Mr. Governor, please raise the speed limit in Iowa

Well Christmas is here. Just in case you've missed all the hints for the past two months. I thought the inflatable Winnie the Pooh statue in someone's front yard was especially touching. That really gets me into the Christmas spirit. Although I find it rather difficult to be in the Christmas spirit right now since I will end up driving through Iowa tonight while everyone else in the world is dining on figgy pudding. I have already chosen the new Green Day single as my theme song for the ride home. When asked how I spent Christmas Eve 2004 I can truthfully say that I drifted slowly into madness. Sorry folks, I don't mean to sound like the Grinch. I'm sure Christmas will be fine. Soon I'll be in central Nebraska. One of the few places that time has forgotten. I can sip my egg nog while staring out over the platte river. What a great river that is. You could cross it in a wheel chair if you wanted to.

I suppose I should go pick out my favorite Christmas sweater so I'll be ready for the festivities. I think I'll go with the pullover that has the detachable nativity set. It can be hours of fun. It came with three different changes of clothing for the wise men.

I think that's enough. I've got to go work on my stand-up material to keep myself occupied so I don't drive into a ditch somewhere around Ames. "So what's the deal with gas station bathrooms. Why must they lock the doors? Are they afraid someone's going to break in and clean it." Okay, I'll stop.

Soup and hair and then more soup

I think I'm on a chicken noodle soup high. I made a batch on Tuesday and I've now had seven bowls in two days. Is that excessive? I'll tell you what I should do. I should take a pint glass full of soup down to The Purple Onion and show them how ridiculous that is. Maybe then they would finally serve coffee in a mug as God intended. (Refer to the first posting to get the necessary background. Or just go to The Purple Onion and see for yourself.

I finally ended up at The Hair Police today. I like going there. There's just something cool about the combination of mohawks, fake dreads and someone's pet pig roaming around. My stylist's name is Satya (pronounced SOT-ee-a, or SOCH-ee-a, but I really don't know how to phonetically spell words so let's just pretend that never happened). I don't know if this is her real name. I only say this because she is the only Satya I know in the world. For some reason I think that someone named Satya will a better stylist than someone named Barb. Barb is great a name but not the first name I'd think of when I think of a stylist. Unless you go to Great Clips. Of course I won't chastise you for going to Great Clips. I sort of figure that your hair cut will be punishment enough. (I'm just kidding. You should know better than to take anything seriously that I write on this blog.) I admit that there have been a few times when I have brought a picture along with me to show the stylist. I always wonder what the stylist is thinking when I pull the picture out. "Oh, here we go again. Listen here chief, it's going to take a lot more than a hair cut for you to look like Brad Pitt." I'll be honest though, there is always a part of me that thinks I might actually look like the guy in picture if I just had his hair cut. That's why stylists are so good at using conversation as a distraction. They foolishly assume that if they keep talking we'll eventually forget about the picture. But that is not possible since the picture was the only reason we came in the first place. The whole time we're looking in the mirror trying to squint just right, longing to believe the transformation is actually working. Of course we always bring in the picture of the really good looking person. Just once I want to bring in a picture of the guy in the Mills Fleet Farm catalog who is modeling the garden hose.

I think the soup is calling my name again. Perhaps with crackers this time? Yes, I think so.

And then there were two

If it wasn't for the generous comments of a certain few people (both names start with a K, one is referred to by her initials, and the other ends in 'atie') this blog might possibly have ceased to exist. Actually it probably would have kept going anyway. This well-oiled machine will keep spinning out the hits. That is until the next shiny thing comes along and distracts me.

So I'm still not done with my Christmas shopping yet. The second round of Christmas shopping is always the hardest. I suppose it's a bit like standing in front of the prison warden after a repeat offense. "Back again? Obviously you didn't learn your lesson the first time. Oh, you will this time. We'll see to that." Now I'll have to park in the lot that's ten stores over from Walmart since all of the good spots have been taken up by RV's waiting for the after Christmas sales. That's alright I'll just take my team of sled dogs with me. If only Walmart had a drive-up window. Why don't they? Does anyone actually enjoy the part where we have to roam around aimlessly for an hour trying to find a coffee mug with two teddy bears hugging? And it seems like everyone gets a little more disgruntled as we get closer to the deadline. I think most stores put in the third and fourth string checkers as well. And why not? There are only a few minutes left in the fourth quarter so it's time to protect the starting line in preparation for the new spring collection coming out a week after Christmas. One of these Christmas's I'm going to make all my gifts. I would avoid all the shopping entirely. Of course this seems like a good idea now. There is the small problem of what I would make for everyone. Since I have no crafty, artistic abilities in me (at least not the artistic abilities needed to make gifts) I'll probably end up making bean bags or something of the sort. Those wouldn't go over so well. I think most people would see right through it. Unless I made bean bags full of $100 bills. Those would probably go over a little better.

Now don't think that I'm not a fan of gifts. I love giving gifts. Finding the gift is the part that turns me into a twisted bundle of nerves. But I suppose that is what makes the gift so special. Anyone can go through the drive-up window at Walmart. It takes an extra amount of care to find that perfect gift that says, "I went through shopping purgatory because I think you're worth it. Merry Christmas."

I can't feel my legs, is that normal?

Yesterday I had my weekly family conference call with my parents who live in southern Spain and my brother who happens to be vacationing in Hawii. How cruel can this world be?

Supposedly the 'experts' are saying that if global warming (due to greenhouse gases) continues at the rate which it presently is at, the climate in the Twin Cities will soon be like that of Florida. By all means keep driving! In fact I'm never shutting my car off again. Sure I'll pay a little more in gas but I think it will be worth it in 30 years when I'm water skiing in February. Of course that does mean the glaciers will keep shrinking and eventually Hawii will disappear. Ah, yes. The glaciers. Who is up on those glaciers with a tape measure? "Did you hear the glaciers shrunk another two centimeters last week? Oh, sweet Mary! No wonder my coffee's cold this morning." And since we're on the subject can someone please tell me what is with mankind's insatiable urge to measure everything? Are we somehow better off knowing that the sun is 93 billion miles away? "Those of us in the scientific community, after years of intense research, are pleased to announce: the sun really is... a long ways away." I guess the weekend trip is probably out of the question then. Of couse we had to invent the nanometer just so we could measure the atom. And it's not even a whole nanometer. It's .3 nanometers! I know, let's start measuring everything in nanometers. Shoe sizes will now start at 3 million. You want to drive through Iowa? It's only 764 gazillion nanometers. I guess 93 billion miles doesn't sound so bad after all.

This ones for all you scientists out there. Boldly go and measure everything you can get your hands on. And somethings that you can't.

You came back! I'm so happy!

My head hangs in shame knowing that I have been defeated on the retail battlefield. Much like the Native Americans of yesteryear had to return from the buffalo hunt having to explain to the women and children why there won't be any food for the long, punishing winter.

I have succeeded in adding two gifts to my war chest so far. I'm afraid both of those come with a feeling of guilt since they require batteries. Of course I purchased the appropriate batteries for both gifts because ignoring this detail is cruel and inhumane. I would say it's equivalent with giving a dead puppy. Sure you can pet it but it doesn't really fulfill it true purpose. And I might add that both experiences are probably just as traumatic on the life of an 8-year-old. "Merry Christmas tiny Tim, enjoy your new firetruck. Of course for the time being you'll have to make the siren noise by yourself and pretend that the romote control actually works. The fire hose is supposed to spray out real water but why don't you just use the super-soaker you got for your birthday last year. That requires batteries too and since you dad works for Mr. Scrooge you're probably too poor to buy batteries so your best bet would be to go in your room and cry for a while. Merry Christmas." No one in there right mind could do this to a child so obviously you have to include the batteries. But now I'm sentencing them to a life of battery buying. Very soon they will have an entire drawer full of batteries ranging all across the spectrum of usefulness. Time goes by and now they want to use their electric tooth brush. Which ones are dead, which are alive? Proceeed with the battery roulette. Whoever thought of this freaky game? Is there really no better way than LICKING the battery? "Excuse me, my car won't start. I think my battery might be dead?" "Oh, really, why don't you lick it, I hear that works well."

So I'm going to make chicken noodle soup today. I'm making the noodles from scratch. So my question is, "does soup constitute a meal?" If it doesn't what do you need with soup to make a meal? A sandwich? Would a sandwich by itself make a meal? I don't know. Chips? Perhaps.

For my next trick I'll need a volunteer

First off I'd like to thank all four of you who commented on yesterday's posting. Or perhaps I should thank the lone reader who commented four times. Either way I am inspired to try round two. I will give you this warning though: the amount of comments on this blog will be directly proportional to the amount of writing I do on this blog. So ask yourself this question, is this blog effective in bringing about the betterment of mankind? Afterwards you may comment at will. After three months of reading the mundane minutia of my life you might change your mind. (Like those crazy pint glasses at The Purple Onion. You have no idea how much time that occupies in my brain.)

So I'm going to try my hand at Christmas shopping today. I already know that I'm terrible at it. This year will be no different. And since we're on the subject can someone tell me how much the greeters at Walmart make per hour? I was told the other day that it was a volunteer position. If that's the case then Walmart executives have a special place in hell waiting for them. I've come to believe that Christmas shopping has become a battle of the wits. How many times have you shopped for people who say, "Oh, I don't need anything special. You really don't have to get me anything." Of course you have to get them something because they're getting you something. And that is the social alcatraz that we are forced to live in. And so I find my self sojourning down the aisles of Walmart poking needles into the imaginary voodoo dolls of the Walmart executives and searching for the latest kitchen appliance. Perhaps a bread machine/sandwich maker/cheese grater/fruit baller. I hear those are in this year. I'm tired of hearing the line, "I don't know, just surprise me." Just once I want to show up at the relatives and say, "Merry Christmas uncle Larry, I got you a kidney transplant, SURPRISE!"

Cover me, I'm going in.

Okay, what do we do now?

With the purchase of my new laptop, which some say has ushered me into The Kingdom of God, I feel that I must justify it's existence. I also feel that I as sit here in the coffee shop (surrounded my other laptop-wielding hipsters) I need to have the appearance of being very deep in thought. These deep thoughts will be occasionally interrupted by a flurry of typing. So while others think that I am developing more effiecient fuel cells I'm really pouring out the pointless drivel that you are now reading. Which brings up another point. If you're reading this just to pass the time and you have no idea who I am, I'm afraid you have reached a level of boredom achieved only by lighthouse operators in Antartica.

I would also like to set forth a few liberties that I will take with the exsistence of this blog. I reserve the right to make as many Seinfeld references as I want. Speaking of Seinfeld the episode on Monday night was a good one, but then again, it's hard to find a bad one. I also reserve the right to make as many pointless observations as I want. For instance, why does the Purple Onion serve coffee in pint glasses? What team of monkey's thought of this brainstormer? Have you ever tried to drink coffee out of a pint glass? The glass is so blazing hot you can't touch it for at least ten minutes. They should hand out welding gloves with each pint if they were really serious. Are coffee mugs really that rare? Are pints more cost effective? Such is my life.

Okay, I think that enough for right now. If I can actually get this thing to post it will be a miracle.