charcoal is your jiffy pop lighthouse

Yesterday was neat. We went to the annual lighting of the Split Rock Lighthouse. We hiked around until it got dark, lost our group, found the other group, found our group and lost our group again. We even got to be the last group to tour the lighthouse. Apparently it has a working distance of 22 miles (before the curve of the earth takes over) and glides on 7 1/2 quarts of mercury. That’s over 200 pounds of child-poisoning goodness!

Speaking of children, this one kid was playing on a small rock outcropping and he fell on the grass, to which he exclaimed, “I fell on my butt!” We couldn’t stop laughing, so he did it again. And again. Kids rock. We should have stolen this one, given him mercury and made him an honorary Wooch! member. We didn’t steal the kid, but I did steal a stupid looking hat… maybe it was his.

We wanted to have a party at our place, but Doug and I refused to let Ryan drink while we had ten people over. Ryan, being the selfish bastard he is, would not submit to our outlandish demands, so we gathered at Mark’s house instead. I tried to make Jiffy Pop, but I tore the bag while opening it and the popcorn burned. It was really disappointing, because I was really excited to make Jiffy Pop. We ran down to Jubilee Foods where we got Stove Top stuffing, mashed potatoes, Kool-Aid and cake mix. I recited How to be Popular from YM magazine and Laura broke the automatic door. We watched Grumpy Old Men, cooked, swore a lot, and Mark made everyone mugs of fancy tea.

Ryan is going on five straight hours of TV, today. At least I was able to get my Johnny Bravo fix. Oh, and Space Ghost is on at 10:30. I’ll beat Ryan yet! er… yes. I’ll beat him, if I stay up until four in the morning watching television.

Update-09:30pm: 7 1/2 hours. His laughing cackle is horrifying.

The Simpsons season premier wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared it would be. Quite funny at times, actually. However, football season really angers me. The games always run a few minutes late, so Fox programming gets pushed back a little bit. Simpsons started ten minutes late tonight, which wouldn’t get my blood aboilin’ except that the banal and lumpy King of the Hill immediately precedes. This means I get suckered into watching ten minutes of that horrible show, which never ceases to make me feel filthy. Today’s show: Hank Hill gets kicked in the testicles by his son and they talk about it openly. Ick, ick, ick.

Space Ghost was pretty bad. My experience would have been better had it been accompanied by drug abuse. Space Ghost – Coast to Coast is no substitute for Cartoon Planet. Cartoon Planet has Brak, and Space Ghost just isn’t fun without The Brakker. Luckily Cowboy Bebop was on afterwards, and that salvaged the evening. Well, would have salvaged, except that it was a weak episode about Feng Shui and sunstones and crap. I wanted guns and spaceships and short skirts and long anime-girl legs. Next time, Dane. Next time.

Grillin’ was awesome and made me feel manly. We were out of lighter fluid so Ryan used white gas instead. My chicken turned out perfect tasty, but didn’t have quite enough char on it. I need a marinade brush for next time; paint on the sweet jerk and let it burn to the meat. Oh yeah.

My hair smells like charcoal. I am man.