Glock

A well regulated Militia,
being necessary to the security of a free State,
the right of the people to keep and bear Arms,
shall not be infringed.

I am NOT the NRA.

I am, however, an American who has read his Constitution. Say what you will about the risks, the pleasures, the dangers, the costs, the benefits, the mortality and the morality; we have the inalienable right to bear arms.

My regular readers and constant commenters are sure to state statistics, and you are certainly welcome to do so, but the fact remains, I love my gun. It is shiny and clean, well-oiled and meticulously-maintained. It is six inches of stainless steel that will raise tufts of dust from the ground when its heaviest loads are discharged.

Contrary to the obligatory title, my weapon was actually crafted, with a fine tradition of workmanship, by Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson. With the Monkey in mind, it is safely stored. Yet, it is also readily accessible to thwart any nerdowell at my stoop, bearing malicious intent.

Alas, the only casualty to have fallen before my muzzle sight was a willow, or perhaps it was an aspen. Carl may remember. Ryan was there too. Way atop Dorn Peak, at the end of the treacherous timber path, we had laid waste to any number of troublesome legal texts. The UCC took one through the heart, and I wasn't getting any refund on my shredded Federal Tax Code.

The day was dimming, and the sun had fallen behind the trees. Shadows grew long, and the coolness was setting in. Suddenly, there was a rustle from the woods behind us. There, at the edge of the clearing, it stood with a sadistic sway. I could have sworn it was coming right for us.

I opened up with massive muzzle flashes. Beside me, a shotgun came into play. Carl's 9 joined the defense, as did his Walther. Our aim was true, and our shots (at least most of them) found their target. The tree held fast though, dogged, determined.

It continued its attack on our position, nearly taking out Ryan. We stepped up our withering fire, and eventually we were rewarded by the telltale creak of falling lumber. Victory was ours.

humans:1
Killer Trees: 0

It's been many years now, since the battle of Dorn Peak. I still get the gun out now and then for maintenance and care. There's nothing quite as pleasurable as gun cleaning out on the back deck. It's been far too long, however, since I've gone shooting.

Anyone got any law books they want to slaughter?

Reading for Comprehension:
1. Have you ever read the Constitution?
2. Do you know the difference between perambulatory clauses and operative phrases?
3. What is the biggest thing, if any, that you've ever shot?

Clock

My new wall clock sets itself to the atomic clock at fort collins. It also tells the temperature both inside my office and outside. I will never be late for court again, and i'll know whether to wear a coat.

Giant Cock

One anonymous commenter recently accused The Lounge of becoming too cock-centric. I have no idea what they could possibly mean.

Three Hours??

Ok, first, click here: Sactuary for the Senses

Be sure to read the "reviews" section.

So, basically, we're talking about a hand job, right? Three hours, though. I hope she uses lubrication.

Lotion

Things I found in the break room.

Touch My Monkey

What makes a good BBQ shirt? Is it the Hawaiian-pattern print? Is it the vague reference to meat? Is it the iron-on Penthouse centerfold?

I stood this morning in my chili-pepper pattern boxers, picking one-by-one through my wardrobe selection. A conundrum was what it was. Nothing seemed to grab me. What I did know was that I would need at least two shirts to make it through the day.

This was fortuitous.

My first shirt was a gray T-shirt with a picture of a monkey drawn over a red field. It reads: "Touch my monkey." Monkeys are made of meat. It seemed appropriate. I grabbed two others and headed for the door.

The next several hours were spent sitting outside, drinking cheap beer, stoking the smoker and reading the newspaper. The shirt remained visually clean, but stunk of sticky sweat and sweet smoke.

More dueling grillers convened, and the collective driveway firestorm nearly tanned my literal hide. Near the judging hour, as thoughts and efforts turned to presentation, It was time to shed the monkey shirt.

Next came the billboard-like marketing T-shirt from a little Southern California chain called "The Hat." Go for the pastrami, stay for the wet fries. No one at the party knew anything about The Hat. However, that didn't stop anyone from giving me the trophy for first place.

Finally, after serving up the grub for 50 guests, and holding my daughter as she devoured watermelon wedge after watermelon wedge, the shirt looked like a cross between a bar rag and a sucking chest wound.

Third shirt was a no-brainer. It was a thick-cotton, red-dyed Adams Ribs Smoke House T-shirt. The work was done. Nothing was left but the drinking, and the glimmering, but fleeting, glow of grilling glory.

Thanks to Lori and Jack (who never read this thing...) for throwing a smashing BBQ bash. I still think Jack was robbed. His ribs were perfect.

Reading for Comprehension:
1. I have mosquito bites. West Nile hasn't hit Oregon yet, has it??
2. I still have about 4 pounds of pork butt left. Who's hungry?
3. I was asked to tell the Daisy story twice tonight, why don't folks just read the blog?

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Pork butt makes people smile

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BBQ contest is underway. I opened my first beer at 10:00. The temperature is in sweet spot.

Rubbing My Meat and Making Sauce

Let's just say, it's been a busy night...

On Saturday, if you need to find me, I will be sitting in a chair, under a tree, next to my smoky smoker somewhere on North Chase Avenue in North Portland. I will be there all day. I will be drinking beer for most of it.

PBR, to be specific.

By 6:00, there should be approximately 18 to 20 various grills and/or smokers cooking an assortment of meat-based food products and causing a micro-tear in the the ozone layer. It's a contest of sorts, but mostly just for fun. Dinner is served at 6:30. By that time, I will be drunk.

Abestis? Valdez? Inog? I got an extra chair and plenty of beer...

Reading for Comprehension:
1. It's supposed to be 90 degrees tomorrow. Can you think of a better beer for drinking outside than Pabst?
2. Hickory or Mesquite? I think Mesquite.
3. Minced cilantro adds depth. Who knew?

Pluto

We've lost a planet. No, it didn't go anywhere. The powers that be simply voted it off the island.

It was either vote it out, or vote in anywhere between 3 and 12 new planets.

And what, you may ask, was the deciding factor?

It wasn't smooth enough. Apparently it does not contain enough mass to squeeze itself into a ball. So, it's not a planet.

Had the vote gone the other way, we would have added three new planets: Ceres, Charon, and Xena. Charon is, in fact, Pluto's moon, and Xena is, in fact, named after the TV character.

Alas, the tedious semantics debate ended poorly for Pluto and its Kuiper Belt buddies. All have been relegated to Dwarf Planet status.

Wouldn't it be cool, though, to vote other things out becasue they weren't smooth enough? I mean, take old people for instance. No one really likes them. They are all wrinkly. They often smell a little funny. Why not just vote on the definition of "human."

If we collectively decide that persons with smooth skin under the age of, say, 65 are human, and that persons who are not smooth or not under 65 are not human, then we can simply do with them as we wish. We could choose to call them anything, like "post-human persons," or simply "furniture."

And if grandma starts to act up, with her whiskey drinking and voodoo witchery, then simply wheel her out to the curb for morning pick up...

Reading for Comprehension:
1. If your grandmother was furniture, what piece of furniture would she be?
2. If we're going to refer to the new bodies as "Dwarf Planets," shouldn't there be a "Gimli?"
3. Xena. This is what happens when geeks gain power.

Busy

Busy

Old men

High school was a long time ago.

The sunset room

Tom embellishes his rude suggestion, while dr brian plays with my leg under the table

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Greetings from sunny southern california. The flight went fine. The monkey did well. My popsicle doesn't taste very good,

And the Award Goes To...

The best ones write themselves. Of course, I have to wiggle my fingers over the keyboard to make them visible, but really, it seems that I'm just taking dictation from the muse.

I suppose it goes in cycles. Some months are better than others. January was pretty good. April was, perhaps, the high point.

So, I've pulled what I think are the 16 top posts, at least in my mind. These are the shiny examples of just how fantastic I truly am.

Hurray for me!

16. Open Letter to Fat Guy at Albertsons

15. Such Stuff as Dreams are Made

14. Ramhorn

13. Ode to Cheddar

12. Two Gallons of Mayonnaise and a Chainsaw

11. Soon her Mama with a Gleaming Gloat Heard

10. Cock Gobbler (by request)

9. The Mysteries of the Force

8. Peat Moss

7. Mandarin Oranges

6. Current Events

5. Vanilla

4. Ballet of the Fire Dancers

3. Blueberry Waffles

2. Tinsel Hat

And number one is, obviously:

1. The Legend of Daisy

Blomiting

This is the first of the two Ginny Awards that I will award to myself. Appropriately, We begin with the worst of the worst. Now admittedly, the absolute worst was posted on June 29, 2006. It was so bad that it currently stands as the only post I ever actually subsequently deleted. Unfortunately, I don't recall the title, and it no longer exists. So, I'll award that post an honorable mention and move on.

So, let's do this countdown style.

5. Energy Equals Mass Times the Speed of Light Squared

This one completely fell apart on me, which, I guess, was sort of the point. Admittedly, I was too fresh from having seen the Huckabee movie. The movie screws with your head, which is what I wanted to write about, but the fact that my head had been screwed with made the task impossible. A vicious circle is what it was.

4. I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky

This one broke one of my very few rules. I wrote it despite the fact that I had nothing to say. While sometimes I can spin a post out of having VERY LITTLE to say, having NOTHING to say is quite different. The only saving grace was the photo collage of Christina and cheese.

3. For There are Brighter Sides to Life and I Should Know Because I've Seen Them

"Fifth try." That says it all. Again, an admitted lack of inspiration. I mused about things that "don't seem to make for appropriate blog fodder." And musing, as I've pointed out, is not worth reading. Of course, as Tom pointed out, it did mention the Smiths.

2. Anticlimactic

Name says it all.

1. Jimmy Crack Corn and I Don't Care

And here we are, Number One. This was the worst plog post of the year. It might not be immediately obvious to some.

First, it was long. Too long. Interminably LONG. Sure, my readers can read. But really, who can take 20 minutes out of their day to read my rambling nonsense? Well, OK, there are a few of you, but still...

Second, and this is the biggie, this is the post that caused the hiatus. See, as I go through the day I see, hear, think, or say things that I note down as possible blog topics. Usually, this is not a physical list. Rather, it is a swirling vortex of thoughts in my head. Most eventually get discarded because they aren't as interesting as I once thought. Some, however, make it to the blog.

At the point when this was written, I had a plethora of points to make, but nothing inspired. I couldn't form words around the ideas. There were no stories to tell. So, I thought it would be good to pour all of it out onto the blog. Purge the cache, so to speak. What resulted was this mess, as if I had vomited all over the blog. Blog vomit. Blomit. (Clever...)

When it was done, I had no more swirling ideas, and I still didn't have any witty words. It took a couple of days to realize, but I was empty. So, I took a break.

This post was horrible for me, and probably not pleasing for you. I hate this post. It gets the award.

"I Feel Like I'm the Only One Here Who Hasn't Tasted A Stripper" -Anonymous

Jesus you people have a lot to say. 7 pages of notes worth, to be specific. Well, it's now late, so let's get to it.

While reviewing the many various comments for this award, I noticed that a few names popped up regularly.

Carl, for instance, wrote:

"As for Chinese food, I like to go to China." (11/15/05)

"Shit! You want to go off on fucking pop culture? I AM GOD DAMN POP CULTURE! Christ. I got to stop reading this blog. There has to be a better way to affirm my superiority than to wade through this tripe." (11/14/05)

Margus wrote:

"Fuck Chef Tony!" (12/6/05)

"At least it's not as bad as the commercial with the giant whopper that falls from the sky, and that guy starts mouthing it - fucking gross." (1/31/06)

"Is that the Nathan. The 50 level dungeon master Lord Nathaniel Swordhand the Savior?" (2/5/06)

"After reading that the only thing I can think of right now is getting punched in the balls by a blonde with big tits." (6/23/06)

Tom has made many clever remarks as well, almost too many to list:

"If God owned every DVD he would have quite a porn collection. Would Jesus watch Ass Candy volume 7?" (9/4/05)

"Isn't meat boat just another name for vagina?" (1/29/06)

"A quick recap of Brian's post: I'm smart. I read very well. I am fairly certain I am smarter than almost everyone else. I'm probably smarter than you. Let's all talk about how smart I am. Thank the lord Jesus that I am smart. In case you were wondering, I am a highly intelligent and evolved individual. Something or other about India. " (2/21/06)

"Please Jesus, let him be on hiatus again." (5/31/06)

Abestis said:

"You are morally bankrupt. Strike that...too strong. How about, your morality is...fluid? Ambiguous? Let's put it another way, if you were playing D&D, your character would probably be a thief, rogue or at best a ranger whose allignment hovered around true neutral. On a good day, neutral good." (1/17/06)

"Why is a woman like KFC? Because after that succulent breast and tender thighs all you're left with is a greasy box to put your bone in." (9/26/05)

Deuce has posted:

"Yes, Tom discovered the Smiths. Drove down Workman Ave, found 'em right there with a big ol' wall on the lawn. Then he discovered Poland." (1/18/06) (That makes sense only to a couple of people)

"Zombie President Fighting Challenge. I'm really glad we haven't lost our touch." (2/19/06)

There were many good posts by the various anonymouses; most of all, the many many posts attacking Leah. I mean really, there's a gift that never stops giving. Of course, Anonymous got the spotlight yesterday...

Sometimes certain threads caught fire as a whole, such as the comments for Current Events, The Caption Contest, or My Hiatus.

However, there can be only one Best Comment.

So, the award for Best Comment of the Year goes to our very own elfin dentist, Dr. Brian. Let's take a quick peek at some of his handiwork:

"When I know Im going to be playing strip poker I break out the Elephant or Aardvark G-string. I like to give everyone at the table a little hint of what they are in for before we deal. For some reason I never loose." (2/9/06)

"Medieval times is always fun, if Carl is into Jousting." (3/26/06)

And now, the Ginny Award for the best comment of the year goes to Dr. Brian for this little ditty from January 17, 2006:

"I also still find you bumptuous on occasion, and not surprised that you used food and alcohol to attract women. Next time try a coach purse party. My response to your question would be the entire series of Twin Peaks. I like the fact that weird men can actually be surrounded by hot women. I still masturbate to that show. Would that statement keep me off your jury?"

Thanks to everyone. Keep posting Comments! And tune in tomorrow for my WORST Blog post of the year!

Top of the Heap

What makes a good commentator?

Wit. Timing. That certain sense about what to say to maximize the public humiliation of the blogger. Certainly Dr. Brian has exhibited these traits. So has Inog. And, of course, Leah, but, she's already been dealt with.

Other commentators are just a bit off center. They pitch-in with their two cents, usually for the quick laugh, but rarely on topic. Tom, for instance, but also Margus, and Deuce. Oh, and don't forget Amanda. I always look forward to hearing from them.

Then, there are the supporters, the nice folks. These are the fans, the readers who don't just skip to the end. There is Lisa, of course, and Evelyn ("Hooray for my vagina!"). There are also the secret readers who comment by email. You guys know who you are...

Next a nod to the literal respondents. Ux and Abestis. These folks keep track of what's being said. The respond on point. There is no pulling the wool over their eyes.

But who's the best? Who is the king of the hill, top of the heap? A-Number1?

The Ginny for Favorite Commentator must go to:

Anonymous.

And not just any one of the three folks who regularly call themselves "anonymous." Not just "The Other Anonymous." Not just "The Original Anonymous." I mean ALL y'all. The award goes to each and every person, myself included, who has hidden behind the magic cloak of anonymity to publicly say what shouldn't be said, to take a swipe or even a poke, to steal the laugh or speak your mind. Whether you call yourself "Anonymous," "The Missing Arm," or "The Kayak Paddle," You all get the the award.

I truly appreciate the subversive intent that goes into every anonymous post. If you need to protect your identity, I expect that you will have something interesting to say. You will be witty and probably sharp. You will be odd and a little off center. You will most likely have read the post in its entirety. You will be a regular reader and maybe even a fan. You will certainly pay attention to the finer details. For all of these reasons you, Anonymous, in all of your incarnations, get this award.

Hate is Such a Strong Word

One year gone by, and what a year it has been. Brad and Angelina have spawned; Dick Cheney has brought peace to the Middle East; and I have achieved my goal of drinking my weight in scotch.

One Year. 12 months. 365 days.

Well, it looks like many of you have carefully gone back and reviewed in-depth the archived posts from the Lounge. Several of you have posted your suggestions for the proposed Ginny awards in the never-ending comments. Many of you have privately emailed me with your thoughts. Oh, and to Roslyn from Winnemucca, thanks for emailing the topless photos...

So, without further ado, here are the awards!!

Well, actually, tonight is only the first award. See, there is a ton of material to mine here. So, I'm exploiting the topic and will spread the awards out over the next five days. Starting with the "Most Hated" Commentator tonight. I will finish up with "Best Post" on Thursday just before I head out to California.

So, now, with no further ado, here is the Ginny Award for "Most Hated Commentator."

This was a very difficult category because by definition, I want to spotlight the biggest thorn in everyone's side. Yet, I don't want to actually pay tribute to a completely hateful person. This means For instance, that Rebecca, who ever the hell she really was, will not get the award. Yes we all hated her, but we didn't hate her in any sort of friendly or amicable fashion.

No, we really just hated her, and eventually she went away.

So, this award, I think, goes to the person we all really just love to hate. Someone who is fun to hate. Someone that causes us to smile while we are hating them. Certainly Inog (Carl) was considered for this award with his long self-indulgent travelogues. Abestis too, although now he lurks under other names.

In the end, however, the near unanimous vote was clear. ( I think she even voted for herself.) The first-annual most hated commentator is: Princess Leah.

Congratulations Princess! I mean really, this category was created for you . Are you really surprised??

Log in tomorrow to find out who was named "Favorite Commentator!"

August 8

Happy Birthday to Tom, 35 years old today. Remember, hair loss after this date is no longer considered "premature."

Happy birthday also to my mother-in-law. Same thing goes about the hair...

Remember, we're only 5 days away from the Lounge's one-year anniversary and the first annual Ginny Awards. So, dig back into those archives and find your favorites!

So far, Vanilla, Daisy, and the River Disaster have taken the lead for favorite post. However, Tom brought up my favorite things...

Dr. Brian and anonymous are edging ahead as favorite commentators.

And of course, Princess Leah is, well, do I even need to say it?? Although, Leah is not necessarily a given for the final category. Inog's name has surfaced, as has Abestis. And those of you who hide behind various forms of anonymous, don't feel too safe.

Here are those five categories once more:

1. Best G&T Lounge Post
2. Worst G&T Lounge Post
3. Best Comment
4. Favorite Commentator
5. Most Hated Commentator

One Year

I had played as much poker as I could take. I had fought my way through World War II a half dozen times on several different game platforms. I had conquered Rome. I was even bored with porn.

It was August, 2005, and my computer-based entertainment options were dwindling.

It was late. I poured a Gin & Tonic and clicked on my pal Dave's blog. I then clicked on the blog of another friend of mine and slowly an idea began to blossom.

I recalled the "Ass Page." Back in law school in the mid 90s, we had an antequated UNIX-based email something-or-other. (I'm sure Carl will explain it to us when he returns from Japan.) Anyway, you could "finger" your class mates and read their latest status. There was a comments field that could be updated, and update I did. I called it the "Ass Page." Folks actually logged in to read it. I'm pretty sure it got me laid a couple of times.

So, there I sat last August, reading blogs and remembering the ass page. "Well, everyone else is doing it, why can't I?" I thought to myself. That was almost one year ago. The anniversary is coming up, and I figure I should do something to mark the occasion. Therefore, I plan to award the first-ever Ginny Awards next week. I will list the categories below. I need all of you to help pick the winners. You can post your suggestions here. You can also email them to me at my myspace account.

Here are the categories for the year August, 05 to August,06:

1. Best G&T Lounge Post
2. Worst G&T Lounge Post
3. Best Comment
4. Favorite Commentator
5. Most Hated Commentator

Day of the Platypus

Howard Stern was playing a pre-recorded phony phone-call bit, which I generally find unfunny and irritating. As my daughter and I slugged through southbound I-5 traffic, I spun the dial and wound up on Sirius 103, Blue Collar (hill billy) Radio. Uncensored low-brow comedy, usually delivered with a twang.

Not surprisingly, Larry the Cable Guy was the featured performer. Now, I have conspiratorial theories about Larry, but I digress... Larry was yucking it up with the misanthropic masses, plucking through a cliche routine about firearms. "Guns don't kill people," he drawled. "People kill people. Why, my gun is no more likely to kill a man than my pencil is to misspell a word."

I drove along and let the words roll around in my head. Issues about the NRA, gun control, hunting and self defense swirled like cerebral soup. I realized that I never really bought the argument that guns were for hunting and killing animals rather than people.

I mean, that's entirely fucked up. Why kill animals? They never did anything bad. No, it's the people we need to kill. Guns are for killing people. And really, I'm comfortable with that.

Which lead my wayward thoughts back to the movie that I watched the other night. The Matador. A hedonistically deviant but lonely assassin, played by a rough-cut anti-Bond Pierce Brosnan, befriends a clueless but sweet Greg Kinnear. Pierce teaches Greg the secrets of the killing game.

Traffic picked up, my daughter ate another cracker, and I started weighing the possibility of becoming a hitman. I could do it I think, paid assassin, government killer. I could snipe a target from the grassy knoll.

The best part of the job is the cool nickname. All of the best killers have them. I think I would wand to be The Platypus. I could leave a calling card with my targets, black platypus on a glossy red background. I could do it. I could fly to Prague on a moment's notice and exterminate the Latvian finance minister from 500 yards. Then, leave my card. My enemies would fear me...

Reading for Comprehension
1. It's been ages since I went shooting. Who wants to go?
2. Have you seen The Matador? It's a quirky little flick. I give it a thumbs up.
3. What would you feel worse about: running over a chipmunk or shooting a burglar in the head? Thought so...

I Do

I will officially officiate my third wedding on Saturday. I have spent the evening tweaking and tampering with my basic outline. Each couple, and therefore each wedding, is unique. While this wedding won't involve a buddhist chicken lamp or pre-existing children, it will involve 300 guests, a few horses, and more than a few cowboy hats.

With heterosexual marriages having a less-than-50% chance of survival, and homosexual marriages having less than a 0% chance of even getting started, one has to wonder how long marriage will last as a viable institution.

Well, this legally-ordained minister, for one, is doing his part to perpetuate the tradition.

I offered to wear a white buckskin suit with fringe on Saturday, but the bride declined my offer.

Reading for comprehension:
1. Are you looking to get hitched?
2. I don't charge any fee. (At least not yet...)
3. I do make up my fee by selling faith-healings for five bucks after the service though...