Superconducting Super Collider

what an awesome name. Super is used twice in the span of three words. Not since the Mario Bros. Mario Mario and Luigi Mario has there been so much repetition. Particle accelerators are pretty cool. I don't really know what they do, something 'bout Steven Hawking and his GUT, but they sure have cool names like Bevatron and Tevatron and Superconducting Super Collider. The Superconducting Super Collider was gonna be the superest of 'em all, but it cost too much and got shut down. Not quite as embarrassing as the Ryungyon hotel, but check out this quote "Abandoning the SSC at this point would signal that the United States is compromising its position of leadership in basic science." Awesome, now we know precisely the moment when we lost to Singapore.
I say we build more really expensive physics stuff. Space exploration and tourism is cool and I'm all for that, but we should also build enormous circles where we mash stuff together and make black holes. Tell me you don't want your tax dollars going to build this:

I Loves All My Chil'ins

I ain't never cheated on nobody or had no affairs 'cause those are breaches of commitment resulting in severe deductions of karma points. Things was getting kinda serious between us, but we had agreed that it would remain a very open relationship. Sometimes jealousy demands exclusivity, but in our case that was not going to be an issue. A gentlemen never tells, so I'll leave the undisclosed complexities up to your imagination.

Basically, I'm too much man. Gotta lotta love to give and being in my prime have an obligation to bring that pleasure to as many unsatisfied individuals as possible. Had known this for a while, but was procrastinating 'cause I knew how much work it'd be. Sowing the oats is the easy part. Then you gotta water 'em, make sure they get enough sunlight, and protect them from harmful weeds and insects to ensure they grow up healthy and strong. While a lesser man might just plant his seed and leave, the righteous stays for the reaping.

Now don't you think for one moment that my dedication to husbandry in any way inhibits my hunting skills. I don't go after the weak gazelles either, vulnerability has never been attractive to me. I only feast upon the most succulent of prey, and have devoured a diverse assortment of meats.

I'm also an amazing gardener. I've got the stamina required to dig deep into that fertile soil. Deeper than most, I'll be sure to extract all the nutrients. Now I don't have all the fancy tools and admittedly my techniques are simple, but they are time-tested and always get the job done. Well, not always, but that happens to everybody.

I ain't the settling down type. Least not yet. Maybe some day I'll be sitting on a rocking chair on the front porch, but not today. The world is my oyster, and be it an aphrodisiac or not, I'ma go forth and multiply. Y'all might attempt to justify your own pathetic existences by hating on me, and if that's what you need to get through your day so be it. Say what you will about deadbeat dads, but my offspring love me more than yours do you. I might not always be there, but I still provide for 'em. Just 'cause you come home every night doesn't mean you are enriching their lives. A mere fraction of my brilliance is worth more than the perpetual tediousness of your presence. I can swoop in, turn on the charm and give 'em a fond childhood memory they will forever cherish. You keep grinding that axe though, really admirable that.

So there you are blogspot.com. It ain't much, but you've always known you weren't my favorite. I'll continue drop by at least once at month and rock your world, but the myspace she gives better lovin'

10 Years On

Fate, mysterious temptress that she is, scheduled my 10 year high school reunion for the week after my homecoming party. While the homecoming concluded the most recent chapter in my Book of Life (Chapter 7: South East Asia), the reunion serves as a synopsis of the previous ten years and is an opportune moment to reflect on the work in progress. It’s been an intriguing mix of comedy, adventure, romance, and tragedy. We’ve seen the character of the protagonist develop, relationships grow more complex, and the importance of events come into focus. What will transpire in the pages to come? Which preciously introduced characters will become significant and who else will we meet? Will the plot continue in the same direction or is a major turning point in the story fast approaching? Will the novel grow redundant or is it just starting to get good? It’s been an interesting read thus far, full of twists and unexpected storylines; I’m looking forward to reading on . . .




I am infinitely wiser and more experienced than I was 10 years ago. I have loved and lost and learned to love again. I have discovered more about myself, the world around me, and my place in it. I have been tried and tested, have made and learned from my mistakes, and have come to understand and appreciate so much of the advice offered me.

Despite all this, recurring doubts flash across my mind.

Am I satisfied with my life? Have I achieved what I had hoped to upon graduation? Would my former self be proud of what he has become? Would the idealistic teenage me be impressed or would the jaded teenage me be ashamed? Do I even care? Do I value the opinion of this pimply faced teenager, or are his expectations merely the daydreams of a naïve child? Priorities change, so much of what was important to me then seems so frivolous now, and so much of what I then took for granted I wish I had appreciated more.

How do I remember this first decade since leaving the proverbial nest? What have I achieved? What do I regret? And how will I look back on this period when the time comes for the next reunion? Do I even think about the 25th reunion? Who will I be in 2022 at age 43? How important is it to me that I meet the approval of this elder me? What do I hope to accomplish for him in the next 15 years? How will he judge my choices? Do I care? Am I living for the me of tomorrow or the me of today? Or to rekindle the aspirations of the youthful me of 1997? Or to make proud the me that will attend the 50th reunion in 2047?

To which self am I faithful? Are these the glory days I will fondly recall or the wasted years I will bitterly regret? Am I progressing? Am I stagnant? Have I gotten off track? Am I going in circles? Am I going backwards? Where am I going? Is that where I want to be, where I wanted to be, or where I will want to be? Why am I going there? Whose desires am I fulfilling? Whose desires should I be fulfilling?

Wendell, Quello, and Bob

I’ve been bombarded with an overwhelming number of requests from loyal readers urging me to use my criminology background to uncover the true story behind the Cinnamon Toast Crunch spokesmen mystery. For the truly ignorant, there is a breakfast cereal called Cinnamon Toast Crunch. From 1984 until 1992 it was made by three chefs who would bake a loaf of bread, cut it into slices, apply a cinnamon-sugar spread to the slices, and then toast the breads in a magical oven. This is how they made Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Then, suddenly, there was only one chef. Wendell was always the dominant one, the Diana Ross to Quello and Bob’s Supremes, but no explanation was ever offered as to why the trio was disbanded. Almost immediately rumors of foul play were insinuated. Some suspected a jealous Wendell of taking out his partners; others thought executives at General Mills were responsible and forced Wendell to continue making television appearances against his will.

Unbeknownst to many, the glamorous life of cereal mascots is one fraught with danger. Perhaps not for the superstars, but for every Tony the Tiger and Cap’n Crunch, there are dozens of Boo Berries and Crunchosaurus Rexes. Even longtime cereal stalwarts Snap, Crackle, and Pop were unable to save their brother Pow. The turnover at brands like Cookie Crisp, Coco Krispies, Smacks, and Apple Jacks is truly heartbreaking. While a lesser tier of Buzz the Honey Nut Cheerios bee, Toucan Sam, the Trix Rabbit, and Lucky do fairly well for themselves, the introduction of a new product or changes in consumer preferences could at any moment render them the next King Vitamin. Veterans like Sonny the Coco Puffs bird and Sugar Bear the Super Sugar/Golden Crisps mascot have been fortunate, but have been living on the edge extinction for years.

Cereal politics are ugly, rivalries intense, and billions of dollars are at stake. This part of a balanced breakfast is not for the meek of heart. I’ll spare you all the sordid details of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch affair, but let’s just say it wasn’t the most amicable of splits. Cereal mascots, like the models with whom they consort, ingest almost nothing but cocaine and booze. It is a thrill ride that far too often ends in tragedy. Wendell was actually the heaviest drug user of the three, but after he became a Jehovah’s Witness in 1991 a deep rift developed between the chefs. As their friendship deteriorated, so did their cereal’s market share. With General Mills’ corporate espionage sources discovering rival Post’s plans to introduce Waffle Crisp by the mid-nineties, an important decision regarding the direction of Cinnamon Toast Crunch needed to be made. In one of the most controversial and underhanded moves in industry history, a series of 4 commercials were recorded without Quello and Bob’s knowledge. These Wendell solo spots ran the entire length of the high cereal summer season, after which Quello and Bob were released from their contracts.

Mascots from across the breakfast spectrum went on strike as a display of solidarity to the two slighted chefs. Everyone from Aunt Jemima to Mrs Butterworth to Rastus the Cream of Wheat Guy came out in support of the bakers. Grocers across the country were unable to restock their shelves with breakfast foods, which led to increased sales at Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks. It took years for morning home dining to recover, and its popularity has yet to return to pre-1992 levels. The fallout from the incident haunts the industry to this day.

As for Quello and Bob, the transition from celebrity to civilian was understandably difficult. Fortunately Quello has conquered his demons and, after a few relapses, has been clean for years now. He and his wife Monica run a spa in Indiana (http://www.quellobellospa.com) and are expecting their first child. Bob wasn’t so lucky. His body was found in a Motel 6 outside of Reno days before his 32nd birthday. Autopsy results showed 43 toxic substances in his blood.



HAPPIER DAYS

So Skinny!!!!!!!!!!

I weighed myself in Thailand and I clocked in at 75kg (165 lb). I usually go for 'round 84 (185) and stopped going to the gym when I hit 90 (198), feeling undeserving of so easily almost attaining long aspired for dream weight of 200 pounds. This 165 was after a few days of binge eating in Yangon and Bangkok too. I BULKED UP to 165. That's crazy. I can feel every bone in my body save my femurs and them 3 little ones in the ears. Got a crucial 6 pack and well defined shoulders, tris, lats and all that even though I can prolly only curl 12 pounds and bench 60. Body fat is so much more important than muscle though, look at Brad Pitt in Troy and Fight Club. 35 pounds makes a big difference in both of us.

If there's ever a place to gain weight it's Hawaii. See if after a week there I can't stop buttoning my pants through a belt loop. Bring on the plate lunches!!! Macaroni salad 'til my clothes fit me again!!!!!

The Relaxing Lawn of Rakhine Gone

People in Myanmar are undoubtedly the friendliest in the world. Good thing too, imagine if you had a nation of unemployed loiterers who weren't friendly. That would suck. Fortunately that ain't the case, and multiple times a day one is forced to marvel at how good-natured and kind everyone is. I figure once you're welcomed into someone's home people everywhere tend to be warm and open, they just don't seem to distinguish between the hospitality you extend to a guest versus that to a random person in the street here. Still though, it's always nice to hang out with/be adopted by a family for a few days.

On the bus met an older Burmese couple who live in Australia and were visiting family here. They invited me to join them on their homecoming and I was happy to tag along. Hopped in a taxi (of the pickup truck sort. Suppose they got cars with the word TAXI written on a rooftop sign too, but far more prevalent are motorcycles, bicycles, and pickup trucks. You'd be surprised at how many dozen people you can cram into the back of a little Japanese pickup. Those were buses and not taxis though) and headed off to wherever it was they were taking me. There is always that brief moment of "wait a minute, am I going to die?" whenever you find yourself following people you just met into unknown places. Especially in strange countries where you don't speak the language. There tend to be more serial killers on television that in reality though, and the fact that I don't live in a cheesy horror movie also decreases the likelihood of anything bad occurring. I'll post pictures (I've got bazillions) when I get back to 'Merica, meanwhile here are some insights into what happens when a giant white guy drops into a Burmese family's village compound:

As a preposterously tall foreigner, inquiries regarding my height are fairly common. I answered, one thing led to another and two guys started arguing about which one of them was taller. They stood up, faced each other, and everyone starting shouting their opinion. The whole thing was pretty ridiculous so I intervened and lined them up back to back. All the commotion ceased as it was evident to everyone that the taxi driver was a few millimeters taller than the fat guy. This debate being abruptly settled, a conversation praising the genius of the back to back method of height comparison ensued. Apparently in Myanmar judging who is taller has always been a difficult task because when face to face the disputing parties disqualify each other on grounds of chest swelling, raised eyebrows, improper neck angles, hairstyles, and other such height falsifying factors. Shoulder to shoulder yields many of the same disputes and is more a source of controversy than an arbitrator. Not so with this novel back to back approach. A mutual third party must officially declare the winner, but so foolproof this solution that any observer would arrive at the same conclusion. My failure to take credit for inventing this revolutionary technique was taken as proof of my modesty and further endeared everyone to me.

. . .

This 4 year old girl really liked me and we had a lot of fun goofing around. One day she had a new toy. Now before you judge, please remember that these are country folks living in what is far from a wealthy nation. The only other toys I saw were a little car and two rubber bands. From what I could infer these she shared with her 7 year old brother. Her new toy was a beetle. You could watch it curl up, set it on a chair, flick it across the floor, all sorts of fun games. I pretended to eat it, but she didn't believe me for a second. I showed her how to do it and we had a good time pretending to eat it and then cough it up, pull a beetle out of your nose, out of the other guy's ear, hours of fun. Later that afternoon the whole family was sitting around when she pranced in showing off her new toy. No one was much impressed and paid her little attention. So she ate the beetle. "SHE ATE THE BEETLE!!!" "No, she ate it?" "Yes, she ate it!!" "That beetle she was playing with?" "Ate it?" "She'll be sick" "She'll be fine" "Ate it?" "Popped it in her mouth and swallowed it." She was quite happy to be the center of attention and to have gotten everyone with her prank. I had never before seen let alone imagined a more successful performance in all my years of pretending to eat stuff.

. . .

Not quite sure how the family hierarchy worked, but there was most certainly a ranking. The Australian couple were at the top, and as their prize souvenir I was too. We sat on chairs instead of the floor, we got fanned by pretty girls, we got to eat first, all sorts of perks. I thought dude was kind of a jerk about it, but maybe that's how alpha males in Myanmar are supposed to behave. Getting to eat first was cool though. I got to have all the local delicacies and more fresh fruit than you can imagine. Lemme tell you, people who live in fruit orchards have lots and lots and lots and lots of fresh fruit. It got got to be a bit much though, as the women folk whose duties consisted of cooking and serving food took tremendous pleasure in watching me eat. I generally have a healthy appetite, and when my taking seconds makes people happy I will do my best to oblige them. The first few days were alright, but when my gorging failed to keep pace with their expectations I would be encouraged to "sa, sa" (eat, eat) and when compliance was unsatisfactory was commanded quite aggressively to "Sa!! Sa!! Sa!!" certain items. I tried to vary my consumption so as not to favor any particular chef and would end every feeding pleading to be allowed to move on to the multiple course fruit eating session that served as an interlude before dessert. Never before had I so wanted to correct the imbalance of disparity, but as Myanmar is wont to imprison those seeking to alter the status quo, thought it best to continue suffering in overindulged silence.

All in all it was a great week. If any of you are heading out to Myanmar (yeah, right) I'd be happy to recommend a host family 11 hours south of Yangon 'bout 30 minutes east of Mawlamyang

Myanmar Wins

Found a picturesque lake with a little wooden village. Wandered through a vegetable market. Strolled down a dirt road and came across an enormous temple with thousands of people worshiping. Some teenage laborers directed me to some pagoda and the people there saw I was thirsty and gave me water. Met a gang of children, took dozens of pictures, and was the honored guest of their impoverished shantytown. Stopped to rest at another lazy lake with electricityless wooden shacks. And that was just the first 3 hours of my 13km stroll from the airport to downtown.

Street stalls sell various pig gut delicacies. Saw a film at an old school one screen movie house where the rich people sit in the balcony and the poor folks sit below. There are monks everywhere: every kid has a shaved head and there are lots of teenage Natalie Portman bald girls too. Our bus broke down and while we waited for them to repair it, some guys invited me to share their whiskey. Lemme tell you, whiskey inspired broken down bus friends harassing the pretty girl selling grapes is priceless.

Made friends with a crazy monk and hung out with him all day. He invited me to stay in his monastery, but as I had already paid for a hotel that night we agreed to meet up the next day. I was late though, and he prolly thought I blew him off. Spent a few hours looking for him, but I guess it wasn't meant to be.

After politely declining to see his paintings and traditional handicrafts dude checked over his shoulder, slid up beside me and whispered "I elso have de rhoobie." What do I look like, a jewel smuggler? What am I going to do with a ruby? Still though, it was quite flattering. I've had shady guys offer to get me women and drugs, but I feed honored to have moved up to gemstones. Thanks Myanmar, bonus points for classing me up a notch on the contraband goods hierarchy.

The friendliest people, the best looking women, the most cultural stuff, and more weird/gross food than you can imagine. Myanmar (not Burma) ranks #2 right behind the El Dorado of Paraguay