Goodbye

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Well, I guess this was coming. I mean, I post about as regular as Jamie Lee Curtis. (Activia joke) I need to get a different forum and narrow the topic to a specific direction. While Veggiemacabre has been great, I am a different person than 2007. Maybe better or maybe worse but not the same. I loved this place and the people I have met through it.

I know Matt ended X-E and started DinosaurDracula. This is sort of the same thing but going forward you will see more of a media side since I have invested so much into software. I have a vision and as soon as the know-how happens you’ll see. Thank you for a wonderful five years. Watch below to get the skinny.

By the way, Veggiemacabre.tv will still be here. Just leaving this blog.

Good Journey!

To Get It

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God. Life. Getting it.

It’s a wonder how we can stand up right when the winds of discontent and turmoil blow so hard. I’m not sure where to begin when I’m not even sure where it ends? That only makes sense to me but that’s okay; you’ll get it in the end too.

There is a choice you have to make, in everything you do. So keep in mind that in the end, the choice you make, makes you.” – Anonymous

A person I know was very close to me and infrequently visited this blog. I don’t know why but I can only assume it was to check to see what I write and see if she was material. Regardless the reason, she would state that sometimes it was less than accurate from what she experienced at the same event. Writing is a medium to translate how my brain works and what I think. In every situation I look for the humor. If I didn’t, what’s the point of this? It would just be an account of where I have been and what I am doing and even I don’t care about that. She doesn’t get it. And unfortunately never will. That’s a heavy-hearted subject.

“Uncle Bill”

Hello?

Come again?

Come again?

Stay?


Stay awhile,

Stick around awhile,

Stick around

For as long as you can.


Heaven help you,

God help you,

Jesus help you,

Everybody else help you.


Everybody,

Everybody make happy,

Make everybody happy,

Be a comedian.

-Bill Borchardt

I saw American Movie the other day and the elderly Uncle Bill let out a stream of consciousness that moved me so profoundly, I was actually in tears. It relayed hopelessness and hope, life, loneliness and companionship, sadness, humanity, and the conclusion to life, ending up the same we began: alone. Nothing in recent memory made more sense than this and it scared me. I see it all the time in the faces of the institute. People who are put away for a disease they can not control. I see it in the elderly who are left in “homes” and forgotten. I see it in myself when I ask the universal question of “why?”. Kind of funny how things like this mean so much to me, while to others, they basically glaze over. To get it.

I’m not what I ought to be,

Not what I want to be,

Not what I’m going to be,

But I am thankful that I’m better than I used to be.

-John Wooden

Can this be any greater of a poetic statement? It’s a motto and no matter where we end up, if we hold this close to the heart only better will we be. (What kind of Yoda speak is that?)

Well, I think I have made my annual “what’s this all about” post so on to bigger and better with a touch of the insane. Trust me, after this summer, I have a pretty good base of comparison. Someone recently told me they aren’t crazy just mentally hilarious. That is something I can respect. So I will now leave you with the greatest picture I found from an old online news article.

My address is so boring!

“The Last Man On Earth…

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…sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door.” – Fredrick Brown

This short story chills me to the bone and is by far one of my favorite horror stories of all times. I have a visual imagination, and since my late Grandfather told me this story, I imagine myself sitting at a table in a small room with nothing but a few books to contain my mind from being lost and perhaps a dim fire to keep me warm. I just sit knowing that I am the very last person on Earth. And then there is a knock.

So the other day I Googled this short story to read it once more and get that great joy of goosebumps and childhood nostalgia. It is only two sentences long so I didn’t spend much time reading it on various formats and blogs but I did do a Google image search and to my great surprise I found this:

A picture of me. I took this last summer on a run between Pullman, Washington and Moscow, Idaho on a trail I call “Heavenly Purgatory with a touch of Hell”. I have never mentioned this short story on this blog or any other and it is just a mind-blower to see me on a Google-image search for this great short story called “Knock”.

In other news, I have a new article up over at Review the World. It’s a little touch of where I live and where people go to buy their drugs and penis soap. Say hi to Brian while you are there. He and Amanda are expecting their first baby anytime now so send them over some love!

2009 Fall Beer Review: Part 2

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Goodness, it’s almost the middle of October already? That is insane and really the only reason it hit me today is the fact that my face is numb from walking downtown tonight. That hasn’t happened since April here. And you know what that means? Fuckin’ snow is just around the corner and I will be bitching and moaning. Just letting you know that ahead of time.

But before I switch gears to winter wonderland I am still full throttle in the celebration of Samhain. So onto a new beer review focusing on one great brew company and a smaller micro. I just love tasting pumpkins, hay rides, campfires, Reese’s Pieces, ghosts and Charlie Brown in an alcoholic beverage. Perhaps I think of this too much.

spatan

This evening I am going to start off with a very popular beer company from the country that made Oktoberfest what it is. The Munich, Germany company, Spatan, has been rocking great beer since (get this) 1397. Holy shit, now that is worth bragging rites. They were making beer when the Spanish Inquisition was going on. You know, no one is prepared for the Inquisition.

Spanish_inquisition

I figured a backdrop of peanut butter M&Ms would suit this nicely. (That’s for you Lacey) To be honest, if this beer didn’t have Oktoberfest on the label, I would never imagine this to be a Fall beer. It has more of a Summer/Spring taste to be honest. The light body and very little aftertaste leaves one wondering, why Oktoberfest? This should be “Spring-enzi Deutch” if I was to name it. Actually, I kind of like that. No one steal that, okay?

I know I hammered on Spatan about it’s lighter body for an Oktoberfest beer but I really like the taste. You can imagine eating bratwurst with this, I am sure. But if you were sitting outside with a lit Jack-o-Lantern, wrapped in a Snuggie and passing out KitKats, this beer wouldn’t hold Halloween weight. I think I may risk skunking the beer and save a few 6 packs for next year’s boat parties. Hotdogs and watermelon would be a treat with this Spatan special.

hoptober

Whoa! Hoptober comes at you with both fists! Let me start out by saying, I love IPA (Indian Pale Ales). There are fireworks and fairy dust that fly every time I take a sip of a great bitter IPA. Hoptober Golden Ale does that like no other. This is the beer you want on chilly evenings listening to Edgar Allen Poe-etry around a campfire.

The company that makes Hoptober (amazing name) is Belgium Brewing Company out of Fort Collins, Colorado. To be honest, as a very novus beer connoisseur, I am not familiar with them. I will say that the label drew attention immediately. See? I’m a novus. Really, I can only speculate that the painting is of a bunch of crazed circus freaks dancing in the nude around a campfire during broad daylight. That’s weird, macabre and strange; all three things I find next to godliness. Extra points, Hoptober!

I believe you have to be an IPA fan to really enjoy this beer. It has a bite, a little bitter and an aftertaste that will require either a cigarette or licking the face of Fran Drescher to alleviate the palate. So Zima drinkers beware, you may be in for a disappointment. But really, if you are a Zima drinker you probably have a life of disappointments anyway. Do they even make that shit anymore?

zima-795291

Sorry if you are a Zima drinker. I’m not one to judge and that was a pretty mean comment. Seriously though, expand your horizons. 🙂 Where was I? Oh yeah, Hoptober Golden Ale is the winner in my book. If you are fortunate to find this, buy it and drink it while carving something. The season of the dead emanates from the bottle and it inspires…almost anything!

CARVING RANDOM SHIT 2009!!!

If you know me or have been a follower on my blog, Veggiemacabre, then you know I have this weird addiction to Reduced Fat Triscuits. It has become such a staple in my diet that I believe if I were on death row, my last meal probably would include these crackers. Call me crazy but I love these woven wheat crackers so much, I really came close to naming my cat Triscuit. Looks like my first born will have the pleasure of the name instead.

trisc

It turns out these boxes are a pretty good canvas for Jack-o-lantern faces. Way better than the oval and circular objects of the past. The problem is the hollow box can be less protective of the crotch when you are jamming a knife into the flimsy cardboard. Most people would have known that.

So one close call to Rupert and the Diablo Twins and a lap full of cardboard shreds, this is what I have created.

lola trisc

Notice the action-shot fear in my cat’s face when she saw the demonic Triscuit box? Bet she’ll never sit on my laptop keyboard again. Well, actually I am sure she will. Training her is like telling plate tectonics to stop.

Spatan Oktoberfest: B-

I really liked the taste but to me, it does not qualify as a Fall beer. I know these guys have been brewing beer when Columbus’ great grandfather was born and the Surfs were surfing but I just can’t stop thinking of beach balls and cookouts when I drink it. They get a B for their 1397 age and a minus for the Oktober.

Hoptober Golden Ale: A

A solid A for the hoppy IPA that has a little sweetness. The sweetness reminds me of the spices of Fall. I dig that. Plus, the cover art makes my mind go to dark places. And really, isn’t that what where we want our mind to go on the day of the dead?

triscuit jack

I kind of regret telling everyone what I named my manhood. Happy Halloween!

Correction Comment:

“Just a comment to correct a few inaccuracies. There is no such thing as an “Oktoberfest” beer as Oktoberfest is not a celebration of beer, but rather a celebration of Bavarian culture. Bavarian beer is traditionally very light. I will also add, since almost no one seems to know this, Oktoberfest takes place at the end of September, running until very early October.

The beer is called Spaten, not Spatan. It takes it’s name from the Spaten-Franziskaner-Bräu, which makes the excellent hefeweizen bier Franziskaner.

Anyways, just a comment from a German who does not like fallacies about their culture.”

Thanks for setting me straight. I will do a Polka Dance of Apology.

I’m In A Mood

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Most of my life I have been in a pretty good mood. I always try to see the bright side of life and even in times of strife, there is usually a tinge of happiness to be found. Call it optimism or call it stupidity, I call it a survival mechanism. But even us “glass half full of beer” people can have moments of “fuck my life”. (That’s my new exclamation. Like it?) Here are some resent MRAAHHH’s!

I love NPR. For those who don’t know what NPR is, it stands for News…ahem…National Public Radio and most liberal arts universities have a relay for it on their campus. I particularly enjoy the evening program, “All Things Considered” which along with news, they have stories on topics rarely discussed in the crap we call news on TV. You can be driving in the most desolate areas of the country but in mind, you are in a hospital far off in the Congo or a kitchen in south Bronx listening to a 15 year old girl who raises all her siblings in the midst of gang violence. This program allows us to understand what many choose not to.

But there is a segment that makes me want to jerk the wheel into a goddamn bridge abutment. It is when they allow authors and poets to read their own work. People who write shouldn’t be allowed to read their stuff, especially those who All Things Consider’s, well, consider. You wouldn’t want Stephen King narrating his stories, would you? He’s as close to a human beaver as it comes.

A particular poet/reader had me fidgeting like a day three meth-trip. She spoke so softly I had the radio volume turned all the way up as she over enunciates every single word. I could only liken this to a woman trying to teach a deaf person to read lips by repeating “EGG! MC! MUF FFFF FFF IN!” This made my patients dip so low I took a huge swig of my boiling coffee, completely forgetting I just bought it and still, as I type, I taste only cardboard. Oh! I forgot, you could hear her nose whistle come through loud and clear. Fuck my life!

I know this is petty but still, given the choice between listen to a smug poet read her work from the next room of a recording booth or having a fat guy eat an apple out of anger over a megaphone in a small bathroom, I would choose the latter.

Text messaging is a great invention. Those of you who read this and actually know me in “real life” know that I abuse texting. To me, it is to the point and it leaves out opportunities to be stuck in a conversation about how someone’s dog ate blueberries from the kitchen table and shit a Jackson Pollock on the living room carpet. But there also is a time and place.

Recently I went out to dinner with a friend. She’s a good person but she is also one of those people who have little regard for other people. I guess everything has come easy to her and it doesn’t occur to her that there are other people on the planet. I tolerate her.

Well, about halfway through dinner she gets into a texting battle that lasts the rest of the meal. My phone went off at least six times but I would never think of that disruption at dinner. She just didn’t get that when two people are at dinner and one is on the phone, that makes the other feel bad. And look bad. By the time she was done I had drunk two shots, had three beers and spelled “suck my ass” in peas upside down on my plate of Pad Tai. Like I said, she can’t help being who she is. That’s why I tolerate her.

Nonverbal facial gestures with eyebrows from someone I don’t know makes me want to reply with nonverbal hand gestures with my middle fingers. I was next in line at the bagel shop and when it was my turn the tattooed, pierced, blue haired dude gave me an eyebrow gesture as if to say, “You are next retard”. I didn’t thank him after the transaction. Showed him. Wait a minute…he didn’t thank me!

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Got my car totally fixed! But in the waiting room I had to watch “The View” on their TV. Don’t even get me started and don’t get me wrong, I am all about women and 100% equality but this show actually removed very important brain cells. When the mechanic was finished he asked for a form of payment and I responded, “Yes. Have some.”

If this makes some people angry, I am sorry. I just lied to you. I’m not and I don’t care. Whoopie needed to stay in the 1980’s. I am still disappointed in Ted Danson because that’s gross, man. That officially killed Cheers.

It just hit me that I am a 31 year old guy, living by myself with a cat in Idaho. I am Jon Arbuckle. Fuck my life.

*Back on track with the Fall theme tomorrow folks! I’ll be in a better mood by then. ;)*