Thursday, October 15, 2009

Hi everybody!

How are you? Good, I'm glad to hear it.

First things first. Anybody want this?


'Cuz I don't.

I'm thinking of throwing it out. I don't need it anymore and it's metal, so I can't even burn it. I figured I'd offer it to you lovely people before going on craigslist and asking $50 for it.

Think that's unreasonable?


I wonder how much they're charging for the fourth leg...

The clothing rack has served me well over the past two years, keeping clothes off the ground and generally looking pretty terrible in my closetless room. I decided to upgrade some furniture recently, and now this guy is homeless. If you or anyone you know is interested, you can leave your email and we'll work out when you can come to pick it up.

What? I'm not shipping that. Tell you what... It's got casters that can be attached. You can give me your address, and I'll take it down to the street and give it a shove in your direction.

Hooray for compromise!

"I'm Henry Clay, and I approve of this shoving."

Ok, now that business is out of the way, I can get to pleasure. Two weekends ago, I did the unthinkable.

It's time for a search engine fight! What's the first result when you search for images of "unthinkable?"




Visually more appealing, certainly.

and Bing:

We have a winner!

And yes, it's because of the boobs. I'm actually quite disappointed in all 3.

The unthinkable thing I did was go deep into Enemy Territory, New Jersey.

Buy this t-shirt somewhere.

I actually went to Edison, NJ and made the near fatal error of driving myself. That place blows. It is a mess of freeways and malls and Hell. Mapquest is also not in my good books for giving me vague directions that got me lost. It's tough to tell if this is Mapquest's fault or if it can all be explained by Hell's limitless ever-shifting terrain, designed to prevent souls from escaping.

I knew I should have taken the demon rocket motorcycle.

Subastar and I braved the barbarous savagery of that state to go to the Garba! You may recall my post from last year's Garba, too.

It was held in the same venue with the same performers. I went with a different crowd of people, though. Here's the ladies:


A couple of the guys:


It was pretty bumpin, like last year:


I gotta tell you, not counting security and police, there were twice as many white guys as there were last year.

Of course, by that I mean I saw one who was not my reflection.

I had quickly won the Indians over to my side by awing them with my ability to eat green chili peppers at dinner before we got to the Garba. I further cemented my new rep with some mad dance skillz.

An unfortunate facial expression, surely. But I was groovin'.

I quickly followed that up with some moves that appear in every Bollywood movie ever made.

All of them.

By this time I was exhausted, and had to refresh myself with an ice cold Pepsi.

Pepsi: Refresh Everything.

I have not been paid by Pepsi to say these things. I would accept payment, however. In the form of cash, or simply in sweet, delicious Pepsi Cola.

Back to the dancing:

Subastar is an old pro, quite literally. Again, she grew up in Bombay with it's giant Garbas full of bright colors, twirling dancers, and horrible, horrible paan.


So she was in her element, getting dressed up with as many pins as possible (as is the fashion in Bombay) and twirling away at an alarming rate:

On the way in, I also saw a potential employment opportunity.

It says right on my resume that my range includes 'American girl of Pakistani/Persian origin.'

But seriously, if any Bollywood bigshots are reading this blog, I want to be a Bollywood villain. I'm perfect for the dickish American who is trying to buy the land, or foreclose the mortgage, or lure the protagonist away from his/her home with a lucrative job offer in America, or any of the other evil stuff we do in those films.

And hey, I got the dancing down:


Peace out, folks.


PS - Happy Diwali!

Monday, September 7, 2009

My Vacation: Part Two, but really one because this happened first.

Hello again.

Despite the length of the last entry, I am not out of vacation pictures to share with you folks. Don't worry, I won't talk more of hiking (though I do have several videos and dozens more pictures and it was awesome) but instead will talk about what happened earlier on my vacation.

Kaz and Zippy getting married?


Well, sure, it happened:

Mr. and Mrs. Kaz, or Mr. and Mrs. Zippy? The polls are open.

And we here at With Great Blogging Comes Great Responsibility love them both dearly and certainly wish them well, but as for varied and colorful pictures and an all day narrative, I'm gonna have to go with the roller coaster park.

(sigh) OK, regular readers of this blog: let's just assume for simplicity's sake that that is a picture of a wholesome family and that the father is wearing pants. Moving on.

Yes, -2 and special guests headed to Sandusky Ohio in search of thrills, chills and hour long waits amidst long lines of Midwesterners.

This ride was open, and then it closed and the majority of the line left. 10 minutes later, it reopened. -2 wins again.

But there I go getting ahead of myself again. Rewind to late the night before, when our weary travelers arrive at Cedar Point's hotel. We collapse into fitful, excited sleep as children do on the the night before Christmas.

Also as children do, we made Jesse sleep on the floor.

Definition of wariness: the girl on the right, dangerously close to -2.

Having been guests of Cedar Point, we got the bonus of having an extra hour's access to the park, before all the other people were allowed in. Here's what that looked like:

I think the husky kid in the muscle shirt is confused.

Oh yes, cast of characters. In addition to Jesse and Kyle, Casey and Michael rocked the house.

Casey (in yellow): Hey, why don't we get nicknames?
Michael (in purple): Yeah, what the Hell?

You may recognize them from past adventures such as 4th of July, 2009.

As soon as we got in the gates we made a dash for the Millenium Force. My word. For some reason as I'm typing this, the best descriptive phrase I have for the Millenium Force is "a big, beautiful blue bitch of a roller coaster."

I'm gonna go with it.

We were understandably excited about the prospect of riding this sucker. According to the official page, it boasts a 300 foot vertical drop and speeds of approximately 92 MPH.

Photoshop contest begins now.

It was amazing. It was and remains my favorite roller coaster, probably of life. Here's a little taste for you:

Now just imagine me next to you doing an incredible impression of a Betsy Wetsy doll. It was fantastic.

Next up was another ride that was also crazy fun. The Top Thrill Dragster.

That tower is 420 feet tall. That is the car near the apex.

This ride is interesting, as it's not really a roller coaster. Basically it is that tower with a length of track leading to it and away from it.

You sit in the car, get strapped in and then are shot towards the tower, reaching approximately 120 MPH. The car goes to the top of the tower and straight down again, and then the ride is over.

The good news is that you're accelerated from 0 to 120 in four seconds.

The bad news is that the ride lasts a total of 17 seconds.

For me, that's a short enough span of time to convince myself that it was all a dream.

Thank GOD!

Exhilarating, but over way too fast. Story of my life.

We went on a bunch of other rides, too.

The Power Tower, besides being a dynamite euphemism, is also a thrill ride (giggle) at Cedar Point. And it looks like, well:

Winner of the 1998 Most Blatantly Phallic Attraction Award!

With the Power Tower you get the choice of being launched up from the bottom, or being slowly raised to the top and dropped down. Choose the second one. It's far more terrifying. The suspense involved in dangling your legs 240 feet off the ground before it drops you to the earth completely takes your mind off the fact that the ride is a giant steel wang.

We went on the park's two wooden roller coasters, the Mean Streak and the Gemini. We also went on one of the newer (and awesome) coasters, the Maverick.


The Maverick is a coaster that throws you around a lot. You get up to about 70 MPH and it has all sorts of twists and turns and a fantastic warning on Cedar Point's webpage:

"May not accommodate Guests of Exceptional Size."

But alas, as seems to be a theme on this vacation, the rains came.

It started drizzling on us as we were in line for the Mantis. We ended up waiting an hour and 15 minutes total in that line. The rain let up just enough for them to send a half dozen carloads of riders through, and we made it just in time.

Because then it really started raining.

Fortunately for all involved we were able to find some shelter and watch people stream towards the exit. Also, as evidenced by our camping trip, a little rain does not bother us in the least. There were some rides that were still operating, regardless of precipitation, so we went on those.

For example, The Wicked Twister:

A cool ride made cooler because you can pretend it's part of a giant Unicorn.

You start in the middle, shoot up in one direction, then fall back and go up the other spiral. Rinse and repeat.

Also, in the heaviest rain we hid in a sheltered area that housed a game of skill/chance. In this game, the prizes were all Zippo lighters. You had to try to push them off the playing field into a slot to win the lighter. I had several quarters and so gave everyone a chance to win. None of us did.

The real entertainment started when a young man came along and decided that he HAD to have one of those lighters. He tried his had a few times, then called in the big guns: his Dad.

Damn you, NASCAR lighter. Stop taunting me!!!

This started out as entertaining, then amusing, then uncomfortable, then downright sad as the man tried time and time again to win one of those lighters, and by extension, the love of his son.

He went through probably five or six bucks, one quarter at a time before he came to his senses and realized the only things that kid needed a Zippo for were to:

1) Start smoking and accidentally burn the house down
2) Look cool in front of his buddies and accidentally burn the house down


C) Straight up burn the house down.

They went on to seek their fortunes elsewhere, and so did we.

Our fortunes came in the form of the maXair.

As shiny and neat as this color-enhanced promotional photo looks, it's even cooler to ride in the rain.

I was seated between Kyle and a loud girl who asserted at points on the ride that she was falling out (she wasn't) and that she was going to die (she didn't).

Other than my eardrums being screamed out, another wonderful thing happened as we were on the maXair: It stopped raining.

As soon as the giant rotating pendulum stopped, we unbuckled ourselves and ran off to ride our favorite coasters again.

It was a long and eventful day into night, and we took one last serene look around the park from the top of the Power Tower at all the neon and other lights twinkling on the shore of Lake Erie.

"Thank you, Cedar Point" I thought, "for a lovely day."

And then it dropped us screaming to earth.

See you around, folks



Dolphin Shirt!

Thursday, August 27, 2009

So, almost September, huh?

Yes, it's been a few weeks, and I'm sorry to make you wait that long to hear my soothing, melodic voice inside your head. You're listening to it now, even as you read this. Go ahead, make it say seductive things. I won't tell anyone. Oh yeah.

"Now you're hearing my voice, baby. You know I love you, girl."

There, now you should be too creeped out to be really mad about the lack of posts. And come on, that Chuck E Cheese Stripper picture had to have earned me a little bit of a break. That stuff is gold.

Believe it or not, I didn't post last week because I was on vacation. Yes, I actually do have a job, and my life isn't 100% running around collecting blog fodder. It's more of a 15% blog fodder, 84% wishing I was collecting blog fodder, 0.5% actual work and 0.5% homeostasis.

So I took some time off from that hectic schedule and did several things that you might just hear about coming up. -2 got back together and went to a wedding and the roller coaster park Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio.

Roller coasters are awesome.

But more about that later. This post I am going to dedicate to the three days at the end of the week I like to call:

I'm very sad I don't have theme music to play with that. Ah well, we live and learn.

Oach and FH and I went on a three day backpacking trip in the Adirondacks with Oach's dad.

In a rare candid moment, I'm going to drop the pseudonyms for a little bit, because some people might get confused. Chances are if you're a regular reader of this blog you know that Oach's real name is Kyle Camping, director and editor extraordinaire. If you're not a regular reader of this blog, you're unlikely to care either way. As for FH, I'm just going to call him Jesse because that's his name and I confuse myself easily. I will still be Rev, just because that is how I naturally self-identify. Together we are -2, wreakers of havoc and all around silly people.

So let's get to the trip. Kyle and Jesse had never climbed an Adirondack High Peak, and it's been a while since my parents forced me up one at gunpoint, so we decided that we should polish one or two off over a weekend. You know, for fun.

And you know, if a High Peak is fun, then why not go balls out and tackle Mt. Marcy, the highest point in New York State?

I found this incredibly useful map that shows you where Mount Marcy is in relation to Albany, Stittville and Emmanuel Lewis.

So we got our gear all packed up and headed off into the wilderness.

Here's Jesse with his pack on:


Kyle with his:


and me with mine:

"Never let them see you cry..."

Once we were burdened thusly, it was just a quick 6 mile jog in towards Lake Colden, where we were hoping to find an open lean-to.

Piece of cake.

Two point something miles in, we came to the scenic and lovely Marcy Dam.



I was feeling good up through this point. Just four more miles to the campsite, through a place called Avalanche Pass.

By the way, if you're ever having a pleasant conversation with my mother, and would like to have it turn ugly, ask her about Avalanche Pass. Boy does she have a story for you.

Things were going along just fine, my new hiking boots were protecting my feet, the pack was well balanced.

And then the rains came.

Just as we reached Avalanche Pass (and Avalanche Lake) it started raining on us. This wouldn't be too worrisome, except that the trail decided to also change. Rather, it went from being a well-worn (if somewhat muddy) footpath to a ridiculous scramble over large rocks, up and down wildly assembled and slippery wooden ladders, and around sheer rock faces on suspended catwalks known as 'Hitch Up Matildas.'

This isn't my picture. I was slightly distracted and opted not to take out my camera in the pouring rain while standing on a slippery rock over a lake. Source:

But finally lady luck decided to smile down upon our muddy, wet, miserable little group. The first lean-to we came upon at Lake Colden was unoccupied, and we moved right in out of the rain.

Home sweet three-walled cabin thingy.

We were also fortunate because our temporary domicile had a spectacular view of Lake Colden.


Pretty nice.

Mr. Camping brought along a water filter pump, so we could refill our bottles without loads of bacteria and leeches, which I think is a good thing.

Oh, where are my manners? Let me introduce Mr. Camping to you.

Everyone, this is Mr. Camping. Mr. Camping, this is a motley collection of friends, family, acquaintances and at least two people who have found my blog by searching for "motorcyle homoerotic."

Mr. Camping is probably the reason Jesse, Kyle and I are alive through this ordeal. Though that sort of makes him responsible for all the awful things we will do in the future, we thank him, even if the world doesn't.

Yes, Mr. Camping is awesome at camping. He's a supreme outdoorsman and all around great guy. It's sort of a chicken-or-the-egg question though, and you can't help but wonder if his surname didn't have some sort of impact on his choice of hobbies.

Philosophical debates aside, he is one of the most appropriately named people ever.

Except for this guy, of course.

Fast forward, we lay out all of our soggy things to pretend to dry, eat some dehydrated food and lock all of our food in bear canisters to hide them away from Jesse.

At this point I'll mention the single most disappointing fact of the trip. Campfires are banned at this particular camping area. Aaah! No Fires! No Fires at all! Aaaaaah!!!!


Ok, let's calm down, breathe and scroll down a little bit so we don't have to look at that picture anymore.





Right. So no fire means we were largely unable to dry any of our wet gear, so anything that got rained on remained damp throughout the next two days. This included our hiking boots. That made us sad. But we had shelter, and that made us happy.


The next day we woke up, got our soggy boots on, and switched to lighter packs for the ascent of Mount Marcy. I took this moment to strike an adventurer pose.

This may have to become my facebook profile picture soon.

And we were off. Right away we were confronted by, and survived, the Lake Colden Bridgekeeper.

Ancient Assyria had two capitals: Ninevah and Assur.

We crossed a really fun suspension bridge, too.

Then began the grueling ascent up muddy rocks and streambeds. Mr. Camping set the pace pretty much the entire time, putting us to shame and skittering like a spider with his hiking poles.


Once or twice I thought I heard him wonder out loud whether it would even be worth hunting us for sport when this was all over.

We eventually took a break at Lake Tear of the Clouds, which is the highest source of the Hudson River.

This is also where Vice President Teddy Roosevelt was when he learned that President William McKinley had been assassinated. History comes alive!

Mount Marcy has two main paths that reach the summit. The first goes straight from Marcy Dam, and is very popular amongst day hikers. This is the one that I took with the rest of the Revs the first time I went up. The route that we took last weekend is commonly referred to as "the back way."

My point is, if you think that I had any shortage of delight regarding "taking Marcy up the back way," then you clearly don't get me at all.

I was hiking along, giggling like a schoolgirl even before Mr. Camping announced "All right, just one more big push."

A further burst of immature laughter, and then I quickly sobered when I saw what that really meant.

This crazy rock scramble drained most of my will to live.

But we made it!


And then the rains came. Again.

But then they stopped.

And we decided to also summit Gray Peak.

Gray Peak is exciting because whereas the back way up Marcy (giggle) is steep and poorly maintained (giggle), Gray Peak doesn't have a real trail at all.

You can see where people had gone before, but there was a lot of rock climbing and prayer involved. On the plus side, the sun was out for a few minutes.


At one point, Kyle foresaw his own death.

Apparently a 30-foot drop to sharp rocks and branches is one of his "turnoffs."

But we were triumphant, and reached the summit in time to see a fresh batch of storm clouds roll in.

And so began the trek back down to the lean-to. In the rain.

We arrived there soggy, battered and fundamentally scarred on an emotional level.


One solid night's sleep later, and it was time to leave our lean-to with its assortment of Crystal Lite-craving Bears, Rape-eager Unicorns and Larry Byrd.

Shouldering our heavy burdens once more, we bid farewell to Lake Colden and trudged away on feet that functioned only because we believed they would.

We took a break again at Marcy Dam.

Crystal Lite and Clif Bars are our friends.

And the final 2.1 miles were a blur. Our relief to be back on relatively flat, well-maintained trails and our anticipation of driving home led to an abrupt increase in speed, and we nearly sprinted down the trail, gleefully oblivious of the protests of weary legs and joints.

And suddenly, we were out. Success! No broken bones, no blisters, no permanent injuries. Granted, we all smelled like homeless people, but it was the good kind of homeless people smell. The one that you don't notice, because it's you, and not some homeless person.

Jesse triumphant:


Kyle triumphant:


Rev triumphant:


Boots, officially broken in:


So thanks again, Mr. Camping for guiding us through that. Never again will we do something like that without guarantees of a campfire.

That was our Adirondack adventure, everyone. Hope you had a good time reading it, and I'll leave you with this picture of flowers that I took:


Peace out, folks.