Loggins is my wing man

it's Xmas time and that can mean only one thing: Christmas songs.

But i know what you're Saying... You're asking how the fuck am i gonna combine my love for smooth 80's jams while simultaneously embrace the season? With just three simple letters my mostly honky friends:

Kenny. Fucking. Loggins.




Loggins and I are keepin' it smooth this Xmas. Then later we might get all fucked up on tequila-nog and cruise for some Mrs. Clauses, ain't that right, Loggins? Those chicks LOVE the beard.


{high fives Loggins}

See, Loggins here knows that this time of year a bearded mutherfucker like him can get some MAD action. C'mon Loggins, let's go hit the food court and mess with the Cinnabun girls...











(**this post inspired by an awkward combination of Clerks 2 and a secret desire for Kenny Loggins to be my Silent Bob)

on running (in the snow)

If i could say just one thing about running 4 miles through a freshly fallen 10 inches of snow, it would be "don't."

Of course i wouldn't listen to me either. So i sauntered into my boots and sweats (yes, for the first time in years, i forwent the token B-ball shorts. Me. The person who NEVER runs in full length pants, no matter the temperature, had to sport the sweats.)

Mile one, westward, was fine. Fun even. I felt like Rocky in Rocky IV. I was probably moving a pace too fast to sustain, but then again i don't get a lot of opportunities to snow-train.




Mile two, southward, times are getting tough. The hills of this route seem to be of no consequence, be them up or down, when you're trudging through this madness. There's definitely 10 inches of snow on the ground but the wind has distributed it such that 25% of the surface is closer to 4 inches deep while another 25% is closer to 18 inches.

Mile three, eastward, and the cold, hard reality sets in: I will die out here. Okay, probably not, but i finally break down and walk sections of this mile. And by "walk" i mean continue my tedious high-step, forward-stumble, but at a slower cadence. It's become important that i stay in the fresh stuff because the few areas that have been disturbed by people have more a packed substance that only has interest in snapping my ankles. Also, mile three has more side streets, meaning more 4ft-tall plow-derived mounds of snow at each intersection. I don't remember most of this mile.

Mile four, northward, turning into the wind. At this point i'm requesting assistance from which ever one of your gods happens to be in the office this afternoon. In return he/she grants me a second and final wind. Every kick into the snow creates a plume of flakes that the wind puts back in my face. Mile four is on a busy, semi-major road, meaning LOTs of driveways and LOTs of snow banks to be climbed. When i AM running i'm pumping my arms so hard and far that it's approaching cartoonish, in a failing attempt to supplement my oh so weary calves, which don't seem to have the will left to keep me bounding out of these drifts. Passing cars appear to be slowing down, either to offer assistance or make a grab for my wallet when i go down... hard to say which but i try to stay moving to detour both.

At some point i round the end of mile four and sprint the short distance back to the cave. I celebrate the success my throwing myself into snow and seriously consider staying there for the night.


I am hurt from running like i haven't been hurt (from running) in a long time. I can't wait for the next time.

Snowed in

It seems the snow-pocalypse is upon us. I shall use this time off work combined with the inability to leave my cave as an opportunity to drop knowledge:

It seems the Sophist will continue to make batteries next year. Although bush is still a dick, he does seem to have settled down in the last few months of his reign. I've seen this exact same thing in a-hole co-workers that are getting ready to leave for a new job. Interesting.

Regardless, things are still looking dicey. Anyone else notice that Chrysler shut down all production with no solid timing for coming back on line?


hmmph


In other news: Scientists read your brain's images. Scientists: Stay away if you know what's good for you


Which leads us to...


Angry three-way sex you never knew you wanted to have:




It's almost time to compile my 2008 year in review. This one's been a little dicier than years past. (Much was learned; many miles accumulated.) Let me see if i can summarize...

Hot tubs, motorcycles and tattoos: Good
Theoretical money, the PO-lice and human emotions: Bad


I'll now spend the day working on my projects. I can't reveal the nature of the work yet, but it involves high voltage and 1940's Russian technology.



(fuck it's snowy out there... might be time for a run)

haikus

--as inspired by Hank Williams songs--




Fetch me the bar keep
Tell him two shots of happy
Two more of sad

Good times and music
Open eyes for a women
Who i never had

My friends too rowdy,
Saturday night drink too hard.
I was born too boogie.


Thank you, Hank, that'll be all.

Still Strugglin'

Today i had drinks with four people whose common career, though technical in nature, could not be any farther than my own; They might as well have been rocket scientist. New to the group and content to drink my beer, i listened as they lamented over the latest work strife. It would seem the biggest grief lay in the lack of attendance at this year's Christmas party, which the leader of the conversation would chalk up to the social problems of the time.

To be fair, it's not those people's fault that their very existance made me want to flip the table. How could they know that i justed watched a union slow-down exeucted in the midst of economic face-punch? (How can you file grievences against a company that doesn't exist, you short-sited fucks!)

Instead i thought back on the six years since college. I thought about the year of unemployment the four of us shared after returning to our parent's spare bedrooms and the resulting ability to recite the drink specials for every night at every bar within a 10 mile radius. I remembered the 72 hour weeks at the factory in Warren and the 20 hour weeks at the golf course in Taylor. ("really? an electrical engineering degree? what are you doing working at a golf course?") And i thought about how happy i was when i finally dug my to this job.

But mostly, while drinking my beer, i thought about the lay-offs; How many coworkers has it been? Could i remember all their names? (no) Not all of their faces were as vivid as Joe's, who, after all had a family. It wouldn't have been so bad if the boss hadn't TOLD me he layed off Joe so i could stay. I mean, three rounds of lay-offs this year/job alone... they start to all blurr together.

From Ohio... I thought about Chicago



Fuck it. Here's to Detroit; my unemployed and underemplyed co-horts. Teachers and engineers, public relationists and electricians:



Here's to a LOT of Labatt Blue after another day at a shitty job:



Here. Is to the struggle:

--A. Sophist


(Update: if you're not drunk yet, read this. It is perfect.)

"i see a tit tat on the gold digger"

Step one: Read this article (tip of the hat to hollysaurus)

let it *really* sink in there.

ah yes.

It's hard pin point my favorite part of this article on lottery winning... is it the "tit tat" reader comment after the article or actualy seeing the tattoo-adorned boob? Is it the way god filled the multi-million-dollar shaped hole in his soul?

Or maybe it's the way he still spends those 10 dollars a day on the lottery that makes me want to laugh/cry.

He is an inspriation to us all!

Note to self:
1) win lottery (one time equivalent to $82k/yr for 60 yrs)
2) (does more math) Marry 16.1 yr old single mother
3) profit

good times/bad times

i'm a little excited that next year could see interesting approaches to problem solving.

of course things in the middle are getting pretty tight.

JS

ftw

"Once you leave the edge, you're happy"

"...the stress comes while you're waiting, before you go. Once you start to act, it all happens by itself."



(If embedded video is missing, go here)

Can you imagine feeling more alive?


************


Unrelated news: I recommend the Trick Trick Album.

illin'

i will defeat the sickness with my robot choke slam

in the mean time, here are some clips of the animation, circa 2004, Ann Arbor.

ABIDE!

ABIDE!

Okay look

Three things you need to realize about this video:

1) this guy is a genius
2) this is what the internal dialog voice in my head sounds like
3) the audio is NOT safe for the typical work environment



(want more and more?)

I'm back

back in the high five state and i see the rioting hasn't started yet.

Get the latest news satire and funny videos at 236.com.

who can save us?

The air around Detroit is tasting sour and i can feel it 300 miles from the south.

6.5 JOBS FOR EVERY OEM EMPLOYEE. How many OEM employees? My random guess is about 200k between design and manufacturing.

GM fail.
GM fail.
Ford fail.
Chrysler fail.

Epic. Fail.



..if only there was a savior. A great (not white) hope...

roll the dice

In field report

From Ohio:

Readership numbers are way up over the last two months so i figure i better get the content flowing. Gotta keep up those numbers! Anyway, if Ohio is the fulcrum of this whole political shooting match, why not hang out here for a couple weeks and see if i can't assert my own brand of justice on the system. And by that, i mean ensuring as many people as possible are too drunk or sexually confused to make a rational decision at that key moment.

no, but seriously, i'm a slave to corporate america.

the result: I didn't even have a chance to provide my own insights into my weekend in Mad-town, WI.

Yes, pins were offed, Z'eds were thwarted and philosophy philosohized... But there was also me waking up on a stranger's (well, okay, friend of friend's) couch for the second weekend in a row, dozens of hours driving the mid-west highways, my new fascination with folk music and Target Women!



(love it? taste the pain!)

Later Chesto and I flexed it madcore. It looked like this



Then the zombies came and it looked like this



Then we were all like this



They say life is strange, but compared to what?

As true now...

"...millions of our fellow Americans are out of work... millions more work harder for lower pay. The incumbent President Bush says unemployment always goes up a little before a recovery begins, but unemployment only has to go up by one more person before a real recovery can begin. And Mr. President, you are that man."
-Clinton '92

October Highway Men

moments ago in my bed...

11:45Am, Monday. I wake up, having called off work just a few hours ago. Finally, i feel like i actually slept. Let's start at the beginning:

------------------

11:00pm Friday: After leaving the bar, i go home, pack a sack, hit Meijer for some last minute cold weather gear and head to Jay-Fry's. We exchange mental high-fives and depart for the Detroit/Canada tunnel. Temperature: 50 degrees F.

11:45pm Friday: Fuck all this noise: Apparently motorcycles are forbid in the tunnel and because Detroit is a big face-punch full of highway closures and construction, no one (including the tunnel guy) knows exactly how to get to the bridge. We head south along the river knowing "it's down there somewhere."

2:30Am Saturday: London, Ontario. We're in a road-side trucker dinner and gas station. We are not, what you would call "comfortable" with the temperature. I'm using the exhaust headers to warm my legs and hands. A side effect is the smell of burning cow (gloves) coming from my bike every time i stop. Jay-Fry is burdened with protective and aerodynamic cowls that keep icy hands away from warm engine parts. He is left with the slightly less dignified option of urinating on his gloved hands.

At the dinner we drink hot chocolate, hot tea, hot coffee and think about warm places. Jay-Fry shares a moment outside with the waitress while they smoke some cigs. I suspect she's ready to warm him up the old fashioned way, but he seems oblivious to this. Plus, we're on a mission.

Note: I have no idea what the temperature is because the locals use an unbreakable cryptology to encode their temperature units. In an attempt to crow-bar the code, i make the general association that 5C = 5 layers of torso coverings.


View Larger Map

4:30Am Saturday: Hamilton, Ontario. We can go no further: the weather has won. We pull off on the first exit outside town that features a hotel. The simple physical reward of NOT travel 90mph against a frozen atmosphere is now more gratifying as any drug, woman or feeling i can imagine. Possessing all that we carry, we park the bikes on the room's porch.

I take a moment to grab a photo after parking the bikes:


5:00Am Saturday: Room temp set to 75 (why is it back to F here?) I crawl into bed. We briefly discuss the fact that we could have just as easily driven south been warmer... This notion is so profound that i refuse to incorporate it as truth and instead use the I-pod to drown the buzz of the engine in my head. I sleep.

11:00Am Saturday: Up by 9, showered, eaten, packed and ready to rock. Unfortunately the W is low on oil (half a quart after 4k miles? not bad...)



2:00Pm Saturday: Niagara, Ontario. The sun it out and we are happy. We drive by the falls, stop, and have a serious conversation about jumping the gap as a sure-fire way to avoid customs and lines. Niagara proves difficult to navigate when you're looking for a) the entrance to a USA-bound bridge or b) a gas station. We give up on b and focus on a, which will later prove problematic. I decide to stick to the now-proven portrait equation of holding the camera myself while Jay-Fry wanders oblivious in the background.









4:00Pm Saturday: Grand Island, NY. Fuck this island. I have traveled 40 miles since switching to the reserve tank and as far as we can tell there are no gas stations in New York. The toll taker gives us errant directions to one location and we extrapolate the location of a second. The first is never found and the second is closed. Things are desperate; we find ANOTHER closed (as in, out of business) gas station. (For some reason forget about having google maps on our phones as this point, probably because it would just point us to another empty building anyway) We rely on "ground intel" (read: local slack-jaws) to point us to a functioning pump, but even they seems little unsure of their directions. Eventually we find food and gas. I take the opportunity to get site-seeing recommendations from my NY people.


6:00Pm, Saturday: Rochester, NY. We have just arrived at the house of a woman neither of us knows. Surprisingly there was no welcoming committee awaiting our arrival in Rochester, probably because i forgot to call a head. We rode around downtown looking for a hotel and signs of life, but downtown proper was dead. And ghetto-y. We resorted to the "friends of friends" technique to ultimately hook up with the sister of Jay-fry's brother's ex-girlfriend. (yeah, awesome, i know) The photographer (as she is one) amazingly agreed to show us around town tonight, for she is hip to the hang outs.



View Larger Map

8:00Pm Saturday: Rochester, NY, "The South Wedge District." After food and beers at the first bar, we're sitting in a coffee shop that also sells the liquor. The shop features works of local artists, one of which i recognize as this guy's work. is that him...? in the corner? I'm having an Irish coffee with a Redbull chaser. The caffeine and alcohol are slugging it out in my system. As it is early, we discuss the possibility of a pre-party nap, as most of the bars won't be in effect for another couple hours. This idea is quickly dismissed as "tasting like quitter."

note: this is where things get fuzzy. We'll file it under the hours between 9pm and 3-ish am. There is no possible way i can logically retell the events in a linear and coherent manner; not because i don't remember any of it, just because science does not allow it. But i can tell you this: It involved Whiskey. (it's an ideas drink, after all) It also involved folk music, 80's punk and Christian Ska. There was a banjo demonstration that led to several hours of banjo jokes. (if you don't know, the banjo features a "G-string" and is also a slang word for girl parts). There was an attempt to recall the name Cat Stevens adopted when he converted religions, more booze, more jokes, a dissertation on why Neil Diamond is the world's greatest singer song writer, making fun of social networking sites, complaints about the opposite sex and at some point everything just reset back to zero. I sleep.

At some point in the night, Rochester claims ownership of this button:



8:00Am Sunday: I wake up on a stranger's couch in a strange city. There are house guests. The world is foggy and i'm cold AGAIN. I relocate somewhere more peaceful.

10:00Am Sunday: I wake again. (There's a cat here. Hello cat.) I remember the mission and try to throw myself into at day but my body resists. I muster a shower but decline the delicious smelling breakfast the photographer has cooked for us and her roommates. (Her hospitality seems to know no bounds) Some friends are at the house and they're discussing possible routes we should take home to maximize the nature exposure. I make my way to the front porch where things always make sense:



From the porch i see this and old OAR songs start to play in my head:



At that sight the fog lifts and mission becomes clear again: we ride. It's decided that we B-line for home. Jay-fry needs to be at work Monday and given the near state of hypothermia we find ourselves when arriving at a destination, it is better perhaps if we stay away from the lakes and seclusion... for this trip.

11:45Am Sunday: Rochester, NY. We re-tell the adventures of the night and say our goodbyes. For reasons i cannot fully understand it feels AMAZING to be back on the bike; the sun is shining and the weather is fair. I've hardly slept and my body is choking on caffeine, b-12 and alcohol but I feel awake, alive and healthy. The first 30 or so minutes on the road are the best of the weekend and i'm feeling on top of the world. We ride fast.



The trip home: Amazing; NY is fast and Canada is slow. We fill up in Niagara and decide to run the tanks dry before we stop, putting us right back on London, ON again, where we see the friendly waitresses. We enjoy the weekend's first healthy meal (soup and salad) while the sun and the temperature both drop faster than we'd like. The last 100 miles are hard. Its cold. Real cold. Plus there's construction and i'm sore. But somehow that all melts away when you see the bridge to America. Waiting in customs, we discuss the magic feeling when you're getting close to home after a long road trip.


The tally: Rochester, MI to Rochester, NY and back: 700+ miles
The time: 47hours from idea conception to arriving home
Song during final credits: OAR "Revolution"
Special thanks: Here's to the photographer; the hero of the story and our new digital-internet friend

moments ago in bar...

Around 9pm

"Sure it'd be a great motorcycle trip and the colors would be amazing but you're running short on time. I mean, shit, you'd have to do it like... this weekend. Heh, that's pretty funny because i have NO plans for this weekend."

{ominous music}

9:30

{i finish my guiness}

"Bar tender- bring me a Jameson on the rocks... I need to stay warm"

"I'm not sure we could even make it through Canada tonight, but i suppose we could stop when our fingers go numb... We doing this?"

"alright, you're riding the Duc? We ride light; leave from your place at 11:00."

Sub 10 minute miles

i am the champion. (of putting blisters on my feet)


in other news:



I'm gonna kick some ass with my own pipe wrench!
(pipe wrench fight!)