...and thanks for all the fish

LAROCHE:
I'll tell you a story. I once fell deeply, profoundly in love with tropical fish. I had sixty goddamn fish tanks in my house. I'd skin-dive to find just the right ones. Anisotremus virginicus, Holacanthus ciliaris, Chaetodon capistratus. You name it. Then one day I say, fuck fish. I renounce fish. I vow to never set foot in the ocean again, that's how much fuck fish. That was seventeen years ago and I have never since stuck so much as a toe into that ocean. And I love the ocean!

ORLEAN:
But why?

LAROCHE:
(shrugs) Done with fish.

(Susan Orlean, The Orchid Thief)

Actually, I didn't have the book in front of me, so I had to pull the quote from the Adaptation screenplay which oddly I do have in front of me.

I knew when I started this, it was only a matter of time. Only so long before I got sick of it. Before I got bored. Before it stopped being fun. I'm actually kind of surprised I made it this long. See, I have an addictive personality - but it's the kind of addiction that manifests itself in short, intense bursts.

Like a match.

Ffffttt. The matchhead strikes against that little strip and flares to life. Burning burning burning bright. But also burning itself. With each second it burns. The flame walking down the match, down to where you hold it between trembling fingers. You look around for another match, some other source of fuel. But there's nothing. It's just you and the match. Leaving you to decide whether to burn your fingers or snuff it out.

And so here I am. With a choice to make.

With a choice that has been made.

ORLEAN:
But why?

MOOCOW:
(shrugs) Done with blogs.

Thank you and good night,
Moobert Cowerton

The red rubber ball

So a few months ago we were sitting around happy hour - still early enough for those long pauses and strained conversation that you get when you put a bunch of people who don't think of cofee when they hear the name "Starbuck" in a room together before the Sam Adams Light starts loosening them up - and somehow the topic of the Olympics came up. Specifically someone said, "I think we should get rid of any events that aren't real sports. If there's a judge involved, it's not a sport. It's an activity."

And so we started running through various events:

Rowing? Sport. (And incidentally the doctor I dated awhile ago? Her sister missed out on the Olympic rowing team by 0.6 seconds. Her arms are huge compared to mine. Well but then again Ashley and Mary-Kate Olsen's arms are huge compared to mine so I suppose that doesn't say much.)

Figure skating? Activity.

Weight lifting? Sport.

Trampolining? Activity. (No really it's an Olympic sport. I caught it at like 5 am one morning last summer.)

Women's Beach Volleyball? "The side width of the briefs can be no more than 7 cm" (rule 2.3.1)? Greatest. sport. ever.

And then someone brought up dodgeball, since he had just watched Dodgeball (which...oh, I thought I had done a full "I watch bad movies so you don't have to" write-up on it, but apparently I was in a good mood that day.)

I forget what was discussed. As I sat there pickling my liver (thank you dirty gooses), I was too busy thinking about one of the extras from the Dodgeball DVD where they took all of the times the skinny kid got hit in the head and groin by a ball and played them one right after another.

Now personally I would have set this montage of misfortune to The Cyrkle's "Red Rubber Ball" - since, well, he was getting hit by red rubber balls. Hold on, let me throw this on my MP3 player since I haven't listened to it for awhile (I've had Jem and The Eels on repeat for pretty much all of this week.) See this would be great montage music. Nice, upbeat happy 60s pop. Here's the chorus (I've added in the thwacks where needed. Just picture some skinny little guy - okay fine, like me, jerks - having their head snapped back in slow motion as the dodgeball slams into their face.)

"Yeah it's gonna be all right *thwack*
Yeah the worst is over now *thwack*
The *thwack* morning *thwack* sun *thwack* is *thwack* shining *thwack* bright *thwack thwack thwack*
Like a red rubber ball *thwack to the groin*"

Hmm. Could use a few more *thwacks* now that I look at it again.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go, uh, watch some women's beach volleyball highlights featuring Brazil vs. Norway.

Dear coworker

Hey coworker who just found my blog doing a websearch,

Listen, if you could shoot me an email and let me know who you are, that would be great actually. I'm just curious is all...

Thanks,

Moobert Cowerton

[EDIT: 3/6/05 - For those curious, no this does not have anything to do with my decision to stop blogging.]

Ashlee: The Aftermath

(for a more professional recap, the startrib has their version here)

9:00 am - wake up. Shower while singing "you make me want to la la." Proceed to "la la" (yes that is a euphemism)

9:45 am - stumble into work. Flip "Autobiography" on repeat for the entire day. Get IM from Princess Sophia Banana Hammock:

Her: I look like crap.
Her: Or like death.
Her: Or like death's crap.
Me: You're still going to the concert tonight though right?
Her: I guess. Come see how bad I look.

It was pretty bad. It was like someone stuck a bicycle pump inside of her mouth and inflated her up to about 75 psi.

10:30 - PSBH sends out an email that she's going home sick. Uh oh.

1:45 - Get IM from PunkRockPrincess:

Her: Blah.
Me: Did you know that PSBH went home sick?
Her: I'm going home sick in 15 minutes.
Me: Whaaa? You're sick too? You're still going to the concert tonight though, right?
Her: I guess.

2:00 pm - Great. Both of them are sick. This does not bode well for the evening.

4:00 pm - Add "go to happy hour" to my list of action items. Cross off "go to happy hour," and walk across the street to meet Thumper, Bambi, and G-Dog for a few drinks.

5:30 pm - Still drinking. Oh crap, I should find out what the plan is for tonight. I call PSBH and am told to be at their apartment by 6. No time to go home. A t-shirt over a long-sleeved t-shirt will have to do for my outfit. Stupid friends. Stupid beer. Why did I stay so long?

6:20 pm - PRP is driving us all in the Green Menace when traffic slows suddenly. She reaches out her arm, doing the "soccer mom arm save." Despite the fact that it's PSBH sitting in the front seat and not a small child. I think it's just because she wanted to feel her up. Note to self: When driving a lady around in my car, stop suddenly. I can seem like the hero for protecting her and feel her up all in one motion. Genius.

6:45 pm - Show up at Northrup Auditorium. Realize that, yes, we really are the oldest people there. Go to our seats - row ten on the far right side. Maybe 50 feet from the stage? I'm really bad with distances.

6:50 pm - Start people watching.

6:51 pm - It's like a glitter factory exploded in here.

6:52 pm - Very high blueberry muffin factor. You know. Like when a girl pairs low-rise jeans with a short, tight t-shirt and you get that ridge of belly fat spilling over. Just like the top of a muffin. (This isn't a MooCow original, but I forget where I got it from.)

6:53 pm - You're like 12 years old. Why the hell do you need a cellphone?

6:54 pm - Overhear girl talking on cellphone in the row behind us: "Well, I don't think I'm going to make it to homeroom tomorrow, but I should be there in time for social studies." Start doing math to figure out if I'm old enough to be her father. (Answer: No)

6:55 pm - Start counting male/female ratio in the rows in front of us. Realize it's just easier to count the guys (1...2...3...4. Yup 4) and subtract that from the total number. Realize I could totally get some action if I was a decade younger. Or a decade older and skeezy.

7:05 pm - First opening band comes on. Dressed in matching black suits and pink ties. Oh that's cute, they've got a gimmick. Anyway they're called "The Click Five." Their website calls them "new school power pop." Whatever the hell that means. I thought they sounded like Blink-182, A Simple Plan, and all those other interchangeable slightly punk acts that pass for "rock" these days.

7:30 pm - The Click Five start playing a cover of "I think we're alone now." Do some quick math to figure out if cellphone girl behind me was even born when Tiffany sang this song. (Answer: no) The lead singer does that whole "hold the mic over the audience and let them sing" thing.

Him: I think we're alone now.
Everyone else around us, with an average age of maybe 15: (high pitched screams or silence)
PRP, PSBH and me: (singing) There doesn't seem to be anyone around
Him: I think we're alone now.
PRP, PSBH and me: (singing) The beating of our hearts is the only sound
EEAUWAAAOM15: (turns and looks at us with the "wow, they must really like the Click Five to know all the lyrics" look on their faces).

What are they teaching these kids in history class these days?

7:45 - They finish up their set. Not bad really. Not that I'd go out and buy the album or anything, but they weren't bad.

7:46 pm - Realize my ears are going to be ringing for the next week and a half.

7:46 pm - People continue to filter in, some of whom are obviously at their first concert. Try to remember what my first concert was...still trying to figure that one out.

8:05 - House lights dim. Tween girls start that high pitched girl yell that's near a dog whistle in frequency, thinking that it's Ashlee. It's not. Shut the hell up.

8:06 pm - Next opening band comes out. "Pepper's Ghost" from Philly. They sounded a lot like Oasis and but were most noticeable for weighing a combined (from 5 people) 600 pounds. You know the stereotypical skinny rocker guy? Yup. Them.

8:30 pm - They finish up. No one cares.

8:32 pm - PRP looks at the "MF" stamped at her hand.
PRP: What does MF stand for?
Me: Motherfucker.
PSBH: Motherfucker.
PRP: (thinks for a moment) Maybe it stands for "main floor?"
Me and PSBH: Um. Duh. What else would it stand for?
PRP: I don't know. Moustache...fellowship.
Me: Moustache fellowship? That doesn't even make sense.
PRP: You're dead to me.

8:45 pm - Crowd starts chanting "Ashlee...ashlee" mostly because they have to be home before their 9 pm curfew.

8:50 pm - Ashlee comes out on stage as both of my eardrums shatter from the sound of 5,000 tweenage girls screaming as loud as possible. Holy. crap. Don't get me wrong, I'm used to hearing women scream but usually they're saying "Oh moocow...don't stop, don't stop."

Or to actually punctuate that correctly: "Don't! Stop it!!"

8:55 pm - Girls in front of me wave furiously everytime Ashlee walks over to our side of the stage. It's cute in that "awww...you're going to deny having ever done that in about 10 years. Or maybe 5."

9:00 pm - She really shouldn't talk. She's sounds like a chipmunk, talking really fast and out of breath. Start picturing her as Chip and Jessica Simspon as Dale.

9:05 pm - Pull out the camera phone and take a few video clips in the hopes of illustrating what that many screaming girls sounds like, but they sadly don't turn out.

9:10 pm - Ashlee does an "acoustic" set. The instruments are unplugged, but her voice is not.

9:20 pm - "And now I want to sing some songs by my role models." Milli Vanili? No, instead it's "Brass in my pocket" by the Pretenders (oh silly Ashlee. Just because Scarlett Johanson (aka the future Mrs. MooCow) sang it in "Lost in Translation," you don't have to prove that you can sing better than her.) Some Blondie song that I can't remember now, and "Burning up" by Madonna, which I didn't realize was a Madonna song until I looked it up.

9:30 pm - She introduces the band and each member plays a solo. The bassist and lead guartist are introduced together, and launch into a hard rocking metal riff. That has to be in their contract. "We agree to play 'Pieces of Me' but we must be allowed to play something metal during the evening."

9:40 pm - Ashlee goes off stage. The screaming begins. Somewhere in Kansas a dog hears the sound and starts to bark.

9:42 pm - The place is dark. Still screaming. For no apparent reason they lower a video screen and show the Napoleon Dynamite dance sequence, easily getting the loudest cheers of the evening. Ashlee comes out to do her encore. More screaming.

9:47 pm - House lights come on and we all lived happily ever after. How was the concert? It was okay - she doesn't have a whole lot of stage presence, and her set felt really rushed which is odd since she only has one album and like 12 songs. I wasn't blown away by it. And she didn't fall madly in love with me, which was another downer.

So...who wants to go see the Hillary Duff concert?

Priday Pfeature: The woodchuck question

Hopefully the rest of the answers will get up today, but I just want to pull this one out on its own...

As a new reader, I don't understand: Why a MooCow? Why not some other animal? Like, say, a woodchuck? Do you have something against woodchucks? - Anonymous

I have nothing against woodchucks. In fact let's go see how many times they're mentioned (yes I wrote a little Perl hack that does this for me - I [heart] you LWP module...)

There's a couple of "Ask the moocow" answers on this post
A potential cookie name here
An entire post of "Ask the moocow" devoted to woodchucks (including a woodchuck fight song)
They're mentioned as an example in the word-disassociation game here
And finally I have a correction about them here

So as you can see, I am very much pro-woodchuck. Totally anti-squirrel though. Hate those furry little bastards.

Pfriday Pfeature: The all sock puppet theater edition

Yo DJ pump this party!

Pretend you work for the devil. What is your job title and duties? - Judy

What makes you think I don't already? Mwahahahaha. And here, if you could picture me twirling my moustache evily that would be great. (um, evilly? evilely? Spell check button, are you going to be any help on this? Ooh! It actually has a word I'm looking for this time. Woo! Apparently the spelling is "evilly.")

Anyway there's really only one way to answer this, and that's through the use of Sock Puppet Theater -

Me: (sweating profusely) Uh, hi. I've got a 2 pm with Mr. Santa.

Receptionist: It's Mr. Satan actually. Let me see if he's available. He's running late - things always run late down here. Why don't you go sit down in our lobby and wait. All of the chairs are made from thinly padded bicycle seats. Can I get you anything to drink? A bottle of thick green juice maybe?

Me: That's be great. (listens to the muzak for awhile) Is this the Safety Dance?

Receptionist: Yeah, it plays on constant repeat down here. Well that and Ashlee Simpson's cover of the Safety Dance.

Me: (thinking "OMG, not only is this job great, but the perks are fantastic too! Sitting on a bike seat, listening to the Safety Dance, and drinking green fancy juice? Plus with it being so hot, I don't seem out of place sweating profusely. This is perfect!")

Satan: (walking out from his office wearing a blue dress, with another guy in a trucker hat) Well that sounds like it's going to be a heck of a movie Ashton. Keep me posted. (other guy leaves) Ah, that Mr. Kutcher. I'm really glad we were were able to close the deal and buy his soul a few years ago. What? You didn't think he got famous for his acting, did you?

Me: Of course not sir. I know you're tops when it comes to soul acquisition!

Satan: (looks at receptionist) I like this guy. He's quite the go-getter. Come into my office. (I follow) Now Mr. (he reaches over to look at my resume and it bursts into flames. He shakes his head slightly and mutters "One of these millennia I'll remember I can't do that.") Mr.---

Me: Cowis.

Satan: Well, Mr. Cowis. As you're well aware, we consider ourselves to be the preeminate soul acquisition company - despite whatever claims you might have heard Microsoft making, we are still number one. I don't normally do this to someone with as little experience as you have, but I'm ready to offer you the job as a 'soul engineer - removal and acquisition' or SERA. Well, what do you say?

Me: Do you provide dental insurance?

Satan: No. (laughing) If you're looking for a miracle, you really should be applying someplace else. (he rolls his eyes skyward)

Me: Well sir, it would be an honor and a privilege to work for you.

Satan: Excellent. One more thing. Around here we won't call you Mr. Cowis. Instead you'll be given a company name. (looks around papers on desk) Ah, yes. You'll be Mr. Phim. Sound good?

Me: Yes sir!

Satan: Good. Welcome aboard SERA Phim.

------

To: Cowerson Moobert Cowerson
From: Sir Brigadiere General Grend31, Mrs.
Please see to it that these answers are completed before the bypass is finished. And before tea time too if you would be so kind.

Question 2: You must now devise a cocktail recipe to surpass the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster as the best tasting beverage in the known universe. What would you name this new drink? What are the ingredients of this new drink? Please include a detailed recipe as well so that your readers know how to properly combine these ingredients.


Did you watch Hitchhiker's recently or something? I'm cautiously optimistic about the new version coming out. Mos Def. Alan Rickman (aka Professor Snape) doing the voice of Marvin. Could be good. Could be bad. Bound to be way better than the new Charlie and the Chocolate factory though.

I call it "Sunday, bloody Easter Sunday"

Ingredients (or at least the version that can be made with stuff in my cupboards)

2 parts vodka
1 part red bull
1 part kool aid powder (it's the only red thing I've got)
1 decapitated Peep bunny

Mix all ingredients together except for bunny head. Shake shake shake. Garnish with Peep head, and it should look something like this (click for a larger view)



(Actually it really just tastes like a sweeter red bull and vodka. And uh, a peep head.)

(And so you don't complain, my answer to part 1 is Rumplestilskin and part 3 I'd say Trillian. Because she's hot yo. I'd go into more detail but I used up all my geek points for the month on the binary joke earlier this week.)

-----

If I in fact were rubber, and you were actually glue - compare and contrast your average morning. - VagabondShoes

It would probably be pretty close to what I go through with Princess Sophia Banana Hammock every morning.

Sock Puppet theater time:

Her: Good morning Mr. Cowerton.
Me: Mrupfgh.
Her: You should get some coffee.
Me: Your mom's a cup of coffee.
Her: Nuh uh
Me: Uh huh
Her: Nu uh
Me: Uh huh.
Her: (pause) Rabbit season!
Me: Duck season!
Hunters: (BLAM! and shoot my bill off)

Hmm? Oh sorry. I thought you asked what would happen if PSBH was Bugs Bunny and I was Daffy Duck in the "Rabbit Fire" sketch from Looney Toons. My mistake.

Anyway, if you were rubber and I were glue. Well you wouldn't have to work since you'd get sponsored by Trojan condoms. Whereas I'd have to put in a whole day doing nothing but holding little Timmy Johnson's popsicle stick bird house together. Here's a tip for ya next time Timmy - eat all the popsicles before you decide to glue them together. Stupid kid.

--------
Oh Wise MooCow, my consultant roommate abandons me every week to work for a medical device company in Minnetonka, Minnesota. I understand this is near your pasture, so I have two questions.
1.) What is the number one, most super-fantastic, non-obvious thing someone simply must do while living near Minneapolis during the work week? Please note where it might involve Peeps, so I can pack them for my roommate.
2.) This next question is unrelated to MN, but thinking about medical devices got me thinking about The Magic School Bus and how it went on a tour of the human body. If you were the driver of the Magic School Bus, where would you go and what adventures would your students enjoy? Thank-you Wise MooCow. - Kristie

1. If she's a hot single woman, I would highly recommend she go on a date with me. We can play sock puppet theater (if you know what I'm sayin'). If he/she's not a hot single woman, eh, who cares then. Go see a lake or eat some spam or something.

2. Well the first thing I'd do is I'd make Ms. Frizzle shut the hell up and put Liz the Lizard into a cage (oh whatever, like I'm the only one who knows their names). And then I'd take the kids on a tour of my heart (I'm still working on figuring out how I could drive the bus while being inside my own heart, but I'll figure something out) to show them what happens when you consume but Peeptinis all day long. Let me tell ya, it ain't pretty. I'm feeling a little woozy right now.

Okay that wasn't my best answer. Come back next week and ask something else. (PS. Dang you people with multiple blogs and having to figure out which one to link your name to)

-------
Man Blogger is slow today, geez!!! OK, I have two questions:
1) What color should I dye my hair
2) If you were a pair of shoes, what kind would you be and why? - Carol

You know, I realize that since I don't really pay anything to use Blogger, I really shouldn't complain about it all that much. Yeah yeah yeah.

Anyway.

I'm not much of an expert on hair color. I tried dyeing my hair once. Back in high school one summer when my parents were gone, I remember reading that you could dye your hair using kool aid and it would give it a nice, natural color change. So I hopped on my bike and rode down to the grocery store to pick up some Fruit Punch flavored Kool-Aid, got into the shower, wet my hair down and smooshed in handfuls of powder.

You know how you get those couple of drips of red kool aid on the kitchen countertops and it's almost impossible to get off? Have you ever thought about what it would taken to get gallons of it off of a tub and shower doors? Everytime I'm at my parents house I still think I can see a few faint discolored spots where I didn't get it all up.

So just to recap, I'd recommend: Kool-Aid highlights. Done professionally of course.

Part 2? I'd be that comfy pair of shoes that Pink Lemonade Diva is eulogizing here. Well, no not exactly her pair. Just a pair.

-----
If I can make it to Javvy's bash, and you're there, and I bring clog socks, will you wear them? - MoeThatsMe

Heck yes. Do I have to wear clogs that day, or can I wear regular shoes? Because I've got one pair of clogs. You can see them here. They normally don't have a peep sitting inside of them though.

------
If you were forced to watch one TV series for the rest of your life, what would it be? - SwankyLittleDuck

Hands down without a doubt: The Simpsons.

No wait, Seinfeld is good too. And there's just something about Cheers. Or Hope and Faith. (Yeah, I don't know why I've been bringing it up either). Or Buffy. Or The Amazing Race. Or One Tree Hill. Or Who's the Boss. Or the Brady Bunch.

Man, I'm starting to sound like La Chat Noir.

SLD, have I ever come up with a decent answer to one of your questions? I don't think I have. My bad yo.

My head hurts

I'm back home from the concert and I think my head my actually explode. Ow. It's just throbbing.

Let me go take a few hundred ibuprofen.

Oh sweet Jesus I've got a headache. Anyway, the Ashlee recap is written, but I won't post it until Monday, so I can get the Pfriday Pfeature up today. Otherwise it becomes the Psaturday Pfeature and that's just not nearly as cool.

Ooh. It looks like the first Canadian has received their shipment of Peeps. Swanky_little_duck has story and pictures over at Warped Isololation.

Along with the Peeps, each Canadian was sent a special peep picture done just for them that in most cases involved something about their blog. In SLD's case, I just used her blog title and came up with this:



(Click for a larger view)

I'd write something interesting, but I reeeeeally need a drink and then need to go get pumped up for the Ashlee concert. Hmm. What does one wear to such an occassion?

Ways to tell you're an introvert

So I was cleaning off my dining room table - I don't know why. It's not like I ever eat there. Mac n Cheese needs to be eaten while sitting on the floor in front of the tv. Anyway, I found an old cell phone bill from a few months back. Now keep in mind this is the only phone - but that month I used a total of 21 minutes.

21 minutes? Yup. Twenty-one. That's less than a Tivoed episode of "Hope and Faith" with all the commercials skipped,

Let's see, that works out to about $2.00 a minute. But at least I get plenty of cancer causing radiation for free from carrying around my cell phone everywhere.

(Before you climb up on your soapboxes, last month I used about 1,100 minutes so just shut it).

Pre Priday Pfeature: Ask the cow

That could be the worst title in the history of titles. Note to self: Work on that for next week.

You write the questions, I come up with answers after I'm done getting my "La La" on at the Ashlee concert. Since my head will undoubtedly be pounding from hours of being surrounded by tweenage (that's the new hip term right?) girls screaming their heads off, the answers may be less than coherent.

Though now that I look back at last week's answers, I don't really see how they could get any less coherent.