I'm in sales. Industrial sales. Chances are, if you're reading this, the electricity operating your computer was supplied by a power plant with some of my parts in it. 80% of my sales are done right here in Georgia, but I have a few customers to whom I occasionally need to pay visits to. One in Colorado, one in Wisconsin, and one in Houston. Last week, it was Houston's turn.
Let me just start by saying that of all the cities to which I've ever traveled, Houston is my least favorite (and I once visited Buffalo New York in January!). It's hot, sticky, crowded, and worst of all, while claiming to be part of "The South," the state is completely devoid of sweet tea. For that reason alone, Houston sucks. There is nothing worse than going into a restaurant for lunch on a hot day and being told unsweetened tea is the only option.
So, it was with much reservation that I got up at 4:30AM last Thursday, shaved and showered, and left the house by 5:45AM so that I could drop my car off at the off-airport parking and be at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport by 7-ish for my 8:45 flight. Traffic was light. That's the last thing that went well until about 5PM that day. I flew through the security lines only to be subjected to the group scolding by the TSA worker, yelling at us like 5 year olds about how there should be nothing in our pockets, not even our boarding passes. I'm reasonably certain if I jumped the line, this particular woman would not have had the physical stamina to chase me for a distance of more than 2-3 floor tiles.
Apparently, my laptop has been infected with malware which my various protections aren't quite able to eradicate (which stopped being a priority when the boss decided I was due for a new laptop). One side-effect of this malware was that it disabled my internet browsers, so I was unable to get online and work (and by work, I mean "write about all the funny/gross/sexy people at the airport waiting for flights), so I couldn't even pass the time doing something productive. I could at least see emails on my Blackberry, but that wasn't so great as one of them was an announcement that an acquaintance of mine passed away (he was 67 and had massive organ failures).
My 8:45 flight was late, because the plane I would be flying on was late coming in from wherever that plane was coming in from, so it was pushed back to 9:15. I kind of wish Delta had decided to put in a different plane, because the one we were on turned out to be an MD-88. If you're not familiar with that model, imagine having about as much elbow room as a coffin. The legroom wasn't too bad, but I spent the entire 2 hour flight wedged in against the woman next to me (I had the window). The armrest was up, and she kind of spilled over the middle (I should have arranged a DMZ like my younger brother and I had when traveling by car as kids....anyone crosses the middle, they are fair game for getting punched). She wasn't fat...she was just big, like a basketball player. Pushing 6' tall with hips wider than mine. Not only that, there was little cushion left to the seat. It was hard enough that I had this metal bar pushing up against my coccyx the entire flight. That was a brief experience in how it feels to be pregnant, I think.
As this is obviously a long entry, I will break this up into at least one more part. Stay tuned tomorrow for:
* Bladder Control Issues
* Airsickness Bags
* Houston
* Smoking Laptops
* Unsweetened Iced Tea
* Expense Account Meals
* Customer Service
* Salesmanship
Showing posts with label Road Trip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Road Trip. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Friday, September 4, 2009
I want to wake up in a city, that never sleeps
Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of attending the wedding of my baby brother (who isn't so much a baby anymore) in, of all places, New York City. From the time of my birth until I was 18, and again from the age of 22 until 26, I lived about 75 minutes from the city by train, and as far as I was concerned, that was close enough. Trips to the city were limited to museums, planetariums, many baseball games (mostly Mets, and 1 Yankees game on a work-related outing) and exactly 1 circus. Never, until last weekend, have I ever spent a night in the city.
I expected to be kept up all night long with sirens, horns honking, gunshots, etc. Amazingly, the only thing that kept me awake was the hum of the air conditioner in the room. Due to the location of the wedding, we stayed in the Radio City Apartments, which is right near Rockefeller Plaza, Radio City Music Hall, and Times Square, which is not the Times Square of my youth (strip clubs, porn shops, peep shows, etc). It's the Times Square for my kids' youth (a large Toys R Us, an M&M's store, a Hershey's store, Planet Hollywood, Hard Rock Cafe, etc). This was the first time I actually got to walk around the city and just look, as all other previous visits were for a specific destination and then a trip back home to Jersey, so I actually got to do more people-watching.
Between the trip up and the wedding itself I have a lot of thoughts to put down, so I just want to touch on the unusual things I saw or experienced:
-Each morning, outside our hotel, sat a homeless Native American, with a sign that read that he was trying to get back home to Arizona. For the first time in years, I gave money to a homeless person. 10 feet away from him, my daughter found a dime and a penny on the ground, and I made her give the money to that guy, along with whatever change was in my pocket. I probably would've ignored him except all I could think of was the Crying Indian Commercial from my childhood. Remembering that guy crying guilted me into helping out this Indian in NYC.
-I left my cell phone charger in NJ. There was a Verizon store right next to the hotel, and my phone was running low, so on Saturday morning I walked down there to see if I could buy a charger. It was closed. The city may never sleep, but God help you if you need to buy a cell phone or pay your bill on a Saturday.
-My brother works in the Empire State Building, so he was able to get us specially-priced tickets that also enabled us to skip the line and go right to the elevators to the observation deck. I immediately noticed, west of the ESB, Penn Plaza and Madison Square Garden, where the NY Rangers play in the National Hockey League. When I pointed this landmark out to Thing 1, from approximately 2 blocks over and 1058 feet up, she proceeded to boo Madison Square Garden. That's my girl! (Suck it, Rangers!)
-While sightseeing on Saturday morning, during a steady rain, in Times Square, a Latino guy wearing shorts and a t-shirt crossed the road, near 47th Street. I should point out that all he was wearing were shorts and a t-shirt. He was pushing a double-decker hand cart that had cases of soda on the top, and underneath was a boom box playing a Def Leppard song. He pushed it towards the crowd, and when he came across an obstacle, he would hop around, change direction, and move to avoid hitting people, always hopping, like he was the happiest guy on earth. He almost looked like Frogger, trying to avoid hitting people with his cart. All the while with Def Leppard blaring. Barefoot. It was possibly the most surreal moment of the weekend.
-But, the absolute strangest sight of the weekend occurred while I visited the lunch counter right next to the hotel. It had a short-order counter for breakfast and lunch foods (eggs, bacon, home fries, sandwiches, etc). A short Latino behind the counter would take orders, and had fairly good English. Better than most of the people ordering, who were literally from all over the world (I heard Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, and Hindi). After I placed my order, for a couple of bagels and some scrambled eggs with bacon, an Indian (Hindi) guy next to me ordered. He asked for a bagel, with cream cheese, and eggs. Now, normally you put one or the other on a bagel. But combining the sweetness of cream cheese with fried eggs is, for lack of a better word, disgusting. It's like cheese on Chinese food. So, the Indian gentleman places his order, and the Latino behind the counter wrinkled up his face, and said, "bagel...with cream cheese, and eggs?" And the Indian confirms this order. And the cook again says, "with eggs?" With even more disbelief. Meanwhile, my stomach is just twisting at the thought. And the Indian says, "yes, with eggs." and one last time, the cook says, "EGGS?" Just to make sure he heard him right. And the Indian nodded affirmation. The cook shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and went to prepare the order, and undoubtedly a part of his soul died at the thought that he came all the way to America to put that piece of shit food order together. I almost wanted to ask that guy if he was sure he wanted eggs on a bagel with cream cheese.
Next up: Emergency tuxedo repairs, Princess Bride quotes, shitty NY pizza, open bars, and shit for which people will pay $118.
I expected to be kept up all night long with sirens, horns honking, gunshots, etc. Amazingly, the only thing that kept me awake was the hum of the air conditioner in the room. Due to the location of the wedding, we stayed in the Radio City Apartments, which is right near Rockefeller Plaza, Radio City Music Hall, and Times Square, which is not the Times Square of my youth (strip clubs, porn shops, peep shows, etc). It's the Times Square for my kids' youth (a large Toys R Us, an M&M's store, a Hershey's store, Planet Hollywood, Hard Rock Cafe, etc). This was the first time I actually got to walk around the city and just look, as all other previous visits were for a specific destination and then a trip back home to Jersey, so I actually got to do more people-watching.
Between the trip up and the wedding itself I have a lot of thoughts to put down, so I just want to touch on the unusual things I saw or experienced:
-Each morning, outside our hotel, sat a homeless Native American, with a sign that read that he was trying to get back home to Arizona. For the first time in years, I gave money to a homeless person. 10 feet away from him, my daughter found a dime and a penny on the ground, and I made her give the money to that guy, along with whatever change was in my pocket. I probably would've ignored him except all I could think of was the Crying Indian Commercial from my childhood. Remembering that guy crying guilted me into helping out this Indian in NYC.
-I left my cell phone charger in NJ. There was a Verizon store right next to the hotel, and my phone was running low, so on Saturday morning I walked down there to see if I could buy a charger. It was closed. The city may never sleep, but God help you if you need to buy a cell phone or pay your bill on a Saturday.
-My brother works in the Empire State Building, so he was able to get us specially-priced tickets that also enabled us to skip the line and go right to the elevators to the observation deck. I immediately noticed, west of the ESB, Penn Plaza and Madison Square Garden, where the NY Rangers play in the National Hockey League. When I pointed this landmark out to Thing 1, from approximately 2 blocks over and 1058 feet up, she proceeded to boo Madison Square Garden. That's my girl! (Suck it, Rangers!)
-While sightseeing on Saturday morning, during a steady rain, in Times Square, a Latino guy wearing shorts and a t-shirt crossed the road, near 47th Street. I should point out that all he was wearing were shorts and a t-shirt. He was pushing a double-decker hand cart that had cases of soda on the top, and underneath was a boom box playing a Def Leppard song. He pushed it towards the crowd, and when he came across an obstacle, he would hop around, change direction, and move to avoid hitting people, always hopping, like he was the happiest guy on earth. He almost looked like Frogger, trying to avoid hitting people with his cart. All the while with Def Leppard blaring. Barefoot. It was possibly the most surreal moment of the weekend.
-But, the absolute strangest sight of the weekend occurred while I visited the lunch counter right next to the hotel. It had a short-order counter for breakfast and lunch foods (eggs, bacon, home fries, sandwiches, etc). A short Latino behind the counter would take orders, and had fairly good English. Better than most of the people ordering, who were literally from all over the world (I heard Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, and Hindi). After I placed my order, for a couple of bagels and some scrambled eggs with bacon, an Indian (Hindi) guy next to me ordered. He asked for a bagel, with cream cheese, and eggs. Now, normally you put one or the other on a bagel. But combining the sweetness of cream cheese with fried eggs is, for lack of a better word, disgusting. It's like cheese on Chinese food. So, the Indian gentleman places his order, and the Latino behind the counter wrinkled up his face, and said, "bagel...with cream cheese, and eggs?" And the Indian confirms this order. And the cook again says, "with eggs?" With even more disbelief. Meanwhile, my stomach is just twisting at the thought. And the Indian says, "yes, with eggs." and one last time, the cook says, "EGGS?" Just to make sure he heard him right. And the Indian nodded affirmation. The cook shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and went to prepare the order, and undoubtedly a part of his soul died at the thought that he came all the way to America to put that piece of shit food order together. I almost wanted to ask that guy if he was sure he wanted eggs on a bagel with cream cheese.
Next up: Emergency tuxedo repairs, Princess Bride quotes, shitty NY pizza, open bars, and shit for which people will pay $118.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Like a True Nature's Child,
We were born, born to be wild.
-Steppenwolf, 1968
Marco keep your eyelids up and see what you can see.
-Dr. Seuss, 1937
As I wrote recently, I went on vacation for a week to northern Wisconsin. I will always encourage people to drive across country rather than fly (and not just because I’m not a big fan of flying), because we live in such a huge, such a diverse country, filled with deserts, mountains, rolling plains, river valleys, shoreline, rain forests, and cities. Very few countries offer the geographical diversity that the United States offers. And, the people within the US are just as diverse. When you drive for a thousand miles, you get a first-hand glimpse of the heights and depths of that diversity.
And, more importantly, you will always have a story to tell. And the most interesting people on the planet are those with a story to tell. Hmm, I kind of implied that I am among the most interesting people on the planet, which kind of makes me out to be an arrogant ass. What I’m saying is, YOU can be among the most interesting people on the planet. Hell, you know what I mean.
A large portion of our drive is through Illinois….where we spend the most hours, by far, as we enter through the southernmost portion, and leave through the northernmost point. We bypass Chicago, which is the only interesting city in the state, and instead go through places like Metropolis, whose claim to fame is having a statue of Superman in front of the county courthouse, and Rockford, whose claim to fame is being the home of one of history’s greatest rock bands, Cheap Trick (and after that, its interest factor drops dramatically). So, it’s not surprising when the highlights of the trip occur on the interstate itself. One of which was the guy we saw with the Vespa scooter tied to the roof of his Nissan Sentra, which I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. The second was the group of bikers we saw.
With mostly flat roads, you can see for some distance in Illinois, so we saw this group of bikers overtaking us pretty early. They looked pretty tough from a distance, so we kept in the right lane and let them pass. My wife was driving. In a few minutes, the 4 bikers on Harleys came alongside. One of the bikers had a woman sitting in the “bitch seat.” 3 of the bikers, plus the “bitch,” had no helmets. A 4th biker, one of the solo riders, had one (Illinois does not have a Helmet Law). They looked especially tough….lots of road dust, scraggly beards, and one of them had a shaved head with a tattoo on his head. On. His. Head. Did we stereotype? Sure, I suppose, but considering you see more guys with skull tattoos in prison then you do in, say, an orthodontist or investment banker’s office, you can understand why. We gave them a wide birth, allowing them to pass easily. Once the quartet passed us, they smoothly moved into the right lane and kept up with their pace, and pulled ahead of us, their Michigan license plates clearly visible.
Naturally, my 10 year old, Thing 1, would not stop commenting about the tattoo on the side of the head, as I completely expected. But in a few seconds would be the vehicle that would capture MY attention. Shortly after the bikes passed us, we were overtaken by a small SUV pulling a trailer. The trailer appeared to be a motorcycle hauler, as there were frames on the trailer to which you could hold two motorcycles and tie them down into place. The hauler passed us and then pulled in front of us, it’s Michigan plate visible. At this point, I realized the hauler must be with the motorcycles. I had to snicker….these badass-looking bikers, who easily could’ve passed for Hells Angels, Pagans, or Del Fuegos, and they need a hauler to move their bikes and catch a ride in case the poor widdle babies get tired. I wouldn’t say this to their face, in case they actually WERE Pagans, but I sure as hell was thinking it.
The hauler and the motorcycles pulled further on ahead, and then we were passed by a Honda mini-van, which pulled in front of us once it cleared us. It too had Michigan plates, which I took to be a coincidence. It was then that I realized the rear window was dirty, and there was something written in the dirt. I strained my eyes, until I could make it out:
CAUTION:
MOTORCYCLE
PERCESSION
So in summary…we have 4 bikers (and 1 bitch) that looked like they were going to the rally at Sturgis to kick some ass. One SUV with a motorcycle hauler, to carry them when they got tired, and a (dirty) mini-van, warning people to be careful (as though it was a “Wide Load” vehicle), driven by an apparently illiterate person. From Michigan.
This is indeed a great and colorful country. With bad spellers.
-Steppenwolf, 1968
Marco keep your eyelids up and see what you can see.
-Dr. Seuss, 1937
As I wrote recently, I went on vacation for a week to northern Wisconsin. I will always encourage people to drive across country rather than fly (and not just because I’m not a big fan of flying), because we live in such a huge, such a diverse country, filled with deserts, mountains, rolling plains, river valleys, shoreline, rain forests, and cities. Very few countries offer the geographical diversity that the United States offers. And, the people within the US are just as diverse. When you drive for a thousand miles, you get a first-hand glimpse of the heights and depths of that diversity.
And, more importantly, you will always have a story to tell. And the most interesting people on the planet are those with a story to tell. Hmm, I kind of implied that I am among the most interesting people on the planet, which kind of makes me out to be an arrogant ass. What I’m saying is, YOU can be among the most interesting people on the planet. Hell, you know what I mean.
A large portion of our drive is through Illinois….where we spend the most hours, by far, as we enter through the southernmost portion, and leave through the northernmost point. We bypass Chicago, which is the only interesting city in the state, and instead go through places like Metropolis, whose claim to fame is having a statue of Superman in front of the county courthouse, and Rockford, whose claim to fame is being the home of one of history’s greatest rock bands, Cheap Trick (and after that, its interest factor drops dramatically). So, it’s not surprising when the highlights of the trip occur on the interstate itself. One of which was the guy we saw with the Vespa scooter tied to the roof of his Nissan Sentra, which I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. The second was the group of bikers we saw.
With mostly flat roads, you can see for some distance in Illinois, so we saw this group of bikers overtaking us pretty early. They looked pretty tough from a distance, so we kept in the right lane and let them pass. My wife was driving. In a few minutes, the 4 bikers on Harleys came alongside. One of the bikers had a woman sitting in the “bitch seat.” 3 of the bikers, plus the “bitch,” had no helmets. A 4th biker, one of the solo riders, had one (Illinois does not have a Helmet Law). They looked especially tough….lots of road dust, scraggly beards, and one of them had a shaved head with a tattoo on his head. On. His. Head. Did we stereotype? Sure, I suppose, but considering you see more guys with skull tattoos in prison then you do in, say, an orthodontist or investment banker’s office, you can understand why. We gave them a wide birth, allowing them to pass easily. Once the quartet passed us, they smoothly moved into the right lane and kept up with their pace, and pulled ahead of us, their Michigan license plates clearly visible.
Naturally, my 10 year old, Thing 1, would not stop commenting about the tattoo on the side of the head, as I completely expected. But in a few seconds would be the vehicle that would capture MY attention. Shortly after the bikes passed us, we were overtaken by a small SUV pulling a trailer. The trailer appeared to be a motorcycle hauler, as there were frames on the trailer to which you could hold two motorcycles and tie them down into place. The hauler passed us and then pulled in front of us, it’s Michigan plate visible. At this point, I realized the hauler must be with the motorcycles. I had to snicker….these badass-looking bikers, who easily could’ve passed for Hells Angels, Pagans, or Del Fuegos, and they need a hauler to move their bikes and catch a ride in case the poor widdle babies get tired. I wouldn’t say this to their face, in case they actually WERE Pagans, but I sure as hell was thinking it.
The hauler and the motorcycles pulled further on ahead, and then we were passed by a Honda mini-van, which pulled in front of us once it cleared us. It too had Michigan plates, which I took to be a coincidence. It was then that I realized the rear window was dirty, and there was something written in the dirt. I strained my eyes, until I could make it out:
CAUTION:
MOTORCYCLE
PERCESSION
So in summary…we have 4 bikers (and 1 bitch) that looked like they were going to the rally at Sturgis to kick some ass. One SUV with a motorcycle hauler, to carry them when they got tired, and a (dirty) mini-van, warning people to be careful (as though it was a “Wide Load” vehicle), driven by an apparently illiterate person. From Michigan.
This is indeed a great and colorful country. With bad spellers.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Wisconsin's Victoria's Secret
Retail shopping in Wisconsin is an interesting experience. The harsh reality of Wisconsin is that the weather sucks. A lot. They get their first snowfall in October, and their last in April. They then have 2 months whose weather can best be described somewhere in between "planting season" and "brisk."
Around Fourth of July weekend, people get brave enough to venture into outdoor swimming areas (until then, most swimming is indoors....because of the climate, some genius in marketing figured out that if you build an indoor waterpark in a state that sees freezing weather 8-9 out of 12 months a year, people will flock to it like prison inmates to Soap-on-a-Rope). But, until those magical 3 months of summer (I will say this, no state in the country is more beautiful and has more going for it than Wisconsin in the summer), the weather always has the potential for astronomical amounts of suckage.
Therefore, the concept of One Stop Shopping is heavily embraced. Wal-Marts and Targets were welcomed with open arms throughout the state, and Wal-Mart Supercenters and Super Targets even more so. To be able to buy groceries, beer, hardware, rent videos, get film developed, buy electronics, and seeds for the garden in the Spring, all under one roof, and then being able to go straight to the car and go home, without having to go to 5 different stores in weather so cold your boogers are freezing inside your nose? Entire towns gave the big middle finger to their small businesses just for the opportunity to stay warm.
Even home improvement stores have gotten into that market. Where you used to go only for tools, lumber, and other home improvement-related goods, stores like Menards now sell limited amounts of groceries and books.
But the store that merges convenience in a matter more entertaining than all the others is Fleet Farm. Fleet Farm can almost be described as "Home Depot / Lowes / Menards.....for Farmers." There, you can buy stuff to build an animal pen, as well as windows and doors for barns (or, the home). But, it takes the convenience of home improvement shopping and merges it with the sporting goods shopping of Wal-Mart or Target, and offers a lot of recreational goods. I have been in grocery stores smaller than the section of the store that sells fishing poles and equipment at the Fleet Farm in Antigo. Across the aisle, they have water recreational gear.....inner tubes, water skis, etc. Elsewhere in the store is an entire section for all your hunting needs. Rifles, bows, arrows, ammo, knives, etc. In Fleet Farm, you can buy deer piss that will A, mask your natural smell, and B, make a buck think he's smelling a doe in heat, thus making it easier for a buck to walk right by you, allowing you to eat venison all winter while smoking a cigar in your easy chair underneath a mounted deer head.
And last but not least....they have a complete line of clothing. High-wasted jeans for those fashionable women who still think it's 1991. Practical clothing for men, women, girls and boys. Hip-waders, hunting jackets, clothing covered in camoflauge and trimmed in blaze orange. The camo is so that you can hide from deer, the blaze orange is so that other hunters see you.
But, what is amazing about Fleet Farm is that there is nothing.....NOTHING....that they won't trim with camoflauge and/or blaze orange. Which is why, when given the opportunity to go there (my daughters were going fishing with their uncle for the first time, and needed fishing poles), I jumped at the opportunity. Because, I knew I would see the following:
Yes, those are blaze orange panties, with some kind of animal motif. The kind of motif that folk artists will often paint on saw blades, but rarely on lingerie. And I also saw this:
Camo panties, for the hunter (huntress?) who likes to be completely in "kill" mode. Or, realizes that serial killers live in the woods, and just like in the movies, at some point she'll have to be running in fear while only in her underwear. Of course, the hot pink trim seems defeat that purpose, but I will never pretend to understand the mind of a hunter. But I will say this....tomorrow, Saturday, you can bet somewhere in Wisconsin, there is a young woman packing a bag for a honeymoon, and in her bag is at least one pair of underwear that you see here.
Around Fourth of July weekend, people get brave enough to venture into outdoor swimming areas (until then, most swimming is indoors....because of the climate, some genius in marketing figured out that if you build an indoor waterpark in a state that sees freezing weather 8-9 out of 12 months a year, people will flock to it like prison inmates to Soap-on-a-Rope). But, until those magical 3 months of summer (I will say this, no state in the country is more beautiful and has more going for it than Wisconsin in the summer), the weather always has the potential for astronomical amounts of suckage.
Therefore, the concept of One Stop Shopping is heavily embraced. Wal-Marts and Targets were welcomed with open arms throughout the state, and Wal-Mart Supercenters and Super Targets even more so. To be able to buy groceries, beer, hardware, rent videos, get film developed, buy electronics, and seeds for the garden in the Spring, all under one roof, and then being able to go straight to the car and go home, without having to go to 5 different stores in weather so cold your boogers are freezing inside your nose? Entire towns gave the big middle finger to their small businesses just for the opportunity to stay warm.
Even home improvement stores have gotten into that market. Where you used to go only for tools, lumber, and other home improvement-related goods, stores like Menards now sell limited amounts of groceries and books.
But the store that merges convenience in a matter more entertaining than all the others is Fleet Farm. Fleet Farm can almost be described as "Home Depot / Lowes / Menards.....for Farmers." There, you can buy stuff to build an animal pen, as well as windows and doors for barns (or, the home). But, it takes the convenience of home improvement shopping and merges it with the sporting goods shopping of Wal-Mart or Target, and offers a lot of recreational goods. I have been in grocery stores smaller than the section of the store that sells fishing poles and equipment at the Fleet Farm in Antigo. Across the aisle, they have water recreational gear.....inner tubes, water skis, etc. Elsewhere in the store is an entire section for all your hunting needs. Rifles, bows, arrows, ammo, knives, etc. In Fleet Farm, you can buy deer piss that will A, mask your natural smell, and B, make a buck think he's smelling a doe in heat, thus making it easier for a buck to walk right by you, allowing you to eat venison all winter while smoking a cigar in your easy chair underneath a mounted deer head.
And last but not least....they have a complete line of clothing. High-wasted jeans for those fashionable women who still think it's 1991. Practical clothing for men, women, girls and boys. Hip-waders, hunting jackets, clothing covered in camoflauge and trimmed in blaze orange. The camo is so that you can hide from deer, the blaze orange is so that other hunters see you.
But, what is amazing about Fleet Farm is that there is nothing.....NOTHING....that they won't trim with camoflauge and/or blaze orange. Which is why, when given the opportunity to go there (my daughters were going fishing with their uncle for the first time, and needed fishing poles), I jumped at the opportunity. Because, I knew I would see the following:
Yes, those are blaze orange panties, with some kind of animal motif. The kind of motif that folk artists will often paint on saw blades, but rarely on lingerie. And I also saw this:
Camo panties, for the hunter (huntress?) who likes to be completely in "kill" mode. Or, realizes that serial killers live in the woods, and just like in the movies, at some point she'll have to be running in fear while only in her underwear. Of course, the hot pink trim seems defeat that purpose, but I will never pretend to understand the mind of a hunter. But I will say this....tomorrow, Saturday, you can bet somewhere in Wisconsin, there is a young woman packing a bag for a honeymoon, and in her bag is at least one pair of underwear that you see here.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The Food Chain
The entire week I spent in Wisconsin was marked by a regular occurrence, one to which you could almost set a clock. Each night, shortly after midnight, I would hear howling in the distance. And that howling would get closer and closer each night. It was the howling of a pack of coyotes. We heard them every night, calling each other, sending signals to one another in their hunt for prey.
One night, we heard a different sound. The cows at the dairy farm across the road started bellowing. The cows are often in the field each night, eating and sleeping. This was one of those nights. When in the field, they are usually quiet, but this night, we heard them making loud noises. I knew immediately that they sensed something wrong. Within 2 minutes, I heard the howling. This was different than any other night though. The hairs on my arm and the back of my neck stood up. This was different because we knew where the coyotes were, and where their expected dinner was.
However, cows are quite good at natural defense. They form a circle, with the calves in the middle to protect them, and their heads face out, ready to meet the instigator. For about 20 minutes, we heard nothing but the cows bellowing, and the coyotes shrieking. We knew from the sound there was a siege in place, the coyotes trying to get a sizeable dinner.
The noises ended as abruptly as they started. We knew a pack of coyotes could not have taken all of the cattle, but if they got a hold of a calf, they would have torn it apart. We heard the occasional cow bellow, undoubtedly standing watch, but eventually it fell completely silent.
The next morning, we contacted the farmer across the street, and suggested she check her stock. She took the 4-wheeler out into the pasture and returned a little while later, reporting that all of her cows were fine. As vicious as coyotes can be, I was extremely impressed that the cows could fend them off.
In addition to coyotes, Wisconsin is home to a lot of other wildlife. A lot of deadly wildlife, like wolverines and badgers. The mascot of the state of Wisconsin and the University of Wisconsin is the badger, another animal native to Wisconsin. In the same family as wolverines, badgers are extremely protective of their young. And like wolverines, they have short tempers and long claws, and are genetically suited to disemboweling a human. Apparently, they are often found hunting WITH the coyotes. They have a mutual alliance with the coyotes, travelling behind and eating the carrion, or hunting alongside.
The Department of Natural Resources is apparently trying to reintroduce wolverines back into the state. Wolverines once extended their habitat throughout the upper Midwest (Wisconsin, Minnesota and Michigan) but now are extremely rare. Wolverines are the mascot of the University of Michigan. They are also nasty animals with foul tempers. The largest of the weasel family, they also have very strong scent glands, so they basically stink (much like the University of Michigan). Wolverines can take down animals several times their size with their ferocity, so putting them back into the habitat there is a wonderful idea, considering I take my kids there each year. So, the badgers aren’t dangerous enough, we have to put wolverines into the mix.
And then there’s the latest wild animal found in Wisconsin. As if the wolverines and badgers weren’t deadly enough, cougars have been sighted in Wisconsin. The DNR swears up and down there aren’t any, but there have been numerous sightings of what is the largest cat in North America.
In short, Wisconsin is rapidly becoming one of the deadliest spots in North America. Thank God there aren’t any snakes up there too!
One night, we heard a different sound. The cows at the dairy farm across the road started bellowing. The cows are often in the field each night, eating and sleeping. This was one of those nights. When in the field, they are usually quiet, but this night, we heard them making loud noises. I knew immediately that they sensed something wrong. Within 2 minutes, I heard the howling. This was different than any other night though. The hairs on my arm and the back of my neck stood up. This was different because we knew where the coyotes were, and where their expected dinner was.
However, cows are quite good at natural defense. They form a circle, with the calves in the middle to protect them, and their heads face out, ready to meet the instigator. For about 20 minutes, we heard nothing but the cows bellowing, and the coyotes shrieking. We knew from the sound there was a siege in place, the coyotes trying to get a sizeable dinner.
The noises ended as abruptly as they started. We knew a pack of coyotes could not have taken all of the cattle, but if they got a hold of a calf, they would have torn it apart. We heard the occasional cow bellow, undoubtedly standing watch, but eventually it fell completely silent.
The next morning, we contacted the farmer across the street, and suggested she check her stock. She took the 4-wheeler out into the pasture and returned a little while later, reporting that all of her cows were fine. As vicious as coyotes can be, I was extremely impressed that the cows could fend them off.
In addition to coyotes, Wisconsin is home to a lot of other wildlife. A lot of deadly wildlife, like wolverines and badgers. The mascot of the state of Wisconsin and the University of Wisconsin is the badger, another animal native to Wisconsin. In the same family as wolverines, badgers are extremely protective of their young. And like wolverines, they have short tempers and long claws, and are genetically suited to disemboweling a human. Apparently, they are often found hunting WITH the coyotes. They have a mutual alliance with the coyotes, travelling behind and eating the carrion, or hunting alongside.
The Department of Natural Resources is apparently trying to reintroduce wolverines back into the state. Wolverines once extended their habitat throughout the upper Midwest (Wisconsin, Minnesota and Michigan) but now are extremely rare. Wolverines are the mascot of the University of Michigan. They are also nasty animals with foul tempers. The largest of the weasel family, they also have very strong scent glands, so they basically stink (much like the University of Michigan). Wolverines can take down animals several times their size with their ferocity, so putting them back into the habitat there is a wonderful idea, considering I take my kids there each year. So, the badgers aren’t dangerous enough, we have to put wolverines into the mix.
And then there’s the latest wild animal found in Wisconsin. As if the wolverines and badgers weren’t deadly enough, cougars have been sighted in Wisconsin. The DNR swears up and down there aren’t any, but there have been numerous sightings of what is the largest cat in North America.
In short, Wisconsin is rapidly becoming one of the deadliest spots in North America. Thank God there aren’t any snakes up there too!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Recreating the Assault on Foy
Independence Day was spent on a family farm in the middle of northern Wisconsin. A cousin and a friend of his shelled out about $900 in fireworks, and put on a fireworks show over the corn field. But that was not the most interesting part of that evening. The fun part was once the fireworks were over. The group split into two teams. I was teamed up with my wife’s uncle and one cousin and a couple other guys. The rest spread out across the barnyard, most of them hiding behind the large red barn, and 1 behind the grain bin. And everyone had several handfuls of Roman Candles.
Like in Foy, at the tail end of the Battle of the Bulge, the Germans were occupying the village, with snipers in the buildings, behind them for cover, etc. My team had to go across open ground to hit them behind their cover. I tried to direct traffic by sending one guy around the right side of the barn, another guy around a drainage ditch where he’d have a good field of fire, and me and the uncle up the middle, using the grain bin as cover. I made 3 mistakes:
* The uncle was drunk.
* The two guys running the flank maneuvers were teenaged idiots.
* I wasn’t entirely sure who was on my team.
The last became evident when I was leaning against the grain bin, lighting a Roman candle. A guy in a white t-shirt was walking up behind me. All of a sudden, I realized I was being shot in the ass. I quickly ran around behind the grain bin. This basically gave the entire side a complete line of fire on me. And I was basically cornered, like in a firing squad. Unfortunately, there was no Captain Spears to come in and hold the line and reorganize us. At this point, it was every man for himself.
And then it hit me. Literally. A Roman candle shot in the arm. While checking myself out, I was shot at by more Roman candles, but these were different. It took me a few seconds to register the fact that these were exploding when they got near me. Jesus….someone bought the upgraded EXPLODING Roman candles, and was firing them at people! Saying to myself, “fuck this noise,” I ran back to a position of safety…that being where all the kids are. That was one constant, nobody would fire near the kids. I kind of pulled a Saddam Hussein on that one.
Within minutes, everyone was out of Roman candles. Everyone, that is, except my 10 year old daughter. I was walking around picking up the discharged candles, when I see my wife handing her one and lighting it, and pointing at me. And with a gleam in her eye visible through her protective eyeware, Thing 1 charged at me with verve and vigor, firing SURPRISINGLY accurate shots right near my head. I managed to get cover behind the barn, at which point she ran out of ammo.
Fireworks are fun. Fireworks with audience participation are funner.
Like in Foy, at the tail end of the Battle of the Bulge, the Germans were occupying the village, with snipers in the buildings, behind them for cover, etc. My team had to go across open ground to hit them behind their cover. I tried to direct traffic by sending one guy around the right side of the barn, another guy around a drainage ditch where he’d have a good field of fire, and me and the uncle up the middle, using the grain bin as cover. I made 3 mistakes:
* The uncle was drunk.
* The two guys running the flank maneuvers were teenaged idiots.
* I wasn’t entirely sure who was on my team.
The last became evident when I was leaning against the grain bin, lighting a Roman candle. A guy in a white t-shirt was walking up behind me. All of a sudden, I realized I was being shot in the ass. I quickly ran around behind the grain bin. This basically gave the entire side a complete line of fire on me. And I was basically cornered, like in a firing squad. Unfortunately, there was no Captain Spears to come in and hold the line and reorganize us. At this point, it was every man for himself.
And then it hit me. Literally. A Roman candle shot in the arm. While checking myself out, I was shot at by more Roman candles, but these were different. It took me a few seconds to register the fact that these were exploding when they got near me. Jesus….someone bought the upgraded EXPLODING Roman candles, and was firing them at people! Saying to myself, “fuck this noise,” I ran back to a position of safety…that being where all the kids are. That was one constant, nobody would fire near the kids. I kind of pulled a Saddam Hussein on that one.
Within minutes, everyone was out of Roman candles. Everyone, that is, except my 10 year old daughter. I was walking around picking up the discharged candles, when I see my wife handing her one and lighting it, and pointing at me. And with a gleam in her eye visible through her protective eyeware, Thing 1 charged at me with verve and vigor, firing SURPRISINGLY accurate shots right near my head. I managed to get cover behind the barn, at which point she ran out of ammo.
Fireworks are fun. Fireworks with audience participation are funner.
Monday, July 13, 2009
An Argument for Traveling by Car Instead of Air
Marco, keep your eyelids up and see what you can see.
Dr. Seuss
The United States is a large country.....3.7 million square miles (9.6 million square kilometers). Much of the population is centered along the Eastern seaboard, the West coast, around the southern Great Lakes, the Gulf Coast, and in a strip across the mid-South. Otherwise, aside from a few pockets of large isolated metropolitan areas around the country (Dallas, Denver, Phoenix, etc), there is a lot more open land than there are people occupying it.
We have deserts, rain forests, wide open plains, majestic mountains, and rivers that hold the balance of life inside their riverbanks and stretch for thousands of miles. Beaches of white fluffy sand, hard-packed sand, black sand, and shorelines with rocky, deadly coasts with no beach at all. We are a country with areas that never see snow, and areas that never see an absence of snow.
But, what makes the United States such an awesome country to drive across (and I use that in a biblical sense) are not the range of landscapes, but the people that make up the United States. This is a country that is beautiful from both the ground, and from 35,000 feet in the air. But, I assure you, at 35,000 feet you will never see a sight like this.
This photo was taken by me at a rest area on Interstate 74 in central Illinois, partway between Champaign and Bloomington. What made this site truly unusual was the group of shirtless guys standing around the car. They looked like extras from "American Chopper." They would've looked right at home standing next to a bunch of Harley Davidsons. Instead, they're standing next to a Japanese commuter sedan with a moped tied to the back.
Knowing he would immediately appreciate the humor, I emailed this to my brother, E. Within minutes, I received the response, "Is that a Vespa tied to the back of a Nissan Sentra?" I knew any elaboration could do no justice, so I simply replied, "Yes it is. Don't fall asleep while driving through Illinois, you never know what you'll miss."
Dr. Seuss
The United States is a large country.....3.7 million square miles (9.6 million square kilometers). Much of the population is centered along the Eastern seaboard, the West coast, around the southern Great Lakes, the Gulf Coast, and in a strip across the mid-South. Otherwise, aside from a few pockets of large isolated metropolitan areas around the country (Dallas, Denver, Phoenix, etc), there is a lot more open land than there are people occupying it.
We have deserts, rain forests, wide open plains, majestic mountains, and rivers that hold the balance of life inside their riverbanks and stretch for thousands of miles. Beaches of white fluffy sand, hard-packed sand, black sand, and shorelines with rocky, deadly coasts with no beach at all. We are a country with areas that never see snow, and areas that never see an absence of snow.
But, what makes the United States such an awesome country to drive across (and I use that in a biblical sense) are not the range of landscapes, but the people that make up the United States. This is a country that is beautiful from both the ground, and from 35,000 feet in the air. But, I assure you, at 35,000 feet you will never see a sight like this.
This photo was taken by me at a rest area on Interstate 74 in central Illinois, partway between Champaign and Bloomington. What made this site truly unusual was the group of shirtless guys standing around the car. They looked like extras from "American Chopper." They would've looked right at home standing next to a bunch of Harley Davidsons. Instead, they're standing next to a Japanese commuter sedan with a moped tied to the back.
Knowing he would immediately appreciate the humor, I emailed this to my brother, E. Within minutes, I received the response, "Is that a Vespa tied to the back of a Nissan Sentra?" I knew any elaboration could do no justice, so I simply replied, "Yes it is. Don't fall asleep while driving through Illinois, you never know what you'll miss."
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Choose Your Own Adventure
I am back from a week of vacation in Wisconsin. Like most vacations, I have much to talk about. I'm not really sure where to start, so I'll let you, the reader decide from the following stories:
* Recreating the Assault on Foy from "Band of Brothers"....using Roman candles.
* The pitfalls of relying on Google Maps.
* Culvers...the fast food restaurant you wish your city had (and the girls who serve you the food).
* Talking soccer with Herman's Hermits (the band).
* Visiting Asheville NC for exactly 2 hours.
* Quoting the movie "Airplane!" via text-messaging...from an airplane.
* The Food Chain, Part 1: Coyotes and Cows
* The Food Chain, Part 2: OMFG this place has wolverines, badgers and cougars?
So, if you care to, let me know where you'd like me to start. I have the attention span of a kitten, so I have no problem starting in the middle.
* Recreating the Assault on Foy from "Band of Brothers"....using Roman candles.
* The pitfalls of relying on Google Maps.
* Culvers...the fast food restaurant you wish your city had (and the girls who serve you the food).
* Talking soccer with Herman's Hermits (the band).
* Visiting Asheville NC for exactly 2 hours.
* Quoting the movie "Airplane!" via text-messaging...from an airplane.
* The Food Chain, Part 1: Coyotes and Cows
* The Food Chain, Part 2: OMFG this place has wolverines, badgers and cougars?
So, if you care to, let me know where you'd like me to start. I have the attention span of a kitten, so I have no problem starting in the middle.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
If I Could Taste Heaven...
...It would taste (and look) like this.
This, my friends, is a Bacon Butterburger Deluxe, with a side order of fried cheese curds. A medium Pepsi accompanied the meal, but I felt it would take away some of the class of what you see here (and that's coming from someone who loves Pepsi and hates Coke).
This meal may have taken weeks off of my life. But, as smokers would say, only the ones at the end, when you're sick and decrepit anyway.
I've been on vacation for 5 days, and I've had this same meal twice.
This, my friends, is a Bacon Butterburger Deluxe, with a side order of fried cheese curds. A medium Pepsi accompanied the meal, but I felt it would take away some of the class of what you see here (and that's coming from someone who loves Pepsi and hates Coke).
This meal may have taken weeks off of my life. But, as smokers would say, only the ones at the end, when you're sick and decrepit anyway.
I've been on vacation for 5 days, and I've had this same meal twice.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Jesus Saves
No, I'm not talking about the starting goalie for Cruz Azul, Jesus Corona.
I'm referring to Effingham Illinois' one and only noteworthy landmark: The world's tallest cross.
Specifically designed for the world's tallest Lord and Savior.
Yes, it has a visitor's center. And Trucker Parking.
A theological question to pose....would Jesus Christ enjoy this memorial in His honor? Or would he think it's as tacky as South of the Border, Panama City Beach, and Gatlinburg TN?
I'm referring to Effingham Illinois' one and only noteworthy landmark: The world's tallest cross.
Specifically designed for the world's tallest Lord and Savior.
Yes, it has a visitor's center. And Trucker Parking.
A theological question to pose....would Jesus Christ enjoy this memorial in His honor? Or would he think it's as tacky as South of the Border, Panama City Beach, and Gatlinburg TN?
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Road Trip to Hilton Head, Part 3: Flora and Fauna
The drive down to Hilton Head was the only truly eventful part of our driving around. The rest was spent relaxing, playing mini-golf, spending 6 hours at the beach (no sunburn for me, which I think is unprecedented....I slathered on sunscreen so often, people probably thought I was suffering from OCD). But here are some last thoughts on the trip, related to the title, Flora and Fauna.
Flora:
Hilton Head, unlike other vacation destinations like Myrtle Beach South Carolina and Panama City Beach, Florida (also known as the Redneck Riviera) does not cater to the airbrushed t-shirt, henna tattoo, party crowd. It doesn't have miles of boardwalk where you can entertain kids with complete crap, go-carts, a million mini-golf courses (it has 4 or 5, but not the density that Myrtle Beach has), etc. It's just a peaceful island. And, the best part is, zoning ordinances do not permit massive advertising of businesses, and large businesses are all hidden behind row after row of palmetto trees. I have actually fallen in love with the palmetto, as we were able to drive by multiple Home Depots and Wal-Marts and not even know it, because they were hidden from the road by palmetto trees. The palmetto is in the palm family, but shorter, with thicker trunks, and they don't bend like palms. They are great trees to have around so that your vacation isn't spoiled by views of large orange home improvement stores.
And, one can never understate the wonderful smells in the air from jasmine and magnolia. In New Jersey, you can be a mile from the ocean and know it, because the salt water smell is pervasive. In Hilton Head, you can be the length of a football field from the water, and you don't have that smell of salt filling your nostrils.
Fauna:
Is it odd that I was disappointed that I didn't see one single alligator? Mind you, I would be thinking very differently if I DID see one, I think, but just to see one from maybe 100 yards away, sunning itself on a golf course, would've been cool. When we played mini-golf at night, Thing 1's ball was launched into some short brush near the course. We wacked around the weeds, and then saw them moving on their own, so we decided going for that ball was simply not worth it.
You know you're getting into South Georgia when the dead opossums on the side of the road (the animal with the 2nd lowest will to live in North America) are replaced by dead armadillos (the animal with THE lowest will to live in North America). If you've never seen one, an armadillo is basically an opossum with friggin' armor. They have to be one of the creepiest looking animals out there. Only once have I ever seen a living one, they are usually found dead on the interstate. They come up from Texas and Florida, but their advance seems to have been stopped dead (literally) by I-16 from Savannah to Macon, I-20 from Atlanta to Dallas, and if any get past I-20, then I-40 from Knoxville TN to Little Rock AR takes care of them (surprisingly, they can cross the Arkansas River!). We saw our first dead armadillo 1 mile onto I-16, and then saw dead ones every other mile all the way to Savannah.
Also on I-16, I saw two wild boars....black, with bristly fur. It kind of made me shudder. Without the protection of my car, I know those things would've charged at me. I've seen The Thornbirds, I know what a pissed-off boar can do. It was kind of cool though, I've never seen one in the wild. It kind of felt like the first time I saw a wild bear. Thankfully, he was on the shoreline of a lake, and I was on a boat.
Once on Hilton Head, and at the beach, the only interesting animal I saw was a dead jellyfish, ten feet from our blankets. I brought both my daughters over to it (Thing 1 already knew to stay away). To Thing 2, I said, "you know in Spongebob? When they touch the jellyfish, and they get zapped, and it hurts?" She nodded her head. "That's what'll happen if you touch that, so be sure to stay away from it, OK?" She nodded her head again and went off and played in the water. The jellyfish didn't have its tentacles, so it couldn't have stung, but still, no sense tempting fate. I got sick of looking at it, so I scooped it into a sand bucket and dumped it into the trash can a couple hundred feet away.
Oh, also at the beach, some douchebag found a horseshoe crab swimming in the water and he picked it up and tried to carry it off the beach. The beach patrol blew the whistle, telling him to put it back. Reluctantly, the guy did.
On the way home, we noticed a funny smell in our van. I pointed out that the sand bucket at one time held a dead jellyfish, and currently held dozens of seashells, all of which were the home to a living animal at one point, and likely still had organic matter in them that the seagulls didn't rip out. Hilton Head does not have a lot of decent seashells on the beaches except in the harbor on the eastern end of the island (called Harbor Town). There, the beach is literally covered with them. And I mean covered, you are walking on shells, not sand (it's not a recreational beach). It was basically a mollusk graveyard. Naturally, we were stealing the headstones for our kids' amusement.
On the drive home, we also saw a brown billboard with while letters that said: JOHN 3:16
I think this is South Georgia's way of saying, "Beware of Macon and its Rub N' Tugs filled with male Hispanic masseurs."
Flora:
Hilton Head, unlike other vacation destinations like Myrtle Beach South Carolina and Panama City Beach, Florida (also known as the Redneck Riviera) does not cater to the airbrushed t-shirt, henna tattoo, party crowd. It doesn't have miles of boardwalk where you can entertain kids with complete crap, go-carts, a million mini-golf courses (it has 4 or 5, but not the density that Myrtle Beach has), etc. It's just a peaceful island. And, the best part is, zoning ordinances do not permit massive advertising of businesses, and large businesses are all hidden behind row after row of palmetto trees. I have actually fallen in love with the palmetto, as we were able to drive by multiple Home Depots and Wal-Marts and not even know it, because they were hidden from the road by palmetto trees. The palmetto is in the palm family, but shorter, with thicker trunks, and they don't bend like palms. They are great trees to have around so that your vacation isn't spoiled by views of large orange home improvement stores.
And, one can never understate the wonderful smells in the air from jasmine and magnolia. In New Jersey, you can be a mile from the ocean and know it, because the salt water smell is pervasive. In Hilton Head, you can be the length of a football field from the water, and you don't have that smell of salt filling your nostrils.
Fauna:
Is it odd that I was disappointed that I didn't see one single alligator? Mind you, I would be thinking very differently if I DID see one, I think, but just to see one from maybe 100 yards away, sunning itself on a golf course, would've been cool. When we played mini-golf at night, Thing 1's ball was launched into some short brush near the course. We wacked around the weeds, and then saw them moving on their own, so we decided going for that ball was simply not worth it.
You know you're getting into South Georgia when the dead opossums on the side of the road (the animal with the 2nd lowest will to live in North America) are replaced by dead armadillos (the animal with THE lowest will to live in North America). If you've never seen one, an armadillo is basically an opossum with friggin' armor. They have to be one of the creepiest looking animals out there. Only once have I ever seen a living one, they are usually found dead on the interstate. They come up from Texas and Florida, but their advance seems to have been stopped dead (literally) by I-16 from Savannah to Macon, I-20 from Atlanta to Dallas, and if any get past I-20, then I-40 from Knoxville TN to Little Rock AR takes care of them (surprisingly, they can cross the Arkansas River!). We saw our first dead armadillo 1 mile onto I-16, and then saw dead ones every other mile all the way to Savannah.
Also on I-16, I saw two wild boars....black, with bristly fur. It kind of made me shudder. Without the protection of my car, I know those things would've charged at me. I've seen The Thornbirds, I know what a pissed-off boar can do. It was kind of cool though, I've never seen one in the wild. It kind of felt like the first time I saw a wild bear. Thankfully, he was on the shoreline of a lake, and I was on a boat.
Once on Hilton Head, and at the beach, the only interesting animal I saw was a dead jellyfish, ten feet from our blankets. I brought both my daughters over to it (Thing 1 already knew to stay away). To Thing 2, I said, "you know in Spongebob? When they touch the jellyfish, and they get zapped, and it hurts?" She nodded her head. "That's what'll happen if you touch that, so be sure to stay away from it, OK?" She nodded her head again and went off and played in the water. The jellyfish didn't have its tentacles, so it couldn't have stung, but still, no sense tempting fate. I got sick of looking at it, so I scooped it into a sand bucket and dumped it into the trash can a couple hundred feet away.
Oh, also at the beach, some douchebag found a horseshoe crab swimming in the water and he picked it up and tried to carry it off the beach. The beach patrol blew the whistle, telling him to put it back. Reluctantly, the guy did.
On the way home, we noticed a funny smell in our van. I pointed out that the sand bucket at one time held a dead jellyfish, and currently held dozens of seashells, all of which were the home to a living animal at one point, and likely still had organic matter in them that the seagulls didn't rip out. Hilton Head does not have a lot of decent seashells on the beaches except in the harbor on the eastern end of the island (called Harbor Town). There, the beach is literally covered with them. And I mean covered, you are walking on shells, not sand (it's not a recreational beach). It was basically a mollusk graveyard. Naturally, we were stealing the headstones for our kids' amusement.
On the drive home, we also saw a brown billboard with while letters that said: JOHN 3:16
I think this is South Georgia's way of saying, "Beware of Macon and its Rub N' Tugs filled with male Hispanic masseurs."
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Road Trip to Hilton Head, Part 2: Adult Entertainment
As you can see, the trip started with some interesting reading material…..that being license plates and bumper stickers.
It only improved from there. As we approached Macon, which is about an hour and a half south of Atlanta, we started to see billboards for businesses that obviously cater to truckers…large truck stops (with showers!), strip clubs, and massage parlors (also known as a “Run n’ Tug). Macon is at the junction of I-75 (which goes from Sault Ste. Marie Ontario Canada all the way to south Florida) and I-16, which goes from Macon to Savannah (Savannah is not just a stripper name, it’s one of the largest…and by some accounts the prettiest…city in Georgia). At Savannah, I-16 connects with I-95, which links the entire East Coast, so I-16 is a major corridor to get to Atlanta from Florida. So, Macon is a busy highway juncture with lots of truck traffic.
Approaching Macon on I-75, the first adult business we saw advertised was a strip club. I have no idea what the name of the business was, because the billboard looked like this:
$TRIPPER$
(need we say more?)
Followed by the location at the next exit.
There is absolutely no hidden message there, they want to get their point across quickly and cheaply. It was white text on a black billboard. My guess is, the quality of their advertising perfectly matches the quality of their “talent.”
A couple miles down the road, we saw a billboard for a Rub n’ Tug. It said:
INTERNATIONAL MASSAGE PARLOR
TRUCKER’S RATES
CAUCASIAN, ASIAN, LATINO
Followed by info on their location and a phone number.
For those of you who are multi-lingual, you may have noticed a typo in what I wrote above. Note, this was not a typo. Let me explain. In Spanish, the vowel at the end of a noun is indicative of gender. -o is masculine, -a is feminine. Thus, if you are describing a Hispanic man, you would say “Latino.” A female, on the other hand, would be a “Latina.” If you’re following what I’m saying, then you now know what this business is offering is a “massage” (French for “coughHANDJOBcough”) by either a white chick, an Asian chick, or a dude named Manuel. Yes, the children’s Disney Channel show “Handy Manny” did indeed cross my mind.
Before posting this, I wanted to make sure my Spanish is indeed accurate and I contacted a friend of mine, who is from Mexico. He confirmed that this business did indeed offer the sexual services of a male Hispanic, and he also suggested that if you wanted a Latina masseusse, your best bet would be an Argentinean or Chilean, preferably 20 years old. Otherwise, you could get a Mexican girl for less money but MUCH higher quality in Mexico, but do NOT get a massage from a Mexican girl in the US, because they look like they swam across the Rio Bravo. His words, not mine.
Hopefully reading my journal was a learning experience. You now know that Macon is a great place to get very cheap strippers, and massages from Latinos, and you should never get a massage from Mexican women IN the US. Settle only for Argentineans or Chileans.
It only improved from there. As we approached Macon, which is about an hour and a half south of Atlanta, we started to see billboards for businesses that obviously cater to truckers…large truck stops (with showers!), strip clubs, and massage parlors (also known as a “Run n’ Tug). Macon is at the junction of I-75 (which goes from Sault Ste. Marie Ontario Canada all the way to south Florida) and I-16, which goes from Macon to Savannah (Savannah is not just a stripper name, it’s one of the largest…and by some accounts the prettiest…city in Georgia). At Savannah, I-16 connects with I-95, which links the entire East Coast, so I-16 is a major corridor to get to Atlanta from Florida. So, Macon is a busy highway juncture with lots of truck traffic.
Approaching Macon on I-75, the first adult business we saw advertised was a strip club. I have no idea what the name of the business was, because the billboard looked like this:
$TRIPPER$
(need we say more?)
Followed by the location at the next exit.
There is absolutely no hidden message there, they want to get their point across quickly and cheaply. It was white text on a black billboard. My guess is, the quality of their advertising perfectly matches the quality of their “talent.”
A couple miles down the road, we saw a billboard for a Rub n’ Tug. It said:
INTERNATIONAL MASSAGE PARLOR
TRUCKER’S RATES
CAUCASIAN, ASIAN, LATINO
Followed by info on their location and a phone number.
For those of you who are multi-lingual, you may have noticed a typo in what I wrote above. Note, this was not a typo. Let me explain. In Spanish, the vowel at the end of a noun is indicative of gender. -o is masculine, -a is feminine. Thus, if you are describing a Hispanic man, you would say “Latino.” A female, on the other hand, would be a “Latina.” If you’re following what I’m saying, then you now know what this business is offering is a “massage” (French for “coughHANDJOBcough”) by either a white chick, an Asian chick, or a dude named Manuel. Yes, the children’s Disney Channel show “Handy Manny” did indeed cross my mind.
Before posting this, I wanted to make sure my Spanish is indeed accurate and I contacted a friend of mine, who is from Mexico. He confirmed that this business did indeed offer the sexual services of a male Hispanic, and he also suggested that if you wanted a Latina masseusse, your best bet would be an Argentinean or Chilean, preferably 20 years old. Otherwise, you could get a Mexican girl for less money but MUCH higher quality in Mexico, but do NOT get a massage from a Mexican girl in the US, because they look like they swam across the Rio Bravo. His words, not mine.
Hopefully reading my journal was a learning experience. You now know that Macon is a great place to get very cheap strippers, and massages from Latinos, and you should never get a massage from Mexican women IN the US. Settle only for Argentineans or Chileans.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Road Trip to Hilton Head
This past weekend (Friday morning to be exact), my family and I piled into the Family Truckster and drove southeast to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. Normally, trips to SC frighten me, due to rampant ignorance, the religious fundamentalism, and the weak beer due to arcane beer laws in that state. However, Hilton Head is like this little paradise surrounded by misery, with beautiful beaches, palmetto trees, beautiful scenery, and a relaxed atmosphere. I think if the Nazi death camps looked like Hilton Head, the Nazis wouldn’t have quite the same reputation.
I knew this road trip would be legendary when I wasn’t even out of Atlanta (hell, I hadn’t even entered Atlanta yet, I was still in Cobb County) when I saw a Chrysler Crossfire convertible with the license plate that said: THE DEX. I love this plate. This is how a vanity plate should look. It should tell you something about the driver. A nickname, a job (but never simply what kind of car he/she drives, like CRSSFR). So, THE DEX meets all accepted criteria. Mind you, THE DEX is still a douchebag, but not because of his vanity plate, but simply because of his nickname. “Hey, are you THE DEX?” “You bet your sweet ass I am,” he replies, while giving the wink-and-a-gun. Wait, no…THE DEX is probably a wink-and-a-double-gun kind if guy. Two finger-guns, one wink. While he makes that clicking sound with his mouth.
Upon crossing the Chattahoochee River on Interstate 75, I entered Fulton County and the city of Atlanta. Almost immediately, I was right behind a commuter car with a bumper sticker that said:
“I wasn’t born a bitch. Men like you made me this way.”
Obviously it’s never a good idea to be behind a bitch so angry that the bitch must have a bumper sticker advertising this fact. You want to pass them (preferably with at least one lane between the two cars) and get as far in front as possible, so when they do “go postal,” the carnage is behind you. Otherwise, you’re stuck in traffic while an angry woman is being tased in the middle of the interstate by state troopers. So, I passed this car on the left, and glanced over to see what an Uber-Bitch looks like. Much to my surprise AND amusement, I saw that the driver was no less than a MAN, BABY! That’s right, somewhere in Atlanta there is a man so pussy-whipped that he’s driving his girlfriend’s car with this sticker on it. If you’re scoring on a scale of 1-10, buying your girlfriend’s/wife’s tampons is a 10, and driving this car is about a 90. I have actually purchased tampons before (and not for a college prank either!), and I can honestly say in comparison to riding in the Bitchmobile, I’d rather hitch a ride in a beat-up white panel van with no windows and Buffalo Bill at the steering wheel, telling me to put the lotion on the skin.
This is just one of a 2-parter. There is still more to discuss about this road trip, from bible quotes, to adult entertainment, to flora and fauna (more fauna, actually).
I knew this road trip would be legendary when I wasn’t even out of Atlanta (hell, I hadn’t even entered Atlanta yet, I was still in Cobb County) when I saw a Chrysler Crossfire convertible with the license plate that said: THE DEX. I love this plate. This is how a vanity plate should look. It should tell you something about the driver. A nickname, a job (but never simply what kind of car he/she drives, like CRSSFR). So, THE DEX meets all accepted criteria. Mind you, THE DEX is still a douchebag, but not because of his vanity plate, but simply because of his nickname. “Hey, are you THE DEX?” “You bet your sweet ass I am,” he replies, while giving the wink-and-a-gun. Wait, no…THE DEX is probably a wink-and-a-double-gun kind if guy. Two finger-guns, one wink. While he makes that clicking sound with his mouth.
Upon crossing the Chattahoochee River on Interstate 75, I entered Fulton County and the city of Atlanta. Almost immediately, I was right behind a commuter car with a bumper sticker that said:
“I wasn’t born a bitch. Men like you made me this way.”
Obviously it’s never a good idea to be behind a bitch so angry that the bitch must have a bumper sticker advertising this fact. You want to pass them (preferably with at least one lane between the two cars) and get as far in front as possible, so when they do “go postal,” the carnage is behind you. Otherwise, you’re stuck in traffic while an angry woman is being tased in the middle of the interstate by state troopers. So, I passed this car on the left, and glanced over to see what an Uber-Bitch looks like. Much to my surprise AND amusement, I saw that the driver was no less than a MAN, BABY! That’s right, somewhere in Atlanta there is a man so pussy-whipped that he’s driving his girlfriend’s car with this sticker on it. If you’re scoring on a scale of 1-10, buying your girlfriend’s/wife’s tampons is a 10, and driving this car is about a 90. I have actually purchased tampons before (and not for a college prank either!), and I can honestly say in comparison to riding in the Bitchmobile, I’d rather hitch a ride in a beat-up white panel van with no windows and Buffalo Bill at the steering wheel, telling me to put the lotion on the skin.
This is just one of a 2-parter. There is still more to discuss about this road trip, from bible quotes, to adult entertainment, to flora and fauna (more fauna, actually).
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