Coon Cola!

I thought I had closed the final chapter on my battles with Raccoons after the great roof shootout of '05 (i.e. watched the raccoons crawl out of my roof and into the gutter). But apparently they've chosen a new home to plot their revenge.

http://video.yahoo.com/network/100000086?v=5289218&l=100000085

The Greatest Late-Night Appearance EVER

I haven't watched the late night show since Conan left. However, I am now a loyal follower. Last night Jimmy Fallon hosted Zack Morris; his first ever public appearance since Saved by the Bell. Yes, he actually appeared as Zack Morris. AND got a call from Jessie Spano on his sick-ass early 90's cell phone. Although I'm sorry to hear about Kelly's decision to leave him for Jeff at the Max (fucking bastard!), it was good to see my favorite preppy once more.

http://www.latenightwithjimmyfallon.com/blogs/2009/06/zack-attacks-late-night-signs-on-for-the-reunion/

Insert Penis Joke Here

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20090530/ts_alt_afp/usitresearchmilitarylaser_20090530082418

Time to move on?

Observe Wisconsin Governor Jim Doyle. This man is a cockmonger. A cockmonger is one who mongs cocks.

Today Governor Doyle announced a plan that would deny me my contractually promised pay increases, reduce those raises I've already recieved, and force me to take over three weeks of unpaid leave to the tune of a seven percent reduction in salary; leaving me making less than I actuallly started at. But don't worry, I will be expected to do more work that I do at the present for the Badger State.

My boss tried to assure me that it sounds worse than it really is. Basically, I was advised to take it in the ass because the government will eventually feel bad and make it up to me. For some reason, the words of Preston "Bodhi" Broadus came to mind:

"Do the chair realize we gonna look like a bunch of punk ass bitches?"

Fuck.

See supra.

Another Wolf-Related Rant

The Federal government has officially lifted the endangered species ban against hunting and "population control" on gray wolves in the Rocky Mountains and Great Lakes zone-including Wisconsin. The reason for lifting the ban in place since 1974? Wolves have reached a "minimum" population that won't be immediately extinguished by hunting and government-sponsored poisoning.

Not to sound like a hippy (I frequently feed them to my own wolves), but this doesn't seem to make a lot of sense to me. Thirty-plus years to recover an entire species that was nearly wiped off the face of the earth and as soon as the packs meet a minimal threshhold of sustainability, the government sanctions wholesale genocide to appease some farmers in Idaho? True, the wolves may be takin' their jobs by killing an occasional goat, but what the hell are those farmers going to do when they wipe out the only cure to the futuristic wolf flu? If I learned anything from Sylvester Stallone, it's that nature provides the best cure to worldwide epidemics, even if that cure happens to be dandelions. But I digress.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090503/ap_on_re_us/us_wolves_recovered

Korean glow in the dark Hound

South Korean scientists have genetically engineered a litter of beagles to glow brighter than the fires of a thousand suns in the dark. Yes, that's right. Not only can you now have a badass dog to keep you company, but that motherfucker will glow in the dark! Finally, we can turn those earth-destroying lightbulbs off and read in the gentle glow of a luminescent puppy.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090428/ap_on_re_as/as_skorea_cloned_dogs

PANDEMIC ALERT

THE CENTERS FOR DISEASE CONTROL has issued a pandemic alert for an alarming illness spreading from poor parts of the world to America. The CDC urges Americans to take special precautions against the now prevalent bear flu.

Bear flu is spread by direct contact with bears and initially resembles the common cold. Common signs and symptoms of bear flu include:

(1) Runny nose
(2) Fatigue
(3) Giant mauling slash marks across the head and torso
(4) Absence of limbs/giant bite marks on limbs
(5) Diarrhea

The CDC encourages Americans to employ common safeguards against communicable disease. Bear flu can be prevented by washing hands, covering coughs, avoiding picnics, avoiding situations where you feel tempted to surprise and taunt baby bears, and disenfecting bloody wounds that bears can track by scent.

If you have been in contact with anyone showing symptoms of the bear flu, the Berenstein Bears, or Mexicans, the CDC encourages you to see your healthcare provider right away.

The Week in Review

This week had me scanning want ads after I was informed the latest batch of shit I pulled may lead to my termination. Long story short, the bosses upstairs now know my name, and not in a good way. But on Friday the whole thing went away in a fantastically anticlimactic manner.

Immediate Boss: So the big bosses said never do it again.
Me: That's it?
Immediate Boss: What did you learn?
Me: That I'm invincible?

In other news, I literally stayed up all night reading a book I found too riveting to put down. This hasn't happened to me since seventh grade when I read the John Grisham book that made me want to be a lawyer/space warrior. (It also happened in law school, but definitely not because I found the reading material riveting). Suffice it to say, I love Chuck Palahniuk. I'd read fight club way back when the movie came out, so I don't know why it took me so long to read another of his works, but Choke totally encapsulates the "I'm fucked up, but not much happens until the plot twist" modern Hemingway style that I loved so much in Fight Club. Plus it was funny as hell...in a really dark way. You'd all benefit from reading it.

Finally, I recently found myself pondering whatever happened to Fergie? Not so many months ago the radio was flooded with "My Humps," "London Bridge," "G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S," or other incredibly shitty noise and I couldn't open up Yahoo without reading about how she pissed herself on stage or committed some other hilarious meth-induced antic. Is she dead? Hibernating? Spelunking an Afghani cave with Bin Laden? It's a serious question that absolutely deserves the pondering I've given it just now.

Power of the Press...to Fuck Itself

So I managed to wrassle up enough reasonable doubt in a circus of a trial to secure acquittals on some pretty serious shit. However, despite the three rings that constituted this mess, the major controversy appeared after voir dire.

I have a habit of asking prospective jurors whether they've read any stories on the alleged offenses to be tried. Before asking this question, I happened to know that a particular smalltown rag, run by a college dropout and his unemployed janitor girlfriend, ran an extremely inflammatory story declaring my client's guilt from the criminal complaints and calling for his prolonged incarceration. I asked the entire panel whether anyone read this paper. Nobody raised their hands. Afterwards I commented that apparently not as many people read this newspaper as I thought. It elicited unexpected laughter.

That was litreally the last I said of this particular smalltown newspaper. Immediately after voir dire a struck juror confronted me and demanded apology for allegedly ripping on her husband's newspaper. I told her no apology was forthcoming and went to the vending machine. I selected Snickers. The trial commenced, I caught a few lucky breaks, and went home after two days of trial.

Fast forward to Monday. My inbox contained a letter from the "Editor in Chief" of said local paper. It accused me of extreme defamation that was "entirely inappropriate and unprofessional." It demanded that I schedule an immediate court hearing to issue an apology in open court, and write a letter to the editor of every newspaper sold or distributed in this county. All five of them. If i did not comply immediately, the Editor in Chief stated he would take legal action and make formal complaints to the circuit court of this county. My colleagues and I all laughed gregariously at his foolishness and lack of gold.

Going forward again to this afternoon, I happened to be in the same courthouse where all of this took place. The District Attorney informed me that the editor had visited and asked that "criminal slander" charges be filed against me. The "victim" also noticed the judge that I was unethical and should be banned from the practice of law. Hearing this information from the judge, I loudly proclaimed him to be pure grade douche, advised that he should kiss both my asscheeks and advised him to fuck his own mother. This was all hypothetical.

Turns out, the motherfucker was sitting in the lobby, about eight feet away. He heard every word.

So this brings me to the editorial portion of this report. What kind of shitty newsman would take such great offense to simple remarks in open court? And demand such severe vengeance? The First Amendment goes both ways and as it turns out, I too, have the right to speak freely. I in no way implied that his paper was bad during voir dire, but now that I know the reactions, I kind of wish I would have stood on a soapbox and wiped my ass with the latest edition. At least I would have gotten my money's worth.

Another Awkward Utah Moment

So I started playing in a community band and in an effort to bond I've started to respond to people talking to me. Anyways, our resident expert was talking to one of the resident dumbasses (not me) and describing the difference between doowop and bebop.

I just couldn't keep my fucking mouth shut. Upon hearing "this is bebop style," I had to ask "what's Rocksteady style?"

"You mean like a steady rock beat?"

Utah: "No, I meant like Rocksteady and Bebop, from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles."

-Silence-

Utah: "You know, Shredder had a couple of mutant goons including a giant, talking, bipedal rhinoscerous and they'd terrorize the turtles from Dimension X"

-Turns away from Utah without response-

Doesn't anyone have respect for the technodrome these days??? That's some shameful shit.

Another year, another revelation

So I usually take some time around my birthday to reflect on my life, goals, and gold. I try not to compare my life to anyone else's partly because I'm supposed to measure happiness on my own internal scale, but mostly because I'm just pathetic and comparing myself to others would be a complete validation of my self-deprication.

Joking aside, after careful consideration, I've determined at 28 years old, I'm a complete fucking child. I spend most of the day deliberating on burritos and simple ways to vampire-proof a home (hint: Garlic Paint). Clean clothes are heaped on my couch because I'm too lazy to hang them up. Just last week I was late to work because I wanted to finish watching Saved by the Bell. The last woman I dated passed on me for a douche with a green faux hawk. I've watched Rudy so many times I can tell you that the go-ahead touchdown against Georgia Tech should have been denied for holding.

So yeah, I revel in the trivial. And it's not like I'm ashamed of it. I'm just kind of ashamed that I'm not ashamed. I'm 28 years old and I haven't made a truly groundshaking leap in maturity since I was 12. Even as I type this realization, my feet are warmed by slippers that look like mallard ducks.

Every day people seem to hint at me that I should be concerned. My sister is captain of the cross country team and number one in her class, my brother is geting married, my closest friends excel in their careers and watch better movies than I do. Even the mention of someone else's successes seems like a tacit suggestion that if I don't get my shit together soon I'll end up being sixty years old, wearing a Stocco jersey, and still barking at dogs I see in parked cars. So yeah, I can't blame the archaeologist who digs me up five thousand years from now and ignores the study of my bones for lunch because, fuck it, I wasn't Spencer Pratt. (Speaking of which, to anyone reading this, please make sure that when I die, I'm laid to rest in a boat with my sword and cast over a waterfall like Boromir so those dickweeds can't put my corpse in a future museum of the lame).

In the end I guess our time on earth is ultimately measured by how we feel about it. However, I think I would feel pretty damn good about being remembered as a cross between Einstein, Jesus, and Blackbeard. Hopefully by the time I reach 29, I'll at least be able to compare my life and accomplishments to Air Bud. That dog played varsity football when he was only five years old. What the fuck have I ever done?

Psychoanalyze this [Points to Genitals]

I tend to dream nearly every night and experience some very vivid dreams. But last night's was both incredibly badass but also totally clear in a subconscious way I haven't really figured out.

So I somehow ended up in England living there as a barrister with an awesome array of court wigs, including one that looked remarkably like Dennis Rodman's hair. However, the town I lived and practiced in was exactly the same as my home town in Wisconsin. Being in England, I managed to pick up a gorgeous British chick with great intelligence and personality. In the dream I fell in love with her and wanted to marry her, but couldn't take her back to the U.S. because she wasn't a citizen.

But alas, there was a solution to my quandry. The United States had just declared war on a rogue sect of zombies that occupied the west coast of the United States. All foreigners who fought in the U.S. effort to rid itself of zombies would be granted full citizenship. So my hot ass British woman who I was porking on a regular basis in this dream decided she, I, and her two best friends (also a couple of filthy foreigners) would join the fight against Zombies in the U.S.

Now, before we went into combat, we all made a pact that if one of us were bit, we'd kill the person before he or she became a zombie. Of course what the military didn't tell us was that the four of us would be the first people going into combat against an army of a million or so zombies. Of course, the initial rush of zombies was badass. I killed a lot of them with my machine gun, but we were soon overwhelmed and surrounded. Eventually my British woman's best friend, Zoey, was bit by a 'bie. I promptly shot her in the face and forgot about it. Eventually I ran out of bullets and picked up an old railroad spike and started shanking zombies until they backed the fuck off. I exited the war zone with woman and her last friend in tow.

Oops! Turns out I didn't actually see her friend get bit by a zombie and ended up shooting her anyways. But it didn't matter. She emerged unscathed with a bandaid on her head where I shot her. My woman gained citizenship and I asked the general what I would get since I was already a citizen. He paid me with a g-pack of cocaine. So I picked a corner and started dealing.

Anyone want to tell me what the fuck this means?

Something I Miss

I had a hell of a lot of fun in college. In fact, if I were to take a PBT right now, I'm pretty certain that the administrator would detect alcohol leftover in my bloodstream from my senior year of college. But when I wasn't taking heroic chugs of alcohol mixed with lava, chopping down giant redwood trees with one fell swoop of my axe, and herding packs of rhinosceri atop my clydesdale horse, I was kind of a band geek.

It's not like it started in college...I was kind of a band geek from sixth grade on up. There's really no way to describe the level of comraderie and pride involved in mastering an instrument in the confines of an ensemble. Sure, there was alot of hard work...daily rehearsals, sectionals, individual practices, required lessons, but the result was awesome. My college is well known for being a prepping ground for professional musicians so I had to spend my first two years in the "lower ensembles" before I was finally called up to the show my junior year. I'll always remember that first rehearsal with the top ranked ensemble. Words can't describe the professionalism and pride involved in playing for what was essentially a professional touring ensemble. Although I am physically incapable of coming to tears (I was born with nail guns in the place where my tear ducts should be), there were several life-changing moments for me right there in that ensemble resulting simply from a perfect harmony of those 50 or so people coming together. There was a bond amongst us that couldn't possibly come from any other situation.

Nevertheless, after my last concert, I packed up my Freedom Horn (changed from "French" after 9/11) and haven't played since. I ended up kind of committed to this "law" thing and was barred from playing in the undergrad due to my status as a future esquire and undergrad woman hunter. The other week I heard a song on the radio that we had played in one of my first concerts. It brought the St. Paul Cathedral to its feet. I really hadn't realized how much I missed playing in an ensemble. The wave of nostalgia was both incredibly good and incredibly sad at the same time. I guess you could say after my final hurrah in the school's top ensemble, I was ushered out without any fanfare or thanks because I was on the wrong side of one of the biggest scandals the music department had ever seen (much more serious than the typical music department politics). Not that I did anything wrong, I just ended up in the shunned minority opinion. So rather than refelct on the incredible experiences, I told myself "fuck all yall muthafuckas," and walked out the door.

While I still believe I was right, now I know my focus was entirely on the wrong thing. Music can be an incredible bridge between all spheres of humanity. I still get goosebumps upon hearing an old instrumental version of "Nearer my God to Thee." Out of all the cynicism, tragedies and otherwise terrible things going on in the world, the fact that a few variations on pitch and tempo can still do that to a person is a fucking miracle. It may be a little late, but I thank God, John Cusack, or whatever party is responsible for every second I spent in that wind orchestra and hope everyone has the chance to feel that kind of connection at least once in their lives.

Anyone want to go see the orchestra? How about Five for Fighting?