Huckabee vs. Himself

Mike Huckabee stops by the Daily Show to let us know that being gay is a choice. And that he’s kind of a prick.

Stewart: Segregation used to be the law until the courts intervened.

Huckabee: There’s a big difference between a person being black and a person practicing a lifestyle and engaging in a marital relationship.

Stewart: Okay, actually this is helpful because it gets to the crux of it. … And I’ll tell you this: Religion is far more of a choice than homosexuality. And the protections that we have for religion — we protect religion. And talk about a lifestyle choice — that is absolutely a choice. Gay people don’t choose to be gay. At what age did you choose to not be gay?

Watch the whole interview.

Winter

Ice seems to be falling from the sky this evening, and not in the good way of cooling down my adult beverage, but in the alarming way of making our already brain-dead-driving public at large even more hazardous than usual.

Fashion

Some things we learned about fashion this week.

A freshly dry-cleaned shirt can offset jeans purchased during Bush’s first term and last washed during the Democratic primaries, to the extent that your boss and co-workers will compliment you on your appearance instead of muttering about the hippy in sandals like they usually do.

Chaps, whether real, or of the faux-sewn-onto-your-jeans pattern are never, ever acceptable, especially if you have no horse nearby.

Revisiting Angry Wade's

Recently my sister discovered that I have a bar in Brooklyn. Sort of. She finally got around to having a drink there yesterday –  some reports, via text message:

At 5:03 –

Drinking at Angry Wade’s – not gonna lie, it’s real shady.

At 5:05 –

But then two minutes later we got free shots of whiskey. Angry Wade’s is awesome.

And it gets better at 5:30 –

Get this – Angry Wade was married to Sweet Melissa (the name of a sweet shop, also in Brooklyn), but they got divorced and everyone here says Wade is better for it.

Yup, I’m 90% certain this bar is mine, or at the very least the Angry Wade is actually me from the future come back in time to drink whiskey in the tri-state area.

College Station

(just a note – This post contains blatant supposition, potentially harmful alliterations, and a bit of field reporting from our chief sports correspondent Brian J. Pinero, esquire).

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: College Station, and the cult of Texas A&M that it houses is a weird and mysterious place. I would challenge you to find another spot in this country with as many weird, archaic and potentially psychologically damaging traditions as my Alma Mater.

Ironically on the flip-side, there’s my love/hate relationship with College football. My bias for teams has nothing to do with athleticism or skill, it’s more about history and familial heritage. Much of my family went to the University of Oklahoma. My first dog was a giant yellow lab named Sooner. Guess who i pull for when OU plays Texas. Family events, like Thanksgiving dinner, have in the past taken a back-seat to important rivalry games such as Texas v Texas A&M. Hell, my great-grandfather used to teach my mom and my aunt the ref’s hand signals in the back seat on the way to the OU games.  God, apple pie, America and OU’s 47 game-winning-streak that begun in 1953.

So with that both these points in mind I carefully considered Brian’s late friday offer of tickets to the A&M vs Texas Tech Game. A game at Kyle Field is an impressive display of the acoustical influence, team spirit and the power of the Aggie-brainwashing apparatus at work. But Texas Tech is also ranked fifth in the nation, and it was perfect biking weather in Austin. I passed.

B on the other hand did not and, in addition to the game got the chance to return to the mother-womb of A&M, the all-father of our college experience, the TAMU Rec center rock wall. I guessing when he and Brian burst through the front door of the rec center, with the sun at their backs, the music immediately switched to the Rocky theme, life slowed to a quarter of its normal speed, and scantily clad gym-bound co-ed’s all stopped, stared and wondered aloud – are they back? Could LaRochelle be far behind? Then Badowski pulls out his Scarpa Lightnings, puts on a harness, says, “daddy’s home,” and proceeds to climb 5.13c off the couch. (FYI – for those confused, the last sentence there is all climber speak).

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Angry Wade's

Apparently, there’s a pub in Brooklyn named after me and everything I stand for. I’ve always wanted a bar named after me, but to have it be angry as well? I think I can die a happy man now.

FEMA

These guys just can’t pull their head out of their asses…

Still, the Federal Emergency Management Agency struggled today to move supplies to distribution centers throughout Houston as nearly 5 million people across the region continued to live without power and access to clean drinking water.

More

Wow. Gets even better. FEMA has listed a telephone number for people to call for assistance, but when the lines get overwhelmed, it automatically disconnects would-be callers, advising them to go to the FEMA webpage – keeping in mind here that most people in the area have no electricity.

The recorded message says FEMA personnel are busy helping others, which is, no doubt, true. After advising callers to contact the agency via the Internet, it says: “We apologize for this inconvenience. Your call will now be disconnected.”

Parachute Fail

Remember when NASA did cool things like put people in space, land on the moon, inspire a generation to engineering and science and in general, not suck?

Yeah, neither do I actually. Maybe my parents do, but I haven’t seen a lot to impress at this point.  Nor do I see a quick return to the glory days of old if this fine parachute design for the new Orion Capsule is any indication.

The sad part is, I really support the idea of the space program, the lofty goal of finding new places to explore and expanding the human frontier. But this is just yet another areo-space contractor design foul-up that probably just cost you, me and everyone else except John McCain (he doesn’t pay taxes because he’s actually Dick Chenny’s remote-control droid) $20 we really need to spend on gas.

NASA, in reality seems to be just one more lethargic component of the cold-war aparatus that we just don’t know what to do with, so it just goes on blithely fulfilling it’s purpose to build bigger missiles, I mean rockets, while the Europeans and everyone else pull ahead in physics in search of more elegant solutions. We can’t even make a capsule land on the ground with a parachute like they did in the 50’s. And you want to get to Mars? In that? Tell you what, lets put all the rockets away for a bit, adequately fund our schools for say 10 or 20 years, and see what kind of space ship designs you get out of that. Might suprise you.

A Case for Succession

The Olympics have been over for about a week and you know why you haven’t heard anything about the Men’s Olympic Cross Country Mountain Bike Race? Here’s a clue:

In the men’s race, both U.S. competitors – Adam Craig (Bend, Ore.) and Todd Wells (Durango, Colo.) – were pulled from the race after being lapped by the lead riders. Julien Absalon (FRA) successfully defended his Olympic title, while Jean-Cristophe Peraud (FRA) claimed the silver and Nino Schurter (SUI) took bronze.

The men’s race started a field of 50, but only 28 finished after enduring high late-afternoon temperatures.

A couple of points here. First I’m a little more obsessed with this than I should be because it’s the only sport I’ve ever participated in competitively. so color me be biased and file this whole post under hypercritical-Monday-morning-quarterback.

Secondly, lets focus on the last sentence there: “only 28 finished after enduring high late-afternoon temperatures.” Hrm. Where’s a hot place that people like to ride mountain bikes, even when it’s 110 heat index? Here’s a hint, starts with a ‘T’ and ends with an ‘exas.’ Hrm. Good thing we had a lot of Olympic riders ready for hot climates from southern states. Oh. Oregon and Colorado. Yeah, those aren’t really warm places. Hrmmmm…

Then there’s the qualifying system. For some stupid reason, because we invented this sport we’ve decided to make it ridiculously drawn-out and difficult for the best riders to get sorted out and to the Olympics. So much so, that by the time they get there, they’re completely smoked. Watch Offroad to Athens if you need clarification. Maybe we feel like, as the founder’s of the sport, we should be giving those other guys a chance. Either that or we like losing. Seriously, the way USAcycling runs its mountain biking division makes the BCS system look logical and and fair.

Regardless, this is one of the best cases for Texas succession from the union that I’ve seen in a long time. I’m confident that there’s at least half  a dozen riders just here in Austin that cold have braved the “high late-afternoon temperatures” and actually finished the damn race, and maybe even kicked some french ass. A Texan Olympic team could bring a lot to the table: high-heat tolerance, technical terrain abilities and of course guns (wussy euros would think twice about passing on the singletrack is they thought we were packing heat). And, as a nice personal bonus to this plan, since I ranked about 300th in the state last year, there’s a good chance that I could make it to London in 2012 in something besides the 50k run-walk.

Who’s coming with me?

Just a note: the women’s team actually did quite well – pulling 7th and 8th.

Westlake

Let’s talk about Westlake. Imagine you’re eating great bowl of pasta, but it needs just a little more salt. Your reach for the salt and instead grab a canister of Anthrax. Oops. And because it’s pasta, it’s not like you can just scrape off the Anthrax, like you could with a steak, and continue on as planned. No, sadly your meal has been spoiled and all you have to look forward to this evening is a lingering illness and possibly death.

Westlake is the pathogen that is killing my pleasant bowl of pasta that is Austin, but instead of a bio-weapon, some large entity with a large scoop went and gouged out some of Plano and dumped it in my backyard. I wouldn’t hate these people so much, except that for some ungodly reason, my office is out here, so I have to deal with them on regular basis. Every time I leave my building they try and kill me with their 2mpg hummers and general disregard for modern traffic laws and parking techniques. For god’s sake they don’t even build roads with sidewalks out here…its less than a quarter-mile to the grocery store from my desk, but you’re taking your life in your hands if you walk it. Not to mention that joe-blow-weslaker (see fig1 and fig2) assume that if you’re not driving, you’re most likely up to no good, probably an illegal immigrant to boot, and they will subsequently have you arrested by the speeding-ticket-Gestapo also knows as the Westlake/Rollingwood Police department (One mile over the limit? Really? I somehow doubt your radar gun is that accurate), or make you come clean their house.

Sufficed to say, like the Anthrax in your hypothetical pasta, it’s here and we can’t get rid of it. I’d liek say we could just blow the bridges over the lake and retreat north, but we’d lose Zilker park, Barton
Springs and all the South Austin stoners would be left defenseless in the coming hippie-cide (Condos and Mercedes being like kryptonite to your average hippie type). No, the best solution is to get one of those border fence things that are so stunningly effective and humane. We could just wall them off, and periodically drop in food, new SUV’s, botox supplies and Young College Republicans. It would be like a UN protected ethnic-enclaves, except with less K-rations and more plastic surgery options.

Just a note: They’re re-roofing my office today, using workers fromt he cast of the Biggest Loser, leading to some pretty impressive decible levels in my normally-silent workspace. Point being: I’m cranky.