Yellow Dye #4

I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that most people die of natural causes.

Stupid French

Lance Armstrong kicks ass, and the French all suck.

The notion of giving any credence at all to some lab who tested 6-year old samples and claimed to find a doping agent, but who can't confirm the handling of the samples or explain why the confidentiality of the samples was breached, is ridiculous. In law, it's called the chain of evidence. It means being able to account for evidence every step of the way and confirm that it is authentic and unadulterated. The stupid French lab and stupid French newspaper can't even come close to confirming that. They can't even say that the samples are Armstrong's, and point to documents, not proven to even be related to these samples, that have Armstrong's name next to a 6 digit number that matches the number on the samples. Since they can't even confirm the authenticity of the documents, much less the samples, this just isn't enough for me.

That whole country sucks. If I won a trip to Europe, and one day was supposed to go through France, I'd skip that day and meet the tour when it left the country. If the choice is between French wine and tap water, I'll take the water.

I think the fact that we saved their French asses in WWII should be enough to require them to shut the fuck up for the next 300 years or so.

Assholes.

And the Battery Lasts Forever

Every night on the way home from work, I walk across a bridge over the Chicago river. And every night when I walk over the bridge, I have a nearly uncontrollable urge to throw my stupid blackberry or cellphone, whichever happens to be in my hand, into the river. I have fantasies about somone mugging me and stealing my blackberry and cell phone. I look forward to driving somewhere with bad cell service so that I don't have to answer my cell. The other day, I contemplated bashing the blackberry with a hammer and telling everyone it fell into the street and got run over by a cab.

This can't be normal.

But this weekend is going to be better. I'm going down to Kentucky to visit a friend, and I am promising myself that I will only check the blackberry once a day, that I will only return voicemails marked as "urgent", and that I won't answer my cell phone at all. In fact, I may leave all of the electronic stress monkeys in the bottom of the suitcase.

I really hate my blackberry.

I think that when you get to Hell, before Satan even pokes you with the pitchfork, they give you a blackberry. And you have to keep it with you all the time. On vibrate. And the battery lasts forever.

G.D.L.

"The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we ALL believe that we are above average drivers."

I never got my GDL. H.D. generally served as the issuing agency for that, and he was pretty particular about who received their GDL. Only the most proficient drivers received one. Pothead got one. Snot got one. I think that even Captain Idiot may have got one after he nearly rolled the suburban while hitting a 90 degree turn 40 miles an hour too fast trying to outrun a tornado. But I never got my Gravel Drivers License. I think H.D. refused to issue me my GDL just to keep me from ever achieving complete serenity--because although I can't slide through a bridge sideways and have never left the road, run through a fence, and driven through a cornfield simply because making the corner would have involved slowing down, I have exhibited my share of prowess when it comes to the world of backroad driving, including driving from the window, from the passenger seat and from the hood (that's the hard one).

I don't have any backroads to drive on any more, and probably will never get my GDL, because now I live in the middle of a concrete jungle. However, I'm discovering that driving in Chicago can be just as interesting and have considered establishing a FDL for those who reach the top eschelon of city driving. The FDL, or Fucking Driving Licence, is so named because at the peak of city driving performance, that is what the driver generally yells while in the middle of 8 lanes of rush hour traffic. Some examples:
1. Move your ass, I'm fucking driving here.
2. No! I'm just fucking driving. (me, in response to "Are you lost?")
3. What is wrong with these people, don't they know I'm fucking driving over here?
4. Shut up, or you can do the fucking driving.

Some FDL mandatory qualifications:
1. Must be able to force that Benz, Porsche, BMW, etc to either drop back or swerve into another lane without actually causing it to wreck.
2. Must be able to refuse to drop back or swerve when city dump truck or super-ice-head-cabbie is 3 inches from your mirror with their blinker on.
3. Must truly believe that pedestrians are worth 10 points (20 if they actually try to jump out of the way and you still get them).
4. Must have mastered the art of fitting a 12 foot vehicle into a 10 foot opening in traffic.

Secondary FDL qualifications:
1. Accelerating through yellow lights.
2. "Rolling stops" through all stop signs, etc.
3. Complete denial of any work zone speed limits.

FDL disqualifications:
1. Ever, fucking ever, looking at the scenery while driving. At the end of the trip, you should not be able to comment on anything more than 5 feet from the side of the road.
2. Stopping at a light more than 4 1/2 inches behind the person in front of you. Any gap greater than 6 inches will lead to you being cut off by the cabbie next to you.
3. Slowing down by easing up or stepping off the accelerator. Speed up until you have to stop. There are two pedals: gas and break. Use one or the other. No third option.

H.D. will never get his FDL.

WhiteHatBlackHat

Mexico, etc.

I wish I was in Mexico right now. Cancun, Puerto Villarta, Cabo. I'd like to be sitting on a white sand beach with a book in one hand and a beer in the other, just baking under the sun. That would be better than work. Do you think that the people who say that they love their work so much that they would do it for free are really serious? If they are, and I am ever their boss, I'm going to cut their salary in half and tell the Board how much money I am trimming out of the budget. That way, I'll get a big bonus and can spend more time on the beach in Mexico. And that makes me think of something else--corporate executives getting a ton of money for salary and bonus (think $140M severance package that Disney paid executive after 14 months of work). I am all for it. Really, if A-Rod can make 12 million bucks this year for playing baseball, and Tom Cruise makes 20 million for making bad movies, why shouldn't the person in charge of a multi-billion dollar company that employes thousands of employees and who probably works 70 hours a week get paid like that? And that makes me think of another something else--Terrell Owens shouldn't get paid anything at all. He is totally destroying the Eagles, acting like an ass, and expecting to get paid more as a result. The man is an idiot. I hope that the Eagles cut him and the Browns pick him up. That way, both of the biggest team-killing receivers in football (TO and Kellen "I'm-the-one-but-I-am-too-stupid-to-stay-healthy" Winslow) will both be on one team and can grind it down to nothing and leave the rest of the league alone. Not like anyone expects the Browns to do anything anyway.

Out of the Road or Under the Tires

You know what sucks? Protestors.

Three points today:

Point number 1. I don't even care what acutal ideal that they are advocating. Take that whole issue and put it to the side. The fact that some person or group believes that their cause is so important as to entitle them to delay my day just drives me nuts. Blocking sidewalks and streets, slowing down traffic, and generally ruining any good groove that I have going--even if I was inclined to support or listen to their cause pre-protest, after putting up with their shit, I am pretty much against whatever they were saying.

People have every right to rail against whatever injustice they want to in this country, and I am all for that. But get the hell out of the way. Wave your sign somewhere where it won't hit me in the head when I am out for a walk. Yell your chants and scream in your bull horn all you want, just don't do it in the middle of my damn street. You want to march. Get a permit like everyone else.

Which brings me to point number 2. Just because you have the right to say something, doesn't mean that I don't have the right to get in your face about it, ridicule you and generally try to make your life as miserable as possible. For example, if you are protesting on my lawn, don't be suprised when the sprinklers come on. [That was one of the best things I've seen in a long time. Bunch of people protesting Red Lobster for some reason or another getting hit with the sprinkler. Then, the sprinklers would go off and these idiots would get close again, and BANG! sprinklers back on. That was great.] Also, if you are screaming at someone, don't be suprised when they beat you. Right in the head. Yes, they deserve whatever criminal punishment is appropriate for the assault (I recommend a stearn lecture), but when you mess with the bull, you get the horn. Deal with it, or try a less aggressive way of communicating.

And 3. Most people don't care. Really. When someone is waving a sign or standing in my road, I could give a shit whether they are bashing baby seals or cutting down the redwoods or saving the pretty animals or any number of other issues that people feel the need to go off about. These are issues that need to be rationally discussed and addressed, but will never, ever be solved by radicals laying in the crosswalk. In fact, the time, money and effort that goes into dealing with protestors makes any resolution of the problem actually take longer because of the distraction.

Man these people piss me off.

WhiteHatBlackHat

What's in a name?

So the Writer/Sister want's to know what's with the name.

White Hats are the good guys. They almost always win, and they always get the girl. Generally the school marm who, although she is clearly the hottest woman in the one-horse town, has remained single well into her 30s, which brings up an entirely separate issue of whether Diane Lane should be allowed to play anyone younger than 30 (Under the Tuscan Sun), when she is clearly better in a role just slightly below her actual age (Open Range)--Demi Moore of course should continue to take whatever parts require her to act and dress 15 years younger than she is (Charlie's Angels 2). Black hats are the bad guys. They rob banks, light dynamite with their cigars, and spend a great deal of the movie breaking tables in the saloon with some bottom-dealer's head. Although the black hats generally lose, it seems like they have a lot more fun throughout the movie, right up until they get shot. Thus the tension.

Then you have the White Hat Black Hat movies: Sons of Katie Elder, The Shootist, Unforgiven, Fist Full of Dollars. Here, you have the redemption of the Black Hat through some noble deed--generally beating the tar out of some other Black Hat.

That's it. Good vs. Not-So-Good. Right vs. Not-So-Right. Ying and Yang. Darth and Luke. Jack and Coke. While I know that I will go through life as a White Hat, sometimes adding elements of grey is necesary to keep me sane.

On a side note, while I don't believe in writing like some 16 year old pimple faced techie (i.e. HEY wussup :) LOL! How R U all? IMHO this is way better than face 2 face talkng), I also don't spell check. I figure that you probably know what I mean, and if you don't, well what the hell. There are other blogs out there for you (see Sesame.Street.com). Please just view the spelling errors and gramatical errors for what they are -- the product of a sincere distaste for English class coupled with the invention of "Spell Check".

WhiteHatBlackHat

Number 1

I am not the writer of the family.

Seriously.

I mostly thought of doing this so that I could comment on my sister (the writer's) blog.

In any event, it should also prove exceedingly useful for those times when every additional moment spent staring an an incomprehensible 300 page document seems to be the rough equivalent of jabbing myself directly in the brain with a tire iron. Or one of those quill pens that shakespeare used -- that would hurt to.

Also, this might be good to vent a little and to track down those random thoughts that are so completely out of the question in my upstanding, everyday professional life. Like why can't dove season open the weekend before or the weekend after labor day? I want to go back to KS to hunt, but I absolutly abhor traveling on holidays with the simpleton idiots who just don't understand why they have to take off their steel toed boots to go through security. Or that lady with the 5 inch stillettos who doesn't think that there is any metal in her shoes--does she think that simple plastic is holding her butt up? Yes, dove season should start the last weekend in August.

That was theraputic.

WhiteHatBlackHat