Pigeons are spying on us... all of us

A lot of people these days, particularly with the technological advances that make snooping easier, are worried about Big Brother. In the last 2 weeks, I have heard talk about police-free ticketing where tickets would be issued right in your car (think Demolition Man) and talk about whether or not Google would spell the end of privacy. Heck, even my own company creates hardware that can be used to snoop data, voice, or video traffic sent across network.

So with all of this technology, what should we be most concerned with? Is it our phone lines? Is it the government reading our emails? Is it cameras watching us? Is it satellites tracking us?

No, it is none of that. Big Brother will surely descend upon us, but He will be spying on us in the form of... wait for it... a little longer... PIGEONS!

Check out this story I found today, entitled "Iran busts 'spy pigeons' near nuclear site".

Apparently, we have armed pigeons with invisible strings and metal rings. If we can catch and release pigeons, what else could we exploit to meet our voyeuristic needs?

I really cannot even fathom what else might be lurking, watching me, judging me, tracking my every move. All I can say is that the next time I see a dog taking a leak on a fire hydrant, I am going to be paying extra careful attention to exactly how he lifts that leg.

Holes, holes, and more holes... and a couple half holes

So I figured my next entry would be about something deep. I might opine on the election or maybe the fragile state of the economy. But no, I am moved to write about holes.

This hole, interestingly enough, is the largest hole in the world. It is in Russia. It is actually a diamond mine. Go figure. Another interesting tidbit is that the suction above the hole was powerful enough to cause several helicopter crashes, so they have banned all flight above the hole. If you want to learn more about a giant hole, check out this site.

But that's enough about that hole. I wanted to write about my holes. Wait, that sounds bad. I wanted to write about our holes. Still not much better, but let's try to stay focused. Moving on.

So Wednesday morning last week, I get a call on my Blackberry. I was in a meeting so I didn't answer it. A few seconds later, my personal cell rings. Uh oh - have to answer it. Stacy was on the other end, a bit frantic as there was water all over the family room, leaking through the ceiling. Yuck. As it turns out, we had a leak in our master bathroom. Yeah, lovely. We bought the house in February, and a few months later, we have our own waterfall. Yay.

So we brought in a plumber yesterday (Saturday), and he fixed the leak (we think). And then he said we should consider getting a water damage person in. So the guy comes in and and says we can rent giant fans and an industrial-grade de-humidifer for the cheap price of $863.00. For that price, how could we say no?

So he wants to drill holes in our ceiling and set up the fans to get air circulating up there to dry it all out. This is the plumber equivalent of blowing on your soup to make it colder. Ok. Drill away, my man. But because our house was originally built in 1910, he needs a piece of paper that says there is no asbestos. But, sir, our house was completely remodeled in 2004. No deal.

Well, the only thing we could do was drill our own holes. So I spent Saturday afternoon putting holes in my own ceiling. It felt wrong. The good news is that I managed to find just about every stud in the ceiling. So instead of ten holes, we have like 146 holes in our ceiling (yes, that is an exaggeration - there is no way there are more than 127 holes).

And before you bring it up, yes, I know you can use stud finders. I don't want to talk about it.

Grossest thing ever

I have been a guy all... well, most of my life anyway. I have been in locker rooms. I have been around sports nearly all my life. I have seen my own ankle bend in ways that would make even the most sturdy folks cringe a little bit. I have cut things, broken things, and injured things in ways that are sometimes unimaginable. On top of that, I have seen some horrific injuries. I watched a buddy break his femur (yeah, the big leg bone) right in two... it just snapped. I watched intently as they drilled a hole in his leg... yes, a hole. And it wasn't a power drill or anything. We are talking hand drill. I watched while the nurses turned away.

So with all of that in mind, what is the grossest thing I have ever seen? My friend Keith has Sharks season tickets with me (we actually have 3 seats with a third guy named Rich). He plays hockey, and apparently he hit his elbow on the ice a while back. The result? Bursitis.

Ok, so what is bursitis? The only way to explain it is this. Imagine that there was a little Bob the Builder inside his elbow. And if Bob were to stick his entire head out of Keith's elbow, that is what it looks like. Here is a picture from Wikipedia:

Now, mind you, this is the definition of bursitis. You would think the picture would be one of the more horrifying things you would see. No. Not at all. This picture is an ant hill to Keith's Everest. This picture is a Pee Wee football game to Keith's Super Bowl. This picture is Twizzlers to Keith's Red Vines.

When I first saw Keith's... uhhh... little person in his elbow, I freaked out. When he started rubbing it on me, I giggled in disgust. When he started making it talk, ok, that just creeped me out. I haven't slept well in weeks.

So the next time you see someone break something or maybe slice something off or even step in something gross, don't turn your head in disgust. No, stare at it a little longer, and remember that what you have seen is nothing like Keith's little Bob the Builder. But fortunately for us all, we are left remembering the immortal words of one Mr. Builder, "Bob the Builder, can we fix it? Bob the Builder, YES WE CAN!"

I m a Sharks Fin-atic again!

Hockey season is officially back. I love hockey season, all 9 months of it. Talk about a sport that is just always there. Hockey is like a good friend or a comfortable pair of shoes - it's always there when you need it.

Had a tough day at work? It's ok. Hockey season will be there when you get home. Blisters on your feet after walking around looking for the perfect Christmas gift? Don't even sweat it. Slip on a pair of hockey season and lay back in your comfy chair. Yep, hockey season loves you, even when you can't love yourself.

The Sharks opened the season on Thursday night. I got there almost an hour before gametime. I grabbed my chicken nuggets (not sure if they count as real chicken, but they are chicken-like at least) and a water. I nestled into my seat and began what will become a 9-month road to misery and depression.

For those of you who don't know, the Sharks are a great hockey... no, good hockey team. The word "great" is reserved for teams who can actually win in the playoffs. For 3 years in a row, the Sharks have been the chic pick to win the Cup (the Stanley Cup for those of you not in the know). And all three years, they have lost in the second round, to teams they should beat or at least could beat. And in those losses, they have shown that they aren't great, merely good.

In their defense, it is difficult to play hockey well with both hands around your throat (choking reference if you don't get the subtlety).

Anyway, all of the teams I root for bring out this kind of misery. It is a wild ride en route to what is eventually a catastrophic collapse of biblical proportions, but at the end of the day, my teams are always left with their heads held low and some random fan yelling out, "There's always next year."

But until that certainty becomes reality, I will cheer and chide, laugh and grumble, and utterly enjoy the next 9 months as my Sharks lead me down a path of sheer exhilaration. What makes me a real fan? That despite what will probably be another disappointing outcome, I will travel that path with the kind of wide-eyed wonder that all of us real fin-atics have.

Go Sharks.

Oh my! Get prepared for barbecue sandwiches!

Now, mind you that when I say barbecue sandwiches, I am not actually referring to some exotic meat that has been lightly cooked over coals or wood, with that smoky barbecue flavor. Oh no, not at all. I am talking about two pieces of Wonder Bread, smushed together with a little bit of KC Masterpiece barbecue sauce in between. No meat. No cheese. No leafy green to make it somehow less pathetic. Just bread and barbecue sauce. Mmmm.

What would drive a man to eat such a thing? Is Stacy not providing for her husband? No, Stacy is doing just fine. In fact, she actually does her best to help avert impending barbecue gloom. But when she goes on trips, I am left to fend for myself. First, the microwave meals go. We like Amy's Enchilada Pie. Those are tasty, and I recommend them to anyone - not just guys stuck at home without a thing to eat. They are a nice blend of cheese, fake tortilla, and the obligatory red sauce that makes an enchilada, well, an enchilada.

But when the microwave meals are gone, all bets are off. Peanut butter is usually the next to go. I will slather a bit on some bread and choke down a peanut butter sammy. After that? The rice goes next. We have Unce Ben's microwavable rice. That stuff rocks. When it is gone? I like to call it Bachelor Roulette - you just don't know what kind of food I will end up swallowing down.

One trip a while back, I ended up putting the aforementioned barbecue sauce on some bread. Yum. Barbecue sauce is sweet and tasty. Bread? Well, it gave me a place to put the sauce. Stacy was pretty apalled when I told her. The worst part? I didn't tell her that when the bread was gone, I was eating barbecue sauce burritos. You figure it out.