I Was Waiting For Pictures, But. . .

I've been battling my digital camera over some pictures I took on my recent visit to Wilmington, DE. I was waiting on them to post, but Matt has forced my hand with this post. In case you don't want to read the whole thing I can summarize it with one quote. "I know what Christmas is truly about, but it seems that it means more than just that." What? You know I love you Matt, but I think that Alpine air has gone to your head. If Christmas is about anything other than "just that," I'm not interested. What else could Christmas possibly be about? Is it about gathering together with loved ones? We only do that about eight times a year. Is it about giving gifts to family and friends? Maybe! The giving of gifts signifies. . . never mind. What about Santa! Surely a fat man sneaking into my house at night and eating my cookies is a metaphor for. . . nothing. The Christmas tree! Now we have it! Here is the greater meaning of Christmas! Kidnapping a plant from its native habitat and adorning it with gaudy trinkets and flashing lights must mean that we are. . . bored? In the end Christmas is about one thing, Christ. I understand that we (humankind) have pile an unfathomable amount of crap on the day that seems to make it much less significant than it actually is. I think that this is because of one simple fact. The impact that the birth of Jesus had on the world was far too great and complex for any of us to fully understand. The part that we do understand has meaning enough, but we can't help but realize that we don't really get it. The result is that we pile on the crap. Granted, there are some who are so offended by the little that they do understand that they need to twist the meaning to fit their own world view. Apparently the "idea" of a holiday still appeals to them. Anyway, Matt, there is no "more" to Christmas beyond Christ, only "less." The day that the "less" becomes more important I will arbitrarily select another day to celebrate on.

Science Hates Me.

Last Saturday Roverine and I went on a fossil hunting excursion in Swatara State Park. I have vague memories of visiting the park's fossil pit in Elementary School. It was an exciting time. The pit, back then, was more of a low cliff, the face being made up of sedimentary rock. The rock was compacted in thin layers and with the help of a hammer and chisel could be pulled out, almost like books stacked vertically. With those memories fresh in my mind I was bitterly disappointed when we arrived to find not a cliff of rock, but a hill of broken stones. It was then that I realized that Elementary School had in fact been 20 years ago. That moment of clarity didn't help my mood any.

Regardless of my disappointment, I pounced on the pile of rocks in earnest. Underneath the loose rubble there actually was a layer of rock that I chipped away at. I proudly proclaimed to Roverine that I was perhaps only minutes away from finding the fossilized iPod that would turn decades of scientific theory on its ear. Maybe I shouldn't have boasted too loudly. Roverine soon found some plant remains. I found a baseball sized portion of mud. Roverine found a tiny impression of a spine and ribs. I found a small rock. Roverine found a shell. I discovered a whole new type of rage. Science was having its revenge for my boasting, and it was doing quite the job. Demoralizing me in front of my wife wasn't enough for Science, not enough by far. It was only a matter of minutes before an entire troop of Boy Scouts arrived, climbed about the pile like little monkeys, and began to announce discovery, after discovery, after discovery. Their troop leader came over to tell Roverine and I about the fossils he found last year that had been analyzed by the Reading Museum. I wanted to make him a fossil. I still hadn't found bupkis!

I began to wonder about Science. My iPod joke hadn't been that offensive. In fact I thought it was quite witty. Did that one joke warrant the misery that I was now living with? I thought not, but then thought again. Maybe it wasn't that one joke. Maybe this was the culminated revenge for the years of mockery I have put Science through. Maybe Science remembered the time I set fire to the sink in 10th grade Biology, or the time we removed the handles from all of the gas valves in the lab, rendering them useless. Maybe it had something to do with setting off the emergency shower in 12th grade Chemistry, citing "Chemistry sucks" as my sole justification. I certainly hoped that Science had forgotten about my eloquent treatise arguing that the scientific explanation for the origin of life fell apart when examined under the rules of scientific method itself. With horrific clarity the picture became clear to me. Through years of thoughtless mockery and ballyhoo I had established a pattern of contempt for Science. It wasn't intentional, but with that realization I came to one conclusion. Science hates me.

So there I sat, perched on top a pile of fossil bearing stones without one fossil to show for myself. Why? Because Science was having his revenge. Others around me gloried in ferns and shells and trilobites while my bag sat empty. It was now obvious that I would be making no discoveries today. In humility I gathered up Roverine and headed off to photograph the scenery, that seemed relatively secure from the scorn of Science.

I'm at a loss for what to do about Science these days. Initially I thought I would just go with it and continue to antagonize (referring to Darwin as a "ragamuffin island hopper" came to mind), but I now realize that that might not be such a good idea. As it stands I hold no hope of ever finding a fossil again, and I can live with that, but what if I push things further? Can I live with a meteor in my house? I think not. Science and I have settled into an uneasy truce. I will no longer find fossils and Science will let me live. At that's how things will stand. Until I think of something very witty to say, in which case it was nice to know all of you.

As It Turns Out, I'm Not Perfect.

I made a mistake at work tonight. It wasn't a little, "Oops! I spelled Saskatchewan wrong." mistake either. The consequences of my mistake could have put several of us into a very delicate situation. Fortunately, someone at another agency also made a mistake (I'm being generous there because it was more of a deliberate act of sloth). I was forced to take action in response to their mistake, and that action rendered the consequences of my mistake to be void, or at least significantly diminished. In the end I was very fortunate, but not off of the hot seat. I hate to make mistakes. They make me very angry with my self, and I wish that I could pretend that they never happened. At the same time I have a personal policy of always owning my mistakes. I think its what a person of integrity and faith does and I also think that it makes me a more trustworthy person. I have a coworker who never owns any mistakes and the result is that no one believes a word he says. So back to tonight, in the end I could have let things go. Several people knew that something had happened, but if I told them not to worry about it they wouldn't ask any questions, and I love them for that. Because I love them I told them the truth, and they were incredibly gracious about it. They were actually more upset about the deliberate act of sloth (sorry, "mistake") that followed. Somehow though I didn't feel any better. Tonight was a close as I get to "big time screw up," and although no perceived damage was done, I felt damaged. I pride myself on speed and accuracy, and I failed on both counts. That really bothered me. Thankfully I had the time to retreat into a good book for a bit before I had to get back into things. That helped. I eventually blew off a post-work social event (and it was a good one) and went home. For the rest of the night I felt as if my credibility had been ruined and I just wanted to get out of there. Anyway, I suppose I will feel better in the morning and I will get a fresh shot at making a mess of things then. For now I'm headed back into that good book.

Since Proteinstar Begged For It.

Here is a new post. I find it ironic that a man who goes months without posting feels free to criticize me after a matter of days, but whatever.

Some of you might remember that last fall I was excited about a new racing series called A1GP, but lost interest due to a difficult TV viewing schedule and lackluster performances by the U.S. Team. The basic premise of the series is that Formula One and the Olympics had a night of poor judgment resulting in a child, A1GP. The series is held over the winter months on circuits around the world, similar to F1. The teams represent nations, rather that multi-million dollar corporations. The principal team member must be from the country the team represents. It is actually a pretty cool concept, but like I said, TV coverage here in the states was poor and the U.S. Team wasn't exactly awesome. The cars are not the wonders of technology that F1 cars are either. However, this year I am determined to give A1GP another shot. I'm beginning to see the beauty of the series. The drivers are either F1 hopefuls or has beens and the cars lack the downforce of their more famous cousins. This makes for some very interesting racing. A1GP also webcasts their races and has signed a contract with Speed TV for U.S. coverage. To add to my excitement the are also in negotiations to have a seasoning opening street race in Washington DC next September. That would be a must attend event. Here's some Youtube highlights from last season if your are interested.

Wahooo!!

After a long absence, Superswede appears to have returned yet again! You come and go more than Michael Jordan buddy, but you are always welcome here. I understand that you are currently in a bit of a difficult spot, and I'm not referring to your upcoming wedding. I hope things improve for you, but I hope that this means we will be seeing more of you around here for now.

Goodbye Old Friend

On Sunday, Michael Schumacher raced in the final Grand Prix of his glittering career. Last week I envisioned that this post would go along the lines of "Michael won!" or perhaps "Quick, but not quick enough." I would have then followed with an eloquent summation of the most astounding career the sport has ever seen. I even would have given a nod to some of the darker moments over the year, and believe me there were dark moments. Instead, Michael has forced my hand.

Schumi's championship prospects going into this weekend were bleak at best. If he were to claim his eighth World Driver's Championship he would have to win the upcoming Brazilian Grand Prix. That in itself wasn't all that daunting, Michael has won over ninety Grands Prix. What was daunting was that Michael's rival, Fernando Alonso would need to fail to score a single point, meaning he would have to finish the race below eighth place, or not finish at all. Alonso makes it a habit of finishing races, and a practice of finishing them in the top three. As if things weren't tough enough for Michael, his Ferrari developed a fuel pickup problem in Saturday Qualifying that left him starting the race from tenth. Michael had never won a race from tenth, although he had won one from sixteenth.

Regardless, the flag dropped on Sunday afternoon and Michael bolted to the front of the field. In four laps he moved from tenth to fifth. It look as if a miracle were about to happen. Then disaster struck, Michael dove around the Renault of Giancarlo Fisichella, but misjudged slightly. His left rear tire nicked Fisichella's front wing. The contact was enough to puncture the tire. Michael limped back to the pits and rejoined the race in twentieth, dead last. There was a fifteen second gap from Michael to the next car, and a seventy second gap to the race leader. Then the miracle occurred. Michael put the hammer down. Over the next ninety minutes fan were treated to one of the greatest displays of driving ever seen. Michael passed over ten cars on the track, and a number more through speedy pit work. Critics of F1 lament the lack of on track overtaking, but they sat silent on Sunday as Michael downed rival after rival. His final pass of the day was against the McLaren of Kimi Raikkonen, "The Flying Finn." Raikkonen blocked Michael to the inside, but Michael squeezed in, dangerously close to the wall. As the two entered turn1 they were so close together that even the daylight between their tyres was getting nervous. Eventually Michael squeezed ahead to take fourth. He didn't win the race, but his status as the most talented driver in the sport will never be questioned. That seventy second gap I mentioned was reduced to less than thirty at the chequered flag. Michael's teammate, Felipe Massa, went on to win the race. In doing so he became the first Brazilian to win his home Grand Prix since the late Ayrton Senna did so thirteen years ago.

To fully understand the brilliance of Michael's drive we need to compare his lap times with those of his teammate. It is generally accepted in F1 that a team's two drivers will receive nearly identical cars, some changes are made to suit driver preference. Before the race on Sunday both Michael and Felipe were given permission to push the engines on their Ferrari 248 F1 racing cars to beyond 20,000rpms in an attempt to secure the Driver and Constructors World Championships. They failed in that attempt, but they did set some very fast lap times. Just before his final pit stop, the point at which a Formula One car is at its lightest and fastest, Felipe Massa set a single lap time of 1:12.3. Just after his last pit stop, the point at which an F1 car is at its heaviest and slowest, Michael set a single lap time of 1:12.1, the fastest of the race. The man is just fast. In case you don't believe me yourselves, please check out the lovely YouTube tidbit below. Especially enjoy the last pass over Raikkonen.

Brazilian Grand Prix Highlights

I will regale you with tales of his brilliant career some other time.

"It is nothing to die; it is frightful not to live."

Moments ago I finished Victor Hugo's epic Les Miserables. I'm a bit at a loss for what to say about it. Several months ago I attempted to read the complete, unabridged, version and got lost. This time around I inadvertently got ahold of the abridged version. The shortened text probably accounts for why I got through it so easily, but I can't help but feel somehow cheated. Despite being familiar with the plot thanks to Broadway and Hollywood my first attempt was tainted by a modern intolerance for any content that didn't advance the story line. That was a mistake. I guess that the pre-YouTube world was more into savoring things. The richness of the full text was more easily enjoyed when Lost wasn't on at 9. That said. I finished the book, all 600 pages, and felt myself looking for more. It wasn't that the story was incomplete, I just didn't want it to end. Hugo is one of the finest story tellers I have ever encountered. The work connects with the soul on several levels. Readers who approach it looking for the revolutionary feel they got from the Broadway show will be disappointed. It was revolutionary in its day, but only those very familiar with French history will grasp it's full political implication. Today I feel that it is so much more about redemption and integrity. I think we often view our lives as being effected by crucial moments in time, which they are, but Les Miserables shows that our actions in those moments are defined by the constant dedication to our moral values on a daily basis.

As far as the characters go I felt that Jean Valjean was perfect. Hugo beautifully depicted the sinner struggling with his past sins in light of his current salvation. Just perfect. Javert was both admirable and despicable at the same time. I was contorted over him until the end. Thernardier was disgusting, yet completely believable. I found myself wondering if there wasn't a real life person somewhere behind Hugo's character. My disappointment came with Cosette and Marius. I found Cosette to be spoiled, and if we were expected to love her, incredibly underdeveloped as a character (granted, I did read the short version). As a child she is heart wrenching, but almost immediately after her rescue I lost all sympathy for her. If I were Marius I would have chosen Eponine. She came across as a much more genuine and giving person, especially when you consider the parenting she received. As for Marius? What an ungrateful prat. Jean Valjean gives him his child and his fortune and Marius can't wait to show him the door. Only when he finds out what Jean Valjean has done for him personally does he accept him. I guess rescuing the love of your life from slavery and then raising her as his own wasn't enough, eh?

In short, I was enraptured by Les Miserables. After a short visit with Augustine, Steinbeck, and who knows who else, I think I might be ready to savor Hugo's masterpiece as it was intended.

Also, please celebrate in this post as it marks my 100th.

Discovering My Hometown

Back when it was warmer out Roverine and I took a walk around town and took some pictures. While parts of the area are aptly described as "ghetto," there are some interesting buildings and other points of interest about. Here you go.

The home of a local celebrity.

Perhaps the most famous business in town. Great old building.

Never ate there, no plans to.

Maybe he's been advertising in the wrong places.

No, it didn't stop for the sign.

The train station.

And some more of that.

Like I said, "Ghetto."

Use My Word!

Several years ago, never mind how many exactly, I was engrossed with the completion of a certain academic treatise. The completion of said work had me somewhat down in spirits because I felt that I lacked the proper terminology to fully describe the chaos that surrounded the Diet of Augsburg (1530). For those of you who aren't familiar with the event, it was billed as the ultimate showdown between Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, and Martin Luther, the indefatigable Bull of Wittenberg. The insane chaos that preceded Luther's arrival could best be compared to, but was probably far in excess of, a national political convention today. While official condemnation of Luther rang throughout the streets, secret messengers scurried back and forth in a final effort to avoid the inevitable showdown. Back room deals became commonplace. Bishops acted as pages. For a moment, the world was turned on its ear. All of this before the man of the hour, Martin Luther, even set foot into the town.
The excitement of the event is hard to deny, and cannot be ignored when addressing the life of Luther. However my friends, how was I to describe this vast spectacle within the confines of a collegiate work that was more concerned with the person of Luther than with the events that surrounded him? In the end I came to one conclusion. Necessity is the mother of invention. I created my own word.

Polympics- The chaotic jockeying for power and position that accompanies a political event.

The word suited my needs perfectly and allowed that portion of my work to be succinct, yet descriptive. After its initial usage I filed my word away in my mind, having no more apparent need for it. However, after dining with Roverine, Brechty, and Gen last night I have been convinced to share my word with the world. I have made it my goal to ensure my word's inclusion in Webster's Dictionary. I cannot achieve this goal on my own though. I need your help. Use my word! Make it popular! My argument for inclusion will be that much stronger if my word is in common usage (isn't that the Scrabble requirement?). If I succeed we can have a party or something.

What Is The Point?

The BETA swtich seems to have worked.

I was going to use my blogging time today to bless you with the latest feats of Michael Schumacher. Last week he won the Chinese Grand Prix despite trailing the leaders by over 25 seconds at one time. The old man's still got it. Today he was leading the Japanese Grand Prix when his Ferrari engine exploded. That marks Michael's first engine failure since 2000. Alas, without an engine he didn't finish the race, and without the points from the race he is all but eliminated from the World Championship. I will keep you posted.

Now on to my real topic.

Roverine and I went to church this morning. That in itself isn't unusual. What was unusual was the service. It was very focused on the Amish school shootings. Disturbingly focused. I can only compare it to services I attended after 9/11. Not only did the whole service seem like overkill, it was poorly executed overkill. Early on, all of the small children were brought to the front of the church and lined up for everyone to see. The pastor then said, in his most tormented voice, "Look at them. These are the ones that Jesus loves." I couldn't help but think, "So the rest of us are screwed?" After the service Roverine expressed a similar response. We were then subjected to a sermon pleading with us to do more for the children. The service ended with a responsive reading where the leader would read a phrase something like this, "There is violence in the world. What should we do?" Everyone would respond with, "We will do what the Amish do," followed by some bleeding heart mushy talk like "Build a barn of love. Build a barn of peace." or "Plow the fields of forgiveness." It was the intellectual equivalent of vomit. "Build a barn of love." What does that even mean?

Returning to my post title, what is the point? Why even put the effort into a service that addresses a topic that doesn't relate to the lives of your congregation, and then further alienates those attending by throwing out empty catch phrases and attempting to make them feel guilty for something they played no role in? I honestly think that, outside of the scripture reading, the only time Jesus was mentioned was when they told us how much he loved the children (but apparently not the rest of us). There was a brief respite from the onslaught when the service briefly changed topic to guilt us for not giving enough in offering (a subject that is popping up with alarming frequency). Why would I give money to support a religion that only loves children? I don't even have children!

Honestly I should be more forgiving. The church is going through a transitional period right now, and the service is normally better. It just bothers me when a service is so far from the point that it renders itself pointless. It also bothers me to see effort and potential so wasted. In response I have already made efforts to get more involved. You can't really gripe if you offer no input, right?

Hang On!

I've decided to make the jump to Beta. If you don't hear from me in two days, contact the authorities.

Ranting

Forgive me, but I need to vent. Roverine has become hooked on Grey's Anatomy. It is a sad commentary on our society that anyone watches this show. Even more pathetic is the fact that it isn't even the worst show on TV! I've long since refused to watch Desperate Housewives and The O. C. Although I still say that those Orange County kids are alright in a very twisted sort of way. Anyway, back to Grey's Anatomy. What is the appeal of this show? It is about a bunch of self obsessed brats who pursue the most frequent occurrence of inappropriate sexual relations possible, and practice some medicine in their free time.

In what world does it make sense that cheating on your wife because she cheated on you mean that everything will work out? And that work of genius only covers the first episode. In Grey's world you would then realize that cheating on your wife was fun, so you do it again. Using your logic, your wife then continues her affair. This angers you. Did I mention that you are cheating on your wife with someone you supervise at work?

Or, you are a doctor who really likes one of your patients. They like you also. The relationship progresses until you get engaged. Your fiance is sick, but not sick enough to get a needed transplant. To help out, you intentionally make them worse. They die. You quit, saying you feel bad about the whole thing when in actuality you were about 30 seconds away from getting fired. You get depressed, lay on the floor for awhile, makes some muffins, go to the bar, etc. Meanwhile your supervisor feels guilty because she should have told you not to kill your patients, and begs you to come back to work.

Let me tell you something. At my job, if I intentionally do anything that ends badly I will not be given the opportunity to quit, and will not be begged to return regardless of how tasty my muffins are.

In short, Grey's Anatomy has been added to the list of shows I refuse to watch.

Quote of The Week

Overheard at work:

"Who the heck is Gaudi paying off to keep getting a mistrial?"

Well, considering that Antoni Gaudi died in 1926 after being run over by a tram in Barcalona, I would imagine he would be paying God. Additionally considering that he was so ragged and unkempt at the time of his death that he wasn't recognized as the great Gaudi for days, I don't think he had enough money to keep God at bay for eighty years. I love the guys architecture though. John Gotti however, is probably paying off a series of jurors in New York.

The Bizarreness of My Life Knows No Bounds

For some reason the people I work with have strange relationships with their dogs. One coworker felt that his dog was becoming too aggressive, so he took it to the shooting range and, well, shot it. It didn't survive. Another coworker arrived at work one morning and stated that when he woke up his dog looked "a little sluggish." At 11:30 he took the rest of the day off to have the dog put down. Ok, so these guys border on the far end of "a little off," but they pale in comparison to what I heard today.

About a year ago, in an incident unrelated to the ones listed above, another coworker was advised by his veterinarian that his dog had reached its expiration date, and should be put down in order to save it from undue pain. The coworker refused and kept the dog alive for 8 months. During this time period the dog had days where it would not move, and had long lapses of unconsciousness. When it finally died, my coworker took an entire week off of work to mourn its death. If the dog meant so much to you, why did you torture it to death?

Two months ago, the same coworker's printer stopped working. Last night he finally got it operating again, and it immediately printed out a picture of his, now deceased, dog. A picture that he claims he never took, even though the picture is saved on both his home and work computers. Upon relaying to the story to his neighbor, my coworker was informed that his house emits strange noises in the middle of the day. Coworker's conclusion? He is being haunted by the ghost of his dead dog, and it may want to hurt him. I wonder why it would want to do that?

Imagine that you are in a situation where you believe that the ghost of your dead dog is out to do you harm. How would you handle that? I think I would try to keep it quiet, assuming that people would judge me poorly for those beliefs. My coworker obviously viewed things differently and has told everyone he sees about it. He even went so far as to suggest that the haunting was a type of karma for the time he criticized a female coworker for attempting to contact her miscarried child via a psychic. Initially I thought he was nuts for doing so, but now I see things differently. If not for his bold leadership involving this important issue I would still, to this day, have no idea how to handle a situation of this sort. How could I go through life without his exemplary handling of a canine haunting? I applaud his work and appreciate the life experiences he has shared with us all.

Regarding The Matter Which Must Be Addressed

In the fall of 1996 I was a young High School Senior enjoying the rigors of Cross Country running. My coach had a poster on his office wall displaying a red racing car and the name "Michael Schumacher" in bold print. Despite having no knowledge of racing I distinctly remember the poster because my coach and his wife frequently lauded Schumacher as "the greatest driver ever born." In my ignorance I took their word for it.

Fast forward four years. Lounging in my college dorm with nothing to do I found that my remote control had led me to an auto race. A surprisingly familiar red car shot across the screen and the announcer screamed something about "Schumacher." The red car, soon to be identified as a Ferrari, was holding a marginal lead over an ominous looking black and silver car. Behind them there was nothing. 52 seconds of nothing. The third place car was nearly a minute behind as these two masters grappled with each other. Although I didn't know it at the time I had stumbled upon the 2000 Italian Grand Prix and was witnessing a battle that had been raging for months. Michael Schumacher and Mika Hakkinen had been climbing over each other for the Formula One Driver's World Championship, the most coveted title in the most watched sport in the world, since early March. Both driver's had already won the title twice and neither was willing to lose their third to the other. As I said, I didn't know any of this at the time. All I knew is that the mysterious "Schumacher" won the race by three seconds and was so happy that he cried. Hakkinen also looked to be on the verge of tears, albeit for opposite reasons. Most bizarre of all was the third place car that finished 52 seconds back. It was driven by Ralf Schumacher. Michael had gutted his own brother on his way to victory. I was hooked.

In the coming months I went on a Formula One binge. If I wasn't watching the sport I was reading about it. Apparently Schumacher was considered by some to be the greatest driver ever born, and was well on his way to proving it to all doubters. Schumacher won the World Championship in 2000, followed by 2001, 2002, 2003, and 2004. He took me and tens of millions of viewers on a whirlwind ride the likes of which had never been seen before. I learned to eat and sleep Ferrarri red, and cheered as rival after rival fell to the wayside in defeat. I shouted with him in victory and wept with him in defeat. Secretly I prayed that Schumacher's era would never end. But alas, at 9:30 this morning I finally cursed me ears as they delivered the news.

It has been an exceptional time the last thirty years of what motorsport has given to me. I've loved all the good and bad moments and they've made it so special.

With those words Michael Schumacher announced his retirement from racing. Fittingly, the announcement came at the Italian Grand Prix just moments after Michael had clinched his 90th victory. He isn't done quite yet, there are three races remaining in the 2006 season, and Michael is in a strong position to win his 8th championship. However, for me, the racing world will never be the same. Ferrari have announced that Michael will not fully retire, but will take up "another role within the team." In the same breath they announced that Kimi Raikkonen, a driver both Michael and I hold in high regard, would be filling the vacancy in the hopes of keeping the dynasty alive. These statements have given me hope to continue watching the sport, but I ask that you join me in savoring these last few moments of the great man's career.

Crikey!

So, I'm apparently out of the loop. I didn't know until I got to work today that Steve Irwin had died. Some of you may remember that Steve and I once spent several weeks tracking Brechty's Mom through the Pennsylvania woodlands. Sadly, we had to put her down. The tranquilizers just weren't getting the job done, but that's a story for another time. I always loved "The Croc Hunter." In my younger years I could do a pretty good imitation of him. His show was one of the best on television, because you always got the feeling that he was about two seconds away from instant death. Apparently he was. I must say that taking a stingray barb to the heart while diving off of the coast of Australia is a pretty good way to go. Rumor has it that he even pulled the barb out himself before dying. That's hardcore. I loved that khaki look too. We'll miss you buddy.

Updates

I've performed some long overdue maintenance today. You will not that some of the links at left have been removed and replaced with new ones. The old links were to blogs that either didn't exist anymore, or ceased to entertain me. The new blogs are ones that I check frequently, and am sick of getting to through roundabout means. Most importantly though is the demise of Rover's Racing World. I haven't been blogging frequently enough to justify two blogs. I will still keep you updated with racing topics that catch my fancy.

Post Apocalyptic America.

That's how I saw it described on a website months ago. I was so enthralled with the idea that I posted on it over the winter. I'm talking about the Abandoned Turnpike. Yesterday myself, Baby Dague, and Roverine (formerly known as "The Fiance") braved the unknown and made a visit. For those of you who don't remember, the Abandoned Turnpike was originally part of the Pennsylvania Turnpike until increased traffic volume made its two tunnels inadequate for use. The PA Turnpike Commission constructed a new route through the mountains and the life of the Abandoned Turnpike began. After a tumultuous history the Pike finally appears to have found a home with a non-profit organization that has plans to incorporate it into a coast-to-coast bicycle superhighway. Restoration work has yet to begin, but the highway is open for would be adventurers to explore at their own risk.

Early yesterday morning the three of us loaded up and headed to South Central PA to take in the two gems of the Abandoned Turnpike: the tunnels. Along the route of the old highway are two old highway tunnels that cut under the local mountain ranges. The longest of the two, Sideling Hill, is over a mile long. Ray's Hill, the second tunnel, is around 3/4 mile. The Pike itself is somewhat hard to find. If you want to visit it call me. Don't trust directions you found online. Upon arrival I was kind of surprised that there actually was a highway out there in the middle of nowhere. The pavement was in bad condition and vegetation had grown up all over the place, but there it was! One of the nice things about the Pike is that, although it is in a pretty hilly area, the highway is graded for Interstate traffic. That means that there are no steep hills, only long gentle ones. Sideling Hill lies a short ride away from the parking area, and my neurotic mind had been pondering everything that could go wrong in the belly of that beast for days. I had developed a safety system that hinged on redundancy. Bicycle headlamps were backed up by Maglites which were backed up by glow sticks. Two separate individuals would contact authorities if we weren't heard form by a set time. Like I said, neurotic. As it turned out, Sideling Hill turned out to be much closer to "cool" than to "horrific." Several web pages touted it as being so long that you cannot see light at either end when in the center. That may be true, if you visit at night. It does get dark though. There were rooms at either end of the tunnel leading up into the ventilation and service areas above. Unfortunately the stairways were so rusted that we couldn't venture beyond the first floor rooms. The tunnel itself was long and dark. Its subterranean chill was a welcome break from the summer morning. The rooms at the far end proved to be equally inaccessible. Beyond Sideling Hill we faced several miles of deteriorating highway before reaching Ray's Hill tunnel. To our chagrin, the near side access room's doors were welded shut. We ate lunch on the near side and then rode through. The ride was fun for sure, and the tunnels were great, but as far as adventure goes the trip had been lacking. The meandering subject matter of the local graffiti kept us entertained. At the far end of the tunnel we found more welded doors, and were about to head back to the car until Roverine pointed out a trail of sorts leading up a steep hill along the tunnel's entry way. It wasn't long before Baby Dague and I scampered up the hill and gained access to the tunnel's second story maintenance area by way of a ladder and an unsecured window. The inside was amazing. There were giant ventilation fans, maintenance tunnels running on top of the tunnel for its entire length, and the amazing "triangle room." I felt like I was in Lost. The entire place was littered with paintball and airsoft pellets. Initially we thought some kids had had some fun there, but I recently learned that the Army sometimes uses the buildings to train troops before they head to Iraq. After exploring for a bit we mounted our bikes and headed for home. On the way back Baby Dague showed us why he can always fall back on a circus career, and we decided to blow our glow stick backups on an impromptu rave in the heart of Sideling Hill. It was a great trip all around and I plan to go again. Baby Dague and I would love to go at night. I have attached some pics for your viewing, unfortunately most of the ones we took can't be posted because the local graffiti probably isn't appropriate for public viewing.

Exterior view of Sideling Hill Tunnel

Inside Sideling Hill, looking back at the Pike.

Deeper inside Sideling Hill.

Ever get the feeling that you're being watched?

Looking down at Roverine from the Ray's Hill complex.

Stairway inside Ray's Hill.

Baby Dague showing off his ninja skills.

My bike on pot.

Glow stick party!

And some more of that.

Deep inside Sideling Hill.

Honeymoon Pics

Here is a small collection of honeymoon pictures from Puerto Vallarta.

Sunset from the bar.

In the seaside pool.

On the beach.

Still on the Beach.

The view from our room.

The Church of the Lady of Guadelupe in Puerto Vallarta proper.

Hotel view again.

I'm Back.

My trip to exotic locales has ended for this year, and I'm pretty darn happy to be home. Maintaining a rigorous schedule of leisure was more taxing than I had anticipated. The last two days were mostly spent napping. I only ventured onto the beach once, to watch the moon rise. I'm hoping to get some pictures up for you while on night shift tonight at which time I will also review the three ocean front locations I visited. No big shock here, New Jersey didn't fare well. While on vacation I was able to read Exodus and The Da Vinci Code. Here are my thoughts:

Exodus is an epic novel of historical fiction by Leon Uris covering the Jewish migration to Israel from the late 1800s to the 1948 War of independence. Overall I would rate this book as very good, bordering on excellent. On the historical end Uris has done his homework. The reader gets an excellent overview of the plight of the Jewish people throughout Europe and Palestine from the Diaspora up until the founding of the state of Israel. Uris is able to adeptly weave fictional characters into the historical events, enabling the reader to become more emotionally attached to the events than would be possible with straight fiction. The fictional plot focuses on the activities of the Israeli Ben Canaan family, mostly on the son Ari Ban Canaan as he fights to assist ships in running the British blockade of Israeli ports and later is a leader in the fight for independence. Along with Ari on most of his journeys is an American nurse named Kitty Fremont. Kitty begins the novel as a typically ignorant American with some underlying Anti-Semitic feelings. As the novel progresses she gradually falls in love with Israel and also with Ari. Overall I feel that Exodus is kept out of the "excellent" category by two main flaws. The historical portions can be a tad lengthy and tedious. Beyond that it is clear from the novel that Uris is a fervent Zionist and makes his opinion well known, which is certainly his right as the author. However, his blatantly biased slant becomes increasingly annoying as the novel wears on. One begins to get the feeling that no Jew has ever so much as violated a traffic law while Arabs feed on Israeli babies in their free time. When it comes to the Arab/Israeli situation I firmly support the Israelis, so if I find the slant to be annoying, others may be far less tolerant. Uris' bias does have a positive aspect to it though. Exodus is the perfect primer for understanding the Israeli side of the issue. If you want to get the Arab's point of view, look elsewhere.

With all of the hype surrounding the recent release of The Da Vinci Code movie I decided to finally break down and read the book. Before addressing the religious issues involved I would like to look at the literary merits of the book. Overall I was greatly disappointed. The Da Vinci Code reads like any other cheap paperback thriller that you could pick up at K-Mart. The characters are mildly unique and the plot is heavy on fluff and relatively predictable. It is a nice read if you don't enjoy being mentally engaged and have some free time to waste. It is so run of the mill that I am still trying to figure out why the religious establishment even bothered to respond to it at all. Without their ranting I can't help but think that sales would have been significantly less than what the have been. Anyone with a smattering of brain cells can see that the novel is a factless fairy tale created by a man with a clear agenda to smear persons of faith.

I guess that brings us to my analysis of the religious claims that Dan Brown makes in his book. His basic premise is that Jesus Christ was married to Mary Magdalene with whom he had a child. The Church, mainly through Constantine's hijacking of the Council of Nicea in 323 AD, suppressed this information in order to consolidate their own power base. This has far reaching implications including Brown's claim that it eliminated the "sacred feminine" from religious worship and turned the world into a male dominated society. In order for the world to be truly balanced and peaceful we must worship both male and female deities. To begin with, it appears that Dan Brown did the equivalent of a google search when researching the Council of Nicea. Beyond the date Brown presents little else that even approaches accurate information. For example, Brown, through the fictional character Leigh Teabing, claims that Constantine used the Council to elevate Jesus to the status of God, prior to that he had only been considered man. Brown/Teabing claim that Constantine barely succeeded in this manner by winning a very close vote. In fact, there were writings in existence as early as 200 years prior to the Council of Nicea establishing Jesus Christ both God and man. It was hardly a new concept in 323 AD. Also, out of the 318 bishops present at the council 316 supported Christ's deity, two dissented. Hardly a close vote. Brown also ignores the fact that, beyond assisting with some procedural items and providing opening statements, Constantine was a spectator at the council. Brown claims that the council established the current configuration of the Bible, intentionally choosing books that eliminated the importance of Mary Magdalene. In fact, the council never even discussed the issue of Canon. These items are part of a much larger list of factual errors that Brown makes ranging from central religious doctrine to the basic construction of the Louvre. Brown doesn't even agree with himself at times. Characters in the novel claim that the true relationship between Jesus and Mary must be revealed so that the "sacred feminine" can also be worshipped allowing for spiritual balance to be restored to the world, but at the same time argue that Jesus was only a man and should not be worshipped as God. In the end The Da Vinci Code is a work of fiction and should be read as such. Even then, I would be hard pressed to advise that it is worthy use of your time.

I Don't Mean To Gloat.

But I warned you about Landis. I also don't want to come across as happy about this. I thought it was a great thing for US cycling when he won the Tour. Now the whole thing appears to be a farce. For those of you who aren't aware of what I am talking about, Floyd Landis was suspended by his cycling team today after testing positive for doping. The rumbles actually began yesterday when rumors leaked that a top finisher in the Tour De France had failed a drug test. Shortly thereafter Landis unexpectedly pulled out of two events in Denmark. I was hoping this was because of his hip. Now it appears that it was because he didn't have a job anymore. I don't really feel bad for Floyd at all. I think I have made it clear that I think the guy is a complete jerk. I do feel really bad for his family, they appear to be genuine people, and don't deserve the hounding they will certainly get. The real shame of the thing is what this will do to pro cycling. What Landis did was gutsy. The 2nd, 3rd, and 4th place finishers in last year's Tour are banned from this year's Tour for doping, and Landis just keeps on shooting up. Amazing. The entire reputation of the sport is now virtually shot. I'm sure Landis will come up with some ridiculous excuse, just like Hamilton did a few years ago, that no one will believe. The whole thing just stinks. Is it impossible to believe in hero's anymore? I'm even beginning to believe those rumors about Armstrong. Anyway, I was going to post some honeymoon pics for you, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.

So, I Got Married. . .

. . . and that was fun. Really, I had a great time and I hope that all of you did as well (patented thank you card line). Maybe I'll post some pics later. Now that I am going on six consecutive days of marriage I thought I would drop some knowledge on you unmarried folks. I initially anticipated that I would get yelled at more after getting married. This hasn't really happened yet. There was some yelling on Day 2, but that has since subsided. The prize for best wedding advice has got to go to the dude at my local bike shop. He told me to take everything my spouse said and did in the two months leading up to the wedding, and pretend that it never happened. He said that the woman I knew during that time period was not the woman I proposed to and would not be the woman I married. "There is something about weddings and babies that make women go nuts." He was correct. I should by him something. Or not. Maybe I will stop telling people that he can't adjust a derailleur to save his life. That would be nice of me. I was pretty grumpy for a day or two leading up to the wedding, and I wasn't really sure why, because I was actually pretty excited to get married. I think it was all of the extraneous trappings that go along with getting married. It really is a bunch of excessive crap that does little to enhance the occasion. I could have assembled a panel of man friends and had the whole event planned in 30 minutes for a much lower price and had a guarantee that there would be no left over alcohol to worry about. However, those are some pictures I would not want to post. My point here for the guys is that there is a good chance that you will be miserable for a short time period leading up to your wedding. My Dad told me that he experienced the same thing. Hang in there guys, the spirit of the woman you love returns to inhabit her body somewhere between the dressing room and the altar. And from my nearly six days of marriage experience, she sticks around for awhile.

Now that I am married it is apparent the the title "The Fiance" is no longer an adequate descriptor for my spouse when blogging. I am officially announcing a contest to give my spouse her new blogging title. Just leave your entry in the comment field and I will pick a winner.

Also, I'm off for a trip around the World visiting such exotic locations as Mexico, North Carolina, and New Jersey. Isn't it strange that North Carolina and New Jersey actually used to be exotic places? Anyway, if you don't hear from me by the end of August you should just count me among that old fated crew that attempted to inhabit Roanoke Island, but instead found only Zombies!!!!

I'm a Little Ticked

On Friday I was working on a Tour De France post where I stated that George Hincapie was my man to win the Tour. I got busy with work things and never really had the time to finish it. Today George took the Yellow Jersey and now, instead of looking insightful, I look like a bandwagoner. Anyway, Big George is my man for this year. Despite today's performance, and the exclusion of Ulrich, Basso, and Mancebo, I still think he's a bit of a long shot. The logical choice would be Floyd Landis of Vinokourov, but I have a feeling about George. He's solid and has heart. Vino is unpredictable and Landis is a self centered jerk. Beyond George, my #2 man is another American, Levi Leipheimer. Levi's been around for awhile and had always been a respectable Tour rider, but this year he seems to have lit a fire under his rear. Anyway, before the doping scandal my Tour prediction was going to be about how the Americans would dominate the top positions, but none would actually win the whole thing. Now I'm thinking that there is an incredibly good chance of seeing another overall winner from the US, and an outside chance of Americans taking the top three positions. Either way, expect this Tour to be filled with excitement and cutthroat attacks from beginning to end. Also, Landis' little monkey friend Zabriskie also falls into the "self centered jerk" category.

Final thought. This one is mainly for Matt, Jason, and Brecthy. Now that Ronaldo is out of the World Cup and Ulrich is out of the Tour, who will down the most pies in the next two weeks?

Kind Of Cool

My communications grid has imploded here at work, so I have little to do beyond surfing the web for a couple of hours. I know, I know isn't that usually all I do? Anyway, I came across this Youtube clip and thought it was fun. I also found this entry on his blog. I think I've found my soulmate.

Triathlon Pictures- Full Review Below

Rover and Jason waiting at the starting line.

Jason blows by a lithe lady shortly after the start.

Our canoe eagerly awaits our arrival (isn't The Fiance good with a camera?).

Although he doesn't know it, Jason is about to receive a facefull of water.

Pushing hard to catch up. Yes, I know my technique looks a bit gay there.

Crossing the finish line and heading for the food station.

The Race

As part of my continuing effort to have a "summer of adventure" (not to be confused with George Costanza's "Summer of Love") I teamed up with Jason to tackle a team triathlon at the Wildwood Sanctuary this morning. It wasn't the Ironman, but it was a buttload of fun. The event was advertised as "non-competitive" and participants were expected to complete a 1.5 mile bike ride, .5 mile canoe, and 1.5 mile run. The field was split up into heats, Jason and I were in Heat 2. As we approached the starting line I noticed two rather lithe looking young ladies in our heat along with several soccer moms and a few preteens. I pulled my bike right to the line and Jason tucked in behind me. The whistle blew and we took off. There was a mad sprint for position as the road narrowed to a trail and turned to gravel ahead. I was just sliding into the lead as some 13 year old kid came out of nowhere and cut me off. I locked up my rear tire on the gravel and almost lost the whole bike. As I regained control the little snot ahead of me quickly dropped speed, looking like he was in need of some oxygen. Ahead of me lay a surprisingly steep hill, which I tore into Lance Armstrong style. At the top I took a peek behind and noticed Jason right there with me. The rest of the biking route was a series of ups and downs with some tight turns thrown in. Jason and I pretty much dominated the ride, but I did occasionally notice one of the lithe ladies hanging back in the distance.

The ride ended with a short wood chipped trail that led to a parking lot where we dropped the bikes and hopped into our canoes. Jason and I took a minute for a quick drink at this point, which turned out to be a pretty bad idea. The lithe ladies arrived and scooted into a canoe before us. Jason and I were in one shortly thereafter, and were very happy to see that the ladies were unduly hasty and were seated facing each other! While they got that sorted out Jason and I slid back into the lead. In a few minutes we came to the buoy that marked our turn around point, but not before I gave Jason a facefull of water, and ran the canoe aground. I pulled a ribbon off of the buoy to prove that we actually had been there, and we headed back. It didn't take long to run the canoe into a large patch of foliage, which delayed us long enough for the lithe ladies to take the lead again. We eventually extricated ourselves from that mess and put up a valiant effort to catch the ladies. At one point in time we slid in between two oncoming canoes, avoiding collision by inches. Alas, it wasn't enough and the ladies arrived first at the transfer point.

Leaving the water Jason and I were only a few yards behind the ladies. We were also eager to leave the transfer point behind. Just because we rammed one canoe when coming in to dock doesn't give them the right to get an attitude. Anyway, we headed off on the run with the girls easily within reach. It should be noted that Jason and I combined probably haven't run a total of one mile in the last year. Pre-race I thought to myself "A mile and half isn't all that far. Jason's young, and I can ride like a madman. Piece of cake." About 1/4 mile into the run I was starting to hurt, but we were starting to pull the girls in. Then they dropped the hammer. One of them stopped to tie her shoe, and then they both took off. We didn't see them again until the finish line. My will had been broken. Jason and I completed the run using an embarassing walk-run-walk strategy, but easily held second in our group. We both got free T-shirts, and "thanks for showing up" certificates. In the final standings we came in 6th overall and 5th out of 6 all male teams. All in all we left for the day with some wet shoes and good memories. Next year we're thinking about doing some training.

I Ate Your Face Off.

That's right Matt. You know its true. You were running around all nimbly pimbly like you were something special. Guess what? You weren't. Old Zed the Zombie got you and ate your face. Man did it taste good. Some might have been impressed with the fact that you were the last human standing. Seriously though, when you hide in the garage all day while your friends are killed off one by one it isn't hard to stay alive. Now you are one of the horde, the lurching undead. Welcome to the club buddy.

I'm Surprising Myself Here.

I've never been a big sports fan. My family was never into sports and I can barely tolerate most of the big American sports. However, a few years ago I fell upon F1 racing and became enamored. Then I got into cycling and started watching the Grand Tours. Finally, in the last year or two I've gotten into soccer, mainly the big European leagues. Given that last fact I guess it isn't surprising that I'm pretty psyched about the current World Cup. I'd be more psyched if Nigeria had made the cut, but have resigned myself to cheer for the USA. I must say that most of the matches so far have been pretty good. The big surprise is that, quite unexpectedly, I have become a sports fan. Between F1, cycling, and football my year is almost totally covered with sporting events to watch. I have discovered the joy of "having the boys over to watch the game." Good times. I have also discovered the joy of sporting participation. I utterly destroyed the will of the entire field in a local cycling event, and have signed up for a mini triathlon of sorts this weekend. Anyway, I've become a sports fan, and for the rest of June at least my appetite will be filled. Here are two tidbits to wet your appetite for the big event in March. Granted, the plot line will be changed a bit, but I will post on that later.

I Will Now Regale You With Tales Of. . . .

Tazio Nuvolari.

I have resigned myself to the fact that Michael Schumacher is in the waning days of his career, and whether it is this season or the next or the next I must prepare myself for life without the master behind the wheel. In anticipation of this I have decided to, from time to time, provide you with some history of the more memorable characters in motor sport. I'm doing this here so that Rover's Racing can remain dedicated to current race coverage.

Tazio Nuvolari raced most of his career in the pre-modern (pre WWII) era of Grand Prix racing and quickly became a racing legend. Nuvolari never won a world championship, as such a thing did not exist in motorsport until the late 1940s. He did however win a large number of races.

Perhaps his most famous win came on the monstrous Nurburgring Nordschleife in 1935. Hitler's push for technical supremacy had permeated all facets of German life, including motorsport. The Germans arrived at the Nurburgring with five new Mercedes Benz race cars and four new Auto Unions (now Audi). The cars were considered to be the fastest and most advanced race cars ever built. Nuvolari arrived in an obsolete Alfa Romeo, and won. Hitler was so infuriated that he refused to shake Nuvolari's hand after the race. The German officials informed Nuvolari that they had only expected a German to win and thus did not have a recording of the Italian national anthem to play. Nuvolari promptly produced a record of the anthem from the cockpit of his race car.

In 1946 Nuvolari was racing in Brescia, Italy when the steering wheel came off of his car. He not only finished the race, but won, using a wrench clamped onto the steering column for control. The above photo was taken at the finish line.

Nuvolari was not only known for his wins on closed racing circuits, but also on the open road races that were popular at the time. He achieved wins in both the Targa Florio and Mille Miglia during his career. A popular story among Nuvolari's fans recounts his victory in the 1930 Mille Miglia where Nuvolari knew he did not have the fastest car, but deceived the race leader into slowing the pace by following closely at night without his headlights on. Within sight of the finish Nuvolari made the pass for the lead, turned on his headlights, and won.

Legends of Nuvolari's driving prowess abound. He is also said to have won a race with only three functioning tires on his car (there is actually photo evidence of this), and to have won a motorcycle race with both of his legs in casts (no photos on that one). I love to read about Nuvolari's exploits because they seem so foreign from today's sterilized races. There were no track marshals or safety cars in Nuvolari's day, just a bunch of guys out there trying to drive as fast as possible while holding the car together with there fingernails. Oh yeah, after that German win Nuvolari was offered a job driving for Auto Union. Guess Hitler's technology couldn't account for everything.

Why Is TV So Bad?

Last night Matt and I went to see the Harrisburg City Islanders tackle DC United. Brechty was supposed to go also but had to stay home. He said it was because he was sick. I think its because he's a girl. I can't make too much fun because Brechty didn't make me pay for the tickets. For those of you who aren't soccer savvy, the City Islanders playing DC United is the equivalent of the Harrisburg Senators playing the New York Yankees. Basically it is our neighborhood knock around boys taking on the (arguably) finest team in the country. I was not expecting a close match. I was oddly surprised. DC won 2-1, but not with ease. The City Islanders held there own and . . . I have to go off topic here for a minute because two of my coworkers are in here talking trash about who has the nicer PT Cruiser. You can't make this stuff up!!! Now they are arguing about whether or not Barry White sucks! I just can't do this anymore. Anyway, DC United played very poorly. Freddie Adu couldn't be bothered to do anything more than some light jogging on field. Overall not a very inspiring game.

When I got home I was looking forward to my latest reading endeavor, North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. It is a great novel about the employer/employee struggles in England during the industrial revolution. After turning a few pages my eyelids began to get heavy. I wasn't quite ready to sleep yet so I turned on the TV. I wanted something "intelligent" to watch instead of the normal drudgery. Discovery Channel didn't have anything, and The History Channel seldom offers anything beyond the level of a grade school research paper. Eventually I settled on BBC News. They were reporting on recent tactics by animal protestors to bully shareholders into selling their shares in certain companies. In what has become typical of media "fairness," BBC switched to some commentary on the issue from the "moderate" viewpoint. . . a spokesperson from PETA who, of course, totally supported every practice in question. So much for "intelligent" coverage. I resumed channel surfing. I then came across a Kathy Griffen stand up routine. It was initially entertaining because she was pointing out how hopelessly clueless Hollywood is. After a few minutes though it became pretty clear that Kathy doesn't really have a clue either. I've come to the conclusion that TV is the true "opium of the masses." I enjoy a good sitcom now and then, but where is the substance? What about TV that answers real questions? No, another "investigative report" on Iraq doesn't count. Especially when you rehash the same antiquated arguments over and over. Here's an idea for a show on Iraq. Why not investigate reports by former Iraqi generals that Russian commandos were on the ground in Iraq up to a few days before the US invasion? That would be a show worth watching. Why were they there? What were they doing? Why has no one in power even mentioned it? Are the Iraqi generals telling the truth? I'd watch that stuff for hours. I wouldn't even care what they found out. Just cover something interesting!

Random Thoughts.

Without prompting a secondary deluge of profanity from Brecthy, I would like to announce that The Tony Danza Show is being cancelled and will be off of the air in less than a month! Apparently the network execs felt the power of my blog scorn.

The other day my local Public Works crew was out repainting the lines on the local roads while I was out riding my bike. I would like to thank them for the fresh paint on my bike tires, but that isn't the point. I discovered one of those "support our troops" ribbon magnet things lying on the road. The road crew had painted over it so it was effectively painted into the roadway. For the remainder of my ride my thoughts were filled with new slogans for the ribbons. My favorite is a chocolate brown ribbon stating "Avoid Flatulence Causing Foods."

Take it from someone with education, training, and experience. If your primary duty at work is to catch stray dogs you probably don't "need" to have body armor equipped with a titanium trauma plate. Then again, that is just my opinion.

Finally my most disturbing random thought of the week. If Anne Heche was straight, then gay, then straight again does that prohibit us from being able to consider her hot? I saw a clip of her on some TV show and thought, "That girl is kind of cute." Then I thought, "Whole Crap! That was Anne Heche! I am not a man." Brecthy pointed out that merely being gay doesn't eliminate hotness. The Fiance still thinks that Heath Ledger is hot despite Brokeback Mountain (which she conveniently refuses to acknowledge exists). Good point, but I still couldn't allow myself to consider Anne Heche as attractive. Then I thought that it was because she dated Ellen Degeneres. But Ellen, despite being a bit mannish, is likeable and entertaining. So why then, was I so repulsed by the fact that I briefly thought that Anne Heche was cute? Six Days Seven Nights is why. That film was such an affront to my sense of taste that it has forever ruined my opinion of everyone involved. I have never looked at Harrison Ford the same way since. Sometimes I watch Star Wars and hope that Luke Skywalker punches him out. All because of Six Days Seven Nights.

What A Crapfest.

Yesterday I had the "pleasure" of watching about 5 minutes of The Tony Danza Show. In all fairness I should say that I was not an unbiased observer. I also had the "pleasure" of meeting Mr. Danza a few years back when he fell under my "protection" at work. I have to say that the assignment wasn't terribly difficult as Mr. Danza didn't exactly attract a crowd. However, it was highly annoying when he continually made uncomfortably strong advances towards a female coworker of mine. He even went as far as to kiss her hand. It was pathetic. Anyway, back to the five minutes of the show I saw. Tony spent the first few minutes telling the audience about the reruns of Taxi and Who's The Boss that he had watched that morning. Apparently the writers for both of those shows were awesome. What kind of pompous jerk uses his crappy talk show to brag about how great is previous crappy shows were? Perhaps the next segment of the talk show will answer that question. Tony had the Stanley Cup on the show. Oddly enough, the Stanley Cup was also under my "protection" at one point in time. If you have ever seen the Stanley Cup in real life you will know that it is always escorted by a white glove clad man named Mike. Mike is a pretty nice guy, but is also pretty anal about people touching the cup. The whole purpose of Mike is to keep human oils off of the cup. You can imagine how thrilled Mike looked when Tony Danza began to molest the cup in embarrassing fashion. To his credit Mike didn't say anything, but was obviously uncomfortable. Tony Danza, to his credit, picked up on it. Did Tony stop fondling the Stanley Cup? No. Instead, with his bare hands still on the cup, he told Mike that it was ok because he used to drink out of the cup when he partied with Chris Chelios (famous hockey player). Mike became red in the face. I turned off the TV.

So, to answer my above question, what kind of self aggrandizing jerk makes unwanted advances to members of his security detail, uses his crappy talk show to praise his previous crappy shows, and blatantly molests the Stanley Cup? David Hasselhoff. That's right, in my opinion Tony Danza has sunk to the level of "The Hoff" himself. The guy might as well make a Christmas dance mix album and market it in Poland.

My final question is this. How does The Tony Danza Show stay on the air? Who watches this crap? The crowd seemed to be made up of gay men and grumpy middle aged women. None of them looked happy. I wonder what contest they lost to get tickets. Seriously, the set and Danza's demeanor seems very geared towards the Oprah crowd, but does the Oprah crowd want to see the Stanley Cup? Doubt it. That's very much a guy thing. Also, who exactly cares what TV shows Tony Danza watches in the morning? Who isn't disturbed by the fact that he watches reruns of his old shows (and loves them)? Those shows sucked. Perhaps the most disturbing thing about the whole ordeal is how much it actually disturbed me. Yeah, I'm still ticked over 24 hours later. Maybe that puts me on the level of "The Hoff."

The Agony Of The Workday Mind.

My overstuffed coworker has advised me that we only have 1 hour and 50 minutes of work left! Well Yipee. He might as well have told me that we have 3 months left. 1 hour and 50 minutes with nothing to do but listen to him drone on about "The Leola Massacre." Don't get me wrong, six bodies found in one house is downright notable (at least FOX, CNN, and MSNBC think so), but it is too darn nice outside to worry about such things. My baby blue cycle is sitting at home just waiting for me. Today was supposed to be a gym day, but it would be a crime against humanity to lock myself away in that dungeon today. Its supposed to rain tomorrow. I can go to the gym then. Today I go on the hunt for the Fluorescent Flock. Who are the Fluorescent Flock? I will tell you.

Two days ago I took Pearl out for her final shakedown ride. We went for a gentle cruise on my favorite riding route down past TMI. I had finally dialed in the last minor adjustments and old Pearl was running fine. All that winter work is proving worthwhile as that bike is surprisingly fast. Anyway, I cruised along the river and past TMI (still haven't absorbed any super powers from that place, Gosh!). Before I knew it I had blown nearly half and hour and turned around to head home. After blasting down a hill at what I estimated to be close to 50 mph my eyes were blinded by a ghastly bright greenish light some distance ahead heading towards me. At first I thought I was seeing a UFO (Three beautiful glowing orbs!), but as the object drew nearer I could see that it too was riding some type of bicycle. Someone else had absorbed super powers from TMI!! Jerks! As we drew nearer together the object ahead of me split into two, and then three. It was then that I became aware that I was not seeing anything super natural at all. What I was seeing was three cyclists wearing identical long-sleeved fluorescent green shirts. As the three drew closer, two of them split off and turned onto a side road ahead of me, while the third continued in my direction. Now you must understand that I am a firm opponent of all forms of cycling snobbery. I give a friendly wave to all cyclists I meet on rides regardless of skill or style. In that spirit, as my green glowing compatriot approached, I extended my hand in a friendly wave, and was promptly snubbed. As much as I hate snobbery, I will occasionally accept it from someone riding riding a $3,000 Italian bike with shaved legs. By no means will I accept it from someone who wears a matching fluorescent jersey with his friends. I suppose that the appropriate response would have been to chase him down and make him sorry for not waving, but traffic was a bit too heavy for a quick u-turn, and it is a bit early in the season to risk life and limb over simple revenge. Instead I came up with a new punishment for that brightly colored snob. His friends would pay.

I pushed hard onto the side street and could see the fluorescent glow off on the horizon. "Don't fail me now," I quietly whispered to Pearl as I hammered away on her pedals. The glow began to get larger, and larger. Soon I could make out the riders. The one in front was a girl, but regardless, they both had impressive calves, and made me wonder if this was such a good idea after all. Then I noticed something that made me want to laugh out loud. They had rearview mirrors attached to the ends of their handle bars. Fluorescent green jerseys and rearview mirrors? I had stumbled across the cycling equivalent of Harry Potter fans! I was going to crush these nerds. I quietly slipped up behind them and matched their pace. The girl began to wave for me to pass with her hand. Wait. . . no. She was waving for an approaching car to pass. The car was still far off though. Ha!! She had opened the window for my assault. I danced on Pearl's pedals as I sailed by the duo. They faltered in surprise and could only watch as I turned off at the next intersection. Ah, sweet revenge.

So now my bloated coworker is instructing me to ignore a written government directive because somebody told him that somebody told them that we don't do that anymore. I hope I find the Fluorescent Flock again today because they are gonna get shredded.

Training For The Kestle Run.

One of the perpetual questions of my life was answered last night around midnight as I was gliding around town on my newly overhauled Raleigh. Am I cursed to live my entire life staring at bicycles on the internet that are nicer than mine? Yes I am. Not because I can't afford a really nice bike. I could go out and buy my dream 2006 Raleigh Supercourse tomorrow, or I could squirrel away my money for months on end and eventually purchase some sleek Italian machine that is vastly more bicycle than I would ever need. But alas, I won't. I have fallen in love with my crusty old Raleigh. I didn't mean to fall in love. The plan was to fix her up and keep her on the road until after I got married, then I would implement one of the above plans. But sometime during the long winter months, while sanding off the rust and scrubbing away the grime, we made a connection. I've now come to the conclusion that although a brand new bike would be nice, it just wouldn't be the same. I wouldn't sit on my floor and stare at her finer points. I wouldn't tinker away for hours over some minute detail that would have no effect on riding quality whatsoever. I wouldn't waste away weekends downing Yuengling and listening to Johnny Cash while undertaking some mammoth repair that could have been solved by $10 and a trip to the bike shop. In the end I guess I just wouldn't be happy if I had a bike that I was happy with. I should say that she isn't completely finished yet. There are a few minor adjustments that need taken care off, an essential part I forgot to install, and a cosmetic item that hasn't arrived yet, but overall she is totally rideable. After all of the aforementioned are completed I plan on borrowing a digital camera from the in-laws and posting some pictures for you all. After that I will need to choose a name. She used to be called "Pearl," but some changes make that name seem a tad delicate now. Until then I will start to whittle off my winter parsecs and might take in some more midnight rides, that was fun. Here's my latest object of obsession it is widely regarded as the finest bicycle seat in the world and retails for around $60. Wedding gift anyone?

Oh, Moneypenny.

I'm watching a James Bond marathon at work. Bond just got married and informed his wife that he "had the gadgets and intended to use them." I'll have to remember that one for my honeymoon. Hopefully my honeymoon doesn't end the same way Bond's did. His wife got capped by some evil henchmen. Bond seemed ok with it though. Anyway, that brings me to the point of my post. If you had to come up with a list of movies that contributed to making you the person that you are today, what would the be? Obviously the entire James Bond series plays a key role in the early life of any male in living in the free world. But what other films are out there? Here is my list.

The initial nod has got to go to Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I actually never saw this movie until my senior year of High School, oddly enough while I was home for a sick day. I couldn't help but feel that every moment of my life before that day had been wasted. Ferris taught us all that it is possible to skip a day of school without turning into a drunken deadbeat pothead. His cavalier attitude towards authority and responsibility revolutionized my worldview.

Next I am going with Navy SEALs the 1980s version starring Charlie Sheen. In a strange way Navy SEALs is similar to Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Hawkins, Sheen's character, exhibits a similar levity in attitude to Bueller's. Granted, Bueller was only dealing with a single day of High School while Hawkins was tracking Stinger missiles through the Middle East, but hey its only a movie right? Navy SEALs also taught me that shooting things could be a viable career path. Didn't work out so much in reality though.

Chariots of Fire and The Mission provide some faith based maturity to the list. Chariots deals with issues of faith and integrity, while The Mission is all about the power of forgiveness. The Mission also began my love affair with De Niro and segways nicely into the historical portion of my list.

Winds of War and War and Remembrance are excellent primers for WWII history. I was steeped in these two TV miniseries from the earliest age. They impressed upon my the epic ebb and flow of history along with the incalculable impact that WWII has had on the world, even to our current times.

Patton goes along with the historical theme. Anyone who truly watches this movie has to come away with an appreciation of Patton's impressive knowledge of history. He has helped me realize how important historical knowledge can be. We truly can learn from the mistakes of others. By far the most important thing I learned form Patton is this. When in doubt, Attack!!

I end my list with the greatest film ever made, Casablanca. Yes, I am aware that there is an alarming amount of characters on this list that just don't give a crap. What can I say about Casablanca? Humphrey Bogart is just awesome. The whole sticking it to the man theme is timeless. Add on to that the fact that "the man" is Nazi Germany. Just a great movie. It also includes the only appropriate use of the "Les Marseillaise" in all of history.

Another Story To Add To My List

So I got a little lazy today and didn't want to make lunch. I decided to walk down to my local pizza place and get an Italian sub. A few minutes after taking my order the girl behind the counter looks down at my sub and says, "Hm, that smells bad."

The Witch's Curse Is Broken!!

I know that Matt posted a few days ago lamenting the end of winter. I am now posting to celebrate the end of winter! My long hibernation is over! I would have posted on this earlier, but I have just been too busy. I'm racing to get my Raleigh back into riding condition, spending as much time as possible outdoors, and reveling in the annual return of F1. Incidentally, Bahrain GP results are up on Rover's Racing. But alas, spring is slowly springing. I inevitably get myself into some sort of funk over the winter, and never really feel myself until spring. Granted, we could still have a few weeks of winter left, but the writing is on the wall.

In other news, my political campaign is in full swing. I had to meet with the Bilderbergers again. Apparently I wasn't supposed to go public with the whole "invade New Jersey" thing. Those guys are so uptight. You'd think they ran the world or something. Anyway, I have also instructed my hairdresser to come up with a tactical response plan in the event that polling information shows that voters feel I would look better with a mullett. Remember, vote Rover on May 16th!

I'm Famous!!!

I have received two, that's right two, emails from Scarlet Johansen. Apparently she wants to give me her Motorola SLVR phone for free! I'm not sure why exactly, but when your blog is as wildy popular as mine famous people often want to do strange things for you. I don't know if this is some bizarre attempt to ask me to dinner or what, but I'm not really interested Scarlet. However, if your phone has Lindsay Lohan's number in it we might be able to work something out.

Q Is For Qwerty Who Tells Us The Truth.

The most culturally relevant statement Veggie Tales has ever made. Qwerty does tell us the truth. And while we are dropping knowledge on each other, here is a tidbit for all you single guys. Someday you will meet a nice a girl and decide that she is less aggravating than any other girl you have yet to encounter. The relationship will blossom and grow and get "serious." Marriage will be thought of, discussed, and planned. At some point in this process you will find yourself with your fiance at your place of residence and she will make a statement that sounds something like this, "After we get married you'll have to come up with a better system for determining which pile of laundry is clean and which pile is dirty." When this happens, and it will happen, do not under any circumstances respond with, "So, you mean just asking me isn't going to work for you?" Trust me, it isn't.

Also

As the relationship progresses you may find yourself in another "hypothetical" situation. You will be using the restroom (your place, her place, doesn't really matter) and she will be standing outside the door urging you to hurry because she also has to go. In this situation it may seem like a good idea to ask her to rate her current bathroom need on a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being no bathroom need at all, 10 being urinating on yourself). Trust me, this is always a good idea. However, when she answers with, "Probably a 7 or an 8" do not under any circumstances answer with, "Oh! So you still have two points to go then?"

Also

At some point in the relationship you will become bored. Not with her, just bored in general. At this time it might seem like a good idea to begin expressing your current needs in command form ended with the word "woman," stated loudly. For example:

"Get me a drink, Woman!"
"Put my shoes on for me, Woman!"
"Floss my teeth, Woman!"

While these statements do end the boredom, they seldom result in the desired actions being carried out, and in some cases lead to a direct kick to you back (ask Protienstar). Just something for you single guys to keep in mind.