A Few Life Changing Minutes

Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds, to be precise.

Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds ago, I was a lost sheep. Tired, so hungover I shaved off my eyelashes this morning because they were too noisy. It would be fair to say that I was anti-religion, that you could shake beads, chant, and give Rick Warren and Pat Robertson the nicest churches you could afford, and it wouldn't do diddly.

Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds ago, I would have been in the sort of agnostic category. My personal belief system was a grab bag of whatever seemed right to me, including the actual words of Jesus (yes, Mr. Fundiegelical, sir, there is this thingy called The New Testament, with this soshulist hippie dude, named Jesus. Yeah, yes, that's right, the guy your religion is named after. Try reading it once). Oh, and the time he whipped the shit out of the money-grubbers in the Jerusalem temple. Right on, brother! A little Buddha, a touch of Zoroastrianism (primarily Freddie Mercury), a jigger of Wheaton's Law (I need this, incidentally. Honey?)  Most of my beliefs could be boiled down to basically, we're all in this together, so get off your high horse and lend a hand. And, I slept pretty well at night.

Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds ago, I had a checkered relationship with the Clan of The Red Beanie (thank you, Mr. Pierce.) I was raised RC and went to RC grade and high school, but had issues with my faith, in that I could not find hip-waders high enough to continue attending church. My wife and I were married, almost a year ago, in a Catholic church, largely for the benefit of our parents, but we joined, and I was determined to make a go of it, for the sense of community, if nothing else. However, shortly after our ceremony, the Archbishop of Minneapolis, John Nienstadt, having solved world hunger, cured cancer, brought peace to the Middle East, and having taught me how to make the perfect egg popover, decided to get down to the serious stuff of making sure that teh queers couldn't wreck the institution of marriage. I says to him, "Johnny, babe, you can't be serious. What is it, yer masculinity not up to snuff? I can't go along with this, I mean, you and me, we're buds, right?' and he says "paleo, c'mon, paisan, I'm worried about yer everlasting soul, and Bennie needs new Prada shoes, his are getting old, but don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."

Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds ago.

But now my soul has been set afire, I blaze, like a, a, a fire, thingy, I have purpose!



Hail Bobby! Bishop Willard and Teh Exorcist 2012!!!

paleo Is More paleo

Yay! It's my birthday! I've finally reached legal drinking age...

...ummm, again. For the many-ith time, in fact. Rats.

However, this is a day off*, so Imma kicking back some, after running errands going to have a relaxing evening and hit it again tomorrow. Not going to post anything of world-shattering meaning today, oh, wait, one thing:

If we manage to avoid a small thermonuclear exchange with Israel, Palestine, Poland, the UK, and Delta Fucking Airways before Willard the Windsock is done with his world tour and Missionary-Palooza I'd be eternally grateful, 'hanks, dude.

Just posting a little fun stuff.

Love this tune!


John Lennon...


Stephen Lynch is the sickest, funniest bastard on the planet! Cool vid, too.


("Honey, its spanking time!!!")
Gotta go!

*I work a very weird, yet not random, schedule

I've Picked Teh Wrong Career

If'n y'all recall this or this, Sweetheart and I have had some less than adventurous adventures with our basement, especially the bathroom, and mounting discontent with an inefficient use of limited space.


After many heart-to-hearts, research, the bouncing of ideas, wild monkey (owww) looking in catalogs, we are nearly settled with our plan, collecting bids, (slowly - p'raps my deodorant is not working, but the whole calling-back-with-an-estimate thingy seems to be a tall order for some of 'em), we have a couple in and are expecting a couple more, paring down our/my ambitions (stripper parallel bars - she only forbid the stripper pole!, disco ball, electric cat polisher). No secrets here. And we are this close to pulling the trigger.


Here's my issue. Which is mine, by me.


Ahem.


HOLY FUCKING FUCK IS THIS GONNA BE EXPENSIVE! 


Don't even get the gold toilet or a 12 cylinder wetbar.

The Tragic Mistake Of The Olympic Torch Lighting

Okay, so, good optics, seven former UK Olympic Medalists giving seven torches to seven children of diverse backgrounds to light the torch, I'm enough of a realist to recognize that.


But, the opportunity they wasted! 

Aaarrgghhh!

Spoiler Alert - I Don't Do Spoilers. The Drunk Knight Rises

paleo and paleo bro-in-law went to see the new Batpic last night, in iMax - just a sec...


(Sweetheart informs me that this is the only "I" product not made by Zombie Steve Jobs. Huh. Whoodathunkt.)


In IMAX, since apparently Christopher Nolan will not do 3D, thinking it's a gimmick. Good for him - unless it's done very well, 3D is just a sort of "Look at what I can do, Ma!" sort of thing anyhow. 


Just to briefly address this and get it out of the way, no, I weren't afeart of no gunman coming in and shooting up the place. I had a mild fear of some member of the Help-Me-My-Penis-Is-Too-Small-So-I-Carry-A-9mm-Replacement Association hearing gunfire on the screen, pissing himself, splattering onlookers, and then shooting himself in the ass when he tried to draw.


One other 'to briefly address this' to be addressed. It is an R-rated movie, and it earns it, especially given the MPAA's tendency to give violence a pass while giving any kiss with a buttfeel an NC-17. Quite intense, violent, and a fair amount of blood. Ma'am, yes, you there, with the young girl, yes - ummm, yer dumb.


Oooh, one other 'to briefly address this' to be pondered. They are making a sequel to, well, everything, actually, but specifically for this 't.b.a.t.', a sequel to The Expendables, a sort of modern remake of Red Dawn, as I understand it - I haven't seen the first Expendables and won't, ugghhh. A snarky line delivered as though the actor has a ferret stuck in his duodenum, followed by gunfire, and that familiar face with a rug beard and a constipated expression - Chuck Norris. Everybody goes yay! I mean, dammit, no-one in the theater knows or cares about how lunacidal that birfer idiot is, but he also SUCKS AS AN ACTOR! Aw, hell, at any rate.


With no spoilers, it's a well done movie, and worth watching in IMAX. I don't know where anyone is getting any sort of political statement out of it, although the wingnut culture warriors find politics in Rice Krispies and then piss themselves, screech, etc. - the politics, such as they are, are all over the map. Long sonuvabitch, slow at times, plot holes you could drive a decent size truck through, and the ending was sort of a copout, to me. Anne Hathaway as Catwoman, well, I knew who she was before and had my doubts, but she did quite well, actually. Very physical role but she really played it well. 


I will suggest seeing it on the big screen, I liked it!







Addendum: I am intrigued by the trailer for OZ, directed by Sam Raimi, without Bruce Campbell. I'll have to googly it, it looked as if it might be just fine, seems like it's the Wizard of Oz from the Wizard's perspective. Eh, we'll see...

A Few Things On My Mind

Chick-fil-A, a chicken fast food chain, has a reputation of 'piety'. They don't open on Sundays, their reasoning being something along the lines of allowing their employees to attend church and spend the Xtian sabbath with their families. Actually, that is not a dreadful thing. Be nicer if they paid the employees worth a damn, but that's silly talk. They start to get annoying when they play in the realm of marriage equality, as one would expect, given 'piety', on the side of the idiots. Hell. Well, they have the right to be dumb, I don't like it, I have had their food, when one is traveling, you gotta do, etc..., and it's average fast food, but I'm happy to ignore them, because dumb. But now, they've lied about the Muppets.

Maybe I'm a touch unmature, the possibility certainly exists, but I adore the Muppets, always have, from Sesame Street on up the age scale. Chick-fil-A, assuming they survive the well-earned lawsuit from hell, must be leveled, and their parking lots plowed under and salted.

The Summer Olympics, and debut of Lil' Annie Romney's Wild Windsock Dancing Horse Show and Magic-Underwear-Palooza, starts tonight. They of course have the hellaciously hyped Opening Ceremonies, immediately followed by figure skating. The biggest kept secret is the official Bic Lighters©® Igniter Of The Torch. If it's not David Tennant, the Olympics are invalid.

The last couple weeks, I've gotten into Farscape on Netflix, the cancellation of which is yet another example of the erstwhile Sci-Fi network not knowing it's audience, it's mission, what it is calling itself this week, it's ass from it's elbow. Great show, another Henson Production, atchally. Humor, action, more than a fair amount of semi-kink (srsly, much sexy and black leather, not that I'm into anything like that... Well, a bit, p'raps. Such. Also.) Take a look, y'all!

Please keep circulating this tape:

I'm not on Twitter, it's fun to read some of the choicer bits that others find and highlight, but, as you can tell, I doubt I work well in <140 characters. (Also, sweetheart would prefer I not find another distraction). Sometimes there is a tweet I that I feel a need (as unlikely as it would be for the original slapnuts to see, much less note, my carefully considered rebuttal) to respond to. I now hazes a blog, so I can at least post in response. This is via TBogg:

My response, Mr. Taranto of the Wall Street Journal On-Line, had you been there?

"I doubt that you, who would have pulled children and grannies in front of you to save your worthless hide, could ever be worthy of anyone's sacrifice. Suck a tailpipe."

Was that 140 characters? Ermph, regardless.

Hell with it, gotta get to work, me and teh bro-in-law going to see Darn Knight Rises tonight, so rock and roll!

Ugh. Sigh. Stuff.

Conversation at work as I did my rounds.

Co-worker: “[paleo], I just read that there are 9 gun shops for every McDonalds in America.”

Interesting enough opening. I’ll play for a minute.

p: “Okay, so for the Cities, there must be what, 100 McDonalds? So you’re saying there are 600..”
Co-worker: “…900…”
p: “…yeah, 900 gun shops. Not sure I can see that.”
Co-worker: “Well, they don’t maybe advertise too much. The paper only prints stuff like this when something happens, and then everyone loses their minds and starts talking dumb about guns.”

Must keep my job. Must keep my job. Must walk away.

“Ummm, yeah, [Co-worker]. Later.”

That whole losing-my-sense-of-humor thing. Can’t scream, either. Fuck.

This seems actually appropriate: