I Love Homosexuals

Got your attention didn't I?  If you don't read the rest of this you will be very confused.  It's an odd subject I know, but I'll explain.  A good friend forwarded me an email she had been sent that had links to 4 videos. 1, 2, 3, 4.  There are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand.  One that truly baffles me is fear and/or hatred of homosexuals.  Could anything be more benign?  I mean seriously, have you ever seen roving gangs of gays terrorizing a neighborhood redecorating and starting choruses to popular show tunes?  

There would be a lot of perks if I were gay.  Can you imagine combining hanging out with the guys and trying to score into one thing?  Talk about multi-tasking.  Even if you strike out the game is still on and you have half a pitcher left.  The problem is I'm not gay.  I wasn't born that way.  I am not interested in gay sex just like I'm not interested in shoving a toothbrush down my ear canal.  Gay is a choice?  You can't possibly be that stupid.  Though I admit I've never done it I'm going to go out on a limb here - gay sex is something you would have to be pretty motivated to do.  And for that ummm....discomfort, you have now ostracized yourself from mainstream society.  Ooh, where do I sign?  

What kills me is how people who have read about 13 words from the bible seem to suddenly find religion when the subject of homosexuality comes up.  You can be talking to a woman who has been to church 5 times in 10 years - 3 of which were her own weddings and was going down on 7-11 clerks for beer at age 15 but somehow becomes holier than thou about the word of God if you mention homosexuality.  All of the sudden scripture becomes literal.  Anyone wearing a cotton-poly blend doesn't have to be stoned and the NFL isn't evil for working on the sabbath but Ru Paul is the Anti-Christ.  I'm not buying it.  That can't be it.  9 times out of 10 people use religion to justify a decision they've already made, not to make the decision.  So what is the source?  For men the obvious answer is probably true.  They are threatened by the fear of loosing their manhood.  Pop quiz gents:  Does the idea of a ____ in your ___ sound appealing?  If so, you should check into that.  If not YOU'RE NOT GAY!  Not a lot of middle ground there.  You can get so drunk that you may wake up at a Denny's with a sweet and low packet stuck to your forehead but I guarantee you won't wake up spooning the postman because you had one jaeger shot too many.  As for women I'm not sure.  Their fear of being lesbian is probably the identical reverse for men being gay.  Why they don't want their kids to be gay I'm not sure.  It would be the benefit of the doubt to assume they just fear for what their children will go through.  Frankly I'm not buying that either.  They adore Gay Kenny at work but if their son comes home with a Cher album he finds himself in military school the next week.  I don't get it.

"So Ryan, you haven't explained the title yet".  Alright, fair enough.  Love is a strong term and I use it to make a point.  There are many reasons actually:

1)  I have no reason to dislike them.  I am perfectly comfortable with my sexuality.  As limited as my sex life may be it is always with women and I really really enjoy it.  You hear men say they are comfortable with their sexuality but are clearly uncomfortable around homosexuals.  Sorry boys, it's a contradiction, get over it.

2)  They are awesome wingmen!  You know why you take a gay man with you to a bar?  Because you aren't allowed to bring kittens and the only thing women love more than gay men are kittens.  Excluding diamonds of course, but they just aren't cost effective.  Not to mention they are just good for the odds.  Last I checked boys and girls are born pretty much 50/50.  If you see 4 gay men at a bar that's 4 women out there somewhere that don't wanna settle for sitting home alone and polishing off a bottle of merlot. 

3)  Gay people take friendship very seriously.  The sad reality is that many (perhaps most) homosexuals don't have intact relationships with their families.  Add to that they have no kids and most aren't in a life long relationship.  Their circle of friends is their family.  If you become good friends with a gay person believe me, they'll never forget you at Christmas.

4)  They know what it's like to be judged.  When they dare to be themselves they do so knowing full well that they will be judged for it.  Now this is true of everyone if you want to be literal but not nearly so much.  Having felt the sting of judgement they are not one's to do the same.  

5)  Because no one is more wrongly persecuted and dammit that's just not right.  It was wrong 1000 years ago, it's wrong now and it will always be wrong.  Sometimes it's not easy to know what's right but most of the time it's blatantly obvious.

All in Good Fun

The reality is that I'm a simple creature. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Little things make me giggle and the quality of one's life can oft be measured by how often one giggles. I found another source of giggles and took full advantage.

Holy Hypocrisy Batman!

Ok, until now I've resisted making political posts but this is too much. After harping on Obama for his lack of experience NON-STOP our paternal pachyderms have nominated the president of a lesser known Alaskan PTA as vice president? This is too good. Let's recap shall we. Obama graduated first from Columbia then Harvard law. Was a civil rights attorney while volunteering in the inner city of Chicago. He then was a law professor while serving 8 years in the senate of a state of 12.8 million people. He has been a US senator much longer than Palin has been a governor. Here's some fun facts for you:

If Alaska were a city it would rank 20th in population among American cities
The population of New York City exceeded the current population of Alaska in 1850
There are more left-handed people in New York City than people in Alaska
There are 300k more caribou than people in Alaska
There are more bears than black people in Alaska
There are more wolves than Jews in Alaska
If every person killed 9/11 was an Alaskan Jew there wouldn’t be a yarmulke left in the state
There are more left-handed people named James or John in the US then people in Alaska

I could go all day. And how's that abstinence only education working out for you Sarah? I have no problem with wanting to have a big family - honestly I don't - but if you are 43 and want another child? ADOPT! Then your grandson doesn't have to sit in the governor's office trying in vain to explain the teletubbies to his uncle while his mom tries to score tickets to Brittney on eBay.

This is a woman who stood in front of a congregation and asked them to pray for a new pipeline as it was "God's plan". God is a little busy Cupcake so let me pass on a little message for you, "Stop bugging me was this selfish fodder. I didn't create the universe so that I can swoop in to grant your earmarks you sniveling simpletons. By the way, I wrote a book. Read it. ALL of it, not just the catchy quotes you pick up from your 365 day desk calendar."

I'm sure I've crossed a line (or six) with most of you. Comfort yourself in the knowledge that I am editing myself...severely.

Portland

Hello loyal readers. Ok it's been a while since I've written but the posters below count for something right? Been busy...really busy. A few weeks ago I made my first trip to Portland. Now as an accomplished road warrior I have all the tricks down:

-Sandals for getting through security
-T-shirt with pocket for keeping ID and boarding pass handy (luggage ticket on back of boarding pass of course)
-Check in online 23:59 hrs before flight to get best seat (check seatguru.com for secret best seats)

I could go on. Here's a couple to add to the list. When going to Portland PACK AN UMBRELLA OR AT LEAST A HAT! A humbling road warrior mistake. To compound the problem there wasn't a beanie to be had in the entire city of Portland. My ears get cold easily and once cold it's over. As you may have guessed it rained THE ENTIRE WEEK. For a smart guy I am pretty stupid.

Found a smokin' deal at the Hilton downtown so I was downtown on foot all week. Cool town. On foot I had to choose between dozens of restaurants and bars. From really old wood carved bars to ultra swanky contemporary joints. Went to my first fondue restaurant. Lessons learned: First, don't go to a fondue restaurant alone - it's like sitting alone in a heart shaped jacuzzi...which I've also done sadly. Secondly, skip straight to dessert. The main course is glorified cheese dip - dessert is a steaming pot of happy. I didn't feel alone anymore. It was so good I felt dirty. Portland is a beer town. Micro-brews everywhere. In Malibu you get dirty looks for ordering a beer. In Portland you get dirty looks for not ordering a beer. I never got a chance to test my theory but I am pretty sure that the kids in the park had a nice thick porter in their sippy cups.

One thing I have to say bad about Portland: I have never had so many people beg me for money in one week in my life (close second to San Francisco and Houston). What was really aggravating about it is that most of them were perfectly healthy kids in their very early 20's...if that. I would like to get my coffee in the morning without having to put up with, "Hey Big-Baller, spare a dollar?" from a 19 yr old girl. That's a quote - I couldn't make that up. At risk of sounding like my right-wing conservative friends I wanted to say, "No Moonbeam, I can't, unless you promise to invest it in soap to wash that rancid patchouli funk out of your hairy armpits."

Took a drive over the mountains in the rented Caddy DTS (piiiiiimp) to the shore (see picture above). Highly recommended. Monterey it is not, but it makes southern California coastline look like the kiddy pool at Sunsplash. Desert rats don't get to drive through snowy forests often either. Snow is slippery if you are curious.

Great town, great time, too many hippies. Definitely check it out if you get a chance. Come thirsty and bring plenty of singles...but not for the hippies...

I Crack Myself Up

The Internet is Dangerous

50,000 Milloinaire Hippies Can't (always) be Wrong

Ah Monterey.... Probably my favorite place in the world. This picture doesn't begin to do it justice. Any beautiful place you've been to you can forget about. Seen the Rockies? -frozen rocks. Been to the beaches of Florida? -muggy sandbox. Fall in New England? -dead leaves. There are beautiful places and then there is the central coast. Meg Ryan is a pretty woman but stand her next to Heidi Klum and she might as well be Roseanne Arnold.

My hotel was called Butterfly Grove because it is the largest butterfly sanctuary in America. A couple mornings I had to shoo away a deer from my car. There are otters and seals playing in the water below you and whales in the distance if you pay attention. The most beautiful golf courses in the world are there and the world's most exclusive auto show in the world is held ON a fairway. Are you getting my point? I could go on but I'm sure It's getting tedious.

Every night I soaked in my jacuzzi tub watching the fireplace listening to the waves crash and thought, "Who do I have to kill to live here?" If you made the list you'll know soon. I spent a lot of my spare time climbing around on the rocks looking in tide pools. Not something you can do in Arizona. On a drive south towards Big Sur I saw a sign that read "Coastal Access" that led to a footpath as it turned out. I have since written a letter to the Coastal Commission of California explaining that in the interest of public safety it should read "Coastal Access (not you fat boy)" During the parts when I was sliding down the hill on my ass I should have been thinking of how exactly I was going to climb out in loafers but I didn't let something as petty as survival instinct get in my way.

After my little brush with natural selection I stopped at Rocky Point Grill which is where I took the picture above. That has to be the most enjoyable beer I've ever had. I was overlooking the most famous spot on the PCH, glad to be alive (and picking gravel out of my elbows) and watching whales work their way north. You can't actually see the whales just their puffs as the cruise by in the distance. What was neat about that was watching the infrequent big puffs interspersed with the more frequent little puffs as the mothers guided their calves up the coast. Sigh.....

I've done the math and if I sell my condo and my car, sell my plasma weekly and adapt to a diet of ramen and Totino's pizzas I can afford to live in a converted port-o-john in Carmel. After a couple years I could sell and use the equity to move into a tool shed in Pacific Grove. If I keep it up by the time I'm 80 I can sell my condo and buy South Dakota. Plan B: Practice until I can do origami with my tongue and cruise the bingo parlors looking for a "sponsor". Don't judge me people - Anna Nicole Smith's husband looked like a turkey neck in a wheelchair.

Orange Diego

Today's entry is a combination of Orange County and San Diego. Are they the same place? - No. Are they close enough and am I so lazy that I'm not going to write individual posts - Yes. Come on, I'm not the first guy to squish similar places together - worked in Yugoslavia right? For a while anyway.

Let's start with a basic premise: L.A. sucks. What it lacks in hospitality it makes up for with pollution, traffic, expense and crime. Everyone in L.A. has some grand scheme that isn't working out somehow. And you, having stumbled into their lives through some cruel twist of fate, are dirtying their ambiance with your presence - or so their look tells you. "I said no foam Trevor - remember, great art comes from suffering so suffer your way over to the latte machine and try again. And here's a tip, take out the eyeball piercing before your next job interview."

That being said Orange County is not L.A. It does have some of the faults - Traffic can be rough and it is expensive. But traffic isn't that bad and it's not too insanely expensive. I spent a good chunk of my week at the Newport Pier. There's a great little bar/grill at the end of it. Primary difference between O.C. and L.A. is the people and that's what matters most wherever you go. I had so many good conversations there. And you feel legitimately welcome there. The J Crew model bartenders even invited me to go wounded bunny hunting Valentine's night. I've never been one for victimizing emotionally vulnerable women but it was nice to be invited.

San Diego is a beautiful city and holds a lot of fond memories. As a kid growing up in Phoenix San Diego was the obvious escape from the summer blast furnace. My first pro baseball game with my dad was in S.D., my first swim in the ocean was in S.D., my first visit to a restaurant more fun than Village Inn was in S.D. - I could go on. Stone brewery, bistro and gardens was awesome! San Diego zoo was a kick. Ocean Beach was a lovely collection of head shops and mostly naked girls strolling by. Killer mexican food everywhere. In short I could be very happy in S.D. - if somebody paid my rent.

When I find myself getting frustrated with California traffic I put on the shades, roll down the windows and roll back the sunroof to let the 75 degree salt breeze blow through and crank up the stereo. I'm gonna get sick of California if they keep sending me there...but not yet.

Vegas baby!

First let me apologize as I have taken procrastination to new heights in not writing for 2 months. No excuse. I finally turned my procrastination against itself and convinced myself that if I don't write I have to do something responsible.....like my taxes. Blog it is.

A few weeks ago I was sent to "work" in Las Vegas. Just to clarify: I was paid to go to Vegas on the company dime. Forgive my uncontrolled giggling. For the record I did do my job. Stayed at the Flamingo - can't beat it for the money. The view from my window were the Caesars fountains. The Bellagio fountains were a little to the left. Every morning my breakfast of a diet coke and croissant was eaten outdoors in the flamingo gardens 20 feet from the exotic bird collection and waterfalls. Sigh...... Though I do have one major complaint for the Flamingo: If one of the cheeses in your "Four cheese pizza" is blue cheese that is VITAL information that should be on the menu. If I am selling you daycare and I say we have four staff members to keep an eye on your kids I would tell you if one was Michael Jackson.

The unusual becomes commonplace in Vegas. You have to pay attention not to take it for granted. One night I was wandering looking for dinner in the Caesars mall and came across Wolfgang Puck's asian restaurant. I say "Asian" because there was a full sushi bar and full chinese menu too. I was one of 3 customers there. Probed the staff for local knowledge and recommendations. Nice conversation with the bartender and a waitress so sexy that 20 or so IQ points were instantly sucked from my head every time we made eye contact. Once I scared her away I was given the remotes to the plasmas and left to my stir fry - the best stir fry I've ever had. That is a normal Sunday night in Vegas.

Part of what I love about Vegas is that everybody is there to have a good time. I don't mean tetanus shot and bail money good time - just enjoy themselves. You meet lots of fun people. Though a downside is that every extroverted mouthbreathing dolt you sit nearby seems to think that being in Vegas means you want to talk to them. During the entire week not once did the phrases "So what do you do" or "Have you been winning" escape my lips. They didn't even cross my mind. And yet I can go into detailed explanation as to the progressively tragic vocational paths and gambling habits of about 5 people I ran into there. This is where iPods come in handy. I often leave my earphones in even if it's not on. Even that doesn't stop everybody.


So I had never seen a cabaret. Isn't that a reason in and of itself? I thought so. An hour and a half, $50 (not counting 2 $8 bud lights) later I had seen a cabaret...and wanted my money back. If you are nauseatingly wealthy and your wife keeps you under 24 hr surveillance yet seems to think a cabaret is somehow different than a strip club than I can see the appeal - maybe. Watching girls try to turn stripping into a performance piece was painful. The good news was that $50 is much less than the $130 it would take to watch a good show so in my mind I now had $80 to try something else. Plan B: Hypnotist comedian! Saw Anthony Cools' show at the Paris. THAT was funny. Unfortunately it was 'you had to be there' funny. Somehow watching someone audition for a porno under the impression that a chair is a beautiful woman is humor that gets lost in translation. And it was only $60. See - I saved $20! If you subtract the $20 from my gambling losses I was only down $80 for the whole week. This is the logic that keeps the lights on in Las Vegas casinos.

My dog is cuter than your dog

I've received many well-wishing condolences since my post about Rug dying - more specifically, the joy of getting to kill your own dog. I appreciate them very much but thought that I should throw in a post about "Big Boo" so it doesn't seem like I am crying myself to sleep at night on my huge pillow (we'll see how many people get that reference).

Maggie is am 18 month old Olde English Bulldogge.

No, she isn't an English Bulldog and yes I can spell. Basically she is a taller healthier version of the English Bulldog. As for the title of the entry let's cut the crap - you know it's true. As I type this she is sleeping next to me suckling in her sleep. A 65 lb bulldogge suckling in it's sleep is just below bunnies sneezing and above baby deer on the list of the world's cutest things. Don't be too jealous, I said cuter not better. She is afraid of her own shadow and frequently mistakes my loft for a fire hydrant. Her taste in chew toys ranges from designer clothes to remote controls to walls. But she is my dog and I wouldn't prefer any other.

She is named Maggie after Margaret Thatcher but I soon realized that Maggie is the most common name of dog. Didn't see that one coming. So Bulldogge was gradually shortened to Boo. Not too macho, I know, but I didn't get my dog to look tough.

Strange animal in many respects. Having a face that looks like she was hit with a shovel makes her sound like an 80 year old man during his afternoon nap much of the time. Flatulence is something else she borrows from 80 yr old men. She rarely makes a sound (besides snoring), in fact I've never heard her yelp. I've seen her fall from the couch and crack her head on the coffee table yet not a squeak. Once hiking with me I noticed that she wasn't at my heels which was unusual. I turned to see her hanging from a 10 foot drop by her front legs. But she patiently clung waiting for me to come get her - not one sound. You can walk her up to a chicken coop or herd of kittens and she shows no interest. During a car ride she just sleeps on the floor.

Many people think she's retarded. It's not a bad theory. But she was the star pupil in her obedience class. She just doesn't care about chickens or cats or physical pain for that matter. She only cares about people. She enjoys the Discovery Channel - especially dog shows. Only one major allergy thankfully - the planet Earth. Every day is a battle against some rash or infection.

And again I wouldn't trade her for the world (although all reasonable offers will be considered). Here's a little wisdom for you: Never trust someone who doesn't like dogs. Think about it, a dog-hater is someone who finds no value in unconditional love and endless entertainment and instead sees only inconvenience and a cramp on their style. You have to have some wires crossed to think that way. Entering a relationship with someone who doesn't like dogs is knowing that it is more important that you provide convenience to the person than love as this is how they prioritize. They can fake it for a while but in the end their true self must come out. Maggie makes me laugh everyday. Put a price tag on that.

A Newfound Appreciation for Electricity

Phoenix has many things that people in other states do not realize. Running water, paved roads and cable Tv to name a few. One little gem I had not experienced is an ice storm. Educational I admit, but I could have died happy without ever having cracked open my car like an egg.

Last week was a joyous romp through the (God-forsaken, frigid) breadbasket of America. I'm not built for tundra having grown up in a sandbox as you might assume. Upon arriving in Oklahoma City Sunday I had the joy of chipping my rental car from a solid block of ice (picture above provided for illustration purposes only). Driving on ice reminded me of when I was 6 and I would get a running start and hit the kitchen linoleum wearing only socks to see how far I could slide. Unfortunately most of those memories end in tears - this one promised to end in higher insurance rates. I tobogganed my way down the highway until I was out of it and had a day and a half reprieve working south of the storm.

Tuesday I had to go north to Tulsa, or as I call it "The Heart of Darkness". The drive to Tulsa was just creepy. For those of you who haven't seen the after-effects of an ice storm I'll explain. Ice is much heavier than snow. Therefore many of the things it builds up on such as tress simply crumble under the strain. Entire groves of trees looked like a giant had stepped on them. Having confirmed that my hotel had electricity I picked my way past the convoys of service trucks heading into the city and made it to safety in one piece. As I stood on my balcony I wondered at what people without power were doing to stay warm. I thought perhaps the decent thing to do would be to offer to share my room with someone less fortunate - like the Oral Roberts cheerleading squad perhaps. How can they stay warm in those little skirts? My magnanimity was soon dashed and my heart lurched when I heard the tell-tale sounds of all electricity leaving the premises. Not good.

Sun going down and no place to sleep. Fortunately my hotel in Wichita did have electricity and was willing to let me come early. It was highway time. Driving in ice at night is not something I would recommend but at least when you can only see the highway in front of you you cannot see the frozen waste that surrounds you and it is oddly comforting. I drove like a 15 year old with a learners permit taking my first lesson with dad. At least for the first hour or so. I had already driven for several hours to get to Tulsa and my patience is not the stuff of legends. Eventually I was moving down the highway at a good clip. Not a lot to occupy your mind for hours on the highway with nothing to see but Jesus billboards. I couldn't help being struck by the fact that Jesus was the only Palestinian Jew I'd ever seen that looked like a Bee Gee. I think the point they were making was lost on me.

So 3 hours later I arrived in Wichita as the happiest (perhaps luckiest) man in the city. I honestly fought to keep the grin off my face. The girl checking me into the hotel eventually asked, "Ummm why are you smiling?"

"Because you have electricity and...and.....I'm just happy."

"We're glad you're happy sir (you creepy freak)"

Now in Wichita I found myself with 2 days to kill. Caught up on my beauty sleep and found myself bored so I left to explore. I made it two steps out the door of the hotel before finding myself in near splits for the first time in a loooonnnnggggg time. I was sort of impressed with myself actually. It's amazing how flexible you can be when you're trying to avoid breaking your ass on frozen concrete. The next 5 minutes was Ryan learning how one walks (strong term) on frozen concrete. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for some smart ass rabbit named Thumper mocking my lack of dexterity as he skated around me. "We'll see who's laughing when there's a fire asshole!" I made it down to a pond where I was accosted by 50 very hungry ducks. The guilt eventually got to me (I'm such a sucker) so I went to the store and learned that there is no duck food aisle. There are hot dog buns though. Advice for you would-be duck saviors out there - break the bread into crumbs BEFORE they know you have it. Especially if there are geese. If you don't feed them fast enough they will search for food in places that are uncomfortable to say the least.

Two bad movies and an oddly eclectic museum (ever seen a T-Rex skeleton and a Martina Navratilova autograph in the same place?) later I was on a plane home. A little bruised, a little smarter and a lot more appreciative of the little sand box I call home. I now posses the greatest gift a trip into the Midwest can give you: A little smile every time I write my mortgage check.

The Land that Taste Forgot

Hello loyal readers. This post will be more upbeat. Of course after writing about putting your dog to sleep dental surgery is upbeat. Last week was a trip to the Jersey shore. Never been and was looking forward to it.

Flew into Philadelphia (don't ask why) and hit the road for Somer's Point just south of Atlantic City. Learned that my GPS had somehow confused the Philadelphia Airport with a sewer map of Taiwan. After 15 minutes of frustration I turned it off and tried the coin toss method of navigation. Three 50/50 decisions all made incorrectly later I decided "Bridge = Leaving" and made for the green monstrosity in the distance. 15 minutes later I was in Jersey. Just as I crossed the state line KISS came on the radio. It was a sign, "Abandon Taste All Ye Who Enter Here."

The next day I drove up to Seaside Heights (sounds scenic doesn't it?) by way of Atlantic City. I wasn't really in a casino mood but I couldn't drive right through without even stopping. Las Vegas it is not. I went to The Trump Plaza to play some poker. Problem - there is no poker at the Trump. Are you kidding me?! It was like finding out there is no 6 foot rat at Disneyland. Walked a while and made my way into Caesars. If there was no poker there I would have called it a day. Unfortunately there was. Important poker tip: Diamonds and Hearts look very similar when you are seated on the end. Trip queens don't beat flushes no matter how surprised you are to see that the guy you raised three times has an Ace high flush. The whole table looked at me like they didn't know whether to laugh or give me a hug and a medal. My ego didn't need that. Took my last $12 in chips and limped away.

On to Seaside. My only real experience with coastline is California. There the general rule is the closer to the water the better so I booked my hotels according to this philosophy. One glaring difference between California and New Jersey however - California coastlines don't close for the winter. As I drove up to my hotel I thought I had wandered into a Stephen King novel. The whole place was empty. On the bright side parking wasn't an issue. I had to ring a doorbell to get the guy at the hotel to wake up. He looked up at me through his sleepy haze with the expression, "Seriously?" Only guest at a 4 story hotel - gave me a room at the far end of the fourth floor. Not a problem if not for the fact that the elevator was broken! I was about to go wake up Haji to share my opinion with his decision when I realized that it's a bad idea to accost people who have your credit card number. Glad I didn't because upon entering the room I got the best laugh I had all week (see pic above). Yes folks, that is a heart shaped jacuzzi for two. Complete with fully mirrored walls. As it turns out there really isn't a right way to sit in a heart shaped jacuzzi. I could have done with out the mirrors too - there are some angles one need not ever see of one's self.

Off to Brunswick. Away from the coast - "Hey, there ARE people in New Jersey". Actually there are a lot of people. Not enough roads unfortunately. Hard lessons in Jersey "roundabouts". Nothing I can't handle - once you've driven a while in Tijuana you can parallel park the space shuttle in Manhattan.

What I learned in New Jersey:

1) In New Jersey it is perfectly acceptable to sing along with Journey. In fact you can use it to introduce yourself to the person sitting next to you. "Actually I hadn't planned to stop believing sir, but thanks for the positive remarks. Please stop looking at me because I am not going to take the next verse."

2) In New Jersey if it's your turn to take the next verse in spontaneous karaoke and you fail to do so the bartender must take your turn despite whatever he is doing and you have now made yourself a pariah.

3) Air guitar, seated or otherwise, is a perfectly acceptable in public. If, however, you failed to sing your karaoke verse do not expect an invitation to play dueling guitars. This is too bad because air guitar, like yawns, is instantly contagious.

4) Although air guitar is acceptable public expression staring at those doing so is rude.

5) Although close proximity to 3 Jersey women using the volume of their voice to do battle is physically painful there is no amount of discretion that makes covering your ears and putting your head on the bar socially acceptable.

6) If a guy who looks like Dog the Bounty Hunter asks you if you think that a bar with a chainsaw theme has an unbeatable competitive advantage the answer is an emphatic "Yes"

7) When trying to communicate with someone from Hong Kong who learned English in New Jersey skip straight to charades. All attempts in verbal communication are futile.

8) People in New Jersey have no accent - the rest of the English speaking world just speaks incorrectly.

9) If someone asks you if you want their input in New Jersey they are not actually "asking" per se.

10) Smart: Bring plenty of change for the tolls in Jersey
Not Smart: Forget why you put a bunch of change in you bag and spend it on vending machines.


Overall I had a good time. Beautiful country, sociable people, expense account - all else is detail. Enough travel for a while though. Three weeks at home to look forward to. Happy Thanksgiving everybody!!!!

R.I.P. Rug (1832-2007)

So today sucked. I had to put down one of my dogs, Rug. We don't know how old she actually was - I met her 15 years ago. It wasn't exactly a surprise but I had thought that maybe she was part cockroach and could survive a nuclear winter. This is a dog that went over a year without eating any dog food. True story. She was my Dad's dog and he took her to work everyday where she just stole food from the construction workers. She was nothing if not resourceful.

It's hard not to just remember the good things about her right now since I feel like someone donkey kicked me in the gut. Rug earned her name by having hair that rivaled Bob Marley when grown out and having a gift for sprawling exactly where you needed to step. When she was younger she could amuse herself for amazing periods of time by playing fetch by herself. She could chuck a golf ball about 15 yards given the space to do so. A 6 foot fence was merely a speed bump and she often got into my Dad's truck through the window. That athleticism probably had a lot to do with why she lived to be ummmm.....175? She could climb ladders - unfortunately only up. The best thing about Rug was that she was thrilled to be alive everyday of her life. She would roll around in the grass and then pop up covered in so much grass she looked like a sniper stalking a kill in a wheat field and just wag her tail. Not unusual I know but she did that EVERY DAY. She was thrilled to be alive.

Not a perfect Dog. She pissed wherever she pleased. Didn't like kids. Breath like napalm. Had chronic separation anxiety until I got my other dog. Whenever there was a thunderstorm I got zero sleep. She would shake violently and lay on my chest breathing her fire breath on me until I woke and tried to calm her down. Fireworks and gunshots got a similar reaction. I know that sounds endearing but not at 2am for YEARS on end!

Today Maggie (other dog) was searching the house for her. She would try to catch her scent and searched out all of Rug's hiding places, then she would come to me confused with her head cocked questioningly. I wanted to slit my wrists. I comfort myself in the knowledge that she is now in Doggie heaven rolling around in a pile of milkbones and......wait, scratch that, I don't believe any of that bullshit. Would be handy right about now.

She made me laugh. Sometimes I think on purpose. She had as good a life a dog could ask for. I'll miss her.

Ohhhhh Oklahoma!!!!!.........

Those of you who are too young or are not gay and therefore have never seen any showtunes the title is a reference to a Broadway musical/showtune from the 50's. Why do I know it you ask? Ummmm.......let's move on.

I have to admit that I was less than enthusiastic when I was given the task of working in eastern Oklahoma for a week. I've driven through parts of Oklahoma before and frankly it was similar to staring at a wall except that I had a steering wheel. I was pleasantly surprised when I got to far east Oklahoma to learn that it is very different than western Oklahoma. 1) There are trees 2) It's not flat. It actually reminded me of pictures of New England in spots. I kid you not, rolling hills and trees everywhere.

The people are ummmm....similar. To each other that is. Their idea of religious and political diversity is the chasm between baptists who love Rush Limbaugh and Episcopalians who favor Hannity. They will tolerate Catholics but only for yard work. So after an early blunder in common speech that suggested that there might be people not necessarily destined for eternal hellfire living outside of Oklahoma I kept my mouth shut. My ears I kept open.

Here's a bit of trivia for you: You might think that being the creator of the universe might mean that you have what most would deem to be "important" or "substantial" issues that might occupy your day. Not the case. As it turns out, after God created light and earth and all living inhabitants of the known universe he then turned his attention to the more trivial aspects of Oklahoman life. If you're late for work, just drop the G-Man a line because he is waiting by the phone. Want your son's report card to go up a bit - doors always open. Don't like the rain - well why didn't you just say so? God sits around all day with nothing to do like handle the astro-physics of planetary orbit or prevent genocides - he wants to know exactly how you want the local school board election to go. I didn't know this until I went to Oklahoma and found out just how many things get prayed for. I felt bad when a prayer was offered to get me to my hotel safely. "Look, I don't want God manipulating traffic lights for me while a meteor slams into Greenland. Let's just leave his dance card open so he can do his job and I'll just buckle up." It's was a lovely gesture though.

Sooooooo how to approach this subject delicately? What rural Oklahoma gains in natural scenery it sort of gives back in "natural scenery". I'm not saying women in Oklahoma are ugly it's just that......actually that's exactly what I'm saying. Now I'm sure this is offensive to the genuinely attractive women in Oklahoma but look at the bright side - anywhere else you aren't that attractive so just appreciate your circumstances. To those of you saying "Hey Ryan, you're no Brad Pitt" I say you are correct. But put me in a muumuu, shave off the goatee and throw me in a '84 Buick and I'll get cat calls at an Oklahoma convenience store. No make-up.

The highlight of my trip was getting pulled over for doing 73 in a 70. Unlike Inspector Clouseau in Kansas this guy was genuinely a nice guy. We just chit chatted for about 10 minutes in his car. Police cars are pretty neat from the front seat. I just think he was bored.

All in all if you find yourself planning a road trip that cuts through southeast Oklahoma don't avoid it. Beautiful country. But if you are looking for conversation bring a tape recorder and conduct mock interviews with yourself in character. I'll pray for your batteries.

Why my family is FROM Kansas

Hello loyal readers - boredom has driven me to action. Sorry for the delay. Where to begin? Ah yes, Colorado. Flew into Denver and drove down to Colorado Springs. Thanks largely to an hour at the rental car counter that ended with "Give me anything with at least 3 wheels!" I had to make what I'm told is a very pretty drive in the dark. Irritated. Woke in Colorado Springs to two revelations. 1) There aren't many trees in Colorado Springs (wtf?) 2) Yahoo Weather is run either by washed up Grateful Dead roadies with a ouija board or someone with a sick sense of humor. So as I stood on my balcony wearing shorts and all 5 T shirts I brought willing myself not to shiver in 40 degree weather I admired the view. First of all, I really do like Colorado but to be honest I like the view in Arizona better. Anyhoo....after I got work done I realized "Wait a moment - this is a rental car!" So it was off to Pike's Peak. I'm sure there is a reason that Chevy Blazers aren't competitive in world rally racing but it's not from any lack of effort by me. I'm sure the view from the top of Pike's Peak is spectacular - couldn't tell you. All I could see were clouds. And at 14000 feet the hike from the car to the gift shop was a feat. As I walked in I enviously eyed the 90 yr old woman wheeling around her oxygen tank. Don't feel bad for her, she put up a hell of a fight. I don't even think she needed the tank. Half way down the mountain I went for a walk in the woods. Real woods, not the tree farm garbage we get in the "forests" in Arizona. Then I realized that after my knee injury of last year I really couldn't run from anything that wanted to eat me and my only weapon was an oxygen tank. Time to go.

On the way home I stopped at Cave of the Winds. Mainly because the last time I was there I was 4 and it's a kick to relive memories that old. Unfortunately the cave has shrunk drastically since I was 4. Dangerously so. As Captain Caveguide narrated our approach to the narrowest point in the tour, "Tall man's headache, Fat man's misery" his eyes settled on me as he got to the last syllable in "Misery". Fuck you spelunker boy! You better hope I get stuck cuz that's your head start! I made it - with centimeters to spare - and my anger had abated by the surface. Who knew that this would be the highlight of my week.

The next day I hit the road for Kansas. Where exactly you ask? Who cares - it's Kansas. Somewhere between "East Bum-Fuck Nowhere, Kansas" and "Slightly Less East Bum-Fuck Nowhere Kansas" I was pulled over by one of Kansas' finest. You can't help being nervous when you get pulled over. Thoughts race through your head like "Ok Ryan, get your shit together and relax and he'll have no reason to look for the kilo of coke in the trunk. If he does hit him with the oxygen tank, disable the camera and throw the body next to the coke and we make for Ole'Mexico!" Then you realize, "Wait a minute, I don't have any coke." According to Barney Fife he pulled me over because a trucker radioed him to say I looked "sleepy". Ummmmm......what? 8 hours sleep and 64 ounces of diet coke officer. Not sleepy. So he has me retrace my steps from the airplane to that spot about 3 times before he goes to run my information. 20 minutes I sit there freaking out. When he gets back I get to recount my trip another 3 times for him. "Didn't you say you flew into Colorado Springs?" "No, Denver - then I drove to Colorado Springs. Almost had me there Columbo." I should explain that it was 9/11. Can you blame him for thinking that I was an operative of the local sleeper cell of Scottish Muslims looking to strike terror in the heartland by driving a combine into the Dairy Queen? So eventually Ranger Rick let me go and it was off deeper into the Heart of Darkness.

One shining point in the whole Kansas experience that I have to point out. $125 in rural Kansas gets you a jacuzzi suite! I don't mean a tub with jets, I mean Stone-cold chillin, must find gorgeous twins with little to no comprehension of the US legal system to share this jacuzzi with me jacuzzi tub! 3 baths in 14 hours. I was pruny in places I didn't know I had skin. And then the next day it was back on the highway to scout locations for the combine Jihad. Allah Ackbar!!!

I won't drone on about the misery and boredom that flirted with desperation that made up the next few days. I'll just say this: If you somehow arrive hours early for an appointment in Kansas (like me) - GO BACK TO SLEEP! There is no alternative. Want to catch a movie - sorry wait till 4. Wanna have a beer - uh uh, try again. Drug yourself if necessary but just go back to sleep!

Honorable mention: It could be that I was in a good mood because I was about to fly away from Kansas but the last place I ate was a diner in Wichita and those ladies were a kick. I've never seen people have that much fun at work. Funny, relaxed, cool chicks. Don't get the wrong idea, they were ugly as sin so I wasn't influenced by impure thoughts. Just cool old broads. Thank you ladies for sending me on my way on an up-note.

Life Affirming Moments

As my last post mentioned I had a trip to Austin. Work-wise it was a stressful pain in the ass but this blog isn't about work and after 5'Oclock I'm off the clock. I usually do some work later anyway but the night is my own. Thursday was my last night in town and I told myself I was going out no matter what. 5th Street here I come! If you only have one night in Austin (or you pissed away the other 4) you have to go to Antone's. Stomping grounds for Stevie Ray Vaughn, Joplin, Muddy Waters - the joint has history dripping from the rafters. There was a show that night but didn't start until 8 (ish) so I had to kill time. Down 5th Street I wandered looking for a cool bar with music to chill. I had to walk 7 feet. Into the Lucky Lounge. Sort of a hip New York loft feel but no uptight pretense. The word "vibe" is often used and used badly but it really the best word to explain the difference between Austin and everywhere else - It has such a cool vibe. At the table next to me was a couple in their 50's or so having a great time. Standing to the right of me was a 20-something kid covered in tattoos having a great time. Behind me (thankfully) was a black man that looked like he could start on any NFL defensive line having a great time. All mixed, blended and squeezed into into a brick warehouse with lights and a stage. The only way to look out of place in Austin is to look miserable and/or rude. So it's past 8 and I trek back 7 feet to Antone's. Antone's is a stage and a bathroom. Speckled in between is a bar, a T-Shirt counter and a concrete floor. I tried to visualize Stevie Ray ripping it up RIGHT THERE on stage and couldn't fathom it.

"You mean he would just come in and play RIGHT THERE?"

"Ummm.....yes sir, that's what we use stages for here in Austin"

They had a point, I guess I just expected some kind of shrine but what better shrine to SRV can you have than a stage?

Act one: Big Frank Gonzales. The guy absolutely shredded! My jaw hit the floor. I have maybe a tenth the musical appreciation for guitarists that my brother does so I mercilessly texted him "YOU MUST BE HERE" and absorbed the well deserved "Pucker up Buttercup" texts that came back. People don't want to hear how much fun they could be having I've learned. Oh well, he got a T-Shirt. Everyone in there was there to have a good time. No one was there to be seen. Spontaneously couples between the ages of 25 and 65 would dance - and I did say couples, not the 55 year old former Eagles groupies trying to spot anyone in the bar who will still stare at their ass or 25 year old hippies that seem to just spin in circles trying to get the most out of their last tab of acid. Couples. And it was while watching one of these couples casually dancing the night away listening to great music surrounded by a hundred well-wishers that I had one of these moments you should try not to take for granted: "This is how the human condition should be." Drinking - not drunk, dancing - not dry humping on the floor, listening to music - not noises with lights. Any religious, political or any other thought process that disagrees with this is wrong. Note that I didn't say that they are different - I said they are wrong. Humans aren't meant to be miserable. They are made to sing and dance and laugh and then go back to work the next day. If you think your God disagrees then you think your God is an asshole. Your choice, but I don't want to be nearby when you tell him.

Deep thoughts from Texas - Yes That's Irony Folks...

This week my loyal readers (love ya mom!) get a special treat, a mid trip post. I'm all about the fans people. I am in Austin....as in Texas. It is interesting to me that the neighborhoods directly surrounding the Texas capital building are the least "Texas-like" in the state. Cool town. Pseudo hippies, laid back atmosphere, cultural variety (relatively speaking), music everywhere - fun town. Like everywhere else local knowledge is king. With a head full of local recommendations I headed to a hole in the wall Mexican joint I was told was the best Mexican food in the known universe - sorry, "Tex-Mex". So I roll in, partly literally with my rolling travel bag, and I'm immediately struck by the atmosphere. It was a converted feed store complete with wooden plank floors older than my entire state. Killer soundtrack - everything from John Lee Hooker to Soundgarden. Ryan is home. Service was insane (good). They moved a table over next to an outlet so I could plug in the laptop - I didn't even ask. Asked the waiter to bring me his favorite - a good habit. So as I caught up on work I watched the street traffic. Rednecks, 9 flavors of hippies, college students, Mexicans, Blacks, Purples, Greens, off-whites....I sorta lost track. Not your typical Texas fare. Great service, great music, great atmosphere - and then a thought occurred to me - "This taco tastes like Paris Hilton's ass after a 4 day coke binge". Oh, riiiiight, like I'm the only one who knows.

San Francisco - Expensive for a Reason

Hello kids

This weeks adventure lands our fearless globetrotter in beautiful San Francisco. What a town. Let's start with a little theme of mine: It's not 110 degrees in SF! Why do I live in an oven? Anywhoo... I reached an epiphany in SF while sitting in an incredible Italian restaurant being spoiled rotten by the owner watching seedy strip clubs across the street try to attract customers. This would never happen in Arizona - or almost anywhere. Do San Franciscans not care about their city? Quite the opposite. You won't find more protective citizens. So why do you see such extremes mixed together? Because they practice what so many others preach- "You do your thing and I'll do mine", "Live and let Live" - call it what you will. You have millions of people who are truly sold on the idea that the more flavor the better. You can't get more American than that. Here's a message for all of you midwest, tight-ass, closed borders, lilly-white, Christian or nuthin' mindless dolts: "KISS MY RED WHITE AND BLUE ASS!!!" California liberals are more American that you are - and so am I. Yeah, I said it.

Added to the spice of San Francisco culture I had a little company on my little escapade. Never underestimate the mood lightening power of the company of the fairer sex. Especially when she's much much fairer than you are. I'm working with personality here folks. I felt like Michael Jordan's 10 year old son trying to take the old man one on one at the family picnic. I could hear the women courtside saying, "Oh look, isn't that adorable, he's trying so hard." But like that 10 yr old I told myself "That old man doesn't stand a chance" and pulled out all the stops. Drove down the PCH to Monterey/Carmel. Holy sh*t beautiful! If you take a woman to 17 mile drive to watch otters play and nothing happens she was hoping to run into Rosie O'donnell in Carmel.

And how's this for timing - they ran the Concourse Rally right up the main drag in Carmel while we were there. So let us clarify: I was in 70 degree weather in August with a beautiful woman draped over me drinking free vodka tonics (beautiful women attract free drinks) watching near priceless cars raced by me as I overlooked perhaps the most beautiful bay in the world. How did you spend your Friday? The list of things I won't do to become disgustingly wealthy is getting frighteningly short. I'll be down to a post-it soon.

When in Rome....Cowboy up....errrr something

And so Ryan lands in Oklahoma City. Jealous? I know. In fairness, not a bad town. Airport was functional - with words and everything - unlike San Antonio. Nice people. Felt my drawl coming out inch by inch until I was about to throw in a "Yee-diggity" and caught myself. Earned hero status at a bar where (I kid you not) a patron was throwing change at every opportunity into the bartenders cleavage. I asked her, "Is this guy an owner?" She said, "He's been in here every day for 3 years." To which I said (loud enough that everyone could hear it) "So how does that make him less of an asshole?" This apparently was the magic statement that made him leave and gave me free drinks and back scratches (helloooooo Heaven) for the rest of the evening. I can't wait to try it somewhere else. If it works for you I expect royalties. The downtown area is a nice micro-version of San Antonio. Plenty to keep you busy. I even found a techno Euro-trash club that had the fortune of being nearby when I really had to find a bathroom. My sense of obligation meant that I had to endure the "Music" through a vodka tonic. I left it half full.

Honorable mention: In Oklahoma "Cafe" can mean strip club. And "Dance" can mean "treat me like a 9 year old Macaulay Culkin dipped in honey butter with a twisted ankle and dropped into the Vatican." Laws are sort of guidelines in Oklahoma gentleman's clubs. I didn't know whether to tip extra or press charges. I decided to go to Amarillo.

Off to Amarillo! Wind. Did I mention wind? And then there was wind. If the wind ever stopped in Amarillo every man, woman and child would simultaneously fall over and be rendered immobile having now idea how to walk without a lean. The first day I looked like a Nick Nolte mug shot. The next day I prepared with the hair gel helmet that snared low-flying birds now and then but was a reasonable trade off. And who can forget 10 Cadillacs buried face first in the dirt. To me this is a metaphor of the Texas political mindset. No matter how stylish you may be, if your head is buried in the dirt you never really know who is responsible for the limp you have in the morning. Quote for the Amarillo trip (at a movie theater waiting 30 minutes in line):

Me: "Do you think there any other ticket machines inside?"
Kindly patron: (dumbfounded look) "You aint from Amarillo are ya?"

And that sums it up.

And it was off to Santa Fe. I have no specific recollection of the drive. Nothing to recollect - except stopping in the dinosaur museum in Tucumcary to get pictures for my dinosaur fanatic nephew. I'm such a cool uncle. Anyhoo - Santa Fe is camouflaged. Like most camouflage it doesn't actually prevent you from seeing the object, it just irritates you because you cannot differentiate between objects. Like restaurants. Everything is tan and squared off!!!! Ok, I get it, there were Indians here and they had pueblos before you raped and murdered them and tossed in some smallpox for spice. I don't think a proper monument to the glory of the indigenous peoples is to make the Applebee's look like a truck stop where I can buy an "authentic" rug and a Slurpee. Here's another news flash: Coyotes are not and have never been aqua blue. They are scrawny looking dogs that chase prairie dogs - not wear bandannas and hold my door open. I know - I checked. And so the good news - it's 75 degrees in July and I'm from Phoenix. All is forgiven. I'll buy your ornately turquoise encrusted shoe horn if it means that I can stand here and not fear spontaneous combustion. Ahhhhhh cool wind. And the smell. Assuming there is no patchouli from hippies are walking by it actually smells of sweet mesquite. Not nearly enough is said of the smell of a place. To me it's important. New York smells like a floor mat in a 30 year old cab and I can never live there. The repression of one's gag reflex is for getting promotions - not for choking down a bagel in the morning.

Pain, thy Name is Suns Fan

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/070722

A fellow genius of the modern era, Bill Simmons can explain better than I. You'll never guess....I was right! Again!!! It's scary sometimes how often I'm right. NBA referees control the game. As in the outcome of the game. It is undeniable. Stern and his apologists will spend millions trying to downplay impact of officiating but any NBA fan knows the truth. The question that I have been screaming for 25 years is WHY? WHY? WHY?WHY?WHY?WHY? I apologize for the tantrum - it's been building a long time. I cannot fathom why is it allowed. Shaq does things that will get a man solitary confinement and loss of yard privileges in prison but it is not a foul. That is unless he misses the shot - then it's a foul on the other guy. Every NBA fan knows some things as certain as they know Oprah will put on 20 lbs after a diet

• A defensive foul is twice as likely to be called if the shooter misses
• An all star need only lunge in the direction of the basket and it's a foul (especially on home court)
• Home court means 10-15 points - and it's not the crowd
• There hasn't been a jump ball called by the rules in 40 years
• Lane violations are called every third eclipse or if the ref finds out their favorite hooker is a tranny (kind of funny when you know there was no eclipse)
• If a bad call is made a ref will never correct another ref but he will give you a call back within the next two minutes (unless the mob is involved apparently)

I could go on - but I need the hair I have left. WHYYYYYYY?????????? Deep breaths Ryan. I am just hoping that from this debacle a silver lining shall shine - NBA officiating will be put under a magnifying glass and they will be held to the same performance accountability standards as the players.......or the hot dog vendors for that matter. If you suck, you're out. The games (and hot dogs) will be better for it. And I will live longer.