

This road goes on for what feels like an hour, but is probably really only 55 minutes.

I don't like the grey sky and bland landscape. It makes me feel...weird. Creeped out. Even looking at these pictures now I get the same feeling. Oh well, onward and upward.

We're headed straight for a narrow pass between the hills.

Notice the way the green vegetation abruptly ends. Nature's mystery, or mad science? You decide.

(if you decided mad science then you are correct)

Check out this thing:

I guess in the 1800s instead of Sno-Cone Shacks on every corner they had these little beer shacks. Either that or an un-creative graffiti artist wanted to make his love of beer known to the world.

The paved road ends. This is the last sign of civilization we see for a while.

I'm not sure what it is, but I do know that if I wanted to rob a passing train that I'd probably hide in there.

We pass a sign warning "You are about to enter a High Desert Climate." Also the sign has a skull and crossbones on it. And it's covered with crows. And there's a pile of bones right below it. Good thing I have that case of water.

The environment is indeed unforgiving, as evidenced by this plastic bag. Poor little fella didn't stand a chance.

Lookout Pass. Elevation? Lots.

The view actually isn't that good. The name comes from all the low-flying birds.

Since we are following the Pony Express route, maybe you want to learn more about the Pony Express?

It was the first transcontinental mail system in the U.S. Young, fast riders would carry mail to a station, where they would relay it to a new rider with a fresh horse who would carry it the next station, and so on. Ran from the Missouri River to the Pacific Coast. Although the Pony Express is a legendary part of America's frontier history, the service lasted only ten days before they realized that text messaging was way easier.

I climb a hill looking for treasure, but find none. I have to pee but I'm worried about rattlesnakes and decide to wait.

Here's a view of my car (Betty) from atop the hill.

A low rumble in the distance. A truck climbs slowly up the road, heading right for us. My brother and I joke that the driver is some sort of axe murderer. We have a good laugh until we actually convince ourselves that it is an axe murderer in that truck. We roll down the hill (faster that way), get in the car and lock the doors just in the nick of time.

Let's see, where to next? Simpson Springs, check. Lookout Pass Station, check. Pet Cemetery, ch---wha? Well this requires further investigation.

The Pet Cemetery is somewhat disappointing. The name plaques on the gravestones seem to have been looted (probably by punk-ass teenagers) and the whole are is overgrown with weeds.

Nevertheless, it is a tasty mystery. Why is there a Pet Cemetery out here in the middle of nowhere? There aren't any houses or farms for miles. Who's pets are these? Did they or did they not come back to life? If they did, where are they now?

The sun sets, and it occurs to me that I have exercised poor judgement. When venturing into the desert, following a dirt road in an area with minimal traffic and no civilization or streetlights, perhaps one should start this journey more than three hours before the sun goes down.

We're about 200 miles from home. If we keep going we will end up in Nevada, where we'll have to cut North and hook up with I-80 in Wendover. I have no idea how long it takes to do that, but from there it's another two hours to home. I just want to be home now.

That's the problem with road trips. Getting there is fun and exciting but you don't realize that you'll have to drive back too.

We decide to tough it out and head to the next station, Fish Springs. It's only a few miles away. We can look at some fish then make our way back.

Something goes wrong.

We drive for miles and miles and it gets darker and darker. There are no more signs for Fish Springs. Clearly I have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Behold! Distant lights!

The closer we get the more lights are revealed. Is it a city? Impossible! There are no cities out here. Unless somehow I've hooked around and I'm looking down at Tooele...

Suddenly a bright green light flashes. "Did you see that?" I exclaim. It flashes again, and continues to do so at odd intervals. It appears to be on top of some sort of tower.

I realize what we're dealing with. The Dugway Proving Ground. A not so secret military installation. No one really knows what they do out there, but there are rumors aplenty. Chemical warfare tests, radiation beam experiments, and other general tomfoolery. There are a lot of UFO sightings out here too. Probably what the green light is for. Guiding the UFOs in to land.

Not that I believe in that stuff.

I turn off the main road onto another path. Eventually we come across a gate saying "Danger! Unexploded ordnance in this area. Turn back!" In the hills all around us we see small lights darting about. Probably military guys doing military stuff, locking the sights of their bazookas on my poor car and the people inside of it.

Fearing reprisal from government thugs, I don't take a picture of this. We turn tail and run, driving back the way we came at inadvisable speeds, dodging rabbits and elk all the while. After a few wrong turns we end up in the town of Vernon.

Another spooky old town. We drive round in circles through lonely neighborhoods, full of houses with no lights in the windows. It's unsettling. I'm hoping to find a place to ask for directions but there is nothing. Where do these people go for groceries or gasonline? Why do they live in such a silly place?

We finally find a way out. Across Utah Lake I see the friendly lights of American Fork, where my soon to be ex lady companion resides. I turn on my phone. No messages.

So there you have it. An fairly interesting day, made memorable by the werewolf attack.

Wait, did I forget to mention the werewolf attack? Oh man, that was the best part. Unfortunately I'm out of time now.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Bloggy O'Bloggington

Today is St. Patrick's Day. I think it's great that the one thing every American can agree on is that on this day we will all wear green.

Friday, March 16, 2007

The Mail

New Mailboxes Look Like Star Wars Character
March 16th, 2007 @ 6:52am
(KSL News) You may be surprised by the sight of some new mailboxes around the valley. That's because they look like a favorite Star Wars character R2-D2.

The U.S. Postal Service and Lucas Films have joined forces to promote a new stamp to be announced March 28th. About 400 mailboxes in 200 cities will be covered to look like the lovable droid.

The Post Office's chief marketing officer says, "When you look at a mailbox, the resemblance to R2-D2 is too good to pass up."

I like that last line. So you're driving around, maybe listening to the Diane Rehm show, sipping a Dr. Pepper, and then you see R2-D2 standing on the sidewalk. You think "Wowie wow wow wow!!! Sure, online bill pay is convenient, and I only communicate with my friends and family via text messages, but come on, it's R2-D2. I'm gonna write me some letters. Maybe subscribe to a few magazines while I'm at it."

I really wish I would have had the opportunity to hear the newscaster say the phrase "lovable droid."

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Here we have a list of my favorite inside jokes

- Is there a ... prblm?
- Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
- Ghost Whore Guy getting mad at the concierge
- Bold. Angry. Like a stallion.
- No, will you marry me.
- She doesn't know where a coffee shop is
- Ghost Whore Guy taking a nap after every meal
- My finest memoirs
- Viking Coal
- Ghost Whore Guy loves this couch
- A. Puma
- 420 for President
- All we need is one more unigloshi
- We!?! I
- Really? Really?

March 15!

Oh no, the Ides! I completely forgot about the Ides!

This does not bode well.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007


There are a lot of places to get sushi here in the Salt Lake Valley. You've got the darkly lit chain-types with their paper bag tables, the converted old church, the snooty little place in a rainy alleyway filled with people that have more money than you, the brick walled basement adjacent to the peanut bar, and numerous other little places guaranteed to make you sick.

Today I want to talk about Koyo, a neighborhood place in a 7-11 parking lot, defended by a massive hole in the ground. For my money they have the best sushi roll in the whole valley: they call it the California Roll.

The problem is sometimes you go there and you're really looking forward to the soup and so you order some but the waitress forgets to bring it to you. Then you remind her and she still forgets and finally you just say "nevermind" because she's already brought the check, even though that soup is what you wanted the whole time. So what you do in return is tip really well, so when she sees your tip she'll fill extra bad about forgetting the soup and hopefully it will ruin her whole night.

This is the thing I did the other night instead of getting a haircut

Tuesday, March 13, 2007


Today the corporate bigwigs are in town so I'm wearing a tie. It's a black and grey number that a friend brought me from Florence.

We were urged to look professional today, but I don't look professional at all. I look like the punk-ass manager of a local Walgreens. The guy that says "Breaks are fifteen minutes, Ilene!" The guy that moseys up to the cash register when you're trying to return an ill-fitting pair of flip flops and furiously punches in a series of numbers with one hand and jingles his keys with the other, all the while Ilene standing there helplessly giving you a look that says "It will just be another minute." The guy that has the ends of his hair bleached because he's so cool and casual and it's not like Walgreens is his whole life it's just a job man, but still gives Ilene a firm lecture when she's wearing her nametag in the wrong place.

Yep. I look like that guy.

Things we will not be discussing today

-My new haircut (I didn't end up going to the barbershoppe after all)
-What I ended up doing last night instead of getting a haircut (forgot to upload the pictures)
-My trip to Cuba (don't feel like it)
-Pants (not now)
-The movie 300 (seek this discussion elsewhere)

Things we can discuss:

-Springtime (isn't it great?)

The following is a list of characters I encountered during a recent trip to the store

-The Oblivious Polygamist
-The Whorebot
-Coach Headbutt, the Fast-Motion Man (an accomplished gum-chewer)
-The Armless Lesbian
-White Sweatpants and Fringy Leather Jacket Lady Who Needs Sunglasses
-Nervous Young Couple Buying Prophylactics
-Hamburger Lecter

Monday, March 12, 2007


I am now a member of the Bloggeratti.

This weekend while perusing a local dumpster I happened across an old copy of Newsweek from 2002 that touted Web Logs as the next big thing. I've been referred to countless times as the "Sam Boyd of the Internet," so it's only natural that I have a Web Log of my own.

I'm still getting settled in here. I've re-arranged the colors and layout to my liking. What do you think? I want this to be pleasing to the senses. Personally I find it very refreshing, like splashing mouthwash over your face on a cool spring morn.

I could use this opportunity to tell you about myself, but I think I'd rather let things move organically. Read this enough and you'll get to know me, I'm certain.

I haven't decided on the focus of this blog yet. Perhaps at some point it will become clear. In the meantime I will be auditioning several different styles of blog. Let me know what you think.

For example, maybe I could get all political on you. "This administration, what a joke! Am I right?" That's totally something I could say.

Or maybe I'll tell you about all the awesome obscure bands I know like Death Cab for Cutie, because I'm hip like that. Or I could take you on a trip down memory lane (depending on how old you are and the strength of your memory) and we could talk about Guns n' Roses for a while. Or I could take a more grammatical approach and ask if it's proper to start three sentences in a row with the word "or."

Since I am the center of attention in my own life, I can only assume that everything that happens to me, no matter how seemingly banal, is actually obscenely important. You want to know about my life, and you want to know now. In that vein, guess what I had for breakfast today? It was Rice Krispies. One bowl. This was about 10:07am. I ate it while standing up in my kitchen. I also had a large stein of coffee in a Tiki mug that my cousin brought me from Hawaii. I got her a discount on a hotel room, which I am more than happy to do as long as I am presented with gifts in return. Oh, I feel you should also know that today I am wearing a grey dress shirt and some new pants that I'm pretty happy about. Come to think of it I could probably spend a whole week talkin' pants. It's a subject that really riles up my blood. In fact I may have to change the name of this blog to Talkin' Pants.

Speaking of blog names, what does this name mean? The First Couple of Outer Space? That's a mystery that may be revealed over time.

A few other things you can definitely expect to see here: my personal tales of wonder and adventure from the darkest corners of the earth (with photo accompaniment!), maybe some short fiction, maybe some intensely personal confessions, maybe some general nonsense.

I hope you're excited about this as I am. Tell all your friends.

- B



Well I'll be darned.