The Postcard

Last week, I sent my friend Sandy (of the new hit blog, "A Life Told In Lols," formerly of "Blog de la Revolution"-now defunct-) a postcard. When Sandy got it, she accused me of having a filthy mind. She said that her mailman is going to think she's a pervert.

It seems, Ladies and Gentlemen, that on the postcard I sent, someone drew a small penis (small only when compared to the gigantic balls beneath).

I didn't draw it. Let me make that clear. I really don't even know how to draw a penis. Moreover, there was a year or two in my youth when I was genuinely afraid of being asked to draw one (having not yet seen the thing on which to base my illustration). I imagined people laughing hysterically. "That's not what it looks like!" That childhood fear has, I think, prevented me from ever ever sketching genitals.

Also, the dick in question was done in a different color ink than my harmless "Hi from Montana, Sandy." So it couldn't have been me.

She agreed and we laughed. The matter would have been dropped, except later I thought...

I brought the postcard directly to the post office. I put it in a mailman's hand. And, when Sandy promptly received it, it had never once been out of the watchful eye of the United States Postal Service.

In conclusion: This was a high rank, government peen sketch. And I can now comfortably say to the culprit: You wildly misrepresented the testicals.

They're in love, I'm in love.

In defense of New England

Timeline: Slaves
subtitled: Proof that AP is racist.

1774
Connecticut and Rhode Island prohibit further importation of slaves

1777
Vermont Constitution prohibits slavery.

1780
Massachusetts Constitution adopted with freedom clause interpreted as prohibiting slavery.

1784
Connecticut and Rhode Island pass gradual emancipation laws.

1788
Connecticut prohibits residents from participating in slave trade.

then... some serious time later...

1799
New York passes gradual emancipation law.

No respect for New England, he says. New York is better, he says. Four out of four slaves disagree. New England: equal rights for all. New York: when we get to it.

Preseason

When the Giants lose in preseason, I say, "It's preseason, who the fuck cares."
When the Giants win in preseason, (especially against a team like the Patriots, again) I say, "Fuck you New England, you're our bitch now."

I'm not apologizing. New York is a better than Boston or any city in new england. I have so little respect for new england, I won't even capatalize it. I miss you, New York.

whereisbarackobamarightnow.com

I was just reading that Obama is in Billings, Montana tonight and I got all mad at myself for not knowing it (as if I would have driven all the way down there for the chance to shake his hand or see him or something). It made me think, and then, google search, 'where is barack obama right now?' I think this may be my best (creepiest) idea ever. At first I just thought, what state, but now I'm kind of thinking, I want to know exactly where his is. His privacy, and personal safety aside, I think this is something everyone would love.

I'm starting a website, whereisbarackobamarightnow.com. Forget about his stance on healthcare or his economic plan, I want to know where he eats his breakfast and when he takes a crap. And I especially want to know when he's in a 100 mile radius of me. Remember all those 5, 10, and 20 dollar donations. WE OWN YOU.

Hillary's big speech

Obama was watching Hilary's entire speech muted while him and his friends took turns pretending to do her voice.

DNC Sexiness 08

Dyson Airblade

It's pretty much the best hand dryer ever because it uses some kind of crazy future technology. It gets rid of any wrinkles, skin cancer, or moles you might have and tells you your horoscope. Don't get caught putting your privates up in there.

Welcome to your first day, D-ball.

So yesterday was my first day of teacher training.

editor's note: I've been at teacher training that's why I haven't posted. Starting Monday, I am going to instruct 25 college freshman on the ins and outs of composition. I am drinking right now to cope with the anxiety of that responsibility.

Think back on all your first days, readers. Nervousness, new outfits, new people. On my first day of junior high, I waited at the bus stop in pleated skirt, hoping to come off all catholic school cute. It didn't work out as planned. Before the final bell, I am pretty sure I heard some boys making fun of my excessive arm hair.

Things have not changed so much over the years. Yesterday morning, I picked the perfect outfit. It was casual, but nice, trying, but not too hard. I blow dried my hair and I put on eye shadow for the first time all summer. Then I hopped on my bike and headed for campus.

Cut to me, walking into a nearly full room, sweating like a pig. Seriously people, bike riding is not the easy exercise of my youth. I huffed and I puffed and I opened my classroom door to find everyone perfectly put together in their first day gear, and me, the with a glandular problem. So bad I was wiping my face with balled up tissues the whole first half of class. Sometimes I would have to blow my nose with the sweaty tissues. I was a monster, nice to meet you.

Please comment on your first days. My drink is almost gone and I need to commiserate.

The Selby

Hip people, their homes, and all their stuff looking beautiful, thanks to photographer Todd Selby. Thought you might want to check it out.

Opening Ceremony Photos

There are obviously going to be a ton of amazing photos coming out of this Olympics. Today, I saw Boston.com has photos from the opening ceremony of the Olympics which we missed. And even though we watched the 15 minute recap NBC put online, we didn't see most of the stuff or really any of the crazy little details you can get from the photos. The above is an Associated Press Photo by David Phillip.

I also had to include this one from NBC. It's caption is, People watch live broadcast of the Opening Ceremony.

A slight deviation from the trip recounting. A scientific exploration into your sexuality

I don't get straight man humor.

Background: I saw Pineapple Express last night and I thought it was good. I was pretty much laughing throughout the whole first half, but then...

One scene that I did not find really funny, which the rest of the theater (mostly dudes) found hilarious was the one in which the two straight male leads mimicked gay sex to get their ropes off (they were being held against their will and the act of rubbing ones ropes on the other's belt buckle could save the day).

Resulting question: Can anyone tell me why straight men/boys find it hilarious when other straight men are put in gay situations? I don't mean to seem uptight, and it's not like I am saying "This is no laughing matter," but I just don't see what is so hilarious. I mean the dudes in the theater were busting a nut. And it happens all the time. What is up?

Sturgis, South Dakota

On the first full week of August, the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally is held to the delight of
nearly one million bikers. The first rally was in 1938 and founded by Clarence "Pappy" Hoel of the Jackpine Gypsies, and the new owner of an Indian Motorcycle franchise in the town of Stugis, SD.

The original rally consisted of races and stunts. Events such as Hillclimb and Motorcross, "intentional board wall crashes, ramp jumps and head-on collions with automobiles" were added later.

TMT happened to hit South Dakota precisely when the gruff and leathery hoards came from their corners to group in the town of Sturgis. For the last few years, the attendees have rivaled the entire state's population. So for the 2008 rally, we found ourselves us on the road, surrounded. Where just a state before, we were eerily alone on the unlit Minnesota highway, we were now in full sun in motorcycle traffic. If we spotted another car, we found it was there only to pull more bikes.

Along the way, every stop, bar, and gas station waved "Bikers Welcome" flags, packing their lots with chrome and flame decals. The riders were mostly men, some ancient with crazy as hell beards, scraggly and white or long to the chest and curling like a brown ribbon. Some were young teenagers, but still looked like they'd ridden for ages. And then there were the women.

Most rode bitch there behind their men. Scantily dressed in tight leather pants and high heels, these ladies almost always had the backs of their shirts cut or stretched open to give their hide full sun as they road. They had the worst sunburns I have ever seen, which made them seem harder, as in I have a 2nd degree sunburn, and the 90 mph wind is wildly slapping it raw, but Fuck you looking at.

There were others, lesbians pulling their girlfriends in sidecars, and big girls on small bikes, looking like grizzly bears on mopeds. But every so often there was the occasional bad ass hot chick riding a bike all her own and looking at home there. I watched her as we passed knowing she was who I would want to be were I a biker.

Whoever they were, whatever type, they were part of a larger group and probably fit some role. To me, the coolest thing about bikers is their gang. How many adults do you know are so closely knit, moving like kids playing a game, having fun on their fast bike ride? When one stops, they stop. There are larger groups and smaller groups within, it seems to me, but when they get to Sturgis...


...Well I don't know what exactly happens when they get there.
We had to just drive through.

Had more states to go, see. We were just about to pass the Battle of Little Big Horn, then climb into the hills of the Custer National Wilderness. The sky was getting black and we saw lightening. So who's tough now, motherfuckers.

Cowboys

We've seen them, authentic pokes and ropers, with or without trademark hat. Leathery skin in skin tight wranglers, cowboys are a breed all their own.

In South Dakota we passed Deadwood, final resting place of both Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane.

That same week, on my new campus, I shared a bench with an old timer, a slow moving, but still uniformed cowboy who was reading a beat old novel with prairie cover art. His friend finally showed up and the two, nearly identical ranchers, walked off without a word. I think that's my favorite part about cowboys–they are silent but very deliberate.

In their spirit, I was just watching Tombstone, the great 1993 film staring Kurt Russell as Wyatt Earp and an epic performance by Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday.

What follows is a shoddy transcription of a scene in which Earp smacks down Johnny Tyler, a remarkably portly Billy Bob Thorton.

Earp: "Go ahead go ahead skin it. Skin that smoke wagon and see what happens. I'm gettin of your gass now jerk that pistol and go to work."

Earp Smacks Tyler. Tyler is motionless.

Earp: "I said throw down boy."

Smack again.

Earp: "You gonna do somethin or just stand there and bleed?"


Badass, if not slightly homoerotic. Always pure cowboy.

PS. is it me, or does this picture we took look fake/miniature?

We've Arrived...our snacks depleted.

TMT has made it to Montana. I don't know if anyone is reading this blog anymore,
so if you are, please comment with an "Amen."

the road trip

Penn is one big motherfucker, but it has its share greenery to ease the eyes, amish to ride the buggies, and hillbillies to make the phrase "Pennsyltuckey" ring true.

Ohio.

Indiana has Notre Dame, which was gorgeous in an old churchy kind of way, very "ahh ah aaa aah" creepy, but immaculately maintained. We thought, if it weren't so god-heavy, we might like to go here. Rudy Rudy. Fist pump fist pump.

We braved Cubs traffic for a vegetarian brunch in what seemed to be the Park Slope of Chi-town only to end up in the middle of some kind of bizarre kid-fest. They like kids in Chicago I guess. We don't, so we kept on.

Wisconsin sold Amish cheese at their gas stations.

When we crossed the Mighty Mississippi, I excitedly held my camera out of the car window. Right when it came into frame, some teenagers drove by us and flipped us off. As we drove over the bridge I kept muttering about how we were from New Jersey and how would they like it if we pulled up alongside them and shot them in the face with a gun.

Minnesota's sunset was a highlight, with its windmills like giant white spacecrafts.


South Dakota!! More on that later.

Brief detour in Wyoming, brief fight about directions, then...Montana, our new home.

What the God-fearing folk call "God's Country"
because God likes himself some pretty.
Go read/rent a River Runs Through It,
and get a load of the bison that crossed our path!