Ride to work

People did not wake up on the right side of the bed this morning or something. On my bike ride into work, I had three different men holler at me as they drove by. One fatass construction worker found it humorous to yell various obscenities out as he drove by me twice (I passed him once, but was on the sidewalk the whole time). Life goes in full circle, I usually get pissed at cyclists slowing me down too (though I don’t yell- get out of your car and talk to me if you have an issue, pussy).

“Knocked Up”

Last night I went and saw “Knocked Up” with Fletcher and Arcadia. I was shocked to find it was actually a very good comedy. I recommend it. It’s about a stoner who hooks up with a career chick and gets her pregnant on a one-night stand and their ensuing adventures. The feel of the movie reminded me of “Swingers” (though not quite as good); there was lots of funny dialogue and raunchy situations.

Ridiculous method to correct conclusion

After reading an article about humanity’s need for space colonization to survive, I was reminded of some conclusions I came to in junior high.

If humanity is to have any chance of survival, it is absolutely imperative that our species begin to plant colonies wherever we can off-planet. It would be so easy to wipe us all out with a single stray asteroid, a new disease, chemical or nuclear warfare gone wrong, etc. Our space program has begun to collapse- we haven’t put a man on in the moon again in what, 40 years? The space program has become a massive bureaucracy full of people who are smart, but not innovative. Years of only accepting people with the best grades has resulted in a severe lack of the brilliant creators needed to push our technologies in radical new directions. Instead we are stuck with people who excel at following directions (it’s all they’ve done their whole lives to get into the space program) and what they truly care about is simply keeping their own jobs. I say throw out the whole program and reallocate the monstrous annual budget to creating “prizes” for various space achievements and allow companies and entrepreneurs to try to achieve the goals. The current annual budget for NASA is $16.3 billion. Here is my prediction of what would happen:

Year 1 goal- $16 billion for first company to put a man on the moon- Boeing would have someone there within 3 months

Year 2 goal-$17 billion for first space station to be fully self-sufficient for 1 year-Google would collect this.

Year 3 goal- 1st permanent colony on either Mars or the Moon- It would take several years and the prize would accumulate, but a consortium of entrepreneurs and investors would collect the $50 or so billion.

And so on and so forth. Warning- A couple dozen or so test pilots and inventors may die trying to achieve, since there would be less focus on safety and more focus on the goal.

Moral: Life is short, brutal and meaningless except for the insatiable need to create more abundant and higher forms of life. Feed the beast.

Note: I think the same thing would happen if we reallocated the DoD budget to mercenary armies in Iraq. However, in this case the potential risk and human cost would be too great. The army that quells Iraq could turn on the hand that feeds. Not to mention the horrors it would commit to achieve domination in Iraq itself. So some things are better left primarily to the government.

Painful finger= short sentences

Last night Melanie and I broke up. She is an amazing person but needs some personal space and time to work some stuff out.

Fletcher suggested drinking.

Wine consumption commenced.

Good conversation had.

Went outside and walked down the road on Lake Union.

Saw seaplane.

Swam out to seaplane.

Seaplane was unlocked.

Discovered keys in seaplane.

Tried and failed to convince Fletcher of my piloting skills.

Called Jeremy and he said, “Go”

Correct decision made-leave seaplane alone and not risk death or prison.

Went to bed.

Took day off work to recuperate- last time I went to work the day after a breakup I alienated my coworkers.

Currently bored and listening to Radiohead.

Right now…

I feel a fearsome fire rising up from the deep; rising, twisting and burning hot through my intestines. The heat is taking over my senses and blotting everything else out. My inner core has shudders running through it in and feverish chills roll over my soul. Salty sweat falls into my wide, glazed, glaring eyes. Nothing beats the intensity of the anticipation.

Moving AGAIN! I hate my life

I had a barbecue for the 4th of July and a friend of a friend apparently had difficulties working in the world around him and walked through the screen door, breaking it. The next day my roommate, Brent, asked me to move out. Brent told me he wants me to move out because he is dating a “celebrity” who doesn’t want to be seen and gave me a couple of hints as to who the guy is. I’m not sure if I have to go because of the screen door or the “celebrity”, but either way I’m supposed to be out soon. It really blows since I have only lived there for about a month and a half, but I have no lease so I have no recourse. Brent and I had almost nothing in common anyways. Oh well. Now I have to decide whether or not to find a new job and if I stay with Visible, where should I live? Do I want roommates?

Anybody want to buy Chuck Norris Action Jeans? Guaranteed to make you kick ass.

Prince Charles REALLY enjoys visiting his troops!

Aaaaaaaaaand….have a happy Friday!

Climbing to Camp Muir (base camp on Mt. Rainier)

Friday Fletcher sent me a message and asked if I wanted to climb up to Camp Muir the next day. I have been wanting to go up there for a while so I told him yes. We drove down to my grandparents house the night before and got up very early in the morning and drove up to Ashford, where we met our other friend, Adam.

We started the actual climb at 8 am and went up. It was a perfect day: perfect blue sky, picturesque landscape and warm temperature. I have pictures of the Camp Muir climb. Fletcher is the one in the red shirt and Adam is theguy with the skis attached to his pack.

Camp Muir is not too tough a climb, though you will be a little bit sore the next day. The base camp on Mount Rainier is 9 miles and a 4600 foot elevation gain and takes around 6 or 7 hours round trip.

The route itself up to Camp Muir is simple; just follow the giant line of people ahead of you! Basically, you go up the paved Skyline Trail 2.3 miles till you get to the Muir snowfield where you basically hike up a fairly steep hill through deep snow. Camp Muir itself is made up of a climbers shack, a stone hut for rangers and a few smelly outhouses. Camp Muir is used as the jumping off point for an actual climb of Rainier since it is so high- 10,000 feet. I may eventually do Rainier itself… maybe next year.

Mechanics are the slime of the earth

I just had to spend $1218 to get my piece of shit ’99 Ford Contour fixed. My junkyard-on-wheels COST me $2800 3 years ago. The Kelley Blue Book value on it right now is $2,465. I spent half of what the damn thing is worth fixing it!

On my ride home, I got to thinking about what I could have bought instead with my $1200:

-120 pounds of beef jerky. Aaaaarrr!

-A bottle of fine Johnny Walker Blue scotch, an 8-ball of uncut cocaine and the best fucking hooker in Seattle. What an night I missed out on.

-A 42 inch plasma HDTV. Football season would’ve been heavenly.

-800 6-pack packages of Pez. I would probably then owe my orthodontist a fortune though.

-400 bottles of the king of wines: 3 Buck Chuck. I could’ve had a bottle of wine a night for over a year!!!

-$20,000. Or $0. After I bet it all on 7 black at the Muckleshoot Indian Casino.

What did I get instead of the treasures I listed above?

-Front brakes & rotors repaired.

-Back brakes changed.

-Oil changed.

-Spark plugs replaced.

-Starter replaced.

-Fisted by Fucking Firestone & Friends. Les Schwab joined in for 3-some action.

Want to know what it’s like having 3 younger brothers?

I am going to allow my select few readers a glimpse into the magical world of brotherhood. Below is a recent email conversation my brothers and I have had that shows how some of the interactions play out: they are 3 parts humor, 1 part competition, 3 parts bullshit and one hell of a lot of love.

I sent a link to a story in the NYTimes about how the eldest child typically has an IQ several points higher than his younger siblings with the subject line “Important breakthrough in research” to Jordan and Justin (I don’t have Josh’s email address).

Here is Justin’s reply:

1.) you have too much time on your hands

2.) we aren’t 100% genetically related

3.) I’m not the one kissing a dike who looks like a man and probably is a man

4.) you weren’t living at home with Jordan and I for a number of years…Jordan probably played more of a teacher role in josh & I’s lives.

5.) the last think I let you try to teach me was how to drink responsibly…we all know how well that worked out.

6.) Love justin

Below is Jordan’s reply to the string:

I agree with Justin’s analysis.

1. You do have too much time on your hands.

2. Genetically, I’m the oldest pure brother.

3. I am the teacher.

And you all need me.

Finally, this was my reply to them. I realize it may sound completely ridiculous to outsiders, but it’s the way we interact- lots of tongue-in-cheek humor, wildly outsized cockiness and making fucked up jokes about our dysfunctional family:

Sadly, it looks like you to bear out the research one again with your poorly formed logic. My massive IQ carries me through life with ease and you, my depressing brothers, must struggle to understand the smallest occurrences around you. I am incredibly talented at everything from business to women to philosophy to drinking to modern technology. Sheer domination in every area has marked my path through this world. Justin, you of the feeble mind, are merely not capable of handling the rigors of my alcohol teachings. You failed that test, much like you failed math. Am I to blame if I taught myself AP Calculus, yet your malformed brain can’t do basic algebra? Jordan, as to your claims that you are the oldest pure brother, nothing has been proven. It is still highly likely that I have Randall Gross’s genes in me. It is also just as likely that mom didn’t clean up her whorish act after my birth and you guys are all my pure brothers- from the ball sac of Bruce Eide or some other man. I know all of these facts never entered your head while you were hunting and pecking at the keyboard to send your initial email, but I think I have presented them plainly enough.

Please do not respond to my email with your idle words and incomplete thoughts; they do not faze me. Instead, show me that you are my better through your ACTIONS. Don’t be a Randy Gross or a Linda O’tyson and make a lot of claims that are simply untrue. Overcome your IQ limitations and make an effort to accomplish more than I have. Learn how to land beautiful lady after beautiful lady (and not get completely owned by her, Justin), learn to make more money than me, found a successful business, move to the big city, learn to drink, break the strings of mommy and daddy and move away on your own, bench 300 pounds, beat me at chess, beat me at scrabble, beat me at football, beat me at sexual prowess, beat me at anything worthwhile. Go out and fucking achieve!

Yours Truly,


Pimp Fucking Daddy.

We are completely ridiculous, but we entertain ourselves to no end.