Hit the Full Screen Button and Turn It Up to Eleven

This has all the best monsters. It's new and awesome. Watch it twice.

Reason No. MCXXI to Move to New Zealand

Even their Book Council is cool.

Easier Than Writing My Own Blog Post

I'll just swipe The Awl's "How to Cook a Fucking Steak."

Meet Dave Hill

Do you know this renaissance dude? Because you will. This much talent can't stay a secret for long. Does he do stand-up? Yes. Does he have a one-man show? Yes. Does he host comedy nights with guests the likes of Dick Cavett? Yes. Does he play in a rock band? Duh. How does he do it all? I'm not sure. I'm guessing bipolar disorder with lengthy manic phase.

Valley Lodge "All of My Loving" from Valley Lodge on Vimeo.

You can find out more above Dave Hill at his website. You can also follow him on Twitter, if you don't mind copious joke makings, some of which are LOL funny.

Just thought I'd pass on my pretty gestaltic knowledge of what makes me laugh.

My Past Lives

Now that I'm slipping into the regrets age I'm starting to understand certain mystical obsessions such as the Shirley MacLaine-style fascination with past life regression, where someone with more money than they need finds someone with an enterprising way to help relieve them of some of that money by helping them "remember" a past life - always a romantic one involving royalty or beauty - in which she relives the time when she was a prince, a knight of the round table, or a sultan's favorite concubine.

I'm guessing that "remembering" past lives is a way to enjoy more life than you have been allotted. More and different. Once you feel the slightest tingle of the body's long downhill slide, once you realize you are too old, with too many obligations, to move to Scotland to learn to play the drum and develop a passable brogue, once you are past the age of admittance into the Peace Corps, once you realize the window of opportunity to become an Olympic ski jumper or a travel writer has closed, and you hear this idea that you may have lived lives much more exciting and glamorous, it must be very tempting to believe.

The trouble with past lives is that most have been lived before indoor plumbing, central heating, modern feminine hygiene products, and the perfection of chocolate.

However, if I had lived past lives these are the ones I would have liked to live:

European royalty before that ugly head-lopping-off period. Aside from the funk created by the twice-yearly bath (which seems to dog most romantically historical times), this seems to be good living. Nice clothes, decent meals, sitting for portraits, dancing courtly dances, wearing silly wigs...not bad. Maybe the Austrian court during the Mozart period, but only if he really giggled like Tom Hulce.

Scottish castle dweller some time between one horde or the other showing up to claim it for themselves. Everybody wanted Scotland because everybody talked so adorably. I would just want to make sure I was rich enough to afford plenty of warm clothes and firewood. And I would want my own sheep.

Yes, royalty. I'm afraid royalty was where it was at, pre-industrial revolution. Everybody else had it pretty crap. Everybody else was lucky to be less hungry, filthy and disease-ridden than their dead neighbor.

Maybe Lincoln's secretary. He doesn't get killed or stabbed or anything does he? I've never thought of what it would be like to be a dude, but to sit in on Lincoln's administration, I would consider it. Mary Todd Lincoln is definitely out. I'm not keen on either shopping or mourning.

I would kind of (kind of) like to be a pioneer, if only to have acres and acres of primeval Oregon wilderness to myself. It must have been awesome. And really, really difficult. But imagine, after crossing the mountains and deserts, finally getting to stick your flag (okay, your walking stick with your last remaining scrap of calico drooping from it) into an enormous piece of gorgeous land overlooking the Pacific, and saying "MINE!" Sorry, Chinook Indians. Dammit, I just ruined my past life.

Oh, wait. I've got it. A pre-Captain Cook Hawaiian Wahini. Tropical breezes. Dancing the hula (I can still do a passable hula from lessons I took as a kid in Vernonia - don't ask, long story), eating tropical food, swimming in tropical seas and trying to get fat, cause that's what all the fellas were into. Oh, bingo.

Those are the memories I'd like to have. What about you?

Funniest Thing I've Seen All Day.

From Cute Overload.

That is all.

Thomas Lennon in a Purple Unitard. Say No More.

Thomas Lennon. Bringing The Funny. Laugh, meine kleine nachtbaby. Laugh.

Guntram Müller's MüllerCize It! (part 1) from Thomas Lennon

I Raise A Finger In Your General Direction

After hearing a joke about a joke, I had to look it up myself: who did flip the first bird? And did he then have to explain what it meant (which would certainly have cut the sting somewhat)?

Here is some of an article by Glenn Church, that I found at Associated Content:

The Romans referred to the middle finger as digitus infamis or digitus impudicus (dirty finger). It had much the same meaning as today. The Emperor Caligula insulted people by making them kiss his middle finger instead of his hand. Another Emperor, Augustus Caesar, expelled an entertainer from his presence by an obscene wave of his middle finger.

The Romans did not invent this gesture, however. The earliest recorded mention is a play "The Clouds", written by the Greek Aristophanes in 423 B.C. Even then, the middle finger has a clear, obscene and sexual use. It is unlikely that the ancient Greeks were the founders for flipping the birdie. More likely, flipping someone off goes back into prehistory.

The middle finger, extended outward from the rest of the fingers, is an unmistakable phallic symbol. Some have even suggested that the middle finger's use as a sexual instrument, in place of the male organ, is its true origin as a phallic symbol.

Fascinating. They can't find an origin, it's such an old habit. Think of it: even the Latin language has died out, yet we still make daily use of this even more ancient relic. I guess when something so perfectly serves its purpose, there's no reason to put it aside.

I like the word digitus impudicus. I think I'll keep it.

It Was Just a Sneeze!

I swear, I got my swine flu shot! source

Vaginas Are Gross. Thanks, Lysol!

The Oregonian sent me to this post on Oddee today. Thanks, Oregonian! I learned that if I don't look lovely in the morning, my husband will find another honey by the end of his work day, and that I better, by Odin's hammer, bring home the right coffee, and if I like a man's slacks, he has a license to kill me, and, well, men are better than women.

Thanks, Mad Men!

Our Long National Nightmare Is Over

No, we're still bogged down in Iraq. And Afghanistan. And forty-seven million Americans still are hanging on without health insurance. And unemployment is still hovering around 10%. And the Kardashians are still allowed on television.

But Dean and Jenny are moving back to Portland!

They are going to hang on in Colorado past some of the drearier months ahead, wait out their lease until February-March, but here is something for us all to look forward to.

There is little left to keep them in Colorado Springs. The US Olympic Committee has long since pulled all its funding from the track cycling program (thanks, USOC!), and there is actually less racing action in Colorado Springs, even with a much superior outdoor track, than there is here on the moist, mossy track at Alpenrose Dairy. So he's moving back here where his team is. Jenny is doing well at her job, but there is only so far you can take your career while working at a small (tiny) business. She is ready to fly from that nest.

So get ready, Portland fan base, fam base, and friend base. Dean and Jenny are coming back.

Killer Mom

Do NOT look at this photo if you don't want to smile.

Warned you. From the ever-deadly Zooborns.

And Now for Something Completely Different

Monty Python geezers on Jimmy Fallon. Good choice of hosts. Fallon is really good here. Doesn't get in the way, and even gets in a few good gags himself. (Hmmm...that's three "good"s in three sentences. Not championship writing.)

There's more somewhere at nbc.com or here.

Avast, Ye Scurvy HTMLs!

I think I pirated these photos, but I can't read Dutch, so I think that covers me, legally. I had to convert them several times by methods that I don't really understand to get them to save as jpegs, but once I did, they were MINE.

There's Dean accepting flowers and smooches alongside the Thighs of Pain that belong to Gregory Bauge, the world sprinting champion. This is for their 2-man team sprint on Monday night.

Lining up for the Keirin on Day 2. If Bauge's are Thighs of Pain, then these are at least Thighs of Discomfort.

Aaand, they're off. Dean ended up third on this day, which is damn respectable with this group.

More to come, I'm guessing. There are four more days of racing to go.

Continental Sucks, but Dean Survives

When it's 12:30 am here, it's 9:30 am in Amsterdam, so I have been leaving my iPhone on the bedside table for late-night texting breaks when Dean finds, each day, that Continental still has no clue where his clothes and bike are.

Here is our conversation from last night (includes surprise ending):

12:34 a.m.:

Dean: Still no bag. Tracking number shows it as "missing."

Me: WTF

Dean: Yeah. Beyond frustrated. Racing starts tomorrow. Only one more flight coming from Houston tomorrow morning. Hopefully it's on that flight.

Dean: On the bright side, Amsterdam is the greatest city on the planet. I want to move here.

Me: Glad there's a bright side - besides Scooby Doo (Dean earlier tweeted that Scooby Doo is better in Dutch.)

Dean: Yeah. Couldn't pick a better place to be stranded, really. Plenty to do/see.

Me: Are you in touch with race promoters?

Dean: Yeah. They are great. Yelling at the airline people in Dutch for me. Looking into options for borrowing equipment, and trying to get airlines to give me money.

Me: Awesome.

2:53 am:

Dean: Last bag arrived out of the blue. Rejoice! Clean clothes! Bike parts!

Me: Yay! This trip is going to make such a great story and you haven't even started to race.

Question: If the only flight that they thought might have the bag wasn't due until the next day, where did they find the bag? Neglected in a corner somewhere? Were they sitting on it on their lunch breaks? I call major incompetence. Off with their heads!