I work at a liquor store and you wouldn't think that I would be dealing with a majority of older people, but this is the reality in Jackson Hole, where the old and very rich run the place with their millions of dollars. Anyways, a common question I am asked by old men is, "Do you have any warm beer?" Just so you know, our store has no warm beer, it is all in the walk-in cooler. Old people who live in RVs like to buy warm beer because they believe that beer is as expire-able as milk. In case you don't know, this is not true. If you buy cold beer, let it sit at room temperature for 2 days, and then put it back in the fridge, it will taste the exact same.
Old people must think that there is two different trucks who deliver beer to stores. A cold beer truck and a warm beer truck. That is retarded. Anyone who drinks beer, should have found out early on that if you leave an unopened beer out overnight, that it is still good. Especially for the type of beer that most people buy. Bud Light, Coors Light, PBR. That shit doesn't go bad.
I think I am gonna do an experiment and let a beer cook in my car for four days and then taste test it against a refrigerated beer. The brand will be something cheap and I bet besides the temperature difference, it will not be that bad.
You are probably reading this and thinking, that is retarded, of course it will be bad. We'll see.
Anyways, so I says to the guy, I says..."No Fuckass, we keep all of our beer cold, the way it is supposed to be! Normal people don't buy warm beer, dick!"
I was gonna end this post here, but while I am on the subject of old people, I have something else to say. Old rich people think that they can say whatever they want. They seriously need someone to rock their world now and again to keep them in line. They are too used to everyone sucking up to them and waiting on them hand and foot. I was riding my bike down the street with my girlfriend the other day to a golf course bar and some old people were driving super slow right behind us, afraid to pass us because of their unsure old people driving skills. So, we get to the bar/restaurant and the lady from the car walks up behind us and feels she has to say something...in a thick German accent. "Why do you risk your lives riding your bikes in the street? There is a bike path, why don't you use it?"
Whoa...okay lady. First of all, people ride their bikes in the street all the time. Bikes have as much right to the road as any car. And second, how is it risking my life? I was on a 15 mph golf course road. I hope your feeble old husband has enough driving skill left to not kill people on bikes while he's idling his Jaguar down the street.
Of course, I said none of these things and just told the lady, okay, next time we will use the bike path. What I should have done, was teach that lady a lesson that you don't say shit like that to a young person who you don't know and isn't working for you. I should have slapped her right across her old lady face and told her, "NO! You don't talk to me!"
AHAHAHA!
Fear not, old people. My bark is worse than my bite.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
World Cup: Amazing Goals, Blind Refs, and Amusing Stereotypes
Today at work I accidentally claimed to be a racist. How do you do such a thing accidentally? Well, I said that I thought Germany would win their World Cup game tomorrow against Spain, and I was trying to insinuate that I picked my favorite teams based on their national stereotypes, but I chose my words poorly. It ended up sounding more like, "I want the Germans to win based on my background of bigotry and hatred of other races."
This is not exactly what I said and I was not being serious, but I have a habit of delivering such "jokes" so dryly and directly that people think I am being completely serious. Whatever.
Anyways, the World Cup gives us a chance to see soccer players from around the world come together and compete to be the greatest footballing nation for the next four years. It is marketed as a meeting of different cultures from around the world to unite for the love of soccer. This is true, but the part I think I enjoy most about the World Cup is just seeing how different countries play the same game.
The differences in each countries tactics and style in soccer seems to me to be almost comically in line with national stereotypes for each country.
For instance, the Asian teams are all dwarfed in size on the field by the other nations. The South American teams all look and play like they have the "Latin temperament" and would just as soon stab you as shake your hand. The Europeans have problems staying on their feet and crying on the field after a seemingly "hard" foul.
Despite the unity that a world class sporting event is supposed to nurture, I feel that most of the players have a hard time looking past these national stereotypes themselves. Sure, they will all say that they just look at it as another game, but really they can't help but thinking that, "Here we go again, with those bloody Italians." or "These Germans are efficient, but they are pricks!" And of course, "U.S.A.? Ppfffff...they suck."
I did enjoy rooting for the U.S.A., but in the end I have a hard time feeling that they really had a successful tournament. They only won one game, managed to come from behind to tie two and then lost in the Round of 16. I'd say they were lucky to even make it to the Round of 16. England pretty much completely sucked this year, Slovenia choked and let the U.S. come back, and Algeria just isn't that good. To have to come from behind to tie is not really that good in terms of sports. Sure, its better than a loss, but your team doesn't get its shit together until they have their backs against the wall. That is no way to win the World Cup.
Every time I watch the World Cup I am reminded of why this sport is not popular in the United States. Mostly because nearly every game seems to be decided by a well timed dive, a horrible call by the referee, or some other sneaky underhand tactic. In soccer if you can get away with it, then it is all legal. The seemingly questionable fairness of some games, leaves you with the question of "Did the better team really win?" In America, we use Instant Replay, so that we don't have to ask these questions. "Was that really a goal?" Of course it was, we all saw it on Instant Replay and the referee did too, which means that they really are a better team.
To have so many bad calls and discrepancies is bad for any game. "Didn't they just score a goal?" Yes, but the referee was looking at his socks and didn't see it go in, so it didn't count. FIFA needs to get their shit together. To have a world sporting event that is dictated by bad calls and diving, right now I am wondering why I even watch it.
Well, that is my take on the World Cup 2010. Only a couple games left and then we will see who is the greatest footballing nation for the next four years.
This is not exactly what I said and I was not being serious, but I have a habit of delivering such "jokes" so dryly and directly that people think I am being completely serious. Whatever.
Anyways, the World Cup gives us a chance to see soccer players from around the world come together and compete to be the greatest footballing nation for the next four years. It is marketed as a meeting of different cultures from around the world to unite for the love of soccer. This is true, but the part I think I enjoy most about the World Cup is just seeing how different countries play the same game.
The differences in each countries tactics and style in soccer seems to me to be almost comically in line with national stereotypes for each country.
For instance, the Asian teams are all dwarfed in size on the field by the other nations. The South American teams all look and play like they have the "Latin temperament" and would just as soon stab you as shake your hand. The Europeans have problems staying on their feet and crying on the field after a seemingly "hard" foul.
Despite the unity that a world class sporting event is supposed to nurture, I feel that most of the players have a hard time looking past these national stereotypes themselves. Sure, they will all say that they just look at it as another game, but really they can't help but thinking that, "Here we go again, with those bloody Italians." or "These Germans are efficient, but they are pricks!" And of course, "U.S.A.? Ppfffff...they suck."
I did enjoy rooting for the U.S.A., but in the end I have a hard time feeling that they really had a successful tournament. They only won one game, managed to come from behind to tie two and then lost in the Round of 16. I'd say they were lucky to even make it to the Round of 16. England pretty much completely sucked this year, Slovenia choked and let the U.S. come back, and Algeria just isn't that good. To have to come from behind to tie is not really that good in terms of sports. Sure, its better than a loss, but your team doesn't get its shit together until they have their backs against the wall. That is no way to win the World Cup.
Every time I watch the World Cup I am reminded of why this sport is not popular in the United States. Mostly because nearly every game seems to be decided by a well timed dive, a horrible call by the referee, or some other sneaky underhand tactic. In soccer if you can get away with it, then it is all legal. The seemingly questionable fairness of some games, leaves you with the question of "Did the better team really win?" In America, we use Instant Replay, so that we don't have to ask these questions. "Was that really a goal?" Of course it was, we all saw it on Instant Replay and the referee did too, which means that they really are a better team.
To have so many bad calls and discrepancies is bad for any game. "Didn't they just score a goal?" Yes, but the referee was looking at his socks and didn't see it go in, so it didn't count. FIFA needs to get their shit together. To have a world sporting event that is dictated by bad calls and diving, right now I am wondering why I even watch it.
Well, that is my take on the World Cup 2010. Only a couple games left and then we will see who is the greatest footballing nation for the next four years.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Return For Re-Education
It has been decided that I will be leaving Jackson, Wyoming to return to Michigan, the land of my youth. Now that my days in Jackson are numbered, I have been reflecting on how much I actually enjoyed living here for the past 3-4 years.
I cannot debate the fact that it is visually, one of the most beautiful places that you could live in the United States. Majestic mountains, bountiful wildlife, rivers, canyons, seemingly endless rugged country. It is a cool place. There is plenty of stuff to do outside and lots of people willing to do it. I have discovered by living here, that I am not a natural outdoorsman. I do enjoy being outside, but I dislike the social pressure in this town to get out every chance I get and do something sweet, like climb a mountain, or ride my bike for endless miles. I am content most days to sit around and drink beer. Not to say that I haven't done a bunch of outdoor activities since moving here, but I really don't like to feel like I need to keep pace with everyone else my age. I really don't care. I guess I don't have the natural outdoors inclination to "go out and get after it."
What really makes you love a certain place? I have heard people from all over the country say that they love where they are from. "I live in Dallas, Texas and I love it there!" Really? What is so sweet about Dallas? Or any place for that matter? You inevitably end up spending a majority of your time at home or at work. So if you have a sweet house, I could see loving it, but you could have a nice house anywhere. Same with a job that you enjoy. I guess all that stuff has to line up for you in a certain place for you to actually "love" it.
I have enjoyed my time in Jackson, no doubt, but it is a rich man's paradise, and I am very poor. To change my fortune I am to return to Michigan for re-education and then I'm not sure what. I really never disliked Michigan. I just needed to leave for a while to try some other stuff and see some things. The national media makes Michigan sound like an economic cesspool, and their might be people in Michigan who would agree, but I don't remember it being that bad. I have to say I am looking forward to my return even if it is only temporary.
I cannot debate the fact that it is visually, one of the most beautiful places that you could live in the United States. Majestic mountains, bountiful wildlife, rivers, canyons, seemingly endless rugged country. It is a cool place. There is plenty of stuff to do outside and lots of people willing to do it. I have discovered by living here, that I am not a natural outdoorsman. I do enjoy being outside, but I dislike the social pressure in this town to get out every chance I get and do something sweet, like climb a mountain, or ride my bike for endless miles. I am content most days to sit around and drink beer. Not to say that I haven't done a bunch of outdoor activities since moving here, but I really don't like to feel like I need to keep pace with everyone else my age. I really don't care. I guess I don't have the natural outdoors inclination to "go out and get after it."
What really makes you love a certain place? I have heard people from all over the country say that they love where they are from. "I live in Dallas, Texas and I love it there!" Really? What is so sweet about Dallas? Or any place for that matter? You inevitably end up spending a majority of your time at home or at work. So if you have a sweet house, I could see loving it, but you could have a nice house anywhere. Same with a job that you enjoy. I guess all that stuff has to line up for you in a certain place for you to actually "love" it.
I have enjoyed my time in Jackson, no doubt, but it is a rich man's paradise, and I am very poor. To change my fortune I am to return to Michigan for re-education and then I'm not sure what. I really never disliked Michigan. I just needed to leave for a while to try some other stuff and see some things. The national media makes Michigan sound like an economic cesspool, and their might be people in Michigan who would agree, but I don't remember it being that bad. I have to say I am looking forward to my return even if it is only temporary.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Restaurant Work: The Noble Profession
Have you ever worked in a restaurant? If not, I think you are missing out on one of life's great experiences. I'm sure many people consider restaurant work to be one of the lowest forms of employment. I cannot deny that this is many times the case. So, why do I refer to it as a "great experience"? Because it is an experience to be that amazingly miserable.
I have worked in restaurants while in college and ever since college. Does that make me a slacker? Maybe, but I have a sweet resume for restaurant work, and the pay as a waiter, for the amount of work you do, is second to none. While burning away many an evening waiting for hungry people to arrive to dine, I have had time to whittle down the actual job that I do to its bare essence: I ask people what they want, then I get it for them, and if I do good, they give me money. There are lots of ways to dress up being a waiter, but it always boils down to this. I find it strange that the American culture features a requirement to tip waitstaff 15% or more for doing their job. Yes we only get paid like $2.50 an hour, but only because we are expecting tips. The entire industry is pretty much designed around getting a little something extra out of people.
Of course, in other countries, they only tip 10% or less or maybe nothing at all. Foreigners are cheapskates when it comes to tipping. This is a notorious pain in the ass for many American waiters. As soon as you hear some Euro-accent, we have to roll our eyes and think, "Oh great, foreigners. Hopefully I can scrounge 5% out of these tightwads." I find it hard to believe that Europeans visiting America are not aware of the tipping culture we have here. I think the ones that don't adhere are just stubborn jerks, who think to themselves, "5% will do, I am not American, I don't have follow American customs." Well, when you are in America, you kind of do. I'm pretty sure that in Europe, men greet each other with big wet sloppy kisses, but if you did that in America, you'd get your ass beat. Okay, so maybe I made that up, but I don't think its that far from the truth. I've been to Europe. I've seen their spikey hair, tight jeans, and pointy shoes.
The restaurant that I currently work at is inspired by Swiss ski lodges in the Alps. So, for whatever reason, pretty much every European who comes to ski in Jackson Hole, eats at our restaurant at least once. I find it strange that Euros seek out a place with what they might consider familiar food. If you are on vacation in America, you should go get some fuckin' cheeseburgers or something! I mean, when I went to Europe, did I eat at McDonald's? Well, okay, I guess I did... on multiple occasions, but we're not discussing my dining habits abroad. We're focusing on the weirdness of Europeans on vacation. So...yeah. Euros are weird.
Enough, about my struggles against the European people, back to my original intention with this blog post. Restaurant work is wonderfully miserable.
Throughout my life I have met, by far, the strangest people working in restaurants. From the waiters, to the cooks, the dishwashers, and the managers. I think you have to be half crazy to enjoy restaurant work. Or you have to love to be miserable or maybe just be real stupid. I remember when I got a job at the first restaurant I ever worked at, the summer immediately after high school. It was like culture shock as to the weird-ass people that worked there. I have to admit though that no other restaurant job I've ever had has topped the weirdos at this place. The head cook, would swear up a storm every time he got an order. The other cook appeared to be a meth head, skinny and missing half his teeth. The pizza cook was some old hippy stoner. The prep cooks who I worked with everyday were two fat ladies who had the filthiest mouths I'd ever heard from females. Some retarded guy washed dishes and mumbled at everyone who walked past. It was like a fuckin' circus. For the first few days, I didn't talk much and tried to just make it through each shift. I must have looked like a scared puppy. Before working there I didn't even know that people like that existed in the town I grew up in. I guess my parents did well in sheltering me from their kind.
Once I finally got a job waiting tables, I got to see how weird the people are who eat at restaurants. Pretty much every night you just have to wonder, what kind of weird, unreasonable request will I get tonight? You never really know. People are picky as fuck. If you are going out to eat at decent restaurant, why add a bunch of special request to your order? Just trust that it is gonna taste good.
Also, after about three shifts in a row of waiting tables, you start to crack. You start wondering why you work such a stupid job, you start getting depressed, and you get closer and closer to flipping out on someone. I have a way of dealing with this, I just start telling people no. Yeah this is a restaurant, but can you get whatever you want? No. "Can I get some special vegetables instead of the ones you are serving tonight?" No. "Can I get a little extra cheese for free?" No. "Can I get some water with no ice?" No, we are only serving one kind of water tonight. It makes you feel a lot better to shoot down stupid requests.
"Can I have a clean glass? This one is dirty." No. We're out of clean glasses. You'll have to make the best of the one you have.
Ha!
I could keep this discussion going, but I pretty much have endless gripes about working in a restaurant, so I'll cut it off here as I feel I have covered some good topics thus far.
Thanks for reading!
I have worked in restaurants while in college and ever since college. Does that make me a slacker? Maybe, but I have a sweet resume for restaurant work, and the pay as a waiter, for the amount of work you do, is second to none. While burning away many an evening waiting for hungry people to arrive to dine, I have had time to whittle down the actual job that I do to its bare essence: I ask people what they want, then I get it for them, and if I do good, they give me money. There are lots of ways to dress up being a waiter, but it always boils down to this. I find it strange that the American culture features a requirement to tip waitstaff 15% or more for doing their job. Yes we only get paid like $2.50 an hour, but only because we are expecting tips. The entire industry is pretty much designed around getting a little something extra out of people.
Of course, in other countries, they only tip 10% or less or maybe nothing at all. Foreigners are cheapskates when it comes to tipping. This is a notorious pain in the ass for many American waiters. As soon as you hear some Euro-accent, we have to roll our eyes and think, "Oh great, foreigners. Hopefully I can scrounge 5% out of these tightwads." I find it hard to believe that Europeans visiting America are not aware of the tipping culture we have here. I think the ones that don't adhere are just stubborn jerks, who think to themselves, "5% will do, I am not American, I don't have follow American customs." Well, when you are in America, you kind of do. I'm pretty sure that in Europe, men greet each other with big wet sloppy kisses, but if you did that in America, you'd get your ass beat. Okay, so maybe I made that up, but I don't think its that far from the truth. I've been to Europe. I've seen their spikey hair, tight jeans, and pointy shoes.
The restaurant that I currently work at is inspired by Swiss ski lodges in the Alps. So, for whatever reason, pretty much every European who comes to ski in Jackson Hole, eats at our restaurant at least once. I find it strange that Euros seek out a place with what they might consider familiar food. If you are on vacation in America, you should go get some fuckin' cheeseburgers or something! I mean, when I went to Europe, did I eat at McDonald's? Well, okay, I guess I did... on multiple occasions, but we're not discussing my dining habits abroad. We're focusing on the weirdness of Europeans on vacation. So...yeah. Euros are weird.
Enough, about my struggles against the European people, back to my original intention with this blog post. Restaurant work is wonderfully miserable.
Throughout my life I have met, by far, the strangest people working in restaurants. From the waiters, to the cooks, the dishwashers, and the managers. I think you have to be half crazy to enjoy restaurant work. Or you have to love to be miserable or maybe just be real stupid. I remember when I got a job at the first restaurant I ever worked at, the summer immediately after high school. It was like culture shock as to the weird-ass people that worked there. I have to admit though that no other restaurant job I've ever had has topped the weirdos at this place. The head cook, would swear up a storm every time he got an order. The other cook appeared to be a meth head, skinny and missing half his teeth. The pizza cook was some old hippy stoner. The prep cooks who I worked with everyday were two fat ladies who had the filthiest mouths I'd ever heard from females. Some retarded guy washed dishes and mumbled at everyone who walked past. It was like a fuckin' circus. For the first few days, I didn't talk much and tried to just make it through each shift. I must have looked like a scared puppy. Before working there I didn't even know that people like that existed in the town I grew up in. I guess my parents did well in sheltering me from their kind.
Once I finally got a job waiting tables, I got to see how weird the people are who eat at restaurants. Pretty much every night you just have to wonder, what kind of weird, unreasonable request will I get tonight? You never really know. People are picky as fuck. If you are going out to eat at decent restaurant, why add a bunch of special request to your order? Just trust that it is gonna taste good.
Also, after about three shifts in a row of waiting tables, you start to crack. You start wondering why you work such a stupid job, you start getting depressed, and you get closer and closer to flipping out on someone. I have a way of dealing with this, I just start telling people no. Yeah this is a restaurant, but can you get whatever you want? No. "Can I get some special vegetables instead of the ones you are serving tonight?" No. "Can I get a little extra cheese for free?" No. "Can I get some water with no ice?" No, we are only serving one kind of water tonight. It makes you feel a lot better to shoot down stupid requests.
"Can I have a clean glass? This one is dirty." No. We're out of clean glasses. You'll have to make the best of the one you have.
Ha!
I could keep this discussion going, but I pretty much have endless gripes about working in a restaurant, so I'll cut it off here as I feel I have covered some good topics thus far.
Thanks for reading!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Down and Out With Tiger Woods
Wow. I hope I am never famous. I just watched an ESPN interview of Tiger Woods, and we all know about the tenaciousness of the national media when they think they are covering a big story that people care about. They took it straight to Tiger, asking him questions that cut straight to his soul, questioning his personal values.
I have no idea why people are so interested in Tiger Woods' personal problems with his family. Is it really that big a deal or really that surprising that one of the most famous athletes on the planet had extra marital affairs? I don't think so. This is not the first time or the last time that this will happen. It's human nature, and Tiger Woods is, in the end, only human. I just think that the media coverage something like this attracts is way out of proportion. Is it big news if the loser down the street from you cheats on his wife? Would you even give a shit? Of course not. So who cares if Tiger Woods did it? And why hammer him with questions and accusations when we ourselves would probably have done the same thing in his situation or probably worse. I can't stand the self righteousness of the media, when they are, in fact, vultures. Someone is going through the worst crisis of their life? That's a top story. People want to know about that and how it feels, which of course they can never know unless they go through it themselves.
It's all bullshit and if I were as famous as Tiger Woods I would not handle it nearly as well as him. I don't do well with people I don't know questioning the way I live my life, thinking they are somehow better than me.
I have no idea why people are so interested in Tiger Woods' personal problems with his family. Is it really that big a deal or really that surprising that one of the most famous athletes on the planet had extra marital affairs? I don't think so. This is not the first time or the last time that this will happen. It's human nature, and Tiger Woods is, in the end, only human. I just think that the media coverage something like this attracts is way out of proportion. Is it big news if the loser down the street from you cheats on his wife? Would you even give a shit? Of course not. So who cares if Tiger Woods did it? And why hammer him with questions and accusations when we ourselves would probably have done the same thing in his situation or probably worse. I can't stand the self righteousness of the media, when they are, in fact, vultures. Someone is going through the worst crisis of their life? That's a top story. People want to know about that and how it feels, which of course they can never know unless they go through it themselves.
It's all bullshit and if I were as famous as Tiger Woods I would not handle it nearly as well as him. I don't do well with people I don't know questioning the way I live my life, thinking they are somehow better than me.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Bigot Blog
Ok, Ok, OKAY!!! Here's a post for you blog reading weirdos. It seems I have been on a blog hiatus for most of the winter, and I really have no good reasons for this other than a disinterest that has developed in writing a blog revolving around me griping about the world. But I'm gonna stick to my bread and butter this time and maybe even let you in on a few very personal viewpoints I have developed in the past couple months.
Today I'm gonna talk about the political correctness of America and how it is weakening our country. Basically I figure the most perfectly politically correct person does not exist. How can you expect people to completely ignore their first impressions and mental judgments of others and not let it slip out in some way? When you watch any news show its always some new scandal about how some famous person said something they maybe shouldn't have. Mel Gibson ranted about Jews while driving drunk, a coach of some college basketball team got mad at a player and called him a name, or some pro athlete speaks his mind about the owner of his team. I think you know what I am getting at. People can't say anything in public without their statements being scrutinized by the media for any sort of mild disrespect or maybe unfavorable views towards another person.
All I can say is that I am very glad that I do not have people picking apart everything I say, 'cause a lot of times it is completely offensive and if you were one of those judging media types, you would probably label me a "bigot," as if I found this to be some sort of insult. Not that I am spouting off racist comments and hating on gays all day. But I'm not afraid to use the word Mexican, or black, or Jew. These are descriptive words that are used in our culture so that we know who we are talking about. Is it wrong to say that, and I am just using this as an example, "Oh hey, yeah I got this burrito from a Mexican guy selling them on the street." Fuck no! I'm sure some liberal, a woman probably, would say, "Well you can't call him a Mexican, because you don't know if he is a Mexican. He could be Mexican-American. Plus the label of "Mexican" can be used in a derogatory sense. Why not use a better word such as "hispanic" or "latino"."
I'll tell you why, because those words sound stupid. Do we really live in such a world where I have to dress up my language to such an inoffensive drivel, that it loses all meaning? That is retarded. I have figured out that being "P.C.", is a weakness and you will not find me using P.C. buzz words to describe people of different ethnic, religious, or sexual backgrounds than myself. Sure there are a few historically offensive and derogatory words used during slavery and other stuff like that. And I don't mind avoiding those, but there is pretty much a derogitory slang for every ethnic background including my own. And guess what, I would not give a shit if someone called me a "cracker", "American Devil", or any other anti-white male slang. They are just words from some idiot, who is as blind as everyone else.
So to any suburban white women who are reading this, I am probably rocking your progressive world right now with my bigotry, but I don't really care. All that stuff you came up with to make things "fair" for everyone? It's all horseshit, 'cause the world is not fair at all. You are blind and foolish if you think you can save everyone from ever getting made fun of or maybe having their feelings hurt. Awww...did someone hurt your feelings? I'm so sorry! Let's denounce them on national television and call for their job. Nobody who hurts people's feelings should be allowed on TV!
Hmmm...should I post this? Too late now.
Today I'm gonna talk about the political correctness of America and how it is weakening our country. Basically I figure the most perfectly politically correct person does not exist. How can you expect people to completely ignore their first impressions and mental judgments of others and not let it slip out in some way? When you watch any news show its always some new scandal about how some famous person said something they maybe shouldn't have. Mel Gibson ranted about Jews while driving drunk, a coach of some college basketball team got mad at a player and called him a name, or some pro athlete speaks his mind about the owner of his team. I think you know what I am getting at. People can't say anything in public without their statements being scrutinized by the media for any sort of mild disrespect or maybe unfavorable views towards another person.
All I can say is that I am very glad that I do not have people picking apart everything I say, 'cause a lot of times it is completely offensive and if you were one of those judging media types, you would probably label me a "bigot," as if I found this to be some sort of insult. Not that I am spouting off racist comments and hating on gays all day. But I'm not afraid to use the word Mexican, or black, or Jew. These are descriptive words that are used in our culture so that we know who we are talking about. Is it wrong to say that, and I am just using this as an example, "Oh hey, yeah I got this burrito from a Mexican guy selling them on the street." Fuck no! I'm sure some liberal, a woman probably, would say, "Well you can't call him a Mexican, because you don't know if he is a Mexican. He could be Mexican-American. Plus the label of "Mexican" can be used in a derogatory sense. Why not use a better word such as "hispanic" or "latino"."
I'll tell you why, because those words sound stupid. Do we really live in such a world where I have to dress up my language to such an inoffensive drivel, that it loses all meaning? That is retarded. I have figured out that being "P.C.", is a weakness and you will not find me using P.C. buzz words to describe people of different ethnic, religious, or sexual backgrounds than myself. Sure there are a few historically offensive and derogatory words used during slavery and other stuff like that. And I don't mind avoiding those, but there is pretty much a derogitory slang for every ethnic background including my own. And guess what, I would not give a shit if someone called me a "cracker", "American Devil", or any other anti-white male slang. They are just words from some idiot, who is as blind as everyone else.
So to any suburban white women who are reading this, I am probably rocking your progressive world right now with my bigotry, but I don't really care. All that stuff you came up with to make things "fair" for everyone? It's all horseshit, 'cause the world is not fair at all. You are blind and foolish if you think you can save everyone from ever getting made fun of or maybe having their feelings hurt. Awww...did someone hurt your feelings? I'm so sorry! Let's denounce them on national television and call for their job. Nobody who hurts people's feelings should be allowed on TV!
Hmmm...should I post this? Too late now.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Me vs. the Great North American Elk
Reader’s Note: Since this blog is not supposed to, in any way represent reality or accurately report any facts, I have twisted some facts into complete fiction for your reading and my writing enjoyment. What is real is that I did go hunting and I did fill a tag for a calf.
I have taken up a new seasonal hobby; hunting. Hunting elk to be exact. In my humble, inexperienced opinion, there is no finer animal to pursue. If maybe you haven’t seen an elk in real life, they are sort of like a deer, except probably 5 times bigger. They really are huge and if you got in one’s way, it would have no problem killing you. So yes, there are some dangers in hunting, but if you are smart and just shoot the elk instead of trying to pet them, you should be okay.
This was my first season hunting anything in my life and it turned out to be an enjoyable experience. Especially since the hunt ended up being successful. I’ll give you the lowdown, as I choose to remember it.
I was wandering through the woods on a cold and early morning. It was the last day of hunting season and the pressure was on. If I didn’t get an elk today, I wouldn’t be able to harvest one and my family might not survive the long hard winter. It was do or die time. My senses were heightened by adrenaline and I crept very quietly through the brush. The forest was eerily silent and it felt as if I could hear my own heart pounding. Suddenly a flash up ahead! A large animal crashed out from behind a group of trees and trotted down a hill not 100 yards from me. I leveled my rifle and tracked the animal waiting for the perfect shot, until I realized it was a moose. My finger moved away from the trigger. Moose, you almost got your ass dead this morning, I thought.
I moved ahead, even more on edge now. The forest again moved back into silence. I was beginning to think that all my efforts this season were to be for nothing. I imagined the sad eyes of my family when I returned home empty handed and they realized they would be subsisting on potatoes and spam all winter. Then I saw them; a group of about six elk standing to my right, about 200 yards away behind some brush. Best of all they hadn’t noticed me. I slowly aimed my rifle and tried to decide which animal to take down. I settled on a tasty looking young calf, probably born this last spring. Tender and delicious, I licked my lips thinking about the meat that laced the baby elk’s lean body. I had it dead in my sights. I began to slow my breathing and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze….blam! One dead elk calf.
I ended up harvesting an elk calf, which technically yes, is an elk baby. But it had a few short months to develop some tasty muscles before our hunt cut its existence short. After shooting it though, we had to cut it up into manageable pieces to haul out of the woods and off to the meat processor. I’ve never cut into another animal before with a knife except maybe a fish and I guess meat on a plate. This was a little different. The animal was very warm and looked like it could wake up and kick my ass at any second. After touching its eye with a stick a few times though, I assured myself that it was, in fact, dead. We didn’t end up gutting it, so I didn’t have to get completely covered in animal goo, but I got plenty of blood on my hands skinning and wrenching the legs out of the sockets. It wasn’t that bad though. I pretty much knew what to expect. I know where our food comes from.
The best part of the entire experience ended up being a couple days later when we got to cook up a tenderloin. Seasoned with only salt and pepper and cooked to a juicy medium rare, it was one of the greatest gastronomical experiences of my life. After the first amazingly tender bite, I began to giggle to myself. It was so good! A few bites later I actually started to weep. “Oh baby elk! You are so delicious! I love you!” With tears streaming down my face, I finally came to the last bite. I was hesitant to end such an experience, but I couldn’t help myself for long. I savored that last swallow of baby elk for as long as I could and then took a good half an hour to reflect. It must be an awful curse for an animal to taste so good to the human palate. I couldn’t help thinking about what the elk had looked like lying dead in the woods and remembering cutting out the tenderloin that we had just eaten off of its carcass. A little strange, yes, but it was also a complete return to nature.
When the meat gets back from the butcher I will have a freezer full of amazing baby elk meat. It is going to be a long hard winter and I find much comfort in knowing my family and I will survive by feeding off of something I provided for them. I can’t wait until next hunting season!
I have taken up a new seasonal hobby; hunting. Hunting elk to be exact. In my humble, inexperienced opinion, there is no finer animal to pursue. If maybe you haven’t seen an elk in real life, they are sort of like a deer, except probably 5 times bigger. They really are huge and if you got in one’s way, it would have no problem killing you. So yes, there are some dangers in hunting, but if you are smart and just shoot the elk instead of trying to pet them, you should be okay.
This was my first season hunting anything in my life and it turned out to be an enjoyable experience. Especially since the hunt ended up being successful. I’ll give you the lowdown, as I choose to remember it.
I was wandering through the woods on a cold and early morning. It was the last day of hunting season and the pressure was on. If I didn’t get an elk today, I wouldn’t be able to harvest one and my family might not survive the long hard winter. It was do or die time. My senses were heightened by adrenaline and I crept very quietly through the brush. The forest was eerily silent and it felt as if I could hear my own heart pounding. Suddenly a flash up ahead! A large animal crashed out from behind a group of trees and trotted down a hill not 100 yards from me. I leveled my rifle and tracked the animal waiting for the perfect shot, until I realized it was a moose. My finger moved away from the trigger. Moose, you almost got your ass dead this morning, I thought.
I moved ahead, even more on edge now. The forest again moved back into silence. I was beginning to think that all my efforts this season were to be for nothing. I imagined the sad eyes of my family when I returned home empty handed and they realized they would be subsisting on potatoes and spam all winter. Then I saw them; a group of about six elk standing to my right, about 200 yards away behind some brush. Best of all they hadn’t noticed me. I slowly aimed my rifle and tried to decide which animal to take down. I settled on a tasty looking young calf, probably born this last spring. Tender and delicious, I licked my lips thinking about the meat that laced the baby elk’s lean body. I had it dead in my sights. I began to slow my breathing and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze….blam! One dead elk calf.
I ended up harvesting an elk calf, which technically yes, is an elk baby. But it had a few short months to develop some tasty muscles before our hunt cut its existence short. After shooting it though, we had to cut it up into manageable pieces to haul out of the woods and off to the meat processor. I’ve never cut into another animal before with a knife except maybe a fish and I guess meat on a plate. This was a little different. The animal was very warm and looked like it could wake up and kick my ass at any second. After touching its eye with a stick a few times though, I assured myself that it was, in fact, dead. We didn’t end up gutting it, so I didn’t have to get completely covered in animal goo, but I got plenty of blood on my hands skinning and wrenching the legs out of the sockets. It wasn’t that bad though. I pretty much knew what to expect. I know where our food comes from.
The best part of the entire experience ended up being a couple days later when we got to cook up a tenderloin. Seasoned with only salt and pepper and cooked to a juicy medium rare, it was one of the greatest gastronomical experiences of my life. After the first amazingly tender bite, I began to giggle to myself. It was so good! A few bites later I actually started to weep. “Oh baby elk! You are so delicious! I love you!” With tears streaming down my face, I finally came to the last bite. I was hesitant to end such an experience, but I couldn’t help myself for long. I savored that last swallow of baby elk for as long as I could and then took a good half an hour to reflect. It must be an awful curse for an animal to taste so good to the human palate. I couldn’t help thinking about what the elk had looked like lying dead in the woods and remembering cutting out the tenderloin that we had just eaten off of its carcass. A little strange, yes, but it was also a complete return to nature.
When the meat gets back from the butcher I will have a freezer full of amazing baby elk meat. It is going to be a long hard winter and I find much comfort in knowing my family and I will survive by feeding off of something I provided for them. I can’t wait until next hunting season!
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