Dumbfoundedness

I spent all last week in the Midwest. Chicago, IL (and suburbs) to be exact, and as much as the lives lead by inhabitants of this region already profoundly baffle me, one thing I encountered just this past week will perpetually dumbfound me.

The number of people that patronize-- in the sense of giving business to-- British Petroleum (BP) gas stations is obscenely large. First, I'll say that in the West, at least in Salt Lake City, we have very few BP gas stations, if any at all. I consider myself fortunate in this regard. I don't have to worry about possibly having to fill my car up there, even in an emergency. Second, it seems like this whole Gulf of Mexico-oil-spill-drill-rig disaster thing has been wiped clean from our minds. I'll be the first to admit that it's not something I think about on a daily, even weekly, basis anymore (partially because I don't see BP gas stations around). But having driven past numerous BP stations in the past week and having seen the gross amount of people still visiting this company goes beyond my realm of comprehension. I frankly just do not understand how somebody can still support a corporation that is responsible for the one of the largest man-made environmental disasters ever.

I'm no holier than thou. I drive a car to and from work, the store and anywhere else I may feel like going. It's a tremendous liberty we have, these automobiles are. We also have the freedom to choose our gasoline supplier. This is just another instance where we can choose who we give our money to, who we support and why. I'm not here to tell people who or who not to support. I just think that if you're going buy gas from BP, as an American, and going to complain about our current state of government, well, then you're just a dumb shithead. Some complain about the taxes we pay (that in turn are used in a number ways to benefit us as citizens by the way), but persistently, ignorantly fill their cars up at a British gas station? One who, you know, basically totally fucked the Gulf Coast in the ass for a couple years to boot? I don't get it. We can't just rip up parking tickets after we parked illegally and expect that we're above the laws. We have to be accountable for our own actions, across the board. We cannot expect to be provided liberties for free, we gotsta pay for that shit. Oddly freedom isn't free, ain't that a bitch.

I'm not saying that we shouldn't support any international companies. Some of them make some really cool shit. My car is Japanese and I like it that way. My jacket came from Canada, my shoes from China and a lot of the clothes I have from South America, Patagonia to be exact. Sorry, bad joke.

Anyways, yeah, apologies for the political/moral rant. I'll go back to posting bullshit every nine months again. Since anyone visits this anyways. Just sayin'.

Is this offered this in a wallet-size-quick-reference card?

Stuff That Is Guaranteed to Make My Day #1

As I was finishing off the box of Rice Krispies (a bummer of the particularly large variety as RK's are perhaps the most prone of all cereals to disintegrate to nothing but powdery carbs at the bottom of the box) I found a free toy inside. Bonus, this makes my day. The toy itself doesn't matter, but I'll tell you it's a "Beam Me Up Badge" modeled after the Star Trek device (I'm not a Trekkie, never have been, nor will I ever be, but it lights up and is just generally awesome). What really matters is that I got a toy, for free, with my cereal. I love toys. And I love cereal.

One particular memory never fails to emerge whenever I reach down deep for a guaranteed-fiftteen-minutes-of-pure-entertainment plastic trinket. And though it was a real ass-chapper at the time, it guarantees a good chuckle now.

Growing up, there was a continuing household battle raging whenever Cap'n Crunch was purchased. Not between my little brother and I, who the cereal was purchased for (though only on rare occasions, as it's damn sugary). Rather, battles ensued between my dad and us. Cap'n Crunch is my father's kryptonite. He'll eat it until he dies. I can't say why it's Cap'n Crunch but the addiction is certainly genetic.

Whenever we were privileged enough to get a box of the glorious golden crunch, the task at hand became keeping it from pops; to maximize our personal intake, of course. To say we fared well in this task would be a lie. If lucky, we ended up getting about half-a-box of what was rightfully ours.

Imagine then, the joy, when Cap'n Crunch threw a toy combination lock in every box. The lock was to serve one purpose, to keep unruly cereal pirates from pillaging your booty (the box even had a tab attached so you could lock the lid down). We were ecstatic, elated, stoked, pumped, psyched, you name it. We had finally solved our Cap'n Crunch dilemma.

So what if the combination lock was plastic and the cereal box cardboard. So what if the combination was all of three numbers. So what, it was certain to work. And that it did. For three whole days.

And on that fourth day-- oh, that fourth day-- we wake up, stroll to the kitchen, and find OUR box of the Cap'n on the table, open. Next to it lie the disassembled lock and empty bowl with a golden residue; dad nowhere to be seen. Leaving the box, lock and bowl on table in that manner was no accident, none at all, not if you know my dad. It was however the biggest "fuck you" of my lifetime.

We were defeated. Eight and ten-years old, completely deflated. Our booty pillaged. Well done Dad, well done. You solved a three-number, plastic combo lock for a bowl of cereal.

These are the memories my childhood consist of. Thanks Dad.

PS- Thanks Dad. This story is guaranteed to make my day.

PPS- Dad, re: the White Castles we stole from your freezer on Thanksgiving. I don't feel so bad anymore.

Checking in

It's been a bit busy lately here at YKAGTHM HQ, there hasn't really been to time to sit down and pour thoughts into binary code.

And frankly, it's still too busy.

Thanks for reading.

They weren't kidding...

...when they said that cars are just a money pit. I've now spent, on maintenance and repairs, more than what I paid for my car initially.

But the world keeps on turning. And as long as I have a koozie to keep my beer cold, I can't complain.

In other-- yet related-- news, I decided to hop on the alternate means of transportation bandwagon. Before I go any further I should mention that I had the same whim last year, but ended up going with a more trail-ready than commute-ready version of a two-wheeled transport. If you're slow, we're talking bikes here. I've ridden the crusher (mtn bike) to work more than a few fistful of times. But it's just a bit beastly for the road.

So. I will soon be welcoming one of these whips into my life.

And the crowd ooze and oz.

Paid a visit to IRO Cycle (www.irocycle.com) and built one from semi-scratch. A 62-cm giant in red, black and white Now it's time to play the waiting game, something which I've always been terrible at. To justify the purchase, I played the birthday card (coming up here in nine days).

Bikes, they're the future. Living far away from things isn't.

Irony

During my Drivers-Ed class, which I had to take in the Summer due to my late-July birthday, we had an instructor who loved to listen to sports radio. He would pretty much turn it on first thing as he sat down in the passenger seat. Not really a big deal I guess, other than the fact that sports radio isn't really about sports as much as it is about being a guy. Or one guy trying to one up the other guy at being a guy.

One particular day the instructor had us chauffeur him to his house to "pick something up." Well, that something was lunch. And he ate it. Inside. While we smoked a fatty in the school district's Ford Taurus. Kidding. Anyways, being the students, we didn't dare change the radio station or turn it off in fear he might walk out and get 'roid-style pissed (he was a football coach and somewhat of a meathead). So, there we sat, listening to "sports" radio for about half-an-hour while Ditka enjoyed his lunch. At this point of the radio show, the host was taking callers. One caller felt it valid enough to share with the world that he had spent the previous night alone eating cereal and drinking beer.

Well, as pathetic as all that sounds, I just realized that I'm drinking a beer and eating cereal. By myself. Oh yeah, and to make matters worse I graduated with a Bachelors degree in Broadcast Journalism; with the hope of going into sports radio. I actually made a brief career stop in the field. Quitting after I remembered it's not about sports at all. Thank god I never had to deal with callers that were proud of eating cereal and drinking beer by themselves.

Tongue in Cheek

I feel like Richard Dreyfus's character in the 1986 classic "Stand By Me" while I write this. I can only see myself self-narrating and looking on proudly. It's a shame; his acting is the only thing that can ruin that movie.

But that guy got the wheels cranking. I decided that I should finally fire up the finely-tuned potential that this venue is.

Creative, I know. My first entry is about entering in and of itself. So much for that potential.

Very quickly on our way to Big Lump Of Garbage. Thanks for your time.