Blog for Zeverica

So I went to get a minnesota liscense and plates and had an interesting adventure. First of all, the liscense plat eplac eis on the escond floor of sears (insert you own sarcastic comment here). I get there and the overly nice gentleman asks me for the title to my car. I proceed to give him my Dc title. Across the title, in lovely caligraphy it says "District of Colombia" The guy at the ocunter said that my title was no good becasue it was from a foreign country. I reply that the Distirct of COlombia is not a foreign country but is, in fact, our nation's capital and mad eit even clearer that it was Washington, D.C. He then asked what state that was in. I told him it was not a state and that it was an independant district ( I left out the whole taxation without representation thing because I felt it was alittle over his head) and was not part of a state. he then asked if it was Wahsington state, and I said no Washington D.C. He finally relented and told me he was going to ask his supervisor. Well, suffic eit to say, his supervisor didn;t get to be supervisor for nothing and approved my title. Now, I am officially a minnesotan!

As a teaching device, is it better to use the outrageous example to prove a point or use the ordinary example to help illustrate what happens in the every day world? I think in school the everyday scenario would it make it easier to learn how the world works but of course the teacher will always use the iutrageous example to show why the everyday approach doesn't work. For the most part, it is all bullshit. I guess that is why they often use the term academic exercise outside of academia.

On another note, Dutch Ruppesburger is a pussy.

Well, its been a while but I figured posting to the blog is as good as a waste of time as anyhting else. The joint still gets some hits so I figured I would keep it going again. Plus, the pope died.

Well, I am no longer a government hack and am a hardworking law student now. School is OK but it is a shitload of work and as many of you know, I hate fucking working. Got a sumemr job and that is going to be even mor eowrk, but at least I am going to be well compensated, its about time I get some fucking money for all the promise everyone told me I always had. By the way, Minnesota is a great state.

However, my DC license and plates expire this summer so I am now studying for the written drivers test, wish me luck.

The nig new thing that I have introduced to in law school is the chat room. I always knew they existed but this modern way of pasing notes in class is pretty interesting. I think I prefer the old way, and I am old enough to remeber it, but I guess anything beats paying attention.

Well, that's good for a reintroduction. Stay tuned as I enter the random musing of a man bored in class in the upcoming weeks and months. Glad to have you back.

--The management.

Dear Miss Manners:

What do you do with a used tea bag when a guest at another person's home or in a restaurant?

I have always found it rather tacky to put it on the same saucer that I am placing my cup on. I have always placed a clean saucer next to the individual for any used tea bags. What should one do?

"What shall I do with the tea bag?" is an excellent question to ask your hostess. After all, it is her tablecloth.


This is fucking ridiculous. He asked you, Miss Manners, answer him. CAUS I H AVE ALWAYS WANTED TO KNOW THE ANSWER!!

For all you gaming addicts in South Florida!!!!!! Yahoo!!!!!

As many of you know and don't care, I have been in the prcess fo applying to law school. On SaturdayI heard back from my last viable alternative and was rejected. That means that the University of Minnesota (apparently known as the U) Law School will be where I matriculate in the fall. I am very excited to go there as my application was on lark but it is the best school i got into and they gave me one hell of a scholarship (they really do need hispanics in the midwest). Plus, hey I finally get to live in middle America. Well, as you also know, I was not a very strong candidate. MY grades were awful and my LSATs, while decent, wouldn;t knock the soccks off anyone. SO I applied far and wide. My win/loss was 7 admits and 20 denials and two apps outstanding (but to schools I don't want to go to). That is all!

Thank you to zevblogfan@yahoo.com for this submission:

Editorial: We need more letters to achieve a balance

Letters to the editor, a staple of The Post-Crescent’s Views pages, are a way to take the political and social temperature of the Valley. A well-written letter allows readers to ponder different points of view, perhaps made more poignant because the author is someone you might know. At best, they should offer a full spectrum of beliefs and topics.

Recently, though, as the race for president heats up, we’ve been dealing with this quandary: How can we balance the perspectives and topics of our letters when many of our submissions have been coming only from one side?

We’ve been getting more letters critical of President Bush than those that support him. We’re not sure why, nor do we want to guess. But in today’s increasingly polarized political environment, we would prefer our offering to put forward a better sense of balance.

Since we depend upon you, our readers, to supply our letters, that goal can be difficult. We can’t run letters that we don’t have.

Finally, a myth to dispel: We don’t give our letters any sort of political litmus test to determine if they make it into print. If that were so, we wouldn’t run letters that take swings at who we are and what we print.

If you would like to help us “balance” things out, send us a letter, make a call or punch out an e-mail. Read the handy box at the bottom of the page for more information. We’d love to hear from you.

Bill Clinton may have had the right education plan.

It's better than clubbing seals!!! Hitting penguins!

I am starting a new periodic feature on my blog. It is entitled: "Where's Galen" and will consist of his periodic emails updating us on his travels. here is installment #1:

Hi there. Hope with this month of May spring has come wherever you may be.
Here in Kathmandu it's too hot and dusty, pre-monsoon anticipation occupying
thought and conversation. Haven't been here too long, though, as the past
several weeks were spent in the cool north around the Manaslu, one of the
Himalayan 8000ers. The three week trip began with a three day march up the
Buri Gandaki Valley, a lowland route otherwise known as the Furnace Khola at
an elevation much lower than here in the capital. Afternoons brought the
relief of rain showers though, but after twice a day meals exclusively of
dal bhat it was nice to move beyond the Gurung villages of Gorkha. Last day
there I unfortunately had my camera stolen from my bag while it was in the
room we rented, but the suspect in mind turned out to be the crook, the
lodge-owner's daughter. To my good fortune a friendly school teacher also
staying at the house intervened on my behalf and asked his students about
the possible presnece of a 'new found' camera, and the little girl who
snatched it couldn't hide her guilt (so for the second time this same little
camera had been recovered after being swiped). Handed it back and Ramesh the
teacher sent it with some women from the village who were headed to the same
destination as me, Serong Gompa. A festival, or rather Wang, was to take
place, with the high profile Doldrup-chen Rinpoche helicoptering in from
Sikkim to offer blessings and transmissions to all pilgrims and monks. And
many there were, young and old alike. And me. An alien anomaly for the first
few days, but to become an honored guest. After befriending some of the
monks and lamas, I no longer could wander and linger about alone or with my
friend Pasang, stared at constantly just as I stared back. For now I was
invited (required) to sit with the monastic party for all entertainment
activities as well as casual tea times, a red head almost but not quite
bleding in with the maroon and safron robes all around me, watching the
cham-masked monk dance performances and evening line dance competitions
between men and women around the dangerously raging bonfire. People were
intoxicatingly celebratory, as they had come all this way to receive a
long-life empowerment from Rinpoche. Having made a 2-5 day hike up an
absurdly steep trail (cliff face), over a pass and into this hidden valley,
or beyul, which is known as Kyimalung, the Valley of Happiness, there wasn't
anywhere better they possibly could have been, for Kyimalung is a Shambala,
or Shangila. The crossing of a 1500 foot gorge on a rickety wooden catwalk
led onto the hanging valley where white monkies and red mountain deer (which
eat out of your hand) wander below the Serong Lhakang, part of what is now a
lagre monastary which itself sits below pink and purple rhodendendron
forests with glaciers and the peaks of the Serong Himal rising directly
above. To the enlightened this place is visible as a Pure Realm, a mystical
land of empty purity in which all appearances are emanations of perfection.
To me it was incredibly beautiful as well. And the temple was absolutely
amazing, with perhaps the finest detailed paintwork I have ever seen.
Several centuries old, it was restored nearly a decade ago with the
assistance of a contingent of American and other Western spiritual patrons.
A commerative plaque inside included names familiar to some of us: Pam Ross
and Charles Gay, John Mock and Hugh Swift, various other America-Nepal
expats, scholars, photographers, and to my shock and surprise, The Grateful
Dead. Now I have no idea if Jerry and the gang actually made the pilgrimage
up here, but somehow they helped to make it as beautiful as it is. And even
though rain fell for most of our days there, and two of us in my little tent
was at times a bit too close for comfort, the weather couldn't dampen
people's spirits or excitement. Drinking homemade raksi and chang morning
and night lent itself to the mood too. Having been seen a lot of the time
sitting and wandering and talking with the monks came a deferential demeanor
from most people towards me, which was awkward but lent itself to
invitations to sit down and eat some boiled potatoes and drink some hot
raksi with them around the campfires, 'them' ranging in age from 7 to 70,
men, women, children and, surprisingly, lamas. There is a traditional
lineage of house-holder lamas in Nupri who act as the local priests but
rather than taking typical monastic vows they live more or less like a
layman, marrying, having children, and drinking. So for five days we sat
and talked, ate and drank, recieved blessings of scarves and food, watched
and joined dances day and night, everyone in their finest chubas, aprons,
hats, and gold. The day Rinpoche departed was quite a let down for everyone,
palpable in the air, and after a terrifically sunny morning, soon after his
helicopter took off it poured rain for the remainder of the day. Most
pilgrims left that afternoon as well, but just as we had arrived before
virtually all of the other several hundred pilgrims, we stuck around and
were some of the last to leave the next day. A long day's walk brought us
back down into the Nupri Valley, where for the next couple of nights we
stayed with friends and relations of Pasang's. Nupri has a real passion for
drinking raksi, copious amounts from morning to night, so we were often met
in the AM by vistors bearing a liter bottle or so of the home made spirit.
Warmed on the fire it was tasty to imbibe time to time, but from 7 in the
morning until whenever we made it to in the afternoon made for a bender of
several consecutive days. In fact, at every single monastary I visited up
there (I was on a nye-kor, or pilgrimage of sorts, after all) we had to
drink. At one we were given the honored seat to the right of the fire
hearth, directly below hanging scraps of drying yak meat, around which flies
swarmed and laid eggs, the maggots from which were literally raining down on
us. Didn't land in the cups of tea and raksi too often, but constatly had to
shake them out of hair and brush off the shoulders and legs. Bugs in Nupri
are more or less a way of life, and I had a couple real battles with bed
bugs, nasty buggers that couldn't be avoided either. The fact that there are
virtually no sanitation vacilities in most villages up there made it
impossible to bathe, a further advantage the bugs had. In fact, in Pasang's
village there was no running water within a ten-minute walk. One house I
visited in the village did have a solar powered light bulb, but that was
about it for electricity as far as I could gather. Not a toilet in town,
though some villages did have public water taps. So on the one hand life is
incredibly tradtional in Nupri, women weaving the rugs which people sit and
sleep on around the fire hearth, which is the center of all social acticity
in every house. Most folks also spin, weave and wear their woolen chubas,
and save for some cheap Chinese goods brought over the border from Tibet
like canvas shoes and synthetic skirts, most stuff is truly old school. I
can't imagine that life has changed that much in the past several centuries
really, save for the Indian aluminum pots and that odd Chinese accessory.
All cooking on the central wood fire, houses of stone with wooden roofs,
black and smokey inside, rarely a window, people as dirty as can be. So with
that traditional culture, pious relgiousity, and proud heritage, the other
hand is that illiteracy rates must be around the 90th percentile (not
counting the monastics). A complete lack of health care and facilities and
education has kept infant mortality rates astronomically high-I read at
about 30%. While it is beautiful and wonderful there, it is also incredibly
sad. With the Maoist insurgency the one Nepal based development organization
working up there has subsequently pulled out, and one NGO from Oregon
called SEEDS is trying to help one of the schools in Ro (which, as the
largest village in the valley with hundreds of families, has only 20
students). My teacher Tsetan's friend is one of the teacher's up there (and
one of two villagers I met in two weeks who could speak English), and one of
their colleague/friends did his PhD work in the Nupri Valley, so I'm hoping
to open some dialogue with all of them and see what kind of help I might be
able to lend a little later on. While staying there in Ro with Phugu
Tsewang, the school teacher, we were hit by a pretty heavy snow storm, which
dumped probably 8-10 inches where we were at 10000 feet over the course of
two days. This held up our plans a bit (as to be expected in this region, of
course), but made for an absolutely spectacular morning when we hiked up to
Pungyen Gompa, another monastery several centuries old that sits directly at
the base of Manaslu, just below the Manaslu and Pungyen glaciers which pour
down the mountain's west face. Snow to our knees up there and a cloudless
sky above made it quite a bright sight, and rather hot. None of the monks
had yet made it there for the summer, so we had the whole place to ourselves
and enjoyed a picnic of hardboiled eggs and biscuits and tea sitting on a
sheet of corrugated metal there in the snow next to the Gompa below Manaslu.
As eggs had just come to town (along with ramen and biscuits) with the
porters passing through the valley (more or less a store on foot, as the
towns really don't have shops, and everyone just eats tsampa and potatoes
and rice and various combinations thereof), I had been the priviledged
recipient of more eggs than I could consume over the past few days, boiled,
fried, and the local favorite, cracked raw in a kettle of hot raksi. Didn't
make for the tastiest brew in my opinion, but as the guest in the seat of
honor there was certainly no refusing. So after the morning jaunt to
Pungyen we decided to try the pass the next day which would take us out of
Nupri and into the Manang region. Weren't quite sure what to expect
snow-wise, as what was knee-deep at the Gompa would definitely be much more
another thousand meters higher. Spent the night at another of Pasang's
friends, who made tea with Nescafe which was quite nice, and even better,
cans of PBR brought town from Tibet which I just couldn't refuse (the price
was right). This occasion reinforced my conviction that PBR is the number
one beer available in the most remote corners of the world (or at least the
Tibetan one), including Everest Base Camp-Tibet side; Mt. Kailas in the far
far west; truck stop hovels along the Taklamakan desert; and now here in
northern Nupri, many days walk from any road. Double fisting a PBR and a cup
of salty Tibetan butter tea was really the way to do it. That night around
the first cast iron stove I had seen in the region we met up with the two
villagers we planned to cross the pass with, a friendly fellow named Topgey
and a hard of hearing (and I think hard in the head as well), Pema. The 7 AM
departure actually happened at 8:30, but we were glad to be heading high and
made excellent time until hitting the snow. Topgey was bringing two horses
over the 5200 meter pass in order to buy rice and other provisions in
Manang, so after Pema had some trouble negotiating the snow covered rocks
with the horses, I took the reins and walked with Topgey up the very
moderate slope postholing in the wet snow. We were followed by a two other
guys, a terribly hungover Sherpa (or so we called him, he was actually Rai)
who was huffing and puffing with a splitting head the whole way up, and a
young Tamang who was with Karma the Sherpa (Rai) and carried his bag whe
nthe horses were unloaded at the snowline. It was a brilliant day with
terrific views of 6000-7000 meter peaks on both sides of the pass as well as
behind, hanging glaciers impossibly close, and eagles overhead. It did cloud
up a bit on the saddle, but the wind wasn't too wicked, and after hanging
some more prayer flags and kata scarves we took some photos, cooked up some
ramen on my stove, and finished the raksi and chang. Rather than carrying
any food or water whatsoever, Topgey and Pema opted instead to carry several
liters of both drinks. In their opinion, alcohol would be the best remedy
should any headache attack at the high altitude. Suffice it to say no one
refused my offers for a sip of water, nor did I decline their drink either.
Everyone enjoyed the hot ramen too. We made it down the steep far side of
the pass in record time, and after a night in the valley below where a few
'hotels', or stone and mud and wood huts with fireplaces and provisions for
dal bhat and tea accomodated us, we cruised down the Dudh Khosi valley and
all of a sudden hit the Annapurna Trail which was a bit of a shock what with
the goods available and the quality and size of the tea houses and the
people present. I had encountered a couple of large Dutch trekking groups
cruising through Nupri, in a larger group style with mess and kitchen tents
and good size crews of Sherpas and porters. In the past this is how all
visitors to Nupri had to go, which is unfortunate because virtually zero
finanical benefit is gained by the locals whose villages you're passing
through ,as everything is set up and paid for through an agency here in KTM.
Now that the police checkposts up there are no longer operating, due to
previous Maoist activites, one can travel though freely, sans permits, and
go both low impact as well as supplying some sort of economic support to
people who live with a real dearth of money making opportunites. So here on
the Annapurna Trail it was into the more developed trekking zones, and not
knwing where to stay for the night I was completely taken aback when walking
into one town two girls ran out of a tea house waving to me. I hadn't seen
Stephanie or Patricia since January when we were all in Laos ,and though we
both knew that the other might be in India later this summer, it was a
surprise and opportune encounter there in Tal. Fortuious because they
informed me of a checkpost which was operating just down the road (that I
had previously been under the impression would be out of commission) and for
which I did not have the requisite permit. So Pasang and I left early that
morning, because at 5:30 there would certainly be no one posted for a shift.
It was a long and extremely hot day out to Besisahar that afternoon, and
after some chow mein and momos and a coke, a shower was followed by a beer
and some chicken. It was a real treat, as always, to enjoy food other than
dal bhat or tsampa or potatos or ramen, all I had really eaten for the past
three weeks other than the eggs and a little cheese I brought from KTM. Next
morning it was onto the bus (a movie coach, but not quite like the ones in
South America) and back here to the city. Will be here a few more days, just
in time for the weekly bandh strike which shuts down the city for a day or
two or more. Then it's off and up to Solu-Khumbu, to wander beneath the
giants and witness the grand finale to the climbing season around Everest.
And then back to the city by Memorial Day.
Well, I guess that's about it for now. Take care and as always it's great to
hear from any and everyone.
Peace and love-
Galen

"A proposal to ban residents from keeping junked cars on their lawns may have sputtered out" in the E. KY county of Letcher. Foes "have raised such a ruckus" that Letcher Co. leaders "appear to be backing away" from the measure, "which also would require people to cut noxious weeds like poison ivy and thistles from their yards." Judge-Exec. Carroll Smith: "People feel like government shouldn't tell them what they can do on their own property. But when my junk is causing rats and snakes and dangerous conditions for my neighbors' kids, then I'm outside my rights." Added Letcher Co. Solid Waste Dir. John Cleveland: "If I came into Letcher County and there were junk cars everywhere, trash everywhere, why would I want to come back." Letcher Co. resident Bill Meade, whose grandaughter was killed in the dented Chevy in his yard: "It may not mean a thing to anyone else, but it means something to us. Nobody is going to touch that car" (Alford, AP/Lexington Herald-Leader, 5/8).

When I arrived home from the concert and assorted other waht not last evening, I remebered that I ahd an open window in my house. Its an old house and the windows are not really up to snuff. Suffice it to say that if closing the iwndow was easy, I would have closed it before I left. When I returned home I was a wee bit tipsy and thought that using a hammer to kncok the window would be a good idea. It helped a bit but the window was stuck near the bottom. I am a big guy so I figured that I could hang from the window and it would close. Well, that worked. Unfortunately, I neglected to remove that glass shelf infront of the window, the one that my lovely cactus sits on. When the window gave the shelf shattered, injuring me int he process. I am now all scratche dupa nd I think I still have glass in me. Pity, please.

Crossed anoher thing off the list, Superdiamond. This coverband is supposed to be one of the best in the world and even has the imprimateur of the real deal NEil himself. This band is a bunch of guys on sparkly shirts playing Neild Iamond tunes. They do it well and even have a few tricks up their sleeves. However, this band was upstaged by the opening act, The Legwarmers. AS their name implies, they are an '80s coverband complete with hair and costumes. They were excellent excellent excellent. I highly recommend them. Back to Superdiamond. I learned that I am not as familiar with the Neil Diamond catalog as a good Jewish boy should be and that may have detracted from my full enjoyment of the concert. BUt hey, that's life. In recap, Superdiamond good, Legwarmers better.

Child Toucher!!!!!

Say it now, say it now, say it now...

Cracling Rosie climb on board.

Should one steer clear of cars with Galludet stickers? Does honking your horn do any good?

Happy Cinco de Mayo, everyone. Maybe Santa Paco left presents under the Revolution Cactus.

More salad for all you tossers.

When Iw as a youngster, my folks used to take me and some of the kids on my baseball team for treats at Carvell after practice and games. It was a friendly neighborhood carvel about 1.5 miles from my house. It was owned by the nicest Indian family (dot not feather) and they always gave out free samples and th elike. I used to order a lot of sherbert, both rainbow and orange, but what I really always wanted was a Cookiepuss but Mom would never let get one.

Yeah, this is still really really funny.

BROWNOUT!!!!

IF you need to go adjust, retuck, or assorted other what not int he men's room, FOr G-d's sake, use the fuckign stall. I don't need to see that shit.

There are some life skills that you learn but do not utilize very often. There are the two main skills I picked up in college that are verymuch liek riding a bike (tails I know you have trouble with that). They are opening a bottle of beer with a BIc lighter and throwing a ping pong ball at plastic beer cups. Both these skills have saved me time and again and on derby day it felt good to toss the ping pong ball and sink it more times that not and always int eh clutch. Its a shame we weren't playing full cotnact bici cause it wuld have been messy.

Saw this ona friend's blog, thought I would steal it:

Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.
--Ernest Hemingway

I got a computer virus. DO I have to acknowledge that on ym immunizaiton forms for LAw School?

So I call up the Homestead to make reservations for a wedding I am going to attend. The kind lady that answered the phone greeted me with, "It a great day at the HOmestead." I asked if it really was a great day and she told me it was and I lamented that it was not such a nice day here. She asked where and I told her DC. She said she would gladly change places. I asked why. She replied, "to be closer to my President." Well, aside from the blatantly political (and I should said stupid) response I thought it was sort of inappropriate. She didn't know who I am and how I felt about our pPResident. I guess that is just the mindlessness of red staters that beleive that GWB is god's gift and therefore we all want to be near him. (Note: I make a point to not be political on this blog.) Well, I made my reservations and did not have pass any more lithmus tests.

Grammatically speaking...

Gambling--

I like to gamble. I enjoy it thouroughly. I love going to the casino and sidling up to a craps table and rolling th ebones. I enjoy a good game of blackjack too. But poker, oh poker, I just suck at it. That is the unfortunate truth.

The Hotentots, they're running amuck!

A collegue of mine comlained earlier that I have not blogged today. Well, if oyu can beleive it or not (and for ost people it is not) I have been busy and unable to blog. I have aheadach right now so what I may create may not be up to some people standrds, but hey, fuck you, its my blog.

I had an odd dream last night. Much strange than one I killed a bunch of krean kids ina nd tried to stash their bodies.

I also saw a reverse hit and run. Which, I must admit, is odd. It was funny to see the police man chase after the runner in his civilian car.

Who is Yassir Shakur?

That is all and a feeble all at that.

I just signed up for a gmail account. I look foward to the people at google reading my emails. Especially since they won't list this esteemed blog on their searches.

Word of advice, learn to say "go fuck yourself" in several different languages.

I would like to dedicate today's postings to the late, great Bill pullman. A man who, in a perfect world, would have died last week.

Anybody lookign for a wedding dress?

Watch your FUCKING mouth!

Who knew I had kids and that they were such douche bags?

This is an excellent article regarding the land of sugar and Texas. I encourage all to read it and learn more abot your fellow Americans.

So my sister came to town this weekend to march in the the march for something or other that has to do with babies. I am all for this wonderful gathering (although Kathleen Turner looked like a victim of domestic abuse during her interview with channel 4 news) but didn't think my sis should have travelled from philly to come. That said, I got the fuck out of town during that day. I did what any good red blooded American would and should do, I went to the horse track.

Gotta love the track. I like to go to the one in Chalres Town WVa because it is the one I used to go to when I was at summer camp. It s a little farther than the ones in Maryland but they got slots and as I learned slots help you make back all you lost betting on the ponies. So, thank you to the citizens of West Virginia who have legalized slots, hopefully the Marylanders will get their acts together. Come to think of it, the point is moot since there are several indian casinos within a 45 mile radius of Minneapolis.

My car has an oil leak, again. I am a little pissed.

In reference to an earlier post about using the adjectival and adverbial forms of words correctly, NBC news started making the sam mistakes referring to the Afghanistan border (its the Afghani Border) and the Pakistan Army (again, its the Pakistani Army). If you are uncomfortable adding an "i" to the end of the word, the you can say the border withor of Afghanistan or the Army of PAkistan. More peoiple get their news from NBC news than any other news source (at least according to their commericals) so they should have a responsibility to use proper grammar!

That's all for now. More to follow, later.

Oh where oh where has my little car gone?
Oh where oh where could it be?

In 1998, only 48 percent of American men shopped for themselves. In 2001, 65 percent did their own shopping, and by 2002 that number had risen to 70 percent, according to the NPD Group, a marketing information company.

I had an interesting conversation at work today. The topic really had me thinking about a major shift in diction for describing certain acts. Specifically, when did rimming or rim jobbing become tossing salad? And where did this jump come from. I also remeber learing the term about salads including something about syrup or jelly. I prefer the new term as it allows for some fun beavis and butt head hilalrity at other people's, especially waiters', expense.

If I recall I do remeber an HBO special about life in prison where an inmate was being interviewed being the first time I had heard the term. Did Hbo bring this great phrase into the lexicon?

In what boro did the huxtables live?

You gotta love the fact that Vanilla Ice can only get gigs at schools for the deaf.

The CEO of McDonald's died of a heart attack. Need I say more?

What the hell is wrong with people? What especially annoys me are the folks who don't cut the label off the sleeve of their suit jacket or coat. Why don't those people look around and see that the vast majority of people have removed those tags and its only schmucks like them that leave them on. An interesting corrolary to this phenomenon is the folks who don't cut open the vents on their coats and skirts. I was walking into the office on this glorious morning and saw a terrible offender. As I was walking up the hill, there was this lovely lady in front of me. While I was staring at her petootie, I noticed that the vent in her skirt was still sewn together at the bottom. So I was walking and thinking about the vent and then, all of a sudden, the vent broke free. I am not sure what this woman thought about her new found freedom, but I think she was a little startled as evidenced by the way she quickly held onto her skirt.

Well, I am off to chil-fil-a for lunch today. Yippeeeee.

It's a sad day for all of us as we learned of the passing of the Yankovics.

Thos Canadians really love to go clubbing.

I found this while searching the web. Its pretty darn good. Gotta love the elites.

I am soliciting comments regarding this guy and have included a baby picture for entertainment purposes.

(The this guy link is apprently too big for my picture hosting site (Those Motherfuckers). Anyway it a was a lovely photo fo David Ridley addressing an audience behind a podium. It is a lovely photograph. I'll email it you upon request.)

In response to my guilt, I feel compelled to include a shameless plug:

http://e2thelos.blogspot.com

I warn you, the content and editorial opinion differ greatly from that of Blog for Zeverica and its Management.

Well, I saw The Alamo this weekend. I was very excited to see a movie where the Mexican's actually win one. Unfortuately, I was surely dissapointed as Dennis Quaid routed the Mexicans and founded the Republic of Texas. However, Santa Anna kicked their butts at the Alamo.

Also, it was a very good Today show today.

According to the Jewish calendar, the year is 5765. According to the Chinese
calendar, the year is 4702. That means that for 1,063 years, the Jews went
without Chinese food.

When you are getting your marshmellows nice and toasty, be careful, cause, you know, fire burns!

It's an old notion from 8th grade english class that you shouldn't write like you speak. In fact, you should write more formally than you spoke, leaving out coloquialisms and other non-grammatically pristine words and phrases. In all fairness I will admit that I am a bit of culrpit too, but I like to do it for the irony. The phenomenon I speak of is writing in ebonics or other ghetto slang in emails and other electronic communications. Brother is not spelled brothah, or brotha, or any other goddamn way. Yo, has no place in written communications -- either opening a sentence (Yo, Wht's shakin') or closing a sentence (What's shakin, Yo?). While I understand the reasons why this happens and I will again admit to being part of the problem, its a slippery slope. We must strive to do better in order to avoid descending into chaos.

Friday July 2, 2004 - NRBQ plays the Birchmere. Saturday, June 12, theyplay the Ram's Head tavern. I can't wait!

Also, one can barely notice Pat Leahy's glass eye.

Go fetch the cow.

Bob Seeger has recorded 17 #1 hits. Is it possible to name 10 Bob Seeger songs without looking them up?

an oldie but a goodie.

RACECAR spelled foward spells: RACECAR
RACECAR spelled backward spells: RACECAR
RACECAR spelled diagonally with all wrong letters spells (imagine them diagonally):
G
F
C
D
W
K
B

The abbreviation for Monday (MON) is turned upside and backwards spells NOW.

The death of the adjective and adverb. The death of proper uses of descriptive words and phrases has really been frustrating me lately. I think it all started when the king of techno hip, apple computer, devised the advertising campaign to dupe the masses into bad grammer. Remeber their tag line: "Think Different". Well, that is just plain old bad grammer. Also grating on me is the misuse of adjectives in political speech to make certain words into epithets instead of descriptors. The most oft used one is the penchant for some politicians to call one of the party's the Democrat party. In case anyone was wondering, its called the Democratic party. This came to my attention becasue a well educated person I know forgot use the adjectival form of a word this morning. This post is just a reminder to mind you grammar.

Last night Id reamt I was Ingvie Mamlstein. Saw Bob Dylan perform, he was old but relatively good. It took him a couple of days to warm up. Hell boy is also rock solid entertainment. That is all....

Frito Pie vs. Gifelete Fish.

Why is Merle Haggard's opinion about politics necessary?

"I don't think a White House reversal looks good anytime" -- Merle Haggard, on the Bush admin initially "saying no with Connie Rice" (AP ).

Posted by: Zev / 6:47 AM (0) comments

Good Morning. I saw the Ladykillers last evening. Decent film. It proves several corolarys to the rule of midgets=funny.

Hello and welcome to my blog. I decided that this could be the biggest waste of time I could find. To begin, I would like to revisit some old themes. Please feel free to comment on whatever your little heart desires...

Croissant = Buttery Jesus so fuck off Mel Gibson.
The Cosby Show is still funny.
Misanthropy is just as fullfilling as philanthropy.
Frick and Frack ate a snack made of nuts and oats;
Now there's a neutered farmer and no more food for the goats.
Apparently, Mendocino County is better than Humboldt County.