In the illustrious history of the Razor, there have been many, many times where I started a post, deleted it, re-wrote it, re-deleted, until I finally got it right. Long time readers might posit that there have been many posts that I should've deleted and I rarely "got it right". They are encouraged to keep their thoughts to themselves. With that said, there has never been a more troublesome post than the one I've been trying to write about my experience in Belize with an Ayn Rand novel. In most cases when I can't write something the way it needs to be written I just move on, but this topic has been bedeviling me since the summer to the point that I'm just going to throw it up as is and wash my hands of the matter.
A couple years ago I took a mini-vacation to Belize all by myself. I flew down there, rented a little cabana in the Jungle, and chilled out. It was quiet, it was beautiful, and it was very relaxing. One day I went repelling over a cliff, but beyond that I just laid around and read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. It was very nearly a spiritual experience. The book clocks in at over 1000 pages and is sort of a Libertarian manifesto. I loved it.
When I reminisce about that trip, I recall how good the food was, how much I liked the country, how much fun I had repelling, but more than anything I enjoyed laying in a hammock outside by cabana and reading that book. At night I retreated into by cabana, lit the kerosene lamp and read until I fell asleep. Surrounded by the sounds of the jungle, no cellphone service, no schedule, it was the height of relaxation. In my mind, it was the perfect environment to read about the dangers of Government intervention in the economy and the problems caused by the mentality of "fairness".
Reading that book, in that setting, cemented my belief that each man is responsible for his own success or failure. I should depend only on myself for food, shelter, and happiness, and if I depend upon some outside entity to provide for me, I risk losing everything if they fail. I'm not being cynical with those thoughts (I hope!). I depend upon my friends and family for love and companionship. I depend upon other people for various things, but ultimately I depend only on myself to ensure that I am happy and have a good life.
And if I was dependent on the government to provide for my well-being, I would be working 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to become self sufficient. The government will always over promise and under deliver. It will never exceed expectations. Generally, the Government's inpact on my life is either neutral or adversarial, but very rarely positive. I do not fault those dependent on Government, but I also do not envy them.
Getting on to the point of this post, whenever I think of Belize and that trip, I think of Ayn Rand's book and her philosophy. So I was quite amused when I read this quote:
"I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of
New York's skyline. Particularly when one can't see the details.
Just the shapes. The shapes and the thought that made them.
The sky over New York and the will of man made visible. What
other religion do we need? And then people tell me about
pilgrimages to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to
do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster
with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage. Is it beauty
and genius they want to see? Do they seek a sense of the
sublime? Let them come to New York, stand on the shore of the
Hudson, look and kneel. When I see the city from my window -
no, I don't feel how small I am - but I feel that if a war came to
threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and
protect these buildings with my body." Ayn Rand
Ironic? Her idea was that the ultimate achievement of mankind is embodied in our ability to progress, to innovate, and to always move civilization forward and that the ultimate illustration of our advancement is shown in the skyline of modern cities. I'm not so sure I disagree with her on that point, but I find it funny that I had to "take a pilgrimage to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage" to finally have time to read her book.
Thanks you for your time. I appreciate that this post might be interesting only to me, but it has been eating at my soul for months now and I feel a great burden has been lifted as I finally put the matter to bed. Tune in next time when I resume telling you how I embarrassed myself in a unique way or handled a situation quite poorly.
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Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
One Angry Bird
This story has already circulated around quite a bit, but I thought I would tell my version in an attempt to clarify a couple of the finer points and to explain that I'm not always an anti-social misfit, but I have my moments...
2011 National Peanut Festival
For those of you not from the Wiregrass Area, the Peanut Festival is much like any other County Fair, except it is harder to tell the attendees from the carnys...
On opening night of this years Festival, I was hanging out on the midway watching kids ride rides and hapless morons burn through money playing various carnival games. My attention was drawn to a game where you must stand up a bottle with a ring attached to the end of a fishing pole. I watched the game for 30 minutes and no customers were able to do it, but the carny never failed.
I figured if he could do it, so could I. Further, that particular game gathers a lot of spectators so I decided that if I could conquer it, people would admire my advanced skills. So I developed a rigorous training schedule designed to bring glory to myself and extra-large stuffed animals to my special lady.
Here is the setup I used at home:
So what should have been a fun event was marred by an ugly scene. In hindsight, I wish I'd just had fun with it. In the scheme of things the $4 was insignificant, but as the time I didn't feel like I should let them keep my money if they weren't going to let me play.
2011 National Peanut Festival
For those of you not from the Wiregrass Area, the Peanut Festival is much like any other County Fair, except it is harder to tell the attendees from the carnys...
On opening night of this years Festival, I was hanging out on the midway watching kids ride rides and hapless morons burn through money playing various carnival games. My attention was drawn to a game where you must stand up a bottle with a ring attached to the end of a fishing pole. I watched the game for 30 minutes and no customers were able to do it, but the carny never failed.
I figured if he could do it, so could I. Further, that particular game gathers a lot of spectators so I decided that if I could conquer it, people would admire my advanced skills. So I developed a rigorous training schedule designed to bring glory to myself and extra-large stuffed animals to my special lady.
Here is the setup I used at home:
Perhaps you've seen the game. Slanted board, bottle, string, stick, and ring...
While still at the fair, I noticed that the red ring at the end of the string was exactly like the red rings that they get you to throw at upright bottles, attempting to land one around the neck, thus winning a prize. So I bought a bucket of rings, and while various kids were throwing the rings at the bottles, I jammed a couple of them in my pocket. As if to prove there is no such thing as karma in carnival games, after I'd stolen a few of the rings, I joined the kids in throwing them at bottles. Sure enough, I won.
Over the next week, I spent about 2 to 3 hours per day, practicing and watching youtube videos on how to stand the bottle up. The first night I couldn't do it at all, by Wednesday I could do it every now and then, and by Saturday I had my technique dialed in. My only concern was that the combined distraction of flashing lights and crowd noise might add a level of difficulty that I couldn't adequately prepare for at home. To simulate Fair-like conditions as best I could, I turned my surround system up to about 125 decibels and decorated my library with Christmas lights. The inside of my house pretty much already smells like a carnival so no adjustments were required in that department.
As an aside, please do not judge me for putting so much time and effort into such a trivial pursuit. I have designed my life to have inordinate amounts of free time, which I use however I please.
So on the final night of the fair, Christena and I headed out to see if my hours of preparation had paid off. As we walked from the parking lot down to the midway I was really trying to get my mind focused. By the time we arrived at the game stall, I could barely even remember that I was a human. Rather, I was a bottle lifting machine whose sole purpose was to carry garbage bags full of stuffed animals out to my vehicle. Perhaps my mental state helps explain what happened next.
They were running a special where each attempt (every time the bottle falls completely off the board, that counts as 1 attempt) cost the participant $1. I went ahead and gave the carny a $5 bill and selected my pole. I had a little trouble getting the ring around the bottle at first but I was eventually able to get the bottle lifted to about a 30 degree angle. Then it rolled left. An amateur would've panicked, but I'd run into this problem a few thousand times before. I quickly returned the bottle to its resting position and tried it again. Once again, as soon as I lifted the bottle it tried to roll to the side. I casually replaced it and took a deep breath. Finally I got the bottle to 45 degrees and it was still steady. With a final flourish I snatched it to an upright position. BOOM!
1 attempt, 1 extra large stuffed animal, but I'm still in the zone.
While Christena is selecting her stuffed animal, I'm trying to remain calm. Was I jacked up that I defeated that game in 1 try? Big time. But could I let anything distract me from my ultimate goal? Heck no.
Next, an attractive girl approaches me and says, "You made that look easy. Do you have any tips for me?" It was as if she didn't even exist. I said, "Yeah, keep watching me because I'm gonna do it 4 more times!" Incidentally, this is an excellent thing to say to women if you want them to think you are a jerk.
So Christena has her stuffed animal and I prepare for my 2nd attempt. Out of no where the carny says, "You can't play anymore, you're only allowed to win 1 prize."
Umm, I didn't spend 25 hours practicing this game to win 1 stuffed animal. Further, I'd already paid for 4 more attempts. Compound my frustration with the fact that I was so zoned in on the game that I was exhibiting anti-social behaviour and perhaps you'll forgive me for what happened next.
First, I insisted that since they'd accepted my $5, they were obligated to allow me to play out my 5 attempts. The carny, just as emphatically, insisted that their policy was that no one could win more than once. In an attempt to be reasonable, I allowed that I would be willing to not play anymore, and required only the refund of my $4 unused dollars. Being unreasonable, the carny said they didn't give refunds.
With a combination of rage and frustration coursing through my veins, the conversation took a dramatic turn for the worse. I screamed at the dude, "Either let me play or give me back my money!". He reaffirmed that they don't give refunds but I was welcome to let my girlfriend use my next 4 attempts.
There were 2 reasons that this option wasn't going to work. First of all, Christena hadn't practiced the game at all and had a 0.0% chance of winning. Second, and more importantly, she was no where to be found. I'd had visions of how proud she would be carrying huge stuffed animals around that I'd won for her. I thought of how envious the other women at the fair would be. Sadly, Christena, like most women, doesn't want to be associated with a psychotic person who screams at carnival workers. So she had casually eased away from me and was doing a good job of pretending that she didn't know me.
It was at this point that I realized that, while I had lost the respect of the crowd, I was holding most of the cards. I knew he wasn't going to let me play anymore, but having a dissatisfied customer yelling at you is bad for business. So I just kept yelling "I want my money!" over and over. In a final desperate attempt to retain my $4, the carny accused me of running a con! Apparently, playing a game you know how to win is considered a con at the fair. I was a little shocked that somehow I was being portrayed as the villain and the guy who stole my money was pretending to be the victim so I decided to drop any remainder of civility and went for the knock out punch:
SIR, BEING CALLED A CON-ARTIST BY A CARNIVAL WORKER MIGHT VERY WELL BE ROCK BOTTOM FOR ME!
That was all it took. In a fit of rage the carny gave me back my $4. As the crowd dissipated and the dust settled, Christena finally wandered back over to me and took this photo:
So what should have been a fun event was marred by an ugly scene. In hindsight, I wish I'd just had fun with it. In the scheme of things the $4 was insignificant, but as the time I didn't feel like I should let them keep my money if they weren't going to let me play.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Trying to catch up...
Freeloading Slicers,
Please accept my apology for not providing you with any content over the past 6 weeks. Subscribers to Adam's Razor Platinum® continued to receive lots of premium content. Sadly, scheduling issues, combined with apathy, prohibited me from producing any articles for Adam's Razor Basic. Considering that scheduling remains tight, you might consider upgrading you subscription (it also makes an excellent Christmas gift).
---
So what did you miss?
Khadaffi is dead (footage here). You may recall that I predicted, not once but twice, that he was very close to taking a deal to live out the remainder of his days in exile. While I don't like being wrong, I'm glad that he didn't, but I bet he wishes he would've. I was proud to see that the gentleman who executed him was wearing a NY Yankees hat. Further, I was relieved that it wasn't ARod tasked with making the fatal shot, as it is well documented how he performs (chokes) in October.
I was also glad to see that he spent his last moments on Earth begging for his life. I take a sadistic joy in thinking about the terror he must've felt. Finally, while his body might be room temperature his soul is almost certainly quite hotter, his clothes are rent, and his teeth are gnashed. And well they should be...
---
Occupy Something
Much has been written about the Occupy protesters that have set up camp at Zuccotti Park in New York City. So much in fact, that I have little to add.
However, I thought it might be useful to compare and contrast the present protests with a similar situation that occurred in NY in 1873. The United States was going through a mini-depression and there were a great many unemployed people who were restless and decided to demonstrate at Tomkins Square Park in NYC. (About 4 miles from Zuccotti, if you were wondering).
These unreasonable scoundrels were not demanding charity, nor were they demanding that the wealth of the rich be redistributed to the poor. Their demands were quite simple. They wanted the Government to fund public works projects to provide them employment opportunities. They didn't want to take something that wasn't theirs. They didn't want something for free. They wanted the Government to hire them to do various public works jobs. Sadly, there was nothing shovel-ready...
Are you interested to know how the situation resolved itself? From Wikipedia: As unemployed workers demonstrated in New York City's Tompkins Square Park, a detachment of mounted police charged into the crowd, beating men, women and children indiscriminately with billy clubs and leaving hundreds of casualties in their wake.
In the aftermath, the NYC Police Commissioner said, "It was the most glorious sight I ever saw..."
We've come along way baby!
Please accept my apology for not providing you with any content over the past 6 weeks. Subscribers to Adam's Razor Platinum® continued to receive lots of premium content. Sadly, scheduling issues, combined with apathy, prohibited me from producing any articles for Adam's Razor Basic. Considering that scheduling remains tight, you might consider upgrading you subscription (it also makes an excellent Christmas gift).
---
So what did you miss?
Khadaffi is dead (footage here). You may recall that I predicted, not once but twice, that he was very close to taking a deal to live out the remainder of his days in exile. While I don't like being wrong, I'm glad that he didn't, but I bet he wishes he would've. I was proud to see that the gentleman who executed him was wearing a NY Yankees hat. Further, I was relieved that it wasn't ARod tasked with making the fatal shot, as it is well documented how he performs (chokes) in October.
I was also glad to see that he spent his last moments on Earth begging for his life. I take a sadistic joy in thinking about the terror he must've felt. Finally, while his body might be room temperature his soul is almost certainly quite hotter, his clothes are rent, and his teeth are gnashed. And well they should be...
---
Occupy Something
Much has been written about the Occupy protesters that have set up camp at Zuccotti Park in New York City. So much in fact, that I have little to add.
However, I thought it might be useful to compare and contrast the present protests with a similar situation that occurred in NY in 1873. The United States was going through a mini-depression and there were a great many unemployed people who were restless and decided to demonstrate at Tomkins Square Park in NYC. (About 4 miles from Zuccotti, if you were wondering).
These unreasonable scoundrels were not demanding charity, nor were they demanding that the wealth of the rich be redistributed to the poor. Their demands were quite simple. They wanted the Government to fund public works projects to provide them employment opportunities. They didn't want to take something that wasn't theirs. They didn't want something for free. They wanted the Government to hire them to do various public works jobs. Sadly, there was nothing shovel-ready...
Are you interested to know how the situation resolved itself? From Wikipedia: As unemployed workers demonstrated in New York City's Tompkins Square Park, a detachment of mounted police charged into the crowd, beating men, women and children indiscriminately with billy clubs and leaving hundreds of casualties in their wake.
In the aftermath, the NYC Police Commissioner said, "It was the most glorious sight I ever saw..."
We've come along way baby!
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Occupy Dubstep
What's up?
I found a song that tells the story of America. Not the historical details or any sort of nitty-gritty. Just the Theme of America. If you know nothing else of our Country, nothing at all, know this: If you were to graph the lifestyle of our citizenry over the past 225 years, the chart would begin in the bottom left corner and proceed to the upper right. Not in a straight line and not without setbacks, but the general trend can't be denied. Imagine that our "lifestyle" was a yo-yo and the person playing the yo-yo was climbing a really long set of stairs. Yeah, when the yo-yo is at the bottom of the string it doesn't feel that good, but we're 50 steps higher than we were 25 years ago and thousands of steps higher than we were when we started. Our "poor" have a higher standard of living then the poor of any other country and a higher standard of living than the rich of 100 years ago.
That's all you really need to know. Democracy and Capitalism have set us on an upward trajectory in lifestyle, created trillions of dollars in wealth, &c. It ain't perfect and it isn't always fun, but it's the best there's ever been. Without droning on too long, I'll just let you hear the song. It's catchy, and funny, and poignant, and dang near perfect. Here ya go:
Told ya! If you want to watch it a few more times, go ahead!
---
Lucky for you guys I found another video that might very well change your life. Warning! While it is not political, it is like a gateway video to all other Dubstep videos. If you watch this video it's just a matter of time before you'll find yourself sitting in front of your computer watching someone vacuum their carpet to the beat of Dubstep. If you don't know what Dubstep is, you're old. Let's just say that it is the most God-forsaken genre of music that has ever been created. The kids of today seem to like it, so it's probably only a matter of time before you're exposed to it. So, you might as well go ahead and watch this video, which is amazing. The best part of this video is from 0:00 - 5:27, but the part you really need to see begins at 1:27:
Sick huh? If your curious about the Dubstep Vacuuming, it is here: link
---
I had a little more, but I'm out of time. See ya soon.
I found a song that tells the story of America. Not the historical details or any sort of nitty-gritty. Just the Theme of America. If you know nothing else of our Country, nothing at all, know this: If you were to graph the lifestyle of our citizenry over the past 225 years, the chart would begin in the bottom left corner and proceed to the upper right. Not in a straight line and not without setbacks, but the general trend can't be denied. Imagine that our "lifestyle" was a yo-yo and the person playing the yo-yo was climbing a really long set of stairs. Yeah, when the yo-yo is at the bottom of the string it doesn't feel that good, but we're 50 steps higher than we were 25 years ago and thousands of steps higher than we were when we started. Our "poor" have a higher standard of living then the poor of any other country and a higher standard of living than the rich of 100 years ago.
That's all you really need to know. Democracy and Capitalism have set us on an upward trajectory in lifestyle, created trillions of dollars in wealth, &c. It ain't perfect and it isn't always fun, but it's the best there's ever been. Without droning on too long, I'll just let you hear the song. It's catchy, and funny, and poignant, and dang near perfect. Here ya go:
Told ya! If you want to watch it a few more times, go ahead!
---
Lucky for you guys I found another video that might very well change your life. Warning! While it is not political, it is like a gateway video to all other Dubstep videos. If you watch this video it's just a matter of time before you'll find yourself sitting in front of your computer watching someone vacuum their carpet to the beat of Dubstep. If you don't know what Dubstep is, you're old. Let's just say that it is the most God-forsaken genre of music that has ever been created. The kids of today seem to like it, so it's probably only a matter of time before you're exposed to it. So, you might as well go ahead and watch this video, which is amazing. The best part of this video is from 0:00 - 5:27, but the part you really need to see begins at 1:27:
Sick huh? If your curious about the Dubstep Vacuuming, it is here: link
---
I had a little more, but I'm out of time. See ya soon.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Worst post ever?
Sorry for the absence. As usual, my hiatus can be attributed to a combination of a busy schedule and apathy. Today's post serves no purpose other than to push the topless photo of The Strowd from the top of my site. Those desiring to see the photo again are encouraged to rethink their entire existence and scroll down about 12 to 15 inches.
---
I spent 9/8 through 9/12 taking a mini-vacation to Pennsylvania with a couple of my friends. We'd originally planned to come home on Sunday 9/11 and I was planning to write a blogpost about how flying on the 10 year anniversary of the terrorists attacks represented a victory of good over evil. Sadly, some bizarre combination of weather, closed runways, and reduced air traffic requirements around Washington D.C. forced our flight to be canceled, and our trip was extended a full 24 hours.
Flying home on 9/12 doesn't seem to have much symbolism so the previously imagined blog post will continue to exist only in my mind. I have a feeling though, that the real reason my flight was scrubbed was to ensure that there were never more planes in the air at one time then could be shot down if needed. So perhaps my delayed flight was a small victory for evil over good...
Oh well. I enjoyed my extra day with Uncle Chuck and life goes on.
---
HOOF ARTED
A quick note about The Strowd. Everyone that knows him will agree that he is easily excitable. One of his best qualities is his enthusiasm. In a room full of people, he laughs the loudest, cheers the hardest, &c. One of his worst qualities is his gastro-intestinal tract. The output of which should be heavily regulated by the Federal Government.
Which brings me to my point. This past weekend my parents met me in Auburn to watch the football game. After the game we headed back to the tailgate area for a little cookout. The Strowd and I generally tailgate together. He and Kelli had invited some friends to the game and they were all huddled together, while my folks and I plopped down in some chairs a (seemingly) safe distance away.
The Strowd likes my mom. She was raised Lutheran, he wants to be Lutheran. Other portions of their personalities match up quite well. So he wanders over to mingle with us. After exchanging a few pleasantries, I see him back off a good 8 to 10 steps.
Seconds later a smell so foul it could only have been produced in the depths of hell hits me full in the face. I look over at the Strowd and see that he has a look on his face like "Oh no, I shouldn't have done that." What he'd hoped would be a discreet passing of gas was actually so violent that the National Guard should've been called in.
So I'm sitting in my chair thinking, "Man, he just dropped a bomb on us!" when I hear my Mom lean over and whisper something to my Dad. Her words were choked up in a revolting gag, so I couldn't make out exactly what she said, but I heard my Dad's response, "We must be downwind of the Porta-Potties."
No Dad, you were downwind of The Strowd.
I know telling this story was in poor taste, but I had a two part agenda. I hoped that public ridicule would encourage Michael to be more careful, and I thought it was only fair to let all of our fellow Auburn fans know that the odor that permeated Auburn on Saturday night was not being generated entirely by our defense...
---
Our defense does stink though.
Cya
---
I spent 9/8 through 9/12 taking a mini-vacation to Pennsylvania with a couple of my friends. We'd originally planned to come home on Sunday 9/11 and I was planning to write a blogpost about how flying on the 10 year anniversary of the terrorists attacks represented a victory of good over evil. Sadly, some bizarre combination of weather, closed runways, and reduced air traffic requirements around Washington D.C. forced our flight to be canceled, and our trip was extended a full 24 hours.
Flying home on 9/12 doesn't seem to have much symbolism so the previously imagined blog post will continue to exist only in my mind. I have a feeling though, that the real reason my flight was scrubbed was to ensure that there were never more planes in the air at one time then could be shot down if needed. So perhaps my delayed flight was a small victory for evil over good...
Oh well. I enjoyed my extra day with Uncle Chuck and life goes on.
---
HOOF ARTED
A quick note about The Strowd. Everyone that knows him will agree that he is easily excitable. One of his best qualities is his enthusiasm. In a room full of people, he laughs the loudest, cheers the hardest, &c. One of his worst qualities is his gastro-intestinal tract. The output of which should be heavily regulated by the Federal Government.
Which brings me to my point. This past weekend my parents met me in Auburn to watch the football game. After the game we headed back to the tailgate area for a little cookout. The Strowd and I generally tailgate together. He and Kelli had invited some friends to the game and they were all huddled together, while my folks and I plopped down in some chairs a (seemingly) safe distance away.
The Strowd likes my mom. She was raised Lutheran, he wants to be Lutheran. Other portions of their personalities match up quite well. So he wanders over to mingle with us. After exchanging a few pleasantries, I see him back off a good 8 to 10 steps.
Seconds later a smell so foul it could only have been produced in the depths of hell hits me full in the face. I look over at the Strowd and see that he has a look on his face like "Oh no, I shouldn't have done that." What he'd hoped would be a discreet passing of gas was actually so violent that the National Guard should've been called in.
So I'm sitting in my chair thinking, "Man, he just dropped a bomb on us!" when I hear my Mom lean over and whisper something to my Dad. Her words were choked up in a revolting gag, so I couldn't make out exactly what she said, but I heard my Dad's response, "We must be downwind of the Porta-Potties."
No Dad, you were downwind of The Strowd.
I know telling this story was in poor taste, but I had a two part agenda. I hoped that public ridicule would encourage Michael to be more careful, and I thought it was only fair to let all of our fellow Auburn fans know that the odor that permeated Auburn on Saturday night was not being generated entirely by our defense...
---
Our defense does stink though.
Cya
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
The Strowd goes camping...
At times, I've been accused of "piling on" with regards to my friend, The Strowd. Yes, I've been quite merciless in my Razor coverage of him in the past, but I have a 2 part excuse for my behavior. First, it's standard Razor policy to ridicule those we love most (save politicians, their ridicule is based on scorn), and more importantly, he's one of the nicest guys in the whole world, and so not likely to fight back...
With the disclaimer out of the way, I'll now relate to you a detailed and slightly romanticized account of the activities of Friday night. To help you form the various mental pictures that will enhance your enjoyment of this post, The Strowd looks like this:
Heading into the weekend, we assumed that the Auburn Tigers would thrash Utah State so severely that our 4th string running back would most likely win SEC player of the week. To increase the degree of difficulty, our crew decided to lodge in the most inconvenient possible way, camping. Adding even further difficulty, we decided to open up the weekend to children and pets.
Around dusk, Christena, Taylor and I arrived at the campground on Westpoint Lake, to find the Strowd's, with their 95 pound bull mastiff Chloe, in the process of setting up camp. Micheal and Kellie are experienced in the ways of "hammock camping", that is they sleep individually in one-man tents that are suspended off the ground, tied between two trees. I tried Micheal's out a few months ago and found it quite comfortable.
Not long after dark, I had our tent up, they had their hammocks secured, and we had a nice little bonfire going. We had a delicious supper, shot the breeze for a while, and decided that since we had to get up pretty early, we'd turn in early. Micheal and Kelli had tied their hammocks right next to each other, and placed Chloe in her kennel, on the ground between them. Nice little happy family...
I wasn't particularly tired yet, so I laid in my tent playing games on my cell phone. Over the course of the next hour, I grew quite amused because every time I heard Micheal begin to snore, Chloe would bark and wake him up, he would say "shut up Chloe", drift back to sleep, and so on, and so on. Finally, I heard him get our of his hammock-tent, and I knew he was quite exasperated. Being a good friend, I offered to let him put the dog in my tent, to see if the relative enclosure would encourage Chloe to sleep.
I have a big tent. We had two air mattresses in it which only took up about half the floor space. The rest was essentially wide-open. I figured the extra leg room might make Chloe feel more comfortable. Didn't happen. I'm not sure if it was the nighttime-outdoor sounds, or some unknown factor, but the dog was restless. She spent about 20 minutes pacing the floor, laid down for a little while, and then resumed pacing, and just like before, whenever she heard Michael snoring, she'd start barking. After about an hour of this, I was actually ready to abort this attempt and was quite thankful when I heard Micheal get out of his tent.
We agreed that while it was a noble gesture on my part, offering my tent for the dog to sleep in wasn't really helping. I unzipped my tent and stepped out into the night to return Chloe to Michael's care. I was unprepared for the sight of Michael in his pajamas, which weren't pajamas at all. Rather, all he was wearing was a flashlight that was strapped to his head coal-miner style and a pair of speedo-underwear that were barely large enough to do their job.
I mumbled something about it being too late at night for him to unveil something like that without warning me, but what is seen, cannot be unseen, so I fought the urge to dive back into my tent. I asked Strowd if he had any ideas short of euthanasia for his dog, and he said, I'm gonna load her into the hammock with me.
Please Lord let this happen.
So I have a front row seat as he picks up Chloe and puts her into his hammock and then crawls in behind her. As he reaches to zip up his tent, I hear what I mistook for the load-bearing trees groaning under the strain of 350 pounds of man and his best friend. Actually, the sound I heard, which was quite loud, was either the fabric of his tent giving out a final gasp before depositing them, violently, on the ground beneath the tent, or Micheal's dignity being snatched away, never to return.
I've created a few analogies, to help you understand exactly what I saw with my own eyes: Micheal, wearing his undies and forehead flashlight, and Chloe shoot out the bottom of the tent, bounce off the ground, and roll around in some combination of bewilderment and embarrassing misery. You are invited to choose your favorite:
With the disclaimer out of the way, I'll now relate to you a detailed and slightly romanticized account of the activities of Friday night. To help you form the various mental pictures that will enhance your enjoyment of this post, The Strowd looks like this:
Heading into the weekend, we assumed that the Auburn Tigers would thrash Utah State so severely that our 4th string running back would most likely win SEC player of the week. To increase the degree of difficulty, our crew decided to lodge in the most inconvenient possible way, camping. Adding even further difficulty, we decided to open up the weekend to children and pets.
Around dusk, Christena, Taylor and I arrived at the campground on Westpoint Lake, to find the Strowd's, with their 95 pound bull mastiff Chloe, in the process of setting up camp. Micheal and Kellie are experienced in the ways of "hammock camping", that is they sleep individually in one-man tents that are suspended off the ground, tied between two trees. I tried Micheal's out a few months ago and found it quite comfortable.
Not long after dark, I had our tent up, they had their hammocks secured, and we had a nice little bonfire going. We had a delicious supper, shot the breeze for a while, and decided that since we had to get up pretty early, we'd turn in early. Micheal and Kelli had tied their hammocks right next to each other, and placed Chloe in her kennel, on the ground between them. Nice little happy family...
I wasn't particularly tired yet, so I laid in my tent playing games on my cell phone. Over the course of the next hour, I grew quite amused because every time I heard Micheal begin to snore, Chloe would bark and wake him up, he would say "shut up Chloe", drift back to sleep, and so on, and so on. Finally, I heard him get our of his hammock-tent, and I knew he was quite exasperated. Being a good friend, I offered to let him put the dog in my tent, to see if the relative enclosure would encourage Chloe to sleep.
I have a big tent. We had two air mattresses in it which only took up about half the floor space. The rest was essentially wide-open. I figured the extra leg room might make Chloe feel more comfortable. Didn't happen. I'm not sure if it was the nighttime-outdoor sounds, or some unknown factor, but the dog was restless. She spent about 20 minutes pacing the floor, laid down for a little while, and then resumed pacing, and just like before, whenever she heard Michael snoring, she'd start barking. After about an hour of this, I was actually ready to abort this attempt and was quite thankful when I heard Micheal get out of his tent.
We agreed that while it was a noble gesture on my part, offering my tent for the dog to sleep in wasn't really helping. I unzipped my tent and stepped out into the night to return Chloe to Michael's care. I was unprepared for the sight of Michael in his pajamas, which weren't pajamas at all. Rather, all he was wearing was a flashlight that was strapped to his head coal-miner style and a pair of speedo-underwear that were barely large enough to do their job.
I mumbled something about it being too late at night for him to unveil something like that without warning me, but what is seen, cannot be unseen, so I fought the urge to dive back into my tent. I asked Strowd if he had any ideas short of euthanasia for his dog, and he said, I'm gonna load her into the hammock with me.
Please Lord let this happen.
So I have a front row seat as he picks up Chloe and puts her into his hammock and then crawls in behind her. As he reaches to zip up his tent, I hear what I mistook for the load-bearing trees groaning under the strain of 350 pounds of man and his best friend. Actually, the sound I heard, which was quite loud, was either the fabric of his tent giving out a final gasp before depositing them, violently, on the ground beneath the tent, or Micheal's dignity being snatched away, never to return.
I've created a few analogies, to help you understand exactly what I saw with my own eyes: Micheal, wearing his undies and forehead flashlight, and Chloe shoot out the bottom of the tent, bounce off the ground, and roll around in some combination of bewilderment and embarrassing misery. You are invited to choose your favorite:
- It appeared to me that the Fed's raided the Western Georgia Man-Dog Love Association's Midnight Orgy, and the participants were making a hasty departure.
- Kujo and Chris Farley mated, and I was the OBGYN tasked with delivering the beast at around 250 feet per second.
- A Sumo-Wrestling Coal Miner won a dog riding contest, first prize was a ruined hammock tent and an extra-large portion of humiliation.
- A plus-sized male underwear model was hired as a free-lance dog jockey, gamblers wagering on the trifecta of bumps, bruises, and hilarity can redeem their ticket at the counter.
The remainder of the weekend unfolded pretty much as planned. Auburn destroyed Utah State, our campfire meals were not burned, and we all got along really well operating on only 3-4 hours sleep.
Until next time...
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Back from death's door
Slicers,
You will no doubt be delighted to learn that I did not die. It was a near thing for a few days, but adhering to a strict vitamin C and Alka Seltzer regimen, I'm now back close to 100%. What was the mystery ailment? I self-diagnosed "flu", but I talked to a physician-friend on the phone last night and he informed me that it was the wrong time of year for that. He guessed "mono" (the kissing disease). I don't have enough minutes left on this months' cellphone plan to track down all the people who may've exposed me, so I don't really know who to blame, but here are some of the things they caused you to miss:
I. A witty column about Mother Nature's attempt to wipe that festering political cesspool of a city, Washington DC, off the map, with not one 1, but 2, natural disasters.
II. Putin vs. Obama Photos, Vol III
I've had some fun in the past comparing photos of Obama with photos of Russian President Vladimir Putin. Last week a similar opportunity presented itself, and I missed it. Rather than dig back through old headlines, I'll give you this, which I've had in the queue for quite a while now:
III. Parody Videogame Training Videos
Perhaps you're familiar with the genre. There are millions of hours of footage, all available on Youtube, of a kid narrating while he teaches you how to play a video game. Wanna learn how to kill 50 zombies with a machete on BO? No problem. Wanna learn how to play poker like the pros? No problem. Seeing an opportunity for some hilarity, I made a couple spoof videogame training vids. Keep in mind that I'm playing a character here, a 15 year old named Fizzy. Enjoy:
---
I'm sure most of you would've just preferred that I stay sick, rather than expose you to this nonsense...
Cya
You will no doubt be delighted to learn that I did not die. It was a near thing for a few days, but adhering to a strict vitamin C and Alka Seltzer regimen, I'm now back close to 100%. What was the mystery ailment? I self-diagnosed "flu", but I talked to a physician-friend on the phone last night and he informed me that it was the wrong time of year for that. He guessed "mono" (the kissing disease). I don't have enough minutes left on this months' cellphone plan to track down all the people who may've exposed me, so I don't really know who to blame, but here are some of the things they caused you to miss:
I. A witty column about Mother Nature's attempt to wipe that festering political cesspool of a city, Washington DC, off the map, with not one 1, but 2, natural disasters.
All of the jokes I wrote will be archived and saved for future use...
II. Putin vs. Obama Photos, Vol III
I've had some fun in the past comparing photos of Obama with photos of Russian President Vladimir Putin. Last week a similar opportunity presented itself, and I missed it. Rather than dig back through old headlines, I'll give you this, which I've had in the queue for quite a while now:
III. Parody Videogame Training Videos
Perhaps you're familiar with the genre. There are millions of hours of footage, all available on Youtube, of a kid narrating while he teaches you how to play a video game. Wanna learn how to kill 50 zombies with a machete on BO? No problem. Wanna learn how to play poker like the pros? No problem. Seeing an opportunity for some hilarity, I made a couple spoof videogame training vids. Keep in mind that I'm playing a character here, a 15 year old named Fizzy. Enjoy:
---
I'm sure most of you would've just preferred that I stay sick, rather than expose you to this nonsense...
Cya
Monday, August 15, 2011
Chuck Miller (August 16th, 1943 - )
There are days, or dates I should say, that through no fault of there are own, are destined to "live in infamy". Each year, and rightly so, when 9/11 or 12/7 roll around on the calendar, we take time to reflect on the happenings of those tragic days.
Other days, August 16th for example, have less tragic, but still pertinent, reasons for being infamous. On August 16th, 1948, Babe Ruth completed his 9 innings on Earth and signed a free-agent deal with St. Peter*. Fast forward to August 16th, 1977 when another icon, Elvis Presley, took his blue suede shoes to roam the streets of gold. While not exactly national tragedies, these 2 events left a bit of a stain on 8/16. A stain that I hope to help remove.
That's right! One of my favorite people, "Uncle Chuck", turned 68 today. Of course, not everyone calls him Uncle Chuck, his mom calls him Charlie, his friends call him Miller, and people he golfs or bowls with call him things that I'm not allowed to publish on a public website.
Whatever you call him, everyone that knows him knows he is one of the worlds' true characters. It is often said about an eccentric person "he marches to the beat of a different drum". In Chuck's case, he doesn't even hear a drum. He marches to the beat of an antique Lynch Turkey call.
In his youth, I am told (mostly by him) he was a tremendous athlete as well as a gifted scholar. He was a scratch golfer, averaged over 225 as a bowler, and graduated from Penn State University with an engineering degree. Some time in the 60's he retrofitted a Harley Davidson factory to produce 500 pound bombs for the Vietnam War effort.
At the conclusion of the war, he went to work for a dental supply company and was specifically tasked with designing a machine that would make dental drill bits. Not only did he perfect a machine that would make drill bits 10 times faster than the old one, but he also left his mark on the company in another, more casual, way. He refused to wear a tie. I'm told tales (thanks to Roger and Grant) of him roaming through the engineering lab wearing the same clothes he'd passed out in the night before, challenging upper management to come tie a (blankity blank) tie around his neck themselves if it was so (blankity blank) important to them. Rather than risk an altercation with their unconventional genius, they changed corporate policy: ties optional. (Interestingly, I heard rumor that he recently came home from an estate sale with 5 nice sport coats and a couple dozen silk ties. I'll let the reader decide if this was a function of senility...)
It is often the goal of an aging golfer to "shoot his age" in 18 holes of golf. With 2 plastic hips, Chuck's more realistic goal will be to bowl his age. There exists a hallowed list of bowlers who have rolled a perfect score of 300. There also exists a less-hallowed list of bowlers whose dreams will forever be haunted by single pin left standing in the tenth frame. Chuck is on the latter list. Characteristically, he has embraced his brush with near-greatness, as he is often seen wearing a gold ring emblazoned "299". C'est la vie...
I once heard a story about a quite remarkable man who late in life was diagnosed with terminal cancer. While reflecting back on his time on Earth he said, "You know? When you get to this point, the one thing you don't think is 'I wish I'd spent more time in the office'." Since hearing that story, I've adopted that as my unofficial motto. I'd like to think that Chuck agrees.
Looking back over 68 years, he can remember his professional successes in the engineering world and as being the proprietor of Miller's Fine Jewelry. More importantly though, were the fishing and hunting trips with his son, the afternoons and nights spent golfing and bowling with his friends, the trips to Europe and the Caribbean with Vicki, making a small fortune** as the owner of a racing team, getting ejected from Orioles game for taunting Brooks Robinson, and so on...
Selfishly, I also hope he reflects back on the friendship that he and I have forged over the past 10-12 years. Geography keeps me from seeing him very often but we've spent literally hundreds of hours together on the phone. Talking college football, major league baseball, celebrating good times and working through difficult times in my personal and professional life, etc. Over the years, he's given me untold volumes of good advice and I'm thankful that I've known him so well.
I realize that the last 2 paragraphs might read more like a eulogy than a birthday card. That was certainly not my intent. I hope we get 68 more years out of him. 68 more years of practice and he might be able to beat me at Gin. And when that glorious day comes and he joins his trusty dog Cochise for the great Pheasant Hunt in the Sky, those of us who knew him will be able to say:
Editor's Note: It's possible that Adam has misremembered various portions of Chuck's life. Neither accuracy nor fact-checking have ever been strengths here at the Razor. Readers who notice said errors are encouraged to keep them to themselves.
* Some posit that Babe Ruth was not admitted to Heaven upon his demise. I have it on good account that anyone who is forced to play 6 years for the Red Sux gets into Heaven on account of Earthly suffering.
**Chuck told me it's easy to make a small fortune owning a racing team, start with a big one.
Other days, August 16th for example, have less tragic, but still pertinent, reasons for being infamous. On August 16th, 1948, Babe Ruth completed his 9 innings on Earth and signed a free-agent deal with St. Peter*. Fast forward to August 16th, 1977 when another icon, Elvis Presley, took his blue suede shoes to roam the streets of gold. While not exactly national tragedies, these 2 events left a bit of a stain on 8/16. A stain that I hope to help remove.
Charles N. Miller
August 16th, 1943 - ???
That's right! One of my favorite people, "Uncle Chuck", turned 68 today. Of course, not everyone calls him Uncle Chuck, his mom calls him Charlie, his friends call him Miller, and people he golfs or bowls with call him things that I'm not allowed to publish on a public website.
Whatever you call him, everyone that knows him knows he is one of the worlds' true characters. It is often said about an eccentric person "he marches to the beat of a different drum". In Chuck's case, he doesn't even hear a drum. He marches to the beat of an antique Lynch Turkey call.
In his youth, I am told (mostly by him) he was a tremendous athlete as well as a gifted scholar. He was a scratch golfer, averaged over 225 as a bowler, and graduated from Penn State University with an engineering degree. Some time in the 60's he retrofitted a Harley Davidson factory to produce 500 pound bombs for the Vietnam War effort.
At the conclusion of the war, he went to work for a dental supply company and was specifically tasked with designing a machine that would make dental drill bits. Not only did he perfect a machine that would make drill bits 10 times faster than the old one, but he also left his mark on the company in another, more casual, way. He refused to wear a tie. I'm told tales (thanks to Roger and Grant) of him roaming through the engineering lab wearing the same clothes he'd passed out in the night before, challenging upper management to come tie a (blankity blank) tie around his neck themselves if it was so (blankity blank) important to them. Rather than risk an altercation with their unconventional genius, they changed corporate policy: ties optional. (Interestingly, I heard rumor that he recently came home from an estate sale with 5 nice sport coats and a couple dozen silk ties. I'll let the reader decide if this was a function of senility...)
It is often the goal of an aging golfer to "shoot his age" in 18 holes of golf. With 2 plastic hips, Chuck's more realistic goal will be to bowl his age. There exists a hallowed list of bowlers who have rolled a perfect score of 300. There also exists a less-hallowed list of bowlers whose dreams will forever be haunted by single pin left standing in the tenth frame. Chuck is on the latter list. Characteristically, he has embraced his brush with near-greatness, as he is often seen wearing a gold ring emblazoned "299". C'est la vie...
I once heard a story about a quite remarkable man who late in life was diagnosed with terminal cancer. While reflecting back on his time on Earth he said, "You know? When you get to this point, the one thing you don't think is 'I wish I'd spent more time in the office'." Since hearing that story, I've adopted that as my unofficial motto. I'd like to think that Chuck agrees.
Looking back over 68 years, he can remember his professional successes in the engineering world and as being the proprietor of Miller's Fine Jewelry. More importantly though, were the fishing and hunting trips with his son, the afternoons and nights spent golfing and bowling with his friends, the trips to Europe and the Caribbean with Vicki, making a small fortune** as the owner of a racing team, getting ejected from Orioles game for taunting Brooks Robinson, and so on...
Selfishly, I also hope he reflects back on the friendship that he and I have forged over the past 10-12 years. Geography keeps me from seeing him very often but we've spent literally hundreds of hours together on the phone. Talking college football, major league baseball, celebrating good times and working through difficult times in my personal and professional life, etc. Over the years, he's given me untold volumes of good advice and I'm thankful that I've known him so well.
I realize that the last 2 paragraphs might read more like a eulogy than a birthday card. That was certainly not my intent. I hope we get 68 more years out of him. 68 more years of practice and he might be able to beat me at Gin. And when that glorious day comes and he joins his trusty dog Cochise for the great Pheasant Hunt in the Sky, those of us who knew him will be able to say:
Chuck Miller, he lived!
Editor's Note: It's possible that Adam has misremembered various portions of Chuck's life. Neither accuracy nor fact-checking have ever been strengths here at the Razor. Readers who notice said errors are encouraged to keep them to themselves.
* Some posit that Babe Ruth was not admitted to Heaven upon his demise. I have it on good account that anyone who is forced to play 6 years for the Red Sux gets into Heaven on account of Earthly suffering.
**Chuck told me it's easy to make a small fortune owning a racing team, start with a big one.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
My Father who art in Anniston...
Back in April when the Nascar race visited Talladega, AL, my earthly Father was tapped to say the opening prayer for the "Nationwide" race on Friday afternoon. It's not the main event, which takes place on Sunday, but still a pretty big deal. In preparation, Dad went through countless drafts and revisions, practiced in front of the mirror, and spent countless hours in prayer so that his moment in the spotlight would shine like a beacon unto all the viewers, both in attendance and watching at home on TV.
Unfortunately, this was the week of Taylor's springbreak and Christena, Taylor, and I were in Gulf Shores. As the start time approached, we were sitting in Lulu's Restaurant (which is owned/operated by Jimmy Buffet's sister). Realizing that I'd forgotten to record the race and not wanting to miss his nationally televised prayer, I asked our waitress if she could tune one of the televisions to the Speed Channel. She did...
Mysteriously, like many of the Lord's works I'm told, about 15 minutes before the prayer was scheduled to begin, the heavens opened, not with the glory of God, but with rain. So before Dad was given the opportunity to shower the Nascar Nation with his much rehearsed prayer, the Lord showered the "congregation" to the point that the race, along with my father's prayer, was postponed indefinitely.
Sensing that Dad was quite disappointed that his masterpiece of a prayer would never be unveiled to the hundreds of thousands of spectators in need of his words of enlightenment, I undertook a covert operation. Mom found the original text that he'd planned to read from at the track and forwarded it to me. Sadly, we were unable to determine if the stains on the paper were from his tears of disappointment or from the rain that fell on that fateful day.
Undeterred, and with his prayer in hand, I set out on a mission to find a surrogate minister with not only the ability to perform the prayer with the enthusiasm and fervor that it deserved, but also possessing the poor decision making skills to agree to do it. Thankfully the Lord provided Joe Nelms.
This past weekend Rev. Nelms approached the microphone at the Nashville Nationwide Nascar event and delivered a rousing version of my father's prayer. Dad told me that a couple of his own performances in the shower approached the powerful delivery of Rev. Nelms, but on the whole he was quite pleased with the vessel that I found. Those interested in seeing my father's prayer, as performed by Rev. Nelms, are invited to click here:
In a related note, my Dad's career as a prayer ghostwriter has hit a bit of a rough patch. He thinks it's a by-product of the poor econ0my and not an indictment of his skills. Readers are encouraged to form their own opinion. Thankfully, he has various disaster-relief projects to keep him busy while the prayer consuming public forgets this debacle.
---
EDITORS NOTE: Various portions of this post are true. John was scheduled to pray in Talladega, his prayer was rained out, and everything after that might be the product of his son's imagination. Here at the Razor, we've never spent a lot of time worrying about accuracy, whether in content or in spelling.
Unfortunately, this was the week of Taylor's springbreak and Christena, Taylor, and I were in Gulf Shores. As the start time approached, we were sitting in Lulu's Restaurant (which is owned/operated by Jimmy Buffet's sister). Realizing that I'd forgotten to record the race and not wanting to miss his nationally televised prayer, I asked our waitress if she could tune one of the televisions to the Speed Channel. She did...
Mysteriously, like many of the Lord's works I'm told, about 15 minutes before the prayer was scheduled to begin, the heavens opened, not with the glory of God, but with rain. So before Dad was given the opportunity to shower the Nascar Nation with his much rehearsed prayer, the Lord showered the "congregation" to the point that the race, along with my father's prayer, was postponed indefinitely.
Sensing that Dad was quite disappointed that his masterpiece of a prayer would never be unveiled to the hundreds of thousands of spectators in need of his words of enlightenment, I undertook a covert operation. Mom found the original text that he'd planned to read from at the track and forwarded it to me. Sadly, we were unable to determine if the stains on the paper were from his tears of disappointment or from the rain that fell on that fateful day.
Undeterred, and with his prayer in hand, I set out on a mission to find a surrogate minister with not only the ability to perform the prayer with the enthusiasm and fervor that it deserved, but also possessing the poor decision making skills to agree to do it. Thankfully the Lord provided Joe Nelms.
This past weekend Rev. Nelms approached the microphone at the Nashville Nationwide Nascar event and delivered a rousing version of my father's prayer. Dad told me that a couple of his own performances in the shower approached the powerful delivery of Rev. Nelms, but on the whole he was quite pleased with the vessel that I found. Those interested in seeing my father's prayer, as performed by Rev. Nelms, are invited to click here:
In a related note, my Dad's career as a prayer ghostwriter has hit a bit of a rough patch. He thinks it's a by-product of the poor econ0my and not an indictment of his skills. Readers are encouraged to form their own opinion. Thankfully, he has various disaster-relief projects to keep him busy while the prayer consuming public forgets this debacle.
---
EDITORS NOTE: Various portions of this post are true. John was scheduled to pray in Talladega, his prayer was rained out, and everything after that might be the product of his son's imagination. Here at the Razor, we've never spent a lot of time worrying about accuracy, whether in content or in spelling.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Mispelled Words and other poorly written things...
As I've mentioned before, there are several words that I have no idea how to spell, and despite hours of practice seem to be making little headway. Whenever it comes time for me to type the word "neccesary" I generally just start out with an n, add a couple c's a couple s's, sling in some vowels and let spellcheck work it's magic. One of the other words that gives me trouble is sarcasm. I've always felt it should be sarchasm.
So the other day I got one of these FWD:FWD:FWD: emails that usually contain mildly humorous nonsense and seem to ping pong around the Internet until everyone in the cyber-world has been exposed to it. The premise of this particular email was to add, subtract, or change one letter from a known word, thus making a new word and to give it a meaning. Here are a couple highlights:
While on the topic of Cuba, did you see Anthony Bordain's episode of "No Reservations - Cuba" on The Travel Channel the other night? I watched it twice and was absolutely fascinated. I enjoyed seeing the Cuban people at the ballgames, hanging out on the street, etc. But more than just seeing them, I wish I would've been able to hear them. What do they think of Castro? Their socialist system? Of course, I've heard that the Cuban people won't even speak freely in private conversations, fearing being overheard and facing persecution.
And about the TV show? Well, you can't expect Bourdain to toe the anti-Castro line, it wouldn't make for good TV and probably would've gotten him tossed out of the country. Even so, I thought the program was quite fair. He had to do a bit of a balancing act with portraying the scenery as beautiful, the people as interesting, and the government as oppressive. And he got in a few shots at Castro anyway.
More than anything thing else, the program left me wanting more. Mainly more personal interaction with the Cuban people. It's been official Razor policy that I'll head for Cuba as soon as the Cuban people are freely allowed to visit here. Interestingly, I find myself pondering ways that I could justify going now. Yes, any money I spent there would be funneled to the regime, but man I'd like to check that place out.
Of course, there is the sticky situation about this dang wristband. I've been wearing it in support of the Cuban people for 3+ years. We've read what they do to people wearing these things in Cuba and I sure don't want to end up in the Gulag. So, in addition to the perceived hypocrisy of a trip, I gotta figure the wristband part out too...
---
Most of you have been introduced to my ladyfriend Christena, either through writings here, or via her blog "Life in the Fast Lane". She is currently shopping for a new television. I've tried to tell her that the one she has now is perfectly fine to view the Food Network as well as all of the other channels that I've approved for her to watch.
Sadly, she's pulling the ole 'Since you won't marry me and I have my own place I can buy a new TV if I want to' silliness. Her entertainment center is only of average size so the max screen width she can accommodate is about 33 inches. Most of the TV's she's looked at are 60hrz. I barely know enough about that kinda thing to be dangerous, but I kinda thought that 60hrz might not perform very well with sports/movies.
So if you have any advice on purchasing a medium sized flat screen TV, we'd appreciate it...
So long
So the other day I got one of these FWD:FWD:FWD: emails that usually contain mildly humorous nonsense and seem to ping pong around the Internet until everyone in the cyber-world has been exposed to it. The premise of this particular email was to add, subtract, or change one letter from a known word, thus making a new word and to give it a meaning. Here are a couple highlights:
- Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an butthole.
- Intaxicaton: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
They continued for a while, but I think you get the point. The one that hit closest to home:
- Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
If that doesn't describe the Razor, I don't know what does.
---
Jay Nordlinger wrote some interesting stuff about Cuba the other day. It can be found here. There are links contained within his article that we'll take you to even more Cuban talk. In fact, I would imagine that you could spend quite a large amount of time just following the links deeper and deeper into the Internet until you've read virtually the whole thing. Not that I suggest doing that, but you should at least click the link I've provided and tool around a bit.While on the topic of Cuba, did you see Anthony Bordain's episode of "No Reservations - Cuba" on The Travel Channel the other night? I watched it twice and was absolutely fascinated. I enjoyed seeing the Cuban people at the ballgames, hanging out on the street, etc. But more than just seeing them, I wish I would've been able to hear them. What do they think of Castro? Their socialist system? Of course, I've heard that the Cuban people won't even speak freely in private conversations, fearing being overheard and facing persecution.
And about the TV show? Well, you can't expect Bourdain to toe the anti-Castro line, it wouldn't make for good TV and probably would've gotten him tossed out of the country. Even so, I thought the program was quite fair. He had to do a bit of a balancing act with portraying the scenery as beautiful, the people as interesting, and the government as oppressive. And he got in a few shots at Castro anyway.
More than anything thing else, the program left me wanting more. Mainly more personal interaction with the Cuban people. It's been official Razor policy that I'll head for Cuba as soon as the Cuban people are freely allowed to visit here. Interestingly, I find myself pondering ways that I could justify going now. Yes, any money I spent there would be funneled to the regime, but man I'd like to check that place out.
Of course, there is the sticky situation about this dang wristband. I've been wearing it in support of the Cuban people for 3+ years. We've read what they do to people wearing these things in Cuba and I sure don't want to end up in the Gulag. So, in addition to the perceived hypocrisy of a trip, I gotta figure the wristband part out too...
---
Most of you have been introduced to my ladyfriend Christena, either through writings here, or via her blog "Life in the Fast Lane". She is currently shopping for a new television. I've tried to tell her that the one she has now is perfectly fine to view the Food Network as well as all of the other channels that I've approved for her to watch.
Sadly, she's pulling the ole 'Since you won't marry me and I have my own place I can buy a new TV if I want to' silliness. Her entertainment center is only of average size so the max screen width she can accommodate is about 33 inches. Most of the TV's she's looked at are 60hrz. I barely know enough about that kinda thing to be dangerous, but I kinda thought that 60hrz might not perform very well with sports/movies.
So if you have any advice on purchasing a medium sized flat screen TV, we'd appreciate it...
So long
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The Razor Returns, Weakly...
Long suffering Slicers will be delighted to know that I'm back from a short blogging hiatus. A combination of work, play, and a lack of creativity kept me from blogging recently. You might be tempted to say that a lack of creativity has been a hallmark of the Razor. You are encouraged to not say it very loudly, or to me, or to any potential consumers of Razor merchandise (here).
As I predicted two weeks ago, Rachel David won the Dancing with the Wiregrass Stars competition. I'll assume it was the support of the Razor that pushed her over the top. Thankfully, Christenas' Uncle Ray came to town that day and I wasn't forced to attend the event. Uncle Ray is from South Carolina and is an avid reader of the Razor. He told me he enjoys it and isn't the least bit offended. I think it's safe to assume he hasn't read this, this, or this...
---
Some interesting news coming out of Libya. Since the NATO bombing campaign began, I have stated many times that I was a supporter and more so, I expected it would work. With the most likely outcome being Qadaffi negotiating to live out the remainder of his days in exile, hosted by a country that was acceptable to all sides. While many of us would prefer to see him dangling from the end of a rope, the efficiency of exile cannot be denied.
Which brings me to the point. Multiple sources are now discussing on record that a deal has nearly been reached. I assume the host country has been chosen and just a few odds and ends need to be tied up before he rides off into the Arabian sunset. Good for the people of Libya. They have adequate energy resources to support their population and without a dictator syphoning off all the wealth, should be capable of doing quite well for themselves. Notice I said "capable". We should not assume that a positive outcome is inevitable. The next question to be answered in Libya? Can the opposition govern?
Above I mentioned briefly that I was (and am) a supporter of the bombing campaign. I feel I should qualify that somewhat. I wish the US had taken a lead role in the action and I wish that we had committed the full might of our military to do so. If for no other reason than to encourage Qadaffi to expedite the negotiations. Some might also argue that Obama should have gotten Congressional approval for our actions, and perhaps he should have. In these instances, I'll give him a pass as it appears that we'll achieve the desired "ends", regardless of the details of the "means".
---
I've always been careful to not include content on the Razor that might be misconstrued as investment advice. In fact, anytime I've come within a 1/4 mile of the line, I've offered a disclaimer. Once again I hope you will read the following commentary for what it is: a political observation. I'm not sure how someone could read this and then make an investment decision, but if you're tempted to, DON'T.
Once again, the United States Government has maxed out the credit card and must either cut spending drastically or raise the credit limit. This scenario has played out many times before. I draw your attention to a statement made in 2006 by the then-junior Senator from Illinois:
The fact that we are here today to debate
raising America’s debt limit is a sign of
leadership failure. It is a sign that the US
government cannot pay its own bills. It is a
sign that we now depend on on-going
financial assistance from foreign countries
to finance our Government’s reckless
fiscal policies…. The cost of our debt is
one of the fastest growing expenses in the
Federal Budget. This rising debt is a hidden
domestic enemy, robbing our cities and
States of critical investments in
infrastructure like bridges, ports and levees;
robbing our families and our children of
critical investments in education and health
care reform; robbing our seniors of the
retirement and health security they have
counted upon… Every dollar we pay in
interest is a dollar that is not going to
investment in America’s priorities. Instead,
interest payments are a significant tax on all
Americans—a debt tax that Washington
doesn’t want to talk about. If Washington
were serious about honest tax relief in this
country, we would see an effort to reduce
our national debt by returning to
responsible fiscal policies.
Increasing America’s debt weakens us
domestically and internationally. Leadership
means that “the Buck stops here.” Instead,
Washington is shifting the burden of bad
choices onto the backs of our children and
grandchildren. America has a debt problem
and a failure of leadership. Americans
deserve better.
Well said. Quite well said. Sadly, the speaker seems to have had a change of heart. "Failed leadership" it seems, is easier to spot when you're not the one doing the "leading". It would be funny if it weren't so sad, but it is sad and so, not funny, not funny at all. If only President Obama could look back on his own words and recognize the wisdom of Senator Obama, perhaps America would get what it deserves, "better".
---
I realize that today's post was not particularly entertaining. Please accept my apologies in arrears.
As I predicted two weeks ago, Rachel David won the Dancing with the Wiregrass Stars competition. I'll assume it was the support of the Razor that pushed her over the top. Thankfully, Christenas' Uncle Ray came to town that day and I wasn't forced to attend the event. Uncle Ray is from South Carolina and is an avid reader of the Razor. He told me he enjoys it and isn't the least bit offended. I think it's safe to assume he hasn't read this, this, or this...
---
Some interesting news coming out of Libya. Since the NATO bombing campaign began, I have stated many times that I was a supporter and more so, I expected it would work. With the most likely outcome being Qadaffi negotiating to live out the remainder of his days in exile, hosted by a country that was acceptable to all sides. While many of us would prefer to see him dangling from the end of a rope, the efficiency of exile cannot be denied.
Which brings me to the point. Multiple sources are now discussing on record that a deal has nearly been reached. I assume the host country has been chosen and just a few odds and ends need to be tied up before he rides off into the Arabian sunset. Good for the people of Libya. They have adequate energy resources to support their population and without a dictator syphoning off all the wealth, should be capable of doing quite well for themselves. Notice I said "capable". We should not assume that a positive outcome is inevitable. The next question to be answered in Libya? Can the opposition govern?
Above I mentioned briefly that I was (and am) a supporter of the bombing campaign. I feel I should qualify that somewhat. I wish the US had taken a lead role in the action and I wish that we had committed the full might of our military to do so. If for no other reason than to encourage Qadaffi to expedite the negotiations. Some might also argue that Obama should have gotten Congressional approval for our actions, and perhaps he should have. In these instances, I'll give him a pass as it appears that we'll achieve the desired "ends", regardless of the details of the "means".
---
I've always been careful to not include content on the Razor that might be misconstrued as investment advice. In fact, anytime I've come within a 1/4 mile of the line, I've offered a disclaimer. Once again I hope you will read the following commentary for what it is: a political observation. I'm not sure how someone could read this and then make an investment decision, but if you're tempted to, DON'T.
Once again, the United States Government has maxed out the credit card and must either cut spending drastically or raise the credit limit. This scenario has played out many times before. I draw your attention to a statement made in 2006 by the then-junior Senator from Illinois:
The fact that we are here today to debate
raising America’s debt limit is a sign of
leadership failure. It is a sign that the US
government cannot pay its own bills. It is a
sign that we now depend on on-going
financial assistance from foreign countries
to finance our Government’s reckless
fiscal policies…. The cost of our debt is
one of the fastest growing expenses in the
Federal Budget. This rising debt is a hidden
domestic enemy, robbing our cities and
States of critical investments in
infrastructure like bridges, ports and levees;
robbing our families and our children of
critical investments in education and health
care reform; robbing our seniors of the
retirement and health security they have
counted upon… Every dollar we pay in
interest is a dollar that is not going to
investment in America’s priorities. Instead,
interest payments are a significant tax on all
Americans—a debt tax that Washington
doesn’t want to talk about. If Washington
were serious about honest tax relief in this
country, we would see an effort to reduce
our national debt by returning to
responsible fiscal policies.
Increasing America’s debt weakens us
domestically and internationally. Leadership
means that “the Buck stops here.” Instead,
Washington is shifting the burden of bad
choices onto the backs of our children and
grandchildren. America has a debt problem
and a failure of leadership. Americans
deserve better.
Well said. Quite well said. Sadly, the speaker seems to have had a change of heart. "Failed leadership" it seems, is easier to spot when you're not the one doing the "leading". It would be funny if it weren't so sad, but it is sad and so, not funny, not funny at all. If only President Obama could look back on his own words and recognize the wisdom of Senator Obama, perhaps America would get what it deserves, "better".
---
I realize that today's post was not particularly entertaining. Please accept my apologies in arrears.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Rep. Weiner, GovChild, DWTWS, &c.
It seems I've completely missed my opportunity with the Wiener Twitter fiasco. Perhaps it's for the best, as the best joke I came up with involved the inappropriate use of a former President's name, and wasn't particularly family friendly. While on the family friendly theme, parents who have been cautiously monitoring their kid's E-Activity were disappointed to learn that they must now not only monitor communications with sexual predator's, but also with politicians.
In an effort to make parents' lives easier, I've done some of the leg work you you:
In an effort to make parents' lives easier, I've done some of the leg work you you:
- @RepWeiner - As you already know, not safe.
- @RepJohnson - Breaking the trend of suggestive last names, this one is safe, for now.
- @SenBarbaraBoxer - Safe, unless you are a fetus, in which case it's open season.
- @BarneyFrank - Surprisingly, this one was safe until he began re-tweeting photos from @RepWeiner.
---
Quick note on Arnold Schwartzenegger's illegitimate son. I have high hopes for this kid. The offspring of a Governor and a maid, perhaps genetically predisposed to cleaning up our fiscal situation. (Boy, was that cumbersome.)
---
Dancing with the Wiregrass Stars
My ladyfriend (and un-renowned Blogger) Christena, invited me to attend our local charity-supportive version of the hit TV show, Dancing with the Stars, which will be held this Saturday night. Various personalities from the Wiregrass are joining together to hold a Dance-Off to raise money for those less fortunate. You might be surprised to learn that my answer to her invitation was an emphatic "YES!".
In fairness, I must confess to having an ulterior motive for attending this farce. I have a crush on one of the participants. Perhaps it's the uniform, but Sgt. Rachel David of the Dothan Police Department has caused me to spend many hours contemplating which crime I could commit that would result in her investigating me thoroughly, without risking the possibility of jail time, and maybe even leaving me the right to choose to not vote in the next election. Being an outside-the-box thinker, I've also considered being the victim of a crime, but have not yet settled on a complaint that wouldn't make me look like a doofus.
In case you were wondering, she looks like this:
$%@#&!!!!!
One of my Editors just wandered into my office and informed me that Rachel David, who is pictured above and is participating in the DWTWS, is not the police officer that I've been wanting to be handcuffed by. Rather, there are at least 2 attractive Dothan police officers. I've seen the other lady, a detective whose name I do not know, featured in the local newspaper a couple times and developed a bit of a crush on her. Sadly, when I saw "attractive police officer dancing" I jumped to the wrong conclusion.
Oh well. I've already gone to the trouble of writing the post, so I might as well publish it. Further, I had to consult an architect when constructing one of the above sentences. It contains 50+ words, multiple supportive clauses, and a reasonable amount of humor. The first couple times I tried to write it, it collapsed under its own weight. Finally getting that beast tamed, and this post completed, I had high hopes when I submitted it for publication. The news that I was the victim of a case of mistaken identity was a shock to the soul. In my weakened state, I fear the pain of deleting that sentence would be more than I could bear...
Finally, Ms. David does seem to be attractive. So while she wouldn't be my first choice in a responding officer, she'd be high up the list.
---
I had a couple more things to cover, but now I've got to spend some time figuring out how to get out of attending this dancing thing...
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Costa Rica Files, Version 4.0
For the record, since we've been in Costa Rica, the Razor has outperformed "Life in the Fast Lane" 4 posts to 0. I think I've pinpointed her problem. I wrote all these posts while Christena was asleep... "Life in the Nap Lane" doesn't have quite the same ring to it though, does it? Nevertheless, I'm sure she'll add more photos to her blog, between naps, over the next few months if you want to check it out.
By the way, if you find yourself in Monteverde, Costa Rica and your only option to leave is to drive, buy some property, meet a nice girl, settle down, and have children. Do not consider driving out. It is slightly easier than driving to Monteverde, but only marginally so.
---
Tonight's hotel is very nice. As we drove through the neighborhood, and it became seedier and seedier, we'd hoped that the GPS was making a mistake. However, when we arrived we were pleased to find that there is a 12 foot wall around the entire property, which is about the size of a city block. Inside the wall, everything is immaculately tended, well landscaped and the staff is very courteous. Taylor swam in the pool while Christena and I ate dinner. Here's a photo or two:
Hard to believe that just outside the gate/walls is a place you wouldn't want to be after sun down.
---
Before we left Monteverde, we stopped by a Hummingbird garden that was quite remarkable. There were probably 6 or 8 hummingbird feeders set up and hundreds of birds were feeding, seemingly without fear of humans. The Purple Sabrewing, while still a hummingbird, is about the size of an ordinary bird back home. Maybe the size of the feeder will give you an idea of its relative size:
And here are 3 birds on one feeder:
---It's been a good trip. Glad we got to do it. Thought I'd get to read more, but with all the driving and excursions, the time seemed to slip away. And I had to blog... I was able to keep up with the news and most of the daily reading I do for work and I did read one book, so I suppose I read enough. Somehow, I thought I'd read more...
I'm not sure we got a great feel for the culture here. We spent so much time looking at nature/wildlife that we didn't spend a lot of time with the people. With that said, everyone we met was very friendly and helpful. In Malaysia, the architectue was dominated by mosques, showing their dedication to Islam. Peru was about the same, except Catholic. Here, like Belize, I've seen churches, but not many, and they aren't very impressive to look at. I may be misreading that situation, but somehow I just don't feel that faith is an important part of the typical life around here.
The food was pretty average. I liked everything I ate, but there was nothing to really knock your socks off. I was expecting something sort of Mexicanesque, and while there was a lot of tortilla/rice/beans, it wasn't spicy. In fact, at times it was quite bland. The pineapple, which I assume was very fresh, was much better than at home.
Of course, we spent lots of time in the countryside, so we saw lots of agriculture. I'm not sure what they were growing, but it was certainly not cotton or peanuts. Perhaps citrus.
Beyond that, I'm not sure that I know much more about the Costa Rican people now, than when I arrived. But the scenery, wildlife, and adventure? Unbelievable!
Come whenever you can. If you have time, check out the ocean and let me know how it is. Our schedule, and Taylor's desire to see a volcano, kept us in the interior of the country.
Oh yeah, I wore twice as much clothing as planned, primarily due to the humidity. I had to let one of the hotels do a couple loads for me so I'd have enough to last...
---
I would imagine that the rest of the week will be spent catching up at work and getting back into the swing of things, so I don't know when I'll blog again. I hate I missed the Weiner/twitter scandal, that might have been fun. Luckily, we have lots of politicians in America so another opportunity is surely right around the corner.
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