What is it about nuns anyway?
Mood:  quizzical
Now Playing: The Best of Yes
I never realized how many people have "nun phobia". It seems to rank right up there with the fear of clowns, snakes, and Oprah...

My ex-father in law had an overwhelming fear of nuns. Well, not all nuns, just one nun in particular. Sister Mary Claude. To this day, he cannot speak of her without pouring a stiff 3 finger scotch. I find this amusing as he is an older and distinguished circuit court judge in Michigan. Apparently, it doesn't matter how old or successful you get, a bad experience with a nun can haunt you for years.

So what power do nuns hold over those accursed folks who spent their young educational lives being force fed catechism? Is it the fact that nuns look like overgrown vampire bats? Or that we consider all women who dress in black sacks and act asexual to be suspect? (Unless it's a burqua and then we just pity your existence). Is it because everyone knows that Sally Field and the whole sweet and loving flying nun concept was just Hollywood propaganda?

I ran across something disturbing about nuns just the other day. Apparently an "ex" nun has written a book of love poems that the Synergistic Press describes as "lusty"...does that just make parts of your anatomy pucker or what?! She credits writer William Blake with "wresting her from the convent..." Well, I guess it could be worse...she could credit Robert Blake...

So what is it about nuns that can hold people in such a grip of fear? Personally, I have no idea. I'm a Methodist. We don't have nuns. We just like to drink wine and sing...hence why I like the religion. It's kind of like summer camp but without the fire or the roasted wieners...

Say it isn't so!
Mood:  sad
Now Playing: Etta James singing the songs of Billie Holiday
My favorite blog, other than my own neophyte and amateurish attempt at one, is the infamous "Rance" blog at: http://captainhoof.tripod.com/blog/.

If you have never checked Rance out--look at it as you would a one day 50% off sale at Nordies and light a fire under your ass to go check it out! Apparently, much like Elvis, Rance's rage to keep blogging has left the building.

If you are unfamiliar with Rance here's the deal: Depending on what day it is, Rance claims to be a bitter A-list Hollywood star or some loser who overdoses on Access Hollywood in his grandmother's basement. Some claim he is John Cusak. My girlfriend Deb swears he is George Clooney or Matt Damon. Some say he isn't really even alive. Maybe, just maybe, he is the ghost of Elvis being channeled by that John Edwards guy of Crossing Over `fame'. Who knows. Do I want to know who he is? No. Do I care? No. I find his blog amusing, droll and insightful. Much more interesting than the vanilla blah, blah, blah I hear daily at my office. But then again, I am easily amused so I could be overrating it as I also find the monthly newsletter from tshirthell.com to be hilarious to the point of tears. I was told once that I could probably be left alone in a room with a bowl of hard candy and amuse my self for hours...true story. (But is that necessarily a bad thing I ask?)

So what does it all mean? It means that I will have nowhere to go day after day for my three minutes of titillation...I better find myself a cabana boy.

In Search of a Liver...or Speaking of My Trip to Minnesota...
Mood:  party time!
Now Playing: Ry Cooder
Now, having been there, I wonder how anyone in Minnesota ever gets anything done. From what I observed -strike that- observed sounds too much like Marlon Perkins on Wild Kingdom. From what I saw while there, everyone seems to be in a continuous stage of drinking and usually in their garage.

Once again, I must put forth that I think this is a regional thing (the garage part). During my visit, I thought Clan Erickson was just `odd' until I was driven around the neighborhood on the two buck tour and saw numerous families partying and BBQing in their garage.

One would think that there would be that nagging little carbon monoxide inhalation problem with grilling in an enclosed space, but apparently the generations of mutants that have evolved from this practice breathe through their gills or something...but I digress.

In four days, I consumed more liquor than I have in the 14 years since I graduated college. Seriously. I went to bed Friday night/Saturday morning at 4:30 am (A happenstance as I apparently missed the tag-team action that went on mere feet away from my drunken slumbering minutes later. Apparently in Minnesota, no house warming party is complete without a threesome blessing your basement) and awoke at 10:30am with the bonus buzz (AKA still drunk). This went on for a matter of days. I couldn't figure out why I hadn't been hung over, but then I realized, I had yet to be sober.

Upon my return to Arizona and some semblance of sobriety, I logged immediately on to eBay in search of a new liver...to no avail. What's up with that? I thought you could find anything from a Filipino house boy with knee pads to performance fleece on eBay...

Fried Food on a Stick...or the Regional Cooking of Minnesota
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: Sound Track from Tank Girl
The regional food of Minnesota (otherwise known as fair grub) consists primarily of things that I had no idea could be fried (e.g., Snickers bars), food on a stick, or a combination of the two. Now don't get me wrong. There is something to be said about food on a stick. I can see the marketing campaign for it now..."It's fun. It's convenient. It's portable. It's food on a stick."

Now I am a firm believer that more meat should be offered on sticks. It takes out that problem of appearing like Henry the VIII (8th for those not well versed in Roman numerals) or a gremlin when sucking down an Atkins-style snack. However, when you start venturing into the realm of "pickle on a stick" you are just getting frigging lazy!

I do find it amazing though that a state where the consumption of beer per capita is more than anywhere else in the United States...ok, not more than Wisconsin, but close, would encourage the promotion of food on a stick. I mean, it's all fun and food on a stick until someone loses an eye...