Swank...my NAS enclosure was delivered at work this morning, so I drove home over lunch and quickly set it up. Popped in the hard drive, plugged in the power and network cable, and blam. I had a NAS. Right now I'm backing up my entire computer via a direct connection and will test out the wireless tomorrow. If only all of my computer projects went this smoothly!

As of now, the full backup's been running 4 hours and is only 25% done. EEP! And the wireless connection will be half that speed. Dang...maybe I'll end up running cable after all.

Incidentally, ladies, I'm starting a business called Geeks with Benefits. I come to your house, fix all of your computer problems and even do small engine repair, minor electrical and plumbing work, and all you have to do is let me feel you up! No money exchanges hands (unless you're a total land cow). Well, that's the starter coupon I'll offer. My normal non-promotional rates will be as follows:

Flat rate housecall fee (charged upon arrival): Feel up your fully clothed breasts.

0 to 30 minutes of work: Skin to skin hand on boob action!

30 to 60 minutes of work: Handjob.

1 to 2 hours: Blowjob (spit-outs allowed).

2 to 3 hours: Blowjob w/ swallow.

3 to 4 hours: Full penetration.

4 to 5 hours: One of my friends gets involved.

5 to 6 hours: One of YOUR friends gets involved (hot female friends only).

6 to 7 hours: Your mom and sister get involved.

7 to 8 hours: Your grandmother gets involved.

8 to 9 hours: I get to start putting things in your butt like car keys and Sprite cans.

9 to 10 hours: All of the above, plus I get to film it and own full distribution rights to the DVD and all internet sales.

If this works out, I may quit my regular job!

I asked for it, and I got it. I'm steaming from the ears right now because I can't get to my fucking Yahoo mail (or anything else on Yahoo for that matter). So for those emailing me or posting comments, I probably won't see the messages or moderate the comments until I get back onto Yahoo.

I don't know if this is a Comcast issue or a Yahoo issue though. Anyone else having Yahoo woes tonight?

UPDATE: My Yahoo access is back. So much for conflict. *sigh*

I'm restless. Bored, really. Things are going too well. I long ago realized that I am happiest with just a smidge of conflict in my life. Something to piss and moan about or fight against. My job is going well. I'm working on interesting projects, feel challenged, but not like I'm throwing my full body against a brick wall of insurmountable problems. Answers to questions and solutions to problems come, but not easily. I'm actually choosing to stay late fairly often as I'm engaged in what I'm working on.

Then I come home to...this. My house is clean. My yard is kept up. I'm pooping like clockwork twice a day. What's not to love? It's too ordered. Too clean. Maybe I should go knock up the neighbor's daughter and poison their dog, both in broad daylight on their front lawn. That will cause conflict.

*sigh*

Bear with me, non-geeks, as tonight I'm posting a review of a computery toy. I shall return to my regular debauchery and filth later this week. I'm typing this post while connected from my laptop via my new Actiontec 54Mbps (aka 802.11g) Wireless Ethernet Adapter. So it must be pretty good, huh? Sure if you ignore the fact that I only got it working after tearing my hair out for 4 hours. And to be perfectly honest, I am not completely certain I know just what I did to finally get it going.

Adapters like this one are designed to let you connect wired devices to your wireless network via an existing ethernet port. This comes in handy when a device only comes with an ethernet jack and has no USB ports or PC Card or PCI openings. Game consoles and ethernet-only NAS enclosures are examples of such devices, the latter of which being my purpose in purchasing this gadget.

I ordered the Actiontec from newegg.com for about $70 last Wednesday. This is more than I wanted to pay, but unless I was willing to wait for a rare deal to fall out of the sky on gotapex.com or techbargains.com, I decided this was the way to go. I knew I wouldn't be getting top of the line equipment, but I will likely upgrade my network to 802.11n later this year and may end up replacing this in as little as 6 months.

The setup for this device can be summed up in one word: nightmare. The configuration software that comes with the setup CD will only really automatically connect the adapter to your network if the router has an SSID of "Actiontec", is unencrypted, and uses channel 6. The software also comes with a configuration utility that can be installed on a PC, but its user interface is cumbersome, and at times it would allow me to enter the changes to channel, SSID, and encryption settings, but would not let me click the Apply button to save them to the adapter. It was only after countless and random sequences of unplugging the adapter power, the ethernet cable, ipconfig /release and /renew and rebooting the computer, that I finally managed to get the settings saved and connect to my network. The adapter also comes with its own web-based administration interface, which supposedly has more robust network discovery/config tools, but I have yet to successfully connect to it.

So the good news is that theoretically my adapter is configured and ready to go when my NAS enclosure gets here Wednesday. The bad news is that if I ever want to change any settings on my router, I may be in for another tug of war with Actiontec's poorly designed configuration software.

You may remember a few months back when I posted about the local resurrection of a very 80's looking Subway commercial. Thanks to a contributer to this thread at MNSpeak, I found this article from the Pioneer Press that answers all of our nagging questions.

-It originally aired nationwide in 1985.
-No, that is NOT Parker Posey. That is the word directly from her manager, Frank Frattaroli.
-The commercial is currently airing in parts of Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Iowa.

I always look forward to this time of year. Some guys get revved about the new cars for the next model year. Other guys get all excited when the latest, fastest computer processors come out. I love June because it's when Glade's new summer douches arrive! I can't wait to get started, so let's dive right in (ha ha--a little va-jay-jay humor!)

Apple Cinnamon - Usually this is a limited-time seasonal scent they have around Christmas, but these year they decided to release it as part of the permanent lineup. Instead of fucking warm apple pie, you can bang an actual chick that smells like one! Best of both worlds.

Clean Linen - Are you eating the sheets or her vag? Only she knows for sure!

Floral Escape - Much better than last year's Gerbil Escape.

Fresh Summer Berries - Your choice--dingle or rasp.

Hawaiian Breeze - Mmmm...the essence of warm, summer vagina coming in off the ocean. It smells like pineapples and tuna.

Lavender Meadow -- This is a popular scent they brought over from their rectal douche line for gay males. I smelled a sample at the release party last fall, and it was quite nice. But really they could have just sprayed it on cards like at the fragrance counter. I was hesitant to smell the model's ass, but when in Rome...

Refreshing Spa - This one is another crossover from the rectal douche line, and I'm not as big of a fan. It should be called "Sweaty Bath House". It smells like semen and Right Guard.

Suddenly Spring - I love this one! It's like an invitation to lunch in the botanical gardens. More like "Suddenly Eating You Out"!

Vanilla Breeze - This one replaces last year's colossal flop called "Chocolate Dribbles".

As always, I will point out that experts recommend against regular douching to maintain healthy pH levels in the vagina and to avoid dryness and yeast infections. I won't give you advice one way or the other, but sometimes it's nice to put a little mango salsa on your salmon if you know what I mean.

Usually I'm not much for these stupid tests, but this one piqued my curiosity. The results should be of no surprise to anyone who regularly reads my blog.

the Shock Jock (52% dark, 50% spontaneous, 52% vulgar)

your humor style: VULGAR | SPONTANEOUS | DARK Your sense of humor is off-the-cuff and kind of gross. Is it is also sinister, cynical, and vaguely threatening to the purer folks of this world. You probably get off on that. You would cut a greasy fart, then blame it on your mom, and then just shrug when someone pointed out that she's dead. Yours is hands-down the most outrageous sense of humor; you like things trangressive and hardcore. It's highly likely (a) you have no limits (b) you have no scruples and (c) you have no job. Ironically, it's your type of humor that can make the biggest bucks in show business. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Howard Stern - Adam Sandler - Roseanne Barr The 3-Variable Funny Test! - it rules - If you're interested, try my best friend's best test: The Genghis Khan Genetic Fitness Masterpiece

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 48% on darkness You scored higher than 62% on spontaneity You scored higher than 79% on vulgarity

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

This naked post contains the words naked, nude, sexy, ass, tits, and jizz! When I posted my ramblings about the nude family photo I found a few nights ago, I found my traffic went through the roof due to pervs searching for naked shit! Fuck yeah! Fucking, sex, boning, ass spanking, golden showers, gay tickling, dildos, anal fisting, spooge orgy, double penetration, scat play, monkey spooning, cream pies, and cumshots! Come and get it, weirdos!

I was quickly scanning the Star Tribune headlines via my handy dandy RSS bookmark in Firefox yesterday and noticed this one. A ridiculous headline for a very sad story.

It's becoming quite clear that MySpace is dooming an entire generation of teenagers to having their junk chawed on by horny 40-something men and really hot female school teachers who used to model for wrestling magazines. MySpace recently announced that it would no longer allow adults to contact young children unless they knew the child's email address or full name. This is a step in the right direction, but this does not go far enough.

I propose the following additional changes to MySpace:

-Adults may not contact children at all. In fact adults will be barred from MySpace entirely.

-Children's profiles will be censored of any foul language, immoral thoughts, and decadent questioning of authority and mainstream ideologies.

-Quarterly letters will be sent to parents of MySpace users reminding them to pay careful attention to their child's internet habits, who they are chatting with online, who they are hanging out with offline, where they go at night, and to just plain GET OFF YOUR FUCKING ASS AND STOP EXPECTING EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD TO PARENT YOUR PUNK-ASS LITTLE SHIT!!!

Then when MySpace inevitably falters after kids lose the freedoms that drew them there in the first place, the site will ban kids entirely, and we adults can come back and turn it into the good old-fashioned meat market and flesh fest we've come to love! Then anyone can touch each other and themselves to their hearts' content. In fact, I'm getting a jump on the competition and starting right now!

Tuesday was my court date for my stop sign ticket from last month. I could have opted to just pay the $120+ ticket, but had my insurance company gotten wind of it, it would have cost me a hell of a lot more in increased premiums. I'm not new to this experience. Having kept a speeding ticket in Hennepin county off my record a couple years back, I decided to give it a whirl with Dakota county on this one. I have a clean driving record, save a speeding ticket from 1998, so I knew my odds were good of succeeding.

Much like my Hennepin experience, I opted to talk with the city attorney instead of go before the judge. Though Dakota county was different, as the cases over which the judge presided were going on in the same room while the city attorney was doing her thing. And very much Hennepin, misdemeanor trials were lumped in with the traffic violations. So while I had to wait 2 hours for my turn, I was kept mildly entertained by an endless parade of drunk drivers, teens caught drinking, and one disorderly conduct.

Both the judge and the city attorney were surprisingly upbeat, cordial women in their 40's and 50's, respectively. I suppose it helps that they're presiding over minor, often first offenses as opposed to pervs caught ass-raping and murdering hobos and bisexual nuns. So I had little worry when the attorney called my name and was not at all surprised when she offered a deal to keep the ticket off my record, provided I paid a $130 fine and had no further moving violations over the next year. That was the best I'd hoped for and was all too happy to sign the paperwork and pay the fine. In fact, since I'd payed $200 or more for my Hennepin county ticket, I was thinking it would be that much worse.

With the financial question mark of the speeding ticket no longer hanging over my head, yesterday I renewed my geeky quest to build a wireless NAS. With the exception of a beefy hard drive, I actually have all of the parts I need to build one. But I wanted it to be tiny enough to squirrel away in a small corner of my basement without running wires through the house. I plan to use it to backup my main computer in case the hard drive dies, or God forbid there's a fire upstairs or someone steals my computer. Now is it possible that the fire would comletely destroy my house? And is it possible said thief would steal both my computer and my NAS? Sure, but this is about migitating the risk of losing all of my data. My digital photos, movies I've taken, papers, documents, etc. would be devastating to lose.

By next Wednesday, I should have all of the following parts delivered:
-Argosy HD363N NAS hard drive enclosure
-Maxtor 300GB hard drive
-Actiontec 802.11g ethernet to wireless adapter

I could have bought an integrated unit with the hard drive, wireless, and case all prepackaged, but I went this route for more flexibility on my hard drive choice and to allow for easy upgrades as faster wireless equipment comes out.

That's right, bitches. I'm a geek. Suck it up, rub your nose in it, and roll around in it.

Maarmie has completed her epic account of her visit here to the Twin Cities. Check it out. Much more juicy (and sometimes embarrassing) detail than my perspective of it from last week.

-Friday
-Saturday
-Sunday
-Sunday evening/Monday morning

I think almost every single one of us has those embarrasing photos interspersed throughout family photo albums. We cringe when we bring a new significant other or friends home, only to have Mom drag out the albums full of pictures of you taking a bath with your sibling. There's even an outdoor nudie shot of me at age 4 or 5, covered head to toe in mud, with a prodigious stream of urine flowing forth from my youthful ween. Can't wait for my next girlfriend to see that one! Of course, those shots today would have to be developed by an underground network of Croatian nationals, as Wal-Mart would brand them as child pornography and call the police on my parents. Skimming their criminal records, the eye would be drawn to phrases like "children engaging in nude mud wrestling" and "golden showers."

Earlier tonight, however, I saw the nude childhood photography thing taken way too far. You've already seen it to the left there. I was searching for a word related to photography totally escaping my sleep-deprived mind (it was "candid shots"--yes, I'm that tired tonight) and entered anything I could think of into google, including family photos. Yes, this photo appeared smack dab in the middle at the top of the results page, illiciting a truly heartfelt and apropos "what the fuck???".

Where was it taken? Did they go to a Sears portrait studio and just tear off their shirts, leaving the photographer to stand frozen in stunned silence? It's hard enough to try to get the kid to smile with baby talk and a waggling stuffed kitty without dropping your eyes down to mom's saggy boobs flapping 10 feet from your face. Sears does not pay you enough for that bullshit, man!

Or was this taken at home? Maybe after a vigorous, sweaty session of pasty, middle-aged lovemaking, the couple decided to celebrate their mutual orgasm by taking the baby out of the crib (the poor kid was in the room through the whole thing, crying and wailing to no avail) to pose for a victory post-coital family portrait, as if to say, "THAT is how we MADE you, you ungrateful little cooing bag of shit!"

If so, who took it? I'd hope it was a camera with a timer, but part of me fears they pulled their 7 year-old out of bed (she was already wide awake because momma's a screamer) and forced her to snap this posed, all nude family review. In which case, that opens up a whole set of issues about how they've cut her out of the picture literally, and figuratively, since the new baby came along. The baby's traumatized enough, but his older sister is getting a serious brainfucking in her tender, young mindgina.

"Brenda Lee, come take a nice after-fuck photo of the family!"

"But momma, can't I be naked in the picture too?"

"No one wants to see your fat, naked whore body. Just take the fucking photo and go back to your room, fatty fat fat fatty fuck face."

And scene!

I just realized that I never in my entire life have crapped outside. Not in a remote field. Not in a hole whilst camping. Not in a port-a-potty. Not on a neighbor's doorstep. Not in a basement window egress. Not even on a sleeping hobo's chest.

In the past year, I have received notices that I am a member or eligible to be a member of class action lawsuits against the following (that I can remember):

-GE over problems with the fridge that I own. I have yet to see any of these problems. I didn't join the class.

-Springstreet Networks over some something such or other related to a personals website I am a member of. I joined and got several hundred free "points" on their site that can be used for contacting other members.

-Sprint PCS over claims that they improperly, perhaps illegally charged certain fees for mobile phone service. As a longtime Sprint customer, I will be joining this class.

-Viropharama over losses incurred by investors over misleading claims. I once owned a modest amount of Viropharma stock when they claimed to have a "cure" for the common cold back during the dot-com boom days. The stock tanked when FDA trials revealed their medication didn't do shit. I got a settlement check today for a whopping $48.72.

-Microsoft--the details of the suit I don't remember, but I didn't bother joining since it amounted to a $10 coupon for a Microsoft product.

-Edina Realty Title over claims that they double-billed people over certain line item fees. I stand to get $20.

So why bother joining these suits? Well, today I got almost $50 from Viropharma. If I hadn't joined the class, of which I was a rightful member, my share of the money would have been paid out to others. And in that case, I did get screwed over royally. Does it make up for the loss? No. But it's $50. In most cases, investment is a risk. You win some, you lose some. But when the company makes patently false claims to pump up their stock value, they should be held accountable legally and financially.

As for the others, I admit I'm just jumping on the bandwagon for free money. Sure, I was charged extra for this or screwed over for that, but part of me wonders if I'm just contributing to our overly litigious society. What do you think?

Tomorrow, I'm going to the Minnesota Zoo with my friend BJ. She's moving to Denver in a few weeks, and the zoo was on her list of things to do before leaving Minneapolis. Also on her list, is Chino Latino, so I believe there will also be a gathering of her friends there sometime next month. You wouldn't find me turning that invitation down.

Now back to the monkeys. It may surprise you to know that some people HATE monkeys. How could you friggin' hate monkeys? They are like little people that throw poop! What's not to love. Oh sure, there may be those who had the traumatic experience of being pissed on or covered in shit by a monkey at the county fair, but get the fuck over it already! Monkeys rock. That is my final judgement. Now put that monkey in diapers, bib overalls, and rollerskates, and that is the muthafuckin' monkey 2.0 right there.

Son of a bitch! For all my weirded-out, creepy crawlies from my visit to the Walker on Sunday, I've realized that I am now officially obsessed with the work of Matthew Barney, namely his work related to his series of 5 films called the Cremaster Cycle. I haven't seen any of them, but check the website out, read the plotlines, look at the sculptures, and view the trailer. That is some fucked up shit. I'm painfully curious, but given the description of some of the scenes, I don't know if I'd be able to watch. For example, in Cremaster 2, there's a full penetration scene, but the dude's schlong has a beehive for a head. And in Cremaster 3, a character has dental work performed and suffers a prolapsed rectum (aka a "pink sock"). Gaaaah!!! I also hear tell there's a scene in one of the films which is basically him sticking assorted objects up his ass, but I don't know if that's true. If so, then DOUBLE GAAAAHH!!!!

I have no recollection of how I first ran across the Cremaster website or knowledge of Barney's work, but on Sunday when we walked into one room at the walker, I immediately said, "This looks very Matthew Barney-esque." Sure enough, the plaque on the wall described it as being a series of photos and sculptures related to Cremaster 2 (go to the website, click "Sculpture", then "The Drone's Exposition" and "Slug" to see the display currently at the Walker).

Bee hive dicks, pink socks, anal insertions, and a very conflicted Jeremy. What more can I say?

I just spend the weekend playing tour guide for my friend maarmie ("maarmie" is her blog alias, as she wishes to remain anonymous there). Though it ended up being a fun-filled weekend, it wasn't without complications. There was a run-in with the law, I was scarred for life by modern art, and was sexually molested by a vagrant. I didn't take any photos, but maarmie took dozens, a few of which I've included. However, since she wishes to remain anonymous on her blog, I'm afraid I won't be posting any photos of her.

UPDATE: To see maarmie's (slightly differing) take on the weekend, she has started posting detailed accounts, and even *gasp* PHOTOS OF HERSELF!!!! She should have one or two more posts coming, and I'll post them here in the coming days.

maarmie's account:
-Friday
-Saturday
-Sunday
-Sunday evening/Monday morning

Maarmie lives in Florida and had flown up to Bloomington, IL to stay with a friend of hers. Their original plan was to drive together to visit Minneapolis, stay in a hotel, and perhaps I would spend an evening or a weekend day with them if I was able. When her friend decided she could no longer afford the trip, maarmie decided to rent a car, come for a whole weekend, and accepted my invitation to crash at my place. I have a very comfortable guest bedroom and thought it would be fun to play tour guide for a couple days. As she recounts in detail, but her trip got of to a very rocky start when she was pulled over doing 26 mph over the limit in a work zone in Illinois (I'm pronouncing the ending "s", as in "ill-in-noise" because I know that annoys the piss out of them there). This was the hard way of discovering that Illinois does not fuck around with speeders in work zones. She was initially assigned a mandatory court appearance in August, and the prospect of spending money to fly back in August, take more time off from work, and pay what will surely be several hundred dollars in fines and fees sent her into a mild (and understandable) panic. I received at least 6 phone calls Friday morning as she debated cutting her losses by scrapping the Minneapolis leg of her journey. Thankfully, she has since managed to move up her court date so she won't have to go back in August.

Unfortunately amidst wavering on her resolve to drive the rest of way here, maarmie's cell phone battery died (she didn't have a car charger) and our last conversation didn't leave me with a definitive answer as to whether she was coming or not. So once home from work, I left a note on the door for her to knock on the basement window, as I planned to lift weights and run on the treadmill for a while. Just before I was about to finish 4 miles, the knock came. Now keep in mind that though we have corresponded by email and talked on the phone several times, this was the first time maarmie and I had met in person. I swung open the door, out of breath from running, dripping sweat, and stinking to hell. I'm all about first impressions! I invited her in, let her make herself at home, cleaned up, and we headed to St Paul for dinner.

Instead of going into our activities in exhaustive detail, I'll list the highlights and lowlights and insert anecdotes as necessary. Asterisks (*) mark activities I had never done, despite having lived in the Twin Cities area for nearly 7 years.

Friday:
-Dinner at Axel's Bonfire on St Paul's Grand Avenue.
-A walk along Summit Ave to take in the historical houses and buildings, including a residence where F. Scott Fitzgerald briefly lived, and the James J. Hill mansion.
-*The stroll continued all the way to the Minnesota State Capitol building to marvel at its Renaissance style architecture and the dome modeled after St Peter's Basilica in Rome.
-A stop at Byerly's in Eagan for a few supplies to make breakfast and my favorite store bakery cake, the Triple Layer Chocolate Tiger cake (or something to that effect).

Saturday:
-A breakfast of scrambled eggs with peppers, onions, cheese, bacon, and sour cream, intended to be breakfast burritos, but I was so distracted by the prospect of cake that forgot to buy tortillas.
-A little over an hour at the Mall of America. This was not high on maarmie's list, but I insisted since it's only 10 minutes from my house and now she can at least say she's basked in the depthless bowels of the most obscene monument to American consumerism ever created.
-Some mandatory Caribou Coffee action.
-A light rail ride from the MOA to Nicollet Mall in downtown Minneapolis.
-Dinner and drinks at Chino Latino

Once downtown, we strolled along Nicollet Mall. After stopping for a few goofy photos with the Mary Tyler Moore statue, we listened to a band play a few songs at the Famous Dave's BBQ and Blues Festival in Peavey Plaza. When we had our fill (of music--no BBQ was consumed), we headed over to Hennepin to walk past the theaters and hit Block E for a bathroom break. Cutting over past the University of St Thomas, maarmie stopped to take a few photos, where we were immediately accosted by a scraggly guy asking for money to take the bus to St Paul. Per my standing policy of refusing to give money to people who beg for it, I politely but firmly declined to give him anything (I give money to charities that provide food and assistance to people who request it rather than directly to some clown to spend on drugs, booze, or otherwise piss it away). His reply was, "Oh yeah? Well now the mischief begins!" Given the tone of his voice and his sudden rush toward maarmie, I became concerned of his intentions and shifted my stance to prepare to tackle him. To our relief, he was just being a wise-ass and started waving is arms in front of her to block her camera shots. Though we'd realized his intentions were innocent and in good fun, the initial startled looks on our faces betrayed our fears. He apologized and moved on.

After whizzing in Block E (in the restrooms--they got upset when I pissed over the escalator railing last time), we marched on to walk past the Target Center and take some photos in front of the walls of stars outside First Avenue, the club featured in Prince's movie "Purple Rain". Thus began our second and most harrowing encounter with a begging vagrant. While rounding the corner to take some photos at the 1st Ave side of the building, we were confronted by a dude drunk off his heels. He wanted a dollar or two. Always a dollar or two with these guys! Not fifty cents, not a steaming ham sandwich on whole wheat, but a dollar or two. Given our previous encounter with a mind-altered wanderer, I was particularly agitated, more adamant in my refusal, and quickened my pace. He was persistent and kept blocking my path and trying to explain why he needed money in an unintelligible drunken slur. After a half-block, he mercifully gave up, and I checked over my shoulder to find...no maarmie. She was nowhere to be seen.

"God dammit!" I uttered with a sigh, as I turned heel and practically power walked toward to 7th St. I just knew I would be harangued again by the drunken Fucknut McGee. As I neared the corner, I spotted maarmie snapping photos on the 7th St side of the building. She had abandoned me. ABANDONED, I tell you!! Trying to avoid having to walk past my favorite drunken asshole, now wobbling about on the corner, I called out her name several times to no avail. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jeremy. This caught the attention of Shakey Surefoot, and he zeroed in. "You're back! Couldn't stay away!" he exclaimed, struggling to keep up with my determined pace. I ignored him, thought I'd caught eyes with maarmie and implored her to keep moving so we could lose this guy and come back around the block to take our photos. But she didn't hear me and continued snapping photos, forcing me to come to a dead stop.

Now he turned his attention to her. This time, instead of abandoning me again, she engaged him. NO! Even worse. As she raised her camera to him, I heard something to the effect of "You have a very interesting face. I'd like to take your photo." Despite two glaring what-the-fuck lasers shooting out of my eyes straight through her head, she snapped a daring close-up of his face, and he was now slightly incensed. Somehow, she calmed him down, and the next thing I knew, I was being handed her camera to take a photo of the two of them together. My what-the-fuck lasers dissipated in a cloud of confusion. Damn her and her Jedi mind tricks!

Pleased with the results on the digital camera's preview screen, Wobble Man, cheerfully offered his phone number so maarmie could mail him a copy of the photo. She politely explained that was unlikely to happen, and continued to hold the coherent side of one of the most puzzling conversations I've heard in recent memory. As they continued chatting/slurring, I decided that his cooperation with her desire for a photo warranted breaking my rules, and I surreptitiously fished a couple dollar bills from my pocket. Once they wrapped up their chat, I said "I usually don't do this, but..." I didn't know how to finish the "but" and handed him the money. A wide grin crossed his face, and he thanked me. He turned to maarmie and slapped her a painfully forceful high five, then grabbed me into a bear hug, and thrust his pelvis toward me several times. *Had I just been dry humped??? I felt dirty as he teetered away, but we were now free to snap our photos, hop onto the train, and head to Eagan to clean ourselves of wino funk and eat lunch. And definitely in that precise order.

Wanting my guest to experience some of Minnesota's finest gourmet food, I had Spam and lefse on hand. But I was left crushed as maarmie vehemently declined my insistent offers of canned meat. Nuts to her! I happily chowed down on a Turkey Spam sandwich with swiss cheese, jalapeno mustard, and ketchup, as she nibbled on her inferior grapes. Fruit-- I laugh at it--HA!! She did partake in lefse, however, and was spellbound as I buttered and sugared the shit out of the tortilla-like sheet. "That can't be good for you!" she protested. Of course it's not! Is pepperoni pizza good for you? Is a big ol' fatty steak good for you? Hells no! But you don't eat that shit every day any more than you eat butter and sugar rolled up in potatoes and flour. At first, she was taken aback by the gritty texture of the sugar, but once it melted with the first bite, she grabbed another piece and wolfed it down. I told her it was good!

After our mid-afternoon lunch, we both had much-needed naps, gabbed a while, and then got cleaned up and changed clothes to go out to Chino Latino with my friend Mary. Once in Uptown, we wandered around Calhoun Square and the shops in the surrounding area. At Chino, we enjoyed our $13 Crack Ho Mojitos and had an unsurprisingly incredible meal of Coconut Shrimp Curry and Philippine Paella with plenty of leftovers to take home.

After maarmie finished some sort of berry martini-looking drink, we headed over to the Uptown Bar to throw back a few more. I wasn't really in the mood to get plowed, so I just had a couple of Blue Moons, but maarmie downed at least 4 or 5 Midori Sours and was having herself a grand time, much to the delight and amusement of Mary and I. Though upon light of morning, she was a tad worried she'd offended Mary with some of her ribald stories. I assured her that Mary has heard far more colorful remarks and tales tumble from my foul cesspool of a word hole.

Though maarmie longed to go elsewhere for a few more drinks (I should point out that she is not normally a heavy drinker, but felt like living it up that night), we adjourned rather early and were back at my house by around 11:30. With her still quite tipsy and me half-asleep, we stumbled through a cloud of hazy conversation for several minutes then realized it was time to retire to our respective beds.

Sunday:
-*A couple hours hiking around Minnehaha Park in Minneapolis, including to the area below the falls.
-A lunch at home consisting of leftovers from Chino Latino.
-*A jarring visit to the Walker Art Center.
-*A stroll through the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, featuring one of our most photographed local landmarks, Spoonbridge and Cherry (though it was in the middle of being refinished and looked horrible)
-*A walk across the Irene Hixon Whitney Bridge over I-94 to Loring Park
-*A sampling of ice cream with cayenne pepper in it followed by a delicious ice cream cone at Sebastian Joe's Ice Cream Cafe just down Hennepin from the Walker.
-Dinner at Mystic Lake Casino with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, who happened to come into town that night, and my brother and his wife, who'd just returned the day before from 10 days of gallivanting about Europe.
-Losing money in the slot and video poker machines.
-S'mores by the fire in the back yard.

Prior to Sunday, I had never been to the Walker and now am not sure that I could bring myself to ever return. Much to the consternation of maarmie, has a deep appreciation of the arts, my verbatim assessment of the Walker: it's a bunch of weird, random crap. For a 30-year-old former hick from North Dakota, I like to think I have a very open mind, but the collection of modern art at the Walker left me mystified. Films of an old man breaking apart a ceramic bunny with a brick projected near another of a man in a bunny suit firing a pistol out a window. A wrecked Pontiac Grand Am recreated piece by crumpled piece in monotone fiberglass. A film of a small girl reading a book quietly to herself on a grassy hill. What the fuck? What drives me nuts about subjective art is that I could shit into a watermelon, force feed it to a horse, cut off the horse's dick, sew the dick on its head to make it a dick-o-corn, freeze it in a portable meat locker, and a group of turtle neck-wearing beatniks wearing thick emo glasses would applaud my genius, buy it and donate it to the Guggenheim where more turtle neck-wearing beatniks would discuss my dick-o-corn as commentary on the oppressive nature of patriarchal societies.

My other problem with the Walker was the atmosphere. I became increasingly creeped out wandering through room after dull, stark white room, all the while breathing in a musty smell reminiscent of a rarely cleaned parking ramp stairwell. Though I'm not claustrophobic and am not prone to environmental panic, I felt boxed in by the eerie emptiness of the rooms and needed to just plain get the fuck out of there. I didn't want to ruin maarmie's experience there, but when I'm extremely uncomfortable, I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. I think it's because focusing on pissing and moaning distracts from what I'm pissing and moaning about. Fortunately, the Walker is smaller than I expected, and after a stop to peruse the gift shop, we headed across the street to the Minneapolis Sculpture garden.

Originally we'd planned on dinner at Psycho Suzi's Motor Lounge, but my uncle had emailed me a few days beforehand to let me know he, my aunt, and my cousin would be staying out at the Mystic Lake Casino Hotel Sunday night. I felt bad dragging maarmie to a casino for dinner with people she doesn't know, but she actually seemed to look forward to it, as she'd never been on a reservation or in a casino before. Yes, really.

After a nice dinner with the family clan, my brother and sis-in-law went home to sleep off European jet lag, and maarmie and I went out to wander around the casino floor. I probably lost about $20 total, and we soon both decided it was time to go home. But the clutches of the casino's enormity and winding aisles had me all turned around. It was like being trapped at Ikea (I just want to buy damn pencil holder and go home!!!). I'll bet we wandered looking for the right exit for 20 minutes, with more and more steam shooting out my ears as the seconds ticked by.

Following a trip to the store for supplies to make s'mores at the fire pit in my back yard (maarmie had never had fireside s'mores before, either), we retired for the evening. Maarmie left Monday morning when I headed out to work at about 7:30 and arrived safely in Bloomington, IL late in the afternoon. My first cross-country meeting of a fellow blogger went off without a hitch, we both had a great time, and I wasn't murdered in my sleep. Always a bonus. I got a huge kick out of playing host and tour guide and sincerely hope maarmie will come back sometime. An offer has been extended to visit her in Florida, and perhaps once my new job settles after a few months, I will try to do just that. Now I just need to find a blog friend in Hawaii!

Day after day for the last several weeks, I've been floored by the deals on high definition LCD, plasma, and DLP televisions. Keep your eye on techbargains.com and gotapex.com to see what I mean. Within the last few weeks, a 50-inch plasma television was on sale for $2300 online. For many, myself included, that's still way too much money to drop on a TV, but considering a similar plasma several years ago probably would have sold in the $10,000 to $15,000 range, that is a damned good deal. Even just last year, a similar television probably would have cost over $4,000.

This is not exactly a Nostrodamian prophecy, but I predict this Christmas sales season we'll see outrageous deals on thin and small form factor hi-def TV's. I think $1000 to $1500 50-inch plasmas are not out of the question and even sub-$1,000 50-, perhaps 60-inch DLP's are within the realm of possibility. Now you're talking money that a middle class family with a moderate amount of disposible income can afford.

As for me, I recently considered getting a smaller CRT HDTV (the thick, heavy badboys with a glass tube). I saw 32-inch model on sale for $500 recently and was tempted. But both the money, and the specs on the TV shut that idea down. If I'm going to buy an HDTV, whether it's a large screen plasma, DLP, or LCD or a smaller screen CRT, I will not settle for less than 1080i resolution (the highest resolution currently available). True, a lot of cable companies and even tv stations are not broadcasting in full 1080i yet, but it's a matter of future proofing in my mind. Whatever I buy will likely be the TV I'm using for hopefully the following decade or so.

As with my ipod rant a while back, I have a pretty firm set of spec and price requirements before I'll give in to the HDTV revolution. And being able to afford it at the time will play into it obviously.

Correction: Evidently 1080p has better picture quality, but is still relatively new. For more info on what's what, here are a couple good articles...

- 1080i vs 1080p HDTV: Should You Care?

- 1080i article at Wikipedia

You like titties. Hell, you love them. I know I do. I like big boobs, cute little perky boobs, and all manner in between. What red-blooded, non-gay male does not like a fine racktastic pair of tetons? The question is how do you react to them?

Are you honking on the bosoms of random women on the street or at the bar? WRONG! Do you ass fuck every sheep that walks by, too? If yes, then this lesson is beyond you. If no, then you obviously have some level of control, perv. Apply it to your headlight grabbing ways and keep your hands at your sides.

Do you shout compliments at said random women about their knockers? Gems like, "My flashlight went dead, baby! Can I borrow those double D's?" or "Hey, baby! I want to honk on your bosoms in the street or at the bar!" What...the...fuck...DUDE! How would you like it if women started shouting at you, "Nice bitch tits, Chesty McBoob! AAA-OOOOO-GAAA!!!" or "I'll bet you have really hairy balls!" That's what I thought.

Do you STARE at a woman's jumblies when speaking with her? You're not being subtle at all. She knows what you're looking at. She's used to guys eye-honking her breasts and knows the drill. The jig is up, Kemosabe. I know it's hard (no, I wasn't referring to THAT--I mean DIFFICULT!), but look up. Look into her eyes when you're talking to her. She'll appreciate it. Jerry Seinfeld said it best. "Looking at cleavage is like looking at the sun...You get a sense of it then you look away."

Follow these rules, and worst case, you'll have a girl who can't believe you're not a total asshole. Maybe she'll even have a little respect for you. Best case, you'll eventually have those boobs in your mouth. But ask permission first. I've never been slapped so hard in a Jamba Juice in my entire life.

These were the outdoor and indoor readings from my bedside thermometer at 7:10 am on this fine 6/6/06. Freaky! I swear I did not doctor or setup this photo!

Over lunch on Thursday, I rushed home (it's a 15 minute drive) because I forgot my phone there, was going to run errands after work, and wanted to have it on me just in case. I'm naked without my phone. What if I see an accident and need to call for help? What if I'm IN an accident? What if I have the urge to call my mom, fart into the phone, and hang up? You just never know, and my slightly obsessive compulsive nature would lead me focus so intently on not having my phone that all joy and focus would be lost for the rest of my day.

A few days beforehand, the temperatures had rocketed to nearly 100 degrees, causing heaved pavement on several roadways throughout the metro. One of them was on I-35 northbound in Burnsville just before it splits off into 35W and 35E. The center lane had heaved up slightly, which MNDoT addressed by placing warning signs that essentially said "Hey, the pavement failed up there. Careful and best of luck. XOXOXXOO, MNDoT" Yes, thanks for fixing it.

I had noticed this bump on my way home from work the previous day and avoided it by getting into the right lane. Unfortunately the car in front of me took the "careful and best of luck" route and hurdled over the heaved up section at 75+ mph, sending a piece of loose pavement directly into the plastic bumper of my car. There is now a lovely black impact point and series of scrapes in the bumper of my silver goddess. Although the more I look at it, it doesn't look terrible. I could probably patch it up reasonably well with an epoxy kit of some sort. I soldiered on, retrieved my phone, ate a bowl of soup, and headed back to work.

My mission after work--find and purchase two pairs of shoes, one every day pair for work and general milling about, and one funky, casual pair for going out (dates, out to the bar, etc). For most straight guys, myself included, shoe shopping ranks right up there with eating hepatitis-infected poo or having a mime jiggle our balls while we yodel. Yet my pickiness over my shoes falls somewhere in between that of a drunken cowboy and an understudy for the role of Rum Tum Tugger. I am not a slave to fashion, but I know what I like. To further complicate the selection process, my shoe size of 14 makes it more than a little daunting to find shoes that fit well. Outside of the sneaker world, many manufacturers do not make shoes larger than size 13. Combining all of these pain-in-the-ass factors usually restricts my shoe shopping excursions to being an annual affair.

With both my funky and daily shoes in ratty repair to the point they were causing me blisters, I decided it was time to bite the bullet and venture out on a shoe quest. Over the years, I have owned at least 7 pairs of variations of the same model of brown Rockport walking shoes for my day to day activities. They're casual enough to wear with jeans while running errands but decent enough to where with khakis in a business casual office setting. They're also extremely comfortable, durable, and most importantly fit my gigantic clodhoppers. Looking on Rockport's website, I saw that Marshall Field's in Burnsville Center carries their products, and since that's just a few miles from where I work, that was my first stop. Unfortunately, the selection of men's shoes there is shit, and they didn't carry my beloved model. Piss on them--I continued to the Mall of America, which has an actual Rockport store. Ever my savior, they had them. But the salesman had me try a new model that had Reebok DMX cushioning built into it. Definitely a lot more spring and support than my old standby. At the same price as my usual choice, I decided to give them a rip. So far they're quite comfortable. Though I may still take the salesman's suggestion of sending the old ones in to be resoled and cleaned for $40. That's less than half of what a new pair usually cost.

This is where the marathon began--funky shoes. Store after store after store had nothing remotely like what I was looking for. And the stores that had anything I liked didn't have them in my size. Cool green sneaks at Puma--the biggest was a 9. Next! Shafted again on two different pairs at Bostonian. Nutty fudgekins. After walking several uncomfortable miles in my old Rockports, I realized it was now time to bite the bullet and drive all the way to Calhoun Square in Uptown Minneapolis. I didn't remember the name of the store, but I remembered there was one that had a large selection uber funky shoes to my liking (unfortunately at commensurately high prices).

On a perfect, sunny June evening with low humidity, Uptown was a madhouse of motorcycles, cackling throngs of hipsters drinking and dining on patio and sidewalk eateries, bewildered pedestrians, and overly brave bicyclists. I slowly maneuvered my injured car through the unwashed masses, parked in the ramp adjoining Calhoun Square and made my way inside. I stumbled my way to the store in question, which I found was called Bay Street Shoes & Accessories. After pawing through their clearance table and finding nothing, I carefully eyeballed their wide selection. The prices made me cringe. $100, $150, even $200+ price tags were the order of the day. This is yet another reason I'd hoped to avoid this store. I sighed as I recalled the $40 sneakers at Bostonian that didn't quite fit. After much careful internal debate, I decided to inquire about an orangey (I'm terrible describing colors--see the photo) pair of Campers at $125 (gulp) and a reddish pair of leather Kenneth Coles at $180 (double gulp). The perfectly coiffed, supergay salesman in the pink polo shirt cheerfully congratulated me on my selection, particularly lavishing praise on the Campers, and disappeared into the back to see what was in stock. The Kenneth Coles were not in stock, but he had the Campers in a European 13. Praise be to Jebus, they fit perfectly and were reasonably comfortable. It was bipedal destiny.

Prior to this, I was not familiar at all with the Campers brand, but evidently they are quite popular. As I purchased my impromptu dinner at Jimmy John's before leaving Calhoun Square, the young sales girl cooed as I set my bag on the counter to pay for my purchase. "Ooooh! Which Campers did you get? There is a pair of their boots I would just die for." I knew then that I had selected well. A gay man and a teenage girl dug my shoe purchase. I was the bees fucking knees. With an unbearable 3-1/2 hours and nearly 50 miles of shopping and driving behind me, I pulled into my garage at home, kicked off my sweaty Rockports, and settled in for the evening, assured I will not have to shop for shoes again until next summer, perhaps even the following fall. Suck it, retailers.

Originally found at slashdot. What happens when you combine over 100 large bottles of Diet Coke with a crapload of Mentos? Pure magic.

http://eepybird.com/dcm1.html

This is what happens when you drink alone. Click for larger picture.

(Paraphrasing...)

"God has root access to my soul, but you've got root access to my heart."

Trust me, for a geek, that's hilarity.