I’m going to stop kidding myself and just take an indefinite planned break until I have something to talk about/time to talk about it. Ironically it comes just a month before Blogosis turns five years old. You’d think after that long I’d have more than a couple people read it outside my parents. Oh well…gonna go work on something bigger.

Damn Tourists

I’m getting ready to be the ultimate tourist. In about 12 hours, I’m taking a skip across the pond to Europe for the next ten days. I’m going to play golf for five of those days in Scotland as well as spend a couple days looking around London. My major goal for the whole trip though is to not to be a stupid American tourist.

First of all, it upsets me that being a tourist has such a negative conotation. Not just oversees, but even within our borders, tourists are viewed in most big cities as a step below the roadside bums. I was recently in New York for a Kentucky basketball game and while celebrating with my friends decked out in blue and white recied a couple of, “Phphpht! Tourists!” by passerbys.

Granted, I’m sure there are some uppity middle age women in fanny packs and Mickey Mouse shirts who expect everyone to cater to them while on vacation including unsweet ice tea with cucumber and ranch dressing on everything. I’m sure after a several culturely ignorant statements from this stereotype, locals could be a bit preturbed, but they still spend money in their city and then leave. They’re good for business.

Regardless, I’m leaving all of my bald eagle shirts at home when I goto Europe. I spoke with a dude from Denmark at a poker table in Las Vegas a bit ago. I asked him for advice on how to not look like I just got right off the boat from America. He said to just be myself and wear jeans. While the “just be yourself” comment seemed very Sesame Street to me at first, I later interpretted it as “don’t try to immitate the accent or pretend you are a native. You’ll do a horrible job at it and everyone will hate you.”

This interpretration made sense because there are few things I hate worse when someone not originally from the south attempts a southern accent around me. It actually makes me fairly infurriated. I have thus decided to return the favor to all the people of the England and Scotland and not try to adorn their accent. At least in front of their face.

The jeans comment was also dulely noted.

I was planning on bringing my laptop with me, but have been advised by many previous travelers that I shouldn’t considering everyone in Europe is a raving kleptomatic criminal. That and to keep my wallet in my front pocket. And make a copy of my passport. And buy a lock for my luggage. And keep extra money in my underwear.

I do plan to document my commentaries about the abroad, but it will have to be old fashioned note taking on the iPhone and blogging about it when I get back. I may even have to do some flat out remembering as well.

That’s all from America. Until I return…cherrio!

Buddy Christ wishes you a happy Easter weekend

Buddy Christ
“Good luck finding those eggs.”

I was Googling Good Friday pictures and most were bloody, grotesque, and brutal reenactments of Jesus getting crucified. That’s fun. I think natural instinct is to flinch when you see some of the more realistic depictions, but for most part, I think people are becoming immune to Jesus’s bloody naked body.

So this got me thinking. Which is worse? (remember to remove all religious bias before answering this question) Seeing a bloody, decrepit Jesus, or an equally tortured bunny rabbit?

Both Jesus and the Easter Bunny are the faces of Easter. Not really sure how the rabbit wiggled his way into the spotlight. Wikipedia has it’s theory, and South Park has it’s own, but I don’t think anyone knows for sure. We are all used to seeing Jesus tortured, but not the Easter bunny. On one hand you have human life, and another a mere rabbit, although he is very cute and very cuddly. Hmm…I’m seriously torn.

For those of you who want to seriously find out which you think is worse, I’ve set it up for you. I used links so you aren’t bombarded with gore when casually scrolling this page. Remember to not let your religious inclines affect your decision and have some sorbet between each view.

Bloody Jesus

Bloody Bunny Rabbit

Happy Easter, everyone.

King of Sedation

For years, Diprivan has been a staple of hospitals around the world. It is primarily used in intensive care units and operating rooms as a powerful sedative. It has always enjoyed moderate usage, but for the past several months has been out of stock due to manufacturer outage. It simply can’t be produced fast enough to meet its demand and has sent pharmacies scurrying to get their hands on what little they can find. But what led to this sudden high demand? Why is this once plentiful medication so hard to come by? There is but one obvious catalyst in this great Dipivan shortage: the death of Michael Jackson.

It was a hot summer day in June and like a lot of multi-million-dollar, world famous musicians (and lowly night shift pharmacists), Michael Jackson couldn’t sleep. So he did what anyone else would do and consulted his live-in physician for a drug to help him get some zees. Dr. Conrad Murray chose Diprivan and the rest is history.

Diprivan became an overnight success. All the major TV stations were broadcasting its name 24 hours and it was on the first page of every newspaper in America. What was once a moderately well known drug, instantly became the King of Sedation. ICU’s all over the world wanted a piece of the fame, but there was only so much of the milky white star to go around.

Its manufacturer was not prepared for the boom. Diprivan was no longer just wanted by hospitals. Hollywood now craved it for photo shoots, interviews, and movie cameos. Paris Hilton actually tried to get it for a pet. It appears as if all the media attention and paparazzi because too much to handle and Diprivan has scarcely been seen lately. Until the manufacturer can regroup and get its celebrity med back to all those who crave it, other players in the sedative game such as Fentanyl and Versed will have to step up their play.

The one that thing Diprivan hasn’t knocked out is its own ego which has shot through the roof after its newfound popularity. It has been seen inside Los Angeles night clubs titrating the beat of the music down to a Ramsey score of -2 to -3 and rumored to be dating a Kardashian. US Weekly has noticed the arrogance as well and is now referring it as Divavan. Also of note is that when it was first discovered, Diprivan was a dark brown color, but changes in formulation over the years has changed it the pale white hue you see today.

An E! True Hollywood Story detailing the self proclaimed Milk of Amnesia’s rise to fame is set to begin production in May.

Code Organ

I found this website that reads the code of a webpage and somehow translates this into music. Stratosis.com sounds like a Jamaican homeless man setting the beat accompanied by a 6 year old learning how to play the piano. However, my facebook profile (facebook.com/stratosis) sounds like an outerspace symphony.

Try it out.

Ashes and Boobs

I’m not catholic, and I never really understood why people came to class with ashes on their foreheads. I thought they looked silly, but everyone else didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Today is Ash Wednesday, and countless numbers of noncatholics are going to be thinking the same thing when that cute girl on the other side of the room looks like someone just put a cigarette out between her eyes. This leads us to what preceded today, and where I was this past week off.

Mardi Gras!

Mardi Gras is the only holiday I can think of that came out because of another holiday. Ash Wednesday is when you’re supposed to repent of your sins and give up something like drinking, chocolate, or Facebook until Easter. Ok, maybe not Facebook.

The Fat Tuesday before Ash Wednesday is when you’re supposed to get all the sins in you can before you have to repent of them. The hilarity of this is that it happens every year. Moreover, people of Mardi Gras realized that one night wasn’t long enough to get in all the sins they wanted to get in, so they said, “Fuck it, let’s give ourselves two weeks.”

So thousands and thousands of people flock to New Orleans every year to get in all the possible sin they can while it’s still cool with the pope. This also attracts people who just want to sin for the hell of it, as well as those who just want to videotape people sinning.

The big stereotype is that girls show their boobs in exchange for beads. Not really. Yeah, I saw a handful of knockers while I was there, but they were mostly knockers better off left unseen. On top of that, to get in a position to see the boobs that you didn’t really want to see, you have to fight your way through Douchebags, Billys, Meatheads, and pervs with huge video cameras…all while avoiding the horse shit on the ground.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I had an awesome time and learned a valuable lesson about bourbon, overall, I would sum up Bourbon Street with one word: filth…and not the good kind of filth either.

Phil‽ Is that you‽ Phil‽

Okay, campers, rise and shine, and don’t forget your booties ’cause it’s cooooold out there today. Well, it’s 70 degrees here, but it’s probably cold where you are. Anyway, happy Groundhog’s Day, everyone.

This is one of those holidays that fascinated me as a kid. I think it was the mystery surrounding the whole holiday (I hesitate to use the term holiday) that really captivated me every February 2nd. This was the extent I was told about Groundhog’s Day:

“Every February 2nd, the groundhog comes out and if he see’s his shadow, there will be 6 more weeks of winter.”

That’s it. That’s all I got. This is what I had to wrap my childhood brain around and formulate some kind of sense out of it. Luckily for me, I required things to make little sense for me to accept them as absolute truth. I pictured a special groundhog that came out of a hole in the ground somewhere in the wild (I never bothered wondering where) with a few important scientists lurking behind a nearby tree to see if the groundhog casted a shadow or not.

It was a lot more plausible than a man flying around the world in one night delivering presents down chimneys and consuming ten tons of cookies.

The 6 more weeks of winter twist was an obligatory coincidence that never really got carried out and I accept that as well. Moreover, I never really knew when the end of winter officially was so whether it ended 6 weeks early of 6 weeks late, I never had any idea.

Recently, I realized that it probably wasn’t because I was a kid that I was so clueless about Groundhog’s Day. I think seven year olds and adults alike where just as confused about the mysterious surroundings of the early February American holiday. It’s probably why parents gave so little information to their kids about it, because they, too, could merely speculate about what really happens on Groundhog’s Day.

Enter Bill Murray. His smash hit 1993 movie Groundhog Day full of quotable quotes changed how Americans viewed February 2nd. On top of being hilarious, Groundhog Day gave us a real picture of what actually happens in Punxutawney, Pennsylvania. I think this information alone was worth the price of admission and a few VHS rentals at the local video store.

I was 10 when the movie came out and my jaw was stuck to the gum on the theater floor from how wrong my depiction of the scene was. If you by some chance are just waking up from a 17 year coma and have never seen the movie or ceremony, here is what happens with pictures included.

In a park filled elbow to elbow with tourists and newscasters stands a stage with a fake tree stump on it. A bunch of old men in top hats dressed like they’re in an 1850’s GQ magazine parade around and talk for a minute about how important they are. Then one of the old dudes goes to the tree stump and opens a little door, and pulls out the star of the show, Punxutawney Phil…who also has a silly little hat on. This is where it gets good. The old man holds Phil up to his ear and waits for several seconds. The then announces to the anxious crowd whether or not Phil said he saw his shadow or not.

And that’s it.

I’m sure there are people who honestly believe this weather prediction to be true. It’s hard to get an accurate historical count as to how correct Phil has been over the years, but he has only predicted an early spring 14 times since 1887. He’s definitely a glass-half-empty kind of groundhog.

To end your suspense, the little bastard saw his shadow again today, and he’s probably laughing about it right now. He can captivate the entire nation, deliver a complete fabrication, and ruin everyone’s day all at once. And he’s a groundhog.

Honestly, the fact that this tradition has maintained prominence for so long is why the terrorists hate America.

Ugly Cars

I’m not a car person. I hear people talk about cars, especially old ones, and they might as well be talking the African click-clock language. A badass car to me would be one with a bunch of cool stuff on the inside like TVs, computers, back massagers, etc. Other than that, a car gets me from point A to point B. This also applies to under the hood type stuff. The extent of my car knowledge is that you put gas in it and it goes.

I have taken my extensive car expertise and applied it to this post. MSNBC put out an article about ugly cars. It was kind of fun going through them, but the biggest problem was that 9 out of the 10 cars were from the 1970′s and earlier. Well obviously those are going to be ugly. That’s like having an ugly shirt list and including classic disco shirts.

I have remedied the situation and developed my own top 5 list of ugly cars that you can see on the road today. Let’s get started.

#5: Ford Mustang

I’m sure some of you are thinking, “Damn, he’s right. He knows nothing about cars. The Mustang is awesome.” Well, I disagree and this is my list and not yours. Perhaps there is a little bit of bias injected into this as the Mustang, in high school, was the epitome of being a douchebag redneck. Wrap your head around that combination stereotype for a minute and welcome to my home town. The sight of a Ford Mustang takes me back the movie theater line and seeing hearing a parade of them driving around the parking lot with no mufflers and customized General Lee horns. I didn’t like them then, and I don’t like them now.

#4: Nissan Cube

This one almost falls into that famous paradox, “it’s so ugly, it’s cute.” The key to that statement though, is “it’s so ugly” and thus it makes the list. I remember when I first saw this car I wanted to vomit, but then I saw it again a couple weeks later and kinda wanted one. Then I saw it again…

#3: Pontiac Aztec

This one made the MSNBC list and when you Google ugly cars and look for images, it pops up more than most. And we all know, Google is never wrong. You might saw I copied MSNBC and Google for this one, but I posted the European version of the Aztec so it’s not quite the same.

#2: Smart Car

Ok, so it gets like 900 miles per gallon. Who cares? It’s hideous. It’s also the car that is most likely to get you killed in a wreck so it has that going against it as well.

#1: PT Cruiser – Woody

This car is beyond ugly. It’s simply gross. In a throwback to the old wooden station wagons, the PT Cruiser added the faux-wooden paneling to a version called, “Woody” but it doesn’t come close in enticing said title. Seriously, no one (in or out of their mind) could possibly see this vehicle and find it attractive. You can even say, “Well, maybe it’s pretty on the inside…that’s what counts,” because it’s not a person, it’s a car. It’s just grotesque. Then again, people like Indian jewelry so I guess there will almost be a niche out there for ugly cars as well.

Walking in the Rain

The weather has been absolutely awful here in Arizona over the past week. Just horrid. I realize that most of the east coast is experiencing ice storms, freezing rain, and sub zero temperatures, but not taking that into consideration, it’s rained here for, like, four days in a row!

I forgot how bad I don’t like the rain. I don’t have an umbrella for lack of regular need, so when I am forced to walk from my car to my destination with the clouds open, I run. Well, I jog quickly at least. I don’t like getting drenched, and the wind is usually blowing which makes it cold and just overall not very pleasurable.

So this leads me to a pet peeve I have regarding this. I loath watching people walk in the rain like it’s not raining outside.

You know what I mean? It’s usually a guy and he doesn’t walk any faster than he normally would. He doesn’t even do the “act like you’re in a room with a low ceiling.” (demonstrated in the picture above) He just walks like it’s sunny outside in an apparent act to prove what a badass he is. Yeah, we get it. You have a better ability to withstand water pounding your head than me. Congrats. I’ll be the guy with dry clothes waiting inside the building to contratulate your wet ass when you get there.

More Hate Mail

During my break, I got another hate mail.


This one comes from a Bryan and can be seen in the comment section of the Junior’s getting a new number post. For you lazy bastards, here is what he said:

I know this is an old post, but I don’t care, this has to be said. Don’t bash people on welfare for being ignorant NASCAR fans in the same sentence you use exuberant instead of exorbitant. Hey, at least you spelled the wrong word correctly. You also left out the word “the” somewhere, but one step at a time, right?

Hi, Bryan. Good to hear from you. Good catch on by exuberant/exorbitant flip flop. Next time I’ll make sure I use the right four syllable word so that redneck bashing can be substantiated. I reread the post, and didn’t catch the omitted ‘the’ but if I did, then please accept my most most humble apology for a typo that had no effect on the message of the post.

What I can’t figure out though, Bryan, is whether or not you are a NASCAR fanatic yourself or you are just defending them. Your far superior writing ability would indicate you’re a fellow of higher education, but that wouldn’t necessarily rule you of out of having to rework your number 8 tattoo. Maybe defending your family? (By the way, half my family fits the NASCAR stereotype so my freedom to make fun of these people is broader than average)

Either way, if you want to attack the actual message as opposed the medium in which it was delivered, the comment section is wide open.

Oh, and you spelled your name wrong.