Alex had spent the prior night and I was to call his father when Monster Jam was over.

As I mentioned last month my cell phone service in provided (and I use the term loosely) by Nextel. Maybe you recall how I bitched about their inability to get my voice messages to me in a timely fashion.

Anyway.

Monster Jam ended around 4 p.m. The boys and I hung around for a bit and then hit the road around 5 p.m. I called Alex's dad and left a message for him.

He never called back. Or so it seemed.

At 7:30 I turned my phone off and on as someone had suggested it might trigger a message delivery if one was waiting. No messages came in so I called Alex's dad again. He answered and we decided to meet at CompUSA "in an hour" which made it 8:30 p.m. (This is only important only as it establishes the time I turned my phone off then back on. The boys and I were out having a good time so we were fine having Alex hang with us.)

Move forward to Sunday.

I was relaxing in a recliner and reading a book. My phone was sitting on the table next to me. Sitting and not ringing. And then at 3:52 p.m. the "you've got a voice message" sound started coming out of it. I looked at the display and found I had two messages.

Message 1: Saturday, 6:57 p.m.
It was Alex's dad calling to arrange pick-up.

I guess it's a good thing I didn't wait to hear from him. He may have charged me with kidnapping.

Message 2: Sunday, 3:51 p.m.
It was The Wife at The Time. She had called a minute before ... the phone never rang.

I purchased tickets on Thursday -- two days before the event -- and was torn over whether or not I should buy the higher-priced tickets or the regular-priced tickets. With a coupon from Advance Auto Parts (I picked it up when I got brake pads) my ticket was $11.00 (instead of $15, I think) and the tickets for the boys were $5.00.

There were some limited seats available at a higher rate (Ticketmaster doesn't have the info available anymore, so I'm sort of typing from memory here). I believe the tickets were called Gold Bowl and that the adult ticket was $20; choosing this also pushed the kids' tickets to $20. The adult ticket may have been $25.00.

So, my choice was $22.00 or $60.00. I went with the $22.00; service charges and facilities fees did all they could to get me to sixty dollars, but fell short just a bit.

In the end we sat three rows back from as close to the front as we possibly could have. I looked around for the special seats but didn't see any that were closer than the area we were in.

Anyway, Nationwide Arena is small enough that it would be hard to be too far away.

Wait, I've jumped too far ahead. The boys and I left home just after 1 p.m. for the 2 o'clock show so we'd have plenty of time. I found $5.00 parking that put us a block away from Nationwide. The boys and I got out of the van and, just as my foot hit the pavement, it hit me that the tickets were on the table at home. Fortunately, I live just under 11 miles from the arena.

We were back at Nationwide, having paid $10 for closer parking, just as the National Anthem started.

The Monster Trucks on hand were: Samson (from Circleville, Ohio ... about 45 minutes away ... and our favorite), Grave Digger (he's been around 25 years), FullBoar (from Michigan ... if you were from Ohio and had the insane-sports-fan gene you'd understand the significance) RapAttack, Predator, and the Safe Auto Minimizer.

As is typical, Quad Wars was part of the show. The last time we were at Monster Jam (at least I think it was the last time) Team Ohio was up against Team Michigan which, I thought, was pretty coincidental given Ohio State's arch rival is Michigan (Michigan University or Michigan State -- I'm not sure which. Neither school is my arch rival and, as I've said many times before, I lack the insane-sports-fan gene.)

This past Saturday's Quad Wars battle was between Team Ohio and Team Florida. This struck me as odd since Florida is such a long way away and I wondered how they'd come up in the pairings. As the quads raced around the track I switched my wondering to how I was supposed to tell Team Ohio from Team Florida; the announcer had said something about "colors" but it wasn't like each team had its own color quad. Finally, in the third heat I realized that some of the riders were wearing the same shirts I'd bought and sent to my brother and his family celebrating OSU's trip to whatever bowl it is they're in tonight. I, then, quickly noticed that the Florida guys were all wearing blue shirts with the same picture on them.

Just after I noticed the shirt color one of the Team Ohio guys seemed to have a bit of quad trouble. He had enough trouble that it made me wonder if it wasn't a setup for something. Toward the end of that wonderment one of the Florida guys ran into his rear wheel. Team Florida went on to win the heat.

As happened with the other two races, the captain of the winning team went to the winners circle for some post-race chatter with the announcer. When this race ended the Team Ohio captain rolled into the winner's area as Florida captain was bragging about his guys. Some words were exchanged between the two captains -- something about how the Team Florida guy had crashed into him AND something more about how Team Ohio would come out victorious just as the OSU Buckeyes would during whatever bowl game it is against the Florida Marlins.

And then it made some sense. Team Florida?! Of course! OSU Football sneaks into everything in this city. I will bet you that Team Ohio and Team Florida are all a bunch of local guys that get rounded up whenever something like Monster Jam comes to town or and I think this is less likely, they are a bunch of guys who travel with Monster Jam. I'll also bet that at least one or two of you want to scream Tostitos BCS National Championship Bowl and Florida Gators.

There were also some little kids racing small quads and a couple of fire-breathing machines that made an appearance and had a galactic battle.

It was a pretty full day.

Some Movie Clips and Photos (click to enlarge):

Safe Auto goes over the van : 729kb

Safe Auto Wheelie Competition : 1.6 meg

Samson Freestyle : 3.5 meg

Grave Digger Freestyle : 4.6 meg

There are more photos in the extended entry.

I track my blood work. Because I think the data may help someone else. I'd hoped to be able to draw some sort of conclusion that showed when my prolactin dropped x % that my testosterone rose y %. But that didn't happen; sometimes the more modest dips in prolactin led to the largest gains in testosterone levels. A blood draw is simply a snapshot in time and there may be other things, aside from the prolactin, that affects testosterone levels.

I track my weight. I know it has dropped steadily since my hormones have come around to a better way of thinking.

I don't track my cholesterol. It's always been good. I'm genetically blessed.

I track the amount of miles I put on The Mighty Schwinn. Last year, between May and December I rode over 1,400 miles. My riding dropped significantly in October, almost to nothing in November (due to surgery) and to not a big gob in December. I will do nothing with this info until next January when I look back and compare what I do this year to last year.

I track each ride. I download them into Topofusion and the Garmin software. I watch the little line form across the map of Central Ohio as my route is traced and I think to myself, "I remember that ... I remember that turn ... that's where the old lady almost hit me ... that's where I got lost" and then I never look at the data again. At least nothing except the total mileage. Maybe this summer I'll look back on the older rides and see if I'm doing any better time wise; now that I've got the new bottom bracket.

When I was doing my Enzyte experimentation I'd keep weekly records of my progress using a ruler I kept on my dresser. The ruler was sort of hard to explain to my kids and why I never wanted them to touch it was even harder. Two months into the trial I discovered that explaining the need for two rulers was even more difficult. Finally, when I found myself at Home Depot pricing yard sticks and calipers I decided I'd just start recording almost there.

I track lifting workouts. Mostly because I can't remember what I lift from day to day. I take this as a good sign as, if you've know any, all of your really big muscle-head types seem to be really stupid. I like to think their stupidity started with simple things like wondering what they lifted last time they were in the gym. (I don't know that the two go hand-in-hand, but the really big guys appear to be stupid and have balance problems; they seem to always be in a perpetual state of leaning forward into your personal space, almost like they're just a half-second away from toppling over onto you.)

Haydn has started working out and to encourage him to keep lifting I ordered us each a workout journal. I may check my old data at some point down the road and I know we'll refer to his as a means of encouragement.

I track how far and how often I run. These days, not far and not often. When I ran farther and daily I tracked every run. Aside from comparing races I never consulted the historical data.

Most days I track everything I eat using a program I have on my PDA. This is how I know I'm not getting all of the protein I need. Lately I've upped the amount of whey protein I take; the increase of noxious gaseous discharge suggests I am, indeed, getting more protein. The PDA still says I've got a short way to go before I get every gram I need. I never look back on this data past one day. I don't care what I ate two Mondays ago. I check the summary info each week and each month to see if the PDA and scale agree with respect to weight loss/gain. (They never agree totally, but I don't expect them to.)

This past year I read 63 books. Sixty-three that I've recorded anyway. I can't imagine I'll ever need to know that again.

I keep track of the women I've slept with. Just a list, it isn't like I spend a little time each month stalking each and every one. [There aren't enough days in the month to make the rounds (Ha ha ha! I kill me sometimes)]. The list used to pop up every once in a while and surprise me by still existing (much like Mickey Rooney did the other day in Night at the Museum). I think I finally got rid of the paper list and made an electronic copy. I also don't think I ever added The Wife at the Time to the list ... so I can nudge it up one. I review this historical data probably more often than any other thing I've tracked.

Sometimes twice a day if I'm feeling spunky and was going to be in the shower anyway.

I would almost bet that if you took all the nibbles of Fruit Cake I've had in all those years they wouldn't add up to a full piece. Certainly not a very big piece. Years and years go by without any nibbling at all -- primarily due to the fact that since I've turned 21 I've refused to eat any Fruit Cake during non-copulation years.

Not really. It's primarily due to the fact that I don't care for it. Fruit Cake, that is.

And I know for a fact that my mother makes some of the best Fruit Cake around as people, for years, have been asking her to make them this holiday classic.

Last weekend I was visiting the folks and mom asked if I'd like some Fruit Cake. I said 'yes' just because I was curious to see if I liked it as little as I remembered.

I had a nibble ... I still don't like it. And this is surprising. I asked mom what was in Fruit Cake she said nuts, dates, and (I think) raisins (can you imagine what this would do to Sam's stool). These are all things I like, and the stuff that holds it all together, the cake part, is pretty good -- it's no white cake with white icing, but it isn't bad. AND, the whole thing is doused in wine.

Fruit Cake should be a delight. I know anytime I've been doused in wine I've been a delight.

There's also candied fruit in there and this it the ingredient I have issue with. One bad ingredient spoils the whole cake.

Two years ago one of the Brits at work brought in something that was, I think, in a can or tin. He seemed pretty happy with it and shared it around. I had just enough of it (a nibble) to realize I didn't care for it. I swear, it tasted like Fruit Cake.

I thought it was amazing that the British and Americans could put together two different holiday desserts that tasted so much alike (to me, anyway).

The British dessert is Christmas Pudding. The ingredients all look pretty good though I take issue with 3/4 cup suet as I think this is something Americans hang from trees and feed to birds (all year long, not just at Christmas).

I also have a problem with 2 to 4 tablespoons of Brandy.

[I knew a girl named Brandy once. She was a fine girl. What a good wife she'd be. But, my life, my lover, my lady, was the sea (dooda-dit-dooda, dit-dooda-dit-dooda). I really do have a story about a girl named Brandy, but it's sort of short and may not be all that interesting. Not like the newspaper box thing from earlier this week. (You still have a chill about that one, don't you?) Did you know that on the Looking Glass Christmas Album (1973 Capital Records) there is a cut titled, Fruit Cake for the President; in the British release of this album this cut has been replaced with Christmas Pudding for the Queen.]

The problem I have with the 2 to 4 tablespoons of Brandy is that this seems to be an Americanized, sissied-up version of Christmas Pudding. The way it's been described to me, by more than one British person, is that a lot of Brandy is poured over Christmas Pudding. I don't know if this is an Imperial a lot or a US a lot but I'm certain either is more than 2 to 4 tablespoons.

You know, there's a chance that, were I to read the recipe I've linked to, I'd find the 2 to 4 tablespoons goes into the mix. Okay, I did and it does. But I've already made the Imperial / US a lot joke, so the above stays.

And, in any case, there is no way two to four tablespoons could lead to the Towering Inferno I've heard Christmas Pudding described as.

Oh wait. The recipe says Christmas Pudding is best served with a Hard Sauce. The recipe for Hard Sauce calls for three tablespoons of Brandy, rum or liquor. Which brings us up to seven tablespoons tops.

I can't say I really care for either. I really need to start working on these things earlier in the evening.

Oh, before I forget, I want to point out that I've had a piece of Fruit Cake in the freezer for a week and it still has not frozen. I don't think it will. The alcohol content is too high.

One of the Brit's I work with -- probably both -- has had the pleasure of eating both Christmas Pudding and Fruit Cake ... quite possibly this Christmas season. I asked if he thought the two desserts tasted alike and he said they were certainly different, but a little similar (he may have thrown that in just to humour me). [He also said he had a houseful of Brits over the holidays -- I think we call this a 'sleeper cell' -- and they played some sort of drinking game in which cards were blown off something. I can only assume they play a game this odd sounding as British money is too heavy to bounce so a 'quarters' -type game is out of the question.]

The only Christmas pudding I'd seen, until this last Christmas, came out of a can from a local shop that caters to international folks (foreigners). This year I was lucky enough to receive a picture of a flaming Christmas Pudding from Lady Penelope.

My first thought, well, second after the A flaming dessert in the middle of the house on Christmas day! How cool! was that it looked a whole lot like Fruit Cake. Size-wise, at least.

Yesterday I stumbled across a story that stated Parkinson's drugs may lead to heart-valve problems. Cabergoline was mentioned as one of the problem drugs.

I read a bunch of the news articles Google offered up kept coming across this:

I read this a dozen times or more and was pretty sure it suggested I had a 29% chance of developing heart valve problems. Then I'd add that to the 23% for the other drug and come up with 52% of the people being treated problems for Parkinson's developing problems and I was sure if that was the case it would have raised a flag earlier.

So I'd look at it another way ... and reread it ... and decide it meant 23% and 29% *higher* than ... what? 0 + 6? ... then my head would ache and I'd get a pain in my chest that I was sure was a valve problem, except it was too much like the stress knot I used to get before I mellowed in my old age. Finally, I realized I was a far better Googler than interpreter and I shot off to Michael J Fox's site, which had an article from October 19, 2006

The article points out that there is a problem and reiterated what I'd read elsewhere -- that the problem is more likely to appear at higher doses and when the drugs are used for an extended period of time. You'll recall from above that I'm currently at the high end of the medicine-ingestion protocol. At least for hormone problems. I've been taking cabergoline for four years. From Mike's site I found:

Which is 13.3 times the amount I take weekly. (And, it must cost a fortune ... based on what I pay, the generic would run over $9,000 a month, assuming it is priced the same for Parkinson's as it is hormone problems).

I was starting to feel a little less depressed.

I did some more reading and found a couple of articles suggesting there is just the smallest chance of Parkinson's patience developing heart valve problems while taking any of the mentioned meds. So, there's a 29% chance or almost no chance of developing a problem.

The last thing I read, before shutting down the PC and turning to NewsRadio reruns was from the New York Times:

This was very exciting right up to the last line, which dropped it to 'pretty exciting.'

Prior to the late-evening research I'd made some calls to the medical professionals in my family -- calling my General Practitioner was out of the question as she relocated to Florida at the beginning of the year (I can only assume the thought of checking my prostate later this month was more than she could bear) -- to find out what it would take to detect a heart valve problem. It would seem that when the doc has got the stethoscope on you, that's one of the things he's listening for (that and Cool Jazz). I had my chest listened to in November (the heart sounded fine and the nurse said she was able to detect a bit of Miles Davis).

This morning at Red Herring I found the dumbed-down version of the first article I read:

Red Herring has The Business of Technology as their tag-line, which made me wonder what something like this was doing on their site. Then I figured that since their target audience is technology-type guys ... IT people for one ... they'd be fully aware that we're not the smartest lot when it comes to non-computer things. As a public service to the IT community [Did you know that in some states IT people are not allowed to marry IT people -- typically only if both people are either (A) men or (B) women] they went the extra mile and put the once-confusing paragraph into something IT folk could understand.

I can't wait to see what MacWorld has to say about this.

It was a 90-minute drive down and another 90 back. It was going to be late by the time we got home.

"Sometimes I'm just not in the mood for sleepovers," I told my mother and father.

"I know what you mean," said Mom, "I think that when bedtime rolls around boys should be in their own homes in their own beds."

"Carol," I started, referring to a woman friend my parents know and who has two boys of her own, "doesn't care for sleepovers either."

My parents both started talking at the same time ...

Mom, with a very serious look on her face said, "She likes to have her kids at home in their beds?"

Dad, not looking as serious said, "No matter what you say you can't get her to spend the night?"

Which is where I was headed with the comment.

About 10 years ago Jeff visited me in Ohio. As we sat around talking about nothing in particular he made a throwaway comment something akin to, "That is, if I can get the Boston Globe to give me a paper box."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Jeff went on to explain that he'd been trying to get one of those newspaper boxes that you sometimes see attached to mailbox poles. He'd contacted the Globe several times and had been assured, more than once, that they'd get him a box.

"Wait," I said. "I've got a couple in the garage."

Another friend, another Jeff (Jeff Dodge, to be exact) had given me a couple of boxes when I had dinner with him and his wife one night, many years before. Pack rat that I am, I had carried them 1/4 way across the country and from one home to another.

I gave Jeff one of the boxes.

What are friends for?

I still have this one.

This month, at least early on, Gyno Granny is in the lead; I've no idea what it could mean. I do know that in the time that has passed since I took the snapshot, Gyno Granny has dropped to the #2 position having been passed by Granny Gallery. If my search results were a NASCAR event, the Gyno Granny driver could simply announce, "Here I come," shift into a gear he didn't realize he had just seconds before, pass the Granny Gallery car, and lap the field.

Klee Irwin Dual Action Cleanse Saved My Life. What can I say. You go Klee. I'm guessing the searcher went to this page, as did the person searching for Boston Blackie.

Dostinex Recall, Androgel Doesn't Work for Me, and the Gyno part of Gyno Granny are entries that make me feel like I might actually be helping someone. FWIW, the Dostinex recall seems to be related to the packaging of the pills, not the quality of the pills in the packaging -- I've been taking the generic form of Dostinex (Cabergoline) for four months now, and it is doing the job just as well as Dostinex (click the Hormones category for more on this.)

Androgel didn't do much for me either. If you doc has suggested you go on Androgel, or another hormone replacement therapy without doing some blood work (and I mean more than just Testosterone) you need to do some more research into whatever problem you might have that led to your going on Androgel; it would have never worked for me. Use of some HRTs can lead to the aromatization of the extra testosterone -- it's converted to estrogen -- which can leave you feeling worse than you did before and can lead to gyno (You really need more info than you are going to get in this short paragraph. The Usenet group Alt.Support.Impotence, available via Google Groups, is a good place to start. This will take you to posts about Androgel)

Gyno surgery. I had mine in November. My insurance, surprisingly, paid for a bit of it. All is well and, had I not had other work done at the same time, I could have gone back to work the next day. There was never any nipple pain.

Ticket Cost at Gate Monster Jam at Nationwide Arena. Tickets are $19.00 (adult) and $8.00 (kids 12 and under). The boys and I will be going sometime this coming weekend.

How to Make a Tub of Jello, is another search that makes me feel like a helper. And I'm glad to see the dream is still alive.

Floor to ceiling bike rack diy. More helping ... which, again, is what What's a Delmer Look Like is all about.

SSB Squat, is a reference to Safety Squat Bar Squats. The safety squat bar was a good investment. I wish I'd spent a bit more and got the more expensive model ... but ... a towel around the back of the neck keeps mine from being uncomfortable.

Christmas Ornaments on Nipples. Your guess is as good as mine.

Not on the list yesterday, but there now are:

par pharmaceutical dostinex -- the helper thing.

they piddle in the puddle in the middle of the driveway something in their dreams went boo -- WTF.

the attractive blond looked very young. the waitress had automatically asked for id when the adult beverage order was placed. always cautious as she examined the girl s driver s license the waitress had asked for a second form of photo id which the young woman produced. it appeared to be either a student id card or possibly an employee identification badge. after careful scrutiny of both identifying documents the bar maid seemed satisfied and went to retrieve the young woman s order. the young girl looked in his direction fixing his gaze with her own and smiled. -- an even bigger WTF.

lottie moon s oxford -- I used to work there, way back in 1982-83. It is long gone.

pictures of perky glutes -- I don't think I've ever strung perky and glutes together. FWIW, the safety squat bar works the quads more than the glutes (a regular bar will hit the glutes more).

Take a quick glance at them, ignore the bad hair, mentally choose a favorite and then read on.

So you've picked a favorite.

Maybe the men have picked a least favorite.

We'll do an experiment with subliminal-ness now.

The photos are all very similar. They're as similar as I could make them when taking the photos required that I walk back and forth from my bike to the camera and setting it to automatically take a picture.

Except, in one of the photos I'm wearing an extra pair of socks. And this is the one I think female readers will be drawn to ... not because their mothering instinct will kick in and they'll be happy that my tootsies will be extra warm. But, because I'm wearing the extra socks down the front of my tights and, well, women are a lot more like men than they care to admit.

Some of you are put off by this, and to you I apologize. Some of you are not surprised in the least. One of you recognizes this stunt as having been inspired by something that happened at a place we both used to work. (Sometimes the blog is all about one really funny joke for a single person ... don't worry, your turn is coming soon.)

(I'm hoping the sock thing has to be looked for. On my monitor the lack of contrast provided by the tights makes it sort of hard to find (at least that's why I tell myself it's hard to notice) and I know where to look. Well, we all know where to look, I just know the socks are there.)

Ah ... it's the middle picture.

(Update: On my CRT these photos seem to be very dark. On my LCD they seem fairly bright. My apologies if they seem dark to you ... though, maybe it's for the best. All things considered.)

A longer running sort-of theme has me working the good people of Australia, the United Kingdom, and, like "y", sometimes Canada, into the blog on a regular-enough basis that I'm worried that they might think I'm picking on them.

I don't always present these places in their modern-day forms.

I'd like to point out that I'm fully aware of the fact that Australia is probably nothing like Quigly, Down Under these days. Nor it is a post-apocalyptic hell on Earth in which people tool around in really cool, weapons-tricked-out, vehicles. I imagine it is very nice. It is also almost as big as the 48 contiguous United States. Spiders and snakes are probably only a problem if you go looking for them (or, if your name is Mary Lou.)

The United Kingdom is comprised of England, Northern Ireland and Scotland. I got that far without having to turn to Google; once there I found out I'd left out Wales. Northern Ireland sits just north of The Republic of Ireland (much like our North and South Carolina, and, I've got to say I think I favor Northern Carolina and The Republic of Carolina). Northern Ireland does not touch England so the trouble making that goes on between the two requires some travel.

Scotland bumps right up into England, up toward the northern part.

Wales, I think, is to the UK as Canada is to North America. Sort of quiet. Never causing any problems. Sometimes overlooked when the dessert cart comes around. I say this only because I'd forgotten about it and then had trouble finding it on the map. For all I know the residents of Wales are troublemakers and true hellraisers. Which would make them sort of French Canadian.

There are also a bunch of territories that the British keep control over through, to paraphrase Eddie Izzard, the clever use of flags.

It is my belief that the United Kingdom is fairly nice. [It is also my belief that there are two types of British male. You've got the very proper Brit like Mr. French, John Steed, and James Bond and then you've got the whack-job ass-kicker like Vinne Jones, the cops from Life on Mars, and the guys from The Sweeney; there seems to be no middle ground when it comes to being British and a guy. The women are all very proper and, save the Queen, wear a lot of leather straight out of Emma Peel's closet. (And, dammit, I mean Diana Rigg here)]

I'm not sure if the sun ever sets on the British Empire these days or not. I believe the sun sets in Wales about 6 p.m. local time.

Canada is where all the cold weather comes from. Anytime it's cold as hell here the weatherman will show a map in which the jet stream is shown jetting and streaming out of Canada and into Ohio. We get even by sending Acid Rain up north to them. I'm pretty sure Stargate is put together in Vancouver and, as much as I like to apply to a country whatever it is I know about them from TV, I really doubt the Canadians have wormhole technology just yet.

Canada is nice. I've been there. Fifteen years ago the Canadian Railroad had signs discouraging you from flushing the train's toilets while you were still in the station. The signs may still be there; however, for all I know their toilets flush straight down a wormhole these days.

So, there you have it.

Why do the Aussies and Brits get mentioned more than anyone else? We all come from the same gene pool. Or, it started out like that anyway. Those of us here, in the US, at one time got tired of the religious persecution we felt in England and set sail for the New World where we got busy putting in place the mechanism that would allow us to much more effectively persecute one another for our religious differences for the next several hundred years. We're so good at this now that I expect we'll soon be burning people alive at the stake ... you know, after the coming attractions but before the movie starts. Popcorn sales will skyrocket!

The Aussies, on the other hand, started out as troublemakers that something had to be done about. So the Brits put them on a ship -- it may have been a decommissioned Carnival Cruise Line boat -- and sent them on their "jolly" way. The ship sat ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle ... with Gilligan ... the skipper too ...

These former Brits picked up some tools and built an Opera House and one helluva long fence. They turned the phrase "rooting around" into something I don't think you'd say in front of your grandmother; the British, I think, have done the same with "tooling around."

See. The British, the Aussies, and Americans are all brothers. The men are anyway. The men-and-women relationship is more of a second-cousin thing ... you know, the cousins you can date. (I know, I know, I know. British Royalty pioneered that whole marrying within the immediate family thing, but I believe they've given up on that, mostly. There may still be some of this going on in The Republic of Carolina, however.)

Why do the Canadians make it here so often? Well, they deserve a mention once in a while due solely to Rush; Limelight is one of my favorite songs. And, they're sort of British. I try to overlook Tom Green.

Generally speaking, though, why this group of countries? Because, if I mess up and say something that I think is funny that ends up being offensive, well, I've said it about The UK, Australia, and Canada.

They can take a joke. They have a sense of humor. They see things for what they are. They, and the US, are like straight, white men -- the last group of people you can pick on without getting into too much Political-Correctness trouble.

Sure, there are other countries that round out this ticket, but many of them use punctuation I'm unfamiliar with and may or may not say things that translate well. For example, the Brits might say, "I laid her across the table and gave her a good Rogering," to express, well, "laid her" would cover it in the States and the British expression would imply with added vigor.

The Germans should say, "I laid her across the table and gave her a good Hitlering," as that would describe a screwing like nothing else -- with incredible vigor. But I'm not sure they do. And that's a problem.

I'm not sure 'Rogering' is capitalized either. It may have nothing at all to do with a proper name.

I am certain this has gone on a lot longer than I'd hoped.

Like the Bush presidency.

[(I laid her across the table and gave her a good Delmering ... A Delmering she'll never forget ... I think it's got legs, people. Don't be afraid to use it when you're out with your buddies, peeps, mates, pals. Female readers, of course, will want to say He gave me a Delmering that left me barely able to walk ... or left me with a warm glow all day ... or left me unable to appreciate fried foods. (I really have no idea what women talk about when they're together.)]

I wanted to get in about 15 miles and chose a route that would take me by Staples, a large office supply store. I needed rubber bands.

Staples is off Trueman Blvd. which is two lanes going each way. I was going to make a left from Trueman onto the access road that would take me to the Staples parking lot. I got into the left turn lane.

As I approached my turn point the SUV that had been behind me for just a moment decided to go around me on my right and then turn left in front of me. It wasn't a close call. It was just barely rude.

I noticed, as the SUV went past, that a blond woman was at the wheel. As she made her left I made, quite by accident, eye contact with her in her side mirror.

She turned onto the access road with me on her bumper. And then into Staples with me on her bumper. It seemed she wanted to pass me, but not pull away from me.

She parked in the lot. I parked in front and to the side of the entryway.

As I took my helmet and gloves off I was aware that she was not getting out of the SUV. I was aware of this as the reason I'd made eye contact with her is that I was checking her out as she passed and I was hoping to get a better look at her when she got out of her vehicle.

I don't know why guys are like this. We are. I've asked my male friends about it.

And then I thought that maybe she thought I made eye contact with her because I was upset because I thought she made her turn a little close. But she could have only thought I felt that way if she felt that way a bit herself. Maybe she was embarrassed or something.

Maybe she was simply checking her shopping list.

And then I started keeping track of time. I was in Staples three minutes before she came in -- and then it was only after I, in my high visibility bicycle jacket, had disappeared into the bathroom.

I never did get a good look at her.

But I did get rubber bands.

It was capitalized, much as you used to always see "the Internet," so I had the feeling it was a brand or product name sort of like Formica. My Googling took me to this blog entry which provides an explanation for the reason the British don't buy that David Blaine walks on water. The title of the entry is "On the Weirdo in the Perspex Box," which is sort of a clue; I recall that Blaine locked himself in a big plastic box of some kind ... which came before he froze himself in a block of ice ... which was followed by his best trick ever -- taking Enzyte and actually showing some natural male enhancement.

Oh. This quote comes from the above blog entry:

"The British don't have a "healthy disrespect" for celebrity and if you've been told that, then you've basically been lied to by a professional Englishman-abroad or by some weird kind of Dick Van Dyke cod-Anglo-faker."

Which, I'm pretty sure, is a crack about the British accent Dick Van Dyke used in Mary Poppins. One of the Brits at work does a pretty good impression of Dick Van Dyke butchering the Queen's English Accent and marvels at how DVD ever got away speaking the way he did. (I felt a little older than usual the other night when, after seeing Night at the Museum I had to explain to my children who Dick Van Dyke and Mickey Rooney were. I had a moment of color-blind happiness when Sammo asked, "Who was the guard with the darker skin?" (Bill Cobbs))

More Googling brought up Perspex Cases from the United Kingdom Geologist Equipment, Limited. Here I learned that Perspex has a plastic look, may be like Acrylic, and that the UKGE is "Probably Europe's Largest and Most Highly Respected Earth Science Provider."

When I read that I fell in love with the company. Probably ... likely ... could be ... we've got people looking into it ... we have a genuinely strong feeling about it ...

Even after I discovered I'd read it wrong and found that most doesn't appear in their tag line I loved the company. (Which I discovered after way too much typing had already been done.)

I wish I had some sort of Geologist Equipment need, these guys (blokes) would be my guys (mates, the non-breeding-with-me kind.)

You don't get a lot of "probably" here in the United States. You get a lot of: We're the best ... we're number one ... not only can we kick your ass but we'll do it in the best way ever ... we have the best pizza ... home of the best cup of coffee in town ... she has the best boob job I've ever seen ...

No probablys. No shyness. We're bold! We're so bold that if you were to put an imaginary mutherf*cker! at the end of anything we say you still wouldn't catch all of our boldness (mutherf*cker!)

Via the magic of cable TV within hours of each other I can see:

World's Wildest Police Videos
World's Craziest Police Videos
Worlds Scariest Police Chases
World's Fastest Police Chases

In all honesty I'm not sure that one of these features British drivers, but I know I've seen one that does. And, despite the fact "World" appears in each title, these may all be local to the US. (Don't worry ... we know you're there. We're just avoiding you a bit as we're pretty sure we owe you some money and the exchange rate currently favors you more than us.)

In the British show you hear James Mason calmly explaining the scene unfolding before you on the screen. The scene is typically a group of kids speeding away from the police while tossing stolen televisions and flaming Christmas Puddings out of the hatchback. James is very serene ... the fleeing hoodlums are very serene in a fleeing-hoodlum sort of way ... even the police siren has a serene thing working for it ... the police car has a single, flashing blue light. The chases typically end with the hoodlums being apprehended and James calmly announcing that "The driver received two penalty points on his licence." (You can almost hear James pronounce the 'c' in 'licence.')

In the American Version you get a lot of pumped-up adrenalinized action. As you watch the show you just KNOW that the writers use computers in which caps lock is in a permanent state of on-ness. The videos show police cruisers with so many lights on them they look like video games roaring down the road (and I wouldn't have it any other way). The siren sounds like something Ted Nugent might have thrown together. The 80's version of Bobcat Goldthwait is typically doing the play-by-play.

I'm not saying one version of the police-chase-type show is better than the other. I'm sure the British think theirs is probably better. We're certain our is best.

In all fairness, in the shows where World means United States the hoodlums are a lot more likely to be shooting guns than in the British version of the show. I think this might set the adrenaline flowing.

WHAT A BLOG ENTRY! IT STARTS OFF WITH PERSPEX BOX AND ENDS WITH AN IN-DEPTH DISECTION OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN TELEVISION.

ISN'T THIS THE BEST BLOG EVER (MUTHERF*CKER!)

"Dad, you made that grace your bitch."

"Chip, I'm gonna come at you like a spider monkey."

You probably recognize those quotes from the meal scene in "The Best Movie Ever Made." (At least that's what it says on the DVD.)

Talladega Nights.

This movie has left me with some questions:

1. Do NASCAR announcers have to stand while they announce? I don't believe they were ever shown sitting in the movie. Are they in better shape than football announcers? Do they have varicose veins?

2. Is there always an extra gear to shift into? Many times during the movie Ricky Bobby or Cal will decide to make a move and announce something like, "Here I come," then they'd shift, accelerate and start moving past cars like they were sitting still. So, you've got a bunch of cars ripping around the track at 180 miles per hour, Cal says, "Tell Ricky I'm on my way," he shifts (up? down? sideways? I don't know ... I'm not a car guy), hits the gas a little harder, and starts passing people who, just moments before, he was happy enough to be sitting behind.

3. Why isn't NASCAR bigger in Europe? Based on some of the stories I've heard about roundabouts (traffic circles, rotaries) all you'd need is two or three guys standing around doing play-by-play in order to have an honest-to-god NASCAR-sanctioned event. They've certainly got no shortage of hooligans, what we'd call NASCAR fans here, over there. I'm sure the car-to-pit radio chatter would be very proper.

4. Why isn't NASCAR bigger in Australia? Australia is huge -- almost as big as Texas by some accounts. Bigger than Texas by others; for example, those accounts given by non-Texans. Meanwhile the population is just double that of Ohio. Think of the tracks that could be built in all that wide open space. Think of the straightaways. The only problem I can see is that, being south of the equator (For all you NASCAR fans that would be the big imaginary line that goes around the fattest part of the globe, like a belt -- making, Africa (if you're familiar with it) sort of like the belt buckle ... though small by NASCAR-fan standards) ... anyway, being south of the equator the cars would have to travel clockwise which might affect beer sales at the tracks and would certainly exclude any American drivers from participating.

5. Why didn't I make the NASCAR-Fan / Ancestors-as-a-slave-owner crack? Some things are too easy. Martin Luther King day is just around the corner.

By the way, I loved Talladega Nights. I saw it at the theater. I own the DVD and I've watched it twice in two days. (Yea, I know. Who am I to make fun of NASCAR fans.)