The Harley-Davidson 105th Anniversary celebration is in town, and I must say it's kind of intimidating. You know the experience: you're running down Wisconsin Ave like a little dork (you have that feeling too, right?) when a burly biker pulls up next to you, clad in leather and sporting impressive facial hair. Then you see her husband and you get really nervous.
Seriously, though, every biker I've encountered has been really cool. Case in point: in the middle of a stream of Harley riders, there was one guy in a preppy pastel polo and khaki shorts, wearing salmon colored sunglasses. Riding a Yamaha. Yet none of the bikers did what I wanted to do: rough him up and take his lunch money.
There's a building on Prospect Ave with a sign that says "Body Awareness." I'm not sure what that means. I keep expecting someone to pop out as I run by and yell "You have a body!" I imagine the response they're looking for is "Holy crap, I do!"
Why I Hate Flying
Ok, so hate is a strong word. Maybe more like "Why I Never Feel Very Comfortable Flying."
It's not the food. I'll eat pretty much anything. It's not the lack of space or the fact that sudden pressure changes wreak havoc on my eardrum that's mainly made of neck tissue (That's a long story, on a related note I'm traumatized by monkeys with cymbals and anything artificially banana flavored. But I digress.)
No, the real reason I don't like flying is much more pragmatic. I don't actually believe that it works. Sure, I learned about Bernoulli and all that in high school. I've seen experiments involving paper airplanes or ping pong balls. But there's the difference. A sheet of paper or a tiny, thin piece of hollow plastic does not compare the 20-ton behemoths we supposedly get up into the sky every day.
A 747 is nothing more than a heavy piece of metal with a couple of ridiculous wings attached. That pretty much sounds like a 50's Cadillac to me. And pound for pound, I'd say Elvis's car has a better chance of getting off the ground than one of those things.
And that's just the plane itself. Then you add a couple hundred people--and I mean good, solid Americans--whose average weight is certainly much closer to "Elvis" than "ping pong ball."
No, I don't believe there is a natural force on earth that could get that much steel and flesh up to 500 mph at an altitude of 6 miles (except maybe Arnold Schwarenegger colliding with Vin Diesel at near light-speeds. And we know that's impossible because they would burn up from the friction before they could reach each other.*)
I believe what's really happening here is pure voodoo magic. Some airline employee snaps the neck of a chicken right before takeoff. The airlines certainly aren't spending the money to sacrifice a goat for every flight. To fund that, they'd have to start charging passengers $10 for a bag of pretzels or $8 for no bag of pretzels. And now that I've written that down on the internet, some airline is going to start doing that anyway.
Anyway, since I don't believe in air travel I never worry about whether the mechanics did their job. I only worry that the medicine man (who probably works for the TSA) is doing the same half-arsed job all the other airline employees are doing. What if he's drunkenly performing the rituals wrong? Or only sacrificing one chicken for every two flights?
So instead I pray to the Catholic God (you know, the real one. That there's three of, but only one of) and figure He'll sort things out. It will be nice to get to heaven before Elvis--who's still out there somewhere, probably impersonating Paul McCartney.
* Obligatory pun: Diesel spontaneously combusts at 410 degrees Fahrenheit.
It's not the food. I'll eat pretty much anything. It's not the lack of space or the fact that sudden pressure changes wreak havoc on my eardrum that's mainly made of neck tissue (That's a long story, on a related note I'm traumatized by monkeys with cymbals and anything artificially banana flavored. But I digress.)
No, the real reason I don't like flying is much more pragmatic. I don't actually believe that it works. Sure, I learned about Bernoulli and all that in high school. I've seen experiments involving paper airplanes or ping pong balls. But there's the difference. A sheet of paper or a tiny, thin piece of hollow plastic does not compare the 20-ton behemoths we supposedly get up into the sky every day.
A 747 is nothing more than a heavy piece of metal with a couple of ridiculous wings attached. That pretty much sounds like a 50's Cadillac to me. And pound for pound, I'd say Elvis's car has a better chance of getting off the ground than one of those things.
And that's just the plane itself. Then you add a couple hundred people--and I mean good, solid Americans--whose average weight is certainly much closer to "Elvis" than "ping pong ball."
No, I don't believe there is a natural force on earth that could get that much steel and flesh up to 500 mph at an altitude of 6 miles (except maybe Arnold Schwarenegger colliding with Vin Diesel at near light-speeds. And we know that's impossible because they would burn up from the friction before they could reach each other.*)
I believe what's really happening here is pure voodoo magic. Some airline employee snaps the neck of a chicken right before takeoff. The airlines certainly aren't spending the money to sacrifice a goat for every flight. To fund that, they'd have to start charging passengers $10 for a bag of pretzels or $8 for no bag of pretzels. And now that I've written that down on the internet, some airline is going to start doing that anyway.
Anyway, since I don't believe in air travel I never worry about whether the mechanics did their job. I only worry that the medicine man (who probably works for the TSA) is doing the same half-arsed job all the other airline employees are doing. What if he's drunkenly performing the rituals wrong? Or only sacrificing one chicken for every two flights?
So instead I pray to the Catholic God (you know, the real one. That there's three of, but only one of) and figure He'll sort things out. It will be nice to get to heaven before Elvis--who's still out there somewhere, probably impersonating Paul McCartney.
* Obligatory pun: Diesel spontaneously combusts at 410 degrees Fahrenheit.
Feeding the Trolls
I love the internet. There's nowhere else on earth that a conversation about a neutral topic like Javascript can get so personal so fast.
Observe.
Observe.
People Get Grants for This?
A new study shows that non-smokers who are married to smokers have a higher risk of stroke.
Allow me to paraphrase: All things being equal, people who spend more time inhaling cigarette smoke have more health issues than those who don't.
Some studies created the technology that cured polio and sent humans to the moon. Other studies brought us the technology that puts new improved nose hair trimmers in SkyMall catalogs.
Allow me to paraphrase: All things being equal, people who spend more time inhaling cigarette smoke have more health issues than those who don't.
Some studies created the technology that cured polio and sent humans to the moon. Other studies brought us the technology that puts new improved nose hair trimmers in SkyMall catalogs.
Things That Are Beautiful About Milwaukee
Part 1 of a continuing series:
Milwaukee wind is notorious for managing to always blow in your face, no matter which direction you're facing. The maze of downtown buildings wraps it around and brings it back at you at just that moment when you thought you had escaped it.
That is not necessarily desirable in the winter. But for a few months a year, Milwaukee manages not to be winter. The climate takes a deep breath and gathers its energy like a lazy man getting out of a recliner. Eventually he heaves himself up and temperatures nudge their way into the upper 80's or 90's. He staggers to the fridge for a beer and soon enough it's winter again, but for those couple of months, the wind is wonderful.
The wind
Milwaukee wind is notorious for managing to always blow in your face, no matter which direction you're facing. The maze of downtown buildings wraps it around and brings it back at you at just that moment when you thought you had escaped it.
That is not necessarily desirable in the winter. But for a few months a year, Milwaukee manages not to be winter. The climate takes a deep breath and gathers its energy like a lazy man getting out of a recliner. Eventually he heaves himself up and temperatures nudge their way into the upper 80's or 90's. He staggers to the fridge for a beer and soon enough it's winter again, but for those couple of months, the wind is wonderful.
More Mike News!
I just finished putting the Mike Mangione lyrics site live. It doesn't have all of the lyrics to every song yet, but I'm working on it. Every bit of help...well, helps. So if you know the lyrics to a song, visit the site and send me a message over there.
Mike even linked to it from his site, which makes me feel pretty good inside.
MikeMangioneLyrics.com
Mike even linked to it from his site, which makes me feel pretty good inside.
MikeMangioneLyrics.com
UPD4TE!!!!1!!
A spam email warns me "SOMEONE YOU CALL YOUR FRIEND WANTS YOU DEAD."
This is pretty depressing. It's one thing to have spam constantly insinuating that your manhood isn't up to standard, but I've never seen one that foretells your imminent death. I'm not sure I like the direction the internet is going anymore.
This is pretty depressing. It's one thing to have spam constantly insinuating that your manhood isn't up to standard, but I've never seen one that foretells your imminent death. I'm not sure I like the direction the internet is going anymore.
What the Heck, Facebook?
Facebook's ads must be automatically generated based on my profile information. There's no way a human could make something as tacky as some of those ads are.
Observe:
Observe:
I Can Has Website
And I does! www.aaronmorey.org.
Sorry, I've never reference LOLcats before (and for good reason, they're as close as you can come to being below the intelligence level of this blog) but it's late and I'm not practicing good judgment.
Sorry, I've never reference LOLcats before (and for good reason, they're as close as you can come to being below the intelligence level of this blog) but it's late and I'm not practicing good judgment.
Things You Learn
Wearing your work ID badge into the confessional for face-to-face confession kills that last little glimmer of anonymity.
The Election Better Go My Way
It's a long tradition among actors to make threats if elections don't go the way they want them to. Since having good bone structure and being a good pretender is enough to make these people political experts, I don't think being homely and ignorant should keep me from expressing my opinions.
Let me just say it here: if Obama is elected, I will move to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. You heard me. I actually intend to go through with this, unlike any actor so far. I won't be escaping to the land of bidets and tiny cars, but I will still have things to look forward to.
Top Ten Ways to Know You're In Wisconsin
10) You are having someone read this list to you because your eyelashes are frozen together.
9) You are reading this list yourself thanks to your excellent MPS education.
8) John Madden is still saying the name of your town.
7) One good night at the plate in your softball league and Alderman McGee keeps calling your house.
6) You know that "the giant bronze Winkler" isn't anything dirty.
5) Someone in the room cares that the Brewers just dipped below .500.
4) You got teary eyed from reading the number of this item.
3) You are pre-gaming for the Packer's opener already.
2) You're pretty pumped for Pirate Fest.
1) Guy who was supposed to write number 1 fell in a pothole and hasn't been seen in three days.
Let me just say it here: if Obama is elected, I will move to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. You heard me. I actually intend to go through with this, unlike any actor so far. I won't be escaping to the land of bidets and tiny cars, but I will still have things to look forward to.
Top Ten Ways to Know You're In Wisconsin
10) You are having someone read this list to you because your eyelashes are frozen together.
9) You are reading this list yourself thanks to your excellent MPS education.
8) John Madden is still saying the name of your town.
7) One good night at the plate in your softball league and Alderman McGee keeps calling your house.
6) You know that "the giant bronze Winkler" isn't anything dirty.
5) Someone in the room cares that the Brewers just dipped below .500.
4) You got teary eyed from reading the number of this item.
3) You are pre-gaming for the Packer's opener already.
2) You're pretty pumped for Pirate Fest.
1) Guy who was supposed to write number 1 fell in a pothole and hasn't been seen in three days.
Gas Still Cheaper Than High Life
But it's getting closer.The difference is that I don't go through 2/3 of a gallon of High Life every time I drive to my friends' houses across town. Things would be more interesting if I did, though...
Food for Thought
The bible is long and complicated, and you live a busy life. So let an accredited theologian (me) do the work for you.
Today's Passage in a Minute is Acts 10:9-22.
Summary
God shows Peter some non-kosher animals and say "Eat them." Peter says no. God says "eat them," and Peter says no. God says "Shut up listen to me. Eat them." Peter says ok. Some people come over and Peter has dinner with them.
Live it out!
Find a centurion and go out for Baconators. Be sure to get cheese so it will be as non-kosher as possible.
Reflection
Ponder your mortality as your cholesterol level rises to the heavens like "a burnt offering... an aroma pleasing to the Lord."
Today's Passage in a Minute is Acts 10:9-22.
Summary
God shows Peter some non-kosher animals and say "Eat them." Peter says no. God says "eat them," and Peter says no. God says "Shut up listen to me. Eat them." Peter says ok. Some people come over and Peter has dinner with them.
Live it out!
Find a centurion and go out for Baconators. Be sure to get cheese so it will be as non-kosher as possible.
Reflection
Ponder your mortality as your cholesterol level rises to the heavens like "a burnt offering... an aroma pleasing to the Lord."
Crusader Poetry
I came across an article about an ancient crusader with a particularly interesting tomb.
According to one source, an inscription on his tomb reads: "You who tread upon me, you will also be trodden upon: think about that, and pray for me." So just to be safe, the people who maintain the church he's resting in made sure to put a sheet of glass over his tomb.
The guy's name is (seriously) Anselme de Cays. I was inspired to write a limerick.
*And if you're not going to spend any time in purgatory at all, you're probably not the kind of person who needs an ulterior motive to pray for somebody.
According to one source, an inscription on his tomb reads: "You who tread upon me, you will also be trodden upon: think about that, and pray for me." So just to be safe, the people who maintain the church he's resting in made sure to put a sheet of glass over his tomb.
The guy's name is (seriously) Anselme de Cays. I was inspired to write a limerick.
There's a tomb where a Knight Templar lays.Seriously, though, you should say a prayer for him. When you're sitting in purgatory* sweating off the effects of your sins, you'll want a Crusader praying for you.
If one day his body is raised
The worm and the heat
(If not trampling feet)
Will ensure we see Anselme deCays.
*And if you're not going to spend any time in purgatory at all, you're probably not the kind of person who needs an ulterior motive to pray for somebody.
Presidential Thoughts
I was thinking about Ron Paul earlier today, but when his name entered my head I said "John Paul" to myself instead. So, constitutionally speaking, can you write in a deceased Polish-born Roman for president?
A bit more self-publicizing
For those of you who are curious (and I mainly mean Google's searchbots), I'm working on a Mike Mangione lyrics site. There's a full listing of songs here.
The Great Duh-vorce
If you haven't read The Great Divorce by CS Lewis, you're missing out. go to the library and get it.
The premise is that a bunch of souls take a bus ride out of hell into the outskirts of heaven. So this book is pretty much about a bunch of spirits floating around. Strangely, this must not be as obvious as I thought. When we encounter a character named Dick on page 39, a reader felt need to make special note of this, to another reader's exasperation.
The premise is that a bunch of souls take a bus ride out of hell into the outskirts of heaven. So this book is pretty much about a bunch of spirits floating around. Strangely, this must not be as obvious as I thought. When we encounter a character named Dick on page 39, a reader felt need to make special note of this, to another reader's exasperation.
