Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Total BullShit Facts 9/23

Bob & Doug McKenzie’s name is on the Stanley Cup.

Great writers rarely repeat themselves.

Twice during his presidency, Bill Clinton claimed to see the ghost of Mary Todd Lincoln.

When you buy soap and you see it’s 99.9 percent pure, ever wonder what the remaining .1 is? Ground boars’ eyes.

For a very brief period of time in 1949, Indiana was legally recognized as East Indiana and West Indiana.

Your friends think you’re very funny.

Tunisia leads the world in basil production.

The federal government plans to discontinue production of the penny in 2013.

One potato equals one can of Pringles.

Glue doesn’t stick to horses.

All cats are born with blue eyes, but the color changes in the first three weeks.

Good writers rarely repeat themselves.

Under extreme duress, the human bladder can swell to the size of a small cantaloupe before bursting.

In Victorian times, there actually used to be an ‘i’ in ‘team’.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Vacation: Ageing Not Raging

You can be a lot of things on vacation. Irresponsible, unhealthy, lazy, calm, active, inspired, stupid, smart, etc. But this is the first vacation that I couldn’t be one thing: young.

GD, people, I am old. I know they would have you believe that 40 is the new 30, but that adage was made up by some young 22 year old. If 40 is the new 30, than 38 must be the old, well, 38. While not getting too much into this (it can be a Klog for another time), I have been feeling old this year. I’ve only been 38 for a scant 5 months now, and this is really the first time in my life I feel old. There’s stuff cracking in my body that never cracked before. The grey hairs have been staking their claim lately. I just can’t seem to move like I used to. Like when I was 37. I can tell you young whippersnappers now of two things that will really make you feel old as you age. Sleep and alcohol. It’s a sick, twisted relationship.

I guess it was an unconscious thread of this vacation to have this fact hammered home to me. I look back now, and see so much evidence. Keeping to our 2 main themes, I was up ‘early’ almost every morning. And also, this is the first vacation I can recall where we actually brought beer BACK. Shit, man, where’s my AARP card? Going down, we had what I thought to be a borderline supply. 2 handles (1.75 liters for you old farts that don’t know that term) of coconut rum, 1 each smaller bottles of lime and banana rum. 2 cases of Corona (I know, I know, it’s mostly marketing or at least a law to have Corona at the shore. Whatever, I think it’s a good beer. Fucking shoot me, OK?) and 2 cases of “session” beer: Lionshead. John and April were also bringing down a case or 2.

So what came back? Part of the coconut handle, a few stragglers of Corona and a majority of the Lionshead. Pansies. I have a simple explanation, though.

We’re all fucking old.

The first day we were there-Sunday-I think we just killed a few beers and went to bed (Old.) Come Monday (hey, that would be a cool song title) afternoon, I declared it Malibu Monday as we dragged avowed beer drinkers J&A into our happy placed called Rumania (yes, I just made that up). The experimentation was basic at first, just a few straight up coconut rum and cokes (aka CRC). After that whet their appetites, we mixed various variations of coconut, lime and banana rums with Coke. But that was surely unhealthy, so we started adding real limes. I believe it was April who started mixing CRC slushies. And then I think real bananas got into the mix. And then….

Yea, that’s how Malibu Monday went. It was good clean fun as the rum flowed like the urine later did. Much laughing and talking about I really can’t fucking remember. I am sure I whasn’t schlurring me sppech too mush. I didn’t get Cate Donnelly drunk. (It’s OK I use her in this joke. I know Cate. Plus it’s not like she reads this blog, so I can get away with it.) And Malibu Monday let directly to Sleep It Off Tuesday. I got up about 8 or so, ate something, petered around the living room a bit, then went right back to fucking bed and slept till like 1. (Old.) I do regret that I did waste that much of a day down there.

And here is an irony to vacation. Even though you bring down an assload of booze, you still go out to drink. A lot of nights we wandered up to the strip to try to blend with the locals. Not too much exotic beer is available down there, so you’re stuck drinking Sam Adams Summer and the like, which is fine. The bars were good clean fun-even walking in the rain. The girls had enough beer to attempt line dancing. Me and John had enough beers to keep our asses at the bar at mock the girls. The nights out weren’t out of control drunken affairs. (Old.) We were probably back home by like 10 or 11. (Old.) The drunk busses they have down there sure are lively after 10 or so. That shit should be a reality show. Cash Cab and Trashed Bus. Back at home, T would start a fight between J&A, we’d watch and then go to bed. Nothing like winding ‘em up and letting ‘em go. Good night everybody.

Next to us was a condo that I believe housed 20 young kids. They weren’t a problem or anything, but fuck if it wasn’t like watching a clown car every time their porch door slid open, and more kids came piling out. One night they were quietly drinking outside. Two of ‘em passed out. We even went down to check them out. Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but deep down, part of me was thinking, “Shit, why couldn’t that be me?” And then the rational side would say, “Because 1) you’re thirty fucking eight and 2) if you ever did, April would so put that right up on her Facebook. I would even recommend to her that she title the picture ‘ShitFaceBook.’” Even my rational side hates me.

There are other reasons for the inexcusable crime of bringing beer home. For the first time since I can remember, we didn’t play any drinking games. Any. (Old.) No Three Man. No Beer Pong. No Drinking Jenga or Asshole or Flippy Cup or Fuzzy Duck or even my favorite game to play, Porch. (Which is inevitably followed by my next favorite game, Whizzing in the Bushes.) Instead we spent our leisure time in such adultly pursuits as ‘crossword puzzles’, ‘word games’ and some bullshit thing called ‘reading’. (Old, old and old.) We would end our exciting evening of activities by ‘going to bed’. To make it worse, we would usually get up ‘early’. Egads.

Funny as how you get older, the concepts of sleep and alcohol intertwine. To wit, on earlier vacations, night wasn’t for ‘sleeping’, it was for ‘alcohol’. Now, the nights are barely for ‘alcohol’, but mostly for ‘sleeping’. Shit, I can do that at home. If you drink too much ‘alcohol’, you seemingly never get enough ‘sleep’. In fact, if you drink too much ‘alcohol’, you are advised to ‘sleep’ it off. Sometimes if you’re smart, you might ‘sleep’ before a night of ‘alcohol’. I think you see the cycle.

Part of me did grow rather comfortable with this new cycle. It was refreshing to wake up, and face J&A not wondering if a made a drunken ass of myself the night before. Or wake up to a camera full of pictures I don’t remember being taken. And running in the 90 degree sun is far easier when my gut still isn’t chewing through a liter of swill. Especially for then poor saps behind me.

Next year, I am bringing the party. I’m brining a funnel.

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Yes, yes , it’s after Labor Day, and I’m still getting vacation Klogs up. I guess I am trying my best to extend the summer. I have one more just about finished, then possibly a wrap up piece, then back to non-vacational rantings.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

A Day at The Zoo

Today I did something I haven’t done in at least a dozen-if not more so-years. I went to the zoo. I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about watching tall, hairy creatures lounging around all day in their own filth and squalor that reminds me of someone. I wonder who…

It was a beautiful Sunday as we arrived. I did come with ulterior motives. I wanted to talk to someone about acquiring a helper monkey. Where better to go than the zoo? Maybe they had some discount monkeys available. We just need some help with some chores around the house; things like mowing the lawn, walking the dog, picking up pizza, completing beer runs, etc. I was pretty happy that our first stop was the monkey compound. I was fascinated by this potential butler species. Unfortunately, there was no zoo rep who I could query.

We waked on a bit, and T asked me, “What do you think this place is like at night?” I answered, “That’s when they unlock the cages.” Smack! Ok, so maybe they don’t do that, but, admit it, it would be kick ass if they did. I wasn’t prepared for the general behavior of just about all the animals. They weren’t very active. I wanna see the big guys charging around. It leads me back to her question. Because most of these animals looked fucking hungover. And if I’m not hungover at the zoo, there better not be another GD animal hungover. I want to see the rhinos charging their walls. I want to see monkeys reaching their paws outside their cage and slashing a little kid’s face. 15 years of watching Discovery and Animal Planet, my expectations have increased.

But, no, most of the animals were pretty chill. The bats weren’t going batshit crazy. The apes were not going apeshit, no matter how many quarters I threw at them. OK, that’s a joke, I am unemployed, I can only afford to throw nickels. It was disappointing to go to Bear Country, and see said bears, well, sleeping. How often do you get to see a polar bear up close and personal? Well, the lone polar bear did his best impression of a rug, just lying there. They had the glass tank where he can swim in and try to maul all the little kids watching him. No, instead, the guy was sleeping at 3 in the afternoon. Dude, if my ass is up at three on a Sunday, yours better be, too.

Ditto for all the big animals, ones like rhinos and hippos. I got to see a rhino, sleeping in the far right corner of his pen. Big whoop. Do freaking something. Run around, eat a bale of hay or whatever the fuck else it is you do. Lying in the corner and twitching an ear does not pass muster. The zoo had small wooly mammoths. (Yea, scientifically, they were not the extinct wooly mammoth, but let’s make a few bucks here and market them as such.) At least they were up strolling, doing their half assed best to look menacing. What the hell, do the animals take off Sunday?

The apes weren’t much better. At least we got a little bit of action in the outside pen. The big ape lumbered up and swatted a smaller ape away. Mutual of Omaha this is not. We went inside the primate house, me still looking to inquire about monkeys of the helper variety. Here, we saw the biggest ape in the zoo, the alpha male. And this fucker just sat there. I swear, he was one of those animatronic things. A finger would move now and then. Other than that, he appeared to be sleeping upright in a corner. There were 2 other apes in this cage, and they were just as stoic. What happened to electrifying floors? C’mon, these days the zoo has to compete with iPods, iPhones and iCarly. Gimme some action here.

Alpha ape later wanders outside to the glass area. He draws a crowd of gawkers as he proceeds to wow us with his behavior of-lying down. Really? This is the best you can do? Put the guy in a hammock, and you got me on a Sunday. Yet, we stand gawker-ati , mesmerized. None of us have ever been this close to an ape that did nothing. I hung in, in the vain hope he would do something. A brief wait paid dues. He got up, and rolled over to face the glass. With an uncanny human like ability, he picked his nose. Then he ate it. Again, put him in a hammock, and you got me on a Sunday. If I heard this guy cut the cheese, he could move in.

Zoos have gotten more savvy since the last time I visited. I saw this first hand in the monkey house. Last time I went, all my forefathers were in cages with bars. These days, the bars are gone, in favor of super-strong(hopefully, at least) plexiglass. Which eliminates all the potential of a monkey flinging poo. Where’s the thrill? We were at another animal pen, something like the ostritch. The point is, it was something that could spit. So I tried to provoke it. Called it all kinds of names, made all kinds of threatening motions. Only to hide behind my wife. Now, c’mon, that’s funny. Again, I guess these guys don’t work on Sundays. No spit, no thrill.

We wandered to another part of the zoo where all the animals were behind glass. We came across one for the snow leopard. There was no snow leopard. I was disappointed as I asked T if she knew why they called this a snow leopard. She said no as I answered, “It’s because there’s no leopard to be seen.” She groaned as everyone else around me laughed uncontrollably.

As we were walking through, we ended up in sync with people who were training 5-7 guide dogs. We had the luck to go through the big cat house with them. From afar, I could see the tigers got the memo to take the day off. Much like in a seedy 70s porno, they acted like rugs. We went through the first few exhibits with no big cats. We made our way to an area that held two big cats; the bottom part had glass, the top of the cage was wire. The dogs slid by on a different path, and soon as they did, one cat sprung to the top of the cage. He stared them down, as the doggies obliviously walked by. It was good to see some action finally. As we stayed there, 2 more dogs walked by the glass part, and now 2 cats were right there. The dogs didn’t seem that bothered, and walked by as one cat jumped to the top again. So apparently, all I need to get some action in this place is to get animals on the outside.

We were with the dogs as we got to the part with the tigers. One tiger was dead asleep two feet from the glass. I swear I saw confetti and glitter in his fur. The dogs went right up to the glass, no problem. Further on down, there was another glass viewing point. 2 dogs were there, and another tiger slinked to the glass. Soon, Tony (the Tiger. I call all tigers Tony.) had 2 massive paws on the glass, madly scratching away like it was the face of a 4 year old child. We got ourselves another show. We slid ahead of the dogs and got there first. The second Tony was more active, eyeing another young child like she was a hyena or whatever it is tigers eat. The dogs made their way over to the far side, and Tony was on them right away. Poor guys, they both slid back. The crowd politely laughed, but we all knew we would be doing the same thing. I mean, how often does a dog see a tiger?

It’s good to see the zoo planning for a lot of kids. Outside many of the exhibits were zones for stroller parking. So unlike those GD spider bikes on the OC boards, I don’t have to worry about getting ankled by some dimwit dad who can’t see where he’s fucking pushing his precious snowflake. But that still doesn’t mean some of these egg and sperm donors don’t feel part of the Entitled. In the big cat exhibit, there’s a big sign that says stroller parking, another sign saying no strollers permitted in the exhibit and like 1,000 strollers thusly parked. But some motard still felt the need to ignore that, and push their precious through the exhibit. OK, pointless and off topic, but still a pet peeve of mine.

There were a few other cats in the exhibit. We were looking in another display when I said, “So, T, you remember the story a few years back when there was a cat or leopard who couldn’t hear? No zoo would take him, but finally, the Philadelphia Zoo did.” She shook her head yes with all the compassion in the world. I continued, “Yea, so now the zoo has their very own Def Leppard.” Smack! Shit, who said the zoo would be this painful?

Being a good and intrepid writer, I always have to ask questions. And this trip to the zoo left me with a lot of questions. For example, in many of the pens for the smaller animals, it appeared to me they could easily just run and jump out. I didn’t feel necessarily safe in front of the brown tailed gopher exhibit (or whatever the fuck they were. I’m drinking now, so go along with me). It’s not like their walls were too high, or they couldn’t get a running start. It looked to me the kangaroos could easily jump their way to freedom.

I wonder who’s job it is to figure out which animals get along. For example, in the small mammal house, monkey like animals were paired with what appeared to be small ant-eaters. They didn’t seem to bother each other. That’s a job you can only pretty much fuck up once. Can you imagine the job interview after such a disaster? “What happened to my last job? Well, sir, it’s a funny story. It was my job to put 2 species in the same cage at the zoo, and I made a bit of a goof, and put gazelles in the cheetah compound, and well, nature took over.” Awkward.

If it was me in this job (and yes, this is why I remain unemployed), I’d put hunted next to hunter. Put seals next to polar bears. Yes, make sure that the bear could never get to them, but still, let’s put on a show here, right? In a bat cage, I would put their non flying prey in a smaller cage at the bottom. Make sure the bats can’t get to them, but let’s stand back and all watch them try. Besides, bats are nocturnal, and don’t do shit during the day, so make ‘em work while people are around.

I wonder about the birds at the zoo. There were a bunch of open air exhibits, and it appeared that they all could fly. So do they ever leave their little bit of bird paradise, and say wander over to the tiger’s playground? Do they ever leave at all? Do they ever try to knock boots with the penguins next door? Those damn penguins wanted it, I’m tellin ya.

As with any big city, my Philadelphia is in the midst of this economy crisis. I am sure the zoo has faced some major cutbacks. In the grand scheme of life, I am sure the zoo is near the bottom of the list as it should be. I don’t think that justifies them selling hotdogs for freaking 4.75. And as I chewed into my overpriced hotdog, I suddenly wondered about the circle of life. What’s to say that this is an actual hotdog? Maybe it was prairie dog? So again going with the assumption I would be working there, I would suggest a radical new program that will benefit both city and zoo, and save tons of money. Turns out the big apes can eat over 20 pounds of food a day. I would call my program “Homeless for the Habitat”. The program would involve all the homeless being rounded up. Then thrown into the tiger den, polar bear cage, monkey cage. etc. The animals could get food, and the city’s homeless problem would drastically ease. It’s a win win. “Daddy, what’s all those bags in the lions cage?” “Ah, son, that just all the satchels from the hobos.”

Any trip to the Philly Zoo as a child meant you had to bring one thing. Cherry bombs. No, wait a minute that’s not it. Back in the day, the zoo had machines (called talking storybooks) in front of some of the exhibits. You needed a special key. This key was usually red, and shaped like an elephant. You put the elephant in the machine, and the story of the animal was heard. I am sure it is a cherished childhood for many now adults throughout the Philly area. Like a true bonehead, I totally forgot mine, but was still anxious to see young kids unlocking the story of the animals.

Sadly, the machines are no longer there. I actually spoke to someone about this, turns out the company that made the machines went out of business. I even saw a little girl with a new key in her hands, wandering around, crestfallen. The attendant told us they hope to get them back, and when they do, they will have a special party just for keyholders. I will be so there. But for now, there’s a big part of our childhood missing.

While a bit off topic, (as just about everything here is) I also feel the need to comment on something else I saw at the Zoo. While walking around, I saw the first asshole wearing an Eagles Vick jersey. Some young punk shit piece of trash. And this was not in the way I was wearing the I Heart Kev shirt. No, there was no goofing or irony going on at all. I know this was probably his bright idea to be the first asshole to wear a Vick jersey to the Zoo. But, enough. I can guaran-damn-tee you 96% percent of the assholes that wear Vick jerseys do it to try to be ‘bad’. They do it for the image and underlying connotations. All those assholes know next to nothing about Vick and could care less, they do it for their own image and ego. They’re ignorant douchebags, and I also would put them in my Homeless for the Habitat program. OK, off my Vick soapbox for now.

I had a lot of fun at the Zoo. The Zoo draws a ton of people, and it’s the oldest zoo in the country. 1859 in case you thought I didn’t know. The zoo is a good value for the 18 bucks. Lots of people watching, and you can even watch some animals, too. I don’t think you need to go every year. I don’t know the next time I will go back, but I will bring my red elephant key.