Che boludo

That's Argentinian for 'what's up asshole'. I am a fan. Anyway, we are at an internet cafe in puerto iguazu.... worst keyboard layout ever. Would you like an ñ? I can give you an ñ. But no quotation marks. Crazy. We are having a great time and not getting sick. The local beer is really great. I sent all of you postcards. This is just killing time between snack-tea time and dinner time, which is around 10 pm. I could get used to this. So life is good, and there will be plenty of Funundrum for all once I get back. Chao. ---actually how people say goodbye here. Very European.

I am O to the U to the T.

It's 11pm, and we've made it as far as Chris' parents' house. I'm dead tired but still very excited to be getting on to Argentina tomorrow. As far as I can tell, Funundrum will go unattended for the next week and a half or so. However, internet cafes are plentiful and cheap, so you may be getting a post on the run here and there.

Ta!

Funundrum Unscripted.

Are you searching for your own personal slogan? A tagline that sums up your very essence in a tidy, memorable phrase? Search no longer. This slogan generator will ensure that you never suffer a branding problem ever again. Some of my favorites:

A Funundrum is forever.

They're yummy for your Funundrum.

Ho ho ho, green Funundrum.

Step into the Funundrum.

Actually, the entire site that I got the slogan generator is good for a rip-roarin' time.

http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/

Urge to kill rising

I just spent like 10 minutes posting pics from Katrina in Fort Lauderdale (before the evil broad got ugly) and stupid Blogger crashed right when I published the post.

Anyway, to pass the time while I calm down, here's a picture that Chris' dad sent me. It's of two cute puppies. What the picture doesn't show is that the dominant puppy is eating the other one. Whole. Like a snake does. In the interest of good taste, I chose not to post the rest of the series of photos, as they're pretty gruesome. Enjoy!

"As Mae West once said..."

...This phrase tops the list of "things that you don't ever want to hear at a gay restaurant, but probably will." Because gaytown has the only restaurants open during hurricanes in Fort Lauderdale, you just gotta suck it up and overhear things like that. But anyway. Here's some pics from Katrina, back before she got ugly. I hear the kids got the day off today too, due to lovely Rita. Bastards. In San Diego, we never get any natural disaster days off.

Worst. Dental. Site. Ever.

I almost hate giving this guy the link traffic, but I just can't let it go by. Hubert found the site while researching keywords. It's simply the worst dentistry site ever. I strongly urge you to turn on your sound, for the amazing music. Also there is a DentCam, which has streaming video of two different chairs in the office. Solid.

http://www.pearlywhites.com/

I peed a little reading this.

From my friend Vince at work:

Check out the email I got from my health insurance company today below. Here is the response I sent - I'm going to hell:

From: "Frank D" To: "Vincent M"
Subject: RE: E-mail from tkfmc.org

Unfortunately, that department does not have access to e-mail. At this time, the only way to contact our claims department is by calling (559) 734-1321.

I apologize for the incontinence.

Frank D
Foundation for Medical Care

Dear Frank,
Incontinence isn't something you should feel you have to apologize for. Millions of Americans suffer similar problems every day. It's nothing to feel ashamed about, but a private matter you should discuss with your family physician. Chances are, it's a symptom of something that can be treated easily.

Don't beat yourself up, kid. Everyone has an accident every now and then.

Sincerely,
Vincent M

Timmy would be proud.

I was at the gym, pounding out the last few minutes on the Precor machine, and I started to look around to plan my next move. I decided on crunches. There are 3 crunch benches. Two of them were in use, and the third had a man sitting on it. But he wasn't doing crunches. He was yakking on his phone, as he had been for the last ten minutes. He was Greasy Phone Douchebag -- you know the type.

So I approached him, friendly as could be, big smile on my face, and pointed at the machine. "Can I use that?" I asked him. He looked up and actually gave me the "just a minute" finger. What followed was just bizarre; I reproduce it faithfully here for my readers. The spelling goes all funny to indicate the point at which I inadvertently went Noo Yawk for a minute. I do that when I have to look tough.

Greasy Phone Douchebag: "just a minute finger", goes back to talking on phone
Me: "No, I'd like to use the machine now."
GPD: "I'm using it right now."
Me: "You're talking on the phone!"
GPD: "No, I'm using the machine."
Me: "No, you're not. Yoo tawkin' on da phone, or yoo yoosin' da machine?"
GPD: "I'm doing both."
Me: "I'd like to see you try!"

At this point, the GPD slowly lowers himself onto the bench, and actually starts doing crunches with the phone up to his ear. After a few, he looks back to see if I'm still there. Hells yes, I wouldn't miss this show for the world.

About 30 seconds later, he wrapped up the phone conversation, and continued doing crunches in silence. At this point I went on upstairs, where I knew there were plenty of machines free.

Attention Next Door Neighbor Heidi:

I can hear the dryer. It is currently drying a load of my laundry. I can hear it because we live in TinyHouse. I am especially cognizant of the dryer's progress because I am waiting for a clean pair of socks to wear to the gym. I am fully aware that you are waiting to put a load of clothes in the dryer.

Every time you go out there and open the dryer door to see if my stuff is dry, you are only making it take longer. Knock it the hell off.

Bad Copy of the Day Award

This isn't necessarily bad copy, at least not on the level of Bombs Over Your Eyeball, but it still made me stop and say, "Oh." It's from a personal injury/criminal trial lawyer.

"Among all children under the age of fourteen killed in DUI accidents in 2000, nearly half were passengers in a car driven by someone who had been drinking."

This is what I call a total non-statistic. It sounds a lot like a statistic -- it names a group of people, subdivides it, and assigns a quality to the subdivided group. But what is it really saying? That 50% of young DUI victims are in cars driven by a drunk adult. Presumably the other half of young DUI victims die in crashes caused by a driver in another car.

We can therefore conclude from this brilliant statistic that 100% of children killed in DUI accidents are in cars at the time. Note to self: do not retain a lawyer with facts this bad.

Attention.

I haven't forgotten about you people. As soon as something interesting happens anywhere in my vicinity, you lot will be the first to know.

This is the most amazing thing that Tim has ever seen.

It's the famous bag made of plastic bags. Yes, it's really made of plastic bags. No, I don't remember how many bags. Maybe 30. But I love it and I take it everywhere. Chris' mom just gave me approximately 8 million more bags, so now I can be "the lady who makes stuff out of plastic bags" for the rest of my life. Better start getting me cats for birthdays and Christmas, people. It's going to take a long time to amass acceptable cat volume.

Just a nice thing.

I was talking to Vince at work, and we were talking about how the word "heaps" is underused in this country. He told me this story:

"There was the Australian guy on some spring break trip I went on in college, and they were doing some sort of dating game type thing, and the MC tells the guy to give the girl his best compliment, and the guy goes 'Back home Oi leeve on an Emyew fahm, we got whole heaps a emyews. And I'd give em all up for you.'"

And I thought it was a rather nice compliment. For all you Aussies that think that this anecdote makes you lot look too soft, Vince hastened to inform me that the same fellow later exposed himself to the crowd. So.

For Nathan.

It's not Saturday, but still.

Meet Aidy and Rob!

I got this picture several days ago, and put off posting it because I was going to do something spectacularly clever with it. Clever never happened. So here are my friends Aidy and Rob. They are awesome. Aidy dislikes cats and children, but enjoys Wyland and kerning. Rob likes fishing and hates wearing real shoes. I'm guessing on that last one because 1) who likes wearing shoes? and 2) Rob's pretty easygoing and likes most stuff.

Riddle of the garbage.

Some of you may be aware that Chris and I don't always get along with our neighbors. We're not always on the same page. We don't always see eye-to-eye. They're fishing, we're cutting bait. We enjoy a quiet, beach bungalow-type existence. They do everything as loudly as retards with charley horses.

You may be wondering what that tension has to do with our upcoming trip to Argentina. Well, we're leaving on a Thursday. We're coming back two Tuesdays after that.

For two glorious weeks, our unattended trash cans will languish in the fetid stink of the alley, playing hosts to the little colony of maggots that has already come to know them as home. (No, I'm not kidding. I have to hose that crap down.) You see, Jeffty Jeff's muscles are only zoned for surfing and preening. None of his body mass is tagged for any sort of functional activity like dragging the trash cans all of three feet to the edge of the driveway on a Sunday evening. And certainly no one can expect Heidi to touch grody things. Someday, I'd like to somehow communicate to her that her boyfriend is Retardo Montalban. I'm just afraid that after I ripped off her giant Spider-Man-sized sunglasses in an effort to make eye contact, I'd be met with a dead, vacant stare that would haunt me as I lay awake that night. I think she's made of plastic, and it scares me.

So place your bets now, folks. I'm not planning on telling them that we're leaving. What will it take for our neighbors to take out the trash? Oh, this is so exciting. It's like Fear Factor, but without the cash prizes and self-loathing.

Truth more ridiculous than fiction.

I have to hand it to Yahoo News. Just one day after The Onion posted its excellent hurricane coverage, Yahoo News made a brave foray into the world of satire. At least it should be satire. But I don't think it is.

"Young alligators at an alligator farm. Hurricane Katrina has had an unforeseen effect on the French fashion industry, which says it fears it will be hit by a shortage of Louisiana alligator hides in coming months."

The fuzz cracks down.

I was so happy to have my camera with me when we walking along the boardwalk yesterday. Otherwise, I wouldn't have caught this heartwarming scene of underage girls getting carded on the beach.

It's like a Norman Rockwell painting came to life.

I'm sure they just got hassled and had to pour out the rest of their case of warm Natty Ice. But it was funny nonetheless.

PB parking: as bad as in NYC?

Funundrum reports, you decide.

I pass these signs on Garnet St. every time I walk to the gym, and I only really took a good look at them the other day.

Now, the "no parking" on Tuesday mornings I get. But I'd love to know who you have to be to deserve 2 hour parking versus 15 minute parking.

How to creep out Chris.

As I so often do, I was talking to Chris while he was in the shower. We were arguing about FEMA's response time in regard to finding housing for hurricane survivors. Apparently, Carnival Cruises approached the government on Tuesday with an offer to charter three of their ships for housing purposes. FEMA didn't get back to them until Saturday. I think this is a shameful example of bureaucracy gone bad -- I just don't believe that they couldn't have shut 4 guys in a room and told them that they couldn't come out until they sorted out places to sleep for everyone.

Chris says I need to cut them more slack, and they really couldn't do it any faster because they've never had to deal with a tragedy of quite those proportions.

At this point, I was over it, done doing my hair, and really didn't care anymore. "You're right," I said, and walked out of the bathroom.

For the next 10 minutes, Chris couldn't stop asking if I was mad, or what he could do to make it better, and am I sure that I'm not mad, and what's wrong?

He just got creeped out because he's never seen me give up that easily.

Goodwill Drama

It was a nice day yesterday and, having very little to do, we walked up to the Goodwill store here in Pacific Beach. We reckoned that it would have pretty good stuff, being in the swank part of town and all.

Chris found a cream colored silk Bill Blass shirt for $4. All I got was a glimpse into someone else's emotional baggage. It was funny nonetheless.

Her, looking at a simple wedding dress: "Hey, honey, look at this. I could wear this to the ball."
Him: "Oh yeah? You like it? .... It's a little fancy."
Her: "I guess you're right, it's really more of a wedding dress."

Her: "I wish WE could have had a wedding."



Her: "I hate you for that."

Someone call Edith Wharton, Henry James, and Nathaniel Hawthorne -- there's a book in there somewhere.