Wonderland

From me and mine to you and yours - Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!

Holiday Rush

Places to be, people to see

Very busy, very busy

Happy Happy, Joy Joy

Jingle all the Way

Karmic

Dear Sunshine State,

I'm sorry I called you a wang. I take that back. You are truly lovely. Your powdery white-sand beaches that line your barrier Keys, azure waters & subtropical atmosphere, combined with your sophistication & charm, make you the gem of America's Gulf Coast.

We're back home now. The flight went well, but our plane landed at MSP in a blizzard. It took me an hour and a half to shovel us out the next morning. I'm no "weather wimp", but I am freezing my ass off. My tan and the warm memories of you have been a source of great comfort these past two day. Thanks for everything. - Matthew

P.S. I miss you

Do You See What I See

I know the Dear Lord Baby Jesus wasn't born into this world for the sake of us Yankees alone, but the holidays on the "SunCoast" is a trip. I'm glad to see they celebrate His birthday in other parts of the world, though I can't even describe how peculiar it strikes me to see Christmas tree dealers set up in parking lots underneath circus tents shaded by 30 ft. palm trees & lighted wicker reindeer on the front lawns of homes next to open convertibles parked on crushed shell driveways. It's...It's...It ain't right.

I am glad to see that the locals here take care of their skin too. There are dermatology offices, laser rejuvenation clinics & dermasurgery centers all over the place. Which reminds me, we're out of sunscreen. I'll have to pick that up later. Right now, we're off to the beach!

Sweater Weather

The thermometer dipped below 60 here. Over night. For like a few hours. The weather guy on the local ABC Action News this morning actually apologized for the "unseasonably cold" temps. I laughed out loud when I heard his follow up comment. This isn't a quote, but it was petty much: Hang in there, relief is on the way. HA! Weather wimps.

Changes In Latitudes

The fam is currently on a business/pleasure trip. None of my business though. The 3 of us are just tagging along while the Mrs. conferences with her peers to discuss the latest and greatest trends in reproductive technology. Intracytoplasmic sperm injection anyone? She's done with things by noon every day though. So we're getting a lot of play time down here on America's wang. I know, how apropos. The weather, by the way, is completely unpredictable. One hour it might be in the high 80's, the next, low 80's.

Thank You

Gratitude is the heart's memory.
~ French Proverb

A Dinosaur Sensation

So, my tots have have discovered Barney. Right now, not much seems to bring them more glee. (Maybe bubbles. And bananas.) No matter how many times they've seen it, as soon as the music starts their eyes widen and their gazes fix and the instant they get that first glimpse of the singing dinosaur, they both squeal: "Barneeeeey!" I laugh every time. They are Barney devotees. I'm pretty sure we can watch the exact same episode 3x in a row and they would react the same way each time it started over. I haven't tested that, but we sure have watched the exact same episode 3 days in a row. Our girl's aren't TV addicts either. Not by the least. It wasn't something we rationed (too much); they just aren't that into it. They don't turn to the tube just because it's on. I am so glad for that. They are quite happy occupying themselves with whatever else is on hand, or chasing the dog or jumping into my lap from the coffee table. Except when it comes to Barney. Then the world stops and I suddenly become a nuisance to be swept aside with the wave of a tiny two year old hand.

Now, Barney finds his big purple behind on the the butt end of many a joke. I have to admit though, I don't mind him. For a short time, before discovering Barney & Friends, the girls enjoyed the Teletubbies. Personally, I'd choose the Teletubbies over Barney any day; but I no longer control the remote once they see the Sprout on-demand channel. It's instantly, "Barney, Barney, Barney" and I must relent. But, like I said, Barney's not all that bad. The themes are excellent really. Wash your hands, brush your teeth, pick up your crap when you're done playing with it. I like that. In fact, we sing "Clean up! Clean up! Everybody, everywhere..." at the end of almost every day. My mild OCD is delighted and has Barney to thank for that ritual. BJ and Baby Bop don't grate on me like they do to some parents. He's a completely ancillary character, but that tree squirrel, who shows up in random vignettes, is probably my favorite.

But I digress. My original point was going to be how the show is really starting to get to me and how I hope this phase is short lived. But after all that Barney praise, you may be asking what's left not to like? Well, let me tell you: It's those kids. Those real life children on the show who imagine up Barney to begin with. They bug the hell out of me! Every single one. Well, except for Chip maybe. And Jeff, he's cool. But the rest, ugh! Their squeaky whines are like fingernails on a chalkboard now. Their perma-grins make me want to poke them in the eye. Their bad outfits make me want to send them to the Gap; or at least Old Navy. I don't want to hear or see them anymore. Especially Robert and Stephen. That pair are the longest, sharpest, nails on that get-along gang hand. This week, we've been watching the fire truck episode; over and over. Luckily, Stephen isn't in it, but Robert is. Skinnylegs McJunior does a whole song about how he wants to be a fireman when he grows up. Yeah, whatever Robert. The only fireman outfit I see in your future is the one you're wearing on stage between the police man and the Indian singing YMCA. Ouch. Zinger!

See, those kids bring out the worst in me! Luckily, it doesn't do that to my babies. In fact, the most amazing thing happened to me this weekend. My daughters sang to me. And they sang: "I love you, you love me..." I just about melted, right there and then. I'm not kidding, I may have actually teared up from the surge of joy and honor and blessedness that I was experiencing. It was a truly magnificent moment; and it hit me in stereo! I have to thank Barney for that experience as well.

No One Hit Wonders

Humidor? We don't need no stinkin' humidor!

You Look Like a Rube

Check out our Secretary of State. Do you think Dr. Condoleezza Rice ever killed someone? Well, let me rephrase that. Do you think Condi's ever killed someone with her own bare hands, I mean. I bet Ms. Desiree Anita Ali-Fairooz pondered the same notion the instant she got this close to the good Dr. Funny how the provocateur looks to be the scared one. "A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti."

It's true, I swear

A British University has discovered "the relevance, and even the importance, of using non-conventional & sometimes uncivil language in the workplace" and describes it as an "emotional release & effective way of promoting social relationships with others."

Apparently, cussing at work proves to be a benefit to employees and their employers. Sounds like we really can never mind the bollocks! At the office at least.

Professor Yehuda Baruch found that the regular use of profanity not only helped individuals articulate their feelings and reduce tension, but also boosted camaraderie amongst co-workers. The Prof, and his grad student co-author, set about to challenge leadership styles and examined the use of expletives and swearing in the work place from a managerial point of view. They are now warning that attempts to prevent workers from swearing could have a negative impact on business. The study notes that "swearing was as a social phenomenon to reflect solidarity and enhance group cohesiveness, or as a psychological phenomenon to release stress." The study surmises that "by allowing staff to swear as a means of expressing feelings of frustration and tension...working conditions could improve". The pair notes that "abusive swearing" should not be allowed, as that may add to workplace stress. Cursing in front of customers and management should be avoided as well. The investigation concludes that "taboo language serves the needs of people for developing and maintaining solidarity, and as a mechanism to cope with stress."

I don't know how much time and effort Professor Yehuda took to study this "phenomena", but I have one comment for the researcher: No shit Sherlock.

The article, entitled "Swearing at work and permissive leadership culture: when anti-social becomes social and incivility is acceptable" is published in the current issue of the Leadership and Organization Development Journal (Vol 28 Issue 6, pages 492-507) and is probably not available anywhere you're going to be.

Note To Self:

Take a deep Pranayama breath...

My children are not trying to be defiant or rebellious on purpose. They're just expressing their growing independence and do not have the language skills to easily express their needs. Ideal children do not always agree with their parents. Ideal parenting does not prevent the Terrible Twos; it only helps children navigate them.

Breathe out.

Breathe in...

My children are not trying to be defiant or rebellious. They're just expressing their growing independence and...

Happy second birthday babies. You are my joy.

Czech Your Head

After tolerating months of idle speculation and allegation, a proud father in the Czech Republic decided to take Maury Povich measures in an attempt to quell the rumors that were flying rampant down at his local saloon. Libor himself thought it odd that his infant daughter, Nikolka, bore no resemblance to him, whatsoever; but could only take so much of his drinking buddie's jabber about his wife's alleged infidelity. So, to shut their mouths once and for all, he scheduled a paternity test. And wouldn't you know it, he was not the father. So Libor Broza confronted his wife, Jaroslava Trojanova, who denied any extracurricular activity and, to prove so, submitted to a DNA test herself. And wouldn't you know it, she was not the mother. Surprise!

The couple quickly questioned the local hospital and found that 4 other girls were born that same day, 10 months ago. It didn't take long to identify the parents who took possession of their biological child in a, apparently, really bad mistake. However, along with Nikolks'a physical appearance, there were other inaccuracies that should have been a red flag for, I don't know, at least someone. Like how the infant's weight dropped from 7.26 pounds to 5.83 the day after she was delivered. "We were overjoyed after the birth of our baby, we did not pay any attention," Libor told a local newspaper. It sounds like papa Libor spends a lot of time at the pub, but was their Dr. drunk too?

Regardless, imagine hearing something like that! "The child you've raised since birth really isn't the child you birthed. Whoopsy! Our bad. But the good news: we do know the parents we gave your baby to. Oh, and you have theirs. Sorry 'bout that." How do you cope with that kind of news? What does it do to your relationship with your child? With your other child? What does it mean to be a "parent"? It's an imbroglio that lays bare heaps of moral and ethical perplexities. The potential intricacies and ramifications are, undoubtedly, life changing for everyone involved. It's not like you just meet the other couple for dinner and a Yankee Swap. Or do you?

All I know is that on April 23rd, the date our 3rd child is predicted to arrive, I'm not letting that kid out of my sight.

¡No soy muerto todavía! Realmente

So, your country hasn't adopted Family Contact Day yet and your stuck at work? I feel for you my friend. I'm in the same boat. It's raining here today too. What a downer. At least you're not Mr. Carlos Camejo though. Don't bother complaining about the stack of papers, or dirty clothes, you have to sort through to this guy. I don't think he'll have too much sympathy for you; but he can tell you what a bad day is really like. This Venezuelan man was recently hurt in a serious car wreck. Seriously hurt. So seriously hurt, in fact, that he was rushed by ambulance to the city morgue. Yeah, dead serious.

As if lying, all cadaverous, on a morgue slab wasn't bad enough, just wait. Things get worse for corpse once the medical examiners got a hold of him. They began their autopsy by cutting into the recently departed's face, but had to take pause and scratch their heads when the deceased Mr. Camejo started bleeding. You see, dead men don't tell tales, or bleed. So they did what any self-respecting physician with high ethical standards would do: quickly stitch up their incision, quietly move him to a nearby corridor and...leave him there.

His grieving widow, who was called to the hospital to identify her expired husband, found him in the hallway and not dead. ¡Ay Dios Mio! I'm assuming the doctors weren't there to explain things to the Camejos because they were cleaning the shit out of their pants.

Carlos seems to be doing well now. Here he is, telling his story to the El Universal newspaper last Friday, holding his own death certificate and sporting a swell new facial scar.

Только сделайте это

Ice box not keeping your borscht cold enough? Fetzer valve leaking fluid from your AvtoVAZ Automobilny? Fret not my Ruskie brothers, for today is your lucky day. That's right, it's that time of year again. Merry Conception Day comrades!

If the Kremlin's a rockin', don't come a knockin'. Two years ago, Provincial Governor, Sergei Morozov, declared September 12th "Family Contact Day" for all of Ulyanovsk and encourages citizens to go home and roll in the hay. What makes Sept. 12th so special, you may ask? 9/12 is exactly 9 months from the 6/12 National holiday of "Russia Day"! Families who "give birth to a Patriot," on Russia Day, get to put their living raffle ticket into a hopper and win fantastic prizes such as cash, a refrigerator or a car! Pozdravlyayu!

According to Reuters, the celebration, coined "Conception Day" by Russia's press, was prompted by the declining birth rate. Just like Swiss glaciers, the population of Russia is also shrinking. In fact, the largest country on Earth is close to the least populated. As deaths continue to exceed births, the number of Russian residents is decreasing by about 700,000 people a year. Uvidimsya! Russia's high rates of AIDS, alcoholism and suicide seem to be the major factors in this decline. Good times.

Gov. Sergei permits couples to work only a half day, allowing them to leave early to return home to spawn. From Russia with love. In Family Contact Day's first year, 311 would-be baby makers signed up to just do it. 9 months later, 46 little babushka's were birthed. Last year, 500 women registered for the reproduction rally. On 6/12/07: 78 babies were born. That's a 4.5% increase in the birth rate since the event was conceived. Mother Russia is pleased.

The thing that intrigues me the most though, what were those 189 ladies thinking in 2005? Who turns down a government approved get-out-of-work-free-card with the added bonus certificate of afternoon coitus? What about the hundreds of (presumably more) other women who are at work, right now, choosing to stay there rather than take the day off to fornicate with their mate? Talk about an iron curtain.

Sudden Serious Sweetness

Who has the coolest wife ever? I do, I do!

Let me tell you why. After coming in from mowing the lawn this weekend, all bummed out with a dead mp3 player in my hand, she looked at me and said: "Why don't we go look at those new iPods you've been talking about." I sort of thought she was just being mean at first. Like she was going to to crack herself up any second and then apologize for the bad joke; but she didn't. Instead, she completely stunned me by saying she'd like to trade a piece of jewelry, I surprised her with, for it. She was totally sincere too. I had recently given her a very pretty bracelet of fresh water pearls as a gift. You know, just for...because. Who doesn't like unanticipated gifts? She was very touched, I know. But after thinking about it for a couple weeks, she decided she wasn't going to wear it enough to keep. I honestly tried to talk her out of it too. Really, for all she does for us, she's deserving of a lot more than semi-precious. But the bracelet was silvery, rose and blue in hue and I think it was just a little to "girly" for her. And as they say, it's the thought that counts, right? I surely never would have predicted she's be so pleased by my intention alone that she would want to take back jewelry and buy me a present though. Go figure. It's Oh so O. Henry!

I don't know why, but I usually equate Karma with punishment, not reward. It really does go both ways though. It doesn't hurt to be married to such a genuinely unselfish woman either. The Mrs. did mention, however, that "this probably won't happen the next time" I decide to surprise her with a shiny adornment.

I wouldn't want it to. Thank You K. You're so awesome!

P.S. You were totally right. This iPod blows away the Neuros in every respect; and you know how geeked I was over that thing.

Take Offs & Landings

Our friend Berit recently introduced a new web site, devoted to travel goods, gadgets & gizmos, to the infobahn. She calls it "cool stuff for travelers" and she should know. Along with being the gal-about-town and all'round hep lady that she is, Berit's an author, travel writer & citizen of the world herself. You can find her books on Amazon and read her travel pieces in magazines and newspapers nationwide.

From fun to functional, the befittingly named, TrustyPony.com aims to appropriately outfit your next adventure. Whether it's a Sunday swing through the Farmer's Market, a week of hopping the Paris Métro or a month of trekking through Laos, Trusty Pony just might have the ideal accessory to make your trip a little more comfortable; or at least a little more cute. And if there are no impending expeditions on your horizon, this site may get you to start planning one. I'm already perusing my globe just to find a place to utilize a new box of tea tree & vitamin E wipes by La Fresh. I think I'd like to wipe somewhere warm.

Ice Road Truckers

This weekend, 600 people posed naked on a melting glacier for pornographer, I mean photographer, Spencer Tunick. Greenpeace commissioned the work in an effort to increase awareness of global climate change. The mostly European models converged on the Aletsch Glacier near Bettmeralp, Switzerland to show their support; and their naughty bits.

According to Greenpeace, Swiss glaciers have lost about 1/3 of their length and 1/2 their volume over the past 150 years. The Aletsch ice floe ebbed 377 ft. in 2005 alone, and the melting rate seems to be increasing. Greenpeace predicts that the current global warming situation will strip Switzerland of all it's glaciers by 2080, and they can't bare the though. "An emergency provokes extreme responses: human beings in danger will abandon social niceties, etiquette, and the norms of acceptable behaviour to raise an alarm any way they can when lives are in danger." All models that raised more than an alarm were politely asked to exit the shoot.

In a statement to Geneva's Le Temps newspaper, the glacier said: "We're in the Alps, I'm made of ice, don't you people know about shrinkage!"

Delinquent

Although there hasn't been much happening here at Humdrummy as of late, trust me, it's only the site that's been inactive. I've been super-busy with packing up and moving out and moving in and unpacking. It's been stressful, but I'm not complaining. We're close to done now. Just a few more boxes to unload. We're definitely settling in too. I feel like the fam is flourishing. And the house is a result of that, not the other way around. Things are just going great. I am so thankful. I guess I should say things are mostly great though. The Twin Cities is still dealing with the aftermath of the bridge collapse. Rescuers found another body yesterday, but the reports of survival and heroism that have been coming out are nothing short of miraculous. Like the one of Paul Eickstadt. He was driving the burning semi that is continuously shown on the news. Mr. Eickstadt did not survive the crash. But now, it's looking more and more likely that he purposely drove his truck in front of that yellow school bus to cushion it's impact. He may have single handedly saved 61 lives. Imagine making that decision. May the Lord make his face to shine upon you, Mr. Eickstadt.

Then, this weekend, I swear we were hit by a tornado. I'm not kidding. I watched tree limbs and panels of vinyl siding swirling in the air close to our 2nd fl. windows. The sound this downburst produced was so blustering it drowned out the weather sirens that went off around 3:30am. We really didn't need any alarm to tell us the weather was "severe" though. I was bummed, and pretty overwhelmed, by the extent of the wreckage we found while surveying our property the next morning. Our new house held up well, but each tree we have was damaged. The news says it was "straight line winds." For us, that meant 70-80mph winds that shoot along the ground rather than forming a rotational pattern , otherwise called a cyclone. The damage it causes, however, is similar. There was wood everywhere. One maple snapped completely in half. Thick limbs, from a 200 year old oak, camouflaged our back lawn. Luckily, we were spared the machine gun spray of acorns that our neighbor's house endured. We found our glass topped table, anchored by an umbrella screwed into a 40lb base, flipped over and pushed into the corner of the deck underneath all the chairs. The gas grill was pushed into another corner. A neighbor's stainless steel model was lying in the middle of her lawn; the same way another neighbor's privacy fence was spread out across ours. Whole evergreens were leveled, their root systems ripped from the Earth. Fences, decks and retaining walls all around were piled in heaps in their owner's yards.

Not knowing exactly what to do in this situation, I took ques from my neighbors, threw on a pair of work gloves, grabbed my camp saw and started on the cleanup. I quickly, and a little embarrassingly, realized that my humble handsaw was just not going to cut it. But that's all we had, so I soldiered on. Fortunately, a gracious stranger, who was watching my exercises in futility while tending to his own mess, came to my aid. (Thank you Steve from the brown house with the giant sandbox in the back yard!) He introduced himself as my new neighbor and fired up his lumberjack worthy chainsaw. He quickly felled the damaged trunks that were split and cracked and removed the larger limbs that were left hanging as well.

Later that afternoon, I set about the task of cutting those limbs down to a manageable size. A more appropriate task for my handsaw, or so I though. I broke it about an hour into the endeavor. I knew right then that there was nothing else I could do...but get my own chainsaw! Home Depot actually sold out earlier that morning but had truckloads shipped in from WI. I came home with 18 inches & 40cc's of precision cutting machinery and went to town on that timber! I'll be honest, it was a little intimidating at first, but the virile powers of a chain saw are hard to refute. I was soon wielding the tool in true Paul Bunyan style. It was quite the he-man display indeed. I did more cutting and lifting and hauling than I've done in a very long time. Thanks to Dan, Don, Shirley & neighbor Steve #2 for helping out also. 2 long days & 4 van loads of debris to the local compost site later, the yard looks fantastic. I'm hoping all the trees will survive too.

The new house, by the way: totally awesome. The door's always open too. So stop on by! Just give me a little time to recuperate from this weekend. If my body were a machine, it would be an old rusty one. I'm a little sore today. Which reminds me, I think it's about time to eat some more Advil.

Tragedy

Thanks to all the friends and family who called us up so quickly last night. That meant a lot. Our fam is safe and sound. We were at a friend's retirement party and hadn't even heard the news of the bridge collapse until the mobile started ringing. When we turned on the radio, all the initial accounts described a large "boom" before the bridge was gone. It was hard not to contemplate some kind of explosion. The FBI stated early on that there were no signs of terrorist activity, but they had dispatched inspection crews to check out many of the area's other bridges. Although it was I-35W that was affected, we chose to alter our rout home to avoid the 35E bridge that spans the Mississippi on the way out of St. Paul. It was a weird feeling.

There are about 82 bridges in the Twin Cities area. 27 major connections cross the Mississippi river alone. It's hard to get into, or out of, the cities without using one. Just like it is in most seaside and river towns, bridges are an integral part of the infrastructure here. Most of us don't give a second thought when the road we're driving on suddenly changes into a platform suspended in mid air, as high as 60-160", above the water. And if we do notice the change, rarely, if ever, do we consider that it's going to fall down.

4 people have died, 79 are injured and 30 are still missing. Rescue divers are in the river, right now, reaching into the front seats of submerged cars and reading license plate numbers with their fingers because visibility is close to zero. It's a sad experience for the Twin Cities, a grim task for the emergency workers and a devastating incident for the families directly involved with this disaster. Let's all keep these folks in our thoughts. They need as much support as we can give them, no matter how far away it's coming from.

Give Blood

Tease

My good friend, and college roommate, has been in town these past couple days. It's been so great to catch up and hear about his growing family and growing business. He's really bad with emails and texts and phone calls and keeping in touch with his best friends, so there's been a lot to talk about. Andy works with trucks now. And I mean the big rigs, 18 wheeled tractor trailers. Breaker One-Nine, this here's the Rubber Duck, you got a copy on me A-Rod? 10-4 good buddy. There's a mama bear on your tail, you better get to double nickles. Copy that. I still picture Andy selling cashmere sweaters in the men's dept. of Nordstrom. He's not exactly the "trucker" type, but seems to really enjoy what he's doing. It cracked me up to be driving down the road with him as he pointed out the make of every semi we passed. It was sort of like Slug Bug except he didn't hit me, yelled "Peterbuilt" or "Kenworth" and was pretty much playing with himself.

So last night we're at the local pub. Andy's telling me all about his 2 beautiful children and the discussion he's having with his wife concerning the naming of their soon to arrive third. I always expected his kids to be little "Kjerstens" or "Gunnars" because he's such a Swedophile. But he has bestowed strong Irish monikers upon his progeny and it sounds like that will continue. But I'm not sure. You just don't hear the name "Fergal" now a days.

Although my friend never reads this blog, I know his lovely spouse does. That makes this next part a little awkward, but I feel I should mention something. I'm hesitant because I'm not sure if Andy's going to say anything to his wife about this or not; but he was totally getting hit on the whole time we were there. It wasn't entirely one sided either. Actually, the flirting started as soon as we sat down. "See anything you like?" our blond and well manicured server, in tight khaki shorts, said coyly as Andy perused the tap list. That question was posed twice. The second time, I don't even think we were looking at menus. It was not a subtle come on. I swear Andy winked at him during one exchange too. Our waiter must have been by the table 5 or 6 times before he checked in with the hetero couple seated next to us. "How does it taste?" he asked a few minutes after delivering our plates; a wicked grin upon his face. His eyes locked on Andy the whole time. He ordered the grilled salmon & penne with beans & carrots, on our server's recommendation, by the way. I believe he told the waiter it was "divine." I thought it best we leave before he had another 10% Belgian beer and things got weird.

It was nice not to see an engorged body part on our guest when he woke up this morning. I think our server, on the other hand, would beg to differ. Probably beg for a little slap and tickle while he was at it as well. Anyhow, thanks for stopping by buddy! Hope to hear from you at least one time before lil' Fergal is born.

Preternatural

I ran across this photo while browsing Drudge over lunch and was frozen mid mouse click. I would have thought it was some sort of Photoshop contest, but I recognized the big guy instantly.

It's Bao Xishun, the tallest man in the world! What is that crazy behemoth of a Mongolian sheep herder up to now? Luckily for Mr. He Pingping it's not ventriloquism. For that, my friends, is Mr. He Pingping standing next to him. Bao's actually meeting the smallest man in the world! This is an unaltered photo folks. How weird is this scene?

The disproportionate encounter took place today in China. Curiously, both men hail from the same region of inner Mongolia. Bao Xishun, who stands 7ft. 9in. huge, was meeting the altitudinously challenged Mr. He Pingping as he was applying with the Guinness Book peeps to become the Earth's shortest man. Bao, aka: "The Mast", was Guinness certified as the longest beanstalk of a person back in Jan. '05. He beat the previous record holder, Tunisia's Radhouane Charbib, by a scant 0.078740 of an inch. However, while Mr. He Pingping stands at an astonishing 28.7401 inches high, it's not even close to the 26.5747 in. of Taiwan's Lin Yih-Chih, who is the current holder of the teensy-weensy Guinness title. So I'm not sure what the point is. Except, he did get to touch The Mast.

And who wouldn't be excited to meet him! Xia Shujuan was so enthralled by the lady-killer, she married the herculean herdsman last March despite being half his age and half his height. Bao can't wait to have kids. Xia had no comment. But the pair seem happy. They wed in a traditional Mongolian ceremony after Xia was hand picked from the more than 5000 responses Bao received after his "global appeal for a bride". The Mongolian paparazzi covered the nuptial rite that was sponsored by 15 companies and held at the Genghis Khan Holiday Resort. Everything from the liquor dunk at the wedding to the 9x7 wedding gift bed & 9.5' hand made camel hair blanket was supplied by a different outfit hoping to cash in on the celebrity's union.

As if all this isn't enough: world's tallest man, world's tallest groom, inner Mongolia's biggest cheese, add tallest amateur veterinarian & hero to the dolphins to that list. Yeah, the dolphins love Bao too! It all started last Dec. when 2 dolphin at China's Royal Jidi Ocean World mysteriously ingested shards of plastic. This resulted in, according to aquarium officials, "loss of appetite and depression". When attempts to surgically extract the fragments failed, vets turned to Bao, and his 42" appendage, for help. But Bao thought it best to use him arm. So they wrapped the dolphins' teeth in towels while Bao inserted his long limb down their throats & into their stomachs to retrieve the threatening debris and save their lives. Why the dolphins' bellys didn't contract and reject Bao's extremity like they did the surgical equipment is puzzling. Must be that it was less intrusive; like pulling a woman's appendix out her natural orifice. Bao "the Mast" Xishun, someone we can all look up to.

My name is Kobayashi. I work for Keyser Soze.

July 4, 2007: Joey Chestnut whacks Takeru Kobayashi at the 92 annual Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest! 50 thousand people jammed the boardwalk at Conney Island to witness "the Tsunami's" 6 year domination of the event come to an end. And poof; just like that, he's gone. Actually, it took 12 minutes.

Nagano Japan's Kobayashi, employing his patented "solomon method", set a personal record of 63 HDB's (that's Hot Dog with Bun) but wasn't able to match the, rather grotesque, gobbling power of US born Joey Chestnut (California not New Jersey). Chestnut ate out Kobayashi by swallowing a new world record of 66 dogs in the allotted 12 min. of competition. That's one every 10.9 seconds. I want to barf just thinking about that many wienies in my mouth. I bet Ken could handle it though.

The I.F.O.C.E. sanctioned event was broadcast live on ESPN (Thank you again ESPN!) and the pair were neck and neck (lips & assholes as well) the entire race. They each scarfed down 60 sausage in 60 seconds. The tally at the end was actually closer than the final 66-63 results. But the coveted Yellow Mustard Belt was Kobayashi's to loose. Unfortunately, at the close of the bout, he suffered from what the I.F.O.C.E terms a "reversal". I'm sure you can figure out what that means. Competitors receive credit for "anything in their mouths at the 12-minute mark, provided they can swallow it." Kobayashi couldn't swallow it. However, even without the penalty, Chestnut would have beaten Kobayashi by a dog or more.

I know it was the 4th of July and all, but I have to admit, I was sort of rooting for the little Japanese guy. I don't follow the sport closely, but Kobayashi is a legend in the field of competitive eating. I actually remember the first time he won the Nathan's contest in '01 because he was about 110lbs. and smashed the 25 dog record by eating 50. But a few weeks ago, the master-eater dropped a bomb in his own blog that stunned his peers. For two years now, Kobayashi has been dealing with severe pain from arthritis of the jaw brought on by the intensive training regiment he's maintained for so long. He wasn't even sure he could compete in this year's event. “My jaw has given up the fight” lamented Takeru. He described the arthritis as so acute, that he could only open his mouth wide enough to allow a fingertip past his teeth. Who'd have thunk that stretching your mouth and stomach with excessive quantities of cabbage and water would result in jawthritis? Um, me? Sadly, Takeru feared that his mouth was paralyzed. In true Japanese style, Kobayashi only blamed himself: “I feel so ashamed that I didn't hear the alarm bells ringing in my own body." Just three hours before yesterday's contest, Kobayashi was still receiving acupuncture treatment to minimize the pain. You got to give the Tsunami credit though; reversal and all. 63 dogs in 12 minutes is, well...nasty, but quite impressive. Along with his 6 Nathan's Hot Dog titles, Kobayashi also holds the world records for Johnsonville Brats, Krystal's Hamburgers, Lobster Rolls, Rice Balls and Cow Brains.

Happy Independence Day everybody. Take it easy on the hot dogs.

Palatine Uvula

n. (yoo-vyuh-luh) The small, fleshy, conical body projecting downward from the middle of the soft palate. The uvula is of course that little length of flesh that hangs from the back of our mouth over our throat. It's formed during development as the last step in fusing the two halves of the soft palate, as it "zips up" from front to back. We all got one, but rarely do we pay attention to it. There's no need. It's out of sight and out of mind. Unless you're my friend KJH. The word itself is derived from the diminutive of "uva", the Latin word for "grape". Here in America, we don't utilize our little fruit muscle much at all. Aside from the folks that like to touch it after dinner to make themselves vomit, we really only use it to block air from our lungs to make a few noises. Most often that's the /b/ sound. If you're German, French, Hebrew or Hmong, you'll use it a lot more when pronouncing the uvular consonants common to those languages. But for us here in the US it's, essentially, nonessential. 

 

So how does KJH fit into this little anatomy lesson? Let me tell you. I saw the biggest, reddest, most unbelievably inflamed uvula of my life in the mouth of my friend the other day. I'll be honest, I don't get the chance to check out many uvulas, but I am 100% certain this was the most engorged uvula I have ever encountered. KJ was visiting from Chicago last weekend. I took him fishing and he caught his first ever largemouth bass. That was awesome and I thought it was going to be the highlight of the visit. But then this happened. I can't get the image out of my head. This thing was as big as the bait we were using to catch fish. I gag at the mere thought of the finger-sized uvula that was resting on this dude's tongue early the next morning. (Gag) Seriously. It will forever be the weekend of the uvula. I was a little freaked out. KJ, on the other hand, decided to eat a bowl of Rice Krispies. 

 

How he got anything past that sea cucumber in his craw is beyond me. I was going to suggest gargling with salt water, but was afraid that might make it mad. He says this is the 3rd time he's experienced this malady. (Gag) Although, he did admit the instances before weren't as bad. I had to mention the thunderous snoring that woke me up around 2 am. He must have been playing some serious tonsil hockey with that thing and it had to be related to his current condition. But did the snoring cause the swelling or did the giant sack in his mouth cause the snoring? Either way, I couldn't believe he was so calm about it. I'm not exaggerating; it was like a superfluous tongue in his throat. But KJ nonchalantly packed his bag, filled a little water bottle with a lot of ice and bid his adieu. I think I just used my uvula. (Gag) 

 

Fast Forward to Wednesday. I'm emailing KJ and his uvula is still distended. He can't speak right so he's telling people he has a "sore throat". Yeah, I guess I'd be embarrassed to tell people there was actually an alien growing out of my pie hole too. 4 days in and he's starting to get worried now. We're looking up symptoms and treatment on the Internet. KJ starts mentally preparing for the impending uvulaectomy that we determined is his only option. He gets an appt. with his Dr. for 3pm and leaves work early. 

 

 Got a message from Ken, I mean KJ, first thing this morning. Dr. prescribed some heavy duty steroids, but left his musculus uvuae intact. He reports a sore punching bag, unusual feelings of aggression and tender breasts, but his uvula is already back to normal size. Whew. Close call. And what, you may be asking, is the moral of this story? The hell if I know! I'm just glad KJ can talk and I hope to never see anything like that in someone's mouth ever again.

Chapter 35

"Reverend Mother always says when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window." So true Fraulein Maria. And so it goes at the close of chapter 34 of the book of Matthew. After an excruciatingly long 14 months of trying to sell our house, we finally inked a contract on Monday. We had to suffer through a string of complications, mostly caused by the prominent Twin Cities surgeon who was buying our place for his daughter, but came to a deal in the end that was really good...for the Doctor. Whatever. We couldn't bear the thought of another year of open houses and private showings and cleaning. God, the cleaning, it was insane. But what-ever. We sold and were poised to make a move on the 4br. in Eagan that we've had staked out for about 3 months! Then, on Tuesday, the day after we signed off on our house, we were informed that another party already has a purchase agreement written for the same property. Our property. They looked at it for the first time at 2pm that afternoon and had the offer ready by 4. POW! What a kick in the teeth.

I won't burden you with all the details of the next few days, but things were tense. When a 3rd party jumped in with an offer of their own, things turned downright agonizing. I couldn't believe it. We took a hit on our own sale because we had this one home waiting for us. How could it be that on the first day we could even think about making an offer, 2 separate parties decide they want it? This house had been sitting quiet, in this horrendous housing market, with no activity whatsoever, since October 06! The listing price had dropped 3 times already and was now at a figure that put this dream home within inches of our reach. The stress was dizzying. But the owners were cool and chose to hold off on the first offer and hear all 3 at the same time. Why wouldn't they? I'm sure they were doing back flips at the thought of the bidding war that was about to take place.

And war it was. A bloody, messy, leave no prisoners alive war. The owner's realtor, who quickly lost control over this frenzied and emotional situation, had to reveal that she had never dealt with a multiple offer situation before. Our Realtor was having a hard time managing all the curve balls that were being thrown at us. She's no amateur, and had unquestionably brought her A game, but we could see she was more than frustrated with the imbroglio that this was turning into. When one of the parties chose to drop out, probably due to the chaos, we thought, "finally, some help." But then we were told they decided to put an offer on our #2 house instead! Then we find out the one that was left, the one that saw the house on Tues and decided to buy it immediately, had a Chinese realtor who couldn't speak English. Who hires a realtor to represent you in a major deal that can't speak English? That's just kooky. There was just too much stacking up against us. We felt defeated before the owners even heard our official offer. Our realtor kept saying, "If this isn't the house for you, you'll know why, in 2 weeks, when you find the one that is." She really was trying to be helpful. I was looking up the address of the local Extended Stay America. We were going to need some place to go when the Dr's daughter kicks us out. When a shelf in our garage fell off the wall and landed on the hood of our new car, leaving multiple etchings and 3 dents, I almost lost it. Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs.

We had done a lot number crunching, and soul searching, and came up with a plan. If we were going to get this house, we had to give them our strongest offer up front. No messing around. No playing games. We had one chance to present to them and we couldn't blow it. We were in no position to undercut their asking price like Dr. McStingy did to us. Like were planning to do only 5 days earlier. We had our number, asked for almost nothing extra in the deal, and had to make peace with that. We came to the point where we had to say this is honestly the best we can do, and as they say: Let Go, Let God. If we don't get the house...

The owners chose to accept our offer.

In this, my birth month, I am about to make yet another major life change. I can't be more pleased. And it's not just the new house. That's really the icing on my birthday cake. What I'm most proud of is the family that is taking this step with me. I have the most radiant & remarkable wife a man can hope for; and two of the most extraordinary daughters, who blow my mind every single day, by my side. To have these women in my life is truly miraculous. And that is the gift I'm utmost thankful for. I love you girls. Now let's start packing!

ABC, Easy As 123

Who watched the 80th anual Scripps National Spelling Bee last nite? May I have the language of origin? Are there any alternative pronunciations? Dang, the competition was feirce. Those kids were unbeleivable. Hats off to 13 year old Evan O'Dorney who walked away with the trophey after throwing down "serrefine" (SEHR'-ah-feen). The camera shot of the tear welling up in fellow eighth grader Nate Gartke's eye, when he realised he just took second, was more hart wrenching than George failing the Intern Exam. Intellectual athleticks, cerebral competition and reallity TV at it's finest. Take that Trebek!

But how 'bout that ending? First off, why was it that a Canadian almost won our National Spelling Bee? Second, did Evan O'Dorney understand that he just won our National Spelling Bee? At the close of the contest, ESPN's Stuart Scott jumps onstage to interview the Baby Einstein and gets absolutely no reaction from the kid. None. Zero. Zilch. Zot. Scott tried to create some energy, à la "Tom Brady, you just won the Super Bowl! What are you going to do next?" but failed to elicit any "I'm going to Disney World!" enthusiasm from the 4ft. dictionary in round rimmed glasses. The fact is, we were told by Evan himself, earlier in the broadcast, that he doesn't even like spelling. Mathematics, martial arts and composing piano concertos are his true passions.

Scott: Would you like to, maybe, reassess your likability of the National Spelling Bee?
(Evan had no response. No reaction at all. He just stood there.)
Scott: How do you feel about it now?
O'Dorney: Are you saying I'm supposed to like it more?

It was actually uncomfortable to see. Scott was twisting in the wind. O'Dorney seemed utterly ambivalent towards the whole thing. I just had to laugh at the awkwardness of it all. Now, I don't want to take away anything from Evan O'Dorney's decisive win or prodigious command of all things linguistic; he kicked some serious Bee ass. A-S-S, ass. But I couldn't help but think how children with autism spectrum disorders often can't differentiate between a smile and a frown. It was a strange moment. Sort of the triumph of victory and the agony of defeat at the exact same time.

Good Things Come To Those Who Bait

One fish. Two fish. Red fish. Blue fish. Black fish. Blue fish. Old fish. New fish. Tomorrow is the MN bass opener. The real start of the fishing season. For me at least. I am so ready to get out on the water. Author Harry Middleton once wrote: "Fishing is not an escape from life, but often a deeper immersion into it." Middleton was a fly fisherman, but I know his reflection rings true for any ardent angler, technique notwithstanding. There' a lot more to the avocation of angling than Dr. Seuss would lead you to believe. Fishing is more than fish to me. It is more than amusement. It is not a leisure pursuit. For me, it is repletion.

"Some go to church and think about fishing,
others go fishing and think about God."
- Tony Blake

New Car Scent

Check out the new whip. A far cry from the Corolla that's now history. We're rockin' the 17's shortys! Actually, it's a pretty sweet ride. And no, it is not a minivan. I've seen it referred to as a "microvan", but I prefer "urban people mover". The salesguy told us it's the preferred van design of Europe and Japan. I figured that was just a salesguy line. So I looked it up afterwards and found that these little motorcars have been big sellers East of the Americas since '99. With sport sedan performance, dual sliding doors and room for six, this ain't no Clark Griswold Wagonqueen Family Truckster, that's for sure. We splurged a little too; got all the bells and most of the whistles. Plus, it's got the "Zoom Zoom". That's Japanese for Fahrvergnügen.

Here's a funny little commercial for it that runs overseas. I felt exactly the same way when I got home last night.

Vitriolic

The anonymity of the Internet frees up people to say some cruel and hurtful things. They write words they would never utter in public. I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised by what I've been reading on the passing of Jerry Falwell this morning.

Rev. Falwell himself has said a lot of things that were cruel and hurtful. I am not a Falwell fan. I do not side with the Moral Majority. Let me make that clear. Statements made by Jerry Falwell have personally offended me. He's said despicable things about other faiths, races, women, GLBTs, civil rights and even 9-11. But the death of a human being deserves politeness. Some of the remarks I've read are just beyond bad taste. One blogger wrote: "Only wish he suffered more." "There are no tears in my house tonight... only Champagne," wrote another. Parties and toasts were a common theme. There were way to many descriptions of Tinky Winky dancing on his grave. A comment on Gawker.com read: "I hope he is gang-banged in Hell by Satan, Saddam, Hitler and Liberace". That doesn't even make sense. Last night, in San Francisco, there was what organizers called an "Anti-Memorial" held for Mr. Falwell. That's just hateful.

Must we be tolerant of intolerance? I don't think so. But responding to indignity with indignity, doesn't help the situation in the least. I know people are reacting out of emotion, and I'm not a woman, gay or Jewish. Someone could argue that I have no idea how Jerry Falwell's comments affected them. On an individual basis, I guess that's true. I believe that it's your right to say what you want as well. But I also know that hate affects us all.

Botanic

The Saint Paul Farmers Market has finally opened. I love that place. We picked up a few hanging baskets for the back yard. Picking out new baskets has become an annual Springtime tradition for me. (Yeah, that's right, I like flowers.) This early in the season there isn't much else at the market besides flora and flowerage. The average last frost date for the Twin Cities is May 15th after all. But the place was hoppin'. Busy Bees were scouring the grounds in search of alluring annuals for their flowerbeds and porch urns. From Ageratums to Zinnias, the Market at 5th and Wall has them all. Lobelia and Torenia and Begonia, oh my! Vendors were pushing their perennials too, but the baskets and flats were where it was at. Burgeoning blossoms abounded.

Speaking of perennials, the tulips I got from Holland a few years ago sprouted in my little back garden...and were quickly eaten by rabbits. So the other day I headed out to the local hardware store in search of hare remover. Something to repel those confounded cottontails before they devoured the bulbs that haven't shot up yet. If Handy Andy recommended a toxin, so be it. Luckily for the little Leporidae, Hardware Hank endorsed Liquid Fence instead. An all-natural product made from organic ingredients that's enviro-friendly, biodegradable and not harmful to humans or animals.

Anyone ever use this stuff before? The label says its guaranteed to keep varmint out of the area applied to, but will leave a "strong odor" until it dries. I gave the jug a few pumps and thought, "Not pleasant, but not so bad." At first, I was worried the stuff wasn't going to be powerful enough. Silly me. I doused every plant in the garden and then hit up the ones behind the house, under the kitchen windows. Standing in the middle of the yard is where the rancid tang overcame me. Don't know why there was a delay, but it sure was a wallop when it hit. I was actually stunned by the stink. I could taste it in my mouth. I honestly considered alerting the neighbors before someone called Public Health. I figured the main ingredient must be something like fermented bear urine. Rusty fluid taken from a 900lb. grizzly upon his first Spring whizz after a long hard hibernation and a last Fall meal of 5 salmon, a dead squirrel and one small caribou. I looked to the label to see that my guess was off. The primary components of this concoction are garlic and "putrescent egg solids." Believe me, it smells much worse than it sounds. They need to start using this stuff in hostage situations. Once the room is filled with this potent potpourri, nary a shot will be fired.

Find your own local Farmers Market here. Oh yeah, Liquid Fence rocks. I haven't seen a single furry interloper since.

An American Revolution

The difference of length in feet between Henry David Thoreau's

Walden Pond cabin and a 2007 Chevy Suburban.

The Suburban is longer.

(Taken from this month's Yankee Magazine.)

Check Please!

In the same vein as the last post, here's another unconventional surgery story that made headlines this week.

An unidentified man ran into a bustling London eatery, attempting to gain access to the kitchen. He was initially blocked by staff but was able to enter a second work area; where he grabbed a butcher's knife and began "slashing himself across the wrists and groin." The chap then proceeded towards the dining area where, according to patron Stuart McMahon, "Everyone was screaming and running out as he jumped on a table, dropped his trousers and popped his penis out. Then he cut it off. I couldn't believe it."

Why the man chose this pizzeria is unknown. But the room was full of customers enjoying their own cocktails at the end of the London Marathon. Maybe the idea just came to him. The audience did not applaud the man's surreal Teppanyaki swordsmanship either. “There was blood everywhere. Everyone ran out of the place.”

Even in his half-cocked state, the constables were forced to use tear gas to bring the fellow down. But they are credited for grabbing the dude's wiener off the floor and throwing it on ice. Since the guy had no ID, Scotland Yard could only tell us that he is 35ish, Polish and "not a well boy." The man was rushed to the hospital where they immediately began the procedure to re-attach his tallywhacker. The Royal College of Surgeons confirms this was the first time that anyone in the UK has had their penis sewed back on.

Dr. Rosenrosen, fresh from this weekend's screening of Vaginal Cholecystectomy, has told TMZ.com that "a detachable penis is a phalacy."

Whoa Doc, you just say 'natural orifice'?

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Evidently, the way to a woman's gallbladder is through her...vagina.

The NY Times is reporting that Doctors have successfully removed a patient's gallbladder by passing instruments through her vajayjay rather than cutting through her belly. Dr's say the technique "will cause less pain and scarring" by "eliminating the need to cut through abdominal muscles, a major source of pain after the surgery."

The surgeon who performed the procedure, Dr. Marc Bessler, was quoted as saying: “Going through a natural orifice, the mouth or rectum or vagina, to get into the abdomen and do an operation, is being excitedly worked on by a whole lot of people." And Dr. Bessler is giddy as a schoolgirl. He even plans to show video of the surgery at a conference in Las Vegas this Sunday. Dr. Rosenrosen is bringing chips. Party on.

These excitable specialists have even formed their very own professional organization called, the Natural Orifice Surgery Consortium for Assessment & Research, or NOSCAR. No kidding. Their goal: to make surgery less and less invasive. And sticking specialized surgical stainless steel up a person's who-ha, grabbing an internal organ and pulling out, seems to qualify as "less invasive". It's rumored that Kyle Busch has already signed on as spokesperson for the group. I think he should have read that contract a little more carefully.

The article also mentions this equally fleshy fact: "Interest in this idea heightened after doctors from India made a video in 2004 showing an appendix being taken out through a patient's mouth." I just hope there is no need for me to have my tonsils removed any time soon. Although, the other day, someone did request that I pull my own head out of my ass.

God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

November 11, 1922 - April 11, 2007

I Want A New Drug

In case you haven't heard about Keith Richards' latest act of total rock n' rollness, let me fill you in. In a Tuesday interview with British music mag NME, Grandpa Keith copped to sniffing a foreign substance. From a guy who's as famous for his drug use as his guitar playing, this should be no startling admission. Except, in this case, the substance in question would be his English dad, Bert, who passed away in 2002.

"The strangest thing I've tried to snort? My father. I snorted my father. He was cremated and I couldn't resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn't have cared; he didn't give a shit. It went down pretty well and I'm still alive."

How disturbingly Freudian. I wonder if he followed it up with some fava beans and a nice Chianti. No comment yet from mum Doris. But yesterday, Keith's "people" were all over it. A Rolling Stones spokesperson issued a damage control statement saying: "It was an off the cuff remark, a joke, and it's not true. File under April Fool's joke." In an email to MTV, Richards' manager tried to laugh it off saying it was "said in jest...Can't believe anyone took [it] seriously."

I don't know about that. In the same article, Richards talks about his worst drug experience: shooting heroin that, unbeknownst to him, was laced with strychnine. "I was totally comatose but I was totally awake. I could listen to everyone, and they were like, 'He's dead, he's dead!', waving their fingers and pushing me about, and I was thinking, I'm not dead!" He declared the Arctic Monkeys & Bloc Party "rubbish" that in his days "wouldn't even get support billing for a Donny Osmond gig." And talks about his disappointment at the end of his 10 year run at the top of the Celebrity Death Pool. Although colorful, Keith's comments all seemed candid and honest.

Since the story became instant blog fodder, NME has issued their own statement regarding Richards' avowal, saying the remarks were "no quip, but came about after much thinking." Said interviewer Mark Beaumont: "He didn't offer the information, I had to ask him a couple of questions to get the information out of him. He didn't come straight out with that."

We will probably never know if if ol' Keef really did toot his departed dad's cremains or not. Personally, I suspect the legendary substance abuser did it; and then went out and really partied. While he may no longer be #1 in the Death Pool, this half of the Glimmer Twins may have a new ranking to make his daughters proud: the most shocking moment in rock & roll history. What do you think VH1?

Sunny Side Up

No foul play here. Who's got egg on their face now, Equinox! Although, I must admit, it took a lot longer to do than eggspected. I've got a good yolk for 'ya: Where do you find a chicken with no legs? ...Where you left it.

Even Steven

Finally, the Vernal Equinox! From the Latin ver (meaning spring) veraequus (equal) and nox (night). I've been waiting for this day since I saw it on my desk calender about, oh...Monday. Merry Ostara to all the pagans in the hizzle. I trust the Teutonic goddess of spring and the dawn finds you well. Happy Spring to the rest of us!

Ahhh, the first day of spring, total balance. Equal amounts of day and night. It's actually kind of cool. The one day where the sun is directly perpendicular to Earth's axis, hitting our planet at its celestial equator. The sun rises at exact east, lights our world for precisely 12 hours and sets at exact west. Ebony and ivory in perfect harmony. Oh wait, I meant these guys.

And the coolest thing about the Vernal Equinox? It's the one day where you can balance an egg on it's end. That's right. All those school kids you passed squatting in groups on the sidewalk over lunch today weren't burning ants. They were testing the forces of gravity, the wonders of physics and the magical power of the Equinox.

According to Snopes.com, "the Chinese are thought to have originated the practice of standing eggs on end this day. Just as the equinox symbolically restores balance to the world by signalling its rebirth after a season of darkness, the equinox literally balances the day by dividing it into equal portions of darkness and light. If the symbol of fertility (eggs) could be balanced during a day equally divided between day and night, this was the sign that all nature was in harmony."

I like the concept. But in actuality, you can balance an egg on any day of the year. You just need to find the egg's center of gravity, not our world's. It requires considerable patience and determination, but it's do-able. And I think this same equidistant stuff happens again later in the year. We call it the Autumnal Equinox that time around. So enjoy today for what it is, a new day. And know that each one after this, will be a little brighter.

(Snopes)

Tail Grab

The effects of global warming are unceasing; reaching every corner of our globe and altering daily life in ways I would have never thought. Thank goodness for wake-up calls like this one from Metro.co.uk to keep me abreast of environmental essentials such as this:

Brothel owners in Bulgaria are blaming global warming for staff shortages. They claim their best girls are working in ski resorts because a lack of snow has forced tourists to seek other pleasures. Petra Nestorova, who runs an escort agency in Sofia, said: 'We have hired students, but they are temps and nothing like our elite girls.'

Conceivably, climate change is responsible for poor business in Bulgaria's bordellos. Snow starved vacationists are heading to bunny hills off the mountain. Tsunamis are raging, ice caps are melting, and the head harlots aren't happy their loosing Lev. Understandable. We all know how hard it is to train in temps. Student temps no less. Although, I think the Bulgarians might need to tweak their study abroad program a bit. Does Travelocity let you add "hooker" to you ski vacation package yet? I bet that roaming Gnome knows.

"According to a new U.N. report, the global warming outlook is much worse than originally predicted. Which is pretty bad when they originally predicted it would destroy the planet." - Jay Leno

The Hole Truth & Nothing Butt

Things seem to have taken on a serious and surprising cheerless mood around here. Sorry for the downer posts. I really didn't mean to sound preachy either. To be honest, I watch The Soup on E! almost every week. But the celebrity worship does bother me. And the stuff with BS and ANS and the media was bumming me out. And that lady on the bridge freaked me out...a lot. It wasn't the first time I've had to deal with that scenario either. It was the first time not knowing anything about the person though. It was the first time since becoming a father as well. I really do look at life differently now. But I'd like to stay away from sermonising here. At least until we're closer to Nov. 2008.

I need to get back to the important stuff, e.g. Everest, cake decorating and cow farts. I was going to mention something about Al Gore's Nashville mansion using 20x more electricity and natural gas than the standard American household. Apparently this type of info is public and the Gore home paid over $30K in power bills last year. They used more energy in the month of Aug. than your average family uses in a year. But something more interesting happened last night, so you can look that up yourself.

I was returning to the living room when my wife reached out her hand to drop something in mine. "Lovely, she's sending me 'kisses'" I thought. Nope. Instead, she dropped a grayish-blue pellet of fluff, entwined with a pair of tell-tale hairs, into my palm. (No, not those hairs you dirty bird.) "Look what Paige just picked up off the floor and handed me," she said with a look of peevishness. I knew what it was at once; a ball of lint. Well, more precisely, a pill of belly button lint that had somehow escaped my own navel. Obviously, my wife has seen my little button bunnies enough to know what it was herself. She wasn't exactly charmed by the find.

I have a huge belly button. I'm not kidding. It's cavernous really. But I am not ashamed. That's just how it is. I have the Bat Cave on my tummy. Of course you couldn't actually park the Batmobile there. But I could probably position a Matchbox sized PT Cruiser inside if I really tried. Regardless, it's the stuff that often emerges from the depths of my umbilical scar that got me thinking: where does it all come from? I was astonished to find the array of research that's been done on the subject. The most comprehensive of which, was done in 2001, by Dr. Karl Kruszelnicki of the U of Sydney. Here's the lowdown on lint:

• Belly Button Lint (BBL) is made up of stray clothing fibers mixed with dead skin and strands of body hair.
• Contrary to popular belief, BBL migrates up from underwear, rather than down from tops. This is a result of the frictional drag of body hair on underwear, which is upwards.
• Women find less BBL because of their finer, shorter body hair. Older men experience it more because of their coarser and more numerous hairs.
• Navel lint's characteristic blue-gray tint is the averaging of the colors of fibres present in clothing. Often the same color of lint you find in your dryer trap.
• Pierced navels rarely harbor BBL.
• Your "Happy Trail" does have something to do with BBL levels.

More importantly, these little accumulations happen to most everyone, are entirely harmless and require no corrective action. Whew! My research also led me to the site of Graham Barker, the Guinness World Record holder for the largest collection of navel lint. All his own and gathered daily for the past 23 years. Impressive. Check out the sample pictures. I also learned about the art of Omphaloskepsis: contemplating one's own navel in aid to meditation. And, apparently, becoming its own religious movement. Not as impressive.

So there you have it. The ins and outs of belly button lint; with a little extra fluff.

Heartfelt

Just yesterday I said that I didn't feel a need to discuss Britney Spears; but I have to do it again. Although it's Brittney related, it's not exactly about her. It's really about Craig Ferguson. If the name doesn't ring a bell, he's the blithe Scotsman who host's CBS's, aptly named, Late Late Show, with Craig Ferguson.

If you do know him, you may also know that Ferguson doesn't script his opening monologues. He picks a topic from the day, and as they say in the biz, riffs of it. It's all improv. I just happened to hear this fact on talk radio a few weeks ago. On Monday night, however, he delivered a slightly different kind of commentary than his audience is used to. It was funny, and there were jokes, but it was pretty serious. Very serious really. And I was surprised, and impressed, with what he chose to do.

If you've ever seen the Late Late show, you know that Ferguson can hit hit comedic targets fairly hard. And, like with most late night host, Britney Spears was a frequent mark. You would also know that Ferguson doesn't hide the fact that he's an alcoholic (who's on his 15th year of sobriety). In Monday's address, rather than starting out the show with a zinger about Britney's chrome-dome or 24hr. rehab stay, he mostly talked about himself, his own troubles with substance abuse and his struggles with recovery. He said that his main source of support is talking with others who share his problem. "They are very easy to find" he quipped. "Right there near the very front of the phone book." Before that, he described the time he prepared for his own death, on Christmas morning, a decade and a half ago. He joked that alcohol actually saved his life that day because he ended up drunk, forgetting his plans. He started rehab a few months later.

So how does Britney Spears enter the picture? After seeing photos of the newly exposed pop-star, Ferguson declared that he couldn't make jokes at the expense of the "vulnerable." He also verbalized concern that she may be dealing with the same kinds of issues he has faced himself.

"For me, comedy should have a certain amount of joy in it," Ferguson said. "It should be about attacking the powerful - the politicians, the Trumps, the blowhards...going after them. We shouldn't be attacking the vulnerable. I think my aim's been off a bit." Ferguson also added, "Now I'm not saying Britney is alcoholic, I don't know what she is , alcoholic or not, but she clearly needs help."

Comedians are always claiming that those they offend just aren't "in on the joke." The media and paparazzi don't really seem to care who gets hurt in their search for what they consider news. I applaud Craig Ferguson for drawing a moral line, making himself so vulnerable, for reaching out to Britney, and for reaching out the rest of us as at the same time.

It's about 13 minutes, and worth the time to watch for youself.