Bacon Week.

Bacon! God bless it. I know there are lots of meats, and I love them all. However, pound for pound, bacon is your best bet for pure, unadulterated flavor. And I love it. Thus, to show the Big Guy upstairs that I care, I gave it up for Lent. Within two hours, I had regretted this decision. But I held strong and went 40 days without.*

So, now that Easter has passed, the bacon ban is lifted. I stopped at my local grocer to purchase a pack of pig meat for dinner. That's when it hit me. Why should it only be tonight? I should celebrate its return with a WEEK OF BACON!

That's right. Every day this week, I will be including bacon in at least one meal per day.

For it's return, I decided to celebrate the world's greatest meat, with the world's greatest meal: breakfast for dinner. So this evenings entry was French-toasted French bread with strawberries, banana, and Vermont maple syrup. I then topped it all off with 7 strips of delicious pork belly (only 6 strips are pictured below, because one found its way into my mouth before I could take the picture).

Welcome back, dear friend.

*In the spirit of full disclosure, I did unknowingly eat what I thought was a ham and pineapple pizza, only to later discover that it was Canadian bacon. But like all things Canadian, I don't feel that it should count.

Grass Kicker

Home ownership comes with some crap chores. Today's was planting grass seed. If there are any botanists reading this, could you explain how grass can grow through a crack in my driveway, but leave giant bare patches of wonderful dirt bare?

So, I figure this should be easy. I buy a bag of grass seed, throw it in the dead patches, water a little, and BOOM....no more dead patch. But then I mention it at work, and everyone has a different strategy. Read the bag, and there are directions. DIRECTIONS. For growing grass. And they aren't "buy, throw, water, BOOM", as I had expected. There's raking, fertilizing, spreading, blah, blah, hooey, blah. I started raking, then decided to go my own route. Throw a little water in the yard, throw out some seed, drop some top soil.

I don't need to follow your rules, grass seed companies. I think my indifference for the rules is what landed me the Wife. Now, I'm the bad boy of lawn care.

Watching the grass grow has been synonymous with boredom, until now.

Random Shower Thought #20

I should have given up digging in my belly button for Lent.

Random Shower Though #19

Captain America could probably get more done if he didn't always have people shooting at him. Probably didn't do himself any favors by painting a target on his shield. Of course, he's a bad ass. He can handle it.

Maybe not always.

Yes We Tan!

Today history was made, as the first person of color was sworn in as Speaker of the House. That color is orange.

John Boehner: Tangerine-American

Egg Snog

"I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" is a cute little song about a kid walking in on his dad (dressed as St. Nick) giving his mom a little smooch under the mistletoe.

But, when you're a kid, and you still believe Santa is real....well... then, mom is just a common whore.

Zip your pants, whore.

Seasons Greetings

Trying to shop anytime between Thanksgiving and Christmas can certainly put a strain on my good will toward man. But, seeing as I want to give gifts (or in some cases buy life sustaining foodstuffs), I will occasionally venture into the retail world.

It can be a trying time for a people hater like me.

But, I brave those crowds. And of all the people that earn my disdain, this year it's the greeters. On more than several occasions, this holiday season, these purveyors of salutations have failed at their sole duty. I can understand if a large swarm of people come ripping through the doors like cattle. Perhaps a calf gets by without receiving a word of welcome. However, when I walk in 15 feet behind the person in front of me, I expect a friendly how-do-ya-do. That's your only job! Person walks in, you say "hello", stand and wait for the next person to enter. That's it. Call it a day.

Now, I don't even want your damned greeting.....

NO! I DO! I want your greeting more than anything else in the world.

Maybe, I'll ask Santa for just that.

He'll get your asses in line.

Return From The Grave(yard).

For the past several months, I've been on the overnight shift. Today, I returned to the world of the living. It's nice to see the sunlight again, but I did learn a few things while living nocturnally.

1. Only 3 newsworthy things happen after midnight. Either someone has been shot, something is on fire, or somewhere has been robbed.
2. The human body is meant to be asleep at night. You can alter that, but it'll fight you.
3. The human mind is meant to be asleep at night. You can sleep during the day, but it doesn't stop the hallucinations.
4. There's a purple octopus that lives in the tape archive. His name is Russell. He's a swell guy.
5. I have reached a shade of pale that I didn't realize was humanly possible. Seriously, I put vampires to shame.

Despite these life lessons, I will miss the fine folks that I got to work with on the overnight shift.

Especially Russell.

Random Shower Thought # 18

Do Mogwai recognize daylight savings time? If not, feeding time has to get confusing.

Fantasizing QB

Sorry for the recent hiatus. I have no excuse (other than laziness). Let's hop on in to the fun, now...

I know I'm a little late to the party, but I would like to use this post to address Mr. Brett Favre...Farve...Favrve....

I'll just call him Bretty.

Oh, Bretty. What have you done? Sending pics of the little gunslinger is never a good idea. And we all know you did it. You wanna know how we know? Because you haven't denied doing it. This "I'm not going to discuss it" stance doesn't help you.

Now, I've never cheated on my wife. And, I've never sent pictures of my swizzle to anyone. So I can (with some certainty) say that if someone accused me of doing either (or both), my first reaction would be to profess immediately that I most certainly did not. That's how I know you did it. Innocent men don't calculate their responses.

Admit you did it. Take your lumps. I think a fitting punishment would be that you have to receive unsolicited penis pics on your phone for a year. And retire, too. I'm tired of hearing about you.

What really cheeses me is that this is just another case of a philandering athlete. And we, as America, really love the tabloidy BS of it all, but we don't realize we are becoming desensitized to how horrible this behavior is. Tiger Woods, Michael Jordan, Bretty... the list of unfaithful athletes grows and we don't seem to care. It's just part of the "culture of being a sports star".

Meanwhile, countless loving gay and lesbian couples (including some friends of the Wind) aren't allowed, under the law, to express their commitment in the form of marriage. The main excuse given is usually that it would undermine the sanctity of the institution of marriage. I don't see how homosexuals would undermine it anymore than some of my fellow heteros already have.

But, the Devil's Wind is not just a means of complaint, so I offer a solution. How about we allow homosexual marriage? Because people who love each other deserve that right, no matter their orientation. But, to preserve the sanctity of marriage, we disallow athlete marriage. They don't seem to understand how it's supposed to work, anyway.

Now, to hop back down from my soap box...

Who wants a fart joke?

Wardrobe Disfunction

Once upon a time, when the Wife and I first started dating, I would concern myself matters of wardrobe. Before I'd go to see her, I'd usually put on a button down shirt and ask my roommate, Kristin, to critique. That would result in a primping of the hair, and perhaps a change of a clothing item or two.

As time went by, I became more comfortable with my future bride. As such, perhaps a tee shirt was acceptable. Still, if we were to go out, I'd put on a nicer pair of jeans (perhaps a collared shirt).

Fast forward to last weekend. The Wife and I had been hanging around the homestead. We were dressed to relax, when we decided to go out to a female targeted cinematic tale (aka, chick flick). I realized just how comfortable I am with the love of my life, when I asked if I should bother changing my clothes. I think my actual words were:

"Do I have to put on good pants?"

We went slovenly, and it was blissful.

Web Master

I think my wife is an absolutely amazing woman. She is great at so many things, however there are a couple things that she is horrible at:

1. Not jumping on the coffee table, when she sees a spider.
2. Realizing that, if it wanted to get to her, the spider could climb the table.

Last night, as I was getting ready for work, she came across a few spiders. Despite not being fond of them myself, I have come to the realization that it is my job to take care of arachnid disposal.

As I removed the intruders from our home, my wife looked at me from atop the table and said, "That's why I love you, you kill bugs for me."

Me: That's why?
Wife: And you open jars for me. Oh, and cuz' you love me so much.
Me: In that order? Kill bugs, open jars, pledge my undying love?
Wife: Yup.
Me: Good to know.

(small pause)

Wife: Plus you're cute. So, ya know, I got something to look at while you kill bugs and open them jars.

Plot To Trot

I guess it's true. There are no original ideas in Hollywood. I mean you can call it "Losing It with Jillian Michaels", but we all know it's just a remake of Mr. Ed.

A talking horse is a talking horse.... of course.

Hate Ashbury

For our honeymoon, the Wife and I ventured out to San Francisco. Despite her catching a cold on the way out, we have several wonderful memories of our visit. This is not one of them.

On the second day, we took a "hop-on, hop-off" tour bus. We hopped off at a few locations, one of which was the Haight-Ashbury district.

The bus rolled up Haight street. I was so excited. As a teen, I was a bit of a hippie (as much of a hippie as one can be in Athens, Tennessee, and without drugs...or sex). I love the music that was born out of that area in the late 60's. Reading about the Haight, I could only imagine how cool it must've been to live there. At some point, perhaps around the time I began earning a living, I began losing my tolerance of the hippie kind (though I still dig their music).

The bus drove right past the intersection of Haight and Ashbury. It stopped at the end of Haight, several blocks away. I didn't mind so much. In one of the Wife's guide books, I had found a walking tour of several locations of importance, so that was something we could do. First and foremost, though, I wanted a picture at Haight and Ashbury.

Haight street is nothing like what I had imagined. Despite what made the area famous, it has become very corporate. I guess anything that draws tourists will draw commercialism. It's mostly stores like Gap and Stussy. But it still draws hippies....dirty, dirty hippies. Perhaps the spirit of illicit drug use that still persists got to my wife, as she felt the need to take a Dayquil LiquiCap right there on the street.

Here's a little game that I came up with to play with the wife. "Hobo or Hippie?" The game is simple. Spot a filthy person on the street and determine whether that person is a hobo or a hippie. It's not as easy as you may think. Both groups generally avoid bathing. Both will beg you for money. One of the few ways to tell is that hobos may show some shame while begging.

After, walking several blocks, being pan handled and bothered by hippie after hippie (or hobo after hobo, I'm still not completely sure) I was growing weary of them. By the time we reached the intersection, my beautiful bride and I had grown so annoyed with the swarms of the wretched beings that we just took the damn picture and made our way back before the love of the Grateful Dead could be suck entirely from my body.

As we got back to Golden Gate park, a girl looked up at my wife and asked, "You got any ganja?" The Wife replied, "Nope. I have a job, instead." Man, I love her.

I'm still not sure why homeless people would come here. Hippies don't have any extra money to give you, and people with money to give you will probably just think you're a damn hippie.

What a disappointment. I do however find it ironic that a place born as a counterculture has become a corporate hole. Also ironic is how a group of people believing in peace and love has evolved into a bunch of people that I just want to punch in the head.

I Did

From this point forward, the Bride-t0-Be will be known as the Wife. This will be in effect, until such time as she is known as the Widow (I will have to haunt someone to have them update you all).

After several months of planning, the wedding is over, and we are back from honeymooning. Man, it was exhausting to hear the Wife talk about all the hard work she put into the plans.

Crazy For You.

Wedding day is closing in, and last week B2B and I went to get our marriage license. Over all, a rather quick and painless experience (esp. since the government is involved). But I can't help but wonder where exactly they view the institute of marriage. Just before we signed on the dotted line, we had to raise our right hand and swear that we were: not intoxicated, not coerced, of sound mind, and not related closer than second cousin. Does this mean that they find it hard to believe that you'd want to be wed, unless you are: drunk, forced, stupid, or inbred?

Adding insult to injury, this is the sign outside their office.

Maybe that's what B2B meant when she said we had to get certified to be married.

EVO-lution

Last week, I bought a new fancy phone. I played with it all day Friday to learn how to operate it (also because, I downloaded a fart sound application). The next morning, I allowed the Bride-to-Be to gaze upon it. She was playing around with it and asked my thoughts on it.

B2B: Do you like it?

Me: I'm still getting used to it, but I think I do.

B2B: Do you really like it?

Me: Yeah.

B2B: Do you love it?

Me: Kinda.

B2B: Well, then why don't you marry it instead of me?

Me: Because it can't provide me with an heir. So I'll stick with you for now.

Maybe there's an app for that.

Spice of Life

Last week, I found a link, entered my email, and received, an invitation to try a new spicy chicken sandwich for free at Chic-fil-a. Today I tried said sandwich.

I will tell you now that I am not affiliated with the fine folks from Chic-fil-a. I do find their menu offerings to be delicious in my mouth. But nothing to date has come close to this fiery delight. After a couple of bites, I was immediately looking around the room to find the official launch date (June 7). Upon completion, I called the Bride-to-Be to tell her all about it and even offered to bring her for dinner next Monday for a date night (launch date night). I asked if I could order another, and was told that it was just a special preview offer and the couldn't sell it yet. I was invited back to enjoy one next Monday.

As I left, I could help feel ashamed of my denied gluttony. I also couldn't help but to reflect on the after school specials of my youth, in which; the dealer would get the kids hooked, then inform them that "the first taste is free".

I'm so cold.....

Any Given Sunny Day.

The Sun.

Will we ever know the extent of its amazing powers? It seems to just make people cheerier.

For example: Yesterday, I was getting a few shots of the Kenton County Courthouse (and enjoying alliteration). A woman walking by must've thought I was shooting Izzy's Deli across from me, as she cheerfully asked, "are you using your 'super-zoom' on the potato pancakes". Because the sunshine had me in a good mood, I responded with a joyous "you know it!" Normally, due to my usual disdain for people, I would have just grunted to acknowledge that she'd said something to me and thought to myself "there's no such thing as a 'super-zoom', you ass head."

Damn you, Sun. I don't like who I am around you.

Warning: Incoming Poop Joke

I think that perhaps some of the fine folks at my workplace have heard of my healthy-sized movements and, much like those in the Mississippi Delta, are preparing for an eventual ecological catastrophe.