There's No Boarding Like Snowboarding

This past weekend I had the wonderful opportunity to stay a night at a cozy little cabin near Big Bear Mountain, thanks to my friend Matt. It originally wasn't going to happen for me due to a lack of fundage but Matt's other committed parties backed out at the last minute and left him with the bill and plenty of unused space. Not wanting to squander the extra beds, Matt generously offered to have Jimmy and myself join him for part of the weekend. He made this unrefuseable offer after buying Jimmy's Thai lunch and my hot Jasmine tea. What a swell guy!

Anyway, I was more than ready to go but I had to clear it with the missus. You see, you never know when you have plans-that-you-didn't-make-but-which-were-assumed-that-you-knew-about. I was anticipating a reaction along the lines of "But I thought we were supposed to ". What I got instead was complete and utter understanding on the part of my wife. I even detected a hint of hearty encouragement. What a wonderful gal!

So anyway I ventured out there with my ultra-chilled out companion Jimmy. We encountered some annoying stop-start traffic but made it after about three and a half hours of slowly roasting in the greenhouse on wheels. So what if I was two-toned - I figured that the tan on my left arm would catch up to the tan on my right arm on the way back.

We had also made a pitstop at Super Tacos or some such nonsense. I don't know about the tacos, but the burritos sure weren't "super" - more like sub-par. Like eating a knuckle sandwich (or knuckle burrito as it were) - literally! Jimmy encountered some hostile customer service in the form of a non-responsive linecook and the hispanic version of a tatooed, scowling eyebrow-faced Cruella Deville. Jimmy proceeded to ask where their restrooms were located. After being met with fiery glances and stony silence, it prompted Jimmy to feebly ask, "Donde esta bano"?

So anyway we made it to our destination in one piece. After about a half hour of primping (compared to my two-minute quick prep), Jimmy was ready to catch the shuttle to the slopes. We rendezvoused with Matt and procurred our lift tickets. I rented my board, stuffed my shoes into a locker and excitedly rushed towards the snow-covered playground.

I was proud of myself for having retained a modicum of snowboarding skill, especially considering the fact that I had only tried it once previously (having learned to ski first). I was so dreading the ski lift exit - fearing some sort of domino effect as I clung to those next to me and fell, but no such thing happened. I simply coasted to an open spot and proceeded to secure my bindings. Rock on!

The actual riding was excellent. Yeah, I had some spills, but what a thrilling experience it was to be carving down the slopes. Surprisingly I made it out relatively unscathed (no cuts, bruises..et..). My primary gripe was the constant strain of muscles that I barely use. After awhile I was making stupid mistakes because my legs were essentially giving out on me. At that point it stopped being fun and was more an exercise in survival (i.e. see how much further I can go without getting a concussion and having to be escorted down the slopes by a snowmobile-towed stretcher).

Matt and his compadres left early since they had arrived earlier while Jimmy and I stayed to closing time. After our snowboarding antics, Jimmy and I hobbled over to a local pizza joint (Paoli's) and had some awesome eats. My jalapeno, chicken, and garlic pizza just melted in my mouth with each hungry bite.

We eventually joined Matt and his boys back at the cabin. Wait a minute - I just made it sound like reaching the cabin was a straightforward affair, which it most certainly was NOT! THANK YOU very much Yahoo Maps! We were presented with a slew of twists and turns, unilluminated streets, street signs, and house numbers and were also faced with streets sharing the same name (River Ridge Dr, River Ridge Lane, River Ridge Court). But through some twist of fate we stumbled upon the cozy cottage.

Next order of business: hot tub. The boys had heated that bad boy up and I was ready to make like a human wonton and deposit myself into some hot-ass chlorinated broth! After sustaining the kind of strain and soreness that we did on the slopes it was practically an orgasmic experience to submerge ourselves into the healing, churning waters of the jacuzzi. The crisp, chill February mountain air ensured that we stayed alert and our body parts submerged in the liquid hotness ensured that we stayed relaxed.

After about 2 hours of stewing we went inside and got washed up. After watching some figure skaters make Olympic history by performing some triple linde stunt, we played some Balderdash, but not before I enjoyed a steaming mug of Peppermint Patty (Peppermint schnaups with hot cocoa).

I wish I could recall the silliness that the game evoked. I did learn some interesting factoids, though - like in Nevada it's illegal to ride a camel down the freeway. So what the heck are Nevada Arabs going to ride then?!? Oh yeah - taxis. Okay, that was a little racist - I apologize. Anyway, in Massachusetts (I think) it's illegal to have a donkey on the second floor of a building. Somehow I think this law went into place after one too many college pranks (just TRY getting a donkey down the stairs).

On the way home Jimmy and I had some quarter-life discussions about careers and relationships and what-have-you - you know, the kind of talks that are important to have because they help to put your life into perspective? Oh, and I worked on tanning my right arm so it matched my left.

The Spirit of a Dream

Hey folks,

Those that know me know that I'm not a particularly religious guy, however I am open-minded to the possibility of a higher power, an omniscent presence, an everpresent energy that permeates everything and instills meaning, connection, and purpose, and so on and so forth. I'm speaking, of course, of The Force. No wait, Mr.Lucas explained away that cool mystical concept with that whole "metaclorins" crap in Star Wars: Episode I--essentially scientizing a fundamentally unscientific concept. Can religion and science ever get along or will they forever be doomed to contradict one-another like some kind of weathered, cynical old couple? Food for thought, but surely I digress.

Anyway, as I was saying, I'm speaking of course of this whole notion of God. I don't pretend to know what he/she/it is, but I do leave room for the possibility of his/her/its existence. I guess it's safe to say that I'm agnostic, and despite my Judeo-Christian background I think that I have leanings towards Buddhism, although I haven't really looked into it yet. Strike that up to my fear of letting go of my worldliness - I'm ever so attached to my possessions as I know I shouldn't be. I guess I can't see myself shaving my head, donning a robe, and sitting alone on a mountaintop meditating ad nauseum. Of course I know that the path of a monk is one extreme of Buddhism. In a way I guess I use such extreme thinking to justify my hesitation, thereby ensuring that I remain firmly planted in my day-to-day orientation to the world.

Regarding the whole attachment thing, I suppose its okay, so long as you're attached to a person (or animal) that you love and the attachment doesn't compromise their existence or your own (i.e. you're not so attached as to be fully dependent on someone else or living with disregard for other beings). In other words you have to have balance, which is a recurrent theme in my life - strike it up to my being a Libra, I suppose.

So I guess, in my roundabout way, I'm finally getting to the point of this whole discussion on spirituality: last night I had a most peculiar dream. As I have a tendency to do, I cannot recall the dream in its entirety, but what I can recall is befuddling to me for the considerations outlined above. Here's the recalled portion of the dream:

I was travelling in a vehicle with another passenger. I believe it was a woman and I believe
that she was driving. I don't know if it was my wife or someone else significant from my life.
My sense was that this person was a mere acquaintance or even somebody that I didn't
know. Anyway we were chatting about mundane stuff as we were driving down this dark
road that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere - like in some desert. All of a sudden we
were privy to a most spectacular sight: some kind of bluish-white beam shot down from the
sky! My first thought was that this was some sort of paranormal alien/UFO phenomenom,
but I later noticed that a cross was clearly visible on the road where the beam was hitting.
The driver and I started to get freaked out as we came closer to the beam. The next thing I
remember is passing through the beam. As we passed through the spot, the car proceeded to
spin out of control and I experienced a very vivid sense of coldness and fear that caused me
to intake a huge gulp of air (in reality, not the dream). With this action I immediately
awakened and remained in a fearful state. I experienced the dream as a Godly-type of
message and felt in the moment that I needed to commit to religion - or else. I also had
the distinct notion that an ominous presence was nearby in the apartment. It was akin to the
sleep paralysis that many people have experienced (which I experienced once). It wasn't the
same in the sense that I believe I did have control of my extremities, I simply chose not to
move for fear that the perceived "entities" would notice me. Very creepy.

If anything this dream/experience has provided me with some empathy for religious zealots and those people who firmly believe that they have been visited and/or contacted, whether by aliens or heavenly agents, or some other entities (fairies, vampires, werewolves, demons?). That's not to say that I "believe" I was visited. In my case the cloud lifted and my rational thinking kicked in. Perhaps that's the key to having a paranormal experience, though. One needs to let go, to suspend rational thinking in order to let in the spiritual, the mystical, and the magical. In effect, one has to be "crazy" to experience other realities.

What do you folks think?

Journey to the Mother-In-Law Land: Part II Posh Digs, A Viewtiful Hike, and JAWS

So after we said our goodbyes Kim and I were on our way to have a little adventure on our own. I must say that I was quite impressed with our lodgings in Cape Town. Kim definitely did her homework and we reaped the benefits. An African Villa was very stylish and contemporary, yet still retained a coziness that was enhanced via the friendly and helpful staff. I pretty much felt like I was staying with my rich Aunt Bertha...and I don't even have a rich Aunt Bertha!



After settling into our digs we immediately ventured to Table Mountain for a long, arduous hike. Comparatively speaking, I don't know how this hike fares with other hikes, but for us non-hikers it was definitely brutal. I mean, it's pretty much like climbing several thousand steps while the sun slaps you silly with its hot death rays. I guess it didn't help matters that Kim's allergies were acting up and we had nary a tissue--so it was my crosswords to the rescue! Kim proceeded to blow her nose into the newspapers that I had brought in my backpack as one of my many travel distractions.



28 Across: Snot; 37 Down: Boogers



So after about 20 breaks in which we took in the picturesque views and caught our breath, we made it to the top. Despite all our doubts about accomplishing such a Herculean task, we made it relatively unscathed and rewarded ourselves with an overpriced mediocre lunch. Check out some of these views which made the whole ordeal all worthwhile:



So that was our hike in a nutshell (it was a really, REALLY big nutshell). Now, onto the Deep Sea Demons, the Titans of Terror, the The Masters of Gnashing Gashing and Thrashing, the mighty Great White! Read on about our encounter with these beautiful beasts....

__________

So the next day of our trip was without question to be the most exciting time that we had in South Africa. We woke up at the buttcrack of dawn and coasted through mostly empty streets to make it to the sleepy coastal town destination of Gans Bay (or Gansbaii). There we were to embark on a journey of Jacques Cousteau-ian proportions. Before I get into that, however, let me tell you a little something about Kim and I. Typically I am the more adventurous, spontaneous one and Kim is more of the even-tempered, rational/conventional type--we have just kind of implicitly accepted these designations for ourselves. Well, as if to demonstrate that our roles are not so rigidly determined afterall, Kim had suggested some time ago that we go on a Great White Shark cage dive. I immediately thought, "You must be mad" before almost soiling myself while contemplating such a terrifying endeavor. I thought, "Who in their right mind would want to come face to face with one of nature's fiercest predators?" Kim certainly did, I certainly didn't. For all of my capacity for rational thought I couldn't shake this phobia of sharks. Thanks a lot, Steven Spielburg!

So anyway, I've held on to this irrational belief that some shark was going to make me his chum, even though the statistics show that about 8 people died of shark attacks last year and over 700 people died toaster-related deaths. Now certainly this factoid doesn't take into account the non-fatal and unreported shark attacks as well as the people who purposely bathed with their plugged in toasters, but it definitely hints at the absurdity of the fear, and further illuminates how our perceptions of sharks are actually skewed by sensational reporting and emotionally-tinged ignorance. For the sake of conquering my fear I decided to go along with it. I mean, what better way to conquer your fear than to meet it face to face?

And meet it face to face I did. But you know something? I was more overcome by awe than sheer terror--these beasts from the deep were simply an awesome sight to behold! Don't get me wrong--I was pretty scared at first, especially considering that Kim and I were volunteered to be the first victims! Now there was no guarantee that we were going to see anything--I think the odds were like 60 percent. I remember thinking that I would've felt quite fine about not seeing anything thank-you-very-much, but in retrospect I'm so thrilled that I did. So anyway, after suiting up we immediately plunged into the icy cold waters. We were told that we were in luck, as a Great White was coming in to greet us! Now I'll just let the pictures do the rest of the recounting:

What the hell have you gotten me into?



The rest of our time at Cape Town included a penguin-filled beach (yeah, you read that correctly--peep the pic for photo proof), a visit to the South African Naval Museum (to find the honorary medal of Granny's deceased husband Paul which is proudly on display there), a gorgeous coastal drive, a few wineries, an aquarium, and of course plenty of shopping and delicious eats!

Leader of the tuxedoed bunch

In memory of Paul





Beautiful wine estate, beautiful woman

I've had enough of sharks


This is supposed to be for 2--more like 4!


__________

Of course, no trip to South Africa would be complete without a mugging. What did you expect? It's not all gawking at animals, sunny beaches, and beautiful locales all the time--there's the locals to contend with! Considering that there's a 50 percent unemployment rate and the government is in its relative infancy since abolishing apartheid, there's a lot of poverty not to mention the AIDS epidemic which is just monstrous over there.

Anyway, back to the mugging. Well, it's probably more accurate to say that it was a near-mugging as nothing was actually muggled. It happened towards the end of our stay on a particularly busy street in broad mid-afternoon daylight! Two teenaged youths approached Kim and I to hit us up for some cash. Now I don't mind giving to the needy on occasion, but not when they are particularly aggressive about it. These kids would just not give up and wouldn't take "no" for an answer. They proceeded to position themselves in such a way as to split me off from Kim who, in a semi-panicked state, was starting to pick up her pace. It all happened in a flash, but I soon found myself staring at a shiny blade which, until the time that the kid flashed it, had been concealed in his pocket. Luckily for me, I had my hands in my pockets--one hand was protecting my wallet, the other had taken ahold of my car keys. I instinctively whipped out the hand that was grasping the keys, but before doing so I arranged my fingers in such a way that the key stuck out between my knuckles. Now I've never been to prison, but I'm well aware of shanks--just about anything can be used as a weapon and can be a particularly effective deterrant based on how you wield it. I guess I was wielding the keys with such authoritative aggression that this kid backed down and turned into an alley as Kim and I crossed the street to safety.

Surely this was quite a harrowing experience, but it didn't taint our love for the land or the people. It pretty much expedited our desire to leave at that point, however, and return to our day-to-day lives.

The sun sets on our journey...

Do we haveta leave tomorrow?


All-in-all it was a wondrous time infused with the spirit of adventure and exploration and full of familial connection coupled with awe-inspiring moments with nature. Thanks for sharing in my experience. Until next time dear readers...

Journey to the Mother-In-Law Land: Part I In Search of Lions

Howdy readership. I figured I'd regale you with my recent excursions into the country of South Africa. Not to be merely confused withthe southernmost tip of the CONTINENT of Africa, mind you (which most Americans seems to think is a country anyway), South Africa is a beautiful, beautiful country. Yeah, it has its problems such as a reported %50 unemployment rate and coexisting poverty and crime, but so does any country.

Part of my motivation for writing this is to ensure that my recent experience there does not fade into the hazy recesses of my mind, only to be slightly jogged by the numerous photos that were snapped. For those who have had the pleasure of seeing the shots of the gorgeous countryside and wildlife (not to mention the obligatory tourist pose shots), this blog entry is to serve as a sort of adjunct to those visual aids. A kind of backstory, as it were. Anyway, onto the "travelogue".

For those of you unfamiliar to overseas travel, particularly to this section of our vast globe, South Africa is super frickin' far away and consequently requires massive amounts of flying, walking, driving, shuffling, waiting in line, depressurizing and re-pressurizing, checking in, and carry-on bag toting. All in all the trip requires a full 24 hours of travel, but that doesn't factor in the inevitable extra time you'll need to readjust your biological clock and get over the jet lag. For that reason my wife and I set aside two weeks so that we could properly adjust to and get over the brutal travel regimen.

The inter-continental planes are friggin' huge and packed to the gills with all manner of international travellers. I must say that, despite the nearly unbearable flight length, the plane was full of distractions so that, at least temporarily, you can forget about the annoying inconvenience of it all. I did my part by watching some movies on the way up and back. I was sumarily wowed by such cinematic fluff as The Bad News Bears (a flimsy, uninspired remake), Fantastic Four (anything but fantastic), Transporter 2 (transport me to another movie, PLEASE! I mean, I'm all about suspension of disbelief, but COME ON!), and also Wedding Crashers (over-rated, but fratboys seem to be keen on it). Aside from these free on-demand movies I partook in some of the games provided on the touch-screen monitor in front of me which included poker, blackjack, and hours upon hours of chess. Surprisingly I barely touched my Nintendo DS, even though I went out of my way to pack it and a bunch of games.

Finally, I had the opportunity to catch up on all the reading that I've been missing as well. Don't get me wrong, I don't do books generally--I'm an avid magazine reader. Irreverent men's magazines like Stuff, Maxim, and the newer Sync will do just fine, thanks (how else am I to gauge what the hell gadgets to own and what's cool and what-not?). Oh, and I can always rely on the trustworthy Onion to provide many hearty laughs, great product/movie reviews, and interesting interviews with sometimes iconic underground figures and cult favorites. I barely had enough time to work in my former time-killer: crosswords. Despite the many distractions it was hard not to feel like I was suffering due to my almost complete inability to fall asleep on a plane. While others blissfully nodded off and snored like extremely irate Geese, I continued to engage in the provided distractions while straining my broken-blood-vesseled eyes.

But all things (good and bad) must come to an end. Finally, we reached our destination! Right away I was so stoked to....go to sleep. But sweet, sweet rest would not come immediately. No, before I could make a date with Ms.Sandwoman (sorry Mr.Sandman, I don't swing like that), I had to endure more travel aggravations. Joy upon joys! So we packed up our rented van and headed to Granny's for a visit. She was all too happy to see us as she entertained us with stories about my father-in-law's childhood and rejuvenated our bodies with various meats, breads, and cheeses. A cold brewsky offered additional refreshment. Seeing as how our bodies were spent, we made it a short visit and headed over to Marcel and Wendy's place.

Wendy is my father-in-law's sister (Kim's aunt). She is a delightful woman with a bright countenance consisting of big blue eyes and accentuated with a lovely British-sounding accent. Marcel, on the other hand, is an interesting foil to Wendy. He may come off as a bit on the gruff side--particular with his raspy Afrikans acccent, but he was as generous and accomodating as ever. We also met with their beautiful young-adult children Brit and Mark. It was great to be subjected to the family's hospitality as we were nursed to pre-jet lag levels of health before departing on the next leg of our journey.

We had already reunited with Granny at Wendy and Marcel's place. She, along with Auntie Elaine (whom we met at the airport), accompanied us for the 5-day excursion to the Hluhluwe (sounds like "shuh shlewy") wildlife reserve. Let me just tell you that these two elderly ladies (84 and 92 respectively) displayed more vitality than most people half their age. During dinners at the lodge they playfully joked with the family inbetween sips of rose' wine and ribbed one-another incessantly as only close sisters can do.

For Kim and I, the first two nights at the Lodge were torturous! Our hut wasn't invaded by ravenous baboons or carnivorous hyenas. No, we were attacked by a more pernicious, nefarious, despicable creature: the mosquito-or mosquitos I should say. Not only were we without a functioning air conditioning unit, but our bodies were veritable buffets for the pesky little blood-suckers. I became so enraged at times that I would strike my body in a crazed fury of slap-happiness, barking expletives all the while.

With a little bit of American entitlement, we promptly got switched to another hut with working AC. This move made the rest of our stay all the more bearable. The time at the lodge was interspersed with drives through the park sometimes with, sometimes without a guide. It's sad to say, but after awhile you stop becoming enamored with the sight of sheepish impala or the graceful giraffe. You just kind of shrug your shoulders at these beautiful African creatures as if they were a squirrel or a domestic house cat. I have to admit that part of my disengagement was due to the fact that this was my second trip to South Africa and I wanted to see a cat, dammit!!! And no, not a domesticated cat tossing it's own salad, but a beautiful and glorious lion with his harem of lionesses.

I got my wish. Well, sort of, for you see we ventured to a cat rescue facility. These people nurse various wildcats to health and then release them into the wild. It's not quite the same to see caged animals, but they did have plenty of room to roam. I loved the Serval cats with their uniquely shaped ears. The kittens were having a ball chasing and wrestling one-another while their pops couldn't stop hissing and growling at us oogling tourists. Then there were the leopards. Wow--what a presence! These slinky, but bulky cats passed up and down the length of the fence while siting any possible prey. At one point my heart skipped a beat when one of the cheetahs made a sudden move towards the fence, as if to say, "Back off, tasty morsel--you're cramping my stealthy style".

Later in the trip we actually got to see some "real" cats (i.e. lions in their own habitat). We had hired a nice guy by the name of Darryl to be our own personal park guide and he certainly delivered. It's wonderful utilizing these guides because they coordinate with each other using their walkie talkies so that they can rush you to the most recent animal siting. Our first "sighting" of lions happened so suddenly. As we were rounding a bend in the road, Darryl pumped the brakes and proceeded to reverse and then grabbed his binoculars. I don't know how he did it, but there, at a distance of about a mile was a mother lioness with her cub lying in the shade of a tree in a dry riverbed! We oohed and ahhed for awhile as we watched the cub occasionally lift its head and shift its position ever so slightly. Now, given the relative rarity of sighting lions, I would've been content with what we saw, but there was more lion action to be had. Towards the end of our guided tour we happened to come across a couple of trucks and a bus that had stopped to view a male and his mate. Darryl eventually drew us closer and at one point the lioness fixed her gaze on us intently and sunk real low as if she was going to pounce. It just doesn't get better than that folks!

That was the pinnacle of our animal gazing and the whole experience, like a full hot and hearty meal, left us feeling quite satisfied. We eventually parted ways with the rest of the family and it was time for Kim and I to start our side trip to Capetown, which I'll write about in Part II.

Newport News, Hampton Roads, The Peninsula

Hey there loyal reader. This here's my nostalgic thread--alike in spirit to my initial post to this blog.

I received a forward that touched on the Hampton Roads experience. While I can't relate directly to everything (ahem, I never dated a sailor, ahem), it certainly touched on many facets of my hometown. It wasn't perfect, but I still have a place in my heart to call it home. Here's the contents of the forward in its entirety:


You know you're a Hampton Roads resident when.....

You have to adopt a surrogate professional sports team because you live in the largest metropolitan area without one.

You can name at least three of Mike Joynes' law partners.

You can finish the "Beach Ford" song.

You know Mount Trashmore is a real place, not a joke.

You can see another 7-11 from the 7-11 you're currently at.

You know that 64 West in Chesapeake is actually going east.

Any westbound trip you've ever made involves at least onetunnel.

You can name at least three underwater tunnels within a twenty mile radius of your home.

You've been friends with, dated or married a sailor.

You can say "Norfolk" while sounding neither obscene nor incorrect.

You don't stop and look skyward when aircraft fly over.

You know what a Food Lion is.

Newport News is not a catalog, it is a city.

It's not a peninsula, it's the Peninsula. With a capital P.

You can name all the I-64 spurs.

It's not Portsmouth, it's P-town.

The Strip isn't a nudie bar, it's a tourist trap.

To you, Scope isn't just mouthwash.

The Boathouse doesn't actually dock any boats.

You know Dam Neck and Birdneck aren't necks of any kind.

You don't mind the jet noise.

You don't slow down in the tunnel, because it's not a big deal.

It's normal for seven cities to be linked in almost every conceivable way.

You can leave town for years at a time and come back to find the same segments of roads still under construction.

It's Seven Five Seven, not Seven Fifty-Seven.

An inch of snow closes everything down. 3 inches is a blizzard.

MacArthur was not only a brilliant general, but a fine shopping establishment.

You don't laugh when you hear "Rip Rap Road."

You know that Norfolk International Airport isn't really an international airport.

No, you're not hallucinating. Those are mermaids.

You know the real reason we haven't been hit by a hurricane in the past several years is because of Pat Robertson.

You've ever not gone to an establishment to avoid a PETA demonstration.

You had a nickel for every OBX sticker you saw on the road (you'd be rich by now.)

And last but not least, the greatest wine (whine) you hear on the Peninsula, "ARE THEY EVER GOING TO FINISH WORK ON I-64?


Do you want to visit, yet?

In a Weird Way OR Birth of a Blog

Howdy loyal readership (i.e. hello Me). I'm back to wow you with utter mundane-ness. Yipee! Well, life is mostly about appreciating the understated, right? Well I say it should be, anyway!

So I was cleaning up my hard drive--deleting and moving around various files and I came across a Word file dubbed "Writing Project". I opened it up and read the few paragraphs and thought, "Well I'll be--this is like a blog or something". Well, actually, at first I thought, "What the heck was I thinking?". Surely I was in a weird mood to be writing such randomness. Anyway I thought I'd post it here for your amusement. It would've been better served as the first entry to my blog, but life is also about new beginings too, right? Anyway, onto the randomness...


I am starting this with no particular aim in mind—this could be a genius move or my Achilles’ heel. Whatever the case, I am officially on my way to writing….something. What it is, I cannot really say for sure. That’s one of my problems, by the way. I try to be pretty spontaneous in various ways, and this can come back to bite you in your posterior. I mean, without any focus and discipline, you’re just prattling on now, aren’t you?

Anyways, it feels good to just get something “on paper” (I quote “on paper” because it’s currently being fed into my top-notch, trusty hand-me-down laptop). Specifically, it feels good to just do something—to produce. What it is I’m exactly producing is questionable, but perhaps I’ll find out along the way. I hope this project will interest you, the reader, and I hope, furthermore, that “you, the reader” equals something more than just me, the author.

You know, it actually sounds like something more along the lines of a journal of sorts. Well that’s okay, it’s a start anyway. You gotta start somewhere, right? Just call it….”journal”ism, or something. Ha ha, yeah, that’s it. That gives this whole endeavor an air of importance. Whatever.

Well I’m not being completely forthright with you, for, you see, I do have an agenda of sorts in mind. I was kind of planning on maybe perhaps writing a bunch of essays on various topics I find intriguing in one way or another. Of course, this prescribed course of action may or may not be fully realized. In fact, I may take an entirely different path and create an alternate journey for myself and you, the reader.

I hope this will be entertaining, or at least stimulating and/or interesting in some way. Anyways, without much further ado, let’s do this thing…….

Uh….how to start—what should I write about? Anything that comes to mind, perhaps? That whole Freudian idea of free associating? While I’m at it I can just type this lying down and pay you to analyze it, okay?

Well, why don’t I start with some of the more weird, obtuse shit. That’s stuff’s always intrigued me. I don’t know why. Maybe it was my destiny to be intrigued by that stuff and write about it. Perhaps I’m just fundamentally weird in some way. What is weird, anyways? We’re all weird, to a point. Weird’s relative, that is. Some relatives are weird to boot. So anyways, where was I? Weird. Yeah, it’s like anti-normal. Non-comformist. Outside most people’s realm of existence. Or perhaps, more accurately (like I alluded to before) being weird is a part of everybody’s existence, it’s just embraced by some and shunned by others.


And that's all I wrote. I would say that I was a pioneer in that I predated blogs but that is just not the case. I wrote the above paragraphs when blogs were certainly in vogue--I just didn't happen to know of a blog site such as the one provided by the fine folks here at blogger.com .

Well it appears that, as the old saying goes, "Some things never change". As you can see from my words I was surely uninspired, but it seemed like I was starting to get somewhere, as if I was about to tap into a treasure trove of creativity. It was like I was just on the cusp of striking oil by touching on the sense of alienation and weirdness that afflicts us all from time to time. That's my fantasy anyway--I may have just kept meandering. But maybe the challenge for me (and you, if you're out there) is to find something of worth from what I've already written, instead of expecting something to happen. Perhaps I (and my readers) can gain a fuller perspective as soon as more of the puzzle pieces are in place. Part of the notion of creativity is to "create", maybe the rest will sort itself out. Will I stop writing on here because I've developed something more focused and tangible such as a novella, a screenplay, or a children's book? I would hope not, but either way I'll do my best to keep you informed.

Tune in next time Bat-fans--same Bat-address, same Bat-Blog...

One-Armed Bandits, Shady Dealers, and Die Oh My!

Last weekend I made a jaunt to the town well-beloved by Nevada's public utilities. The town of excesses, of loose morals, and looser women. The town where alcohol flows like water and where the odds are stacked against you, at least in terms of gambling, but are stacked in your favor when it comes to having a good time. Of course I'm referring to the other "City That Never Sleeps": Las Vegas.

Me and two other buddies (Jimmy and Matt) decided to take this ultimate road trip as a celebration of Jimmy's 30th year on this planet. What better way to piss away your 20's than in the Den of Decadence that is Vegas?

Jimbo and I ensured that the tunes had been steadily streaming through the cd player of Matt's CR-V during our 6 hour journey, but it was Jimmy who particularly fancied himself as a musical maestro. He popped in an eclectic mix covering everything from Vegas staples like Sinatra and Elvis, to the cheesy British tarts the Spice Girls and the laughable jock jams staples the C&C Music Factory, to the pure rockin-out fun of 80's hair bands Poison and Motley Crue.

After what seemed like an interminable ride, due to the stop-and-start traffic and the sweat-inducing greenhouse effect that I endured while sitting in the back seat, we eventually came across the Promised Land, or Land of Broken Promises, to be more precise. Well this was after we hit the mirage that is Las Fake-Ass, the collection of small-time casinos that seeks to entice weary travelers into its mediocre environs with the likes of Hootie and the Blowfish. Well if you ask me, they certainly do put the "blow" in blowfish. Viva Las Fake-Ass!

Coming up on the REAL strip at night really is a beautiful sight. My companions and I turned down the radio and gasped in awe at the electrical audacity that unfolded before our star-struck eyes. Little did we know of the pain, torture, and unyielding horror that was to come. I kid...I'm just trying to build some tension here. Well, it is kinda true..sorta.

So anyway we checked in and got straight to business--washing our stink-infused bodies of course (separately I might add, you sickos). After the much-needed clean-up, coupled with a quick brush-up of gaming rules, we made it down to the casino of the illustrious Tropicana resort in which we were staying. Indeed, we spared no expense. Only the finest for these Three Amigos.

Well it didn't take Jimmy much time to lose like $80. I feel for the guy, I really do, but it's like he's allergic to money or something. Like he's the positive end of some sort of magnet and money is the positive end of another magnet. Like money is the square peg to his round hole. The oil to his water...I think you get what I mean. I would call it poor luck, but I know it's a bad sign when you're doubling, trippling, or even quadruppling your bet after a loss so you can make it back. This is the guy who goes All-In with a pair of deuces during a grueling Texas Hold 'Em showdown. You just can't do stuff like that! But I'm definitely one to talk--I know I laid it down thick quite a few times when I thought Lady Luck was betrothing herself to me. I later discovered she was banging Matt on the side, the SLUT!

Matt's luck certainly prevailed for the duration of our journey. He definitely wasn't a "crappy" Craps player, that's for sure! [Folks, that's just a sample of the kind of humor that was continuously heard throughout our trip--you don't even want to hear the various offshoots of the word "crap" that were uttered throughout the trip]. Anyway, I was pleased to find that Matt was a gracious winner as he covered cab fare on numerous occasions when Jimmy and I would've walked miles to save money. Matt even bought Jimmy and I a delicious gourmet lunch buffet. That day I kissed my Atkins diet goodbye. Ah, there's nothing quite like self-indulgence!

The second night of our two-night trip we found ourselves at the infamous Scores Gentleman's Club. By "found" I don't mean to imply that we innocently ended up there, as if by accident:

Jimmy: Oh look guys--there's Scores!
Matt: How did we end up here?
Jon: I don't know, but let's check it out!
Jimmy: Radical!

Actually, we carefully planned our nipple-gazing night out, aided by the sage advice of a local salty cab driver. Cab drivers seem to know about every titty bar--it's just what they do.

Consider what's in a name--"Gentleman's Club". Who are they kidding? When you see "Gentleman's Club" outside of some establishment, you know there be some straight up naked-ass biotches up in there and certainly no "gentlemen" to be found! And when drunk men are mixed with naked women we turn into ADD retards--it's a scientific fact. Believe it or not, but we spent 1/4 of a day at the club (that's 6 hours to the mathmatically-impaired). This was in no small part due to J-bone's infatuation with the boobs of the moment.

There was one pair of the evening that REALLY intrigued him--the twins. These carbon-copy chicas made Jimmy a sandwich, and I aint talkin about food here folks. It was like living a Wrigley's Spearmint Gum commercial: "Double the pleasure, double the fun, two pieces of A$$ are better than one". Isn't that how the jingle went?

Through the course of the evening one lucky lady found her way into Jimmy's heart...as well as his wallet. No, it wasn't Lady Luck (although she had dipped into his pockets earlier)--no, we left that 'ho bound and gagged at the casino. So this girl took Jimbo to the V.I.P. (or "Very Inflated Prices") lounge in the hopes of inflating his ego (amongst other things) while simultaneously deflating his bank account. This vixen's name was Montana (yup, like the state). Personally I think her name should've been "IdaHO", but that's just me.

Surely this was an unlikely duo: Jimmy, the mellowed out surfer-punk-stoner; Montana, the top-heavy harlot with substantial assets, a nice rack, and did I mention her ta-tas? I can't really comment on her personality, but nothing about her seemed real. Is it possible to be 40% silicone and still live? She was like some kind of fleshy cyborg--the Boobinator, if you will. Wouldn't it be cool if she could hide guns or drugs or something in her fun bags? You could detach them and write a song about them: "Detachable Titties" by Queen Missile. But I digress...

Although I hated to see Jimmy spending his money like a High-Roller when he, along with Matt and I, belongs somewhere in the Micro-Roller range, I was glad to see him happy. I couldn't argue with his reasoning when he said that spending money on boobies was ten times better than losing it to some crappy casino . You know, there's just no inherent flaws in that logic! Just try to find any!!!

Throughout the course of our cross-state expedition and our subsequent schenanigans, our interchanges were peppered with humor. One of my own quotes from the strip club stands out: "If you mess with [the strippers] you'll find yourself on the business end of a bunch of bananas". This of course was in reference to Gargantua the Bouncer and his Death-Grip Banana-Hands. And you couldn't help but bust a gut to Matt's wry rendering of good 'ol Mr. James Coburn and that time back in a 1950's barnhouse when he contracted syphillis (from that dirty whore Lady Luck, no less). Of course Jimmy's constant references to his awesomeness and pleas for some birthday love (in the form of monetary compensation) were always welcome (and laughable).

Our trip was also filled with brotherly love. Despite our collective financial losses (excluding Luckyass Matt of course), we were able to come together and reminisce about the "good 'ol days" on the trip home. Ah, it was a fine trip indeed, one that I'll remember for quite some time--like that time in a 1950's barnhouse...

Just remember kids--what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.