Back to Beijing - IAAF World Champs 2015

(Like Famous the Tam is wont to say, I hate using good stuff at an away game.
I had to write up the my current tasking here for Oculus, the company newsletter; 
Since I wrote it, I have no issue with reproducing it here... Enjoy.)

Has it really been seven years?
Yes … Just seven years ago, the Olympic Green in Beijing was simply awash with my co-workers.

StAss the Mad Russian, Chief Propeller Head, Ty, Ben (no longer) in Florida, The Apostle, Spongemark, SGK, and a host of others in addition to your humble correspondent were dispatched far and wide over Beijing during the 2008 Olympics.
(For some of those tales, head to the left of the page and navigate to Aug of 2008, or click the Olympic tag to see all of that content)

Ah, yes- the agonizingly slow buses to the shoebox-like accommodations, the thorough and very invasive security pat-downs to get in and out of event spaces, the insane traffic as we tried to go from site to site or to see the local attractions, and of course, the spectacle of the opening ceremonies. Good times...good times...

Fast-forward to August 2015, and we (and by we, I mean yours truly, the lone survivor from the Battle of Beijing) are back in the Celestial Kingdom, and once again courting heat stroke, black lung disease and food poisoning as we provide stats interfacing for the Really Big American Network broadcast for the IAAF World Track & Field Championships in the National Stadium (国家体育场北京 aka the Bird's Nest). The former Olympic sites are a little faded and dusty, but the Water Cube and the other structures around the former Olympic site are still very recognizable.

Your humble correspondent is the boots-on-the-ground in Beijing, with very capable tele-support provided back in Florida by St.Ass and  The Apostle. This World Championship is basically a pre-Olympic event, a warm-up if you will, for the Rio Olympics in August 2016.

I had a bit of a scare in the days leading up to departure for the event … The container of equipment for the event was on-site in the port of Tainjin when a warehouse full of chemical and explosives blew up. I was sitting on the edge of my seat to find out if the container was OK. A backup plan was put in place where I would hand-carry the equipment in case the container was damaged, lost or destroyed.

The word came down the day before I left Jacksonville that the container had arrived in Beijing and all was well. (I brought the backup equipment anyway, because you never know.)

On arrival, I found the pre-shipped equipment was in pristine condition. I wish I was in as good condition after the 25 or so travel-hours it took to me get here.

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There is a huge parade and showcase for Chinese militaria next week in front of Tienanmen Square and the Forbidden City, in celebration of the anniversary of the victory over Japanese aggression (not kidding).
They are practicing different aspectds of how they will be screwing up basic services and inconveniencing everyone this week... We got caught in a traffic holdup and after waiting on a freeway offramp for 45 minutes and a van with no A/C, I said Adios MotherF'er and walked to the site... Ain't nobody got time for this.


There is absolutely no truth to the rumor that I set up a Teamviewer app and was running my systems from the bar in the hotel, in order to avoid the traffic and the roasting highways.
No truth at all. None. Nothing to see here... Just move along.



I said move along. Now go.

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My real workstation at the Birds Nest....

So China   Much exotic    Very Broadcast   Amaze.

There is a little Easter egg here that a few folks caught. So worth it.
The TIS Virus lives!!
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A funny story: Everyone knows that the Silk Street Market is a six-floor building dedicated to separating tourists from their money in exchange for counterfeit or poorly made knock-offs of name-brand merchandise and mass-produced tchotchkes and gewgaws.

First-timers are cautioned not to go alone, or at least to be very wary of any deal that seems too good to be true. And this visit was no different.

The crew headed for the Silk Street Market to shop for souvenirs. One of the NBC runners for the event, who we shall call "Ferguson" in order to shield him from further ridicule, split off from the rest of us in search of adventure and treasure.

When we caught up with him later, we found he had not heeded the warnings from the Old China Hands on the crew, and proudly showed off his new "finest quality" Rolex he had just purchased for a ridiculously high "friend-price." Most of us, having seen the gamut of knock-off Rolexes from the shoddy to the near-perfect, gathered around to see how he did.

In a word: Awful.

Crappy band, ticking second hand, lightweight ... It was sad.
And poor Ferguson...
He thought he'd gotten a deal.
They saw him coming and they laid the sales pitch on hard.
Sat him down, gave him a cup of tea, brought out the pretty inlaid wood boxes and gave it to him with both barrels.

Word of his folly spread quickly once we got to the site for work that day...

And to add insult to injury, his painful lesson was reinforced every day, all day long on-site. 
There is a tape source named 'X'. During the broadcast, the director will call cameras and tape sources to be used on the air, and very, very often we will hear the director call "Ready X ... Roll X!" (Rolex! - Get it?)
In the spirit of fun, everyone started calling the source "Ferguson" or "Ferg" - So we heard "Ready Ferg ... Roll Ferg!" instead of “Roll X!” all through the broadcast.
========================================================

From our "That Dude is Fucked" Department...



By now everyone should have seen The World's Fastest Man, Usain Bolt get taken out by a Chinese cameraman on a hands-free Segway...
Fortunately Bolt escaped the attack unscathed, later joking that American Justin Gatlin had paid the guy to run him over...
He had a great sense of humor about it.
Not sure the Ogranizing Committee will be as forgiving. They have zero tolerance policy  about public embarrassment. That and the $50,000 camera he destroyed...
I have a feeling that next week Segway CameraDude will be posted in 二连浩特市, (which is so far away that it doesn't have an English pronunciation) and will be videotaping yak turds for the rest of his career.

===========================================
Outta here on Monday.


Cannot wait.

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Vaccines & Autism

It's about time you morons get the actual facts on how vaccines cause autism.

Click the link for the facts.

HOWDOVACCINESCAUSEAUTISM.COM

You're welcome.

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

An Old One, But a Good One...

...especially for these times.

A Message to Garcia

By Elbert Hubbard - 1899

In all this Cuban business there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion. When war broke out between Spain & the United States, it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain vastness of Cuba- no one knew where. No mail nor telegraph message could reach him. The President must secure his cooperation, and quickly.

What to do!
Some one said to the President, "There’s a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can."
Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How "the fellow by the name of Rowan" took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, & in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia, are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail.

The point I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is he at?" By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing- "Carry a message to Garcia!"

General Garcia is dead now, but there are other Garcias.
No man, who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed, but has been well nigh appalled at times by the imbecility of the average man- the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it. Slip-shod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, & half-hearted work seem the rule; and no man succeeds, unless by hook or crook, or threat, he forces or bribes other men to assist him; or mayhap, God in His goodness performs a miracle, & sends him an Angel of Light for an assistant. You, reader, put this matter to a test: You are sitting now in your office- six clerks are within call.
Summon any one and make this request: "Please look in the encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of Correggio".
Will the clerk quietly say, "Yes, sir," and go do the task?
On your life, he will not. He will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of the following questions:
Who was he?
Which encyclopedia?
Where is the encyclopedia?
Was I hired for that?
Don’t you mean Bismarck?
What’s the matter with Charlie doing it?
Is he dead?
Is there any hurry?
Shan’t I bring you the book and let you look it up yourself?
What do you want to know for?
And I will lay you ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to find the information, and why you want it, the clerk will go off and get one of the other clerks to help him try to find Garcia- and then come back and tell you there is no such man. Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law of Average, I will not.
Now if you are wise you will not bother to explain to your "assistant" that Correggio is indexed under the C’s, not in the K’s, but you will smile sweetly and say, "Never mind," and go look it up yourself.

And this incapacity for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift, are the things that put pure Socialism so far into the future. If men will not act for themselves, what will they do when the benefit of their effort is for all? A first-mate with knotted club seems necessary; and the dread of getting "the bounce" Saturday night, holds many a worker to his place.
Advertise for a stenographer, and nine out of ten who apply, can neither spell nor punctuate- and do not think it necessary to.
Can such a one write a letter to Garcia?

"You see that bookkeeper," said the foreman to me in a large factory.
"Yes, what about him?"
"Well he’s a fine accountant, but if I’d send him up town on an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand, might stop at four saloons on the way, and when he got to Main Street, would forget what he had been sent for."
Can such a man be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia?

We have recently been hearing much maudlin sympathy expressed for the "downtrodden denizen of the sweat-shop" and the "homeless wanderer searching for honest employment," & with it all often go many hard words for the men in power.

Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get frowsy ne’er-do-wells to do intelligent work; and his long patient striving with "help" that does nothing but loaf when his back is turned. In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is constantly sending away "help" that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business, and others are being taken on. No matter how good times are, this sorting continues, only if times are hard and work is scarce, the sorting is done finer- but out and forever out, the incompetent and unworthy go.
It is the survival of the fittest. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best- those who can carry a message to Garcia.

I know one man of really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress him. He cannot give orders; and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to take to Garcia, his answer would probably be, "Take it yourself."
Tonight this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his threadbare coat. No one who knows him dare employ him, for he is a regular fire-brand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled No. 9 boot.

Of course I know that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical cripple; but in our pitying, let us drop a tear, too, for the men who are striving to carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the whistle, and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in line dowdy indifference, slip-shod imbecility, and the heartless ingratitude, which, but for their enterprise, would be both hungry & homeless.

Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have; but when all the world has gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds- the man who, against great odds has directed the efforts of others, and having succeeded, finds there’s nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes.

I have carried a dinner pail & worked for day’s wages, and I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both sides. There is no excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no recommendation; & all employers are not rapacious and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous.

My heart goes out to the man who does his work when the "boss" is away, as well as when he is at home. And the man who, when given a letter for Garcia, quietly take the missive, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer, or of doing aught else but deliver it, never gets "laid off," nor has to go on a strike for higher wages. Civilization is one long anxious search for just such individuals. Anything such a man asks shall be granted; his kind is so rare that no employer can afford to let him go. He is wanted in every city, town and village- in every office, shop, store and factory.
The world cries out for such: he is needed, & needed badly- the man who can carry a message to Garcia.

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Quick Hits - 7/8/14

A couple for this AM whilst reading USA Yesterday at breakfast...

A "Voices" writer (R.Jervis) continues to trumpet the tired prevarication about how high the deportation rate is under Obama...
He doesn't bother mention how they are cooking the numbers by classifying anyone turned away at the border during a normal border crossing as a "deportation".
Morons.

-+-+-+-+-+-

DeWayne Wickham had a great idea for what to do with all the kids that are coming across the border...
Instead of sending them off to Great Aunt Maria's in Sioux Falls with a strong admonishment " You better come back when we call you.", he says send 'em all to Gitmo.
Seriously- great idea.
Infrastructure in place, space, control, and incentive for repatriation to original country.

GIMF: Wickham Deportation Guantanamo

more later-

TBG

Chicken Fried Steak

-or-

Overindulgence in Tomball Texas

When I go to Texas there are two things I always try to do...

The first thing is to avoid Bill Miller.

No, not that one.

This one:


Yep- some of the most mediocre BBQ in Texas...
Yuck.

The second thing is to see if KX59 and Belle are available for a sit-down and chat...
It happens now and again...

I tried to hook up with them on in inbound side and they weren't having any, so we settled on the outbound- arranging for a Saturday lunch of Americanized Wiener Schnitzel - the famous Chicken Fried Steak at Goodsens in Tomball.
(A few weeks back KX59 had a post about CFS- I took it as an affront that I hadn't been back to Houston in a while to partake, and I left a nasty comment to let him know I'd been offended.)

Holy mackerel- I should have done my homework... Or at least re-read my blogpost from the last time we went there.
1.) Unless you're REALLY #@$%ing hungry, order the SMALL chicken fried steak
(Because the large is basically a battered and fried, bathmat-sized, drooping-over-the-edges-of-the-plate behemoth.) (No, no pics - no wide-angle lens on my cellphone.)

2.) If you order the SMALL, you will have room for the amazing desserts
Like this:

(pic by Belle)
OMFG.

3. If you are truly a glutton- and you HAVE the large CFS, AND you order the banana pudding for dessert, the mandatory 90 minute digestive-processing chat with KX59 and Belle will be invoked- because it was going to be almost impossible to trundle my bulk out to the car and head to the airport afterward.


Conversation ranged far and wide- family, blogging, work, politics-
We were able to shame Belle back into posting on her blog, KX and I discussed IT mentality and traded stories about the architectural trade...
Good times- good times...

All good things must come to an end- I headed back to Jax.
This phase of the day was even worse- trying to squeeze into an Embraer 125 is nearly an impossibility  for me on a good day-
It was a disturbing Matryoshka flew to Jacksonville that day... Iced-tea soaked chicken fried steak, wrapped in banana pudding, inside an ogre, inside a airplane the size of a toothpaste tube...
(If a turkey + duck + chicken = Turducken, I don't want to contemplate what you'd call CFS+pudding+ogre+airplane.  Eww.)

KX59 and the Lovely Belle - they headed off to do what Texans do... Basically desiccate in the 110-degree heat, and uphold the fine Texas tradition of Bad Mouthing Every Other State In The US Because They Aren't Texas.
God love 'em.


TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Rosa Khutor Snowfall

My man SpongeMark skyped me a lovely picture a couple days ago...

"It's snowing up here at Extreme." he wrote.
A cursory glance didn't show anything spectacular...


"You have to zoom in..." he followed up.




Russian innovation...
"Quick tovarische- go to town and collect all the bedsheets from Alexandrovskiy Sad apartments. Tell them it is for The Good of the Games. Do not bring back the ones with floral pattern."

I wonder what thread-count they are using?

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Opening Ceremonies Fail

The Cisco guys and I were sitting in our 'office' in the IBC watching the Opening Ceremonies when the first major FAIL of the night went off...
The 5th ring in the Olympic logo didn't bloom from it's original snowflake form...


It immediately became quite the conversation starter.
Was it sabotage from the LGBT community- inserting a stylized chocolate starfish into the production?
We could see the Rainbow Commandos high-fiving each other "Yeah! We did it!"...
Some other choice comments revolved around current events and trending memes-
The incomplete logo is a tribute to the unfinished hotel rooms and broken services,
and my favorite- "Oh 5th Ring.,.. You had just one job. One. Job."
Of course there are already t-shirts available...


Get yours here.


The kids up at the mountain cluster were gathered in one of the local watering holes to watch some of the fun...


SpongeMark, the young программист ученого, Marco, the Fair Mrs. Spongemark and Nick from Sanki were in a bar in Rosa Khutor- a/k/a Rosa Hooters...
SM & MSM are still suffering from their 'too much hot water' problem.
We have Top Men from NBC's hotel police on it.
Top. Men.


TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

GAA: At Lunch

At least they are only being assholes to each other.
And the waitress.

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Lucky Bastards

Seems that the the guys with the best job at the Olympics were not the guys that did the security pat-downs of the cheerleaders at Beach Volleyball...

It was these blokes.



Click to enlarge

In case you didn't see it, this is how they moved the items like the hammer, discus, javelin and the shot back to the competitors.
No doubt there was quite a bit of training, testing and certification that went on before they handed controls to these young hooligans...

Personally I was hoping LOCOG would get the guys from Top Gear to do it,
but give their (Clarkson and his partners in mayhem; not LOCOG)  penchant for running into things and each other, it would have only ended in tears, or a severed Achilles tendon.

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Future Olympiad

Welcome to the 2102 Olympics on Uopuo 7!
The is the synchronized levitation competition...







TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Community Toasters & Public Shaming

Lack of sleep is starting to take its toll on me...

This morning I came as close to physical violence for the most trivial offense as I have in a long time...
At 6:30 this fine (overcast, chilly) morning I was in the commissary getting breakfast.
I come in early to beat the 7:00-7:15 rush, where the place fills to capacity and things get way too crowded for my tastes.
There is a bank of toasters and a selection of breads at one side and I threw a couple slices of wheat bread in and went over to get my yogurt/granola & a plate of fruit.
I was walking back to get my should-be-pretty-close-to-finished toast and watched some little (5'0") shitfuck from New York take one of my slices out of the toaster and put it on his plate and walk over and sit down and start eating...

I was floored.

Really? You couldn't put your own bread in and wait for 60 seconds?

He was sitting over among his New York co-workers... Perhaps some shaming him in front of his fellow travelers?

Choices:
1. Accost the little fuck- "What the fuck, dude? Go steal someone else's toast."
2. Tit-for-tat -  walk over and take an item off his plate. "I assume all food is community property since you saw fit to abscond with my toast..."
3. Kill with kindness - Put the other slice of finished toast on a plate and walk it over to him and put it on the table by him. "Figured you might as well have the other one too... Can I get you anything else? Butter? Jelly?"
4. Kill (well, maim at least) with malice aforethough - Approach from behind, apply one meaty paw to the back of his head and slam his face down into his plate of eggs and baked beans, hopefully breaking the nose and maybe the jaw. This might be a little harsh, given the offense... But bad manners really shouldn't be encouraged.

ToastThief happily munched away... I toasted up a replacement for the pilfered slice then went back to my desk to eat, seethe, blog and plot the appropriate response...
I know where the little fuck works.
It may take a few days, but I will educate this little turd.

Or maybe not.
I need to get a really good nights sleep...
Gotta quit "sleeping" with the TV on and the window open. Doesn't promote getting to REM state.


TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Spending Issues

Overheard in the hotel bar last night:


Buddy: "...so what the hell is the problem this time?"

Depressed Guy: "Spending money on her is no problem...but when I want something..."

B: "Do tell."

DG: "We spent $5,000 on a breast augmentation for her...She loved her new boobs."

B: "And..."

DG: "Well, she was still hung up on her appearance, so I got her a $3,500 nose job. Then she was really ecstatic."

B: "MmmHm. What else?"

DG: "Wound up with the hat trick- got her liposuction for $4,000."

B: "Wow. A complete overhaul. And she had had a problem with you spending all the cash on her?"

DG:"Not exactly. I spent $300 for a blowjob for myself and she went flippin' mental..."

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Making A Good Impression,

While on this gig, part of my modus operandi  was to find and use a laundry drop-off service in whatever city I'm in to wash my clothes in order to save money.
($11 to wash a pair of jeans, $4 to wash a pair of socks? Please.
Your clothes aren't the only ones being taken to the cleaners.)

The hotels that I've been staying at are usually Starwood Properties (Westin, W, Sheraton, Aloft, etc) and as a rule don't have guest laundry facilities, so self-service isn't in the cards either.
Starwood Properties are also occasionally a little highbrow...and the other guests can sometimes be a little snooty...

I had picked up my laundry on the way back to the hotel from the arena and stepped into the elevator with a well-dressed business woman who had just checked in.
She with her big purse and Samsonite rolling bag, me in my 5.11-brand tactical khakis, backpack and plastic bag full of laundry.

The elevator stopped on her floor.
As the door opened she looked at me then at my laundry
and sniffed "Nice luggage. Maybe you'll start a trend." and walked away.



Wow. See you next Tuesday, lady.

In retrospect, I guess I did look a little "Homeless Guy"-ish.


TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Steve Jobs - Iconic Image

Lots of folks have been putting up their Steve Jobs mementos...



This was always my favorite.


TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Photos From The Road - Buffalo Edition

From CoConspirator 1.5, a photo from the Buffalo NY area:

(Click pics for a closer look)

Wait... He's chained to the urinal?

Could this be a Rule 34 thing?


TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Canadian Oddities - Curling

JR: "Hey everyone, Lets Go Curling!
Everyone: "Yay! Let's go!

So I have just left the airport,  driving through the snowdrifts trying to get the hotel in downtown Calgary, and I get a text from JR.

JR to TBG: Hotel Lobby, 8:20. Curling.

Lovely.

I still haven't recovered from the double testicle-grope at TSA or the anal probe I got from Canadian Customs & Immigration...
CCI:"Looks like you had a felony charge against you in 1995... Tell us about it."
TBG:"What?! You're going to have to tell ME about it, since I don't know anything about it. Last time I was in jail was that little incident in Panama in 1981."

TBG to JR: "Will there be booze & food?"
You've got to have your priorities.

JR to TBG: "Restaurant & Full Bar."

Ok... Twist my arm.

So... Here I am in th e lobby-
8:15 - Nobody
8:20 - Still alone
8:25 - Fuggit. They left me.

TBG to JR: "8:20 in lobby. Where is everyone?"

JR to TBG: "Oops. Lobby at Westin. Forgot we have you in the OTHER hotel."

(Apparently ne'er-do-wells and sub-standard peons like Yours Truly get to stay at the OTHER hotel... The NHL Leper Colony Inn, I guess.)

So, a 3 block walk in -2 degree temps later, I was on the bus and we were off to the North Hill Curling Club for an evening of slipping and sliding and tossing 40lb hunks of granite at each other.

First, a little orientation, a demonstration, a warning and some rules.

Don't pick up the stones, slide them; if you're a righty, slider goes on your left foot. Get the rocks in the circle. If you fall, get up quick- we don't like butt-prints melted into the sheets.

And we were off-

Team IT was amusing.
DanO, JR, Scott & Luc were playing against a crew from Events- Dean, Sofia and two staffer I didn't know.

I got quite a few action shots-


Luc started things off... He had quite a knack for the game and will be joining a curling club back in Montreal when he goes home. He might even build a curling sheet in the backyard at his humble abode.


DanO listens to a strategy discussion between Dean and Sofia prior to his first throw.


The actual throw is less graceful than planned...

But he did improve his form through the evening...

Ahhh. A much smoother delivery.

JR had some issues...

A good line up...


Nice control...

And for the release...

Carefully...carefully



Uh oh... Better pull that tongue in, you ain't Michael Jordan.

And down he goes...

The USS JR has capsized...

He's quickly back on his feet, though... No damage done.

He had a few other issues-

He needed assistance to get the slider on his foot. Dean, from the other team took pity on him and gave him an assist.

Sofia showed good form on her delivery...

Nice extension. Very artistic...

Scott had an interesting delivery too.

Kind of a stand-up form.

Hey, whatever works for you...


DanO and JR were on-hand to sweep the stone down the sheet...


For a bunch of noobs, the game was quite competitive.

Team IT landing a stone in the center ring...


Curling - It's not just Snowbilly Bowling...

HOWEVER -
As much as they tried to tell us how important things like Respect, Decorum, Adherence to the Rules, and Good Sportsmanship were, there was a group on one of the far sheets that were playing by some odd variation on standard curling rules.

Ummm. Ouch!?

Hmmm. Maybe I'll look into membership at a local curling club...

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Worst. Hat. Evar.

Yo, Dude. Chicks dig the monkey, but that hat would scare a buzzard off a shitwagon.

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Words to Live By

A short but heart-felt post from my friend Karen, ex of Alaska, ex of DRTO, now in NC, who remembers her Mom and leaves us with these words of wisdom:

Be happy for the good days.
Listen with your heart.
Keep your sense of humor.
Always treat people with respect.
Always be there for those you love.

Excellent advice for everyone to heed.

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

The Naming of Drinks is a Difficult Matter

...It isn't just one of your holiday games...

I was over reading Naughty Drinks over at Slashfood and remembered an incident from about 10 or 12 years ago that I thought I'd share with y'all...

We had just finished up working at a local event and retired to the post-event party at a local sports bar.
My co-conspirator (who shall rename maneless for the moment) was relatively newly divorced...Within the last year or so.
There was a small gaggle of what we would call Cougars today gathered at the bar, drinking girly drinks and acting silly. Ripe pickings for someone who might need a little "relief", if you know what I mean (nudge nudge, wink wink).

One of Co-Conspirator's biggest obstacle to Closing The Deal is the fact that he doesn't know when to Shut Up...
(Seriously, he will go on and on and on and on about anything and everything. Forever. Without stopping. Ever. Really.)
Knowing his propensity for this, I suggested that I'd get the ball rolling for him and if he played his cards right and would SHUTthefuckUP, he might be well be getting a little roll in the hay that evening.

Your Truly: "Listen: don't talk about your job, what you do, who you know or where you go for fun... Ask them, then SHUT UP. Get them talking about themselves and what they do and who they know."
Co-Conspirator: "Ok. I think I've got you. Make them talk to me, not me talk to them."
YT: "Right. There's 4 of them; one one of them ought to have low enough standards that you might actually get lucky IF YOU SHUT UP."

So... I ordered a round of drinks for the Cougars, a group of volunteers that worked for BellSouth and volunteered at local events in order to get out of the house and have a little fun occasionally.

After introductions I moved off to talk to some other folks that I knew and cast an eye over toward Co-Conspirator and his victims occasionally, just to check on things...
Well.
A little time went by and I hadn't checked on them in a bit so I wandered over that direction and saw that disaster had struck...
One of the ladies had bailed, and the other three were politely listening but looking for any opportunity to leave.
One caught my eye and sent me a "Please put me out of my misery" look...

I motioned to the bartender and placed an order, then went to the rescue...

Co-Conspirator was expounding on something inane and pointless- how to strip Cat-5 cables or TCP/IP security layers or something equally uninteresting to Cougars...
"Ladies!" I boomed, stepping in and cutting off Co-Conspirator mid-sentence.
"I see gangrene has set in..." getting a much-needed laugh out of them.
I fixed Co-Conspirator with a raised eyebrow- an implied warning to him not to say a word, and continued to address the ladies.
"I know it's killing you not to hear the rest of the fascinating details that Co-Conspirator was just sharing with you, but it seems like it's time for fresh drinks for everyone..."
The bartender was bringing the drinks over about then and I gave them to the appropriate recipients.
"For Laura, a Sex-on-the-Beach." I said, giving her the red-tinted glass.
"For the lovely and talented Linda, one Screaming Orgasm. Enjoy." and gave Linda the appropriate glass of liquor.
"And for Nancy, a Slow....Comfortable....Screw." drawing out the name and giving her the sloe gin/Southern Comfort/OJ cocktail...
"and for my co-conspirator- I was going to order him a Slippery Nipple, but I don't think he'd enjoy that as much as he would, say, Blow-Job-in-the-Parking-Lot. Instead, he'll be having a 'Going-Home-Alone-and-Masturbating' later... The bartender can't find all the ingredients right now." I finished. Co-Conspirator looked like I had hit him in the face with a mackerel.
I raised my glass-
"Cheers, Ladies! Bottoms up, so to speak."
As Mark Twain would say, 'At this point we shall draw the curtain of charity on the scene, to avoid further embarrassment.'

Good times, good times...

TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

The Starbux Monologues - Part 2

All the Rage

You can't swing a dead rat on a string without hitting some Euro-chick wearing some form of gladiator sandals this season...

No doubt this rage will hit the States soon, so remember you heard it here first.
There were some other head-scratchers that strolled by too...More on those in a minute.

First the sandals:
They come in three flavors-

Ankle high



I didn't get a good pic of the mid-shin variety, but they're out there...

But I did get these-

Sorry I couldn't get a clear shot without walking up to Boyfriend and  knocking him down...
Next time.


These are the just-below-the-knee variety...

I thought I saw a lot of them in Madrid but they are everywhere in Athens too...

And because we're all about statistics here at Listen to Uncle Jay...
During one three-hour stint in Madrid the stats were as follows-

Ankle- 29
Mid height- 7
Knee height- 9

Now, your girl here with her combat boots...

It's an interesting look for late summer in Madrid, but she's workin' it well...

And this poor asshole...

Black clothes & sox, then the white shoes...
Does this guy think he's Pat Boone of something ?
And the popped collar. Wow.

Just keepin' you up-to-date on footwear trends and fashion no-nos.


TBG- ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE