One Hour Photo

     Sorry for being late on this update, dear readers. I  was out of town for the week of spring break, Princess Consuela Bananahammock (as always, names have been changed to protect those that claim to be innocent) and I took the kids to Grand Forks, North Dakota to visit some old friends we don't get to see nearly enough. The second winter in NoDak sucks every bit as much as second winter here. (I find it ironic that I posted a blog about the weather in Montana only to immediately go visit someplace that turned out to be worse.)

    While we were out of town for that break, we had some renovations started in our home, and I returned to find the house torn to pieces and without access to indoor plumbing of any kind. Over the last few days, we have slowly been putting rooms back together, and the renovations are almost complete, but the last room to be finished is the laundry room. (long aside here. A quick google uncovered that the goddess of laundry, actually the goddess of cleanliness in general is Hygieia. [Her name is the source of the word 'hygiene'] So from now on, when you face a mountain of laundry, you can shake your fists at the heavens and scream "DAMN YOU HYGIEIA!!") 

Nothing says 'Hygienic' like feeding a snake on your lap.

    There is a perfect storm of laundry in my house right now. With the laundry room out of commission, four full suitcases of dirty laundry, and a week (or two) of procrastination on my part before leaving for NoDak, we are very nearly out of wearable clothing. (I am, in fact, at this very moment wearing basketball shorts as boxers because I have no underwear.) None of this has anything at all to do with the story I want to share today, just explaining why I'm so late posting this.   

    This particular event happened a few years after Princess Consuela and I got married. One thing that anyone who knows Princess Consuela will tell you, is that she likes to take pictures. Like lots of pictures. Of everything. She was taking pictures of her food before it was cool. 

    In late 2009, we were living in Havre Montana. Princess Consuela was doing her clinicals at the hospital, I was taking a few courses at the local University, but mostly just being useless. The princess had been contemplating getting her digital pictures printed for several months. (This was during that nebulous time with cameras when people would still print most of their pictures they wanted to keep, not just shuffle them from device to device forever.)

Gone forever is the dramatic reveal in the darkroom.

    At this point, we had been together for 6 years. That's six years of road trips, barbecues, birthdays, holidays, new outfits,  basically anything you could imagine, captured as ones and zeros on her hard drive. (to this day, one of her greatest fears is losing all her photos in a computer crash) One fateful day, Princess Consuela decides the time has finally come to have all of these pictures finally printed out, so that she can make a full encyclopedia's worth of photo albums and scrapbooks.

    So she does some internet searching, and she discovers that the local Walmart has a feature where you can upload your digital pictures directly, and pick them up printed from the store. (convenient right?) So Princess Consuela uploads all her photos to Walmart. Literally thousands of photos. Every. Single. One. Then she clicks the little box that says "One Hour Photo" and hits 'Submit'. No extra charge, no file size limit. Just arbitrarily promised to be ready in an hour.

    At this point, I can only imagine the photo department Walmart employee losing their shit. I don't know who put that button their website, but mistakes were made.

    We didn't show up at the store 60 minutes later, demanding our photos.  We watched some TV, we had a dinner out. Perhaps three hours later we walk into Walmart, ready to grab a few groceries and pick up these photos. But as we walk in, we are stopped by a young woman. She places her hand on my shoulder gently and says, "Your order isn't ready yet."

    This woman wasn't wearing a Walmart vest, she didn't have the khaki pants and blue shirt, nothing that indicated in any way that she worked there. My mind went blank trying to think of who this woman was, how she knew me and how she knew I had ordered anything at all. But slowly, it dawned on me, Oh! This must be the woman who works in the photo department. She recognized us because she has been staring at us for the last three hours. She knows us, man.

    

Your order isn't ready and you should go.

    Another hour later, we headed home with our photos, laughing all the way home about the poor woman whose night we had inadvertently destroyed. 

    I will try to get next week's blog out on time. In the meanwhile, I've got lots of laundry to do. DAMN YOU HYGIEIA!!

'Spring' in Montana

     I love living in Montana. I always have. The stunning vistas, the open spaces, the lack of people - all great. But this morning, mid-April mind you, I woke up to find an inch of snow. And so I begin upon the one thing that bugs me more than any other about Montana, the weather. Today marks the 3rd 'false start' of spring so far this year. 

    Over the weekend it was sunny and 70 degrees out. I broke out the shorts, I got the yard raked and cleaned up. The wife and I started planning where we might take the four-wheelers, or where our first camping trip of the season should be. Instead I had to scrape the snow off the car and lament over all the things I'd left on the porch that are now covered in snow. (and Princess Consuela Bananahammock is not happy with me about that.)

It's a thing.

    To a lifetime Montanan, the weather channel is a 24 hour comedy network. I still find it so amusing to watch shots of some icy hill where car after car after car hits the same patch of ice and crashes into the ever growing pile of cars. And several years ago, there was a blizzard that brought 4 inches of snow to Atlanta Georgia, and the entire city had to shut down. a measly 4 inches and I was entertained for weeks. (seriously it took them weeks to recover from 4 inches of snow)

    As funny as I find it to be stranded by four inches of snow, (Tip for driving on the highway in a whiteout, put your right tire on the rumble strip and drive, baby!) I can only imagine how I would react if I were caught in a tornado or a hurricane. I doubt I'd be so flippant then.

Road Construction and Fire seasons last much longer than indicated.

    My parents eventually gave up on the eternal winter and retired to Phoenix Arizona. I seriously doubt my father has seen snow since. He refuses to visit us between the months of September and May. (there is a very good chance it will snow during those 8 months of the year, and a moderate chance it could snow during the other 4 months) And sure he doesn't have to shovel the sidewalk anymore, but now he has to deal with 120 degree heatwaves, which sounds much worse to me than an inch of snow mid April.

He continues to disagree.

The Greatest Movie Ever Made

     I have a great love for pop culture. Huge parts of my personality have evolved from the movies and TV shows that I watch over and over again. My wife has movie amnesia. (She will insist repeatedly that she's never seen a movie we watched together the previous week.) I have the opposite. I have an almost uncanny ability to memorize line-for-line any movie that grabs me in a single viewing. (In high school I once orated 'The Matrix' word for word to the kid who sat behind me in math)

    While there are many great movies, and the debate over the best movie ever will never truly end, my personal favorite movie of all time is The Big Lebowski. If you have not seen this masterpiece, stop right now and watch it. This article may contain spoilers, and you need to experience the majesty this great work of art has to offer. Go watch it now.

Best movie ever? That's just like, my opinion man.

    Wasn't that great? The movie is hilarious, but only through repeated viewing did I pick up a few of the greater one-liners in the film. (Brother Seamus? What, like an Irish monk?) I have seen the movie several dozen times, and phrases from this movie still make it into everyday conversations I have. (whenever I see some new decoration at a friend's house, I will tell them how it "really brings the room together") But after doing some research, I found that this movie has one of the most dedicated fan bases of all time.

    The movie was not a record setter by any means. It only made 46.7 million at the box office, off of a budget of  15 million. It didn't win any major awards, it wasn't even nominated. (though it is certified fresh on rotten tomatoes, and is on imdb.com's best movies of all time list)  Most of its popularity came after its release to home video, as word of mouth spread. 

    The reason that, to me, this is the best movie ever, is because it is still making appearances in pop culture, despite the fact that it came out almost 25 years ago. (The Shawshank Redemption is my 2nd favorite movie, but no one talks about that anymore) Content creators are still making references to this masterpiece, and they never fail to make me laugh.

A screenshot from My Little Ponies - The Dude's cutie mark is a rug!

    The more you dig into The Big Lebowski, the more there is to find, and the more impressed I am at how big an impact this movie made.(Side note: at this point, I had to take a break to make myself a White Russian.) Every year there is a gathering of like-minded people at a festival called Lebowski Fest. Members of the cast are known to attend the fest, with Jeff Bridges even performing music from the movie with his band. (His band is called Dude and the Abiders.)

    But this movie has gone beyond the physical into the spiritual. That's right, this movie spawned its own religion - Dudeism. Over 600,000 people have been ordained as Dudeist Priests, and the religion is pretty much exactly what you might expect. Their major tenets are relaxed lifestyle and pacifism. And of course, the dude himself shows these traits exceptionally well. Opening of the movie, two thugs break into his house, break a door frame and the bathroom floor, shove his head in his own toilet , and piss on his rug. And all the dude has to say in response is a few cutting sarcastic remarks. (Hey, at least I'm Housebroken!) I seriously doubt I could have responded so coolly. I would have been inarticulate with rage.

Dudeism.com - the official website of the religion if you are so inclined.

    My wife and I have this adorable(I think) habit of naming our pets after our favorite fandoms. We currently have 2 dogs: our oldest is Penny, named after The Big Bang Theory. Our puppy is now about 7 months old, and we named him Jeffrey Lebowski. Of course we call him the dude, duder, or el duderino if we're not feeling into the whole brevity thing. I love everything about this movie, and I intend to love it for the rest of my natural life. Well, I finished my White Russian. Be right back, I'm just gonna go find a cash machine.

Video Games have changed. It's good and bad.

     Christmas 1989, I was only 4 years old, but I can still tell you what I got for Christmas that year. That year, my brother and I got a Nintendo Entertainment System from my parents. (I think mainly my dad, my mom is still upset over how much time I spend playing video games.) It came with the standard 2 controllers, the Nintendo gun, and the Super Mario Bros./Duck Hunt Combo game. The rest of my life growing up under my parent's roof was spent arguing with my mother about me playing too many video games. (see above statement)

Nintendo was founded in 1889 to make playing cards. They release their first video game in 1977.

    Buying video games back in the day was a risky business. There was no internet, and it was usually months before you could find any sort of reviews in print. (In Print!!!) There were lots of horrible games made. Games were released with catastrophic bugs in the code, or unintelligible game play, or sometimes just way too hard. (check out AngryVideoGameNerd on youtube for some extra-vulgar examples) 

    I had several of these titles on my shelf, stacked in the back corner of the entertainment center gathering dust. Every once in a while I would pull one out, blow out the dust, (remember when you had to blow on your video games to make them work?) and play around for a few minutes before remembering why it sucked so much and putting it back in the pile. There was a game called Dino Riki that we had for decades and I never once beat the first level. (and I'm sure I just called someone's favorite childhood game trash)

    Hundreds, if not thousands of video game companies rose and fell over the next several decades, but now the industry has settled into almost the exact format of the movie industry. We have powerhouse studios, and anything else created is considered 'indie'.(think 20th Century Fox vs Electronic Arts) The other, and largest influence on the video game industry, was the widespread availability of high speed internet.

Picture taken shortly before someone's mother got laid.

        I got in fairly early on the internet gaming craze. I played hours and hours and HOURS of Quake online. (that's Quake 1 mind you. low resolution, dial-up internet, and the peak of my FPS gaming affinity) I had a 15K dial up modem, and the bane of my existence were the LPBs (low-ping bastard, this used to be a cutting insult) from big cities that were the firsts to get broadband internet. Growing up in Butte Montana meant it was years (it felt like an eternity) before that same technology became available to us.

    When it did arrive, it turned out to be a bit of a curse. (to me personally.) My first truly high-speed connection to the internet was my freshman year of college, right out of High School. I failed out that year due to Halo and a little internet game called Gunbound. (for the whole sordid tale, see my first post)

    After failing out of school, I nursed my wounded pride with a little game called World of Warcraft. Here is a game so great, so all-consumingly fun, that it is exactly that - all consuming. WoW was, and remains to this day, the only thing I have ever been truly addicted to. There were years of my life when I would spend all day at work thinking about what I was going to do in WoW that night, and every waking moment not spent at work, playing WoW.

You owe me two years of my life back Blizzard.

    I was able to kick the habit years ago, but my wife and I still get cravings to play it. Thankfully, however, we have horrible internet at our place, and we cant run WoW on two computers simultaneously. (we tried 😔)Here is where (I think)the development of video games is both good and bad. The internet has become such an integral part of video games, that it is no longer possible to have a game that does not require internet. 

    One of my favorite parts of opening a new video game was opening the game manual and reading through your upcoming adventure. Game manuals went away a decade ago. Manufacturers decided it was much cheaper to simply put these manuals online. Now they have gone a step further. Now it isnt unheard of to leave the store, take your new game case home, open it up, and the only thing inside is a code to download the game.

    I live in a rural area, so far out of town, that the only 'high speed' internet available to me is microwave internet. (I'm in line to get starlink, but my order isn't expected until mid 2023) For those of you unawares, that means my internet connect comes from a signal a mile down the road. Days when it's raining, snowing, or just too windy, I have no internet. When I do get internet, I have to share my bandwidth with all my neighbors. It is so bad that I can't even stream a movie on Friday or Saturday nights.

    So when a new game comes out, to me it means two days worth of downloads before I get to play once. I really miss the days when the entire game arrived ready to play in the box you only had to pay for once. And industry insiders, if you are reading this, let me tell you, we all feel that way.

The Eternal Rewards of Being a Parent

     No matter your profession, no matter your success in your field, if you have children, you can't escape the job that is being a parent. It is a thankless job (in fact some day they may pay lots of money to complain about you to therapists) and it comes with unexpected trials that no one can possibly prepare you for. And if you somehow manage to prepare for trials A-Z, your kids will one day hit you with trial beta-sub-15 because you hadn't consider Apple Jacks could be weaponized.

Actually just googled 'tired parent hair'

    My kids are still fairly young. My son, Ricardo Shilley-Shalley is 6, and my daughter, Princess Buttercup is 9. (As always, names have been altered to protect the sometimes innocent) So while i dont yet have to worry about raging hormones or boyfriends with facial tattoos, I have to worry about saying "Don't touch that!" over one hundred times a day, every day.

    Sleep is precious in my house, and sleeping extra is highly dangerous. On weekends my kids will wake us up at the crack of dawn, fully clothed and hungry enough to chew through the cupboard doors to get at the food. On school mornings however, every piece of clothing they put on, every bite of cereal they take is an ordeal and a fight.

    One particular weekend, two or three years ago now, my wife and I thought it would be fine to sleep in an hour or two after the kids were up. They had access to Pop-Tarts and Netflix cartoons on a Saturday morning,  and we were in full just-five-more-minutes mode. But eventually, I had to get up to make sure the house was still standing.

    Ever come across a mess so big that you don't know where to start? I mean a mess so big you don't even get mad. A mess so unbelievably huge that you just stare, taking it in and trying to make it register. When I saw the Living Room that morning, I stood in awe for a good ten seconds, turned and went back into my room without saying a word to my kids. To my wife, I said, "Your children made a mess."

    

Yeah, like this kind of mess.

    What exactly had they done? Well, they had gotten into our pantry, taken out 4 boxes of dry spaghetti, crushed it down to confetti, and made it rain all over the living room. 

    "But why?" I hear you ask. (I know I asked that question many many MANY times that morning) Their answer, "Because it feels good when you break spaghetti under your feet on carpet."

    One of my largest regrets over the last few years is that I didn't take a video, or even a picture of the living room that morning. I will be reminding my kids of that mess for the rest of their lives, and I don't have any photographic proof of what occurred there that day.

    We spent hours vacuuming, sweeping, and disassembling furniture to try to clean up that mess. And as it turns out, we didn't even get it all. Last week, we replaced our entertainment center, and among the detritus that was underneath the old cabinets? Lots of spaghetti. 

    Next month we are finally replacing the carpet in the living room. That poor carpet has had so many spills on it. We have a 'no drinks in the living room' rule that no one follows, and Ricardo can't look at a cup of kool-aid without spilling it. (but only ever drinks that are 110% sure to leave a stain.) I expect that when we take out that carpet, we will find a lot more spaghetti.

    

Moths Are Tiny Spawns of Satan

     This is a story from several years ago, one that I shared on Facebook in just a few sentences. But it was actually the start of all of this. My father, enjoying the story so much, pulled me aside and convinced me to start writing. I told him about how I'd always wanted to be a writer, and he encouraged me to give it a go. Fast forward about three years and now I have finished my first novel, and I intend to at least finish this trilogy before I give up on a career as a professional writer.

Mottephobia - The fear of Moths

    I have a severe hangup on moths, as my wife and friends love to point out. While I've never been overly fond of them, my fear stems from my time working as a used car salesman (which is btw, the worst job in the world). During the summer the year I spent slinging Subarus there was some sort of mass-birthing event here in Butte Montana. Suddenly there were millions and MILLIONS of moths, and they stuck around for several weeks. But at night time, there would be clouds of moths around every street light in downtown Butte so thick thick that no light from the lamps could reach the ground.

    Thing was, when I arrived back at the dealership the next morning, all the cars would be covered in moths, some that had died during the night, but plenty that had just landed there and were napping. My job then became to sweep the moths off the tops of the cars.

    Here's the thing. Moths don't fly well. They zigzag haphazardly through the air and crash into whatever might be in their way, which extremely often ended up being my face. By the time I had finished brushing off two cars, I had diagnosable mottephobia, and the mere thought of sweeping off another car made me sick to my stomach.

    

Dumbest Magic: the Gathering card ever.

    I do have one friend that can relate to just how horrible moths can be, and his story is much worse. One summer night this particular friend was coming home from work. As he unlocked his apartment door, a moth careened into the side of his face, then proceeded to crawl inside his ear. He ran screaming into the bathroom and ran water into his ear, which caused the moth to dig in deeper, trying to avoid the wet. He ended up in the ER where a bemused and astonished doctor had to remove the moth forcibly with a pair of tweezers. (I was nearly sick when he told me this story) To this day, I have never seen him outside at night without a hat that covers his ears, and I do not blame him one bit.

    Fast forward to the moth story that started it all. 

    It was the tail end of summer, the leaves were starting to change, but it was still plenty warm enough that all manner of bugs were still hanging around, including moths. After work, I had some errands to do that required some cash. I pull up to my bank's ATM and roll down my window. As soon as I do, a moth comes fluttering by my open window. The sight of this one crazily flapping demon sends my fight-or-flight reflex into overdrive.

    In panic, I threw the item I was holding at the moth, trying to shoo it away. The item happened to be my wallet. It missed the moth and went flying out the open window. I had even thrown it so hard that it sped across several drive up bank lanes and scattered the contents all over.

    The moth proceeds to fly in the car and down under the steering wheel out of my sight. In further panic, I start to stamp my feet all over the floor beneath me. I had to take my foot off the brake to do this, and so while I am having this incredible freak out, my car is idling forward. (thankfully there was no one in line ahead of me.) Once I am sure that I have stomped on every inch of the floor in front of me, I threw the car into park and oh-so-carefully peek over the seat to look for the (hopefully now deceased) moth.

    Holding my breath, and pulling my shirt collar up so I can cover my face quickly should I need to, I lean forward to see....a dead leaf. I had probably the largest freak out of my adult life over a dead leaf wafting into the car. What could I do? I had to get out of the car and collect my wallet along with all of its contents while carfulls of other bank customers waited in line watching. 

    I'm not proud of it, but I did at least enjoy sharing the story for a few laughs.

It's a Great Time to be a Nerd

     Back in elementary school, I was the nerdy, awkward kid in a school full of jocks and overachievers. It was a brutal living, being bad at sports growing up. Those of us who grew up knowing sports was not our strong suit had to come up with other hobbies to occupy our recess time. I chose to spend my time reading, and playing with Magic cards. (Really old Magic cards. Like FML how did I lose those cards old.)

I always thought the alliteration of Hillcrest Hornets was fun to say.

    For a long time now, I've felt really sorry for my dad. He's a life-long jock who married a nerd, and had all nerd children. He's now in his 70s and can still whoop my ass at basketball. I once saw him play 3 rounds of 'Around the World' without missing a shot. He spent I don't know how much time and money on a concrete patio in our back yard with a basketball hoop. We almost never used it.

       But in middle school, I met up with other nerds my age.(Not to be a cliché, but it was in Band Class) Once I had my fellow nerds about me, things leveled out. And once my growth spurts started to slow down, I was even able to play soccer in High School, but none of the sports I grew up loathing.

    But towards the end of my high school years, nerdiness started to become more trendy. I like to thank that to 20th Century Fox(the first Tobey Maguire Spider-Man came out my Junior year) and J.K Rowling. Harry Potter was dragons and wizards right? That's nerd stuff!

    These days, the nerd industry has expanded to greater heights than ever before. The second highest grossing film of all time was Avengers: Endgame. Released in 2019, it made a whopping 2.797 Billion (that's with a B) dollars, and the entire last hour of the film is non-stop fan service.

    Big Bang Theory, a TV series about 4 huge nerds, was so popular it ran for 12 seasons. That's two more seasons than Friends (which I also love). Mainstream, A-list stars run podcasts about their D&D games. And a kickstarter from a well-known fantasy author recently became the highest earning kickstarter of all time, blowing the previous record away. It's a great time to be a nerd.

Christmas Gifts That Keep On Giving

     My wife, the ever lovely Princess Consuela Bananahammock, is a real Christmas fanatic. In my home, Christmas carols play from Halloween through Valentines day. It is the last day of February, and I still have a few Christmas boxes that need to be put into storage. (I blame her, she blames me) 

    I must admit that it is also my favorite holiday. However, I have a strict rule that not a single Christmas decoration can go up until the day after Thanksgiving. I resent how Christmas gets earlier every year, and in my house we respect the bird!(Have you heard? It's the word!)

    Opening your Christmas gifts is the biggest moment for kids annually. As 'A Christmas Story' (an annual must for our family) says, "Lovely, glorious, beautiful Christmas,  around which the entire kid year revolved." I was no exception to that. I never slept well on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa come with frenzied anticipation.

I WANT AN OFFICIAL RED RYDER CARBON ACTION 200 SHOT RANGE MODEL AIR RIFLE!

    When it came to Christmas presents, my favorite part was always the stocking. I always thought it was like opening dozens of little presents all at the same time. When Consuela and I first got married, there was a bit of a learning curve for her. Santa just didn't spend as much time packing her stockings as he spent on mine. The stockings always come first, and they symbolize the start of Christmas day to me since I was a kid.

    As a child, the bottom of my stocking was always filled with peanuts. My mother said it was traditional, and something they all got in their stockings as children. When I was younger, I remember I used to think of those peanuts as wasted space for extra loot. But as I got older, I actually looked forward to the peanuts at the bottom, and now it is a memory I actually miss. (Isn't nostalgia weird?) 

    I tried one year to fill my own kids' stockings with peanuts. It didn't go well. My daughter, Princess Buttercup, wrote Santa a dozen letters the next year, and in every one of them she explicitly requested Santa leave her no peanuts this year.

    This last Christmas, my two wonderful kids pulled a 'Calvin and Hobbes' and woke us up at 2:30 in the morning ready to go. It took quite the tantrum from Consuela to get them back into bed, but eventually they fell back asleep until the slightly more reasonable hour of 6:00.

    

This was me as a kid. This is my kids now. Genetics.

    This last year, Santa Bananahammock left a bunch of Wish(the weird Chinese gadget website) gadgets in my stocking. (which is an amazing idea if you are looking for one) among them was a great little device called 'The Toilight'.

    The toilight is a motion activated light that clips onto your toilet bowl and illuminates it, so that you don't have to flip on the light in the middle of the night when you have to go. It cycles through eight different colors! At least, it is supposed to. I installed the toilight right away, because, well I just described how awesome this thing is.

    However, I could not figure out how to get it to cycle through the colors, and instead I got it stuck on 'Portal to Hell' mode. It was on all the time, not just motion activated, and it was a bright, crimson glow from the bowl. When you walked in to the bathroom at night, it did indeed look like a portal to hell had opened around the corner of the shower. The first night I saw it, I stopped dead in the doorway before I remembered I had installed it.

    I have since figured out how to set the motion activation, and it cycles nicely through the eight different colors. But once in a while I'll walk in to the bathroom late at night to a bright red glow and it makes me remember that first time with a smile. For now, I think I'll go browse the wish app.

A Higher Look at Disney

     I have been a big fan of Disney movies my entire life. It's the kind of thing that I thought I would have eventually grow out of, cartoons are for kids, right? But thanks to full grown men like Matt Groening and Seth MacFarlane, cartoons became acceptable, and even exclusively for adults. I still watch plenty of cartoons, and Disney is no exception to that. 

    You may have seen the recent release from Disney, a fantastic little movie called Encanto. What you might not know, is that Encanto has been destroying records since its release. The song "We Don't Talk About Bruno" (an earworm that burrows in deep and just won't let go) has shattered every record for a Disney song that has existed, leaving even "Let It Go" in the dust.

Actual picture of Disney execs in the green glow from all the cash they made off Encanto

    The success of "We Don't Talk About Bruno" has gone beyond the cartoon. Last week, it was the #1 song on the Global Billboard charts. I probably contributed to that a little, seriously that song gets STUCK in your head. In the last week I've woken up with lines of it in my head 4-5 times.

    But I am also a fan of the underrated and underappreciated Disney films out there. (Atlantis? Treasure Planet? C'mon Disney, give us the live-action adaptation we deserve!) And when it comes to music,  I can tell you with no doubt at all that the best score in a Disney film isn't Encanto, or Frozen, or any of the dozens of films scored by the great Alan Menkin (Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, The Little Mermaid).

    No, like any hardcore man-child of the 90's, I know that the Disney movie that had the best score of them all was " A Goofy Movie" (No, really!). It didn't set any records, It didn't top international charts and set the internet ablaze.(It was released in 1995. Dial-up internet was very new.) But every song is a great, feel-good, catchy tune that adds to the story rather than interrupts it. In fact, I'm still waiting for a Powerline album. I would be all over that like white on rice.

On this, Disney and myself don't see I-2-I.

    I have watched A Goofy Movie probably 3 dozen times, with most of those viewing back in middle/high school. When my mom asked me once why I watched that movie so many times, I told her that I identified with Max. I remember this highly offended my dad at the time. But to set the record straight, my dad is no Goofy, and I wouldn't have dreaded taking a long road trip with him. (In fact we did at least once that I recall).

    The reason I used to identify with Max was because I knew what it was like to be invisible to my classmates, and the desire to make that one girl notice me. (I don't remember who the girl was, knowing me there were surely several) As an adult however, I find that I identify with Goofy more and more. Poor guy just wants his son to love him.

    So my new hobby, as an adult, is to get stoned and binge watch Disney movies. My (sometimes overly) ADD brain latches on to certain details and spins whole new meanings out of single lines, and it makes for entertaining viewing.

    Let me give you an example from the great A Goofy Movie that I caught recently. At the beginning of their road trip (just before the fantastic song 'On the open road') Goofy tries to get a despondent and pouting Max to play 20 questions. Goofy's guess? Walt Disney. Walt. Disney.

    That means that Goofy (and by extension all Disney characters) know of their creator. They know that they are from the mind of one man and do not really exist. (that was fairly terrifying and I had to pause the movie to calm down)

  

Just look at those cold, lifeless eyes.

    For a less extreme example, I want to bring up Zootopia (which by the way, might just have the worst score of any Disney film).  The tale is told from the perspective of Judy Hopps, but in my last higher viewing, I saw the story mostly from the perspective of Nick. Poor Nick is just a victim of society. He is a fox in a city where foxes are second-class citizens. He runs a hustle on an unsuspecting farm-girl because its the only way he can get supplies for his business.

    Think about it. He just wanted to buy a popsicle, and they wouldn't sell him one just because he's a fox. (remember the elephant pulls out a sign that says 'we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone'. might as well have said 'whites only') Once he manages to get the supplies to make his popsicles, he ends up being stalked by this rookie cop, despite having committed no crimes, once again because he is a fox(profiling!).

    This same cop continues to blackmail him and use him to go around procedure, even to the point of illegal search and seizure.(BTW, Midnicampum Holicithias, the night howlers from the movie, are real and super toxic to animals) 

    He was incredible businessman (imagine trying to make $200 a day, 365 days a year since you were twelve, just selling popsicles and popsicle sticks) that goes to extra lengths to protect the environment, (every popsicle stick gets recycled and reused) but he gets treated like a pariah by the others in his community. 

    I guess most of these high realizations so far have been pretty dark. Dang Disney, I thought you were supposed to be a family company. But that certainly isn't a reason to stop now. Until next week, and remember, don't talk about Bruno!

  

The constant struggle against entropy

     Several weeks ago, I quit my day job (despite the saying 'Don't quit your day job.') so that I could put more of my focus on my writing.  And sure, I've written some, but more of my time has been spent in constant battle with messiness.

     I hadn't realized just how much junk I had piled in corners throughout the house. I'm no hoarder by any means, (I had to stop watching episodes of hoarders because they made me too nauseous) but Marie Kondo would have an aneurysm if she came by.

Let's just say my closet doesn't look like this.

    It took two weeks and a ton of help from my wife, Princess Consuela Bananahammock, but I have finally caught up with the laundry. For months we have survived by scraping the top layer of dirty clothes into the washer and getting a load done here and there. Dresser drawers that used to be constantly bare are now overflowing to the point that our local thrift store will be getting a sizeable donation soon.

    I spent several hours everyday sorting, folding, pre-soaking, and softening. And of course, as fast as I could finish a load, the kids would create a load. That small feeling of accomplishment you get when you finish a basket of clothes gets shattered entirely when you turn around and see dozens of shirts strewn throughout the house. (I swear my kids change clothes 20 times a day)

    Laundry as an adult is like the punishment of Sisyphus. (Sisyphus cheated death twice and as a punishment, Zeus cursed him to push a boulder uphill for all eternity) No matter how much you do, there will always be more. Always.

So sad. So true.

    The sisyphean task(something that is both exhausting and futile is sisyphean. Made you learn something.) of laundry made me think long and hard about entropy. Entropy is a physics idea that says (very basically, don't lambast me physicists) nature always wants to keep things at their most disorganized state. This requires less energy, so it is most efficient on a system to just let things devolve into disorder.

    So every day I trudge about my house, combating the ever present creep of entropy into my home. It irks me no small amount that I spend so much time rallying against a basic physical property, but it has to be done. We can't all live like hoarders, and Mrs. Bananahammock would kill me.

    But in the interest of full disclosure, there is something I do hoard. In 1993, I started playing a little game that had been recently invented by one Richard Garfield. The game was called Magic: the Gathering, and I have been collecting ever since. (that's the last 30 years for those of you keeping track)

    I call it a hobby, but lately it has been more of a habit. I took a few moments to perform a quick guesstimate count of my collection, and it is fair to guess that I own at least 40,000 cards. That might sound big, but I don't suspect I'm even in the top ten among just the people I know. Thing is, my Magic collection falls prey to more entropy than the dirty laundry from all four of the people living in this house. It is no exaggeration to say that cards can be found in every room of my house, and probably every vehicle. 

    There is an entire industry built around trying to contain your card collection, and it helps, but it's also another drain on resources. Once Magic graduates from a hobby to a habit, it gets expensive fast. Doing another quick guesstimation, I think I spent well over $3000 on MtG last year (Don't tell Consuela). In addition to the money spent buying little pieces of cardboard, I've spent hundreds on big pieces of cardboard, to put the little pieces of cardboard into. When I step back and look at it, it's almost shameful. But of course, I don't sit back and examine it often, it upsets my worldview. Ignoring facts that are unpleasant to me is my right as an American.

    There is a very apt moment from the big bang theory, in which Leonard hates himself for buying yet another card pack expansion complete with collectors tin and sheriff's badge that doubles as a wand.  (s5e10 if you were wondering) He gives in and buys the collector's edition even though he knows they are just toying with his emotions and exploiting his addiction. That is me to a T.

Add 100 pounds to each of them and this actually looks a lot like my Sunday nights

    For now, I am content to just sit and wait until my wife reads this post, then I'm certain we will have a nice long talk about certain numbers listed here she wasn't fully aware of. But I think I'll be okay, I've seen her Amazon receipts.

    

    

Freaking COVID man.

    I've been tested for coronavirus at least ten times. I finally got a positive result.  I thought for sure I was going to dodge that particular bullet, but omicron is a contagious little bitch and after more than two years of this shit, people are going to congregate whether it's good for them or not.

    This is a story about getting way too high in Denver. I was going to tell this story for its comedic potential and just stick to that, but now it's also the story about how I caught covid. I want to insist to you that this is not a tale of recklessly licking doorknobs and coughing on people I sit next to. I did what I could to minimize the spread of the virus.

    I follow most of the covid guidelines. I wear a mask where it is mandated, I wash my hands frequently. I got both vaccine shots, and even a booster when I was due. But it apparently wasn't enough. Within a week  of our return from Denver, three members of my family tested positive for covid.

Fauci is so disappointed in me.

    I went to Denver to see Tool in concert. (In 2000 the band went from using all caps (TOOL) to all lower caps (tool). no one seems to know which is correct anymore.)

    It has been nearly three years since tooL released its last album, Fear Inoculum, and along with it, they released all of their music to streaming services for the first time. If you had asked me then what my favorite band is, I'd have told you Metallica. Since gaining access to streaming their music, my favorite band is most definitely TOol. (In fact, according to the stats spotify gives you about your streaming habits, I am in the top 0.2% of TOoL streamers. Listening to ToOl while writing this in fact.)

    Anyway, my lovely wife, Princess Consuela Bananahammock (names have been altered to protect the mostly innocent), bought me tickets to see this fabulous band in concert for Christmas last year. It had been planned for 3 months, and I wasn't about to miss it.

    Denver, Colorado. Capital city of the first state to legalize recreational marijuana. The concert was to be held at Ball Arena in downtown Denver, and there was no way I was going to be sober for the show. Early on the afternoon in question, I stopped by a local dispensary and picked up something I had never tried before, drinkable THC. I'd done edibles of course, but never a drinkable. The package was covered with warnings about not taking too much, and how to properly dose out yourself just enough THC. So anyway, I threw out the measuring cup and drank a little more than half.

    Then with testing-my-personal-limits-of-tolerance levels of weed in my system, I called an uber and set out for the concert.

    I knew it was going to be bad while I was still in the uber. I got paranoid. And I'm talking 'this driver is going to take me to a shack and harvest my organs' paranoid. More than once during the car ride in, I considered just having him take me back to the hotel. But this was TooL damnit, and I wasn't about to miss Tool just because of a little paranoia. 

    I managed to make it to my seat by sheer force of will, and it was a great seat. Once in my seat, I didn't leave it again until the end of the concert.(I was sure if I left my seat I wouldn't be able to find it again, and if I asked for help finding it, they would kill me and harvest my organs.) I sat for easily an hour before the concert started, getting higher, and more paranoid by the minute. 

    

Actual picture of the stage from my seat (why does it always feel closer than it looks?)

    By the time the concert started, I had a serious case of the "no touchies". Over the last hour, I'd watched literally tens of thousands of people file into the same one room. We had to provide proof of immunization to get in, but in my paranoia induced state I couldn't stop thinking: How many of these people faked their vaccine card? How many are asymptomatic carriers and don't know it? How many of these people are here just because they aren't willing to miss TOOl in concert because they've got the sniffles? I clutched that mask to my face and wished it was thicker.(And see, I ended up getting it in the end. It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you.)

    The music was sublime. I danced, I sang, I headbanged, I pounded out drum solos on my chest. From the first note, I was lost in the music, and all was right with the world again. Though, I jumped a foot every time someone brushed against me, and I was constantly checking to make sure I still had my wallet. I made such a scene that the two people on either immediate side of me did not return after intermission. Well, it probably didn't have anything to do with me, but in my paranoia, I was certain it was just because of me.

    After another paranoia-fevered taxi ride, I finally made it back to Princess Consuela Bananahammock who'd stayed at the hotel. Turns out she'd had the other half of the drinkable and was every bit as paranoid as I'd been, but that's her story. Neither of us intend to drink it ever again.

Birds of a feather, am I right?