Working at night, I am given very few options as to what to do on my breaks. Food is usually acceptable and almost expected, someone will have the television on - and we should know what late night T.V. brings, and there is usually a very outdated newspaper somewhere in the room.
I am normally one to steer clear of the news, especially during an election year, but I found two articles somewhat-recently that had me laughing to myself like a crazy person.
The first one is from the Rocky Mountain News on May 2nd, and it has to do with Aliens, politics, and 54 year old virgins – the headline that caught my attention was "Man pushes creation of panel to prepare city for space aliens" and this is a brief summary of the story.
About 5 years ago, Jeff Peckman decided that the city should implement stress-reduction techniques, called the "safety through peace" initiative. He was then, and has since been viewed as a new age nutso. None of the politicians took him seriously, but he managed to nearly meet his goal of signatures to get this plan on an official ballot.
Now, he has decided that people have no idea how to handle an alien invasion. He wants the city to create guidelines and safety protocols in case aliens were to make contact. The quote that had me rolling on the floor was this;
"It is important because if you're driving down the highway and you saw a crash of a small spaceship and a car or a bus full of kids, you really wouldn't know what to do, Do you wait for the hazardous materials experts to show up because of potential contaminants from another solar system? What do you do? People really don't know."
This is about the point the writer points out that Jeff Peckman is 54, single, and lives with his parents. Any takers? Sounds like a winner ladies!
Now, I am somewhat torn on this issue, because as much as it is amazing that we have true crazies living among us, trying to protect us from zom---I mean aliens, this guy is delusional to boot. However, if I see it on the ballot, I will be voting for it. I'm very curious to see what the city would do if they were forced to make a contingency plan for aliens.
Read the full article.
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Now for the 2nd article that had some interesting (humorous) points. I will first take this opportunity to point out I am not revealing my political preferences here. Lets proceed.
Colorado University at Boulder is apparently planning on hiring/adding on several conservative teachers in an attempt to "diversify" the otherwise liberal campus. They are putting down approximately $9mil on this project, and surprise, most people think its a bad idea.
Actually, pretty much everybody except the individual people getting the 9mil seem to think so;
The most vocal criticism so far is coming from the right.
"Like Margaret Mead among the Samoans, they're planning to study conservatives. That's hilarious,"
If you look to your right, you'll notice the offices of our conservatives in their recreated natural habitat - please don't put your fingers through the bars.
Read the full article.
Now imagine me, only feeding the politicians and voting beside aliens.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Viva Piñata
Viva Piñata was a game released a few years back for the Xbox360, based around the Saturday morning cartoon of the same name. To those of us that adore Rare© video game publishers for their cleverly disguised adult humor, and childlike light atmospheres - this game was relatively addicting, like virtual crack.
No, to better illustrate, the game is Pokémon on acid. The goal of the game is to become the Number 1. Gardener on "Piñata Island." You'll accomplish this by attracting piñatas of varying species, and earning Chocolate Coins along the way. You'll also be given side tasks of shipping off Piñatas to perform at parties, scaring away bad guys (sour piñatas and bullies) or converting them to your garden, learning the history of the man providing you with land, and doing it all armed only with a shovel and a few quirky helper characters.
Throughout your time on Piñata Island, you'll have to "Catch 'em all" very carefully, since many piñatas have personality conflicts that will constantly have you wanting to beat them with your shovel. For instance, Raisants (ants) and Buzzlegums (bees, see where this is going?) will not get along, so they will constantly fight. Fighting results in one ill piñata, which you will have to order a doctor for, and can get frustrating if it interferes with other tasks.
VS. 
Another thing that can happen is the food chain kicks in. "Pretztails" or foxes, will break "Bunnycombs" (guess what that is) and eat the candy that is contained inside. The broken Piñata will be sent outside of the boundaries of your garden, and you've lost that resident.
For these reasons, you can never have all 60 piñata species in your garden at the same time, and you are constantly forced to part with loving...who am I kidding? You sell your piñatas after you massively inbreed them for more chocolate coins!
One thing I discovered, is by feeding certain items to piñatas, you can change their colors and make them worth more; i.e. a mushroom will change a "Macaracoon" into a gold colored "Macaracoon." You can also "evolve" certain piñatas by feeding them items, or setting them on fire. Go Rare© and your vague drug references and illegal actions to make the adults in the crowd feel included!
Add fire =
The "romancing" is an amusing little mini-game, with just a few steps. First you achieve certain requirements; feeding two Piñatas specific items, giving them accessories, or buying a fountain for the garden - things like that, exclusive to each species. Second, you run one Piñata through a maze of twitching, laughing, bombs to reach the other piñata - getting pretty close to real life here. Finally, the two Piñatas that survive the minefield will disappear into their habitat, to tango, or mamba, or waltz in privacy - Thus creating an egg, that will in minutes grow up to endure the same.
After you've accomplished "romancing" each species eight times, you have become a master-breeder of that species - hence the inbreeding.
The majority of your romancing will be between the same species, but periodically you can cross that boundary and get something different. By breeding a "Swanana" and a "Rashberry," the games equivalent of a Swan and a Pig, you get a Pigxie, which looks something like this:
So the next time someone says anything about pigs flying, you'll know where to turn.There are two reasons I am posting this almost two years after its release. Reason 1 - the game is approximately $12, and good for a few laughs at that price. Reason 2 - Viva Piñata 2 is coming out relatively soon, so I am reminded that I adored the first game.
Now, imagine me, only filled with aphrodisiac candy.
A lesson in spelling
Driving around the city is full of reminders that life after high school never changes; High School is designed to shape and create the morons we have running our world.
For instance, one of the "senior pranks" from my class was the brilliant idea to tag the school. Everyone was lectured and threatened to lose graduation privileges because of this stunt, even those of us who would never participate in such rampant misspelling of the simple word "seniors." The school was decorated in "Senirs" for a week. The Sophomores had better luck tagging during spirit week that year, and they had extra syllables.
So one reminder of the idiocy was a hand painted sign that read "Alcoholics Anonymus" presumably directing drunks to a hideout to share stories and swap recipes.
Another, was the side of a train that had been taken over by some especially stupid baseball fans, who spray painted "RED SOCKS ROCK!" repeatedly. Well, they were consistent and technically spelled it correctly - hopefully they don't wear Sox.
Now, for some words of wisdom; translated, some rambling questions pulled out of my brain.
If one were to donate hair to Locks 4 Love, or some other wig creating charity, if the person receiving your donation commits a murder, are you automatically a suspect if the fiber evidence reveals one of your hairs?
How is it that statues that are sitting in a fixed state for hundreds of years feel eerily alive, yet human beings can be hired as mannequins for storefronts to fool shoppers on a regular basis? Ever walked by at change of shift?
Now imagine me, only spelling better than the average bear.
For instance, one of the "senior pranks" from my class was the brilliant idea to tag the school. Everyone was lectured and threatened to lose graduation privileges because of this stunt, even those of us who would never participate in such rampant misspelling of the simple word "seniors." The school was decorated in "Senirs" for a week. The Sophomores had better luck tagging during spirit week that year, and they had extra syllables.
So one reminder of the idiocy was a hand painted sign that read "Alcoholics Anonymus" presumably directing drunks to a hideout to share stories and swap recipes.
Another, was the side of a train that had been taken over by some especially stupid baseball fans, who spray painted "RED SOCKS ROCK!" repeatedly. Well, they were consistent and technically spelled it correctly - hopefully they don't wear Sox.
Now, for some words of wisdom; translated, some rambling questions pulled out of my brain.
If one were to donate hair to Locks 4 Love, or some other wig creating charity, if the person receiving your donation commits a murder, are you automatically a suspect if the fiber evidence reveals one of your hairs?
How is it that statues that are sitting in a fixed state for hundreds of years feel eerily alive, yet human beings can be hired as mannequins for storefronts to fool shoppers on a regular basis? Ever walked by at change of shift?
Now imagine me, only spelling better than the average bear.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Road Rage
I would like to share with you a story, one of rush hour, and sword fights and...well, okay, no sword fights. It might be most accurate to call this a lesson in human behavior, but I highly doubt you'll learn anything.
What do you think of when I use the term "Zen Driving?" I think of someone who doesn't stress out, goes where the road happens to, and can sit in rush hour traffic enjoying the scenery. This is my character in this story, I am the zen driver.
Now, what do you think of when the words "Road Rage" are used together? I would think of angry rednecks in pickup trucks, throwing things (and words) at one another at high speeds, and wielding their vehicles in a dangerous fashion. In this case, the part of the road raging drivers are played by two yuppie-looking white woman, one about 25-30, the other in her 40's.
The stage is Interstate 25, through the middle of the busiest part of downtown Denver, during the peak of rush hour, with a tiny brush of a rain/snow mix on the roads. All of the drivers are on edge, those brave, and rude enough, burst through the cautious slow drivers, creating mass chaos and a bit of panic. Our zen driver simply enjoys the ride, iPod on shuffle, listening to whatever pops up at the time.
On an exit ramp, the weather seems to have many drivers confused as to which direction they truly want to go, so they change lanes at the last second before the light turns green, to let them go on their way to whatever destination.
This brings us to our incident, where the 40-something driver pulls out abruptly from in front of me, directly in the path of the younger driver – maybe qualified as a near miss, but nothing particularly harmful. However, horns are exchanged, gestures are tossed about, and lots of shouting from within soundproof cabins. (Ever seen a woman flip someone off with a wedding ring 3x the size of her finger? Very lady-like.)
For approximately 5 miles off the highway, these two drivers take turns tailing each other, cutting each other off, slowing to absurd speeds and jostling other drivers in the process – but mostly just targeting each other.
At this point, the zen driver is confusing other motorists, and potentially upsetting the road raging woman, by laughing hysterically to herself, in yet another soundproof car cabin, as "You've Got a Friend in Me" (of Toy Story, off the magical Disney collection) popped up on the shuffled iPod connected to the stereo, just as this ordeal began.
Brilliant timing, or a coincidence? You decide.
Now, Imagine me, only beating my friends with sticks while humming You've Got a Friend in Me.
What do you think of when I use the term "Zen Driving?" I think of someone who doesn't stress out, goes where the road happens to, and can sit in rush hour traffic enjoying the scenery. This is my character in this story, I am the zen driver.
Now, what do you think of when the words "Road Rage" are used together? I would think of angry rednecks in pickup trucks, throwing things (and words) at one another at high speeds, and wielding their vehicles in a dangerous fashion. In this case, the part of the road raging drivers are played by two yuppie-looking white woman, one about 25-30, the other in her 40's.
The stage is Interstate 25, through the middle of the busiest part of downtown Denver, during the peak of rush hour, with a tiny brush of a rain/snow mix on the roads. All of the drivers are on edge, those brave, and rude enough, burst through the cautious slow drivers, creating mass chaos and a bit of panic. Our zen driver simply enjoys the ride, iPod on shuffle, listening to whatever pops up at the time.
On an exit ramp, the weather seems to have many drivers confused as to which direction they truly want to go, so they change lanes at the last second before the light turns green, to let them go on their way to whatever destination.
This brings us to our incident, where the 40-something driver pulls out abruptly from in front of me, directly in the path of the younger driver – maybe qualified as a near miss, but nothing particularly harmful. However, horns are exchanged, gestures are tossed about, and lots of shouting from within soundproof cabins. (Ever seen a woman flip someone off with a wedding ring 3x the size of her finger? Very lady-like.)
For approximately 5 miles off the highway, these two drivers take turns tailing each other, cutting each other off, slowing to absurd speeds and jostling other drivers in the process – but mostly just targeting each other.
At this point, the zen driver is confusing other motorists, and potentially upsetting the road raging woman, by laughing hysterically to herself, in yet another soundproof car cabin, as "You've Got a Friend in Me" (of Toy Story, off the magical Disney collection) popped up on the shuffled iPod connected to the stereo, just as this ordeal began.
Brilliant timing, or a coincidence? You decide.
Now, Imagine me, only beating my friends with sticks while humming You've Got a Friend in Me.
Friday, June 27, 2008
If You Give a Girl a Motorcycle
For a little over a year, I'd been vaguely planning on learning to ride, purchase, and abuse a Motorcycle. I got my chance a little over 3 months ago; and so far, the trip has been amazing. And now, my introductory post in four parts, on Motorcycles.
Zen and the art of Motorcycle Shopping.
One morning - or afternoon whichever you prefer - around 1pm, I woke up and took a shower with the intention of checking out a place for a few bikes before work, enhancing my ability to make an informed decision about a motorcycle that fits me. I walk through the door, and before I'm even greeted, a slightly older, and relatively rude man points at a knee-high, pastel pink, child's dirt bike, and says: "This is the only bike that is right for you." At which point I proceeded to hit him in the face with a helmet and steal his wallet. Not really, but it sure did sound like a good idea at the time.
When, exactly, is that appropriate? Here I am, having strayed to an environment where I already feel somewhat unwanted and uncomfortable because of my gender and overall appearance, and this guy crosses that, line? I tried my best to brush it off, and get the attention of an employee to start asking questions – but within 30 seconds, out the door I went - without picking up the brochure, and with none of my questions answered.
I did, eventually, find the bike that fit me. It is a burgundy red Suzuki SV650 standard with a custom seat, windshield, and mirrors. Its name is Zed, and will carry me to safety when the zombies arrive.
Gang Signs?
Bikers have more than the standard universal signs for turning, stopping, and merging. There is also the "two finger salute" exclusive between bikers, which is a simple flick of the left wrist, with the first two fingers extended. This action is not intended to notify cars of any movement – but rather as a greeting, "hey, you're like me, lets be two second friends" and to be polite.
What? Bikers have more manners than the elitist driving their SUV? Bikers will be much more civilized with one another than cars, and being female certainly doesn't hurt.
Speaking of civilized, I had a personal encounter with a police officer that did not involve embarrassing lights, sirens, or demands for license and registration. Riding to work during some particularly bad rush hour traffic, a motorcycle cop pulls up next to me, in my lane while at a dead stop, honestly startled me enough I don't think I stopped shaking the entire shift at work – he really seemed to have come out of no where, there was me, and then a solid cement wall, with no shoulder to speak of.
I thought I may have done something wrong, and he was coming up to tell me to pull over after missing his lights – but no, he just pulled up next to me to vent about how bad "Traffic SUCKS!" at which point I responded eloquently with: "auhbow wigzy wallack, roumb." I may have chit-chatted more, but it appeared my translator was broken. It certainly didn't hurt that he was probably one of the more attractive police officers I've ever run into, and I'm not one for the uniform.
Apparel.
Besides the obvious safety value of having decent equipment, here are a variety of reasons why I will never be one of the bikers that gets by with a Harley Davidson tank-top and bandanna.
Reason 1 – Bugs. After the first time I head butted a bee with my helmet, and having to pull over to scrape bug guts off my visor to restore visibility, I would never even imagine riding without a helmet. I have also pulled relatively large miller moths off of my jacket after hitting them at highway speeds, but the miller dust doesn't come off – I'm starting a collection to see if it'll eventually help me fly.
Reason 2 – Sun. While taking my motorcycle safety class my face was sunburned, and I contracted some kind of sun stroke – leaving me exhausted, dehydrated, and sick for 2 days straight. Because of that, I have a white jacket that does its part to reflect the sun while also being completely breathable so 90degrees is no issue, as well as a sun visor for daytime riding to protect my face.
Reason 3 – Debris. I know I've personally been the victim of road debris in my car, hitting the windshield hard enough to crack solid glass. Skin isn't that tough, and that debris doesn't go away simply because you take up less space. I have a few scrapes in my helmet, as well as a few pulled threads out of my jeans because of something as simple as pebbles targeting you at ridiculous speeds.
Reason 4 – Brightness. I chose my equipment partially because of practical application, approved helmet, gloves, and ballistics mesh jacket which will almost stop bullets in case I were to ever fall and skid for any reason – but also because of the brightness. My jacket, gloves, and helmet, are black and white, with at least some reflective material. White and reflective so I am visible at night, and black so I'm not washed out during the day.
After purchasing my equipment, I still had a week to wait for my bike - needless to say I was a bit anxious.
The crazies.
And now I'll hopefully leave you with a few amusing mental images of people.
The first one, was after a long line of bikers throwing me the two finger salute, as I was just figuring out what that was. An older biker was headed the opposite direction, topless and hosting the physique of Kieth Richards. As I passed this gentleman, he throws his left hand straight up, signaling "METAL" in the air while shouting "Thats what I'm talkin' 'bout!" at me. I think I laughed the rest of the way to Boulder.
The second was a middle-aged African-American business woman wearing a nice suit, in a very nice green sedan, who was stopped at an intersection I was about to pass. As I went past her, she threw both of her hands forward, and did an awesome dance in her car while shouting "Yea, GIRL!" at me, leaving me grinning for at least making that womans day.
Now imagine me, only taming motorcycles, and learning to fly using moth dust.
Zen and the art of Motorcycle Shopping.
One morning - or afternoon whichever you prefer - around 1pm, I woke up and took a shower with the intention of checking out a place for a few bikes before work, enhancing my ability to make an informed decision about a motorcycle that fits me. I walk through the door, and before I'm even greeted, a slightly older, and relatively rude man points at a knee-high, pastel pink, child's dirt bike, and says: "This is the only bike that is right for you." At which point I proceeded to hit him in the face with a helmet and steal his wallet. Not really, but it sure did sound like a good idea at the time.
When, exactly, is that appropriate? Here I am, having strayed to an environment where I already feel somewhat unwanted and uncomfortable because of my gender and overall appearance, and this guy crosses that, line? I tried my best to brush it off, and get the attention of an employee to start asking questions – but within 30 seconds, out the door I went - without picking up the brochure, and with none of my questions answered.
I did, eventually, find the bike that fit me. It is a burgundy red Suzuki SV650 standard with a custom seat, windshield, and mirrors. Its name is Zed, and will carry me to safety when the zombies arrive.
Gang Signs?
Bikers have more than the standard universal signs for turning, stopping, and merging. There is also the "two finger salute" exclusive between bikers, which is a simple flick of the left wrist, with the first two fingers extended. This action is not intended to notify cars of any movement – but rather as a greeting, "hey, you're like me, lets be two second friends" and to be polite.
What? Bikers have more manners than the elitist driving their SUV? Bikers will be much more civilized with one another than cars, and being female certainly doesn't hurt.
Speaking of civilized, I had a personal encounter with a police officer that did not involve embarrassing lights, sirens, or demands for license and registration. Riding to work during some particularly bad rush hour traffic, a motorcycle cop pulls up next to me, in my lane while at a dead stop, honestly startled me enough I don't think I stopped shaking the entire shift at work – he really seemed to have come out of no where, there was me, and then a solid cement wall, with no shoulder to speak of.
I thought I may have done something wrong, and he was coming up to tell me to pull over after missing his lights – but no, he just pulled up next to me to vent about how bad "Traffic SUCKS!" at which point I responded eloquently with: "auhbow wigzy wallack, roumb." I may have chit-chatted more, but it appeared my translator was broken. It certainly didn't hurt that he was probably one of the more attractive police officers I've ever run into, and I'm not one for the uniform.
Apparel.
Besides the obvious safety value of having decent equipment, here are a variety of reasons why I will never be one of the bikers that gets by with a Harley Davidson tank-top and bandanna.
Reason 1 – Bugs. After the first time I head butted a bee with my helmet, and having to pull over to scrape bug guts off my visor to restore visibility, I would never even imagine riding without a helmet. I have also pulled relatively large miller moths off of my jacket after hitting them at highway speeds, but the miller dust doesn't come off – I'm starting a collection to see if it'll eventually help me fly.
Reason 2 – Sun. While taking my motorcycle safety class my face was sunburned, and I contracted some kind of sun stroke – leaving me exhausted, dehydrated, and sick for 2 days straight. Because of that, I have a white jacket that does its part to reflect the sun while also being completely breathable so 90degrees is no issue, as well as a sun visor for daytime riding to protect my face.
Reason 3 – Debris. I know I've personally been the victim of road debris in my car, hitting the windshield hard enough to crack solid glass. Skin isn't that tough, and that debris doesn't go away simply because you take up less space. I have a few scrapes in my helmet, as well as a few pulled threads out of my jeans because of something as simple as pebbles targeting you at ridiculous speeds.
Reason 4 – Brightness. I chose my equipment partially because of practical application, approved helmet, gloves, and ballistics mesh jacket which will almost stop bullets in case I were to ever fall and skid for any reason – but also because of the brightness. My jacket, gloves, and helmet, are black and white, with at least some reflective material. White and reflective so I am visible at night, and black so I'm not washed out during the day.
After purchasing my equipment, I still had a week to wait for my bike - needless to say I was a bit anxious.
The crazies.
And now I'll hopefully leave you with a few amusing mental images of people.
The first one, was after a long line of bikers throwing me the two finger salute, as I was just figuring out what that was. An older biker was headed the opposite direction, topless and hosting the physique of Kieth Richards. As I passed this gentleman, he throws his left hand straight up, signaling "METAL" in the air while shouting "Thats what I'm talkin' 'bout!" at me. I think I laughed the rest of the way to Boulder.
The second was a middle-aged African-American business woman wearing a nice suit, in a very nice green sedan, who was stopped at an intersection I was about to pass. As I went past her, she threw both of her hands forward, and did an awesome dance in her car while shouting "Yea, GIRL!" at me, leaving me grinning for at least making that womans day.
Now imagine me, only taming motorcycles, and learning to fly using moth dust.
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