Just Another Blog
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Red Rocks

1: I'm drinking a Manhattan; those rocks are reddish brown. I've made hundreds of Manhattans in my day, but only just in the past few days have I made them for myself. I have a new appreciation for this classic cocktail. In the bars, I never made mine with bitters. At home I've been using them and now feel bad for the many I shortchanged. The first Manhattan I made for myself I built with rye whiskey. I bought a bottle of Jim Beam Rye Bourbon, and I am finding that I really enjoy it. It's lighter than regular Beam, but has a little different flavor and bite to it. I prefer it with a generous splash of water or in a Manhattan as compared to the regular which I generally take straight or on the rocks.

2: I'm seeing Social Distortion at Red Rocks in July. I'll bring a date if I can think it through. Other shows of interest are Sonic Youth at the Gothic sometime and Death Cab for Cutie somewhere in August.

Crazy, Part 4

Ok, I'm running with a theme and a style.

I notably used some of that aforementioned self-censorship late last year after a budding romantic interest read and took offense with something that I wrote and posted which did not mention her but did speak of her. I felt I had particular cause to be excited but the excitement was, perhaps, expressed poorly and was definitely misinterpretted as first written. It was an error, and it nipped that bud. What I learned from that experience and what I should have learned previously just by reading Hyena and Vince is that you've got to be crazy to write about your romantic interest on your blog be it good or bad. It's weird. I can think it through to that, but that type of relationship nuance is not readily apparent to me. I'm not sure if it's due to naivete, staleness, or my self-diagnosed autism. I can learn and can think it through, but I feel like that takes a lot of thinking. So, I find myself pulling myself into this terrible spiral as confidence and comfort compel me to seek out a new relationship but every opportunity and every possibility requires time and effort to think it through. And so I sit down to think it through. Experience makes it easier to recognize other variables in the equation. Soon, the contemplation grows longer. Soon, the calculations begin before the conversation even ends, and the speech output stammers to a halt. The only question left is who walks away in silence first.

Crazy, Part 3

When that aforementioned reconsideration sets in, a lot of the posts that I kill or never finish are ones featuring me bitching about this or that aspect of my life. That's how this one started out. I've got some good bitches to share, and the stories would do well to round out the biographical sketch to newer friends who have not heard the familiar laments (girls, jobs, hopelessness, etc., etc.). But I hate the whinyness of it all, and I hate bitching about problems the solutions to which are obvious and apparent even to me. I worry, too (and again), about future readers. Romantic interests and employers being the most worrisome. I like to think that this blog should be a place to highlight my mad skills. It should sell my accuracy, intelligence, and clear thinking to potential employers in its presentation. It should sell my wit, charm, and intelligence to the ladies in my witty tales, ironic criticisms, and clever social commentary. But maybe those people never read beyond what's on the current, front page. Surely only a criminal or political investigation or a fiancee-hopeful would read through four-plus years of archives. Sometimes I worry about political investigations. Usually, that's because I'm paranoid about government intervention in the lives of the citizenry, but sometimes, that's because I wonder about a career in politics.

See? Crazy.

Crazy, Part 2

I am wondering if I am crazy for ever posting that second-to-most recent post. I've taken stuff down before; I'm not above a little reconsideration and self-censorship. I have this feeling it was maybe a little much. But I'm having a hard time putting a finger on for whom it was a little much. I think I've decided the worry is certain unknown persons who might intentionally read my writings in the future as opposed to any worry of upsetting random hits to the page or any concern that this would offend any of my known, regular readers. I still haven't decided to keep it or take it down. That line about the reach around kills me every time! HA! I almost feel like the one joke compensates for the dirty topic.

Crazy, Part 1

My computer is making an awful noise. As far as I know, the only moving parts in a computer are the harddrive and the fan. This can only be the fan. The only way that I seem to be able to make it stop is by lifting the rear end of my computer off of the desk about three or four inches and dropping it back to the hard surface. The rough jarring once made it stop for two months. Now, suddenly, it's back, and this time all of the shaking and pounding and kicking and dropping in the world doesn't seem to be enough to make it cease for longer than about two minutes. Tonight it's down to about 15 seconds: write sentence, pound computer, read sentence, repeat.

And it is driving me crazy.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Getting Serious about Anal

A nearly raucous IM chat with Vince this afternoon about threesomes, hot tubs, virgins, and dumb girls with big tits got me looking at the Craig's List Casual Encounters this evening. One poster wondered, "So, I am curious. What is it about anal sex that guys like so much? I KNOW what women like about it!"

A fair question. I'm not a big fan, but, intellectually, I thought it important enough to consider and respond. I sent the poster the following hypothesis / dirty email. If we are kin, you should probably stop reading now.

I can think of a number of appealing things about anal, although I've only done it twice, long ago, with one girlfriend.

One thing is the taboo of it all. Many people are grossed out or freaked out by it; it's so bad, it must be good.

Also, just like doggy-style, there's a particularly awesome sensation that comes from the front of my hips pounding your butt. The way the curve of your butt cradles into my thighs and waist with me deep inside is pretty great. Your glutes against my thighs (oooh yeah!). It's kind of hard to describe, but I think the feeling comes from the simultaneous contact that can run all the way from the back of your knees up to your hips - and even to your shoulders if I bend over and grasp you tight. Lots of intimate skin contact.

I read some guy describe the difference between vaginal and anal sex as the difference between masturbating with my whole hand all around my whole shaft as compared to just my thumb and forefinger wrapped tightly around just the base of my cock. Part of the appeal is that it's a different sort of feeling. Not better, and not worse, just different, and different is good.

Another part of it, I think, is that guys can relate to it too. I can stick a dildo or a carrot or a finger or a tampon or anal beads up my ass and know that I am experiencing pretty much what any person - man or woman - would feel. If I sit on a realistic dildo, I can be pretty sure that it hurts the same and pleasures the same as for you with my dick in your butt. I guess the difference is in the reach around. HA!

One thing I read somewhere was that in studying anal sex statistics among women, the only thing they could find that correlated with anal sex was education. They found that the more schooling a woman had the more likely she was to have tried anal. They didn't talk about why that might be, they only highlighted the connection.

The last reason I can think of relates back to the pain issue. Hearing you gasp, seeing you grit your teeth, feeling you fight it just a little has a certain turn on to it. The same way you like to see me writhe and wince when you dig your nails into my back. It's not trying to hurt the other person, but delivering a little pain displays a little power and control, and that can be hot.

Well, that's one stranger's take on anal. I would sure be interested to hear why you enjoy it.


I'll let you know if she responds.

I've often thought that I might enjoy writing porn. I mentioned earlier this evening that reading Craig's List was text porn - Zork style. I'm a words guy, and I like it like that.

Merrill on My Mind

Yesterday, I ran into a guy that I worked with at Merrill who had followed the company down to Jacksonville. He had given up on Florida and was back in Denver looking for work. I ran into him in the lobby while he was waiting to interview while I was on my way to a meeting. I only had a chance to chat with him for about 30 seconds, but I did give the interviewer a call later and tell her what a good guy he is. She told me she had received his resume from someone else internally, I think as a way of making sure that I wouldn't think I was going to get any money for a referral. Whatever. Anyway, Tim, know that HR is trying to find a place for you.

The company stock is down $10 in the last few weeks. I can trade the stuff for free in my 401k and I didn't sell any when it hit its all time high. I am an optimistic idiot.

I noticed a couple of recent hits on the site from Jacksonville that I have to assume are former co-workers. I recenlty noticed too that I get a hit now and again from someone in the ml.com domain but who is in the central time zone. Not quite sure who that is.

My current company started a new marketing campaign. It is a blatant ripoff of an old Merrill marketing campaign. I'm not really comfortable saying anymore than that and that I am disappointed by the unoriginality of the concept even if they are executing it well.

Today on the 16th Street Mall, I passed by the first two individuals that I ever had to take part in firing. I see one, Frick - or was he Frack? - fairly regularly as I know he works in the building next door. The other, Frack - uhh, Frick? - I hadn't seen in ages.

Just a weird convergence of Merrill Lynch stuff swirling around me right now.

Whitewater Rafting

I've never been whitewater rafting. I tried kayaking in whitewater about two years and two weeks ago. It was a harrowing experience. At the time, I wrote a piece that I had intended to submit for publication consideration to a topical magazine. I never quite got around to submitting the article. Today, I realized that I hadn't shared this story with a lot of you. What follows is what I wrote sometime around 5/9/04. It's pretty long, so I've put the story on its own page.

Read: Captain Adventure in Fort Fun.


Crazy, huh? I cannot even begin to explain the power of the river that I experienced that day. That experience combined with a couple of scares during my last trip to Hawaii has made me noticeably more conservative in my estimates of my abilities in the water. I'll still go in, and I'll still jump down into it from high places, but I'm a lot more quick to realize when things are close to my limit. That power is awesome, and it can be downright scary.

Thursday, May 18, 2006
The Counting, the Drinking, and the Naming

I'm up to 46 distinct liquor selections in my bar with a full compliment of mixers and ideas. I often make-up new drinks. Tonight, I am drinking Bacardi Limon with pineapple-orange juice and club soda. It is delicious.

Because I am using club soda out of a can and because I cannot easily, simultaneously pour both from the can and from the 1.75 l bottle of rum as I might with a soda-gun and 750, I roll the drink once to the shaker and back after building the cocktail in the glass. This is important for the uniform distribution of effervescence. I'm working out of a pint glass, but, obviously, you could rock it highball style too.

I'm trying, now, while writing this, to think of a name for it. I like Slow Florida Sunrise, because that's how I'd describe the experience of drinking one of these delights. However, slow and sunrise both have specific, mixology implications to which this drink does not conform. So that's out.

It'd be easier if I could somehow key off the juice in the naming. But it's not two juices, it's one hybrid-juice of pineapple-oj. I bought it by mistake instead of pineapple. I also have oj, of course. But, in a real bar, there is no pineapple-oj combo-juice, and, thus, the nomenclature must be elsewhere inspired.

I'm gonna mix-up another round and see if my muse will speak her name to me.


Ahhh! But a whisper...

Limon-soft? Limon-soft Sparkler? Citrus Rum Sparkler? Citrus Limon Sparkler?

I heard her giggle; I'm sure that's her:  Citrus Limon Sparkler.

Bring me another! And more for my friends!

Monday, May 15, 2006

It was frickin' gorgeous at A-Basin on Saturday. Saw 4 or 5 guys skiing in Hawaiian shirts; 2 fellas went topless; a couple of girls in bikini tops; a number or girls in short sleeves; miscellaneous folk in shorts. There was an all-around abundance of beautiful women. The snow was still nice. Everything was still open. There was a line of people hiking up and skiing down the east wall. The snow conditions were good at the top and decent at the bottom. Both the terrain parks were rocking with some serious talent. At the base, there was a live band, and the grills were going. The lower lot was full. Big dogs were everywhere. After skiing, I put on my shorts at the car and came back to throw back a couple of beers. And, of course, the skies were blue.

iPod Woes

I've had some crazy stuff going on with my iPod over the past few days. I skied with it on Saturday. At the top of A-Basin, I put my headphones on and tried to fire up the tunes. The pod made a scary clack-clack-clack sound, so I turned it off. It had worked earlier in the day at the same altitude; it had worked earlier in the season in colder temperatures. I didn't know what to think. When I plugged it into the car for the ride home, it worked just fine.

It worked fine all day Sunday. Today on the way to work, I dropped it for the first time ever. I ended up with just the smallest scuff on the stainless side, on the corner, just behind where the earphones plug in. I picked it up, and it worked fine.

On the way home today, I was running up the stairs on the bridge over the train tracks. My hand lightly bumped the iPod in my pocket right as it was changing songs. It just stopped. It showed play, but was clearly paused. I reset the pod, but instead of starting back up, I got the sad-iPod icon. I knew that could only be bad news.

I came home and followed the support link shown below the sad-iPod to try out the Apple troubleshooting suggestions. Repeatedly resetting the device did nothing: sad-iPod. I was repeatedly unable to get it to enter diagnostic mode: sad-iPod. After about the 10th try I was able to get it to register as being in disk mode, but the computer still wouldn't recognize the device, and it still gave me nothing other than sad-iPod. I ran iPod Updater/Restore time and again, and it couldn't see the iPod: only sad-iPod. Finally, I got Updater/Restore to recognize the device after both rebooting the computer and putting the device into disk mode for the fourth, trying time. After confirming that I was willing to sacrifice all content on the device, I clicked Restore. Sad-iPod because the computer says that it "can't mount iPod."

So, AAACKK! Now what? Send it in? Smash it? Shoot it? Drop big bucks for a new device? Google to the rescue. The "can't mount iPod" query led me to this thread. The prescribed remedy? Drop it, smack it, or throw it. Seriously. Drop your iPod to make it work again. One commenter suggested a five-foot drop on to carpet. I started with a measured, four-foot drop to my carpeted floor. Nothing, sad-iPod; did I just make it worse? Another try. This time from five feet. I dropped it so that the device landed flat on its backside.

This time, I turned it on, got the Apple logo, and found all of the songs and settings to be just where they were when I left the house this morning. Amazing. Weird. Just glad it worked. I was starting to panic.

Thursday, May 11, 2006
Sans a Belt

I just noticed I forgot to wear a belt today. Who doesn't put on a belt when they put on their pants? Idiots and fat people, that's who.

Sunday, May 07, 2006
I Hate it When...

...my email client properly tags email from my parents as spam.