Hola de Peru!

Hey kids, it´s December 29th and we´re enjoying our second day in Cusco, Peru. I´ll be making occasional trip posts on our dedicated trip blog, Cuzcotopia. You can use that there link, or the one that I´ve added over there on the side. Doooo it.... dooooo it.

The Great Blizzard of Diggity Six

At the turn of the 21st century, my friends and I were sitting around the Hub, drinking coffee, playing Scrabble, and trying to outdo all the retarded media talking heads who were trying to predict how people would come to refer to the first decade of the century. "The Eighties" sounded great, but "The Oughts"? "The Zeroes"? Here it is, in the Year of Our Lord 2006, and we still don't have anything good. The best we came up with on that balmy California fall evening was "The Diggitys." Individual years would be referred to as "diggity-ought," "diggity-one," "diggity-two," and so forth. As with all moments of brilliance, it comes from the Simpsons -- specifically, Grampa Simpson:

"Now, my story begins in 19-dickety-two. We had to say "dickety" cause that Kaiser had stolen our word "twenty". I chased that rascal to get it back, but gave up after dickety-six miles…"

See? Diggity-six. 2006. Perfect. Please don't quibble with me on the spelling. We decided that "diggity" was the way to go.

So anyway, the blizzard. Our neighborhood got some of the heaviest snowfall in metro Denver, according to the snow pundits. In addition to a good two feet of snow, the wind was fierce, causing drifts five feet high in some places. We shoveled our driveway clear of 1 1/2 feet of snow -- twice. Mr. Plow came by this morning, and hopefully they'll soon spray the mag chloride stuff that melts the streets. The only thing that sucks is it looks like my car will be living at work for the next 2 weeks -- I still don't trust it to not get stuck at icy intersections.

Overall, the Diggity Six Blizzard was a good adventure. I'm just glad we don't see them too often round these parts. Check out the pictures from Wednesday night on Chris' blog. Below are some more.





Here's me, post-snow angel.

This is a view out our kitchen window, looking into our side yard and that of the neighbors. Those fences are about 5 feet high.

Same view, taken downstairs from the computer desk.

Best. Dog. Ever.

More awesome photos later. I just had to take a moment to point out that I have the most prettiest dog in the world. If you click on the picture it will come up bigger, so you can wallow in the cuteness of my dog.

Proof of God... or that I need more sleep.

There are many thousands of tiny things that I must successfully accomplish before leaving on Friday to go home for Christmas. Among them is making a stocking for Chris to be hung up at my house. I was working on it this evening, and found that I needed to quickly dry some glitter that I had glued to a pipe cleaner, so I threw it in the bathroom sink and applied the wrath of the hair dryer.

This process is exceedingly boring.

So I was kind of drifting off and wondering whether I'd get any good sleep tonight (with this cough I've got, probably not) when I noticed one of those little things that makes one think "I bet no one on Earth has ever seen this before," right before doing the math of billions of people times millions of years and realizing that one is probably dead wrong. There were two drops of water clinging stubbornly to the sink basin, each containing a single piece of silver glitter. As the air from the hair dryer agitated the water, each bit of glitter was spinning slowly around in its respective drop of water. It looked like the most abstract googly eyes I had ever seen.

Back to gluing bits of felt to other, larger, bits of felt. Thank you for your time.

The elusive giant bow.

Every Christmas, car manufacturers roll out their "Holiday Sales Event" commercials, which inevitably show a woman being surprised by her husband revealing a new car in the garage or driveway on Christmas morning. It's never the other way around. Ever. But that's not part of this story. What I'm here to talk about today is the gigantic bow that's always perched triumphantly on the top of the car.

Where do these bows come from? Do the dealerships always order a few of these in November to have them on hand for the holiday season? I finally got obsessed enough with this concept that Chris Googled "giant bow" and came up with the company that makes them. So they exist. But I've never seen one on a car, known anyone who has received a car with a bow on, or known anyone who's known anyone who's received a car with a bow on.

I call shenanigans.

Maggie turns four

Attention new parents, including Michelle and Justin. If you're ever looking for a surefire way to remember your child's date of birth or litter number, why not consider getting tattoos placed inside his or her ears? It was with the help of such technology that we were able to learn about Maggie's beginnings. She was whelped on December 12, 2002 and is the progeny of sire Talented Mr Ripley and dam Abita Tinkerbell. Her racing name was TS Talented Tami. She was then cruelly named Tilia by her first family, which I still don't get.

At any rate, yesterday was Maggie's fourth birthday. We thought for a moment about buying a small cake from one of those specialty dog bakeries (one of the things that's seriously wrong with America), but realized that she's a dog who licks her own butt and doesn't realize it's her birthday to begin with. So we candled up a raw turkey neck that we would have given her anyway, sang the song, and watched her gnaw at it. Good times.

Kittens do not equal Christmas.

It's that time again. "You know, ho ho ho, and mistletoe, and presents to pretty girls," as Lucy would say. I love it all. Someday I will have a Christmas with mulled cider and a gingerbread house placed carefully somewhere that my dog can't eat it, and a tree that's not denuded of all ornaments below greyhound mouth height. This is not that year. I'm doing what I can with a little bit of snowfall, a tree that's beautiful above greyhound mouth height, and the promise of some really good stocking presents on Christmas Day.

I also enjoy Christmas music. Most of us do. It's a guilty pleasure to sing along with the Waitresses' song "Christmas Wrapping" or anything done by Bing Crosby. Throughout the years, tradition has also placed some songs firmly in the holiday genre, though they may have very little to do with Christmas itself. Some examples are "Baby, It's Cold Outside" and, well, others. "Winter Wonderland" perhaps. They get by quite nicely with solid winter references. I'm not sure how the Southern Hemisphere feels about these songs. They're too busy standing around the barbie turning snags.*

There is, however, one song that baffles me to the point of apoplexy every single year. It has nothing to do with Christmas, very little to do with winter (or summer for that matter) and makes no mention of anything that reminds me of Christmas.

That song is "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music. What the hell, people. I have asked roughly 736 people why they think this song has any right to be a Christmas song, and most of them either try to tell me that it's a song about what people want for Christmas or else that it's about presents, citing the "packages" lyric.

I spent hundreds of hours in high school and college tearing apart lines of poetry. As a result, I'm uniquely qualified to tell you that this vaguely retarded song has nothing at all to do with Christmas. For your convenience, I have reproduced the lyrics below.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things.

Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver-white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog bites,
When the bee stings,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.

"Aha!" you say, "but look at the mentions of wintery things!" Yeah, but there's more stuff that's non-winter than there is winter stuff. And the packages thing? Let's look a little closer. "Brown paper packages tied up with strings." Um, no. If I got anything of this nature under the Christmas tree, I'd assume it was filled with poo and refuse to open it.

Since it's past time for me to leave for work, I'll leave it at that. If anyone can give me the remotest reason why this song should be accepted into the pantheon of holiday classics, I'm willing to listen. But I probably still won't believe you.

*This description of Christmas, by the way, is what my dad thinks heaven must be like. I sure hope so.

Christmas time is here!

Yay!!! We are shopping and it has been snowing and just now, some Olde-Tyme carolers from the days of yore stopped by for some wassail. Okay, everything but the carolers. We went out and got a tree yesterday. The trees here are really fresh, on account of them being kept out of doors in below freezing weather. Darn thing drank a gallon of water in its first 12 hours in our house.

My parents will be happy to note that it passes the only Christmas Tree Rule that I've ever insisted upon: it can be scraggly, lop-sided, a little bald in places, or just plain sincere looking, as long as it's taller than I am. This one's a beauty, even though we don't have as many ornaments for it as I'd like (yet). I still plan on making some, and Christmas ornaments have a funny way of multiplying over the years.

Here's a couple of pictures of the tree and the front of the house, so you folks can feel the same Hallmarky Christmas cheer that we are.

It was damn cold that night. We are wearing ski gear.


My turn to hold the dog...

OBEY THE HYPNODOG

HypnoDog™ here wishing you a Merry Christmas season. YOU SHALL ENJOY THE BOUNTEOUS HOLIDAY CELEBRATIONS GOING ON AROUND YOU. HYPNODOG™ COMMANDS IT.

The longer you gaze into HypnoDog™'s mesmerizing DazzleTron™ eyes, the more likely you are to think, yes, the couch is a perfectly good place for a hairy collection of dog legs to take a load off. The good couch? Certainly. WHOOMPwhoompwhoomp- WHOOMPwhoompwhoomp [this is meant to be a kind of Flash Gordony-type noise indicating either hydroelectric turbines or HypnoDog™'s amazing powers].

HypnoDog™ also wants cookies.







HypnoDog™ sold separately from HypnoToad™, HypnoGoat™, and the rest of the Amazing DazzleTron™ Collection. Suggested serving pictured. HypnoDog™ measured by weight, not volume. Some settling may have occurred during shipping. Some assembly required. You put it together. Batteries not included. Do not use in the bathtub or while sleeping. HypnoDog™ may include small parts that present a choking hazard for children under the age of three. The Surgeon General has determined that using HypnoDog™ impairs your ability to drive a car or operate machinery, and may cause health problems.

My company has lost it: Update

Just so's you understand that I'm not totally making this up, here's a terrible picture of me and Linc together. Linc looks great -- me... well, I thought they had already taken the picture and I pulled my head back in reaction to something someone said. Voila, double chin. But at least now I have this eternal keepsake commemorating the time I spent with Linc, the anthropomorphic, philanthropic hot dog.

My company has lost it.

I just wanted to take a moment to give each of you an insight into the kind of environment I work in. Since I came from a crappy corporate culture, then no corporate culture, I can imagine that you might think I'm exaggerating the awesome qualities of my new company. Not so, readers. My company really puts everything it has into its employees and community outreach efforts.

For example, we are in the midst of our annual United Way campaign. This year's theme is, somewhat inexplicably, sausage. Don't try to reason that one out, you'll just make your brain hurt. Anyway, to represent this year's United Way sausage theme, we got a mascot named Linc. He's a hot dog. On the day we began the campaign, a guy actually dressed up in a hot dog suit and presided over the sausage-themed sculpture contest.

This is only a little bizarre. What really put the whole thing over the edge was something I noticed last week.

Linc has a cubicle.

I mean, someone trussed up an empty cubicle with pictures of hot dogs, signed pictures of other mascots, and similar items to suggest that an anthropomorphic hot dog actually works for our insurance brokerage. They even put his damn name up in the fancy laser-cut letters that I had to wait weeks for.

It's a little bit scary, but mostly hugely entertaining.

Funundrum wants to know

Chris and I had pretty much settled on calling our upcoming Peruvian adventure "Cuzcotopia." I even reserved the blog address and everything.

Until now.

My trainer, who looks like French Connection-era Gene Hackman (pictured), and I were talking about upcoming appointments when he asked if I would be in at the end of December. No, I said, I was going on my trip.

"Oh yeah," he said. "You're going Perusin'."

Perusin' is almost a cooler name for the trip. Almost. I'm not sure. What do my readers think?

Funundrum recommends

Today Funundrum would like to recommend these sock monkey slippers. They are available at Target for the low, low price of $14.99. They are comfy and funny-looking without being cumbersome, and are an excellent choice for anyone on your Christmas shopping list who enjoys monkeys or slippers.

Mostly I am recommending them to let my mom know that I already have some, because they are exactly the sort of thing she would see and buy for me. Mom, I will pretend you bought these for me already. Thanks. You are awesome.


I would also recommend the spider pajama pants I'm wearing, but they were a Halloween-only deal at Old Navy.

Tryptophan: El sedativo de los dios

I'm just now recovering from my turkey-induced stupor, only to find that nothing is still happening around here. We had a lovely Thanksgiving -- check out Chris' blog for a couple pictures -- although it wasn't the same without my cousin Jon around to roll his eyes back in his head and declare "Mmm, tryptophan -- opiate of the gods." It was funny the first time he did it years ago, and it's still funny every time I think of it.

On a slightly unrelated topic, our trip to Peru (which shall be known as Cuzcotopia) looms near. With Thanksgiving out of the way, we have but four weeks to prepare. We've gotten our vaccinations for typhoid, tetanus, and hepatitis A, and I'm beginning to put together packing lists that include toilet paper and hand sanitizer, as well as shopping lists that include rain gear.

The funniest thing I find myself doing, though, is inventing situations in my head that would require well-understood Spanish, delivered frantically and emphatically. Every "Learn Spanish" CD we've gotten from the library fails to teach anything more than sentences that start with "Where is...?" and "I'd like to..." This gets boring quickly, so I started to come up with dialogues that might require me to know the words for "lightheaded" and "extreme blood loss."

This morning, apparently limb loss wasn't even enough to hold my attention, as I found myself daydreaming about being kidnapped and held for ransom by the few remaining guerilla members of the Shining Path. "Somos turistos de los Estados Unidos," I'd tearfully plead. "No sabemos nada del Sendero Luminoso porque somos estupidos y gordos." Emphasizing our extreme ignorance due to nationality and stupidity always seems to go over well with foreigners. Eventually, the little drama plays itself out with the guerillas giving us our freedom because we convince them that we know a guy who can get their leader on The Daily Show. "La publicidad es todo!" I'd shout, while shooing Chris towards the closest beat-up taxi that looks like it could whisk us back to Cuzco. "Recuerde, publicidad mala es todavia publicidad!"

If there's any Spanish speakers out there, I'd love to hear the correct translation of "Even bad publicity is still publicity." I don't know if it will actually come in handy, but I'd still like to surprise someone in Peru -- even if they're not holding me for ransom.

Oh, moisture. How I love you.

Today we had the HVAC man come to our house to install a humidifier. He was very nice and I like him very much on account of the fact that he's bringing us the gift of humidity, something sorely lacking in Colorado.

However, I must take exception to the fact that he used, in context, the phrase "Git-r-done."

Under my roof.

I feel somehow dirty and I've spent the better part of the day wondering how to counteract the low-class energy now hovering around the closet where my water heater lives. Perhaps I should light some candles and create a shrine from my Chambers British dictionary, Chicago Style Guide, and Emily Post's Etiquette.

Celebrity coworkers

Due to my faulty hearing and the somewhat garbled PA system at my company, the following high profile persons are apparently my coworkers:

1. Jayne Mansfield
2. Inigo Montoya

I really don't know what Inigo Montoya is doing at an insurance brokerage, but I'm mentally compiling a short list of people who look like they might have killed his father, so I can befriend him at the Christmas party.

It's almost here!

Several days ago, Chris and I ate at the only Carl's Jr. in town and realized that there's a cool specialty food store right next to it. This is an awesome store that's a little bit Trader Joe's, a little bit gourmet food store, and a whole lot of butcher/deli/dairy case awesomeness. The second best things I saw there were the butter turkey and butter Christmas tree -- little molded pieces of butter, about the same volume as a stick of butter, but shaped like a turkey or tree. Must have one this Thanksgiving.

The best thing I found, personally, was Hob Nobs. Hob Nobs are English oat cookies that are really oaty but sweet enough to be super tasty. They only had regular, not the ones with chocolate on one side. It was during my blissed-out description of chocolate Hob Nobs to Chris that I made a huge realization. I didn't want chocolate Hob Nobs (well, I did but I'm making a point here) -- I wanted Tim Tams.

Tim Tams, which originated in Australia, are better than anything you've ever had. Except maybe Oreos. Alone, they are really nothing more than chocolate-covered biscuits, but don't even bother unless you've got a cup of hot tea. The purpose of the tea is not to make you feel fancy and anglophilic, though if it does... you've got way too much time on your hands. No, the tea is there to facilitate the finest cookie-related ritual in the world (sorry, Oreo). The Tim Tam Slam is deftly performed by biting small bits off opposite corners of the rectangular cookie, then using said cookie as a straw to suck up the tea. As soon as the tea hits your mouth, you'd better pull the cookie out and bite off the other end, as it's busy disintegrating into individual molecules of pure joy.

I ordered some Tim Tams as soon as we got home -- they should be here today. I'm way more excited than I have any right to be.

Bad marketing idea of the day

You know Hostess Cupcakes? Sure you do. They're an American icon, are oh-so-tasty, and sustained a great many of us in the form of vending machine-provided meal replacements in college. (Some other time I'll tell you about the amazing bounty of food available at one of the universities I attended -- it was truly spectacular.)

The Hostess Cupcake has long had a little anthropomorphized mascot -- I think he used to be dressed up in a blue hat and a mustache and named Captain Cupcake. In recent decades, however, he's looked more like this:

I guess the decadent goodness of regular Hostess Cupcakes weren't good enough for some focus groups, so they came out with a yellow cake version that still has the trademark chocolate icing on top. Fine. No problem. The issue I have here is with the resulting mascot:

Now, maybe I'm just looking for stuff to complain about here, but what I see is a tasty little blackface cupcake. I just refuse to believe that Hostess made it through the entire marketing development phase of the Golden Cupcake without someone -- a PR lackey, a vice president, a lowly secretary -- pointing out that this little guy carries some fairly serious negative vibes.

Perhaps I'm the first.

If anyone from Hostess is reading this, you would be well advised to contact me about this so we can come to an amicable settlement to ensure that I don't take this to the forever-hungry gaping maw of the American media. CNN has a lot of hours to fill, if you know what I'm getting at, Hostess. You've been warned.

Man, it's like putting on cozy pajamas.

The imminent destruction of the human race has been postponed slightly by yesterday's election results. With the Democrats in charge of the House as well as the Senate, there is a chance that a few things will change around here. I mean, not that great a chance, because they're all still old white political guys, but a greater chance than there was this time last week.

All of that, plus Rumsfeld stepping down? Ladies and gentlemen, Christmas has come early to the great US and A*. Well, it's come for most of us, anyway. Stephen Colbert is none too happy. I took the liberty of transcribing his emotional breakdown from last night's Midterm Midtacular show because it made me giggle:

Tomorrow you're all going to wake up in a brave new world -- a world where the Constitution gets trampled by an army of terrorist clones, created in a stem cell research lab run by homosexual doctors who sterilize their instruments over burning American flags -- where tax-and-spend Democrats take all your hard earned money and use it to buy electric cars for National Public Radio, and teach evolution to illegal immigrants.

OH, AND EVERYBODY'S HIGH!!! WHOO!

Feels good to be a Donkey today, people. Even though I'm not a registered Dem, it works kind of like St. Patrick's Day. Today, everyone is a Democrat. Even you, Mr. President. And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.


*PS -- Funundrum highly recommends that my under-40 readership see the Borat movie. For my over-40s, consult me on an individual basis to determine whether this film would entertain you or simply cause you to become cranky and restless.

Funundrum wants to know

Does it seem weird to anyone else for there to be commercials for the WIC* program on a cable channel? A cable channel that is part of a cable package that costs money every month?

Yeah, I thought so too.



*For my international peeps: WIC is a government program that gives food stamps and other assistance to low-income mothers and their children.

Update: I just got this comment from my mom, who works at one of Orange County's welfare offices: "That makes about as much sense as taking a taxi to the welfare office." I do not have much confidence that she's joking.

Peruvian New Year's customs

Oh, Lonely Planet Thorn Tree, how I love you. The Thorn Tree is a message board where travelers from all over gather to ask and answer the real questions that come up while on the road -- on the TT, you can find out which tour guides will rip you off, whether camping is allowed on Easter Island, and even which intersections in Buenos Aires are too noisy for early-to-bed types (answer: most of them).

Someone posted a link to this site that talks about common New Year's traditions in Cuzco. Turns out that these people are seriously superstitious. Here are some of the things you might hear about us doing on December 31:

• Dress up an effigy in old clothes, and then burn it to bring about a fresh start.
  
• Buy and wear new clothes (or at least new underwear) in certain colors -- yellow for happiness and luck, red for love, and green for money.
  
• Carry a suitcase around the Plaza de Armas to ensure that you will travel in the coming year.
  
• Eat 12 grapes at midnight -- one for each coming month.
  
• Light candles or take a bath filled with flowers -- use the same colors as the underwear thing.
  
• At midnight, put beans in your pocket and wish for money.
  
• The potato trick -- get three potatoes. Leave one untouched, partially peel another, and fully peel the third. At midnight, put them under your couch and choose one without looking. Picking the one with the most skin means you'll get a lot of money.

The New Year's traditions in America look pretty freaking weak next to all that. I am definitely looking forward to New Year's Day, too. Dad tells me that if Peru is anything like Guatemala, the fireworks should make the city sound like it's under siege. Don't worry, we will be safe and sane. Light fuse and get away, and all that good stuff. At the very least, we will try not to stand directly in the path of any fireworks. Unless doing so will make us look very cool.

Cuzcotopia 2006 -- Serendipity Update

As November is finally upon us, it is time to begin planning in earnest for our trip to Peru. We booked the flights months ago, but since then there's really not been much to do except wait. At last, it's time to scramble for hepatitis shots, malaria pills, domestic flights from Lima to Cuzco, and hotel reservations for that first night in Lima.

Sometimes I think that planning the whole mess is just as much fun as the trip itself.

We were at the library today, returning some Spanish language instructional CDs, and we thought to check out a travel guide to El Salvador, because we have a 6 hour stopover there on the way down from Los Angeles and we're hoping to find something cool to see near the airport. As we browsed the travel aisle, a lady came to the same place and started looking at books on Brazil. I mentioned to Chris that there didn't appear to be anything available for El Salvador.

"Oh, are you going there?" The lady, who was Latina, turned around with her face all lit up. I told her our situation and she said that she has lots of family that lives in El Salvador, and that if we emailed her she could ask them for their opinions on things to see. We totally jumped on the chance and I just got done emailing her. Our adventure has begun already.

According to her business card, she is a coach for the Colorado Storm, a big youth soccer organization here. She was getting books on Brazil for her son, who is leaving on Tuesday to attend a monthlong soccer clinic there. Imagine learning the sport from the Brazilians. Amazing.

The Corporate Monkey Reports

Hey kids, Funundrum's been a bit slow during my first week of the new job, on account of shopping for new clothes, taking care of all the other household chores that I used to do during the day, and generally experiencing a bit of a brain meltdown by having periodic realizations that my free time is now mine.

The new job is great, and everything that a corporate environment should be. Everyone's so damn friendly, and genuinely glad to have me working there. It's like I'm... what's the word? Valued. That's it. After my last job, I had just about forgotten what that was like. Aside from the people, here' s a short and incomplete list of cool stuff about my new job:

A motorized desk that goes up and down with a little switch. I can work standing up if I start to get ass cramps.

Diet Dr Pepper in the vending machine.

A beautiful cubicle that's graced with tall frosted glass windows. I don't have to see the ugly tops of peoples' heads as they walk by.

My cube will eventually have my name on it. Not a plastic plaque, mind you, but black transfer letters on the frosted glass, in a kicky brushstroky font.

Free covered underground parking. Those of you who have worked in LA will appreciate the "free" part. Those of you who have ever worked where it snows will appreciate the "covered underground" part. My car is warm and dry when I leave work, every single day.

Ample recycling bins. Yay recycling!

Beer Fridays. Sure, it's one per person, but that's exactly one beer a week more than I've never gotten from any other employer.

Once a month "New Business" parties. Munchies and mingling -- why ask why?

More than one refrigerator and microwave per 100 people. If you have to ask me why this is such a big deal, you have obviously never had any of my past jobs.

All of this and more. Plus, on my first day, my boss took the whole department (all 6 of us) out to lunch at a nice restaurant next door. It's almost as though these people want me to enjoy working for their giant insurance brokerage. And you know what? I do.

It's pumpkin time!

Yaaaay! So I'm sitting at home alone tonight because Chris is in California and my friends are lame. (Not really, they're busy, but go with the lame thing, it makes for better pity.) For the second Halloween in a row, I'm sitting at home (alone) doing nothing. I know Halloween isn't until Tuesday, but all the good parties are happening tonight. I presume.

Halloween is my favorite holiday, ever, so it makes me a little sad that I'm not really going to have the time or resources to do what I want with it, but maybe next year.

What I did do is carve the most awesomest pumpkin ever in the history of pumpkins. I got the idea of a cannibal pumpkin from Extreme Pumpkins, but the design's all mine.

Blizzard! Yay!

We had the first blizzard of the season blow through here over the course of last night and today. Since Chris had to get out to the airport and onto a plane, this caused some problems but other than that it was beautiful. I just got back inside from shoveling the driveway -- let me tell you, since our snow melts so quickly here, the need for shoveling is rare and therefore quite novel.

Confidential to my next-door neighbor: You are an idiot. Surely you knew that it was snowing for most of the night and almost all of today. As you drove home from work, did you think that your house and driveway were spared the 8-12 inches that every other surface in Highlands Ranch acquired? Did you think that your husband came home early and painted your driveway a suspiciously white fluffy color? There must be some rational reason as to why you tried (and failed) to drive your Mini Cooper up your driveway. You got about halfway up, got stuck, then tried again. I giggled as your car's little tires spun around in an extraordinarily futile fashion. After a good minute or two of reversing and trying different angles, you finally gave up and joined me, the guy across the street, and several other people down the block who had the good sense to shovel while the shoveling was good.

Next time, remember: If there's snow, you must go... into your garage and pick up your snow shovel, you lazy soccer mom. (I'm no Johnnie Cochran, sorry. I get a little worked up sometimes.)

We lost this tree to the weight of the snow, as you can plainly see. It's still got the sad little bungee cords on it that we used to try to keep it upright during the summer's windy thunderstorms.

The snow lasted until about one in the afternoon, and the clouds started to break around 4:30. For about 15 minutes, the entire world was blue and orange and pink. I didn't have the time (deadline, remember?) to go and get all the pictures I wanted to, so these will have to do. This is the roof of our neighbor's house as I see it from my desk...

And this is what it looked like from our deck. The sun just managed to make it out from under the clouds before going behind the Rockies for the night -- I'm glad I got up off my duff to take the picture.

Here's what's wrong with America

I mean, it's certainly not the only thing wrong with America. But this doesn't help. According to this article, US customs agents are confiscating Vegemite from incoming Aussies and Kiwis. Confiscating it. Nobody is really sure why this is happening -- apparently, Vegemite is illegal to import to the US in bulk because it has vitamin B in it. I am not making this up. But up until now, Aussies could pack it in their luggage with no problems, which is a good deal because have you ever seen an Aussie have to go without Vegemite? It's not pretty. One time I deftly avoided this situation by walking two miles to the only shop in Dublin known to carry the stuff.

My point is, obviously, that our Customs folks need to find something better to do. Americans might do well to have a little more Vegemite in their lives. It's a hell of a hangover cure. (all that vitamin B, remember?) Just remember -- if you're ever confronted with a jar of Vegemite and a piece of toast, remember to use more butter. No, more than that. Yep, there you go. That should make it barely palatable.

Bad Copy of the Day Award

I'm in the midst of writing my second-to-last-website-ever-EVER-do-you-hear-me, and I had to look up the word "enucleation" so I could write about it. Apparently it's the surgical removal of the eyeball. Anyway, the first site I clicked on in hopes of getting some details turned out to be enucleation for pets. That's where I found this little gem:

"Most people have a strong preference for their pets to have two eyes and would like to keep both their pet’s eyes if possible. "

Most people? I'd like to meet the rest of the people surveyed. Then again, maybe I don't.

That said, I always thought it would be cool to adopt a dog with three legs, one eye, or some other charmingly bizarre deformity, just for the naming possibilities. I've already got a list, ready to go: Tripod, Gimpy, Skippy, Hopalong, Winky, Squinty, Cap'n (only good with an eyepatch), and many, many more.

Stinky update

For those of you wondering about how Stinky the squirrel is doing, I'm pleased to report that he's doing just fine and is making some serious preparations for the onset of winter. He's gotten super fat. I don't know if squirrels hibernate or what, but either way, he's all set to go.

This has been your Stinky Update.

Attention.

My house, as well as the immediate Highlands Ranch area, is being snowed upon. Welcome, first snow of the season. You shall make it easier for us to sit inside and work on tasks that would be otherwise avoided in nicer weather -- business school homework, Christmas stockings, and so forth.

New job

As you may or may not already be aware, I've accepted a new job that will throw me headfirst back into an office environment -- and I can't wait. Working from home was nice on days that I had to run errands or sleep off a cold, but not so hot on days that I really just wanted to talk to someone or needed a little more structure to be productive.

I've had it with giving up a whole day's pay just to enjoy a national holiday and several days' pay to take a long weekend. Also, my old company had crappy morale and no one respected my contributions. But that's not really why I'm plunging back into the workforce.

I'm doing it for each of you. Imagine how much better the blog will be with a whole new cast of characters. Unfortunately, this means that my new coworkers and possible friends can never be told about Funundrum, but I think the creative benefits reaped from not doing so will make up for the sacrifice.

Killers goodness.

We saw the Killers last night at the Fillmore. Since the Fillmore is all general admission with no seats, we stood in line for four hours to ensure front row seats. After radio station winners and line bloat increased the number of people in front of us from 40 to about 200, we still managed to be only like two people back.

The show was amazing. Singer Brandon Flowers took a page from Bono's Mr. Macphisto character and just glammed and hammed his way through the entire set -- in a good way. He's a total showman who doesn't take himself seriously for a moment. During the first few songs of the show, he seemed flabbergasted that the crowd knew all the words to the songs from the new album that's been out for a little less than two weeks.

Since they are such a young band (they've only been around since 2004) they still don't feel comfortable opening up and playing their songs differently from the album version, but I'm sure that will change in the next few years. For now, though, they put on a hell of a show.

Here are some of the best photos from the CrapCam, because I am very excited about having a camera phone:





It's hard to tell, but Brandon was actually standing on top of his piano at this point.

U.S. Toy Constructive Playthings

If you regularly drove past a store called U.S. TOY CONSTRUCTIVE PLAYTHINGS, you'd want to go inside too, right? I've been dying to see the inside of this place since we moved here. In my mind I was expecting boxes full of finger puppets and wholesome building blocks, all sold by efficient looking men named Dieter or Jorg.

It turns out that U.S. Toy Constructive Playthings is half teacher supply, 1/3 party supply, and 17% real toys like Legos and such. Since I love cheap toys and bizarre educational supplies, we ended up spending about an hour in there. I was like a kid in a toy and constructive playthings store.

CrapCam was there to document our fun afternoon:

Lest you think I was kidding about the name

Best. Funny hat picture. Ever.



THEY EVEN HAD RELIGIOUS MUPPETS. I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS PLACE.

Yes! Stop it! I'm AWARE!

Look. I'm aware that breast cancer exists. I'm aware, that like most other types of cancer, there is currently no cure. I'm aware that it's caused by overexposure to pink ribbons and can be treated by repeated exposure to 5 and 10K runs. Oh, it can't? Clearly I am not aware enough.

The breast cancer people have finally got enough PR people to ensure that they get the hell marketed out of Breast Cancer Awareness month. I can't think of a disease that gets more play than breast cancer. AIDS, maybe. I mean, Bono and Oprah are on the AIDS awareness train, so that's pretty strong.

But breast cancer wins when it comes to sheer omnipresent marketing. There are gigantic pink ribbons on many of the office buildings in our area, there are posters, bus shelters, TV commercials... and then there's the food packaging. I should be able to eat yogurt without having to worry about breast cancer. Breakfast cereal? There it is. Let me tell you, it's gone a touch overboard:

Andy Warhol, wherever he is, is cackling like a madman over this. Here's where I'm going with this -- what is the point?

How does putting a pink ribbon on a can of soup help anyone, besides making Campbell's look caring and making the consumer feel warm and fuzzy for buying something that carries a vague allusion to fighting for a cancer cure? Here's a suggestion: take that money that it took you to print up special labels and box tops, or to buy a 100 pound pink ribbon for the top of your office building, and actually give it to organizations who DO fight cancer in one way or another. Save your empty gestures, because not only do I not care to start with, but now you're pissing me off by trying to make me believe that you care.

Actually, this goes for all you ribbon people. Red AIDS ribbons, funky puzzle piece autism ribbons, and especially, Lord, ESPECIALLY the yellow ribbon troop supporters. How exactly is that yellow ribbon-shaped magnet supporting anyone but the manufacturers of said magnet?
"I support the troops." What does that mean, exactly? Do you send them new Kevlar vests and packages of Oreos? No? Then how are you supporting them? Oh, you do send them Oreos? Fantastic! You're a good person. Do you really need a magnet on the back of your SUV to tell people that?

Tell you what. I am grateful that there are men and women out there willing to go do the evil bidding of our crazy president, because I wouldn't want to have to. I'm grateful that they're out there fighting the good fight. I'm not sure if that's the same thing as supporting, unless you count the fact that I pay my taxes on time. I'm also going to be voting, early and often, in the hopes that I can support the troops further by helping them to come home and be with their families for their next Christmas, Hanukkah, or Eid al-Fitr. But I don't need a ribbon. If it makes you feel better, fantastic, but I don't need one. This means you, neighbor who comes over and asks us if we want a ribbon on our door.*

Sorry to get all negative on you, Readers. I'm just a little ribboned out. What color ribbon is "victim of charity awareness"? I'll take two.

*This didn't happen to us here in CO, but did happen at my parents' house in Fullerton.

Funundrum recommends

Today I'd like to give a hearty recommendation to something called, simply, Pumpkin Beer. It's made by the good folks at O'Fallon Brewery in O'Fallon, MO. Their tagline is "We love beer." This makes me happy.

We were in our friendly neighborhood liquor store on Friday night, picking up some beer, when a fellow walked past us with a sixer of Pumpkin Beer under his arm. I immediately got the urge to run up to this guy before he left the store to ask him how the Pumpkin Beer was. "I don't know, man. I just liked the package." Once we heard that, our choice was clear. For your benefit, here's what he's talking about:

I just love that this bright orange jack-o-lantern on a plain black background succeeds where larger breweries' fancy marketed and focus-grouped packaging utterly fails. Within the span of three minutes, they sold two sixers based on that damn pumpkin alone.

And the BEER! This is where Funundrum is really aiming today's recommendation. It's like pumpkin pie in a bottle, but not too sweet at all. It tastes of a little bit pumpkin, with a healthy dose of cinnamon and other spices. It's the perfect dessert beer for all of your autumn shindigs. Unfortunately, I don't think any of my readers can access it, as it's only distributed in Missouri, Colorado, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. But if ever you happen to be visiting one of these fly-over states, please do keep a look out for it.

P.S. -- We did, in fact, call 636-474-BEER, which is their equivalent of the Kevin & Bean Afro Line, to tell them how much we enjoyed their tasty seasonal beverage. Imagine being the intern who gets to listen to all those drunken calls on Monday morning.

Puerto Rico -- Because You're Lazy!

I was watching the Colbert Report, furiously crocheting Christmas stockings (attention Mom Arehart -- they will be done in a couple of weeks) and they aired a Daily Show teaser. After the teaser, a screenshot of Happy Swimsuit People came up, and the voiceover man said "This Daily Show News Break was brought you you by Puerto Rico, where no US passport is required."

Since I am subliminally aware of passport and visa requirements for just about any destination on our globe -- it's a bizarre gift -- I am here to tell you that most of the Caribbean is switching over to requiring valid passports from visiting US citizens. For decades now, a birth certificate has been good enough, and these little countries are finally fighting for their right to higher security, which they most certainly deserve.

I assure you that this is causing a world of unrest in the cruise industry, because Margaret Finkelstein has never, never do you hear me, had to get a passport and she doesn't see why she has to start now. Frankly, I don't understand how toting around a grubby piece of paper is better than genteely producing a slick, internationally recognized, high tech identification booklet, but that's the way it is.

I promise this all comes back around to Puerto Rico. Their latest marketing campaign is planted firmly in the belief that people would rather change their travel plans (and limit them to one sad little island) than simply fill out a form and take it to the post office. And the thing is, the marketing people are right. The Bubble People, the same ones who ask why anyone would want to go to Mexico (hi Aunt Janie), the ones who can't imagine what it might be like to take a restaurant recommendation from a non-English-speaking cab driver -- these are the ones who fear passports. You see, passports mock. That shiny gold leaf on the cover, the blank face staring out from the first page, that expanse of un-stamped paper in the back -- all of that hints at the possibility that just maybe there's a whole world out there that other people with passports are experiencing. And since the Bubble People would have to get passports just to go have en-white-ified friendly Jamaicans make them fruity drinks identical to those they could find in any stateside TGI Friday's, they recoil in horror and immediately demand that their dusty old travel agent find them an island that does not require them to face their own explorational shortcomings.

Puerto Rico is apparently the answer, which is fine by me. If we can concentrate the loud ugly Americans on an island that we already own, that means they're not stinking up the countries I'd rather be in. With my passport.

Seen on my Papa John's pizza box

"Your pizza experience managed by Christ"

This is probably what happens when Papa John's Employee #25837 wrote in CHRISTOPHER J BLOOMSFELD on his job application and W-4. He couldn't see into the future, because if he had been able to, surely he would have just put "Chris." Either that, or he's never looked at the side of the box and had Assistant Shift Lead Chad change his name in the system. Or he's seen it and just doesn't care. But since I've never met an apathetic pizza store employee, that can't be right.

I mean, I guess it's possible that Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ* had a hand in managing my pizza experience, but if that's the case why wasn't it hotter when we got it, and why did we have to wait for a kid to drive it to our house? If I was Christ, and I was a pizza manager, I'd impress the snot out of people by making the pizza just appear in their homes. "Pizza by Jesus -- If it's not transubstantiated to your front door in a half hour or less, it's FREE!"

I'm willing to go one further. Jesus Christ is obviously busy and may be looking to franchise out his pizza managing acumen. Perhaps the Jehovah's Witnesses could help him out and, at the same time, increase their face-time with the public. They're going door to door anyway. Is there a reason they couldn't throw a light box on top of their car and deliver a few pies while they're out there?

* Would Jesus have to put the "H." on his W-4? Does Jesus have to pay taxes? I mean, he's probably technically an Israeli citizen -- he would have to work for cash under the table.

Bad Copy of the Day Award

"Utilizing advanced technology such as microkeratomes and computer-assisted lasers is a bit like modern air travel. It is probably the best way to get from here to there, but we are also at the mercy of the technology. Just as an airline captain will not take off unless everything important is functioning within acceptable limits, we will not begin your procedure unless our equipment is all functioning properly. And just as that pilot might occasionally have to divert a flight as a precaution, we might have to stop our surgical procedure at the safest possible point if a malfunction develops."

I... I don't even have anything to say about this exceedingly bizarre extended metaphor for LASIK. Perhaps describing your LASIK surgeon as being at the mercy of his own technology is not the best image to portray. I do, however, eagerly await the motion-picture debut of Snakes on a Microkeratome.

Featured quote from Sam Jackson, Practicing Ophthalmologist: "I've had it with these MF'ing snakes on my MF'ing iris scanning equipment!" In theaters -- Fall 2007.

Funundrum recommends

The new Killers album, Sam's Town. I'm about halfway through, and it's fantastic. More when I'm done listening to it. So far, it's got that great soundtracky rock-opera expansiveness, kind of like Green Day's American Idiot. But way better, because it's the Killers. They do tend to channel a little Bruce Springsteen and U2 at times, and depending who you are, that's either good or bad. Flood was a producer, and it sounds like it. So awesome.

Highlands Ranch Fashion Week Continues

We got Maggie's winter coat in the mail -- it is a fake Burberry print, so it's gay tested, chav approved. It's a thick flannel, lined with sherpa fleece. We're ready for winter in the Rockies!

Other than that, still nothing happening. Is anything going on with you people?

Fall madness

Still nothing happening. I got a new phone over the weekend -- if you didn't get the number, email me and I'll get it to you.

It's got a camera, which is super cool. I took some pictures out in the open space behind our house. It's really weird -- the first few pictures I took the other day were really crisp and clear, and these are more in an Impressionist vein. I'm still toying with it, but I expect that it will give me the opportunity to capture a lot more visual confirmation of anything that may happen to me... if anything ever does. Not a whole lot going on, like I said.









This one was taken with a regular camera, not the CrapCam. The photo was taken less than a week ago, and the leaves on these trees are already turning brown and falling. Autumn: blink and you'll miss it, people.