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totally greased.

jesus christ.

apparently, there is some passing similarity between myself and this guy:

At least, that's what I gather. How else could I account for a newspaperclipping announcing the new pair being left on my desk? this guy (Max Crumm) happens to have won NBC's "Your the One That I Want", the reality-show based on a Broadway production of Grease.
Do you see it?

Eh, I don't. But I have a feeling that's not going to stop his picture being put on my door (at least I know who I'm going to be for Halloween come October). Anyway, here's what it would look like if I was singing on stage.

fun with dogs

when you are sleeping tonight, I'm going to cut you.

Pet People are f*cking strange.

I saw this discussed on Gawker.
Here's the Link to the story.

And here's my riposte. I propose that there exists two classes of animal owners. First, The Pet Owners. These are people who have fairly normal, healthy bonds with their pets. The gamut goes from casual owner (like, me) to the enthusiastic owner, who have tons of toys, take their pets to shows, keep their animal in peak physical shape, etc. Nothing wrong with us Pet Owners. And then you have the second class, The Pet People.

Pet People are afflicted by a condition known as "bat-shit crazy". These are enthusiastic owners who happen to have a mental condition. These are people that put their pets on dialysis, dress them up and stick them in purses, have more than 4 at any given moment, prefer the company of animals over the company of people, talk to their pets and expect them to talk back, feed their pets food with exotic spices, garlic, and herbs at $15 a can or even steaks (to paraphrase Will Ferrel, "you're a fucking dog!"); the list goes on and on. There is a hierarchy to the Pet People though; even they know there are crazier people than them. It goes like this from least to most crazy:

Reptile Pet People (anyone who owns an alligator or a boa)
Dog Pet People (Where's the busy bee?!?!?)
Horse Pet People (uhmm...yeah)
Cat Pet People

Now, before the cat lovers out there get up in arms that I placed them as nuttier than Horse Sodomizees, (remember I'm talking about crazy people. If you are offended, then maybe you are one of the crazies) allow me to repost this from the original article that sparked my eye-twitching tirade:

SUE PIKE, a slender 45-year-old who lives in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn, does not consider herself a “cat whisperer.” She is, however, in the business of psychically healing these most touchy of man’s animal companions...Leaving Ms. Gamboa with Gatti, Ms. Pike went into the bedroom, where Lola was hiding under the bed, and sat on the floor. Addressing the end of the bed, she gently asked Lola why she was so scared. The answer came almost immediately. “He hurt me! I don’t like it when they hurt me!” Ms. Pike said in her girlish tone. Still in the living room, Ms. Gamboa heard Ms. Pike speak, and winced.

Oh Ms. Gamboa, you're not the only one wincing.

Seattle, once again

I've been back in Seattle for the past week for work, going through some training. Its been pleasant enough - its bittersweet to be able to come back to Seattle again. I'm happy, but being here really does make you miss it. I was able to connect with a few friends and make some new ones as well, however trip was pretty work-heavy, so apologies to you if you didn't see/hear from me while I was in town.

If you are a George Martin fan or a fan of graphic novels (read: comic books in hardcover), Marvel has released the classic "Hedge Knight" comic based off of Martin's short story. Set 100 years before the events of "Fire and Ice", the comic is an enjoyable read for fans of Martin's series. Its a good way to spend an hour or two.

Daft Punk in Seattle

From the Slog, news that should make Mr. John Brown very happy.

Daft Punk is coming to Seattle.

(Basically guys in computerized motorcycle helmets pressing a button every few seconds. BUT a lot of people show up, dance, take E, and generally love each other). I tease. I was introduced to Daft Punk in John's Canadian Stratus (the Dodge Intrepid) while riding out to/back from far reaching hiking trips. Ironic, considering Daft Punk's infusion of computers, technology, and music have absolutely nothing in common with hiking, trees, and birdsong, but strangely enough it set the mood.

They are going to be in NYC in August as well, so might be worth checking out. Of course, I'll be 30 by then...in fact, a lot of their original fans will be in their 30s...holy crap, this might be the first techno-equivalent to your parents going to the reunited Eagles show. A bunch of balding techno hipsters dancing along to 15 year old electro music while 18 year old kids roll their eyes.

The Big East Tournament

Twelve hours of basketball. Twelve hours.

I'm talking about the first day of the big east tournament. 8 teams from arguably the toughest basketball conference in the nation duked it out in the first round of the Big East Tournament, held in the legendary Madison Square Garden. I had been looking forward to this day, since the very first mention of a trip to NY for work. The main event for the night was watching Marquette face a scrappy St. John's squad, the first time in person I've had a chance to watch them this season. It was great to see them win, though not so great getting home past midnight with the prospect of a short night's sleep ahead of me.

This morning? The back is sore a little bit. My ass a little flatter. I won't go into details, but suffice to say that I've decided that twelve hours of basketball is a bit of a stretch. Today I'm going to settle for half of that, catching the two evening shows. Still, I'm proud though of my little marathon achievement. Even counting the two games I'm going to miss, that's still nine games in four days.

Fear and Loathing of the 30th

And that, I think, was the handle - that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply prevail. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark - that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.

Men.

The engaged. The married. The working. We simple, stupid Men.

It's March 1st, which means we're 3 months away from June. Which means its time to start thinking of forced air conditioning, brutal desert sun, and the nice, oh so very nice, swimming pools of Las Vegas (its spanish for...The Vegas).

June 7-10th. A celebration - and a funeral of sorts. Yours truly turns 30.

Start mulling it over. Put it in the calendar. More info to come in the forthcoming weeks.