Thursday, July 28, 2005

A smellier internet

I think we should create a special, snotty version of the internet just for the French. Ah, but seriously, speaking of smelly, what ever happened with "smell-o-vision" type devices for the web? In the late 90's, companies were developing peripherals you could hook up to your computer that would mix different chemicals to create smells based on commands embedded in a webpage. So Burger King might make their website smell like a burger on the grill, or a porno site might smell like tuna. Then the whole dot com thing blew up, and all that stuff disappeared. Google web smell-o-vision or Digiscents, and you'll get a ton of links to articles from 1999 and 2000 about this topic. To prove I am not making this up, here is a link to an archived copy of the Digiscents site from 2000.

My webpage would smell like feet and orange juice

Comments from the original version of this posting at MySpace:

Suzy, Thursday, July 28, 2005 at 11:39 PM: EEEEEEWWW Feet and orange juice? At the same time? Yuck.

Jeremy, Saturday, July 30, 2005 at 10:16 PM: I make a comment about a porno site smelling like tuna, and you EWWW at the orange juice and feet?

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Mr. Complaining Pants

My last two entries have been so negative! I like to complain sometimes. Piss, moan, then move on. Life's too short.

Here's something positive: my cousin and her fiance (well they'll be married by the time they come through) will be visiting sometime in September. They get married September 3rd in a very small ceremony and then plan to drive all around the country visiting friends and family. This is the cousin I visited out in CA earlier this month. Should be fun.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Scourge of the movie house

Like all regular movie goers, I have so many pet peeves. For example, have you ever noticed that everyone except me is stupid and wrong? No? Hmm--must be just me then. Yes, this won't be the height of groundbreaking social commentary, but just let me vent or I'll kneecap your ass, m'kay muffinsnuggles?

Movie talkers: SHUT THE FUCK UP!! It is beyond my comprehension to pay nearly $10 and then hold a completely unrelated conversation with the person next to you. Even if it's related to the movie, put a sock in it. Go talk about how you have shoes just like Kirsten Dunst's out in the parking lot. And get hit by a car while you're out there.

Annoying Food Bringers: You know who they are. Yeah, we all do it, but I'm not crinkling my wrappers incessantly or keeping it in a ziploc baggie. I shit you not, I once sat through the first 10 minutes of "Panic Room" with 4 pregnant women behind me making sandwiches. No, not unwrapping sandwiches they had made previously at home and brought into the theater. Honest to goodness please-pass-the-mayonnaise sandwich making. Tinkling of knives against condiment jars, cheese and bread being cut (not even presliced bread or cheese for chrissakes!!), crinkling of sandwich meat wrappers, the whole 9 yards. I hope they all miscarried or at least gave birth to very ugly and slow children.

Cell Phone Ringers (and Answerers!): I guess not everyone can be as paranoid or anal retentive as me about turning their ringers off. Not everyone is as concerned about the comfort of those around them as I am. Because they are assholes. Ok, ok. Maybe you are normally a thoughtful person, but you forgot just this one time. Find the damn thing and turn it off! If you aren't a doctor or Jesus, you better not answer it either.

Texters: Here's a new one I've been seeing more and more the last couple years and saw a lot of tonight at the 8 pm showing of "Wedding Crashers" in Oakdale. Pricks surfing the web or reading/sending text messages during the movie. Hmm...I'm in a dark theater. Think anyone will be distracted if I flip open my phone with this bright, backlit screen to check my email? The answer is yes. The only person who didn't notice was Jesus, but he was busy answering his phone in the back row. He'll get to you later.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Air wetness / myspace music

Note from Jeremy: This blog was hosted on MySpace prior to January 2, 2006.

The sky seemed to be bleeding some sort of rain or rain-like substance a short while ago.

I'll hop off my MySpace soapbox shortly, but for crying out loud, do everyone a favor and don't put music or sounds on your homepage. Hot fancy garbage it's annoying!! Just put fifty dancing hamsters on your page and get it over with.

Bonfire of the vanity plates

Went to Bonfire in Eagan tonight. Great food and nice atmosphere there (it's sprouted a local chain--now there's one in St Paul, Woodbury, and one or two others). But I go there infrequently enough to forget how friggin' busy it is every damned night of the week. The parking lot is actually quite large, but it was full. People were parked on the street. Cars full of members of a wedding party were even pulling up (it's nice, but Bonfire after your wedding--REALLY????). I parked my car four miles away in an elephant's rectal cavity and hoofed it through 90 degree hazy, sticky air to the front door. By the time I got there, I had lost 30 lbs and a shoe. So there I am, dehydrated yet soaking wet, covered in elephant shit, and missing a shoe and think to myself, "I'll bet that Mikey kid from the cereal commercials was gay." Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

I'm thinkin' about my doorbell--when ya gonna ring it??

W00T! I've got me a fine ol' pair of tix for the White Stripes in Minneapolis August 26th. Ladies, who's goin' with me? Ha ha haaa...what a piece of smug crap I am.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Carmageddon III: It's Back, and It's Pissed

Those who talk to me on a regular basis know the epic and woeful tale of my car. They are also aware of and give me plenty of shit for my love and admittedly slightly anal retentive protective instinct toward it, making the tale all the more aggravating for me, and all the more amusing for them, I'm sure. :-)

A little over 3 years ago, I bought my very first brand new car ever. A sweet, sporty little 2002 Acura RSX. Five-speed manual transmission, black leather interior, and while not a muscley car in the least, very zippy and fun to drive.

Since I had originally had planned to buy a larger, not to mention more expensive car, and the RSX is a tiny little coupe, I decided to keep my rusty shitmobile eyesore, albeit smooth-running, 1992 Ford Explorer. I could use the money saved buying a less expensive car to pay for liability insurance on the nearly worthless Explorer. And there was the added bonus of still being able to haul around big stuff for home improvement and landscaping projects in the summer and large numbers of frozen corpses of elderly people in the winter (hey, you just never know when you'll come across some nattering schmuck who wandered away from the assisted living facility in his p.j.'s in the middle of January. In Minnesota, they line the ditches and wooded areas like skunks in spring).

Ah, but my decision to keep a second vehicle led to me developing a quirky and overprotective attitude toward the RSX. I would park far, far away from other vehicles or in an end spot to avoid door dings. I'm not one of those assholes who parks at a 45 degree angle across two perfectly good parking spaces 20 feet from the front door. Why the fuck should my desire to keep my car ding-free make some poor soccer mom dragging triplets with crap-filled huggies or some 80-year old lady with a plastic hip walk twice as far to the supermarket entrance? In other words, I don't like making my problem other people's problem. Because unlike some people, I actually consider the impact my actions will have on others, but let's not get into that whole thing right now. :-)

It got to the point I would drive my Explorer to "scope out" new places I had never parked before. I even had nightmares about my car being stolen from my garage in the middle of the night, being stripped for parts, or walking to my car to find it had been destroyed by a freak rock slide. It sounds funny, but I'm not making this up!

Finally at the end of 2004, I decided it was no longer economical as a single guy living alone to keep 2 vehicles. The older my Explorer got, the higher the cost of keeping it running every year. I got rid of it, and the RSX became my one and true daily driver. While my anal retentive parking, spot scoping, and nightmares subsided, I still love that car and will do my best to keep it in great condition as long as humanly possible.

Fast forward to Monday, June 20th. My car was overdue for an oil change (hmm...what did I just say about taking good care of my car? *grin*), so I took it into the Acura dealership in Bloomington. Very handy since it's along my way to work in the morning. Why not take it to a cheapie quick lube place? Ok, I admit it's the anal retentive car thing rearing its head again. :-) As long as it's under warranty, and especially since it's so convenient, I'm going to keep taking it there for whatever I can within reason. I figure this way, if anything gets fucked up in the car, it's on record that no one other than Acura so much as changed an oil filter on the thing, and they would have less grounds to make a bogus claim that some other shop screwed something up and then refuse to make a repair under warranty.

Ah HAH! Now comes the part which may prove that my line of thinking either was completely valid or caused more problems than it's worth. After dropping my car off the morning of June 20th, the dealership shuttle gave me a ride to work. Later that afternoon, I received a call to the effect of "Yeah, Jeremy, this is so-and-so from Bloomington Acura. We have your car ready, but when we ran it through the car wash, the equipment malfunctioned and damaged your car." WHAT...THE...FUCK?? Damaged??? The only thing running through my mind at that moment was the machinery going apeshit fu manchu style and denting and scraping the crap out of my poor baby. So you can see how I was actually somewhat relieved when he added that it had somehow grabbed the rear wiper and cracked up the rear window. Regardless, OWIE!!! >:-(

Ok. I was perturbed, but not mad. This wasn't their fault. It was a freak accident, they owned up to it, and readily offered to fix it for free (damn skippy!!). I honestly felt like there was nothing to get too worked up about. They said it would take about 3 days to fix, and they'd have to send it over to the body shop owned by the dealership (mind you, the body shop was not affiliated directly with Acura, and not up to the same level of quality control and service as the Acura service shop as I would soon find out).

After work, Acura sent the shuttle to pick me up and take me back over to the dealership. There, I was given more details on the damage, what would need to be done to fix it, and they rolled around with my loaner. A delicious 2005 Acura TL. This is getting into the more luxury level of Acura's fleet and is a sleek, sporty looking 4-door sedan. Leather interior, dual climate control, XM Satellite radio, and my favorite, a hands-free Bluetooth interface for Bluetooth enabled cell phones. I wasn't thrilled about the automatic transmission (I'm late-in-life stick shift convert), but this was one sweet ride!

I drove home giddy with all the new gadgets and doo dads available in the car. I fiddled and oohed and aahed, flipping through myriad XM satellite stations, pushing buttons, and generally behaving like an 8 year old, as all penis-laden homosapiens are wont to do when presented with new toys. Any gloom over my damaged RSX was pushed to the back of my brain, as I pulled into my driveway, and set about to synch up my bluetooth-enabled cell phone (coincidentally purchased less than a month prior). I eagerly hit the "talk" button on the TL's steering wheel, and spoke my mom's phone number. The TL, having already automatically muted the radio, recited the number back to me perfectly, and prompted me if it should dial. Two words: FUCK YEAH! Through the cars sound system came the familiar sounds of the phone ringing on the other end. Mom picked up, and the sound quality was unbelievable. After breathlessly explaining to her the joys of my new method of communication, I pulled out of the driveway, and drove around the neighborhood talking with her. At the end of the call, I hit the end button, the phone hung up, and the car radio came back to life. All without the cell phone ever leaving my pocket.

Had this been my car, I also could have synched up my phonebook with the TL so I didn't have to speak the whole phone number each time. I could say "Call Mom" or "Call George" and it would make the call. But I didn't want to take the chance of forgetting to erase the settings and have all these phone numbers stored in the car for the next loanee to see, assuming it stores the actual numbers in the car.

Friday rolled around, and I still had heard nothing from the dealership. I was actually starting to worry a little since I was leaving for D.C. for a conference for work the following Tuesday morning and didn't know if they'd finish before I returned Saturday. I really wanted to minimize the time my car was sitting outdoors exposed to potential wicked Minnesota summer thunderstorms. Hail damage was about the last thing I needed after all this. I was informed it was taking longer to get the new window than they thought. Crap. It would have to wait until I got back.

Thursday, June 30th while I was in D.C. I received a voicemail that they had finished my car. Finally! I flew back home Saturday, drove directly to the Acura dealership, only to find they were closed. I got there about 5:30 pm, spotted my car in the lot, and walked over to find they'd fucking left it UNLOCKED!!!!!! Are you kidding me? I opened the drivers side door to find that somehow, despite being unlocked, that the alarm was armed. It started honkin' like a sumbitch, drawing stares from assorted customers roaming the lot to ogle the pretty cars, followed by typical car alarm apathy, and returning to their business without so much as questioning whether this was car I was trying to get into was mine or not. Very comforting.

At this point, steam was rolling from my ears. I marched with purpose to the dealership front door, grabbed the handle, pulled, and--LOCKED?!? They'd closed at 5 pm and wouldn't reopen until Tuesday morning due to the 4th of July holiday. Son of a biscuit! A string of vulgarities spewed from my lips, and I locked up the RSX, got into the TL, and headed home to cool off, get some dinner, and return later with my spare keys to spare my car another 3 days sitting out in that lot. I'd come back Tuesday to get my other keys and bitch them out.

I ended up going out to dinner with a couple friends and going to Batman Begins at the Imax a few miles from my house. So by the time I returned to get my car, it was about 1 or 2 in the morning. I checked over the new window, checked for hail dents, though it was hard to tell much in the dark, hopped in, and drove off. I flipped on the radio. Static. Huh? Is the local hard rock station knocked off the air tonight? I hit the next station preset button. Nothin'. Next one. Nothin'. I hit "Seek". Not a single fucking station to be found on any of the bands. It dawned on me--the radio antenna is embedded in the rear window. They must have forgotten to hook it back up. God dammit, are you kidding me?!? I flipped a U-turn, pulled back into the lot (mind you in a better, safer parking space than they had placed it in *cough*), got back into the TL, and headed for home more pissed off than ever.

I took it back right then since I didn't want to mess around waiting around there Tuesday while they fixed the radio. I had Tuesday off (our company gave us both July 4th and 5th off) and didn't want to make an extra unnecessary trip to Bloomington to pick it up. So I called them Tuesday morning, and politely but firmly informed them of their blunder and in so many words that they need to get both their shit and my radio wired. :-P Many apologies, blah blah blah, we'll fix it, etc. I called them to check in on it Tuesday afternoon, and they assured me it was all checked out, ready to go, and I could come and pick it up immediately. this point I didn't want to haul my ass over to Bloomington (this dealership is only 15-20 minutes from my house in light traffic, but I wanted to continue my lazy streak on my day off) and decided to pick it up after work Wednesday. Wednesday came, and I really felt crappy, so I called in sick.

Thursday rolls around, and I head to work with the same plan of picking it up on the way home. Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, my work phone rings. "Yeah, Jeremy, this is so-and-so from Bloomington Acura, we got the part in for your radio and sent your car back over to the body shop. It should be ready to go tomorrow or Monday" Part??? What friggin' part??? They said 2 days ago that it was done, and I could pick it up! I was so steamed I never thought to ask what the part was, but I assume it was a new wire and/or connecter for the antenna.

Now keep in mind that at this point, they have had my RSX a good 2 and 1/2 weeks. Once again, this was shitty timing since I was flying out Friday night to visit my cousin for a few days in Sonora CA, meaning another possible stretch of days my car would have to sit outside unneccessarily. But this time I fared luckier (or so I thought) than before my D.C. trip, and they called me at noon Friday the 8th to tell me my car was ready. I headed over after work, eyeballed my car in the lot quickly before heading inside, dropped off the TL keys, and picked up my RSX keys. The car was locked, a good start. Got in. Nothing missing from inside the car so far as I could tell (I hadn't thought to check the last time I'd come to pick up the car and found it unlocked), and it appeared that they had actually cleaned and vacuumed the interior, which they don't normally do. Started her up, radio worked--all green so far. I drove of the lot and realized I should check my rear wiper. Crap! It doesn't work. Momentary anger set in before I realized it was taped down to the window. No biggie.

I swung around and pulled back into the dealership's lot to remove the tape so I could test the rear wiper. It was at this point I noticed something unusual. This window was tinted! How very odd, but actually rather nice--or so I was thinking at that moment. I hadn't noticed this in my previous attempt to pick it up since it was dark outside at the time. But wait a minute--this wasn't a smoked window, this was that shitty stick-on tint. It was all ripply, and up near the wiper, was one gigantic-ass hole ripped in the tint. Now that looked like hell. Dammit! Again, I'm pissed and forget about testing the wiper. I drive around the lot and directly into the service department garage. A guy comes over to check in, probably assuming I'm just dropping the car off for some appointment. I explain the whole situation with the window, how they had just replaced it, I had just picked it up a few minutes ago, and pointed to the ugly hole in the tint, and said, "What is this crap?"

"Well it looks like there's a hole in the tint."

Well I know that, Einstein! How the hell didn't someone notice that huge hole before I picked it up though?

He had no explanation. At this point, two guys who I believe were the dealership manager and the service department manager happened to walk by and both stopped in to check in on the cause of my obviously agitated state. I again explained the situation to both of them. Profuse apologies spewed forth, and they both proceeded to examine the window closely, opening the rear hatch to see inside, as well. It was at this point, I noticed a very large, very obvious DENT in the metal on the inside of the hatch that most definitely had not been there before! I interrupted them, stabbed my finger into the air toward the dent to exlaim, "And this huge-ass DENT sure as hell wasn't there before I brought my car in." And this I have to give them credit for--they immediately took me at my word without argument and agreed to fix the dent, as well as peel the rest of the shitty looking tint from the window. No "well how do we know that dent wasn't there before" or any crap like that.

Regardless, throughout the entire conversation, I was about a nanometer from completely blowing my top. I'm usually quite laid back, but I get very pissed when I think I'm getting screwed over, or when people aren't doing their jobs, and I feel like I'm getting the runaround. Probably what saved the whole situation was that they were very apologetic, did not hesitate to offer to fix it, and politely let me blow off a little harmless steam at them. :-) In fact, I had calmed down enough to offer that I understood that this began with an accident that wasn't their fault, very much appreciated how up front they were and were willing to fix it, but reiterated firmly my opinion of the utterly unacceptable and ridiculous hoops I was having to jump through to get my car back in the condition in which I'd brought it in, and reminded them that this all began with a stinking oil change nearly 3 weeks prior. More apologies, thanks for my patience, blah de frickin blah. Which I also appreciated, despite my sarcastic addition of "blah de frickin blah". :-)

So there I left my RSX yet again to drive off in the loaner TL. I just had to call my friend Mary, who was well attuned to the goings on of the car saga. My latest edition for her started with "So guess fucking what?" :-)

I returned from a very enjoyable, sunny, and relaxing few days in California on Wednesday July 13th to find no messages regarding the status of my car. Ugh...whatever. I was done calling to pester them about it. Thursday rolled by. Nothin'. Friday comes. As mentioned in the previous story about kayaking, I had a long-planned trip to Duluth for a weekend hanging out with several college buddies. I was a little nervous about making a longer trip with the TL that wasn't mine and getting into an accident or something, but I'm not about to put my life on hold because of all this. So I filled the tank (the TL requires premium fuel, so that was a bang to the ol' Mastercard with these crazy-ass fuel prices!), and enjoyed what would prove to be yet another relaxing trip (I swear I normally don't travel with anywhere near this frequency).

As I neared the edge of Duluth, my phone rang. Once again, the lovely hands free Bluetooth phone interface made my day, as didn't have to fish my cell phone out of my pocket. I simply hit the Talk button on the steering wheel to answer. It was Bloomington Acura. My car was done. Good, but yet another full weekend it'll have to sit outside.

Today! Oh, today was the day! The 18th of July, Year of Our Lord 2005. I think it's the Year of the Monkey or Flying Squirrel or something on the Chinese calendar. Anyway, I headed to Bloomington Acura after work for the third, and what goddamned well better be the last time I'd have to head there over this saga. There she be. I gave her another quick once over. Shitty tinting on the window gone? Check. No hail dents? Tentative check. No door dings from a month in a parking lot? Again, tentative check. So far so good. I head inside to the customer service counter to proudly announce that I was here to drop off the loaner TL and pick up my RSX. "Ok, sir, your name" I give my name. "Can you spell that?" Still in good spirits, I spell away with glee. "Hmm...can you spell that again?" I spell again. Less glee. Still good spirits. "I'm sorry, but I can't find anything under that name." My glee is replaced with minor irritation, perhaps akin to a small newly forming pimple on ones left buttock that itches ever so mildly, but cannot be scratched because it would be improper to do so in public. At this point, a woman calls out from the back room asking what I'd brought it in for. I said, "Well, originally, it was an oil change"

"Ok, when was this?"

"Almost a month ago." I replied somewhat smugly.

You could practically see the light go on in her head. "Oh, I know THAT car!" she said with a smile. I laughed and replied, "I'll bet you do!"

She had to go back to another room to get the keys (maybe they lock them in a special vault once your car has been there a month or something *grin*). In the meantime, she offered me a voucher for a free oil change. Ah! Again, a small gesture, but very much appreciated. I made a rather benign joke about how they could just give me the TL for all my trouble, and we all politely laughed. Ha haaa!

I walked to the car and gave the outside another once over. Window good, no dings or hail dents outside (kind of hard to tell in that light though--I will be checking again you can rest assured!), dent inside the hatch fixed. Check, checkity, check. Get in, start her up. Again, nothing seemed to be missing (I was far more worried they'd left it unlocked again and some random dipshit rummaged through my car than an employee taking something, but you never know). Check. Radio works. Check. Rear wiper works. Checkity fucking check! A moment of disbelief...and I realized I had my baby back! Hooray! Down the road I went with the sunroof open and Nine Inch Nails blarin', at peace knowing this downright ridiculous, perhaps comical story was behind me.

The End. Love Jeremy.

Kayak attack!

Just got back from my buddy Loren's place in Duluth. We had our annual "guys weekend" up there with a bunch of the guys I went to college with. Most live in the Twin Cities area, although one came from northwestern MN. Usually involves pizza, poker, beer, and farting. ;-)

In past years, one group of the guys usually went golfing and those of us (including me) who are not golfers, stayed behind and caught a movie or found other activities. This year, we decided to involve everyone by trying something new--kayaking! We reserved some kayaks and headed to the Bruel (sp?) River in Wisconsin, about 45 minutes from Duluth.

Side note: Actually we'd intended to go canoeing, but Loren, in typical Loren fashion, waited until just this past Thursday to call for reservations and could only get kayaks. This in spite of us starting these plans MONTHS ago! But that's our guy Loren. :-)

Actually, despite Loren's silly-ass procrastination, all of us were pretty jazzed about kayaking. I for one had never done it and had wanted to try it for quite some time. Some of the guys ran a little late getting to Duluth, so by the time we ate lunch, got to the rental place, paid for our kayaks, picked out our life preservers and other gear, and drove out to the "launch" or whatever you'd call it, it was around 2 pm. Estimated time to kayak the 12 mile stretch: 4 hours.

I was a little shaky to start out with, but Marshall had a heck of a time. Unfortunately, the river level is particularly low this year, so it was very easy to get caught up on the bottom on rocks and get stuck. When you're stuck you get dumped into the water by the current and have to empty your kayak of water (very time consuming) or you have to push yourself off the rocks with your hands and/or the paddle. Either one saps a lot of energy from you (there were spots where I pushed myself with my hands for probably 20 feet!) and usually results in banged up knuckles, knees, or shins. Poor Marshall got stuck and/or dumped numerous times right off the bat and was understandably exhausted after a couple of miles or so.

So once we reached a bridge with a main road, he got out and Kelly followed suit to keep him company. They ended up walking several miles and eventually caught a ride to the canoe landing where our cars were waiting (they had no keys though!) and had a beer with some friendly fellow rivergoers who'd arrived earlier.

Then there were 4

So with all the waiting for guys who'd gotten stuck or been dumped in the first stretch (and Marshall certainly wasn't the only one!), we probably sat idle waiting for people for a good hour. We didn't want to leave anyone too far behind in case they got into trouble.

After the road bridge, we started cruising along at a relatively good pace, still getting stuck in the rocks here and there and enjoyed zooming through the numerous rapids. At the first major "shelf" (almost like a very small waterfall), however, around halfway through, I took my first spill. Completely biffed it! Klobe caught my kayak fortunately, and another guy helped pull it to shore. It was shallow enough to walk to shore, but very treacherous on the slippery rocks with the fast-moving current. Despite my feet being soaked, I was glad I'd followed the rental place's pamplet advice and wore my sneakers. Bare feet would have been torn to shreds and had no traction on that rock.

A few miles down river, Willy got far, far ahead of us, and I was very far ahead of Klobe and Loren (I later learned that Klobe had dumped his just after helping me after my first spill!). First time kayaking, all alone, no clue how much farther to the landing, getting very tired, out in the middle of a winding river without another soul to be seen? What if I don't see the landing and go too far? What if I run into trouble with no one else there? I'm not a nervous person for the most part, but it was a bit unsettling.

Things were fine for a while, then it happened--around a particularly sharp bend, there was a very large tree branch sticking out of the water. Try as I might, I could not maneuver the kayak deftly enough to avoid it. I smacked into it, and my ass was dumped into about 6 feet of water. The shock of being completely submerged in the water is disconcerting enough, but this was a rare spot where I couldn't touch bottom. I was close to panicking as all at once I was flailing in the water to keep from going under, trying to hold onto my paddle, and barely keeping my kayak from breaking free from my weak grasp to float down river without me. For several minutes I struggled. I held onto the branch and managed to fling my paddle over to a very muddy and steep spot on shore near the tree branch. I kept trying to swim over to shore, but my kayak skirt I was wearing kept getting caught on the branch. Finally, I reached the steep bank only to realize it was far to muddy to climb onto. I was exhausted, and pushing all this crap over to the other side of the river was far to daunting of a prospect.

After several minutes of floating and/or clinging, I heard Klobe and Loren's voices around the bend just upstream. Thank God! They came and took care of my kayak and paddle and I got resituated on the other side of the river, which was much more shallow and gently banked.

Reunited, we headed out to see if we could catch up with Willy. We caught up with him after a mile or two, and the four of us, tired, thirsty, hungry, and bruised, continued on, hoping to God we'd get to the landing soon. We paddled. And paddled. And paddled. And fucking paddled. Eventually it got to the point where around almost every bend, one of us would complain to the effect of "Where IS this fucking thing? We've got to be getting there soon." Ok, mostly it was me. :-)

Well over an hour later, Willy yelled back to us that he heard cars. We HAD to be close! Sure enough, within a few minutes, the sweet sight of the big sign and landing came into view. Sweet fancy crap!! Finally!

All at once we were proud that we had finished, relieved beyond belief to be on solid land, and realizing we'd have to ride back sopping wet. :-) I had brought a change of clothes, but I actually decided to put a towel down and ride back wet instead of dirtying up the clothes with mud and crap from the river.

It was after 7 pm. Our 4 hour excursion took well over 5, and we were spent.

By the time we dragged our kayaks and gear to the pickup point, , had some water (and beer), got changed, and drove back to Duluth, it was well after 9 pm. At my suggestion, Loren ordered a few pizzas for us on the way home, and they arrived within minutes of us getting to his house. All of us were famished and tore our way through most of 3 larges in a manner of minutes.

Poker night didn't get rolling until after 10, and we just weren't all that into it. By the time 11 rolled around, eyes were getting droopy. We were done by 11:30. By far, our shortest poker night on record. Everyone was in bed and soundly asleep by midnight. Pathetic. *grin*

All in all, it was a good time. I think 6 or 8 miles would have been fine, but 12 got to be way too much. It wouldn't have been nearly as bad if the river hadn't been so damned low though. And surprisingly, it wasn't nearly has tough on the arms as I thought it would be. Aside from scrapes and scratches, only my lower back is slightly sore. There is no back support in those kayaks at all, and holding myself in that position for the better part of 5 hours was rough.

Guys on MySpace

Note from Jeremy: Prior to January 2, 2006, this blog was hosted at MySpace. This posting is in reference to a profile that evidently no longer exists.

As a penis-laden homosapien (a phrase, to the best of my knowledge, coined by myself in my Carmageddon post earlier tonight), I very much understand the hormonal response brought on by seeing photos of women of varying degrees of cuteness, hotness, and sexiness on this site. But reading the comments guys post to these pictures is fucking hilarious! Yeah, I'm a guy and I dig hot girlz, but for fuck sake guys, have some dignity! Take for example,
this girl's profile
(whether it or "they" are real are both up for debate). Click on her main photo, and click on a few of the individual photos and read through the comments guys have left. Pathetic enough, right? Then start looking at the photos of the guys. Guys trying to hard to look cool, often shirtless or striking a fakey tough guy pose. Ladies, back me up on this. Are these guys dipshits or what? I thought so.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Out of the fire and into the sauna

Just got back Wednesday from visiting my cousin Kellae and her fiance A.J. in CA. It was a blast catching up with her and nice to just relax for a few days. Although I ended up staying the entire trip instead of spending a couple of the days in San Francisco like I originally planned. Hopefully I wasn't too much of a pantload for staying a couple extra days. I was invited to stay longer, but perhaps you were just being polite, Kellae. Kind of like telling a girl at the end of the date "Oh sure, I'll call you." Or telling your neighbors that it wasn't you peeping through their windows at their teenage daughter last night.

Left 100 degree temps in CA to return to Minnesota in the middle of a record breaking streak of 90 temps. Cooler, but the humidity is easily pushing the heat index over 100. I'm one of those guys who sweats in his sleep in a 68 degree room, so me, 95 degrees, and muggy aren't shakin' hands at the company picnic.

Later today I'm heading up to Duluth to do some male bonding with the guys. Kayaking, poker, beer, probably some farting. Should be good times, you little chowder monkeys. Plus it should be a bit cooler up there.