HOW IN THE WORLD...

...Did I NOT think of this??

H8te

It's funny what you learn when you visit other places. For instance, did you know that Californians are voting this year on whether to intentionally put discrimination INTO their state Constitution???

INTO...

I don't even know how this is possible. California Proposition 8, it seems, amends their state constitution to discriminate against homosexuals, polygamists, hermaphrodites and transsexuals.

I mean, the very purpose for a constitution is to LIMIT the power of government and ensure the rights of the individual, NOT to take away fundamental rights of individuals. That is entirely against the purpose of a constitution!

I am baffled. I am dismayed. What the hell is the point of anything in this country if we can just turn a constitution into a weapon of hatred??

History is repeating itself. The Visigoths are on their way...

Poolsged

It is warm in Sacramento. I am sitting by the pool smoking a cigar watching the guests mill about. This place seems to be filled

It is warm in Sacramento. I am sitting by the pool smoking a cigar watching the guests mill about. This place seems to be filled with bike

Bathroom Humor

Jimmy Olson

There is very little left to watch on network broadcast Television. For me, it comes down to Heroes and The office. Yes, Yes, 30 Rock is terribly funny. However, The Office, now in its fourth season, has reached its stride. It is skull cracking funny, witty and warm all at once.

Other than DVDs from Netflix and waiting for the final ten episodes of Battlestar in January, that's all I watch.

Well, sorta.

Secretly, embarrassingly, I have to confess to one additional network series that we watch. Yes, after 8 seasons, We are still watching Smallville. I know! I know!! The show should have ended four seasons ago. It should not still be on the air. The last three seasons have been miserably horrible. Dismal. Wretched.

And while this season has shown a creative upturn in the narrative, I still cannot recommend it to ANYONE. so, really, don't watch it.

But yet, we watch it.

As we did, once again, tonight.

Clark Kent is not quite Superman; though, he is like 45 years old...

But at least, all of the peripheral characters are gone. Young Lex has quit the show. Lex's apocryphal dad is dead. Clark's parents are gone, and his non-Lois love interest is gone. Clark is now at the Daily Planet, and he hangs out with Lois lane and Jimmy Olson. The Story has finally almost "gotten there."

Which leads me to the point.

No, see, the point isn't Smallville, nor is it even Jimmy Olson, as the title suggests. No, this post is about Jimmy's newspaper-photographer equipment.

See, tonight, Jimmy was taking pictures of some monster thing that Clark had to fight with a tire... Long explanation, not relevant...

So, Jimmy is blazing away in a dark alley with his digital SLR rig, fat lens and blazing flash. I wait, of course, for Jimmy to turn toward the TV camera for the necessary product placement, which he obediently does, and provides a slow close-up shot of the Nikon emblem on his camera.

Then, Mrs. G&T, in her own precious way, looks over at me and says: "so, is his flash better than yours?"

Which, in fact, causes me to grimace. I scowl and twitch because, goddamn it, the honest answer to her question is: "Yes!!"

MOTHERFUCKER!!

Yes. Jimmy Olson shoots Nikon. I shoot Canon. And everyone in the know, knows that Nikon makes better flashes. Their flashes are more advanced and more flexible. Their camera bodies have advantages with insanely high ISO speeds, advanced noise reduction and impressive live-view capability.

Canon? Well, Canon makes better lenses. Which really is the point. The camera exists for the lens. It's all about the glass. Which is really the reason I shoot Canon, and not Nikon.

Well, sorta.

The fact is, I'm a Canon snob. My grandfather put an SLR camera in my hands for the first time when I was 12, and it was a Canon. Every professional photographer that I've ever known, save one recent one, has shot Canon. I Love Canon. I visit the Canon products home page more often that I look at porn.

Now look, it is entirely irrational. I get it. I know! It makes no sense, and I cannot defend it, but the bottom line, raw truth is, I hate Nikon. I hate it. I hate the product line. I hate the company. I want it to fail. I get angry every time I go to Costco and see some sad schmuck with his shitty Nikon D40 box popping out of his cart.

I hate Nikon advertising in my photo magazines. I hate Nikon product placement in my television shows. I belong to the quiet and confident Canon family, and the blood-thirsty zombie Nikon Hottentots are at the gate.

It's a sickness, really. An obsession, but Nikon must die. Die Damn you! Die!!

Perhaps if I were Superman, I could save the world from the evils of Nikon. for now, though, I must simply stew in my own seething hatred.

Another One for THAT One

Never humiliate your press secretary by coercing him to lie on your behalf to the world media.

He will destroy you, your party and your pawns.

I keep waiting for McCain to endorse Obama.

Oh, by the way, I voted today. Just one tiny little hammer stroke onto the final nail of Cheney's coffin.

Of Note

First there are two new blogs added to the link list. First, Allie has given up on the Gouda, but is now running an adviser site called "Ask Allie Anything" I'm not sure that her answers are correct, but go ahead, ask her something...

Second, Ev's beau Bill is running his own blog. The link is to the right. Stop by and check him out.

Lastly, I hope to deleiver most of the calendars tomorrow, or at least get them packaged. The print quality is not what I hoped for, but the layout is great...

That is all. Move along now.

Wash Your Hands

Suddenly, I have the need to wash my hands.



Thanks to Marge for the submission.

The Caledars Have Arrived

I just received word from Mrs G&T, who is at home, sick, that the calendars have arrived, and they look good!

We will try to get those packaged up tonight.

Dirty... Dirty... Dirty...

Sacramento

Once again Biker duty calls.

Later this week, I'll pack every pair of jeans and every black shirt that I own. We have a couple of things to talk about this time around. A couple of cases to present.

I'll be addressing the crowd. Stating the case. Looking 500 black-leather-clad bikers in the eye, trying desperately not to look like the out-of-place jackass poser that I am...

And then, there is the town.

California's capitol.

I drive through a few times per year, going to, or coming from, Los Angeles. Frequently flying past, as fast as I can, to get to the first In-n-Out in Stockton. However, I have stopped on occasion, just to look around. I've driven around. Seen the sights. I've even seen the Jerry Brown portrait at the capitol building.



So, now what? What is there to do in Sacramento?

There are politicians and lawyers, so there has to be a strip club.

Sutter's mill?

Wine tasting?

Jesus, I'll not even be that far from San Francisco.

I'll probably just go see a movie again, drink and wait for the feds to come harass our boys.

Anyone have any good entertainment tips for California's Capitol city?

Nice Glass

Glass, it seems, makes me horny.

Long glass. Fat glass. Short glass. Fast glass. I like to hold it, weighing its heft. Judging its length. Testing its speed.

I like to slowly swab it, daubing it, cleaning slowly with fluid and wipes. Circling smoothly with dry compound cleaners and soft bristle brushes.

I gingerly care for my glass, covering it, capping it, stowing securely with straps, buckles and zippers.

I like to hear about other people's glass. I like them to tell me about their desire for spotting scopes, digiscopes, telescopes and binoculars.

I like to hear about other people's un-filtered fish-eyes and crop-factored telephotos. Size, they say, doesn't really matter, but really, it all depends on what you need it for. Sometimes, a job requires a small one, no longer than my finger. Sometimes, it requires a heavy one, as long as my leg.

Groups and elements of glass, ground and polished to imperceptible tolerances, ashpyrical, concave and convex, meniscal and planar; infinite combinations to correct aberration as the lens drinks-in the available illumination.

Some suck more greedily than others, lapping at the light, slurping it down. Swallowing. Magnifying. Focusing. Diffracting.

But, glass is just glass.

Though, I suppose you could say that about anything. Regardless, it flips my Pavlovian switch like few things can. Or maybe it's Freud's switch. Hard to say, really. Doesn't really matter. I just cannot get enough of that fast fat watery glass.

So, tell me about your glass. I'd love to hear.

Weekend Wrap Up

Never coerce a 4-star general to lie for you under oath.

He will destroy you, your party and your pawns in the end.

Truffula?

He was shortish. And oldish.
And brownish. And mossy.
And he spoke with a voice
that was sharpish and bossy.
"Mister!" he said with a sawdusty sneeze,
"I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.
I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.
And I'm asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs"-
he was very upset as he shouted and puffed-
"What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?"

We were deep, deep in the South.

Now, I don't mean "South," like Dixie and bass fishing. No, I mean the South county. Clackamas County, which in some ways is very much like Dixie. Deep into the wily reaches, we roamed, away from the private lake and the interstate. Away from the Urban Growth Boundary. Away from civilization.

Sure, there were roads there, and stores and schools. However, the proliferation of churches and McCain signs was making me uneasy. Farmsteads were surrounded by barbed wire. Old tire-less cars sat rusting in front yards. Pickup trucks ranged over the roads.

More than once, I considered removing the Obama magnet from the back of my car. I mean, I was alone in the car with my friend JB and neither of us were wearing cowboy hats. Neither of us smelled of cow shit, and neither of us had married our own sisters.

Let's just say, we didn't blend in...

But, we were on a safari, and we followed our spirit of adventure. It was a beautiful blue October afternoon, and we were out to shoot photos of whatever we could find.

Unfortunately, in South Clackamas County, apparently, the only thing to be found was Christmas tree farms and cows. Neither of which offered a wealth of photographic opportunity.

We stopped and stomped around the clackamas river. JB picked up a nice shot of a blue heron.



I, on the other hand, didn't fare as well.

Then, we drove on. Searching, scanning, seeking something worthy of investigation.

Then, just past the tiny town of Liberal, Oregon, we found it. A field? A forest? Acres for sure. Many many many acres of trees. Oh, but not just any trees. No, these came straight out of a Dr. Seuss story book.



The Lorax, for instance, came immediately to mind.



It was unearthly. Unnatural. We skidded to stop, and careened up the tiny dirt access road. Sure it was probably trespassing, but then, were weren't exactly dressed like Topiary burglars.



Although, on second thought, how exactly would a topiary burglar be dressed??



It was mesmerizing. Not even Seuss himself could have described a stranger place. No two trees were the same. Each one, and there were thousands, had to have been hand trimmed, meticulously carved into unique shapes.



Was this perhaps the true home of the real-life Edward Scissor Hands?



We both bolted from the car, cameras in hand, and started to blaze away. The sun was getting low, and the shadows were deep. Still, there was enough there to shoot until nightfall.



Unfortunately, though, we didn't have all the time in the world, and I was getting thirsty...



And so, we moved on, found some food and a couple of G&Ts, and pondered the meaning of the trees.

I never actually spotted the Lorax, but if he exists, I know now where to find him...

Unintentional Theme

Hello Darth Kitty

Thanks to Fred for that...

Foundation

Political speech is strictly-protected by the First Amendment to the Constitution.

So, here's some political speech for you:

Vice president Dick Cheney is a goat-fucking Satan-sucking treasonous shit-bag.

Or, as Joe Biden said, "Vice President Cheney has been the most dangerous Vice President we’ve had probably in American history."

And now the final stage in the game begins.

News came out today that Dick Cheney was treated for an irregular heart rhythm this morning and spent the rest of the day resting at home.

First, I know what you're thinking: "Wait, dick Cheney has a heart?"

Well of course he does! He ONLY appears to be a soulless automaton bent of global domination. Silly. You cannot feast on the flesh of children like he does without a fully functioning circulatory system.

Sure, it appears that his ticker actually needs a periodic jump start from a car battery! but really, I'm pretty sure he's human. A shitty good-for-nothing succubus of a human, but still, human.

But here's the point. Cheney is going to die. Probably before the inauguration in January. If it happens to be Obama, he may die sooner.

But really, he won't really be dead. No, he's going to fake his own death and move to Dubai and live off of the hundreds of billions he's hijacked from the tax payers.

Why fake his death? Well, because once Obama's team get their hands on the White House, the jig will be up. Executive misconduct, abuse of power, fraud, lying to congress, treason... They may have been dirty deeds, but they were far from dirt-cheap. American service men and women have died to make Cheney wealthy. And instead of paying the penalties and facing his record, He'll just fake his death. mark my words. and it all begins today with the smallest of news blurbs about an irregular rhythm...

Next week, it will be more serious, and he will be dead by December...

Don't say I didn't tell you so...

Sarah Palin Sings!

New Drink Recipe

So, um, Familytrain forwarded a new drink recipe to me today.

Well, actually, it's a link to a new drink recipe

So, here at the Lounge, we discuss all manner of varied and splendid topics. I have virtually wallpapered the Lounge with pictures of Dita's ass. The Lounge ladies have submitted many interesting photos of themselves and their underwear. We especially celebrate strippers and the First amendment!

However, I'm not sure I should post the drink recipe. Mostly because many of you read this worthless rag from work.

"But, Mr. Gin and Tonic, how could a simple drink recipe be NSFW??" You may be asking yourself. Good question. Please allow me to remind you that the drink recipe link came from FAMILYTRAIN.

OK, so, I'll just post the link, and I'll let you take your own chances...

Click HERE for the drink recipe.

Mozzarella

There is a small plastic package of fresh mozzarella in my cheese drawer, and I can't stop thinking about it.

Apart from its easy smooth-melting qualities and light salty taste, Mozzarella is mostly a non-descript dairy product. It has almost no independent flavor, yet it complements many other foods with natural affiliation.

Basil, for instance, marries well with it. So do tomatoes. Garlic. Salami.

Which is, of course why it is the official cheese of pizza.

When wed to these other decidedly-Italian flavors, it wraps around them with hot elastic love, and binds them all together.

Also in my fridge, is some thin-sliced salty prosciutto. And, I am still a little hungry. I foresee a small glass of wine in my immediate future, with a few slices of cured meat, White cheese and maybe an apple.

Yep. That's it. Time for a snack.