Happy Bastille Day!
In honor of the great French holiday, I would ask that you join me today in lighting up your torches, dusting off your old rioting clubs, and storming the ramparts of whatever prison may be situated closest to you.
Speaking of national holidays, did everyone have a good 4th of July? I was supposed to fly down to my grandparents with Andrew, but about 45 minutes after lift off our engine began to sound like a lawn mower with whooping cough. I offered to grab the wrench and climb out front to bang on the hood a few times, but Andrew didn't think that was a good idea.
So, we ended up driving the parents minivan down to Ohio the next morning. We could have taken one of our cars, but we know that there is nothing sexier than a couple of single guys riding together in a minivan (am I right, girls?). While we were passing through the small towns I would roll down my window and yell "HEY LADIES! WE'RE AVAILABLE.... AND WE COME WITH FAMILY FRIENDLY TRANSPORTATION!". I don't know how they kept from throwing themselves at us... but somehow they all did.
Well, the industrial revolution once again arrived in Oregon recently as the carnival moved into town, bringing with it clouds of acrid smoke and the opportunity to risk life and limb on giant mechanical contraptions bearing insipidly harmless names like "The Zipper", "The Spider", and "The Technicolor Yawn". Okay, so I made that last one up.
Watching the carneys put together their mecca of entertainment in the preceding days, I could not help but admire their construction skills.
This all got me thinking; why are we paying Halliburton 80 billion dollars to rebuild Iraq when we could have gotten 5,000 carnies to do it for beer and cigarettes? I mean, let's say we bought them 1000 kegs of Old Milwaukee and 5,000 cartons of Lucky Strikes. What would that have cost us? 50,000 dollars, tops?
Besides that, we could have had the carneys build a giant midway to distract the insurgents. I mean, what young men want to spend time propagating an uprising when they could be winning pictures of half naked women by throwing darts at balloons? Insurgency? What insurgency? Contact your legislators and let them know that we have to start exploiting this great untapped resource.
There was one great disappointment at the carnival this year; no FFA dairy stand. Clearly, this is a sign that there are no Future Farmers of America left, and the time when we will sit around the dinner table eating purple stuff called synthetically homogenized food paste #5 cannot be far off.
Anyway, back to the FFA stand; I couldn't buy my strawberry shake because there was no stand! No strawberry shake! I ALWAYS buy a strawberry shake!
What's that? I should just go to McDonald's and get a strawberry shake? Well, pardon me, but I do not count myself as part of the masses who contribute to the further gentrification of American society by supporting faceless corporations intent on replacing the small businesses that make up the cultural fabric of America's towns.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go buy some things at Walmart.
Peter
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Gulag Springs
Free-market greetings!
Are you worn down by the capitalist excesses of your society? Do you long to return to a time when you could enjoy the simple pleasures of life?
Visit Gulag Springs Hotel and Resort! Located on the banks of Lake Volgograd in Eastern Siberia, Gulag Springs seamlessly combines the beauty of this lovely region with the ascetic and desolate elegance of the old Soviet Union.
After being subject to decay and neglect for more than a decade, Gulag Springs has now been lovingly and meticulously restored to its glorious state from the time of Stalin's purges.
Once available only to the intellectual, political, and military elite of the Soviet Union, the opulent and extravagant deprivations of Gulag Springs Hotel and Resort are now open to all!
In the morning, tone yourself to death under the watch of one of our certified manual labor trainers with a soul cleansing shift splitting rocks in our granite mine, where you will feel all of life's worries falling away with every chip of stone.
Move on to a stunningly refreshing stop in our self-serve communal shower spa, where water like shards of ice will remind you of the tepid, frozen pond where your mamushka washed you as a child!
After that, move on to a luxurious culinary experience in our award winning dining hall, where comrade #586739678432454569060827495 continues to astound the commonwealth with his virtuosic mastery of gruel!
And of course, at Gulag Springs we cater to the mind as well as the body. After your morning regimen, indulge in the many re-education classes at your disposal. Join comrade Mikhail Gorbachev as he teaches you to unleash the Communist Chairman within! Let Yakov Smirnoff beguile and inform you during his class "Career Transitions: What to do When Communism Jokes No Longer Pay". Learn how to overthrow a royal family with intrigue and treachery in "The Big Coup: Unlocking the Secrets of Rasputin"!
Lacking inspiration in your life? Find it in the same halls that Solzhenitsyn trod! For a small extra fee, you can even stay in the same room he did, keeping track of the passing of your splendid vacation on the calender he etched in the walls with his very own hands!
How exclusive is Gulag Springs? So exclusive that Josef Stalin (may he rest is socialist bliss) sent thousands of his closest and most capable friends here on all-inclusive packages for life! How did we ever keep this prestigious hideaway a secret from the masses? Often, guests would be be whisked away in the luxurious trunk of a Yugo by the KGB, thus preventing Gulag Springs form being inundated by the Proletariat hordes.
Tired of taking vacations that leave you longing for more vacation? Gulag Springs is the answer! We guarantee that after a week of our special VIP treatment, you will be longing for a return to your former life!
Don't delay! Call me to reserve your quadrant now!
Sincerely,
Ivan Tupelov
Owner, Gulag Springs Hotel and Resort
Are you worn down by the capitalist excesses of your society? Do you long to return to a time when you could enjoy the simple pleasures of life?
Visit Gulag Springs Hotel and Resort! Located on the banks of Lake Volgograd in Eastern Siberia, Gulag Springs seamlessly combines the beauty of this lovely region with the ascetic and desolate elegance of the old Soviet Union.
After being subject to decay and neglect for more than a decade, Gulag Springs has now been lovingly and meticulously restored to its glorious state from the time of Stalin's purges.
Once available only to the intellectual, political, and military elite of the Soviet Union, the opulent and extravagant deprivations of Gulag Springs Hotel and Resort are now open to all!
In the morning, tone yourself to death under the watch of one of our certified manual labor trainers with a soul cleansing shift splitting rocks in our granite mine, where you will feel all of life's worries falling away with every chip of stone.
Move on to a stunningly refreshing stop in our self-serve communal shower spa, where water like shards of ice will remind you of the tepid, frozen pond where your mamushka washed you as a child!
After that, move on to a luxurious culinary experience in our award winning dining hall, where comrade #586739678432454569060827495 continues to astound the commonwealth with his virtuosic mastery of gruel!
And of course, at Gulag Springs we cater to the mind as well as the body. After your morning regimen, indulge in the many re-education classes at your disposal. Join comrade Mikhail Gorbachev as he teaches you to unleash the Communist Chairman within! Let Yakov Smirnoff beguile and inform you during his class "Career Transitions: What to do When Communism Jokes No Longer Pay". Learn how to overthrow a royal family with intrigue and treachery in "The Big Coup: Unlocking the Secrets of Rasputin"!
Lacking inspiration in your life? Find it in the same halls that Solzhenitsyn trod! For a small extra fee, you can even stay in the same room he did, keeping track of the passing of your splendid vacation on the calender he etched in the walls with his very own hands!
How exclusive is Gulag Springs? So exclusive that Josef Stalin (may he rest is socialist bliss) sent thousands of his closest and most capable friends here on all-inclusive packages for life! How did we ever keep this prestigious hideaway a secret from the masses? Often, guests would be be whisked away in the luxurious trunk of a Yugo by the KGB, thus preventing Gulag Springs form being inundated by the Proletariat hordes.
Tired of taking vacations that leave you longing for more vacation? Gulag Springs is the answer! We guarantee that after a week of our special VIP treatment, you will be longing for a return to your former life!
Don't delay! Call me to reserve your quadrant now!
Sincerely,
Ivan Tupelov
Owner, Gulag Springs Hotel and Resort
Pectoral Paralysis
Hey everyone,
Happy VD!
Ummmmm.... I mean, Happy Valentine's Day!
Has anyone been struck by an errant arrow d'amour yet today? If not, there's still time, just be sure to make yourself a good target for Cupid; he's so busy today he probably doesn't have time to search for us all.
So, I joined a gym in Madison a few months ago. It's called the Princeton Club, which has the benefit of giving me that faux Ivy League prestige I've been longing after for all these years. I can't wait to see the looks of jealously on the faces of my chaps at my polo club. In addition, It's open 24/7, which is handy for those times when I wake up at 3:00am with a burning urge to bench press.
Once incident on my first day there disturbed me quite a bit. I had innocently jumped on an elliptical machine, when the machine started interrogating me. First of all, it asked for program preference... then time... then resistance preference.... then my age... at this point I was ready to run for the back exit. Why on earth did the machine need all this information? Surely I had somehow stumbled through dimensions and had arrived at Communal Fitness Factory #381 of some totalitarian society. Surely this infernal machine would next ask for my social security number, would greet me as Comrade #254763, and then would inform me that if I continued to ignore the recommendation of five gym visits per week recommended by the Ministry of Health, I would fail to achieve the five year optimal fitness quota laid out by the Fitness Tribunal. However, before I had a chance to join the Michigan Militia, the machine started going. My bad.
A friend of ours and I were recently exchanging stories about the difficulties of dressing and undressing after overexercising the day before. This has once again reminded me of what a perfect time it is for the introduction of a new line of tear-away workout clothes. Think about it, no more having to lift your arms above your head to put a shirt on... no more ending up with your head through an armhole... the potential is endless. It would simply be, Velcro on, tear off. The slogan can be something like "Off in five seconds flat, or your money back." If the tear-away clothes don't catch on, we could also offer trained monkey chambermaids as an alternative. Who's with me?
Frankly, I am not sure that enough thought is put into naming pieces of fitness equipment. For example, there is one step machine Stairmaster produces called the "Gauntlet". Do we really need these cognitive associations with herculean feats of will, strength, and pain, to make us think we're getting a workout? What are we going to have next, the "Iron Maiden Abdominal Ripper"? The "Gargantuan Gluteus Grinder"? The "Tyrannical Tricep Torture Tower"? I mean, why not name the "Gauntlet" the "Super A-OK Happy Highstepper Deluxe?", or something like that? Which would you rather work out on?
If you're still looking for that perfect, last minute Valentine's Day gift for your sweetheart, try Russel Stoner candies. Russel Stoner, making fine pot laced chocolates since 1937. Try them for a relaxing evening eating Doritos and watching Cheech and Chong films with your significant other.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Take care!
Extraneously,
Peter
Happy VD!
Ummmmm.... I mean, Happy Valentine's Day!
Has anyone been struck by an errant arrow d'amour yet today? If not, there's still time, just be sure to make yourself a good target for Cupid; he's so busy today he probably doesn't have time to search for us all.
So, I joined a gym in Madison a few months ago. It's called the Princeton Club, which has the benefit of giving me that faux Ivy League prestige I've been longing after for all these years. I can't wait to see the looks of jealously on the faces of my chaps at my polo club. In addition, It's open 24/7, which is handy for those times when I wake up at 3:00am with a burning urge to bench press.
Once incident on my first day there disturbed me quite a bit. I had innocently jumped on an elliptical machine, when the machine started interrogating me. First of all, it asked for program preference... then time... then resistance preference.... then my age... at this point I was ready to run for the back exit. Why on earth did the machine need all this information? Surely I had somehow stumbled through dimensions and had arrived at Communal Fitness Factory #381 of some totalitarian society. Surely this infernal machine would next ask for my social security number, would greet me as Comrade #254763, and then would inform me that if I continued to ignore the recommendation of five gym visits per week recommended by the Ministry of Health, I would fail to achieve the five year optimal fitness quota laid out by the Fitness Tribunal. However, before I had a chance to join the Michigan Militia, the machine started going. My bad.
A friend of ours and I were recently exchanging stories about the difficulties of dressing and undressing after overexercising the day before. This has once again reminded me of what a perfect time it is for the introduction of a new line of tear-away workout clothes. Think about it, no more having to lift your arms above your head to put a shirt on... no more ending up with your head through an armhole... the potential is endless. It would simply be, Velcro on, tear off. The slogan can be something like "Off in five seconds flat, or your money back." If the tear-away clothes don't catch on, we could also offer trained monkey chambermaids as an alternative. Who's with me?
Frankly, I am not sure that enough thought is put into naming pieces of fitness equipment. For example, there is one step machine Stairmaster produces called the "Gauntlet". Do we really need these cognitive associations with herculean feats of will, strength, and pain, to make us think we're getting a workout? What are we going to have next, the "Iron Maiden Abdominal Ripper"? The "Gargantuan Gluteus Grinder"? The "Tyrannical Tricep Torture Tower"? I mean, why not name the "Gauntlet" the "Super A-OK Happy Highstepper Deluxe?", or something like that? Which would you rather work out on?
If you're still looking for that perfect, last minute Valentine's Day gift for your sweetheart, try Russel Stoner candies. Russel Stoner, making fine pot laced chocolates since 1937. Try them for a relaxing evening eating Doritos and watching Cheech and Chong films with your significant other.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Take care!
Extraneously,
Peter
The Long, Dark, Happy-Hour of the Soul
Greetings friends and e-mail intercepting voyeurs,
As the frigid winds frost our skin and freeze our innards, we once again find ourselves in that long, dark happy hour of the soul which we call winter. A time when short days are well suited for introspection; when we find ourselves turning inward to ask ourselves those most universal of human questions, "Who am I? What am I doing here? Why is this CD so hard to get open?
An idea for winter philosophical fun:
Let's have philosophers focus on slightly smaller, bite sized metaphysical conundrums for awhile. Let's take philosophers and randomly assign them to people, so instead of trying to figure out the meaning of life in general, they will just follow people around trying to discover the meaning of their lives.
For example, Does little Bobby love people in costumes because they are fun, or because of an underlying belief that, in reality, all of life is a series of masks we wear in an effort shield our souls from existential heartache and anguish?
Is Jane's propensity to buy porcelain angels just compensation for the underlying metaphysical detachment she feels from a deity she believes exists, but cannot accept the existence of, because she's a Calvinist and doesn't have free-will to do so?
Does Bill love monster truck rallies because he's into trucks, or because he likes to see cars like the ones driven by the detested middle management at his office crushed by the industrial and mechanical might of a unified proletariat brethren?
Well, I was out in Ktty Hawk, North Carolina last month for the 100th anniversary celebration of aviation. Kitty Hawk is in the Outer Banks of the state, which gave me the opportunity to take leisurely, moonlit strolls along the beach while wrapped in my parka. There is something about walking along a beach at night that always sends my thoughts back to the days of our ancient mariner forefathers, who set out to the seas in search of deep fried cod with which to stock their Long John Silver's.
I also visited Roanoke, site of the mystery shrouded "Lost Colony". Regrettably, despite my best efforts, I'm saddened to inform you that the "Lost Colony" is indeed, still lost.
The road trip also afforded me the chance to indulge myself in my favorite interstate cultural activity. Bathroom stall art appreciation at truck stops. I was disappointed that there seems to be nary an ounce of evolution in bathroom art since the time I became interested in it as a small child. Where are the Monets? The Renoirs? Rembrandts? Why must we be satisfied with half drawn sketches of anatomical apparatus? Even cave people got bored of that after awhile and started painting reindeer. Where is the landscape? The still life? The foreshortening? Master artists of the world, I implore you, let not another decade pass with bathroom art stagnancy! Your canvas awaits you along the interstates of this great land!
Take care!
Peter
As the frigid winds frost our skin and freeze our innards, we once again find ourselves in that long, dark happy hour of the soul which we call winter. A time when short days are well suited for introspection; when we find ourselves turning inward to ask ourselves those most universal of human questions, "Who am I? What am I doing here? Why is this CD so hard to get open?
An idea for winter philosophical fun:
Let's have philosophers focus on slightly smaller, bite sized metaphysical conundrums for awhile. Let's take philosophers and randomly assign them to people, so instead of trying to figure out the meaning of life in general, they will just follow people around trying to discover the meaning of their lives.
For example, Does little Bobby love people in costumes because they are fun, or because of an underlying belief that, in reality, all of life is a series of masks we wear in an effort shield our souls from existential heartache and anguish?
Is Jane's propensity to buy porcelain angels just compensation for the underlying metaphysical detachment she feels from a deity she believes exists, but cannot accept the existence of, because she's a Calvinist and doesn't have free-will to do so?
Does Bill love monster truck rallies because he's into trucks, or because he likes to see cars like the ones driven by the detested middle management at his office crushed by the industrial and mechanical might of a unified proletariat brethren?
Well, I was out in Ktty Hawk, North Carolina last month for the 100th anniversary celebration of aviation. Kitty Hawk is in the Outer Banks of the state, which gave me the opportunity to take leisurely, moonlit strolls along the beach while wrapped in my parka. There is something about walking along a beach at night that always sends my thoughts back to the days of our ancient mariner forefathers, who set out to the seas in search of deep fried cod with which to stock their Long John Silver's.
I also visited Roanoke, site of the mystery shrouded "Lost Colony". Regrettably, despite my best efforts, I'm saddened to inform you that the "Lost Colony" is indeed, still lost.
The road trip also afforded me the chance to indulge myself in my favorite interstate cultural activity. Bathroom stall art appreciation at truck stops. I was disappointed that there seems to be nary an ounce of evolution in bathroom art since the time I became interested in it as a small child. Where are the Monets? The Renoirs? Rembrandts? Why must we be satisfied with half drawn sketches of anatomical apparatus? Even cave people got bored of that after awhile and started painting reindeer. Where is the landscape? The still life? The foreshortening? Master artists of the world, I implore you, let not another decade pass with bathroom art stagnancy! Your canvas awaits you along the interstates of this great land!
Take care!
Peter
Wandering Musings
Greetings fellow fanatics of the francophile fellowship!
A week ago I repatriated myself from Quebec back to the fruitful fields of America's dairyland. I was up there for about a week and a half, and now am happy to announce that I can speak French with a North woods "twang". Just kidding of course, the accent is a bit different, but it probably wouldn't be called a "twang".... maybe more of a "walloorubaky". Wow, I should start drinking my tea instead of smoking it.
Anywhoo, I met so many friendly Quebecois! All the people I met in the city and in the countryside were so nice, and very helpful whenever I had a question about something. Sitting on the banks of the St. Lawrence Seaway, Quebec City seamlessly combines old world charm with modern city life, something that its inhabitants.... Wooh! Sorry about that! I've occasionally been falling into guidebook mode while speaking lately.
Anyway, Quebec City is great! The old part did remind me of an old European city, although it doesn't have enough dog crap on the sidewalks to truly remind me of Paris. Actually, it doesn't seem to have any dog crap on the sidewalks at all.
My first day in the city, there were a bunch of people running around dressed as chickens. At first, I was annoyed that Lonely Planet forgot to mention that this is the traditional dress of the region, but learned soon after that it's just freshman initiation time.
The Plains of Abraham are very interesting. It's now a giant park, but was the site of the battle between the French and the British in 1759. The official word is that it lasted 30 minutes, but the gentleman in the museum insisted that it was no more than fifteen no matter what anyone says. Strangely enough, the commanding generals, Wolfe and Montcalm, were both mortally wounded within that fifteen minutes, which seems to bely the average mortality rate of 1.5 generals per three and a half hours of combat in the 18th century (okay, so I haven't actually seen this stat, but I'm sure there is a basement historian somewhere who knows the average).
I even got my family to go into the fine arts museum for a whole 45 minutes! They were relatively willing to go to some art museums in Paris, but in other cities, it takes some cajoling. It usually requires me making some dramatic speech about "what a feast of the senses awaits us within those gray walls!"
After Quebec City we went around the Gaspe Peninsula and down to Prince Edward Island, which is a very cool island. Like Normandy, the beaches could be rather warm if one was willing to dig a trench to lay in.
There is quite a bit of tourism on the island, in part due to the Anne of Green Gables series. There is also a raspberry cordial made on the island that is delicious! Perhaps I can start a business smuggling it into the US. What? Free trade you say? Well, that takes all the fun out of it, doesn't it!
Hope you are all doing splendidly!
Peter
A week ago I repatriated myself from Quebec back to the fruitful fields of America's dairyland. I was up there for about a week and a half, and now am happy to announce that I can speak French with a North woods "twang". Just kidding of course, the accent is a bit different, but it probably wouldn't be called a "twang".... maybe more of a "walloorubaky". Wow, I should start drinking my tea instead of smoking it.
Anywhoo, I met so many friendly Quebecois! All the people I met in the city and in the countryside were so nice, and very helpful whenever I had a question about something. Sitting on the banks of the St. Lawrence Seaway, Quebec City seamlessly combines old world charm with modern city life, something that its inhabitants.... Wooh! Sorry about that! I've occasionally been falling into guidebook mode while speaking lately.
Anyway, Quebec City is great! The old part did remind me of an old European city, although it doesn't have enough dog crap on the sidewalks to truly remind me of Paris. Actually, it doesn't seem to have any dog crap on the sidewalks at all.
My first day in the city, there were a bunch of people running around dressed as chickens. At first, I was annoyed that Lonely Planet forgot to mention that this is the traditional dress of the region, but learned soon after that it's just freshman initiation time.
The Plains of Abraham are very interesting. It's now a giant park, but was the site of the battle between the French and the British in 1759. The official word is that it lasted 30 minutes, but the gentleman in the museum insisted that it was no more than fifteen no matter what anyone says. Strangely enough, the commanding generals, Wolfe and Montcalm, were both mortally wounded within that fifteen minutes, which seems to bely the average mortality rate of 1.5 generals per three and a half hours of combat in the 18th century (okay, so I haven't actually seen this stat, but I'm sure there is a basement historian somewhere who knows the average).
I even got my family to go into the fine arts museum for a whole 45 minutes! They were relatively willing to go to some art museums in Paris, but in other cities, it takes some cajoling. It usually requires me making some dramatic speech about "what a feast of the senses awaits us within those gray walls!"
After Quebec City we went around the Gaspe Peninsula and down to Prince Edward Island, which is a very cool island. Like Normandy, the beaches could be rather warm if one was willing to dig a trench to lay in.
There is quite a bit of tourism on the island, in part due to the Anne of Green Gables series. There is also a raspberry cordial made on the island that is delicious! Perhaps I can start a business smuggling it into the US. What? Free trade you say? Well, that takes all the fun out of it, doesn't it!
Hope you are all doing splendidly!
Peter
These Are The Times That Fry Mens' Souls
Hey everyone!
I hope the relative of Thomas Paine don't sue me because of that subject line.
Ahhhh yes, these are the times that fry men's souls, when the grass begins to impale your feet, and you long for that cold blast of freezing rain that comes with November.... okay, so maybe not that last one.
But alas! There's not much time left to perfect that farmer's tan that I've been nurturing all summer long. Regrettably, my tan lines have yet to reach the truly horrid contrast that I was aspiring to when the sun soaking season began a few months ago. However, there is a tanning place in Madison advertising "tan lines optional" tanning, so, I think I may have a solution. I'm just going to get up one morning, put my usual shorts and a t-shirt on, and then go jump in a tanning bed for a few hours. I figure that this will give me the tan line definition I've been searching for.
During my (eternally) continuing job search, I've been working at a fastening supply warehouse in Madison. I enjoy getting completely filthy and then running errands, looking like I recently emerged from an extended stay in a gulag.
My car was nearly stolen recently... or so I thought. I had parked my car out in front of the warehouse that morning, but suddenly, out one of the side doors, I saw my car being driven up onto a flatbed truck. Thinking that I had few seconds to spare, I yelled "For the love of all that is good, holy, and moderately priced! Grab your nail guns and follow me!". Fortunately, before I could carry out the surprise attack to recapture my car, I discovered that my car was still parked out in front of the warehouse. Sheesh.
I'm running off to Quebec with the fam this Wednesday. A couple of weeks ago my parents decided to go their for a vacation, and made the mistake of asking my brother and I if we wanted to come along. However, I imagine they have an ulterior motive of using me as "Peter, the not so Pocket Translator" while I'm up there. This does have the added benefit of allowing me to phrase things in a much more diplomatic way than if my parents and the natives were having direct communication (smile!).
Really though, I hear that everyone up there is bilingual to an insane degree, so I may only end up saying things like "I'd like that croissant (ho ho ho) please".
We'll be in Quebec city and then Prince Edward Island for a bit (any fans of Anne of Green Gables?).
How are all of you? I hope you're all doing wonderfully! Perhaps we should try to schedule a little alcohol drenched reunion one of these days?
Take care!
Peter
I hope the relative of Thomas Paine don't sue me because of that subject line.
Ahhhh yes, these are the times that fry men's souls, when the grass begins to impale your feet, and you long for that cold blast of freezing rain that comes with November.... okay, so maybe not that last one.
But alas! There's not much time left to perfect that farmer's tan that I've been nurturing all summer long. Regrettably, my tan lines have yet to reach the truly horrid contrast that I was aspiring to when the sun soaking season began a few months ago. However, there is a tanning place in Madison advertising "tan lines optional" tanning, so, I think I may have a solution. I'm just going to get up one morning, put my usual shorts and a t-shirt on, and then go jump in a tanning bed for a few hours. I figure that this will give me the tan line definition I've been searching for.
During my (eternally) continuing job search, I've been working at a fastening supply warehouse in Madison. I enjoy getting completely filthy and then running errands, looking like I recently emerged from an extended stay in a gulag.
My car was nearly stolen recently... or so I thought. I had parked my car out in front of the warehouse that morning, but suddenly, out one of the side doors, I saw my car being driven up onto a flatbed truck. Thinking that I had few seconds to spare, I yelled "For the love of all that is good, holy, and moderately priced! Grab your nail guns and follow me!". Fortunately, before I could carry out the surprise attack to recapture my car, I discovered that my car was still parked out in front of the warehouse. Sheesh.
I'm running off to Quebec with the fam this Wednesday. A couple of weeks ago my parents decided to go their for a vacation, and made the mistake of asking my brother and I if we wanted to come along. However, I imagine they have an ulterior motive of using me as "Peter, the not so Pocket Translator" while I'm up there. This does have the added benefit of allowing me to phrase things in a much more diplomatic way than if my parents and the natives were having direct communication (smile!).
Really though, I hear that everyone up there is bilingual to an insane degree, so I may only end up saying things like "I'd like that croissant (ho ho ho) please".
We'll be in Quebec city and then Prince Edward Island for a bit (any fans of Anne of Green Gables?).
How are all of you? I hope you're all doing wonderfully! Perhaps we should try to schedule a little alcohol drenched reunion one of these days?
Take care!
Peter
Greetings From Outside the Beltway
Hi everybody!
Well, despite the allure that the halls of power and fat government pensions hold, I escaped (for the moment at least) from inside the beltway. I figured that if I didn't arrive back by Christmas, my parents would come and kidnap me anyway. So, I chose to leave under my own power, rather than suddenly find myself in a car trunk in the middle of the night.
My internship went very well, and it is an experience that I enjoyed and learned a lot from. I also had the opportunity to check out several schools in the area, such as Georgetown, George Washington, Spin University (offering advanced degrees in whitewashing), etc.
Since my return, I've been looking around for one of those "paying" type jobs that I always hear people raving about (smile). In addition, I've taken to standing outside the capitol holding a sign that says "will research for food". I do have a few leads so far, and if I don't find something full time soon, I may try to find a couple of part time jobs (maybe teaching guitar, as well as something else).
I plan to start studying for the GRE soon, because it's been way too long since I've taken a good old fashioned standardized test.
I hope you are all doing very well, and that the transition to a new semester is progressing smoothly.
Take care!
Peter
Well, despite the allure that the halls of power and fat government pensions hold, I escaped (for the moment at least) from inside the beltway. I figured that if I didn't arrive back by Christmas, my parents would come and kidnap me anyway. So, I chose to leave under my own power, rather than suddenly find myself in a car trunk in the middle of the night.
My internship went very well, and it is an experience that I enjoyed and learned a lot from. I also had the opportunity to check out several schools in the area, such as Georgetown, George Washington, Spin University (offering advanced degrees in whitewashing), etc.
Since my return, I've been looking around for one of those "paying" type jobs that I always hear people raving about (smile). In addition, I've taken to standing outside the capitol holding a sign that says "will research for food". I do have a few leads so far, and if I don't find something full time soon, I may try to find a couple of part time jobs (maybe teaching guitar, as well as something else).
I plan to start studying for the GRE soon, because it's been way too long since I've taken a good old fashioned standardized test.
I hope you are all doing very well, and that the transition to a new semester is progressing smoothly.
Take care!
Peter
Even More Greetings From Inside The Beltway
Hello everyone!
Are you all oozing holiday spirit by now? I know I am, thanks in part to the National Christmas Tree lighting up the night sky, the National Yule Log warming my hands, and the National Candy Cane providing a tasty lick everyday. Okay, so all of these are true except the last. I guess a giant candy cane with thousands of people licking it everyday wouldn't be too sanitary. I've also been doing a little skating on the ice rink that's located on the Mall. I admit, giant neo-classical monuments are not my normal surroundings when I go ice skating.
Speaking of the Christmas tree, I'm fairly sure that they found a place to put that spent nuclear fuel, and it ain't Nevada! One glance at it will convince any attentive viewer that the thing is radioactive, because no natural Christmas tree glows in the night like this one does.
The yule log is actually a giant pit with numerous burning logs in it. A park ranger watches it and occasionally uses a forklift to toss another one in. The marshmallow roasting potential of this thing is off the charts, and I just have to find a wire or something to string them across the fence and the pit.
We've been having a large NAFTA conference here for the last couple of days, and yesterday Salinas, Mulroney, and Bush (senior) paid us a visit. Bush is quite interesting to hear speak these days, because he really no longer gives a hoot if someone takes something the wrong way. It's quite amusing! While returning to the Wilson Center with a couple other people we happened to run into him in the hallway, and he remarked "okay guys, there''ll be a quiz later, ha ha!" I assured him we'd be ready.
Looks like I'll be back to the tundra in about a week and a half.
How are all of you? Doing well?
Take care!
Peter
Are you all oozing holiday spirit by now? I know I am, thanks in part to the National Christmas Tree lighting up the night sky, the National Yule Log warming my hands, and the National Candy Cane providing a tasty lick everyday. Okay, so all of these are true except the last. I guess a giant candy cane with thousands of people licking it everyday wouldn't be too sanitary. I've also been doing a little skating on the ice rink that's located on the Mall. I admit, giant neo-classical monuments are not my normal surroundings when I go ice skating.
Speaking of the Christmas tree, I'm fairly sure that they found a place to put that spent nuclear fuel, and it ain't Nevada! One glance at it will convince any attentive viewer that the thing is radioactive, because no natural Christmas tree glows in the night like this one does.
The yule log is actually a giant pit with numerous burning logs in it. A park ranger watches it and occasionally uses a forklift to toss another one in. The marshmallow roasting potential of this thing is off the charts, and I just have to find a wire or something to string them across the fence and the pit.
We've been having a large NAFTA conference here for the last couple of days, and yesterday Salinas, Mulroney, and Bush (senior) paid us a visit. Bush is quite interesting to hear speak these days, because he really no longer gives a hoot if someone takes something the wrong way. It's quite amusing! While returning to the Wilson Center with a couple other people we happened to run into him in the hallway, and he remarked "okay guys, there''ll be a quiz later, ha ha!" I assured him we'd be ready.
Looks like I'll be back to the tundra in about a week and a half.
How are all of you? Doing well?
Take care!
Peter
Kiss-Cam Conspiracy Theories
Hey everyone!
How are you all? Things are going well here. I'm enjoying this warm weather, and the fact that it allows me to one again pursue that great American pastime, post-twilight cruising with the windows down. During these ventures one can also stop and experience the decadent and luxurious dining experiences available at one of our three local Kwik Trips (Why do we have three when our town is 6000 people? Pure opulence, baby!)
So, I went to the Brewers home opener a week or two ago, and saw something that seriously disturbed me, "The Kiss Cam". Basically, they just put a couple of people up on the Jumbotron and see if the peer pressure of 40,000 people will make them start making out on camera. I mean come on! What ever happened to making out behind posts and in public restrooms? Isn't that good enough for us anymore? As I see it, there are only three possible explanations for this bizarre experiment:
1. A hyper intelligent, pan-dimensional alien race has begun a study into the euphoria inducing human beverage known as "beer", and whether it can be used in combination with peer pressure to lower resistance against coercion. If it is possible to make two three hundred pound construction workers make out with each other on the Kiss Cam, the aliens shall launch a massive campaign of beer distribution and make-out reality programs to subdue the progress of human civilization.
2. The Roman Emperor Nero has been revived after some two millenia in cryo-freeze, and is now seeking to use the "Kiss Cam" two incite the epic, stadium-wide orgy that he's been dreaming about for 2000 years. If this is the case, expect to see epic poet Homer (also recently defrosted) on the New York Times bestseller list with his recently completed trilogy "The Iliad, The Odyssey, and the Orgy".
3. Eight grader Daniel Smith has finally realized that the only way he is ever going to get class-cutie Jennifer James to kiss him is to pucker up and get 40,000 people behind him.
I've got my bets on a defrosted Nero,
Peter
How are you all? Things are going well here. I'm enjoying this warm weather, and the fact that it allows me to one again pursue that great American pastime, post-twilight cruising with the windows down. During these ventures one can also stop and experience the decadent and luxurious dining experiences available at one of our three local Kwik Trips (Why do we have three when our town is 6000 people? Pure opulence, baby!)
So, I went to the Brewers home opener a week or two ago, and saw something that seriously disturbed me, "The Kiss Cam". Basically, they just put a couple of people up on the Jumbotron and see if the peer pressure of 40,000 people will make them start making out on camera. I mean come on! What ever happened to making out behind posts and in public restrooms? Isn't that good enough for us anymore? As I see it, there are only three possible explanations for this bizarre experiment:
1. A hyper intelligent, pan-dimensional alien race has begun a study into the euphoria inducing human beverage known as "beer", and whether it can be used in combination with peer pressure to lower resistance against coercion. If it is possible to make two three hundred pound construction workers make out with each other on the Kiss Cam, the aliens shall launch a massive campaign of beer distribution and make-out reality programs to subdue the progress of human civilization.
2. The Roman Emperor Nero has been revived after some two millenia in cryo-freeze, and is now seeking to use the "Kiss Cam" two incite the epic, stadium-wide orgy that he's been dreaming about for 2000 years. If this is the case, expect to see epic poet Homer (also recently defrosted) on the New York Times bestseller list with his recently completed trilogy "The Iliad, The Odyssey, and the Orgy".
3. Eight grader Daniel Smith has finally realized that the only way he is ever going to get class-cutie Jennifer James to kiss him is to pucker up and get 40,000 people behind him.
I've got my bets on a defrosted Nero,
Peter
A Report From the Cold Front
Hi everybody!
I would have dropped you all a line a while ago, but my Edgewood e-mail account (along with addresses) was prematurely destroyed while I was in DC (may it rest in peace). Anyway, Jess was kind enough to hook me up with the addresses again.
So, does anybody have massive Valentine's Day festivities planned this weekend. I'll just be doing the usual... donning my diaper and going out in search of targets for my suction cup tipped arrows! Nobody shall be safe from my agile arrows d'amour!
At the moment I'm still searching for work, and also studying for that grand standardized survey of knowledge, the GRE. Regrettably, I have been informed that you cannot mark your answers in crayon, a fact which will certainly make the experience less enjoyable.
While I'm searching for that job that will make me set for life in five years, I've also started working again at the roller rink. I had forgotten the countless little pleasures that accompany working at a roller rink; the gentle swish of the slushy machine, the dancing of the mirror balls as the lights dim, the hallucination-inducing smells of the rental skates. If I spend too long in the back with those things, I turn into a reincarnated, albeit less accurate version of Nostradamus.
My time hanging around the rink has given me an idea for a much more exciting game room experience. We have the standard setup, the video games, the ticket dispensing games, and the "redemption counter", where people get things like rubber balls for the equivilant of thirty dollars.
Well, in the spirit of balance, I think it's about time we get a "damnation counter" to go along with our "redemption counter". You see, the way it would work is that those who did well would still get to go to the "redemption counter" and claim their prizes. However, those not doing well would have to report to the "damnation counter", where they would be required to put on sackcloth and pile ashes on their head, all the while saying "Woe is me! Woe to me and my decrepid gaming abilities". This would not have to be eternal damnation, just damnation until they gain enough tickets to report to the redemption counter.
For the wealthy patrons, we would also establish an indulgence counter where they could buy indulgences in hopes of avoiding the damnation counter completely. I think these steps would create a much more exciting and dramatic gaming experience, where the penalty for losing is so much more fascinating than just wasting a quarter. And besides, I'm certain the indulgences counter would rake in the dough. What do you guys think? Want to go in on this with me?
I hope you all have a wonderful Valentine's Day! And make sure to cuddle up with that significant other, or perhaps just cuddle up with random strangers, as I plan on doing (grin)!
Shooting the arrows d'amour to you,
Peter
I would have dropped you all a line a while ago, but my Edgewood e-mail account (along with addresses) was prematurely destroyed while I was in DC (may it rest in peace). Anyway, Jess was kind enough to hook me up with the addresses again.
So, does anybody have massive Valentine's Day festivities planned this weekend. I'll just be doing the usual... donning my diaper and going out in search of targets for my suction cup tipped arrows! Nobody shall be safe from my agile arrows d'amour!
At the moment I'm still searching for work, and also studying for that grand standardized survey of knowledge, the GRE. Regrettably, I have been informed that you cannot mark your answers in crayon, a fact which will certainly make the experience less enjoyable.
While I'm searching for that job that will make me set for life in five years, I've also started working again at the roller rink. I had forgotten the countless little pleasures that accompany working at a roller rink; the gentle swish of the slushy machine, the dancing of the mirror balls as the lights dim, the hallucination-inducing smells of the rental skates. If I spend too long in the back with those things, I turn into a reincarnated, albeit less accurate version of Nostradamus.
My time hanging around the rink has given me an idea for a much more exciting game room experience. We have the standard setup, the video games, the ticket dispensing games, and the "redemption counter", where people get things like rubber balls for the equivilant of thirty dollars.
Well, in the spirit of balance, I think it's about time we get a "damnation counter" to go along with our "redemption counter". You see, the way it would work is that those who did well would still get to go to the "redemption counter" and claim their prizes. However, those not doing well would have to report to the "damnation counter", where they would be required to put on sackcloth and pile ashes on their head, all the while saying "Woe is me! Woe to me and my decrepid gaming abilities". This would not have to be eternal damnation, just damnation until they gain enough tickets to report to the redemption counter.
For the wealthy patrons, we would also establish an indulgence counter where they could buy indulgences in hopes of avoiding the damnation counter completely. I think these steps would create a much more exciting and dramatic gaming experience, where the penalty for losing is so much more fascinating than just wasting a quarter. And besides, I'm certain the indulgences counter would rake in the dough. What do you guys think? Want to go in on this with me?
I hope you all have a wonderful Valentine's Day! And make sure to cuddle up with that significant other, or perhaps just cuddle up with random strangers, as I plan on doing (grin)!
Shooting the arrows d'amour to you,
Peter
I Hereby Claim This Corner of Cyberspace
Hello, friends!
Welcome to my decrepit, rat-infested corner of cyberspace! Demand is driving costs up so much these days, it's all I could afford. On this ephemeral bit of electronic territory, I will be humoring myself by posting my thoughts on various things. I'll be starting with dispatches that were sent out in e-mail form during the past five years, and will work my way up to the current random rantings.
Thanks for coming by!
Very Randomly Yours,
Peter
Welcome to my decrepit, rat-infested corner of cyberspace! Demand is driving costs up so much these days, it's all I could afford. On this ephemeral bit of electronic territory, I will be humoring myself by posting my thoughts on various things. I'll be starting with dispatches that were sent out in e-mail form during the past five years, and will work my way up to the current random rantings.
Thanks for coming by!
Very Randomly Yours,
Peter
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