March 3, 2004

It’s funnier when it skips

I had the first paragraph all planned out. “It’s time to crack a self-congratulatory Red Hook Nut Brown Ale.” Laundry was done, the bed was made, my room was clean and (as my roommate put it) much less fung and much more shui, I was one Rockstar N.R.G. drink to the wind, I had dug out a Slinky and an egg of Silly Putty that were cast into exile months ago, I called the Mountain and told them told them I wouldn’t be working on Saturday because I needed to start feeling like a human being again… why, I had even picked up a new favorite t-shirt from Goodwill that boasted “Star Camp is Training Jedis for Jesus.”

Yeah. All that. Wednesday night. Nut Brown Ale. Why the hell not? I grabbed one, popped the top, dashed downstairs and then remembered I needed to turn off the lights in the living room. I sprung back up the stairs, taking them two three at a time, lost my footing and fell violently down the stairs. I swore that beer went everywhere, but when I checked all beer was accounted for.

Exactly two point five seconds later my ale foamed up more than creation itself and started running down my hands, onto the stairs, into the carpet. I scrambled up the stairs to get the bottle over the sink, leaving a trail of delicious tan goodness behind. Half my beer was gone and I was to spend the next quarter hour with a rag and a bottle of 409, scrubbing my twenty foot trail up the stairs, across the living room and into the kitchen.

But hey! Let us toast half a beer! To me being awesome! To you being awesome! To Jedis for Jesus! Welcome to Brainside Out: Impatiently Launched Pre-Maturely Topographic Edition! Long-time fans will no-doubt remember the months of agony surrounding the implementation of Cowboy Edition… well, we’re here to do that again. Everything’s the same! Everything’s different! We now use five hundred percent more exclamation points! One day we might dedicate an entire paragraph to them! Like this one!

But really. I needed to find something that worked better for my current desires and purposes, and thus created a sweet new feature called Coolio. You can see it on the right over there. Coolio is where I throw stuff, stuff that makes me nod my head or gurgle in the gut, that I believe is wonderful enough for me to shout it from the rooftops. Soon you will be able to browse old Coolios by category, of which there are four, now. Or five. Maybe six. Definitely five. Shall we review them?

News: What I consider news may be remarkably inane or not so. We try to keep things light-hearted ’round here, with “three-legged dog bites one-legged man” and such, but on occasion we’ll lapse into war or plague or famine or tighty whities.

Design: Web design or graphic design stuff. Cuz let’s face it, all you guys wish you could make things as cool as I wish I could make things.

Music: To see, to hear, to have. There is little more important. Current fixations include EuroDance, Eminem, Johnny Cash and String Cheese Incident on 4-20-02. Content may not accurately reflect obsessions, but when does it ever?

Culture: The most delicious Mayhem Carnival that this wide blue planet has to offer. Monster truck shows, cartoons, video game nostalgia, and people who talk in accents I like.

Outdoors: To some it’s merely rocks, trees and hills, but to the rest of us it’s rocks, trees, hills and a place to crack bones and lose massive amounts of blood. Climbing, snowboarding, windsurfing, kiteboarding, backpacking, camping, canoeing, trundeling, mountaineering and cricket. And clear-cutting. I can’t wait until they open that sport up to the public.

So that’s it. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program. As if. This winter has been most notable for its utter lack of cohesion. These things always make sense in a year or two, but for now it’s a disjointed mass of splayed limbs and flayed thoughts.


Either your tollerance is down or you had more then that half beer by the time you wrote clear-cutting as a sport.
As I have informed you on many past occasions, activities that are competitive and mudane and usually done only to fill the pocketbooks of fat corporate businessmen, are accurately refered to as hobbies.