Like Lambs to the Slaughter

Herman Cain's campaign is out with a new "Women for Cain" website described as "an online national fellowship of women dedicated to helping elect Herman Cain as the next president of the United States."

Or, as Herman Cain himself is calling it, a list of potential victims.

Go get'em Herm! Nothing says "Next President of the United States" like inappropiate touching and infidelity and now you have an online database of ladies lining up to get groped!

See ya in the White House in 2012!

Memories

I don't remember when I bought my first copy of Ill Communication by the Beastie Boys. It might have been a gift, but with the large quantity of swear words it contains, I doubt by parents would have bought it for me. I do know that by the fall of 1997 I had bought at least four copies because the first few had met their demise in ways directly related to the excessively high amount of play time they were subjected to: some broke, some got scratched, some were lost. I had other CD's, good ones, but there was only one in my car's CD player or in my Sony Discman (look it up, kids) at ALL times.

I have a couple of homemade, burned CD copies floating around somewhere; not that it matters though. I have a digital copy on both of my computers (desktop and laptop), my cellphone, on my Amazon Cloud Player, and Google Music, plus you can go to the official website and listen to the whole album plus bonus tracks there for free. CD's are rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Just like records, eight tracks, and audio cassettes, a new technology is slowly taking over and will soon force the CD into the "retro" category and only hipsters with their tight pants, black rimmed glasses and iPhones will care about them. And that's fine (not the hipster part, NO ONE deserves a fate in which those brats are the only ones who will pay attention to them. But the advancement of technology part is fine). It's the way of the world.

But as I was sitting at work listening to what is (and after seventeen years, I think it's safe to say) always will be my favorite album, I started thinking about how I am a member of the last generation that will remember the CD.

And I don't mean literally remember; all current and future generations will have Google and Wikipedia and, therefore, the ability to look up "Compact Disc". What I mean is that the concept of a store that exists only for the sale of CD's is already a thing of the past. CD players that you carry around (or better yet clip to your belt) are long gone. It won't be long until it's considered old-fashioned to have a CD player in your car now that cars are coming with auxiliary inputs, hard drives, and USB ports. Hell, I saw a commercial for a car with Pandora installed in the on-board, touch screen computer in the middle of the dashboard. Internet radio, in the car. What I mean is that we (myself and people my age) are the tail end of the last cohort that will really remember the CD experience.

I remember buying a CD for $20 or more only to find out that the only song worth a crap on the whole album was the one I had heard on the radio. But with iTunes and the Amazon MP3 store, you only pay for the songs you want so you don't have that disappointment. Plus, you can preview the songs right there on the website before you buy.

I remember the sinking feeling I used to get when a CD would skip. I would flip it over to find a deep, irreparable scratch right through it. And you could try and fix it, but it never worked. They sold machines that claimed to do the job, someone told me to use mayonnaise once, but the end result was always the same: shelling out another $20 for a new one. MP3's don't scratch, or wear out.

I remember CD books littering the floorboards of every car of every person I knew. You could flip through a book of 50 albums and still only find a handful of songs worth listening to. Now we just shuffle the iPod.

I remember reading the lyrics on the liner notes to try and figure out what the hell they were saying. Now we just Google it.

So, as I'm sitting here, forcing you to reminisce with me and listing to what is, and will continue to be my favorite album in crystal clear digital MP3 streaming over the internet, I can't help but think about all the fun I had as a dumb, teenage kid driving around town worrying about stupid little things that seemed to be so huge at the time, how nothing was more important than spending time with my friends, wondering about what the future was going to be like, looking forward to the time when I was all grown up and how this CD was the soundtrack for it all.

Holy crap...

Model of Restraint

After the Texas Rangers' devastating loss last night, I decided that I can't get too wound up over tonight's 7th and final game of the series. I love baseball season from start to finish and tonight it will be finished. Until the excitement of Spring Training 2012, there will be no Major League Baseball. It's just a bonus that my home-town team is playing for the World Championship. So tonight, instead of forgetting to breathe between pitches and screaming obscenities at the television, I'm going to try and just watch the game and hope the Rangers win knowing full well there is nothing I can do to influence the outcome.

Well, almost nothing.

I have already changed my Facebook profile photo to the Rangers' logo (which is the FB equivalent to tattooing it on my face).

Here's my lucky shirt.

Here's my lucky hat.

Here's my lucky koozie.

Here's my lucky glass.

and my lucky keys.



I'm obsessed. Let's start the obscenities.

Did I Do Thaaaaaat?

I am currently obsessed with the length of my jeans. It's becoming a real problem. I know they're too short. I just know it, but I can't prove it. I currently can't concentrate on anything else and I have that pit of the stomach feeling you get when you realize after you've already left the house that your nipples are showing through the shirt you're wearing and now there's nothing you can do about it.

I'm pretty sure they weren't always this short; I recently washed them in cold water and ran them through the dryer on low heat and somehow they shrunk, like 3 inches. I know they did. They're new and this was the first time I washed them, so I expected a little bit of shrinking, but not an entire inseam size.

But I can't prove it and that's why I'm currently obsessed with my own ankles. I'm blinklessly studying my gait in every reflective surface I pass, I'm staring at my lower half of my reflection on the elevator door, and I'm contorting my head around as far as it will go in an attempt to see the back side of my pants while everyone in my office wonders what excatly is wrong with me.

Here's what's wrong with me: I'm convinced I look like this guy: but I have no way of knowing for sure.

Let's See What Else I Can Get Them to Do

As you may recall, I asked the CIA for a favor in my February, 2010 post. Click here for a referesher if you don't have all of my posts memorized. (Shame on you, Mom!)

Well, it seems as though The Agency picked up on my suggestion for making the United States a safer place. Click here for the full story

Congrats on a job well done and thanks for reading, you crazy spooks!

Hello?

Breaking news: The Ultra-Hip and Exclusive, Invite-Only Club of Google+ is now open to everyone! You may all begin celebrating now.

Being as cool and in-the-know as I am, I had no idea that Club Google+ had been opened to the masses. So, when I noticed I had been asked to join, I was a little excited but mostly just upset that it had taken so long for someone to invite me. I made some snide remarks on Facebook to that effect, then realized my error and tried to retract them. Not my finest performance.

Now that the dust has settled on my entrance, I'm looking around Google's cutting edge internet discotec and see...that there's no one here.

It's less like an exclusive nightclub and more like a stylish coffee bar: quiet, with sleek plastic furniture and a few people hanging around minding their own business.

I do like that it's quiet, though. I feel like Facebook has become a venue exclusively for things that I couldn't care less about all trying to get my attention at the same time.

"Come on down to FarmVille!" What? Why the hell would I want to pretend to live on a damn farm?

"Jimmy likes Bacardi!" Yeah he does.  A little too much, if we're being honest.  That's why he can't keep a job.

"Sally just got the highest score ever on Who Gives A Crap!" Good for her?

"My baby just took her first steps!" Finally.  She's 7.

So, we'll see how the Google+ thing progresses and hopefully it will be a viable alternative to Facebook someday.  But for right now, I'm casually sitting in the corner trying not to bother anyone and so is everyone else: I have a whopping 1 item on my stream in the last 3 days. Thrilling.

Dear Diary,

I can't stop looking at Scarlett Johansson's butt. It's becoming a real problem; at least for my wife.

Dear "Mad Men",

Are you doing that thing that "Lost" did where everyone loves you for some reason and I am the only one who can see you for the steaming pile of dookie that you are? Because I'm only three episodes in, but I'm really getting the feeling like you are definitely doing that thing.

Let me know.

Thanks,

PR

USA! USA! USA!

Holy crap, I love America.

We just spent a week in Belize. It was a lot of fun, we saw some really neat stuff around the coral reef down there and generally had a very relaxing time. The Belizeans we met were all very nice and friendly and the natural beauty of the place is amazing.

But it's dirty. And it's inconvenient to get to/find/buy anything. And no one is in any hurry to do anything, ever. Don't expect to "run to the store for some ______ real quick." Because no one gets anywhere quickly and the store won't have ______ when you get there.

So, if you're ever feeling exceptionally un-patriotic, go to a third world country for a week or so and see how they do things. You'll end up coming back through U.S. Customs painted red white and blue wearing nothing but an Uncle Sam wig and top hat with fireworks shooting up from your back and the National Anthem blaring out of your backside.

I Knew This Day Would Come

Shit. I am on BestBuy.com looking at washers and dryers. Not TV's, video games, DVD's, cell phones, laptops, surround sound, iPads, or digital cameras, but WASHERS and DRYERS.


The cheapest ones are almost $500. Each. $1000 for WASHERS and fucking DRYERS.


For the first time in my life, I'm going to walk into Best Buy and spend $1000 in one transaction and it will be for a WASHER and fucking DRYER!


sigh

Whoa!

Restaurant Review: BBQ Edition

I love food. It's delicious, it keeps me alive, and it gives me the energy to keep all (three) of you who read my blog entertained with my boundless wit and charm. Because I love food and food always tastes better when someone else is cooking, I tend to gravitate toward dining out options when it comes time to stuff my face. Luckily, one year ago yesterday, I married someone whose views on this subject are very similar to my own.

To celebrate our anniversary, C and I took a trip to what has been officially named, by the Texas Legislature in 2003, as the BBQ Capital of Texas: Lockhart, Texas. (This is not a joke. Our elected representatives took time out of their busy schedule to discuss which one-horse-town most deserved this title. Thanks?) We decided that we wanted to do something different to celebrate the occasion, but since she's currently spending every waking hour studying for the bar exam, we needed to do something close to home. So, BBQ adventure it was.

It seems to me that a place must either have a whole lot of something or be really good at it to be named the "(blank) Capital of (wherever)". Since there are only four BBQ restaurants in Lockhart, I was fully expecting to have my socks knocked clean off.

Our plan was to order a small sampling at each of the four and then decide which was the best of the best. We set out in the early afternoon after fasting all morning, eager to eat our weight in smoked meats.

Upon reaching Lockhart, our adventure began at Black's. It's been owned and operated by the same family (the Black's, duh) since 1932. It was very good BBQ. We tried the brisket (of course), the turkey and some sausage. The meats all had a real nice smokey flavor and we ate much more than we probably should have at stop one of four.

As it turns out, it's good that we over-ate at the first stop since stop two was closed, (thanks for nothing, Smitty's) and stop three was out of brisket.

(insert my shocked, dismayed and disbelieving expression here)

I'm sorry...what? You ran out of brisket?!?!?!? At 7:00 pm on a Saturday? How the shit do you run out of f-ing brisket in the BBQ CAPITAL OF F-ING TEXAS before DINNER TIME?!?! Is there some sort of mesquite shortage that I haven't heard about? Are cows extinct in South Texas? How could you have possibly run out?

Maybe it's just really good and everyone got there super early and bought up the entire supply so that they could hoard it all for themselves. Maybe. But the bottom line is that we didn't stick around long enough to figure out how or why this happened. It happened and that was that. So, we left--quickly.

Being still fully stuffed with meats, we decided to venture to stop number four (fingers crossed that it was open and had food to buy), and get the food to go; that way we could sample it at our leisure.

We got to Chisholm Trail BBQ and the line was out the door for dine-in, which is usually a disheartening sight when you want to eat somewhere, but in this instance it was a great indicator that the place was open and serving food. The to-go line was empty, so we popped in, got some brisket and pork ribs and got the heck out in no time at all. Side note, the place smelled delicious.

Later that night, when the meat-sweats had subsided, we decided to take a little taste of the Chisholm Trail pork ribs (strictly for comparative purposes, of course).

Holy crap! They're delicious! They're salty and smokey; they taste a lot like bacon. It's incredible. The sauce is sweet, tangy, and a perfect compliment to the meats. OMG. We ended up eating most of our stash right there in the middle of the night, cold, straight out of the fridge, with our bare hands. Incredible. I'm not doing it justice, here, I know. You have to try it for yourself. The brisket is delicious, as well, but the ribs...I've been dreaming about the ribs...

So, in summation, there is really only one BBQ restaurant in the BBQ Capital of Texas and yet, the designation is somehow still very well deserved.

Go Rangers

I don't know if you heard, but I got a job. You probably already knew that since C called everyone we knew, updated her blog and submitted an iReport to CNN.com all before I finished the phone call in which they gave me the offer.

So now I'm at work.

Hiding.

In the bathroom.

From my computer.

Because nothing on my desk is working the way it is supposed to and IT guys are all rude little men with bad attitudes and no friends and I'm sick of begging them to fix my stuff.

Jerks.