Hoard!

What response!

So far we have:

A gin and tonic kit
A date night kit
An Obama portrait
A Christmas letter service
An Action 45 promotional Omelet kit (I have no idea)
A dirty homemade Hello Kitty calendar
An almost-unworn Hello Kitty bra (with NO photos of the donor wearing it)
A special photo of Mr. Gin & Tonic with help from Michelangelo
An audio book
Two DVDs of egregious black market Japanese porn
And one surprise from my mother-in-law.

That is a great start. I'm going to leave the donations open for another day. So, put your thinking caps on. If you've seen Palin's recent performance with Katie Couric or McCain's recent political grandstanding, then you know what we have to do.

For those of you who have already committed, let's get the goods to me, muy pronto! Most of you know my mailing address. If you don't, email me at mrginandtonic@gmail.com

And someone explain to me what an Action 45 Omelet is...

Going Once... Going Twice...

OK, kids, I may regret this, but I'm going for it.

I'm going to employ this fully-functional battle station to do some good, recognizing in advance that I may very well fall flat on my ass.

Ideally, what I'm shooting for here, is fun. FUN!

FUN! is the point.

So, I'm going to hold a little charity auction, and in turn, donate the entire collected pot to the Obama campaign to help fund the upcoming battleground state struggles.

What I need from you, to start with, are the items to be auctioned. Now several of you have emailed me, asking me what you should donate. I am happy to help you narrow down your options. However, I'm hoping half the fun is going to be the process coming up with our kooky collection of goodies.

Think: "Lounge"

Think: "booze."

Think: "prurient."

Think: "religion."

Think: "spectacle."

Think: "pleasure."

This is us, I'm talking about.. We few, we drunken few...

Don't go crazy, though, since I'm hoping to keep this thing friendly. Ideally, you'll come up with something that says "Loyal Drunkin Rambler," that might fetch somewhere between 10 to 50 bucks. Photographs of you and your partner in the throws of love are fine, just please, don't be ugly.

There are a few of you (well one of you) who will not support Obama in any way. That's OK. You can support the Lounge instead, and maybe pick up some swag in the mean time.

Once the loot is collected, then I'll start the auctions, posting them and timing them depending on how much we have, and how much time the campaign has left.

This is a casual auction between friends. Your donations are not tax deductible. In the case of a dispute, I will be the final arbiter.

So, let us know in the comments section what you will be donating. However, please also email me confirmation of your donation, since comments are occasionally too anonymous for me to figure out. As you should know, you can email me at: mrginandtonic@gmail.com

I'm excited to see what you will come up with!

Oh, Goodie Goodie Goodie...

Finally, something to look forward to...



...Oh and Jack White did the theme song. So, as an exgirlfriend of mine used to say: Bonus!

Boondoggle?

So, I'm working on this idea...

With the political polls as close as they are, and the future in the balance as it is, I'd like to do something. I'd like to help out. I'd like to put this crappy little blog to some good use, but still have some fun, Lounge Style...

So, I bounced this general idea of of a couple of you today, and one of you hit the idea on the nose.

So, what I think we should do, is hold an auction. A Gin and Tonic Lounge charity auction, with ALL proceeds going to the Obama campaign to help finance the fight in the battleground states. Here is your chance to make a difference. And have a little fun too.

There will be three steps.

First, we must accumulate the loot. The booty. The inventory. Maybe you can donate a bottle of gin. Or maybe something you brought back with you from China. Maybe it's a copy of your band's new CD, or maybe it's a picture of your boobs.

Maybe you're an anti-tax libertarian dentist, but for the good of the Lounge you can donate some floss, or some NASCAR memorabilia. Maybe you're a dancer and you can donate a poll dancing class. Maybe you're a lawyer and you can donate a free will.

Maybe you live on a different continent and can't even vote in our elections, and would like to donate something unique from the UK or perhaps Paris...

Maybe you live on a boat, and, well, you could donate something nautical. Maybe you're an artist and would like to donate something that you've made...

Think of it as the ultimate submission contest. Think of it as doing the right thing.

Next, we all have to activate our extensive social networks and promote the hell out of this thing. Link to all the folks you know. Bring in the bidders. Generate some buzz. Bid on goodies and support Obama in the process.

Lastly, We bid. I will highlight and promote each donation, one at a time, and open the comments section to the bidding. If we open our wallets, or maybe if your friends open their wallets, then we can build a donation pot and have fun in the mix.

So, anyway, that's the idea. Anyone interested?

If so, what might you donate?

An Apple A Day

Tequila, that wicked spirit of agave...

It picks persistent, digging deep, wearing away at the veneer of personality and social propriety.

Warm in the belly, and hot on the lips, it is the ultimate excuse for bad behavior. It gets the party started. It does bad things.

I do not believe in a devil, nor do I fear his fictional hoary minions. But Tequila. Oh yes. Tequila!

In moderation, it is a warm elixir, a buttress against the gray of winter or the doldrums of a drab party. It can be shot, slurped or sipped and seems predetermined, preternaturally designed, to go down with lime. It conforms to the bawdiest desires to lick it from the human body like no other beverage known to man. It may prove the existence of God.

It simmers the passions. It leads to lust. It fuels anger. It leads to extraordinarily bad decision making.

It causes conservative skirts to hike, white men to dance and money to be spent.

It is the closest kin to witchcraft I have come across in this wide world.

And tonight, I chased my taste for it. I sipped while I sizzled sausage on the grill. I poured more during dinner. I took a quick shot in the dark, when the opportunity arose.

Then, at some point, I sought to sneak a little more down the gullet, and that required the assistance of the liquid panty remover known as the Margarita. Not that I was wearing panties... No, just roll with it...

Anyway.

Tequila tangos well with sweet; and Lime is sublime (and entirely required) when it come to the art of tequila mixology.

The holy trinity being, for purists of course, tequila, lime and Cointreau, but fruit of all manner have worked their way in to the lexicon of the fermented cactus language.

Being Fall in the wet Pacific Northwest, means one thing. Blackberry season is over and now, it is time for the apples.

Great trees, pregnant with ripe red and green fruit have begun to shed their tart treats. And when the apples fall, it is time to make cider. Dark brown, unfiltered, tasting of the orchard earth itself, Cider. If it is cloudy, if the apple sediment must be shaken from the floor of the jug, if it originated less than 10 miles from your Oregon home, you know it is going to be good.

So, a mostly-full bottle of respectable tequila in one hand and a cold jug of unfiltered cider in the other, I began to carefully combine. I licked at the drips and sucked up the excess. I added a little of this, and a dash of that. I shook. I stirred. I tested.

More of that, less of this, but I was close.

Then, I tried the lime, and voila, I had a bad-ass apple margarita. It was brown and cloudy, sweet and tart. The tequila was celebrated, rather than concealed. I sipped and sipped and slowly the sides of my head went numb.

Tetris

It's been a long week folks. I'm wiped out. Still, I appreciate that you stopped by to visit. So, here's a little something to brighten your Thursday...


Bikini Tetris @ Yahoo! Video

However, if subdued Spanish language television hyjinx doesn't do it for you. Then, how about some perplexing psycho-sexual sadistic Japanese mayhem?



Somebody, please explain this one to me...

Two-Fer Tuesday

..Because what else are you gonna do on a Tuesday Night??

ITEM ONE!!

Let's call this one: "Celebrity Deposition"

I lay in bed Monday night, thinking, sorting, planning (but not sleeping) when all of a sudden, I recalled that I had depositons scheduled for the following day. Four of them in fact, Plaintiff, Defendant and two independant witnesses!

Holy Christ! As it was late, and as I wasn't sleeping particularly well, and as the missus had indicated a willingness to cart the tots to the daycare in the morning, I had thought, perhaps, I just might snooze a bit following sunrise.

Alas, I had places to be and things to do, so I stretched my hand out in the dark and reset my alarm clock.

I arrived at work on time. Ahead of time in fact. Bushy-tailed and ready to party. The facts, I knew, were against me. The Defense attorney was up to the task, I knew, becasue he was a former co-worker of mine, whose deposition outline I continue to use, even to this day.

Sensing strife, I chose to gird myself with black braces, dressing in the traditional uniform of the Black & Tan, I prepared for battle. I could have been more prepared if only I wore the Gordon Tartan and slung a great Claymore over my shoulder...

But I digress. (forgive me, I'm only a bottle and a half of wine to the wind at the moment...)

Anyway.

There I was, at the table, my ponytailed biker client by my side, defense counsel sitting across from me. And suddenly, it dawned on me, defense counsel resembled someone. Someone, other than his familiar self, yet very familiar to me...

The morning wore on. I sucked down copious cups of coffee.

Eventually, the witnesses arrived, a man and a woman, and I could not help but stare at the uniquely familiar face of the man. It was uncanny. It was surprising. I was a perfect replica, of...

Once inside the conference room, it all dawned on me. The familiar face of the defense attorney was none other than Gary Oldman as Commissioner Gordon in the latest set of Batman movies.



And the witness?? Right. He was Howard Stern.



In deed, it appeared that I was in the midst of a celebrity deposition...

Two-Fer Tuesady Item Two!!

HAPPINESS

It was a long-overdue Sunday adventure. Mama and the boy were ill and at home, so the girl and I drove out into the geat gray oregon yonder to see what we could see.

The girl, only three, is able to name most of the major water ways in the region, naming their confluences and there termination. She knows that the Tualatin and the Clackamas run in to the Willamette, which runs itself into the Columbia, which then runs to the ocean. The Pacific Ocean, to be precise, because she is nothing if not precise.

"But where, daddy," she asked, "does the Willamette run in to the Columbia?"

It was a good question, and from our vantage point along the river wall at River Front Park, we could not see the Delta.

"Why don't we go find it?" I suggested, which was met with a serious nod of approval.

And find it, we did, at Kelly Point Park, the western-most tip of the North Portland Delta, west of St. Johns, where the Willamette runs in a side-swipe into the the mighty Columbia.

It required a short hike through the urban rain forrest. And at once we were alone on a rain-swept beach. Rocks. Sand. Drift wood. All strewn about in light-natural fashion.

We walked along the beach, dodging tiny waves and watching the impossibly-humongous cargo ships cruise by through the river mist.

Then, we came to the point. The last inch of land between the two ancient water ways. Without moving out heads, we could see both rivers, and Oregon and Washington and ships bound for China and a flock of divng sea birds, all in one expanse.

It was raining, mostly misting, on us, and she stood back against my legs as she studied the lay of the land. She took in the run of the rivers and the speed of the passing vessels.

She stood quietly, learning, filling her massive mind with geography and physics and biology and cartography. She declined my early offer to go, and we stood some more and studied.

Sometimes, she can be loud. Sometimes, she argues. Some times she awakes at an inconvenient hour.

Sometimes she won't eat her dinner. Sometimes she is a greedy obligation, hell-bent on jelly beans and hot chocolate.

Sometimes she sits zombie-like before the fortieth showing of The Little Mermaid.

But that morning... At that moment, on the beach, at the tip of the delta, she was my daughter. A mighty woman in the making, and a wonder to behold.

We ignored the rain, and held hands, as she beat a path back to the car for us through the brush.

We were wet and tired, but we had shared an exploration, a true adventure. We shared the last two jelly beans and headed home in silence.

Well, not complete silence... She asked whether we could listen to the latest Radiohead CD. She likes the Jigsaw song.

The Things I Do For My Friends... (Iffy for work)

...Because I care.

But Holy Jesus, you have no idea how much gay porn I had to slog through to come up with a few shirtless cowboy pics!

Here you go Mitch, Cowboys and Dita!

And of course, a little something extra for Dr. B...

Neanderthal

Way back.

WAY WAY back.

Something went wrong. A party split up. Two groups, likely small, went two different ways. Then, time and distance, the wonder-twins of evolution, took their toll and had their way with them.

One group was short and slow, but strong, slope-browed and dim witted. They lived in small tribes in fair climates. They had to kill what they wanted for dinner, often without tools or even language.

These are the Neanderthals, and their record ends 28,000 years ago.

The other group, for whatever reasons, developed intellect, skill, cunning, reason and imagination. They were taller, faster, smarter and more flexible as a species.

These were the Sapiens. Us. Well, early us, but us nonetheless.

About 200,000 years ago, give or take, as the theory goes, we Sapiens moved out of Africa. And inevitably, we ran in to our uglier dumber cousins. Then, about 28,000 years ago, the Neanderthal record dies out.

And that is exactly what scientists have long thought happened to them. Died out, that is. But more recently, other theories have come along. One says that Sapiens moved in and effectively conquered the brutes. Another says that we may have over-competed and thus consumed all of their resources.

Still, another suggests that the two groups, though not genetically identical were somehow able to merge. Effectively stating that early man had a hankering for neanderthal pussy.

Which would really mean one thing, we are not only Sapiens, we are Neanderthals too. Some of us more than others...

And of course, this came up for me on the way back from Idaho last week. Stopping for gas and snacks, pissing at a rest stop or letting the tots run amok at the McDonalds playland, I had the opportunity to behold the people. The populace. The neighbors.

I observed the people who will be setting the course for the next four years. These were the shirtless cowboys in pickup trucks, the fat loudmouths, the dirty shirted shoppers. These were the shotgun wielders, the big belt-buckled buffoons and the toothless. These were people who complained about the lack of mayonnaise at Mc Donalds. These were the folks who bear a striking family resemblance to their spouses.

These were country music fans, rodeo clowns and Walmart patrons. These were church goers, although church likely meant tuning into the Jesus-channel sometime on Sunday after the bad-beer hangover from Saturday ended.

And it worried me somewhat, realizing what was out there and recognizing just how many there were. But now, I seem to see it in a whole new light. Neanderthals. Of course! It all makes so much more sense. There is Neanderthal blood in the Sapien line, and perhaps it is just more pronounced in some than others.

Underdog

I may have to rethink my definition of "Underdog."

This Is the End

Well, not exactly...

Or, at least, not yet.

See, there's been a little mishap. A snaffu, if you will.

Remember the Large Hadron Collider thingy we talked about last week? The one that may destroy the planet? Well, see, it's broken. A bunch of magnets got gummed up earlier today, overheated and nearly caught fire.

So, the good news is that the apocalypse-risking experiments will be delayed for at least a week from their scheduled date, pushing the END back to about Halloween.

The bad news is, IT'S FUCKING BROKEN!!! It's SOOO broken that MAGNETS nearly caught fire!!

Now, apart from my children, I don't find much in this craptastic world worth saving. However, on the other hand, it would have to really suck to get slurped into a tiny quantum singularity.

So, maybe they'll just scrap the whole thing altogether. Not likely though, they paid a lot of money for those flame retardant magnets.

Uncharacteristic

Hold on to your cocktails for this one!

I'm gonna talk sports.

If you know me, and I know you do, you know I'm no sports fan. Not a sports fan, in much the same way Hitler wasn't a fan of Yom Kippur...

In the last year, however, I have come to root for a suck-ass local soccer team. Be that as it may, THAT is not what this post is about.

No, this post, shockingly, is about Football. American-style gridiron pigskin college football. The purest form of the game.

OK, stop laughing.

Really! I'm going to write about football.

See, there's a game coming up this Saturday that I think you really should see. I've been reading up on it. Researching my subject, gathering data. I do believe, and fully expect, a bloody bone-rattling brawl. Or, at least, the media wants us to think so.

This Saturday, the holy Sabbath of college sports, the University of Oregon Ducks will play the Boise State Broncos in what amounts to the last non-conference match-up between the two. The Broncos, of course, lead the WAC, while the Ducks are #2 behind the juggernaut known as USC.

The Ducks would desperately love to catch USC, who are not only #1 in the PAC 10, but also #1 nationally. Problem is, the Ducks are badly injured and will rely, unusually, this Saturday on a PAIR of scrappy first-year quarterbacks, who will swap in and out as the need and play arrives.

The Ducks are fast, though, apparently, with some saying they are the fastest team in college football this year.

Boise, on the other hand, is young too, and come to the game with a well-stocked bag of tricks. Anyone who watched the Fiesta Bowl two years ago remembers exactly what I'm talking about.



What's worse, Boise's coach used to be an offensive coach for Oregon. Both coaches know each other very well.

The Ducks are apprehensive. The Broncos are realistic. Both teams seem to be putting particular energy into this game. I'm not really rooting for one over the other, although it can be fun to root for the underdogs...

so, that's what I'll be doing this Saturday at 12:30 pacific time.

I'm sure there are some Broncos fans who might want to say something. Probably some Ducks as well.

Any Beavers want to chime in?

blah blah blah

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W.

Adama 08

It has begun.

The predictable parodies have arrived, as they do every election cycle.

Stewart/Colbert

Admiral Adama

Even Lord Voldemort...


Most go unheeded. Although, a few years back, Howard Stern had to apply the brakes when he started polling 30% in the New York governor's race.

And then there is the blur. Reagan, for instance, became President. Arnold became Governor. Gopher from the Love Boat actually went to Congress. And really, I still can't figure out the Jessy Ventura thing.

Still though, the fictitious candidates do lend themselves to the prospect of speculation. Which fictitious character would you support in a bid for the White House?

If asked, I know Mrs G&T (as well as Dave) would both probably nominate Jed Bartlet.

I, myself, have rolled it around, considering the qualities and characteristics of various characters. Pondering individual gravitas, intelligence and oratory skills. Political acumen. Deference to the Rule of Law.

And really, it comes down to just a few...

Capt. Jean Luc Picard, for instance, holds a surplus of most of these traits, all of them in fact. He would be, I think, perfect President. Problem is, he's French. So, sorry, but Article II Section 1 wouldn't allow that. Capt. Janeway? Nah...

Atticus Finch, of To Kill a Mockingbird fame, also comes to mind, maybe with George Bailey of It's a Wonderful Life as his running mate. These two, however good, however loyal and hard working, may just be too good... Whereas Picard could take on the entire Klingon Empire, Finch and Bailey seemed to have never ending problems with small towns...

Col. Sherman Potter from MASH? No, too much like McCain.

Yoda? Hmmm... size matters not.

Tony Soprano? To much like Dick Cheney...

Agent Dana Scully, X-Files, maybe ... maybe... Smart, tough, independent. Although her close association with her crackpot partner might ruin her chances... That and the whole alien abduction thing.

I dunno. I just dunno.

There needs to be a balance. Virtue in the modern, but also in the classical forms. An intersection between Machiavelli and Plato. Putting the earnest face in front with the remorseless muscle in the background. This leads me, I suppose, to one conclusion...

Sheriff Seth Bullock, historically-inspired sheriff of Deadwood, with Al Swearingen (business owner...) as his running mate. The Cowboy and the Devil. It's worked before...

So, what about you? Who would you vote for?

Trapper

Would you let a little mouse
Live inside your great big house?

Gnawing at your wiring
And baby mousies siring

Eating doggy's kibble and bits
Laving behind his mousie shits

Scamper and scratch behind the wall
In the ceiling and down the hall

You would not, like me, I bet
And so that's why the trap is set

Baited up with peanut butter
Set among the household clutter

Waiting now, for the loud snap
Then I'll be done with mousie crap

Soon the trap will snap its neck
Til then, I drink out on the deck.

Richard Martin (R-Ohio)

Listed Assumptions

It's been a while. I'm bored. Though, I'm not feeling very wordy this evening.

So, perhaps it's a good time to update the List!

1.
Scarlett Johansson retains the number one position.

2.
Christina keeps her position under Scarlett.

3.
Dita's Ass continues to draw multitudes to the Lounge.

4.
Jenna Fisher does not have many ass photos on the Internet.

5.
However, surprisingly, Mary Louise Parker does...

OBLIGATORY SAME SEX ALTERNATE

Strangely, there are no scandalous photos of Matthew McConaughey playing the bongos.

Sidney

Did ya notice?

Did ya bother to watch?

Did you see the right-wing oil puppets stand up at the lectern last week, one after another, singing the praises of Senator John S. McCain?

-See? There! I just did it too.

The Republican nominee, for as long as he's been in politics, (And he's been a politician for a long time) has always gone by "John McCain."

But now, suddenly, he is John S. McCain. The "S," by the way, stands for Sidney.

It's subtle! Well, sorta. I mean, there isn't another John McCain running for office. So, the sudden use of the middle initial isn't to clarify which candidate we're talking about.

No.

It's meant to be a reminder. A cynical, racist, bigoted reminder, pandering to small-minded yokels, of Obama's middle name.

Now, I had no choice in the selection of my middle name, and I'm certain you didn't either. Well, unless you legally changed it as an adult. My middle name was almost my first name. My son's middle name was also almost his first name. However, the name is never the choice of the name holder.

His name, in fact, was his father's name. He is the second. His father was the first. Apart from the name, and about one month when he was ten, his father had no influence on him.

Yet, the McCain-Palin camp has sunk to the ridiculous low of the subtle reminder. They used it! They chose to use it!

They made the conscious decision to use it, because they believe Americans are stupid and easily manipulated. They believe fear and war mongering can win yet another victory for the oil companies.

And then...

Then!

There is the wicked far-right branch of the Republican party. You know, the one's that have a penchant for inbreeding and snake handling... You know damn well who I'm talking about.

Well, seems there is a current in their little circle, a new tactic. Lacking decency, charity, good teeth, a complete set of 46 chromosomes or the ability to reason, they have taken to calling Mr. Obama: "B. Hussein Obama," which is, in fact, his name, subtlety be damned!

There is nothing wrong with using someone's name. You can call me Mr. G. and Tonic if you'd like. But the purpose, the intent, the goal is to cause fear and derision due to his middle name....

The underlying assumption is that "Hussein" is a bad word, that anyone with that name cannot be a good American because it's MUSLIM!! (Or African...)

And this cynical bigotry troubles me greatly. It has for a while. It makes me very worried about this country and the people in it.

And then there is this. It's a video. It's political. There are no naked women. There is no sex. However, it is far more nauseating and pain inducing than even that wretched two-girls-one-cup video...

Remember, people are buying into this shit. People you work with. People you drink with. Maybe it's your family. Maybe it's your neighbor.

It makes me very sad for this country. Mr. Obama says that we are better than this. Maybe we are not.

I Like Ike

I need to stop traveling to the South.

In August, 2005, I traveled to New Orleans for depositions. I arrived one day early to see the city. After an extremely long Sunday of gin, jazz, strippers, crayfish, blues, BBQ, humidity and vomiting, I declared that the wretched urine-smelling city needed a bath. I really did.

By the end of the month, it got one.

A BIG one.

Then, just this last May, 3,000 hardcore bikers and I descended upon the Texas filth pot known as Houston. I've already complained at length about that stinking festering shit-hole of a city. I also commented more than once, that as a bayou metropolis near the gulf coast, perhaps the universe could do me a solid and send a Hurricane.

And really, I need to stop doing this.

Apparently, I have a power. An Awesome Word of Power, not unlike Jesus. Only, where he healed the lame and fed the multitudes, I can wipe out entire southern cities with one smart-ass quip.

And I know, as a fact, that my awesome word of power is only limited to Southern destruction, because I have actually declared with full authoritative voice that Portland Oregon should have daily stripper parades and beer should flow from the fountains.

Alas, the best I have been able to achieve is Bikini Coffee...

Negligible

There is a Negligible possibility that you and every one and everything that you know may blink out of existence on October 21. The risk is small, thank heavens!

Although, that "small" risk has been calculated to be about the same as winning the lottery.

"But wait!" you may ask, "doesn't someone usually win the lottery?"

Well, sadly, yes.

See, this little group of European scientists, called CERN (European Center for Nuclear Research) has built a 27 kilometer-long tunnel 150 meters below the ground. Inside the tunnel is billions and billions of dollars of scary science shit, intended to shoot beams of super-charged atoms toward each other at roughly the speed of light.

Sounds cool, and the whole damn thing went on-line today.

Except, the point is to recreate the conditions and particles that existed within the first few nano-moments after the Big Bang.

Yes, I know what you are thinking. The Big Bang was in fact an infinitely large explosion in which unfathomable energy was converted at once into all of the matter in the known universe.

Yes, and they are attempting to do it again, so to speak, in Switzerland.

Not to worry though, as it seems 8,000 physicists have been consulted on the project, and MOST assume there is only this SMALL risk of a mishap.

What sort of mishap?

Well, there is a very tiny, but very real chance that a quantum singularity could develop there in the tunnel. This is, of course, also known as a Black Hole. An object so dense with such irresistible gravitational force that nothing, not even light can escape.

There is a black hole already at the center of our local galaxy, and it has the strength to hold billions of solar systems, like our own, in orbit. Should a second black hole develop out here in the backwaters of the Milky Way, it would not be warmly welcomed.

First, the Earth, your home, would be ripped inside out and slurped like pudding into a tiny black pinprick where Switzerland used to be. Next, the inner planets, Mars, Mercury, Venus, if they were on this side of the sun, would get sucked in. Then the Sun itself, followed by the outer planets, comets, asteroids and the entire Kyber Belt, all sucked in like soup...

Other bad stuff would then happen, which would not matter because you wouldn't exist anymore.

Apart from the Black Hole, there is also the possibility of particles called "Strangelets" being released, which would instantly turn the Earth into a lifeless chunk of super dense charcoal.

Also, theoretically, there is a risk of the creation and release of anti-matter, which, as its name suggests, doesn't play well with matter, which is what you and I are made of.

The scientists are scheduled to start crashing protons together on October 21.

Still though, MOST of the scientists guarantee us a lottery-odds chance of survival. And THAT allows me to sleep much better.

Elements

Water

We ate turkey sandwiches on the sandy lake shore as frigid water rolled in tiny waves up around our ankles. We floated along on a klunky paddle boat and circled a sunken tree trunk spied in the depths through the crystal melted snow. The kids splashed while the grownups sunned. The beer was kept cold by ice in the cooler.

Wind

Slowly, the stars dimmed behind the unfolding sheet of clouds. They blew in from the north along this thin river valley. Creeping along on the breeze, they edged ever closer to the arc light moon.

But at once, all at once, their progress was halted. A burst, a gust, a gale from the southern desert ran headlong into the clouds, and the wind that drove them. The curtain retracted and the stars reappeared, the constellations returning for an encore.

Earth

Billions upon billions of years, strata upon strata of stone, layered, settled or spread, each atop the other. The crust of the earth, ever thickening, always buildings, until what? Some force at once, or incremental over time, cuts deep down through the occult foundations of the planet itself.

The irresistible advance of erosion exposes for all to see the dark rocky underbelly of the ground. A gorge is formed, with rivers, cliffs and rubble. Eventually, a Bridge is built to span the chasm. A dare devil attempts an infamous jump. And someone decides that this mystical wound in the Earth would make a good location for a golf course.

Fire

The night is cool, but not cold. Nearby, sits the tent where I will "camp out" for the first time with my daughter. The pit is, I don't know, maybe iron, a heavy bowl resting upon charging horses, like some long-lost Mongolian throne.

Paper first and small broken twigs. Then, sticks and small branch sections. Then, the small logs and eventually, a big one.

The smoke rises, twisting with the breeze. Sparks pop and embers glow. The girl roasts a marshmallow on the Aspen branch that I sharpened for her. I sip scotch from a tequila glass.

My hair smells of smoke and my face reflects the radiating heat. The night is still, and the girl sits on my lap in the glow of the fire, softly singing me songs. A perfect night, really; impossible to imagine better.

Starlight Starbright

What do you get when you are at 8,000 feet with an anti-light pollution ordinance, a bright moon, a 19 mm wide-angle lens and a 30-second shutter delay?

Why, you get moonlit photos like this, of course...

If you click on them, you can see better copies...

Bikers

Tent

Greetings from the tent. Mrs G&T and I, along with the boy, have driven to Idaho to visit Oosje and Bampa, and to pick up the girl who has been visiting here for the past 3 weeks.

The sky has been blue here in this pristine alpine valley. The weather is perfect, and I have opted to sleep outdoors in the spacious tent next to the meadow.

Fortunately, Oosje's WiFi signal reaches all the way out here!

So, I look forward to peeing behind a tree at 3:00 in the morning, and sleeping in relative silence. With luck, Sasquatch won't get me.

Or the bears...

Or the moose.

Or Steven Spielberg. (his house is just down the road, and I hear he is a vicious sleep walker when he's been drinking....)

Ah, but you should see the stars...

90%

Over all, John McCain has voted with George W. Bush 90% of the time. That means, he thought George W. Bush and Dick Cheney were right 90% of the time.

In 2007, that voting rate went up to 95% of the time.

This year?

Oh, this year??

2008: 100%