The fin de siécle is over and with it, everything old is just plain old again. The feel-good days of the last millenia officially ended Sep 11, 2001, as anyone with a grade school education will tell you. After that catastophe, Bush Jr., a compassionate divider, took the American nation on a hell of a bender that's still not quite over. My magic eight ball informs me that this great nation will end up naked, handcuffed to a park bench in some Chinese bus mall. Well, maybe not Chinese. An Indian bus mall is also an option.
Shucks, we not only took this nation on a frat boy party binge; almost every damn country in the world caught a contact high off the evil shit we were smoking. All of them - every single one - are patiently waiting for their own bad trips to end, knowing full well that even when they come around, well, that's when the flashbacks begin. Seriously, can you think of a single country that's happy to have Bush in power? Not Britain. Blair's been fighting to retain his position for years now. Definitely not Iraq. Poland. Ha, ha, ha.
Anyone else? Bueller... Bueller...
How about Mr. Most Wanted, His Graciousness, His Eloquence, OOOOOOOOSAMA BIN LAAAAAAAAAAADIN? </ed>
Heck, at this point, I'm sure the Big O couldn't be happier. Fact is, the way we're making friends these days, he doesn't have to send the suicide bombers anymore. We're bombing just fine without his help, thank-you very much.
So pass me my comfort food - the stuff that'll make me good and fat. Gimme a 64 oz Slurpee, too. I'll need some good old-fashioned calories to sustain me.
Hello, Fascist Theocracy.
On the plus side, at least a Democrat wasn't elected into office with the mess Bush started. Poor guy'd have his hands tied trying to clean up the mess.
Bought a fire bowl from Target over the weekend. It's a knee-high table with a marblesque top. The center of the table can be lifted away, revealing a deep copper dish and fire grate. One piece of the surface arrives broken.
Not wanting to take an unwieldy 150 pound box back to Target, we opted on the single broken marble piece instead.
Customer service was pleasant yet ineffective. After showing the girl a phonecam picture of the box, she was able to figure out which department the item came from (seasonal). She called back, asked Mr. Seasonal to bring the piece up, and P. and I waited. We waited for fifteen minutes. Ms. Customer Service announced that she was leaving for the day, so she handed us off to Ms. Customer Service Jr., who already had her hands full, being both new and already busy. We waited some more.
P. suggested that he would head back to pick up the piece. Ms. Customer Service Jr. could only nod. I quickly followed before she got any bright ideas. Trust me: there was little need to worry about that.
So we headed back, raped the display model, and walked back.
Ms. Customer Service Jr: "Oh, did you find the box?"
Ms: "Did you meet Mr. Seasonal?"
Us: "We just took apart your display model. Can we go now?"
Ms: "Oh uh! Um..."
We start inched toward the exit. As we're almost out the door, she offers up a final salvo: "Thank-you for shopping Target!"
We got a bunch of MacMinis here at work. One engineer decided he needed a bunch of cheap computers to test some new network technology. Boss, after seeing me work on my laptop for a year, actually went for it; the minis being priced pretty reasonably for the task.
Here's the cool part: after the new technology test is done, Boss intends on handing them out, one per engineer. Goodbye Linux, hello something that Just Works.
My mom just returned from Peru, where she took a ten day vacation from ailing parents to see Cuzco, Macchu Pichu and the Sacred Valley. She followed in my very footsteps. The only difference is that I hiked the Inca Trail to MP and she took the train up instead.
Peru has several different climates. There's desert, rain forest, coastal habitats, mountains, and plains. A little bit of something for everyone. The soil is insanely fertile. One plant that grows well in the South American rain forests is coca. Coca leaf, in the unprocessed form, is quite legal in Peru. In fact, it grows so easily, there's little chance they'll ever abolish it. Good luck, Central America, good luck, Puritanical American Administrations; good luck.
Coca leaf can be chewed for a mild pickup. Stimulant-wise, this is about on par with having a cup of coffee. It can also be brewed as tea. In either form, it's pretty good on the stomach. It helps with digestion and quells nausea. I had several opportunties to personally test this. I can vouch.
The tea tastes, well, like green leaves boiled in water. It's not the best-flavored tea I've ever had but it's not too bad with a bit of sugar. Without coffee to start my mornings in Peru, I drank coca tea. I had hoped for yerba mate but that's more of an Argentine/Uruguayan beverage as I found out.
Mom, she got a pretty big kick out of the tea. It's hard not too. After all, cocaine is the yuppie killer, the rich mans' plaything, and the doom of the inner city. Coca leaf on the other hand, is, well, just your average leaf. It's hard to look at these modest almond shaped leaves and see any evil. Nobody every looked at the British with their cups, saucers, and cream tea and dove for the gat out of fear.
My mom; she didn't see the evil either. She bought two big boxes of coca tea bags and brought them right back to America. On the plane. In her luggage. Past customs. Past the drug dogs. On my return trip, I saw drug-sniffing dogs walking all over the luggage. Why her's didn't get yanked is anybody's guess. Still, they'd probably have a hard time disabusing my mother, the drug runner, of her little illegal tea bags.
Having made it this far, what the hell? I'm having her send me a box of tea by post. ;-)
...and wasn't as bothered as I was back in college. Well, to be honest, I didn't hear my housemate having sex so much as his woman screaming her head off. I suppose I prefer it that way. In my book, other guys having sex should be like children; seen yet not heard. What am I talking about?! I don't want to see them either. If it's porn, a disembodied body part is fine; I can pretend it's mine. Looking at another guy's O-face? Not so hawt.
I can remember once in college listening to my bear of a neighbor getting it on. He was grunting, she was shrieking. It sounded like they were having try-outs for porn stars that night. Did I say night? I meant morning. It was sometime between two and three. Yeah, they woke me up.
I laid there thinking to myself, "well, at least it'll be over in a minute or two". No such luck. They went on and on and...
There are three things in life make me genuinely angry:
1. Being cheated
2. Not being included
3. Being unable to sleep
Well, they stumbled right over #3. I climbed down from the bunk-bed, put on pajama bottoms, walked across the hallway, banged on the door. All movement ceased.
"I'm trying to sleep over here."
"Oh, um sorry, Joshua."
They finished faster than a 16 year old with the fat cheerleader under the football bleachers and sleep, blessed sleep was mine again.
My housemate on the other hand? That was a dream. The screaming went on for well under a minute and they must have passed out soon afterwards. With this in mind, I'd like to take this time to nominate my housemate for Best Sex of 2004; Most Gentlemanly Category
Thank-you, all. Please vote [better than last November].