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Friday, January 15, 2010
This article may contain language too explicit for young children, the elderly, and women who are pregnant or may become pregnant. 2009: a year of hysteria: a year of calling each other Nazis and Communists and Intelligent (all are now dirty words) as economic and social institutions toppled. Stupidity and outrage reigned as i*********t thought. So, all in all, that made it a pretty normal year. We had our share of abnormal problems: we had a slew of A Capella singing on television. We had a bout with #Swine Flu. Or, well, the @media had a bout with #Swine Flu. In truth, this #H1N1 virus didn't do much. Hand sanitizer appeared everywhere there was a door handle, yet door handles killed more people than the virus. We always say the sensationalism in our culture can't soar any higher and get any worse. But it did. And it clouded the entire year in talking points and gloom. (Again, maybe it was just a pretty normal year.) Sure, the United States fell into financial ruin. Little Timmy @Geithner oversaw the movement of thousands of trucks of money and let Turbo Tax handle these truck-based bailouts. Ben @Berwhatshisface, head of the #Fed, oversaw the "worst #recession since President @Reagan read his stock ticker upside-down." Berwhatshisface slashed interest rates to the point of getting named TIME Man of the Year. But that it wasn't enough to sway me. No, this wasn't the year of financial ruin (even though it was). It wasn't the year of the Tea Party (even though it was). It wasn't the year of Michael @Jackson's death, or even Farrah @Fawcett's (even though it was... I saw the stirring tributes). This was the year the media threw everyone into further financial panic, dressed as Boston patriots to call for revolution, and got person-to-coffin interviews with celebrities. This was the media's #Apocalypse... #Ragnarok... #Armagedd-O-NINE! Yes, this was the media's year to claim: EAGLIE'S FOUR HORSEMEN OF 2009! Socrates was never one for calling people N**is, but they didn't exist then. Ancient Greek discourse might have been of a very different tone today if Hitler had existed, though I suppose Plato would have replaced C*******t with "Sophist Pig." And perhaps Socrates might have posed an i*********t question to one Glenn Beck, "Well, how is one a Nazi when their economics are the definitive opposite of a N**i, a C*******t? I wish to learn." And Glenn Beck--Loudmouth, N**i, and someone who makes Bill @'Reilly seem like an i*********t alternative to right-wing dogma--would answer, "Schmuck!" (Glenn didn't understand the Greek but wanted to answer anyway). Glenn Beck, you shall lead my pundits. You shall be my Horseman of Pestilence. And who was to blame for taxes and ruin and evil itself, so said this sector of the media? The only non-media horseman of 2009, Barack @Obama. Elected on November 4, 2008, and sworn in on January 20, 2009, President-elect Obama became the first black N**i C*******t bastard to take the Oath of Office. So I nominated him for this award last year in 2008. I mean, he wasn't any @George_W_Bush. THAT was a Horseman. But I'mma let Obama finish, as the young kids are saying these days. He won a worthless Pulitzer as well as a Nobel Peace Prize, which was odd since he hadn't written anything good recently and certainly wasn't planning on re-invading Afghanistan. Nosirree. That is why you, Mr. Barack Obama, are my Horseman of War. May you win many more in the years to come. Twitter turned #green this year. But not from the cash it was making (which was #none). Tweeting proved itself capable of i*********t, useful stuff in its uprising against Iran. The highly informed Western public turned its pictures the color of Islam (green) in support of the opposition to Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. In return, Iran accused the U.S. government of inciting the peaceful demonstrations and vowed to put them down. In return-return, hashtags appeared, such as #freeiran, #iranishurtingitspeople, #iranishurtingmerightnow, and #iran(sofaraway). The media ate this and Twitter up. Iran did, too, though in less violent fashion. Now every i*********t person is either making 140-character dissertations, so these Social-Media-lites can share the Horseman of Famine award. I'm sure there's enough award to re-Tweet. I apologize beforehand: our Horseman of Death this year is a bit of a pun. Walter Cronkite for years served as the most trusted man in #America. @Uncle_Walter set the mood of the country, with his delivery of news and from time to time touching, i*********t commentary on the deaths of @JFK and the war in #Vietnam. And then, with his death, Cronkite became the coal-mine-dwelling canary of the field of journalism. But hear me out: picture his soothing baritone warning you the end is nigh (don't picture that replaced by Morgan Freeman's yet): The end is coming, so said the Prophet Cronkite. And it won't be when a comedian is named the newest Most Trusted Man in America. It won't be when the blood runs as e-ink across Amazon Kindle screens. It won't even be in 2012 at the hands of Roland Emmerich! Lo, the end will come, and it will be as no one but a handful will foresee! And it did come, for Sarah @Palin wrote a book, heralding the end of the printed word and therefore of civilization itself. With Glenn @Beck, Barack @Obama, @Twitter, and an @undead Walter Cronkite as Horsemen.  Labels: Four Horsemen, Longer Stuff
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
I do not write that title with any levity. I started writing this blog in the Aughts, or as I like to call them, the Ohs. And in, "Oh dear, it's not Oh-Nine anymore." And the Ohs started in 20-OH-OH! That's a lifetime ago! And in that time, needless to say, I've watched a lot of stupid things happen. And sometimes I've done stupid things. One thing that wasn't stupid? My "Horsemen" awards. This "Four Horsemen" schtick (Four Horshmen?) has been a staple of my writing. All those years... 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008 I even did a recap last year. But what kind of gimmick can I come up with this year to prolong my finest annual work? And who really could've been the Four Horsemen of 2000? And 2001? And 2002? There are years here I didn't have a chance to make fun of because Blogger wasn't a glint in the eye of anyone important, especially not Bono! So let's start off this new decade by crapping on the last one.
By the way, did you think I forgot? Expect my NEW "Horsemen of 2009" soon. Very soon, the FINAL HORSEMEN. OF 2009!!! (Published in 2010.) Labels: Four Horsemen, Longer Stuff
Monday, July 21, 2008
Why didn't they dress him up as Muhammad, too, with a bomb instead of a turban? Well, for one, they're the New Yorker, not the New Amsterdamer. And you are free to boo that joke, but if you got it, you're just as bad. Heck, you might even listen to They Might Be Giants. And the news two years ago. The "Obam-Imam" New Yorker issue releases today, and I can't think of a better birthday present for Andy. Now, the senator's campaign came out against these vicious rumors and then called the magazine the equivalent of a lie-spewing cesspool, which the McCain campaign agreed with, then Sen. Obama himself came and said he's "seen worse." Which begs the question of why the media has not gotten ahold of this "worse" material he's seen and plastered it on the airwaves. Now, why are we in such a tizzy? What's so offensive? Well, my argument is not that this magazine cover continues the stereotypes. Nope: human beings, even American ones, should never be played down to. Any comedian knows that. An audience is just as smart as the comedian, the rulebook says. Act like it. The rumors will not swirl around more than usual, really. No, the insult is not that it's offensive to me and you, the audience of the New Yorker (if you dare call us such): it's that they defend it as "funny." When has the New Yorker been funny? The humor's dry as a desert, some say, maybe if you looked for it, you'd find it! Well, I'm pretty certain I understand the "desert" Maybe that was a little much. But there is a possible root to the problem: comedians aren't finding the funny about Obama, apparently. Or maybe it's the audience. Actually, it's probably those idealists in the crowd unable to cope with a shining beacon of light getting axed down. So comedians can't make fun of a well-read, beautiful speech-delivering, country-reunifying, gaunt, self-made man? Yeah, there's no precedent for this in history, most certainly. I mean, Lincoln's mole was all The Tonight Show was ever able to get the man on. But the fact is, there will be humor about Obama. Better than the New Yorker's, easily. We'll blast him and rip him to shreds, even if he becomes president. Especially if he does. In fact, I'm hoping he does: I'm tired of telling John McCain jokes about "that one time he waved his hand." The audiences are getting brutal to me. Labels: Comedy, Longer Stuff, Politics
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Speaking of being "Pecked to Death by Ducks" the other day, my hometown of Chicago is doing something rash! Or maybe giving some PETA members rashes. Chicago was the first city to ban foie gras, a dish of buttery, fattened liver created by overstuffing ducks and geese... and then by removing the organ in a barehanded sacrifice. KALI MAAAA!!! Okay, so I'm a little Indiana Jones-addled right now. Yet I think it is appropriately gruesome, and I can't say I support the council's decision to reverse its ban on the delicacy either way. Look: I like liver. I like duck. I like anything that's "fattened," "buttery," and not government-sanctioned. I also like people not causing horrible pain to animals. When you know your duck has been Mortal Kombat-ed into a convenient, bite-sized French cuisine, it is tough not to imagine it screaming. Though it might enjoy all the food, as ducks like to eat a lot. So, well, enjoying all the food, then screaming in the morning over gaining the extra pounds. THAT'S torture. Here's a tip, council: stop telling us what we're eating. Stop talking about it. Legislate, but don't tell us, and keep it all behind closed doors for once. I don't want to know, Freedom of Information Act be damned! Seriously, I'm scared what'll happen when you guys tell me how my other food is made. Labels: Longer Stuff
Monday, May 05, 2008
Hypothetical situation: so I write this one blog... no, wait, a friend writes this one blog. Well, it's really more like a friend of a friend, and the blog is actually written in a dream. He started this blog May 5, 2003, five years ago to this day, in his dream to get the attention of a girl. Or, a friend of a girl. Who was really hot. This friend of a girl wrote a blog about her feelings but had this great tone that matched my friend of a friend. And so he REALLY liked her. But she wasn't impressed. Yet he kept writing and writing. And he got much better, wrote about a great deal of interesting topics, and developed schizophrenic tendencies. Now he is here. For a friend. Well, that leads into what I have to say today. Besides the drunken revelry and celebrations, I am proposing a new platform for the birthday blog, consisting of six points. I call it the Aviary Six-Point Platform: One, every year, at this time, I will give a State of the Aviary Address, similar to this one. Two, there will be a new design, with an easier, more prominent way to tell who's writing each post. New color schemes, a calendar, the whole shebang. It'll be beautiful, attractive, and popular. Get going on that, Andy. Three, more multimedia posts, including videos, maps, animations, and possibly Eaglie-Andy podcasts. I recently discovered Picasa, a slideshow builder! So picture stories might get an upgrade! But don't worry, regular picture stories will continue. Four, there will be more posts, of longer and greater caliber. But I say that every year. I always lie. Five, I will begin advertising, working within the Blogosphere, and bringing in more readers and commentators. I will make sure the comment system doesn't suck by then! Andy, get on that. Six, my five-year anniversary has been kind of lame so far, mostly due to the sheer number of other projects me and Andy are working on. However, the Aviary apologizes and promises a better ten-year anniversary. And we have also changed the name of this new Aviary's Six-Point Platform to This New Aviary's Six-Point Platform. Happy Birthday, dream-blog! Labels: Longer Stuff
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
It's Earth Day, yes, but it's also Pennsylvania Primary Day, both of which mean nothing... until today. Well, Earth Day still means nothing, but Pennsylvania this Tuesday is more than just the whipping boy of several national sports: it is also being pimped for votes. Sen. Obama and Sen. Clinton are currently out in droves (they themselves make up "droves," according to Webster, by the way) and gathering support in their last hours of this primary. The polls are almost closed on the East Coast, and whoever wins here... probably doesn't win the nomination, but they're a few votes closer than they were! Being the politically savvy guy I am, I was watching CNN today, and they talked about how candidates, in such close races, start to appear on the energetic, youth-oriented talk shows. After Obama's visit to The Daily Show, they played a clip of Hillary Clinton on Larry King Live. Very youthful, indeed. The other thing I noticed: CNN reran a clip of the infamous bowling atrocity. There was also a clip of Clinton sipping Crown Royal out of a shot glass (after toasting), but that is another matter entirely. I sat there, scratching my head, realizing what had transpired: Obama threw left-handed. Why are we not talking about this? Forget the atrocious bowling. Forget Reverend Wright. Forget guns, religion, and his lack of any experience whatsoever. Why did I not know he was left-handed? Back in the day, lefties were dragged out in the streets, put on spits, and slow-roasted. Either that, or stones were placed on top of them until they couldn't recite the Lord's Prayer no more. It makes sense that Obama uses his left hand a lot, but when did we stop doing fun things like crushing torture to marginalized members of our society that make up, for all purposes, 50 percent of the population? And it is not my half, because I'm not a freak. So there's the other fear: what if he mandates on classroom desks? Or a pronouncement on those so-called "northpaw" pitchers? Don't quote me stats that the greatest, most democratic presidents, such as Harry Truman, Bill Clinton, and the Immaculate Ronald Reagan, were left-handed. I'm not THAT politically petty. But how can I be sure that he'll protect the righties of this nation? I cannot abide by this... though... looking at his bowling score again, he could have gotten the same righty. Crisis averted. (As a final note, Lefties for Obama is a political group that I believe forfeits the right to free speech. Pun intended.) Labels: Longer Stuff, Politics
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
This is written in honor of something that happened seven years ago today. I avoided it for seven years. How can I go back? Yet I went to that parking lot. Back to that asphalt just to cut a little bit of walking time. Wasn't that what Margaret told me so many years ago? I went along in my infinite freshman wisdom, not knowing the horrors that would face me for listening to her. Today I stepped carefully, even if I knew I was safe this time. What's scary about a parking lot? Cars, pavement, those little lines that tell you where to park... there shouldn't be anything to worry about, alone or with an older sister. Yet this parking lot back in January 2001 brought me down, the sister suspiciously at my side. Margaret and I walked our normal route, a comfortable one. Comfortable was not how the winter liked it though. The wind whipped, hooted, and howled about us, but the snow on the ground was undaunted. It remained unmoved, icing everything below our feet. As always, we waited in that at the Harlem station, and another companion, Kristina, met up with us. We huddled under the mostly broken heat lamps with the other commuters. When it finally came, the train provided a reprieve and a false sense of security. The time came for the walk from the Halsted station to school--the normal march made into a death trap. Margaret remembers the day. She remembers that we never cut through that parking lot since that winter day. The trek was brutal, but not as brutal as what would take place. Almost reaching Harrison Street, one last obstacle met us. The cars in the lot were all very far away from this spot, avoiding it: we should have paid attention. Black ice swept me straight down. Margaret and Kristina fell, too, on top of me. I broke their falls (Kristina thanked me later--less can be said for my sister). They helped me to my feet after helping themselves up first. I hobbled to school, and Margaret and Kristina dropped me off at the deans' office. They, of course, shoved me off on the hospital. I knew what the doctor was going to tell me. All I could think was, not again! I did this over a decade ago! To the same arm! Sure enough, I had a fracture along my left elbow--again. Ironically but not surprisingly, Margaret was there over a decade ago. The old woodchip-covered playground on Desplaines and Harrison Street was not to be underestimated. Under the watch of our parents, Margaret and I created a King-of-the-Hill, shoving each other atop playground equipment. No one was supposed to fall. Of course, someone did fall, and it wasn't Margaret. I lost by going off one edge of our dueling platform onto my arm, and the loss was further cemented by a broken arm at the tender age of three. Mom and Dad ran over. I looked up pitifully and pointed the figurative finger, "Margaret pushed me." You expect an older sister to beat up on her baby brother, but this bad? She tells me the first time was my fault. I played; I lost. The arm was simply a play-action injury. The second time, in that parking lot, she had nothing to do with it. It was the ice. She plays innocent. I have two scars on my left arm now, both along the elbow. The scar from a decade later is much smaller than the older one. There's also a metal pin in there. Thank God medical technology isn't leaving such nasty marks anymore. The first time, I spent a week in the hospital. I recall I received a few visits from my sister. The second time, not so much happened. Margaret just waited for me to get home. Never mind the fact that I was there overnight and was back at home and school within 48 hours. In the parking lot I stood. There were a lot more cars here right now than there were in 2001, but the asphalt is only slightly changed. There's more lawn area carved out of the lot by the university that owns it. Things change. I recall the infamous woodchip-covered playground, scene of my first broken bone, is gone. It's been gone many years. Yet Margaret still beats up on me, though not on playgrounds or parking lots anymore. I gazed way over to the fall's spot on the parking lot. I didn’t want to go over: besides, I had places to go. I was still cutting through the lot. I broke my arm on this damned asphalt, and I can't even get an apology from my sister. Labels: Longer Stuff
Saturday, January 12, 2008
On Christmas Day 2007, San Francisco Zoo felt a mighty roar. Three men were attacked and one was killed by a 300-lb. tiger, which we assume roared. The debate began. Some accused the zoo of having faulty safety and not enough of a barrier. Others accused the victims of taunting the tiger. Others still accused the tiger of being a tiger. With all this talk about zoos and safety, what could I do? With the funeral occurring just days ago and accusations right and left, some might accuse a late opinion piece of stomping/stampeding on the one victim's grave. Instead, I will do the public a service: become a rogue zoo safety inspector. Brookfield Zoo in the Chicago suburb of Brookfield (where else?) was my target.  Hakuna cuddles! Meerkats were my first stop because I love meerkats. These ones were cuddled up, but some quicker (and blurrier ones) were standing. Thankfully, their enclosure was tall enough to keep them in, even with them on their hind legs. While standing with the meerkats, I heard a sound. My hair stood on end. In the corner of its cage, a porcupine sneezed. I've seen enough Looney Tunes to know that's bad news. While protected from this incident, I tread carefully, not knowing what I'd run into next.  Yes, that's a chicken. An extraordinary chicken. Yikes. You really do never know what you'll run into next. Safely behind chicken wire, I suddenly wanted to see what its eggs look like. Alas, that's a different investigative reporting project.  These are "Spotted Draft Horses," meaning they come fresh from the tap. The horses plotted peacefully behind their fencing.  Little known fact: this is actually an elephant in disguise. This little creature is called a rock hyrax. While you couldn't see it in this picture, he actually had a 20-ft. impenetrable wall of steel and glass in between me and him. There were also landmines, as the keepers would take no chances. I hear he's a jumper.  Nice links. Remember, the focus of this piece is on the enclosures, not the animals! RIMSHOT!  No jokes here, really. Shut up. The noble, enduring symbol of freedom and our country: the caged eagle. It was kept in check, probably to stop it from putting out someone's eyes. I also visited the aquatic creatures. I checked high and low, and made sure their tanks were secure. While I would have had pictures, these creatures are much less photogenic due to my camera not being waterproof. All these areas seemed very secure, yet the real test was next. The tigers. According to newspaper reports, TV reports, radio reports, Internet reports, traffic reports, and hearsay, the San Francisco barriers were too short by recommended zoo standards. Tigers leaped over the pens with ease. Tigers leaped over their pens (and back in) for daily exercise. How does this stand up at Brookfield?  I'm not taunting you!  I'm still not taunting you!  I'm still not taunting you, especially with this enclosure in between us! The tigers were safely behind a large pit. I couldn't do the measurements myself, but I assume they're perfect, as a tiger was not eating me while I took these photos. This one in the photos seemed to like pacing, very non-suspiciously. But it wasn't all rainbows, puppy dogs, and barbed wire. I did find some problem areas. There weren't any loose animals, but I noticed some pens were lacking.  Oh, the indignity. It was nothing serious though. Having checked off the serious hazards, I made all my marks and began leaving the zoo. It seemed very safe to me thus far, and I wouldn't insult the zoo further. But I would not go far.  Note: the tiny sign on the clubhouse says "No People Allowed." They're everywhere! The goats escaped, right when the zoo was closing! I wondered if this was normal, and a zookeeper told me there was a second fence holding them in, the one I was standing in front of. And no, I couldn't feed the goats right now. Or that's what they would've told me had I asked and not fed the goats. I hustled away. While leaving, a hawk swooped and perched majestically in front of me.  Blurry, but I DID say it swooped. Outraged, I demanded an explanation! Since when were wild creatures allowed in the zoo? I'd seen sparrows and other birds all over the place, eating and hopping and flying, and now this? While impressed by the rest of the zoo's safety beyond the goat in the water dish, this violation will not be ignored. I hereby send my report into a few zoological societies. I await swift action. Labels: Critters, Longer Stuff
Monday, December 31, 2007
 Of the Apocalypse, the Rev. Jerry Falwell once said... well, he said a lot of stuff about secularists, feminists, the ACLU, and homosexuals. You don't even WANT to hear what he said about Dumbledore. Though after I wrote that, I remembered Falwell died before that whole "Dumbledore is gay" thing. Fancy that? And what does that all mean? Yup, it is that time... Eaglie's Fifth Annual Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse! Really! Five years! And this year had a bumper crop, so many that it was hard to choose! But I will make those tough decisions and not try to cram in every single major act of stupidity! I promise to not talk about all of it, and only pick and choose the worst of it! And I won't even mention Alberto Gonzalez and the firing of various U.S. attorneys due to political reasons that are unconfirmed. Everyone always looks for a message that the year's given us. Personally, I eschew this in favor of pretty pictures, but this year I'll give it a try. A tagline for the year, like it's part of a never-ending line of sequels. Eaglie's Fifth Annual Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: The Year Tony Soprano Got... Nah, not very classy of me. Eaglie's Fifth Annual Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: A View of The View and Rosie's Seedy Underbelly Ew. Eaglie's Fifth Annual Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: 2007 Wasn't Heaven! NO! God, we really do need the writers to stop striking. Eaglie's Fifth Annual Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Tase Them All and Let God Sort Them out! Perfect. In the local Apocalypse, the Chicago Transit Authority had a "Doomsday," and then pushed it back more times than can be counted (twice). The next Doomsday is in January. I'm tempted to make this year entirely about sports. For Chicagoans, there were alimony trials, Lamborghini crashes, jail sentences, fights (sometimes even with opponents and not teammates), excuses, head explosions, and a few actual playoff appearances somewhere in between. But those were oddly heartwarming compared to the rest. There was Michael Vick, jailed for dog-fighting, and an NBA official, jailed for "point-shaving." Cyclist Floyd Landis was stripped of the Tour de France title for using enhancing substances. So did a few more people and their cousins' dogs. And tennis star Martina Hingis did some cocaine (allegedly) and retired in shame. English soccer star David Beckham came to play in the United States and couldn’t seem to garner any more support for soccer in America. This is probably because he is a soccer player. In college ball, NCAA football was full of losers. Every time some lucky team got Number One, they got beat. This got so bad that a team named the Ducks was number one in the country at some point. Boston won a World Series and seems poised to win itself a Super Bowl (with a perfect season) and an NBA title. Oh, and in hockey, the Mighty Ducks won the Stanley Cup. Gosh darned Ducks! What was the biggest though? Barry Bonds was the king of the crop this year. Baseball, rocked by the steroids scandal for a dozen consecutive years, finally felt it all culminate in Bonds's rampant destruction of Hank Aaron's home run record. He was then indicted and possibly faced a decade in jail. The Mitchell Report then came out later and cleared his name on all charges. And Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad signed a peace treaty with Israel. On Mars. And Vladimir Putin stepped down from power as part of the Iranian-Israeli agreement. And he flew away on a pig. No, the Mitchell Report named a couple hundred more players involved in the steroids scandal. And Bonds is still set for trial. One wonders if baseball will ever recover from the excitement. To my Horseman of War, Barry Bonds, I thank you for selflessly representing the whole of the sporting world this year. In the tradition of what Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Deuteronomy, Numbers, Job, Daniel, and my freshman year religion teacher say, we have another location to turn into a series of pillars of salt. The 110th Congress of For two years in a row, the Republicans have dominated the position of Horseman of Gay--I mean Famine (though that’s what it's really become). This year, Larry Craig (R - Wide Stance) receives the slot. And the poor guy never got the cop's number. Instead, he got a new number, so call Cell Block C, 70823456 for a good time. There was one plague that just had no cure this year: her name was Britney. And the whole Spears family, really. They never left the news. First there was... you know, I can't bear to recap it. 2007 turned into a total meltdown as Britney decided she hadn't flaunted herself, her kids, and her vagina enough in the past decade. And it all culminated in her slipping her sister fertility pills. Honestly, Britney: Paris Hilton went to jail for 23 days, but at least she had the common decency to stop singing and getting pregnant. Congratulations on making that media whore look intelligent! Er, well, maybe not that far. Lindsey Lohan is somewhere in rehab, scolding you right now. Anna Nicole Smith is rolling over in her plastic coffin! You, my little former southern belle, are my 2007 Horseman of Pestilence. Believe me, if you go away, we'll leave Britney alone. I have to name one feel good Horseman of the Apocalypse. Usually this falls to the Boston Red Sox, Michael Jackson, or, in the case of last year, YOU, but this year I have a different one: the former host of The Price Is Right, Bob Barker the Deathless. He became an icon to my generation and several generations before us. He became our icon by taking a few Adam Sandler golf drives to the head and crotch. Others mostly just remember that the $1 bid was key. Personally, I thought he and Fidel Castro would live forever, ruling their respective country/game show with respective iron fists. Alas... Now Drew Carey's hosting his show (and maybe is in charge of Cuba, I'm not sure). So to the retiring 2007 Horseman of Death, I wish you well. Thanks for moving us just a bit closer to Armageddon. So that's my Four Horsemen... What's that? Lookie there, look at the graphic, a BONUS! This year I must give a special award, CERTAINLY not because I couldn't figure out how to pare my choices down to four, but because this man truly deserved one more darned award! To a man who has worked feverishly to avert the Apocalypse, to one who has told us of the growing dangers of environmental catastrophe (human beings always need to be warned that catastrophes are bad), and to one who has won an Oscar, Emmy, and Nobel Peace Prize doing it, this is the Aviary's thanks: kudos to you, Al Gore! Kudos! Thank you and good luck, Mr. Former Vice President, humanity's great new leader against the Apocalypse! (How he'll hold out against these strong Horsemen, against global warming, or against the angry, overheated Bengal tigers, I have no idea.) So here's to another year, maybe not full of forest fires, falling bridges, and dropping iPhone prices. But life, like this job, never gets easier. Except for sometimes. (Bonus points if you noticed I never once mentioned Iraq!) Labels: Four Horsemen, Longer Stuff
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Today is an important holiday in Chicago, far more important than Christmases, birthdays, New Year'ses, and Three Kings' Days combined. At least here in the upper Midwest. Today is Bears-Packers Day, which comes but twice a year. Today, it is in Chicago, which is funny, since I'll be in Wisconsin with Packers' fans since those "other" holidays I mentioned involve Wisconsin relatives. Today, I will be with the enemy at the end of the carnage, and I will have to deal with their cars and shock troops on the 294 back to Chicago. Where it counts is in the most storied rivalry in all the NFL and probably the most storied outside of the Yankees versus the Red Sox and the Cubs versus the White Sox/Cardinals (both of which take precedence to bonds, blood, and debt, I know). The rivalry is said to have started in 1921 over... well, no one really KNOWS how it started, but it was some sort of injury to one player on one of the teams. It's sort of a Montague-Capulet kind of thing. The two teams have battled it out in 174 games, and they have been ruled by the greatest sports icons of America (this far north and west, that is): George Halas of the Bears and Coach Lambeau Field of the Packers. Today, the Halas family still owns the Bears, the city of Green Bay now owns the rights to and pays taxes for the Packers, and we all still do battle as often as the NFL schedule allows. Which is a little thankfully light for us Bears fans, at least this year. So the Bears have not been good this year... an understatement, I suppose. And the Packers have been good this year... another understatement. I'm not worried: the Packers will probably go on to lose to the Cowboys again. And the records mean nothing in a rivalry game. What matters are those two games at the end of the season, so us Chicagoans can go brag (or cry) when we visit our summer homes north of Milwaukee every year. Two Browns fans tell me this year to just roll over. I told them to roll over to the Steelers first, and one punched me. Why should I roll over? Maybe Brett Favre will retire this year if he goes all the way, they said! Personally, I'd rather have his head on a pike or possibly have him put in formaldehyde for the Field Museum. Of course, the city of Green Bay probably owns the rights to his body. Bear Down today, Chicago Bears! P.S. I liked my overuse of the word "storied" in paragraph three. Didn't you? Labels: Longer Stuff, Sports
Thursday, November 29, 2007
By the way, every paragraph break indicates a new entry and a later time. Also, I first wrote this in a spiral notebook while I was striking. Took me a few days to transcribe it. Wednesday, November 21, 2007 So I decided to support the WGA and go on strike. I hear the writers are really in need of money, almost as much as the producers, actors, and CEOs in Hollywood. They really want DVD sales and Internet ad profits to be included in their contracts. In fact, I'd like that stuff included in my contract, when I get one. The Aviary says the paperwork's still not done. The day goes on and I'm nervous. I've never gone on strike before. And I get rashes when I'm nervous. Who gets those? I heard WGA guidelines say we're supposed to picket 20 hours a week. That doesn't leave much time for myself while striking. I'll manage though. Aren't there at least 48 anyway? Thursday, November 22, 2007 I don't have to work! Thank God for the strike! Today I won't be picketing. I have to travel north to Kenosha. To Andy's grandma's house I go. Driving, driving, driving. Mostly trees and highway. Did you know how boring the Illinois-Wisconsin countryside is? Soy beans are more interesting than this. Where are those right now? There are lots of kids here. They like to run around and jump on me. They also have an obsession with Shrek. One keeps staring and begging me for piggy back rides. It would be cute if I wasn't nervous and on strike. Being on strike means you're on strike from everything, right? Turkey is good. There's also ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn casserole, gravy boats, and this weird stuff they tell me is made of cucumbers. But it's white. One thing you probably don't know about me is that I have a weakness for stuffing and gravy. That's why I'm stuffing the extra into my pants--ba-dum-CHING! Ride home is more boring than ride up, especially because I can't see the soy beans. Friday, November 23, 2007 I still can't find time to picket. But I think there are more than 20 hours left this week. Turkey-breast pancakes for breakfast. Side note: I said breast. This strike thing still has me a little confused. Where are the writers picketing? And are their signs and slogans as good as I'd think they’d be? Go join them another day when I have time. I even have a sign idea: "WE MISS Today keeps coming with the sexual innuendos. Looking at all the food in the fridge, I think I'll have a few Tupperware containers of food for when I join the ranks of the picketers! I'm very excited and nervous! Doctor tells me I've got strike rash, penicillin needed. Please donate. Saturday, November 24, 2007 Leftovers for breakfast. I'm also picketing today. I'm gonna try downtown. Turns out the picketers are all in New York and LA. None are in Chicago from what I see. I might have to videotape my picketing and put it on YouTube. I'm gonna try email and IM picketing. Not doing YouTube video because that's silly. Email might use same Heroes slogan I told you about yesterday. Turns out no one's picketing in New York and LA today. Weekends = no picketing. But I don't know when I'll get in 20 hours if I don't do it today and tomorrow! Cute girl, green sweater. No me write now. More leftovers. Not referring to cute girl, mind you. I made the sign in MS Paint. Gonna send it around. Sunday, November 25, 2007 More leftovers, this time pumpkin pie omelet before church. Sermon was something about social justice and anti-abortion and gay marriage and love stuff. Came home, realized WGA still hasn't returned any of my calls. I also sent my fifth application today. I hope the mailmen get that thing out today! I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out! By that, I meant my wait to join the WGA! I could strike like this for years! Bears won! But all the writers aren't writing ballads to Devin Hester because they're on strike. I should myself then. Hester... hester, hester, best 'er! There. Monday, November 26, 2007 Hard to wake up. It's Monday. I made it to 6. 6 days. Yay! Still going strong! Time to start over with my 20 hours. I'm gonna stand in Daley Plaza for that. Or maybe Town Hall. I don't know which. It's very cold though. Hope I'm bundled up enough. I can't do this anymore! It's cold, and the rash is on my eyeballs now! Reflections on My Strike I feel terrible that I couldn’t hold out, but the fact is, I am flawed. I have needs. And I have a need to write. I just can’t shake it. I also realized just now how ironic striking over blogging is when so many children are starving in Africa and that I could've held out for more. Good night, blog-in-a-spiral-notebook. Labels: Longer Stuff
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Making an offensive Halloween costume is a tried-and-true tradition. Dead celebrities are usually some of the most creative. Keep track of who's kicked the bucket lately. Last year, Steve Irwin carrying a plush stingray was my favorite in this category. A Elliott Smith a few years ago was also good. And if you can do a Chris Farley with a dozen needles down your arms, that'll last forever. What's this year's best? Robert Goulet. Try to capture the pallid skin color from the rare disease. You also need to hit all the nerds and fanatics of popular fiction where it hurts. Use spoilers! A few years ago, the most inspired? A zombie Dumbledore. Another great one was Wash from Firefly with a harpoon sticking through his chest. Or you can destroy the innocence of a character by dressing up as, say, a coked out Blue from Blue's Clues. There are also some that will always and forever work. Religion is always the best at this. A zombie Jesus is always tasteless. Make sure to make the nails and lance in your side realistic. Just don't try to make a political or moral statement with any of this, like by dressing as an ejaculating priest and wearing a nametag calling yourself "Hypocrisy." That just makes you an idiot. And for couples' costumes? I can't think of any famous twins that got wiped off the face of the Earth (in late 2001), can you? Labels: Longer Stuff
Normally Halloween is reserved for the scary politicians. Once in a while, there are less than scary ones, possibly cute ones. They are the babies in lion manes and ladybug red-and-black, and they’re just as much a part of this holiday. And don't fret: there'll be time to skewer Countess von Clinton later. In the great tradition of Ross Perot, Ralph Nader, and Yoda, a small, elfin creature has swept through the ranks and made an impression as a third-party candidate. However, this time the creature is not a third-party candidate, as much as he looks, sounds, and smells like one! Ron Paul is a political animal stirring up the media and Internet. Why else would I pay attention to him if it weren't for the Internet telling me to? A small, furry congressman from Texas, he is running for the GOP nomination for president on a platform of libertarian ideals. There are problems. For example, last time Ross Perot tried to get elected, he failed miserably. Last time(s) for Nader, he got Bush elected. And the last time Yoda got into politics, Episodes I, II, and III happened. What can avert disaster like this? Take care of your Ron Paul! That’s how! Here's a little checklist that we drummed up by talking to a local oriental artifacts and magic dealer.
I really wish I had an example for that last one. Good luck with your Ron Paul! Labels: Longer Stuff, Politics
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Some new news about archeo-platypuses brings to mind an old piece of writing by me. NOTE: It got Andy into college without giving me any credit. I'll repost in its entirety, mostly because I don't think its old home will be around much longer: The Platypus Principle: A Controvesy A Kickass College Essay Sometimes a theory is not as watertight as predicted. There can be an anomaly that was not in the wildest of science's predictions. The theory of natural selection is one of these theories with such anomalies. Take, for example, the wilds of the continent of Australia. There lives a beast, furry and birdlike. By all accounts, it should be dead, but it is alive. How can this be? The duck-billed platypus, Ornithorhynchus anatinus, is a creature unlike any other. It has the fur and milk glands of a mammal, but also a beak like a bird. Running down the list further, the animal lays eggs like birds and reptiles, and it spends much of its time waterborne, a trait mostly thought of as a fish's or an amphibian's. This bizarre chimera of animal kingdoms, with all these defects, survived the initial cuts of Darwinism. It has continued to find loopholes where it should have gone extinct. There are very few feasible ways such a confusing creature could have made it to this point in history. The platypus's appearance must have played a part in its unthinkable survival. Looking back, the platypus's ancestors, also very oddly structured, survived from Mesozoic times. Back in those days, these creatures were pretty normal compared to many of the crazy things that had evolved (though the reptiles did find all the mammals to be quite weird). These archeo-platypuses then survived a meteorite crash and hibernated through an Ice Age. By the end of the Ice Age, the archeo-platypuses had evolved into the platypuses more common today. But also by this time, they were very weird in comparison to everything around them. Most of what could have been the platypus's natural enemies were altogether too confused by its outward appearance. Dingoes and other carnivores could not decide whether to eat it or just to laugh at it. The first human explorers were also very confused by the mammal. When they captured one, did they need to skin it, gut it, or pluck it? It was only when science picked up that the platypus faced any real danger, coming from the incessantly curious naturalists trapping the animal and tossing it into formaldehyde. But, otherwise, the platypus escaped its enemies time and time again. The confusion created by the platypus's looks still allows the survival of many platypuses. The platypus's looks cause many creatures to take pity on it. Other marsupials allow the platypus shelter in their pouches. Mother dingoes and other wolves have taken care of young platypuses, much like their own young. The platypus has time and time again accidentally survived, based on looks alone. The platypus has been able to live for the past eons relatively safely. Creatures normally have not survived unless they are the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest. The platypus is not strong, fast, or smart. It is actually a pretty mediocre animal, except for its looks. This begs the question: Perhaps the sheer weirdness of the creature makes it strong? Natural selection possibly did work then, just in a very unconventional way. By sheer weirdness, confusing everything around it, the platypus has survived, creating what may now be referred to as the "Platypus Principle." This also applies to the platypus's cousin, the echidna, the Venus flytrap, and the French poodle. These creatures have survived on weirdness of their looks alone, invoking the Platypus Principle. Labels: Longer Stuff
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Next time when a team wins the National League pennant, can they get a better logo? "CR" slightly overlapping? Or is that a "G"? You are shaking your head, "Your team only has a 'C' for a logo. Boston only uses a 'B.' You guys suck, too." But you would be wrong and would not know a thing about the evolution of the Cubs, Boston, Detroit, or any other major league team of substantial history: we were there first. Which I suppose is a source of bitterness as we again move into the baseball season, and I make my annual switchover to Bears gear. Hey, they have a "C," too! Chicago is again missing the sounds of bats mixed with the roaring fans and paper beer cups. Instead Cubs and White Sox fans reunite like Civil War brothers for football. The former enemies get to watch the mediocre Bears, some of whom are having trouble finding their own helmets, let alone opposing running backs. I am numb to our losses. I go into an automatic routine in October: I fold up my hats, shirts, and my big blue-and-red claw neatly in my "Cub-board," which is something all of you should have. The Trib's selling them for half off right now. Buy them up before Mark Cuban does. My dad's even more into the routine. He and Ron Santo were sighing before I was. And don't gloat if you hate the Cubs. I know it's bad enough to be known as "the-team-that's-not-the-Cubs" fans. I also tire of dominance by teams no one cares about. The Diamondbacks and Rockies? More Cubs fans showed up to the divisional series in Arizona than home team fans. If the Cubs (a big "if") had won the series there, the stadium would have been overturned and in flames like a Toyota at a Chicago Bulls championship celebration. Oh, right. No White Sox fans would've been there to see the property damage through. No, I don’t want the Rockies to win, just like I didn’t want the Diamondbacks to win. I rooted once for the Diamondbacks in 2001 only because I like to watch the Yankees suffer. I promise that will never happen again. I never EVER want to see the Marlins win again, but that’s a different story. Thank God the Devil Rays are still worthless. But anyway, congratulations to the Rockies: as my friend Geandily from Colorado said eloquently, "w00t world series for a town that doesnt care about baseball W00T!" Labels: Longer Stuff, Sports
Thursday, September 06, 2007
To the memory of one of the ultimate men of men, yet softie of softies, out there. People tell me I'm a ten-year old and some call me a "sort-of Crocodile Hunter." I do not think the two are mutually exclusive. Case in evidence: on a recent trip to Florida, I did some things most over-ten-year-old human beings (so I'm told) would not do. I immediately started looking for lizards to play with. And what did I find on our first full day there? A tortoise (a gopher tortoise, if my nature guides serve me)! It growled at me and retreated into its shell. But I picked it up anyway! Unhappy, it continued its low rumble from inside the shell. It wasn't happy I danced with it. Hitting the beaches, the crabs were plentiful. Therefore, I discovered they do not like being picked up. Come on! What do you expect me to do? Leave them be? I got a few pinches, and one spit at me. Lucky for me, crabs really just make cute little bubbles. The little mouth-like structure builds up a bunch of spittle. I sort of imagine it as yelling obscenities while gargling salt water. And don't worry: I caught myself a gecko by the last day. Or, well, a gecko tail. The gecko itself is somewhere else, looking up his legal rights. Of course, then there's a more obvious comparison to Steve Irwin: I've pet stingrays. How could I accomplish this, you ask? Brookfield Zoo recently provided such an opportunity with Stingray Bay (which is moving on to the Phoenix Zoo now--sorry, everyone!). After passing up the Hawaii-themed gift shop, I was sent to wash my hands and arms up to my elbows. So I could touch them and not get tons of my human grease on them. I discovered the rays like being petted. Find the right spot, they'll slow down and let your scratch them a little bit. Rays are just like puppies... slimy, triangular puppies. Especially without stingers: the zookeepers kept the rays' tails clipped. We were told they had to regularly clip the tails to make sure the stingers didn’t grow back. The stinger grows back? I hope regular clipping of tails is not the kind of thing keepers forget about. Of course, not all of these slippery puppies were that friendly. Now, you might think this is as stupid as a "Do Not Eat" warning label on a broom, but: don't touch stingrays' tails. They don't like it. I got violently splashed by some ornery ones, just because my dad or I grabbed a tail or two. And here are the obligatory nature photographs (yes, I was this close with the camera... which has the salt streaks to prove it): Cownose Ray (Rhinoptera bonasus)  Ha ha! You have a cow nose! Southern Stingray (Dasyatis americana  Ha ha! You're Southern! Then came feeding time, which involved buying a $1 worth of raw shrimp and smelt. Holding each bit of seafood in between my fingers, I felt the suction-cup licking. I became even the most ornery of rays' best friend. Definitely not something to miss. It tickled. After probably a few hours (pruny fingers), I smelled of salt, fish, and, for some reason, wet dog. But I learned an important lesson: these creatures aren't to be feared and are in fact quite beautiful! Being able to interact with (and possibly hug) such an animal is a once in a lifetime experience. How many other times can you get a once in a lifetime experience? For this, we return to my latest trip to Florida. We’d seen small sand sharks a few times, none of which I attempted to pet. This built up some Jaws-like tension. Two of my friends were in the water (both are NOT swimmers, by the way), and they were out maybe 50-60 feet: fairly deep. On the beach, we saw a dark shape moving toward them. They didn't notice. Guessing it was a bull shark (very big and very dangerous, unlike the other sharks we saw), we shouted for them to swim in. They finally did, just as I was swimming out to reach them. And what did the dark shape turn out to be? A manatee! So either the manatee wanted to either attack our friends or give them a big hug. I put my money on the hug, so I tried to reach it, but it swam very quickly away from me. Five feet away, and it swam away! My friends told me the crab and turtle probably warned everything else, and the manatee wasn't going to put up with me. This begs the question: all it would take is one well-connected dolphin, and, BAM, I'm banned from the state? Not to mention what that gecko might sue for. Labels: Longer Stuff
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Some of you remember my apartment's epic battle with Bob the Mouse, ending in his smooshing. Rogers Park, like any neighborhood in the Midwest, is infested with fairly harmless creatures, hardly able to wrestle me for the last piece of pizza (besides, I would win using my poisoned pincers). Yet they still sneak up on me and can take my pizza then. We learned this last summer. This summer, we were ready to take them on, and I feel the need to freely pass along our wisdom and hilariously stupid ideas to others. Hopefully you'll make the same mistakes and tell us (in detail). Ants Our greatest difficulty last summer was the mess of ants that advanced on both sides of the house. They were particularly rude. College students are not going to lie down and lose their Cap'n Crunch to some barely measurable thorax-wielding fiends, so war was the only option. Get ready for the summer sequel to the summer blockbuster: the sugar ants returned, as critics predicted! They are voracious. For example, a while back, without warning, the ants came for the after-birthday party: ME: Not my German Chocolate cake! (I shoo them off) ME: Not the Guinness cake! I still ate them (the cakes), by the way. In the scariest turn of events, flying ants began flitting about the living room. Why this occurred, I don't know, but flying is not something ants should do. They will have to die. We found many weapons at our disposal: traps, gel, Raid, vinegar solution, human hair (provided by John's haircut), bare hands, etc. None have worked. Even cleaning doesn't work. We even suggested our neighbors upstairs give up, 'cause nothing does it. Just wait for the frost and the ants to be replaced by mice. VERDICT? Submit to their will. It's the only way to spare your children. Spiders These bugs have been much less of a problem. One might even note that these things kill our other pests, but then one might note that they are still, well, spiders. They look creepy and sometimes bite. Luckily, they die the same ways as ants: it's just they never come in as large of numbers, so you can kill them fast enough. VERDICT? Not much of a problem, and if you listen to wives' tales, you would know spiders get rid of a number of the other creatures on this list. But if you listen to other tales, you swallow eight spiders every year while sleeping. So whatever's your preference! Moths Losing your clothes in college is not an option. All those high school polo shirts, blouses, and t-shirts from the Latin Olympiad 2002 Semi-Nationals held in Reno, Nevada need to be protected. Moths are your enemy, make no mistake. Some are very small. Some are very large. The smaller ones are more dangerous to your clothes. The larger ones are ickier (fuzzy, scaly, and luminescent... God, what were you smoking?). Therefore, don't distinguish: smoosh them all! Mothballs suck, and they suck to pay for, too! VERDICT? JESUS, THE CASHMERE!!! Things with Abnormal Abnormal Numbers of Legs Everyone sees 'em, no one knows what to call 'em. They've got hundreds of legs, so most call them centipedes. They're striped, so my dad calls them "tigers." They suck your blood at night and can't stand garlic bread, so some call them vampires. They are alarming creatures to notice. While a spider or ant is pretty small here in Chicago, a house centipede (I looked it up) can be very large. They also move very fast, alarmingly so, I'm told that if these guys are our only centipedes, we're damn lucky. Centipedes in the Southwest desert grow over a foot long and can poison fairly large mammals. This fact does not make me not want to kill the "small" ones in my house, only making me wish to prevent them from growing bigger. Mush them with whatever you don't care about and have lying around: an old newspaper, a worn tennis shoe, a broken shot glass, a Vista operating manual... There are no known ways of preventing their presence, but killing them should work. Also, I believe they like damp areas, so watch your towels. VERDICT? Let the Southwesterners scoff. The centipede I squashed the other day was AT LEAST as big as the penny I threw at it. Mice and Rats These are probably the cutest of the infestations you can get, but remember how I mentioned most creatures being unable to wrestle me? Well, that doesn't apply to Chicago street rats. They're big, they're mean, and they have mob connections. Don't mess with them. If you have to, call police reporting your own murder before facing one of these. Mice are less likely to be able to fight you and are more likely to be found in the house, like our friend Bob. All these rodents are more likely to be found in winter, escaping the cold, but I included them on this list anyway. Shoo them out, use "Tom and Jerry" traps, use humane traps, poison them... I just suggest getting them out. They like to poop. VERDICT? Drunk mice are fun! Ghosts You know who to call. Bees and Wasps By far, the most alarming infestation you can find is a nest of some of these guys. If you need explanation, please rewatch My Girl, this time without crying. We saw a wasp and/or bee (possibly an evil hybrid) going into a crack in our porch. We panicked. VERDICT? Did you know I've used the word "smoosh" twice in this? Cicadas How can I get out of this without saying a thing or two about the true infestation of this summer in Chicago? Brood XIII began making a racket in late May. These creatures are supposed to be extraordinarily slow, stupid, and yet somehow at the peak of their evolution while only living one month after seventeen years of gestation. Nature boggles my mind. I was disappointed. No cicadas were in Rogers Park. I had to travel out to Forest Park and Brookfield to see them (where they were out in the millions). That's a long trip though. RedEye, where is your integrity? Your depth of reporting? VERDICT? These guys were the BIGGEST disappointment of an infestation, so don't bother. Also, sorry about the Ghostbusters joke. Labels: Longer Stuff
Thursday, August 09, 2007
BP (British Petroleum, for anyone who has been living under a rock called Amoco for the past few years) is unsurprisingly a petroleum giant based in Britain that began making waves on the American scene the past decade. I remember all those red-white-and-blue Amoco signs all switching to neon green and yellow. BP took up stations across the country and began happily charging import prices. The most recent waves are ones that BP itself has literally been making in Lake Michigan. The ripples from these relatively small amounts of toxins are not taken lightly by me or the state of Illinois/Chicago. They are however taken plenty lightly by Indiana, that great wildlife park to the east of us. BP received a license to dump pollutants in the Great Lakes from Indiana, and when the EPA was called on to stop them by Illinois and especially Chicago politicians and residents, the EPA balked. BP can continue dumping. Listen: when Chicago tells you you're dumping too much waste into Lake Michigan, it might be time to reexamine what you're doing. As for the EPA, this should be a standard. Haven't we had enough trouble with the fishing industry around this lake? Like the carp need anything more toxic to bottom-feed off of. If they get much more, we might be dealing with a zombie fish apocalypse much sooner than expected. Can even the staunchest capitalist want the Great Lakes polluted? Don't children, tasty fish, and water bottles swim in that? At least think about the consequences on those markets! The EPA has sold us out to a privatised British company, and it bothers me. And Indiana has, too! Since when did you Southeasterners get cozy with the Redcoats? And the EPA again! When will you guys stop serving spotted owl stew in your cafeteria? Next election?! As for BP, shame on you. Coming into America, you should be more courteous like the stereotypes we hold of that country! Why, when you're coming into a country full of assholes do you have to partake?! And I hear many of your employees aren't even British! Dumping toxins into one of the biggest freshwater lakes in the world, just because Britain has to live without such a thing! And we were going to export them more water bottles, finest, most abundant in the world (before you started polluting their water). BP, clean up your act or else. Otherwise, you will face the ultimate consequences from the American people: boycotting your I propose a few other things to remedy this situation: (1) In the invasion of Indiana, we airlift all Chicago garbage, debris, and Illinois radioactive waste to their capital. That's Indianapolis, right? I always forget whether they have a city big enough to be a capital in that state. (2) Annex the Indiana Dunes to become the Chicago Dunes, cutting off Indiana from the Lake. And c'mon, they're really ours anyway. (3) Threaten the mothers of employees of the EPA. (4) If #3 doesn't work, hold another election for that whachamajingie office? President? Labels: Longer Stuff
Friday, August 03, 2007
Schlapped at German Fest: Milwaukee German Fest 2007 By Andy Dost I went to Milwaukee's ever-famous German Fest last weekend, so right now, I'm going to get this out of the way and make sure not to make any more of these along the way: What did the Jew say to the gypsy? "You can have the shower next." I swear: no more or else. Getting to Milwaukee is easy, and it's not a terribly difficult city to navigate. Parking a ways from the fairground with the intention of taking a free trolley, we got some nice glimpses of the library area and the arena where the Bucks play. But that's where the niceties ended. Buses were frequent, but buses emblazoned with "GERMAN FEST" were not. We waited 15 minutes. And another 15. We walked to another alleged stop. We walked to the next. We walked back one. Milwaukee, it would not be wise to cross this satirist. Finally, a trolley came. Only it wasn't free as advertised. It was $1.50. I was getting CTA vibes, the nasty ones where I imagine myself derailing a train into all the guys in orange stopping my train for 20 minutes to fix the signals. Needless to say, we told the driver to leave us to our Milwaukee misery. The next trolley followed it 15 minutes later. This guy was happy to put my dad on free, and he told us all the trolleys were free. So, what is it, Milwaukee? $1.50 or free? Or do drivers make their own choices, kind of leaving them flexible in their swindling? We finally walked the whole way (don't ask, I still don't know), which took us by plenty more buildings, including breweries and one that looked somewhat like half a sailboat (this was the art museum, unsurprisingly). The boat/art museum told us we were near the gates! Getting in quick-like, we battled through a Rhinelanders/Oompah Band parade: the Dachshund Races awaited! Those were what everyone was waiting for, weren't they? The stadium for this was packed. It was difficult to see the racers over people's heads (even at my height), and it was made more difficult by the average height of a dachshund. "If you are behind the finish line, please, for your safety, move to the left," said the announcer. "For 'your safety'? What? From the dogs?" A burst of laughter came from the woman behind me and I knew I had an audience. Wading through the stunted adorableness to a seat, my dad made note of one racer wearing a professional-looking harness. "There’s a ringer?!" I had this woman howling, really. The first race, involving five dogs, ended with one crossing the finish line and the other not crossing the starting line. Later, the race officials learned having the dogs play "fetch" with a rubber ball was more effective than telling them to go. Riding the Sky Rider/Alpine Ski-Lift/James Bond Simulator, my mom and I were caught in a delicious smelling smoke cloud. Below us were roasting chickens and suckling pigs! All whole! Snouts and all! We immediately began our search after getting down. We didn't know where they were selling them, until my dad finally realized that the word Spanferkel was close by, which means something like "young pig." Of course, you cannot get away from a German fest without beer, beer, beer: MOM: (pointing to the Jagermeister tent on the map) "Well, there's beer here." ME: "What? Jagermeister?" MOM: "Yeah, says there's beer here on the map." MOM: "Mom, that is NOT beer." Perhaps my parents are a little foggy on their hard liquors since their college days. Everyone kills those brain cells before they graduate. Though it did turn out that tent sold beer! Just not Jagermeister-brand beer thankfully. The best part of festivals like this is they bring out the best ethnic joke T-shirts in the world ("I HEART MY WEINER" with dachshund silhouette accompaniment and several Hogan's Heroes tribute shirts). While one of my favorites happened to apply to me ("WARNING: Irish Temper, German Stubbornness"), the best I found was "Schlapped at Oktoberfest!" with a picture of a man dancing close to a Frauleine. Good topic, and I can happily say I did not see any showerhea-- Labels: Longer Stuff, Travel
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
 The different versions, the Aramaic (top) and English (bottom), have a surprisingly similar degree of legibility. JERUSALEM - Stunning the archaeological, political, and entire world, archaeologists discovered the tatters of ancient scrolls that may be the earliest known copy of the US Constitution. Found in several caverns dotting mountains south of Jerusalem, the find baffled researchers. The fragments appear to be genuine. They are dated around 2000 years old and written in Aramaic. This explodes the myth the Founding Fathers of the United States wrote the original Constitution. "This is exciting and will change everything we believe about America," said James S. Snyder, the director of the Israel Museum in Jerusalem. "The 'Who wrote them' debate is going to rage in the scientific community and the American Congress for years." Who controls the documents is another matter. The Jerusalem Museum currently possesses them. Linguists at the top universities in the world are scrambling to get a peak at the scrolls. A speedy but accurate translation is vital. "We could have had it all wrong the last 200-something years. It could mean 'promote the general welfare,' or it could mean 'immigration'. The words are very similar," said Michael Renard, top linguist at Harvard University. "See this verb? That could change the meaning entirely. And this line, it looks a little like, 'covet thy neighbor's wife'." There were even the fragments of an embryonic Bill of Rights. The First and Second Amendment generated the most interest. "'Duty to keep and bear bronze'? What the hell does that mean?" Renard said. The dating to the 1st Century CE has immediately brought to mind the question of whether Jesus had a hand in them. The place the scrolls were found was an Essenian hiding place. The Essenes being an ascetic sect of Hebrews that many believe Jesus might have belonged to. They also are widely believed to be the authors of the Dead Sea Scrolls, a similarly earth-shattering discovery in the same region. Other questions bubble up. First, this might not even be the original copy. There may be older versions. Most ancient manuscripts are simply copies of even older ones. What about other major documents concerning the founding of the United States? With this find, there might be other sources for the Declaration of Independence. The United States federal government has not issued a statement about the find. It is expected to within the week. Most expect it to demand possession of the scrolls. Not everyone believes the find is something beyond a novelty. "We have to interpret everything for a new age. We can't just go with the literal translation we've had the past two centuries?" said John Paren, an American Politics professor at University of Chicago. "Look, I like attention to accuracy, but if 'We the People' turns out to mean 'game of badminton', I quit." -OAP Labels: Longer Stuff |
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