Huzzah!

Last weekend, I went to the Renaissance Festival for the first time. Weird, right? Not the RenFest part - the "first time" part. I try hard to live up to my nerdy potential, but I fall short in so many areas. Penis joke here. The Fest, as we in the biz call it, has been around almost as long as I have and I'm just now getting around to it. RenFest is 18 years old this year which means its old enough to smoke (which is nice, since cancer hadn't been invented in the 16th century) and vote (if democracy existed - meh, the votes would be squandered on electing Christopher Marlowe as Viscount of North Derbyshire anyway. Damn populace being swayed by pop culture. Governator my ass).

That was an awkward british-royalty/historical aside. Let us cleanse the palate with a joke very few people will find funny:

How is an elephant like a plum?
They're both purple, except the elephant

With that out of the way, let's go back to the past.

I was dressed in my finest Peasant's Quest Scalding Lake t-shirt in the vain hopes that somebody would acknowledge the H*R/medieval connection. It didn't happen. Upon arrival, we were instantly greeted by a very authentic Renaissance site:

Meat of questionable safety. For whatever reason, there was a free Spam van there. I'd like to imagine that it's due to some kind of brilliant Holy Grail/Monty Python/Spam connection. It's more likely that Hormel figures people who are crazy enough to spend all their money on authentic costumes and accessories are also crazy enough to eat canned meat named as an abbreviation of Shoulder of Pork and Ham (or Spiced Ham, depending on who you ask). Plus, they won't have enough money left to buy real food. Anyway, I was crazy enough to eat it. It was gross. The meat parts were good (how often do I say that?), but the fact that it was roughly 75% tasteless gelatin made me a little sick. But they have awesome commercials nowadays. Yea verily!

We approach the main gate and learn that in Renaissance language "$8 off coupon" actually means "$0 off trickery." Grrr. But like any medieval vendor, they accept Visa and Mastercard. I should mention that everything was listed in British pounds. So a $3 game was listed as £3. Yet when I handed the guy a 5 quid note he looks at me like I'm bleedin' barmy! Well bollocks to that! If ye wisheth for colonial tender, thine sign should reflecteth that fact! Yea verily!

So we get inside and instantly get offered free wine. They sure know how to keep the peasantry happy. I wanted to buy a Lil' Jon style goblet from which to drink, but decided against it. I'm not royalty, after all. So we got our free shot of wine, which would be the last alcohol of the faire. I didn't see mead until we were on our way out, dag nabbit. And as tempting as it is to drive home whilst swilling a flagon of mead, I decided the local constabulary wouldn't appreciate it. Yea verily!

A couple of observations about the festival-goers, especially those in costume. First off, they all tend more towards Henry VIII than Henry VII, if the subtleties of my prose are not lost on such esteemed readers as yourselves. Too many turkey legs and not enough crusading, to put it more bluntly. And second, they all smoke. Probably because of the whole "no cancer in the renaissance" thing mentioned earlier. The Barber General would bleed the tumor out of you with leaches back in those days. Or call you a witch and burn you. Yea verily!

I'd like to take this time to mention my views on the historical acuracy of this celebration. I would totally ignore glaring errors like Bose speakers at the joust or Pepsi™ served in styrofoam cups. I can deal with that. My problem was with more subtle problems. For example, they offered a spiritous beverage called the "Bloody Marie Antoinette." I defy you to find one credible historian who would say Marie Antoinette lived in the renaissance. She lived at least three hundred years later. And at some points I was just a historical jerk, like here:


Same booth, different spellings. I didn't realize "renaissance" was French for "intentional misspelling." You learn something new every day. And aren't Leggs the pantyhose encased in a prolate ellipsoid? Yea verily.

Now that I've brought it up, I'll tell you yes, I did enjoy a turkey leg. For whatever reason, giant roasted turkey legs are a staple of any historical reenactment. You can just buy the leg and go to town. It was delicious, as turkey always is, and it made me feel quite kingly. I picked that sucker dry and threw the bone to my hounds. Although I must admit that eating a leg fresh from the turkey reminded me a little too much of gross anatomy.

Delicious, right? Can you see the striated muscle, tendons, bone and fascia like I did? It was a little disturbing to be able to see where individual muscles started and stopped, just like in lab. It was gross pulling off the skin and connective tissue, just like in lab. But I ate it anyway, just like in lab. And it was uber-tasty, just like in lab. Yea verily.

And what trip to our glorious past would be complete without a trip to the dungeon and torture chamber? They had a little walk through display showing off scenes of the various medieval torture methods. It was disturbing. Some of them even moved and talked, including a scene with a talking rat. It was like a really fucked up Disneyland. My favorite display was this one:

The old crotch saw. Sigh...brings me back to my college years. In case you didn't know (and I really, really hope you don't), hanging the victim upside down slows blood loss and keeps the brain oxygenated for maximal consciousness and pain sensation. Yea jibbly!

In terms of shows, we saw some good ones. Jousting is always fun and never very obviously scripted. Ded Bob is funny. The Dextre Tripp Thrill Show was pretty cool and finally answered the question "were there chainsaws and barbecue lighters in the renaissance?" (the answer is yes). The best show was Arsene Dupin, the French mime. I know, I know - those two words alone are enough for me to attempt murder. But to be fair, I didn't find out he was French until the end. And he was easily the best mime I've ever seen (which isn't saying much - it's like saying "best dental hygiene in England"). He spent most of the time mocking the audience, which was awesome. And he kind of made fun of the actual mime show, which was also cool. Most of the shows were very good, but due to time we only saw about 1/5 of them. Yea verily!

All in all a good day. At the end, we hopped back in my Delorean and headed back to the future. Then we had dinner with Larkitect and Ang (...Anj?), who ended up buying a house while we were there. Food was tasty and Larkitect was nervous. A good end to a good day. Yea verily!

Oh, we also rode an elephant at the festival. And before you ask: no, it wasn't Drock's mom. You guys are so mean...

Cross-Sectional Area

Last Thursday, the gang and I went to see a free preview of a movie. And not just any movie. We saw CSA: The Confederate States of America. The premise of this "mockumentary" is that the south won the civil war (the American civil war), with the help of England and France. It's a Spike Lee joint directed by Kevin Willmott. That's right, the Kevin Willmott. Star of The Search for Inflata-Boy. I hope you were sitting down.

I wanted to see the movie for a myriad of reasons:

1. Spike Lee's joints are always intriguing
2. I like American History, especially the civil war
3. I like historical fiction
4. I'm always looking for an excuse to say "mockumentary"
5. I was wondering if anybody there was actually curious what this alternative history would be like, with hope in their eyes
6. I only need four reasons to meet the Official Montgomery Criterion for Use of the Word Myriad™

Free preview, here I come!

The crowd was mostly high school students and old people, like D-Rock's parties. High school students because it was free for students and maybe because it was for class credit. Old people because it was free for seniors and because they probably remember the civil war. And finally there was the Scooby Gang plus SO's, since we loves us the free motion pictures. And because it was at the Loft. Shibby!

By the way, it was free because it was an "educational" program put on by some dude. There was a discussion after.

The movie itself was okay. It took the form of a BBC documentary about American history, complete with racist commercials (which turned out to be real products from the 20th century...and beyond! - at least in Asia: racist, racist Asia). Unfortunately they mixed real history with fake history, making it all that much more difficult for me to distinguish reality from fantasy. Damn schizophrenia. It'll make the American History portion of the board exams much more problematic. At least the talking ficus will comfort me.

The movie was pretty funny at points. The program dude said we laughed because we were uncomfortable. I laughed because I thought it was funny. Oh well. And I thnk the director was trying to make it legitimately funny, regardless of what that dude said. This is Spinal Tap- now there's a mockumentary which made me laugh from awkwardness. Cucumber in tin foil...hehe. There were some uncomfortable points, sure, but mostly it was just an absurdist movie. I'd feel more uncomfortable if it was real history. Or if the director was white.

Speaking of which, a white guy would never get away with this. If Montgomery made this movie, he'd be tarred, feather, hanged, drawn and quartered as a racist. If D-Rock made it...nobody would be surprised. He hates minorities. There's a definite double standard in play, even if whitey had purely altruistic intentions. Which is quite often the case, right guys? Right?

One big problem was that the movie was like a reductio ad absurdum of its own premise. They really took it too far. They decided that if the South won, race would be the only thing on everybody's mind all the time. Like in Crash. Slavery continues. Manifest Destiny spreads to South America. Jewish people are put on reservations. Catholics are barely considered christian, which becomes the national religion. The CSA is allied with the Nazis and doesn't help the rest of Europe. The CSA pulls a Pearl Harbor on Japan instead of vice versa. You see where I'm going? They just took it too far. Trust me, I'm the master of going too far. Sorry, America...

The other problem is that they paint Canada as this perfect Freedomland™. Equality of races, freedom of speech, all that jazz. Oh, right, and jazz music. As a fake Canada-hater, I can't stand for that nonsense. Canadians are a bunch of freedom-hating, Queen-loving, pot-smoking, methane-breathing neanderthals. That's the Queen of England, not the band. Well, the band too I guess. Damn Canucks. They smell.

So the movie was worth the cost of admission, but the discussion after was fun too. The funny thing is, I hate forced discussion of racial issues. I feel like Ted Ferguson after work. But if I go of my own volition, I enjoy it. It started with some old people discussing their racism memories. Unlike most, I enjoy old people stories. At least the first 5 or 6 times. It continued with a bunch of bland non-offensive statements. "We are all equal" "racism shouldn't exist" "kill whitey." Snooze.

Then some kid (high school, I guess) said something to the effect of "why should we teach bilingual education in the US? it's not like they teach it in any other countries." At this point, everybody in the room turned on him. In case you don't know, every other country tries to go bilingual. I was expecting the room to lynch the kid, but verbal abuse is good enough. It quickly got boring again, so we left. And played Munchkin. Score.

All in all, a good night. But I'm really looking forward to this Friday, when we'll be seeing an even more controversial, thought-provoking movie which has a goal of social reform. Slither.

We gonna rock down to...

Yesterday, D-Rock used my computer to change the name of my blog to "D-Rock Avenue." Pretty funny. Anyway, I changed it back and sent him an email asking if he knew my password. This was his response, copied and pasted:

I did it yesterday on you computer, I dont know your passowrd or anything. I just changed the name and description. I'm so halarious.

He's got the grammar and spelling of an online Viagra dealer. I'm pretty sure he's retarded. And that's halarious.

Insert high pitch voice here

Apparently Jay Leno got sued for using a picture of a woman on his show, and for mocking her. I'd make fun of that, calling the woman a litigious whiner, but I'd probably sue too if I was forced to be on the Tonight Show against my will. Stupid Leno. Well, the court gave its opinion. They said that Leno didn't do anything wrong. Using her picture was acceptable, since it was used for comedy. This is a landmark decision in terms of free speech, since it officially defines "comedy" as "something not really that funny." Stupid Leno. Anyway, this means that people can use pictures of total strangers for comedic purposes. Let the games begin!


"It's hard being an out of work Calvin Klein model. Where are my cigarettes and heroin?"


In about 10 minutes, these guys are going to tickle each others' ivories.


"La la la...I'm just a business guy, doing business things. Nothing out of the normal here." *stay cool, nobody knows you killed a man of your exact proportions and stole his suit*


This is the female version of Bram Stoker's Dracula. Bleh...


"I'm a stupid penguin. All I do is waddle around and eat fish. Duh..."


"I'm a stupid human. All I do is waddle around and eat fish. Duh..."


It's hard out here for a tourist pimp...


"since you been gone, I can breathe for the first time. I'm so moving on, yeah yeah..."


"Hi. I'm evil."


"I've made so many bad decisions in my life. I'm glad this hat isn't one of them."


(at the Renaissance Festival) "Hey baby, I'd joust you any day. Hehe, my friends in the math club will love that one. That is if I had any friends. And if the school would let me start a math club. I wish the principal would stop de-pantsing me. *sob*"


"I have a high pitch voice because I hit my nuts with my chin every time I look down. And I look down often in vain attempts to find my tiny, tiny penis. I'm not as funny as Letterman or Conan..not even Kimmel or Ferguson. But I got this job by performing favors on certain producers. I've actually made love to a car. And I'm aroused by children and farm animals."

Well that was fun. All of those pictures were cropped from my collection, except the one of Leno. Those people had it coming, I'm sure. It's good to know that there's a judicial precedent for my brand of cruel comedy, or cromedy.

Things I need to blog about: Renaissance Festival, Franz Ferdinand/Death Cab for Cutie concert, Grillz, CSA, the belated Kate story. It's good to have material.



I don't actually hate Leno that much.

If I had one wish...

The subject of wishes is prevalent in folklore and even contemporary pop culture. Genies, wishing wells, stars and Abe Vigoda are all said to grant wishes to those few souls who discover and believe in them. Sometimes your heart has to be true, but that's not always the case. Like the time Jafar wished for a 6-inch Subway™ cold cut trio in Aladdin and got it. Damn product placement...

Speaking of Aladdin, that movie set the so called "Clements' Rules" for wishing. I'm sure we all know them, but they are as follows:

1. No wishing for more wishes
2. No wishing for somebody to die
3. No wishing for somebody to return to life from death
4. No wishing for somebody to fall in love

Pretty fair, really. Of course, my first wish would probably be that there were no rules. Then I'd wish for a million bajillion wishes, and for everybody in Hollywood to fall in love with William Shatner, Christopher Walken and Steve Buscemi. We'd get some sweet ass movies out of that.

For some reason, wishes come in threes. Don't ask me why or I'll use my 1048th wish to kill you...or have you fall in love...with Courtney...Love. Jibbly. Wish 1049: for the jibblies to go away. Maybe they come in threes because 3 is the magic number; just ask Blind Melon. Often, the first two wishes will go horribly wrong and the third will be used to make things right again. Some kind of Lamp Lesson, but not Christopher Lowell style. In 2000's Bedazzled, it was seven wishes, but it followed the "last wish makes things right" idea. And I think one of the wishes was for Elizabeth Hurley to lose her career. But she's a wish granting Devil, so it all works out. Especially for Hugh Grant, who wished for some Divine intervention.

Speaking of the Devil, his/her wishes usually come at the expense of your soul. Kinda crappy, if you ask me. Is it worth it? Let me work it. I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it. Ti esrever dna ti pilf, nwod gniht ym tup I. Ti esrever dna ti pilf, nwod gniht ym tup I...ahem, sorry about that. Is it worth it? Wishes for your soul? You have to decide for yourself. But might I suggest using your last wish to wish for your soul back? Suck it, Satan!

Wishes often go bad, either when wishing for selfish things or otherwise. Wishing for something greedy usually ends up with the wisher in trouble. "I want a million dollars" - the money's stolen. "I want a million unstolen dollars" - it gets taxed away...or stolen by another wisher. "Phenomenal cosmic power" - itty bitty living space. Even wishing for altruistic things ends poorly. "World peace" - every human in the world disappears. "Clean air" - every human in the world disappears. "For every human in the world to diappear" - clean burning fuel. These kind of wishes teach some kind of pessimistic, anti-humanity lesson...like a goth kid's blog. These lessons are Unamerican, and should be reported to the gub-ment immediately.

Ray-J set a whole new standard in wishes with his recent song "One wish." In it, he considers what he would do if he had one wish. He then proceeds to wish for roughly 40,000 things. You can't wish for more wishes, Ray-J! His main wish is for some chick to love him. Damn it, Ray-J, you can't make people fall in love! This guy! I'm using one of my wishes to kill him. Then another to bring him back. Maybe then he'll learn. I guess it's a good thing he's wasting his wish on impossible things. It would end badly, as greedy wishes always do. She'd fall in love, then her head would explode. Or maybe something more poetic. I don't really know. I'm not Abe Vigoda.

But what if I did have one wish? What would I do? I've thought about it long and hard...giggle. I'd want something good for me, but also good for humanity as a whole. Something to better mankind and further civilization. Something, when all of society crumbles at the thought of a new Ashlee Simpson album, that will be remembered as the best thing to happen in the 21st century. Although maybe I should just wish for Ashlee Simpson to fall in love with Ray-J and for both to retire from music. Nah, not good enough. I need something truly grand...

And then it hit me. The perfect wish. One which can have no negative repercussions. Something which will make the world better. A wish that will make everybody happy, but me most of all. That wish? For Pixar to make a zombie movie.

Think about it, man. Take the greatest film production team and set them to work on the greatest film genre. It would be the single greatest item in all of space-time. A nexus of greatness so immense it would cast a glorious golden light over all of existence, bringing everything to a plane of higher being. Instant Nirvana.

This piece of cinematic achievement would funny, poignant, engrossing and undead all at the same time. Watching the movie would be the real world equivalent of rolling around in toxic waste in a comic book. Viewers would be able to cure cancer, clean the environment and solve Sudoku puzzles in seconds, all from watching this film. And maybe shoot lasers from their eyes. The only possible downside would be that no movie could ever compare. No, not even Larry the Cable Guy: Health Inspector. Unless there was a sequel...

If anybody happens to stumble on a genie lamp on the beach, a leprechaun in the men's room or Abe Vigoda at a gentleman's club, I urge you to consider my wish idea. Only good things can come of it. Or maybe you can wish that Al Gore won in 2000. Or for a cold cut trio. They're delicious. I defy you to come up with a better wish than those three options.

Whatever happened to Wish Kid, starring Macaulay Culkin? Does anybody remember that show? His wishes always ended poorly, too.

Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination.

Words as beautiful now as they were when Voltaire wrote them in the 18th century. I bet he had no idea they would show up some 250 years later in my inbox as the subject line of an email trying to sell me penis pills.

From Russia with Vampires

Well, in Amsterdam, you can buy beer in a movie theatre. And I don't mean in a paper cup either. They give you a glass of beer, like in a bar.

-Vincent Vega, Pulp Fiction
aka Scientology Loon John Travolta

Last night the beautiful, brilliant Legal Counsel and I went to see Night Watch at The Loft. Before I discuss that, I should describe the preceeding events.

She and I met up with her step-brother and his girlfriend. It was extremely awkward. I hate to stereotype people, but all frat guys are the same. We met them at Kababeque (delicious), and they looked totally bewildered regarding Indian food. I was half expecting him to ask if anything on the menu is edible. (how do you half expect something?). The food was delicious, as usual. The conversation left a little to be desired. A lot to be desired. Everything to be desired.

Basically, it was an hour of listening to the greeks talk about drinking. Who drinks. What they drink. Where they buy drinks. Where they do the drinking. When they drink. Why they drink. How much they drink. The cost of drinks. The method of distributing drinks. Drinking laws. Getting to drinks. Getting home from drinks. People who help them drink. Drinking records. Drinking and school. Drinking games. Re-read this paragraph continuously for an hour and you'll have an idea of what it was like.

I've never had less to contribute to a conversation. Ever. I don't spend all my free time drinking, so it was tough to relate. I drink as a side-note to doing more interesting things. Which apparently isn't an option in Missouri, according to them. They said there's nothing to do. I found that hard to believe. At the very least, you can go out and shoot cans. While drinking. That's always a good idea.

The few times Legal counsel left the table, he'd stop discussing alcohol. I tried to initiate conversation, honest I did. But he'd just give me straight answers with no elaboration. "Yes" "no" "alcohol" "manager" "alcohol" "alcohol." It was so uncomfortable. It was the opposite of her actual family.

Once we were done, and my consciousness drifted back to my body from the Astral Plane, I decided to drag her somewhere else. The Loft theatre. If you don't know, it's the "Indy" theatre in Tucson. Every town has one. They play Indy movies, foreign movies, Brokeback Mountain before the mainstream catches on, cult movies, Rocky Horror Picture Show every week, the dirtiest kind of porno, etc. It's cheap and fun...like D-Rock's mom. Kelly Ripa!

I really like it. It gives me a chance to see movies I normally wouldn't get. I saw Brokeback there. I saw Bubba Ho-Tep there. I saw The Man with the Screaming Brain there. Now that I think about it, pretty much any Bruce Campbell movie will play there. I also saw Monty Python and the Holy Grail there. With Bear. and Schaner...jibbly.

One of their more recent developments is the serving of spiritous beverages. Wine and beer, mostly. I'll admit that I'm not a huge beer fan (not: a huge man who likes beer, a man who likes huge beer or an active fan of beer). But the fact that it's at a movie theatre just makes me want to order it. It's so novel! My drive to try new things will get me in trouble one of these days. Good thing I'm Above the Influence™, otherwise I might shoot my friend, lose my sister and forget grandma's birthday.

The movie of choice this week was a Russian horror/action film called Night Watch, aka Communist Unerworld. It takes place in contemprorary Moscow. Among humans there are people with super powers, which take a multitude of forms - shapeshifters, warlocks, seers, vampires, etc. But no zombies...damn it. It's a really cool idea and a good movie, too. But I imagine the books to be better. Too bad I don't speak Russian. At least that's what the NSA told me to say.

The film style was a little hectic. Dark and lots of cuts. Kind of hard to follow, especially whilst reading the subtitles. Speaking of the subtitles, they did an awesome job with them. They would change the shape, color and placement depending on the situation. Shouting made them larger. A vampire using "the calling" made them red. Magic blasts would spread them over the screen. Objects moving in the foreground might wipe them away. Really cool.

While we're grazing the subject, I'd like to express my opinion regarding vampires vs. werewolves. I'll be honest - I'd rather be a werewolf. Vampires have cool powers, but they've also got a hunger for blood, a sunlight intolerance and (depending on the mythos) hatred for delicious garlic and crosses. Seriously - two crossed pieces of wood can stop them. How weak is that? Werewolves, on the other hand, get equally cool powers AND relatively normal lives. Plus, they get to cut loose from time to time, unlike those vampires always dwelling in secrecy. I'm talking about Underworld/Teen Wolf/Teen Wolf 2 werewolves mind you, not those crappy American Werewolf in London werewolves. That would just suck. Although it would also suck to be a Nosferatu style fangface. Choosing between those two...I'd still go werewolf. You just get a crazy night out once a month, and who doesn't want that? Anybody who even thinks about mentioning Cursed gets a kick in the grill. Damn, I just mentioned it...ow.

After the movie, we rushed home for Top Chef. It's the culinary equivalent of Project Runway. Not quite as cool, though. Especially because chefs are all arrogant pricks. Some are okay. Here's my quick rundown of the high/lowlights:
I want Miguel to win...he might have Trisomy 21
Tiffani should lose...soon
Stephen needs to have his liver eaten by eagles for all eternity...Prometheus style
Dave is in a constant state of suffering. I just feel bad for him
Ken should come back
That is all...for now

I feel like this post was really boring. To spice things up, I give to you: A Monkey Knife Fight!

Beneath Heaven lies Hell, beneath Hell lies...

When Legal Counsel and I were in Mazatlan, we took a van tour of the city. It was Legal Counsel's idea and it turned out really well. Our driver was named Jesus Rodriguez, aka Washington. He suggested we call him Washington because asking for Jesus will get you 40,000 people. He was nicknamed Washington because he moved there from Chicago and they already had a guy called Chicago. Awesome. Nickname shenanigans like that make me want to move to Mexico. The water makes me want to move back.




We got driven around and we were shown all the good stuff. Caca rock, cliff divers, Pacifico factory, broken glass protective layers around houses, fancy shopping areas, not so fancy shopping areas, straight up scary markets, old churches. Tons of sites. One of my favorite sights was the following:

Cueva del Diablo, aka The Devil's Cave. Cue thunder bolts and lightning. Very, very frightening. After many years, however, it has taken on a new name: Dablo. Not quite so scary. But it still has a scary devil face...which looks surprisingly similar to my tattoo. Which is very near my Devil's Cave.

According to Washington, it used to be a storage site for ice. The government (or somebody) cut a hole in the mountain since it's colder in there. Once Mazatlan started using freezers and other refrigerating devices (mid 1980s I believe), the cave was no longer needed, like France, so they just forgot about it. Unfortunately, some young hooligans started hanging out in there doing unsavory things like committing tax fraud or playing really intense gaves of Dungeons & Dragons. So the gub-mint, knowing 80% of the peeps are superstitious Catholics, threw up the gate and named it "The Devil's Cave" to keep people out. I'm surprised that actually works. If I ever need to park my car in Mexico, I'll leave all my valuables in "The Devil's Glovebox." They should be safe there.

Well, that's Washington's story anyway. I think the truth involves a lot less "ice storage" and a lot more "mutation-inducing bacteria." I guess we'll never know. What we do know, however, is that when I first saw Dablo I thought it was a really kickass nightclub or disco. When I learned it was just a stupid ice cave, I must admit that I was a little disappointed. But I quickly realized that it means I can create the nightclub. Sweet!

I've been planning it in my head ever since. The basics: we'd have to enlarge and clean up the cave, as well as getting electricity and plumbing installed...unless we just build bathrooms outside. We'd keep the name "Cueva del Diablo" but I'm not sure if we'd fix up the sign. It would be more elite and underground (no pun intended) if it doesn't actually look like a club.

The recurring color scheme would be red and black, obviously. The male employees would wear black slacks, black shirts and red ties...maybe red shirts and black ties. Female employees would wear red skirts and black shirts (maybe vice versa). The lights could be red, unless it makes my eyeballs bleed or makes the place look like a brothel. Actually, the brothel idea might draw more business. But the wrong kind. No brothels, dahling.

Of course the place would have signature drinks. At least two - "The Devil" and "The Cave." They'd be martinis, even though drinking a gin martini on the cruise made me think I was drinking paint thinner. I just think they look cool. "The Devil" would be a highly alcohol drink (red in color) that wouldn't taste at all like alcohol. It would get you messed up without your knowledge. "The greatest trick The Devil ever played was convincing the world it wasn't alcoholic." "The Cave" would be a black martini, since I've never seen one. I don't know how we'd make it black...maybe a shot of Jagermeister or prune juice. I don't know which of those two ideas sounds more disgusting. It would be dangerously alcoholic.

Cueva del Diablo might have some gimmics, if we decided to cater more to the wilder college croud. If you can chug "The Cave" you might get a button reading "I swallowed The Cave" or "I was swallowed by The Cave" if you vomit. We'd have a house lawyer on site at all times, who we'd call The Devil (sorry, Scoobies). We'd make students sign waivers before entering. That's fun and practical. Finally, we could have our own distillery in the cave. The last step would result in the alcohol condensing on a stalactite, which would slowly drip into shot glasses. We'd give them away as they fill up (we'd bottle it during the off hours, of course).

Those are most of my ideas. I hope nobody steals them. Now I just need financing. Anybody interested?

Professor Look-a-Like Update
Wayne Morgan/Newt Gingrich also looks like Rip Taylor

Professor Look-a-Like o' the Day

Physiology's new subject is the respiratory system. New subjects always mean new professors. And new professors always mean new "he totally looks like ______" moments. Today's example: Wayne Morgan, MD. Here's the love machine himself:

Dreamy, isn't he? I especially like his Flavor Saver™ mustache. He's a pediatric pulmonologist, which is pretty cool. His turn-ons include mustaches, speaking in random accents, saying "wee babies," lungs in jars and telling the class that you can't cram for pulmonology (I'll show him what I can cram). His turn-offs include smoking, hair dye and animals with lungs still in their bodies.

I was sitting here in class, trying to figure out who he looks like. It was right there at the front of my brain and I couldn't figure it out. I think it's because I was focusing on the 'stache. D-Rock totally nailed who I was thinking of...in more ways than one. Drop the Flavor Saver™ and who do you get?

That's right, old Clinton-hating, Amazon-reviewing, wife-divorcing, ethics-bending Newt Gingrich himself. It's a little creepy. In fact, I'm not sure they're different people. Newty-Newt had to go somewhere after being tarred and feathered in DC. To cover his identity, he has to wear a disguise. And we all know that Groucho mustaches are the perfect cover. Goatees are no good - people would just assume he is the Evil Newt...which might actually be the good Newt.

And let's just check out the names: Wayne Morgan vs Newt Gingrich. They both have N's in their first name and N's, G's and R's in their last name. A little too coincidental if you ask me. I should rest my case right there. But check this shit out: Wayne --> Wayne Newton --> Newt. Real original, Gingrich. AND Don Morgan was the layout artist in 1966's How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Gingrich --> Grinch --> Morgan. Well played, sir. But you didn't expect Montgomery and D-Rock on your trail.

Some final evidence. 1. he talked about elephant lungs, but he never mentioned donkey lungs. 2. He's wearing a red tie. 3. I've never seen Wayne Morgan, MD and Newt Gingrich in the same room...have you?

Too many coincidences. He has to be Newt Gingrich. But how to approach him...

On to less frightening things...

¡Mexico Fotografia Tiempa!

Mexico has no laws against false advertising. This woman is in fact not a bimbo.

Monty-Zuma's Revenge

Legal Counsel and I are back from our glorious Mexican Riviera cruise. It was amazing. I'm not sure if/how I'll write about it. Too much good stuff. No big writing for now. I'm in class, which means I'm in my post-testing "I'm going to be a good student" phase. It should be gone by tomorrow. I'm also sleepy.

I will give you one piece of information: my poo is almost back to its normal consistency.

Hooray for poop jokes! Or "poop truths" in this case.

The flesh is weak. Wax is forever.

I finished my second of four midterms this morning, so I suppose it's time for an update. The recent subject on everyone's lips: wax. Remember wax lips? Worst. Halloween "treat." Ever.

Yes, I actually did go through with it. Yes it hurt. Before I go into the details, I'd like to address the common question I keep getting. Namely, "why did you do it?" I figured it would be obvious - hair removal. Why else would I do it? Fun? That certainly wasn't fun. If you think that's fun, I'm giving you the big "302.83" stamp right across the forehead. I suppose I also did it because it's funny. How many guys do you know who have been waxed? Just my man Steve Carell. Stevey, I feel your pain. And that was funny, right? Kelly Clarkson!!

So I arrive at the Artistic Beauty College (the only thing funnier than being waxed is being waxed by amateur students) full of vim and vigor. Excited and scared about what would unfold. The first thing that happens is the receptionist informing me that the students don't wax guy chests. Why, I enquire. Liability reasons, she answers. I scratch my head, confused. Is that area more dangerous, I ask. It's just liability, she replies. Good thing she knew what she was talking about - it's a good way to instill confidence in your patient.

I think she was just intimidated by the glorious mane proudly bursting forth from under my shirt (I wore a white shirt in the hopes of bleeding, by the way). Seriously, I was like Gossamer before. I had just assumed half my body mass was hair and that after the waxing I'd be like three feet tall and 30 pounds. She was probably worried they wouldn't have enough wax. Now that I think about it, I should've donated the shedding to Locks of Love. Anyway, i was a little upset by this new information. but later I'd come to appreciate their lack of chest services.

When I got back there, I was informed of the "real" reason they wouldn't do chest. My waxer, a woman by the name of Mercedes, told me that there is no clear "end of chest" distinction on dudes. Some guys want her to go "all the way down," which the students aren't comfortable with. I'm not even comfortable hearing that. I said I wouldn't want below the waistline and I'd pay more, but she still refused. Thankfully. I still think there must be another reason.

She she tag-teamed me with some other chick (how often do I get to say that?) since the other woman's appointments were no-shows and she was bored. It sped things up quite a bit. The whole process got worse with time. It was like a crescendo of pain.

They started with my lower back. It doesn't have much hair, but it does have enough to frighten small children and to classify as a xeric shrubland under WWF definitions (not the wrestling one...well, maybe them too). It felt like pulling scotch tape off your skin, except worse. So I was lying there prostrate, all proud of myself. "This isn't so bad," I thought, "I don't see what the big deal is about." On a scale of "one" to "physical contact with D-Rock," where "one" is a minor irritation and "physical contact with D-Rock" is the ultimate in human suffering, I'd give it a "being in the same room as D-Rock."

Next they moved to my upper back. If I had to qualify this as a biome, I'd say it was a taiga. Things got a lot more painful. Imagine ripping a Band-Aid...I'm sorry, adhesive bandage...off at full adhesive potential. Except worse. Repeatedly. It sucked. But still not horrible, really. It was at this point that I heard several of the phrases I've been trained as a med student not to say: "oops," "huh...," and "you're a bleeder." Yep. On our previous scale, I would give it a "talking to D-Rock face to face."

I was actually able to see the progress now, since it reached the back of my shoulders. "Pretty good," I thought. Until I watched the blood slowly oozing out of the holes where my hair used to be. It was gross. It stopped quickly, fortunately. Or unfortunately, since I didn't get a blood soaked shirt.

Finally they moved on to the frontal shoulders and upper chest. The rain forest. It hurt. A lot. It's like having all the hairs in the hairiest part of your body ripped out. Wait...that's exactly what happened. They didn't do the "1, 2, 3, rip" thing, so it was a little nicer (expecting pain makes it worse). In the all important scale, it would get "smelling D-Rock and almost being forced to touch him in order to catch your balance, but then deciding to fall face first into the floor as a better alternative."

And it was done. There I was, finished and shiny and smooth. At least on my back and shoulders. I was left with this cool Austin Powers-esque widows peak of hair on my chest. It looked pretty good. Instead of paying the king's ransom for a Gadabout waxing, I decided to shave it. Which proved exceptionally difficult. The hairs go in totally random directions, so you can't just shave one way. But it managed to get done.

So I stood there in my hairless splendor. My glowing white skin getting sunlight for the first time in years - no more canopy of protection. I was smooth...for about 24 hours. Here's a fun fact that you may not know: some people react poorly to waxing. Very poorly. Especially those with dark hair and light skin. See, for example, me. Every hair they had removed was replaced by a glorious whitehead. It was horrible. i looked like a pubescent teenager on steroids. They itched and hurt constantly. Disgusting.

Here I am, 72 hours later and all the whiteheads have become red bumps. Still disgusting, but better. By cruise time I should be healed. I hope. Otherwise the other sailors will get to see the finest rash ever to sail the seven seas. Yarr...

I also have scurvy.

That's the end of my tale, mostly because I need to study. Maybe I can elaborate more on the reaction some other time. Probably not. I'd show pictures, but they are too revolting. At least, too revolting to show for free. You gots ta pay for that kind of action. The things i do for fashion...

In other news:
What the fuck?

My name's Forrest Gump. People call me Forrest Gump.

Body waxing is stupid and I'm stupid for doing it. Maybe I'll elaborate when I'm done studying. Sigh...

One bit of good news - my exam partner Zed has discovered my blog. This thing is spreading like a virus. Pretty soon it will show up in your Inbox with the subject "re: I love you" or "Fwd: Too good to be true." Then it will develop its own consciousness and I'll lose control of it. Then it will find Sarah Connor.

And Kate, I'll get to writing your birthday blog soon enough. Here's a sneak preview of how I plan to start it:

Kate's birth, first words and first steps all took place on the same day. Upon delivery, she turned to the doctor and stared him straight in the eyes, locking him in her steely gaze for a solid 3 minutes. Finally she uttered her first words, "You didn't see anything." At this point she dropped to the floor, still wrapped in a towel, and ran out of the room. She wasn't seen again for 57 days.

Or something like that. We'll see...

Lawyers wear law suits

Legal Counsel, being a law student and all, hears her fair share of lawyer jokes. I've decided to write a few myself. Here goes...

What's the difference between a lawyer and a shark?
-A shark can't swim backwards.

How many lawyers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
-It went depend on the physical capacities of the specific lawyer, but I'd assume the average is close to 1.

What do you call 5000 lawyers dead at the bottom of the ocean?
-A maritime tragedy.

Why are there so many lawyers in the US?
-Favorable job market.

Why did God make snakes just before lawyers?
-Snakes have a simpler genetic code.*

Damn I'm good.

*this joke relies upon and indivual's belief in a higher power...and in genetics

Oh yes, there will be blood

I'm at my second home, the med library. Midterm studying is kicking into high gear, so my blogging might suffer as a consequence. But I will say that three days hence, I have an appointment at the Artistic Beauty School for a back and chest waxing. Hilarity is almost guaranteed to ensue.