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Effortlessly Average

Sort of half-heartedly leading the charge into mediocrity since, oh, let's say around 1987 or so.

My Photo
Location: Roaming (additional charges may apply), Argentina

Proof that with internet access and a powerful laxative, even insipid people will blog; the place where your excellence and my mediocrity collide; where my Karma whips ass on your dogma.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

It's not what it seems... well, ok, yeah it is

No, the "contest" is not over, but hey, someone said they'd bang me if I changed my profile picture to that, so I went with it -FOR NOW- until I get more votes into the box. Now, be a good American (or Aussie or Brit or Canadian or wherever -hello Dubai!) and go read the next post and submit your vote.

Until voting ends I'll keep the "dork" image because hey, a vote fortified with a promise of gratuitous sex (despite the obvious limitations) is more powerful than a vote by itself. heh.

...A Thousand Words

So over here at EA we've received literally ones of letters insisting that we change the image photo. Seems thousands many a couple two of you don't like the one currently in use. Oh sure, many of you like what you see in it, just not the pose that hunk of manbeef is in. You say it potahto; I'll say it correctly.

But we also believe in giving the four people who read EA what they want, so here you go; boobies:

Huh. Must have been cold when this was taken. Not good enough? *dismissive wave of hand* Fine fine fine, anything for you. Never let it be said that we don't aim to please over here at EA.

There. Happier?

We'll pause momentarily so you four can satisfy your respective needs.




Good? Ok, back to business: that profile image.

For days now the crack staff at EA has been pouring (or is it poring? Pooring? We don't know; homonyms aren't are bag, baby) over image after image, in a quest to fall upon that one picture that would communicate that "just-right" message. In the end, we felt like falling on our swords. No, not that sword; an actual sword.

And of course there's the insinuation from another particular person out there that a better profile photo will improve [or maintain] my bang list status.

Yeah I know what you're thinking: has that person actually seen EA? Followed quickly by do they let mental patients and/or convicts blog? Or have conjugal visits? And I would have to answer that I've looked it up and the answer is no, although I'm not so sure about West Virginia; the law's a little hazy there.

Anyway, here we were -the EA crack staff- reviewing all these potential profile pictures when it hit me us, the aforementioned "crack staff": Why not let the fans of EA pick the photo?

Some of you might be thinking "hey, yeah! I'll feel like a part of it!" Others might be saying "sounds like EA is lazy blogging today." Others: "Psha! Show me the money first!"

And you'd be right on the first two counts. So there. And you'll get your money, Mom. Geez.

So without much more preamble, here are the pictures I've we've narrowed it down to, along with a remark or two as to why; if I feel like it. And if I don't decide this is totally fucking stupid, of which there is an increasingly high degree of probability. heh.

Feel free to pick your favorite (that's favourite, for those of you who don't habla English) and tell me so in the comments section. Or submit one of your own that defines how you see this here corner of my world. Hell, for the right incentive I'll use a picture of YOU even. Oh, and the legal staff here at EA insists that I mention that I tend to save pictures from a large number of sources. If you see one here that originated from you, consider credit given where credit is due and I'll hump your leg later. As an added precaution, I checked with the Pope:

And he said it was cool. Take it up with him, but I warn you, he looks a little too agreeable. Anyway, this is me, EA:

I look something close to this...

...when I'm alseep and dreaming, anyway. I mean c'mon, I'd never wear something like that. That's just... gay. and my package is far, far, waaay smaller than that. heh. Nevertheless, I've been faced with the bitch of all curveballs in life, but I'm trying to see it as an opportunity:

Even though I don't fucking want to have to. The knowledge that someone else will stand in my place, in all that that means, is hurtful beyond belief. To be replaced, tomorrow or next year or in three years, sucks. Or even to be cast aside for nobody. Still, you have to find a way to go forward. This picture represents the hope of blah blah blah a bunch of shit you won't care to read.

This one I just freaking like.

This says fun to me. It says casual conversation on a good day. There being two glasses, it says someone might be trying to get me drunk and make me do things Penthouse Letters wouldn't print.

This just says Holy crap what was he thinking!? to me. Of course, the LAX security screeners would likely still let him pass.

Self explanatory

Another one I just like. Something about two people, naked to the world yet side by side in a survival against the pointy edges of life's experiences just strikes a chord with me.

Funny. But as I'd like to get laid again I'm not sure this sends the correct message.

I want to flyyyy like an... uh.. eagle
to the sea...

Yes, yes; that's me. Often, I'm afraid. Yet despite it being true from time to time AND my attempt to both admit to- and learn from- my missteps, I nevertheless consider this image to be reserved for the likes of Dick Cheney, George Bush, Hillary Clinton, and anyone who truly believes in a localized "trickle down theory" on a global economic stage.

From the shameless "I want you" solicitation. Or, I could just be saying "c'mere and pull my finger."

...and from the primordial soup shall one day evolve a race of beings who will raise their collective voices to the heavens and proclaim to the cold stars above "yeah, I'll have a grande no-foam latte and two sticky buns!"

Like the waves on a sandy beach, so are our lives. Or some such crap like that.

Proof that the water might be calm right now, but you'll soon be digging sand out of your crack.

Mighty tongue, horny, fat as a cow... remind you of anyone?

Self descriptive and a fine PSA (that's public service announcement for those of you who've never been a celebrity caught jerking off in a public rest room and sentenced to "community service")

It took you this long to figure that out?

Someone once told me my emotions fly off me as if I'm on fire. heh. If that's true, I'm clearly pissed in this picture.

Or I'm just this guy. Which no doubt is what women see approaching when they spot me walking toward them.

Portrait from my childhood. Hey, I had a sty. Also the way I likely appear when I blog about how I feel about certain goings on this year. Or when Starbuck's adds too much chocolate to my mocha.

Sometimes that "one for the road" that sounded so good the night before turns out to have been a huge mistake the next morning

Hey, I betcha I can act my way out of here. I can also find my ass with both hands and a road map.

Yes, this is a green zone for this activity. I'm always accepting applications for the right individual and will provide knee pads if you so desire. heh. In an effort to better my chances, however, I've been working out:

As you can see, I'm really becoming ripped! Anyone have a band-aid? Cuz I'm gettin' cut!
And it certainly beats the alternative:

Although admitedly I never needed a date back then.

Nothing screams sexay! more than the right hairdo. Added bonus: hides the lobotomy scars well.

Pick a tooth; any tooth.

You can always tell I've gotten laid when...
See what I'm doing there? I'm writing notes for blogging about the experience!

Something about this one I really like. Sort of combines the whole "reach for the stars," "swing for the fences," "dream the impossible" concepts for me. I may not catch it, but I'm god-damned well going to try, even if it seems impossible to others.

Yeah, from time to time, especially if there's a chance at seeing you naked. Although you could substitute cash, car keys, my soul, or my penis for that credit card there.

No, your breath smells fine. Why?

Yes. But the box could be smaller. You have the one your engagement ring came in?

Another from the "inspiration" series. I grew up in areas like this. I've been on that exact road as a matter of fact, although I didn't take this picture. It speaks to me of possibilities; of adventure; of life and love and hope. Something about reaching for the horizon fills me with hope that maybe the next place will be just as exciting or even more exciting or, sometimes, less heartbreaking.
Which leads me to the last:

I would really love to feel "home" again.
So.... discuss...

Sunday, January 27, 2008

The Ubiquitous 100 Things

So, I did one of these things once. A long time ago. Then I stepped back to look at it and thought to myself what the hell were you thinking?

Alas it didn't remain.

But, as I've been seeing these more and more and I've been getting to know so many of you better I've had occasion to reconsider my disdain.

The problem I have is in finding things to reveal that people would find interesting in one so boring, average, [insert third adjective here] as EA. Yes, I just referred to myself in the third person. Frankly I could use a third person. One more and I'm only two people away from a threesome. Or wait; that's one more and I'm only one person short of a threesome. Whatever: I'm 30% bored, 52% trying to pump some filler into the preamble of this entry, and 46.23% not good with fractions.

So, 100 things about me:

  1. I've got yellow eyes. They're right here in the box on my desk. hahahahaha! I kill me.
  2. I love music and have a collection of CDs numbering around 2,000
  3. If I could work my will, I'd spend the rest of my life traveling the world, never truly placing roots in one place for long. And with someone who shares that passion, so much the better.
  4. I'm emotionally passionate. I pour my heart and soul into my loves. I don't fall in love easily, but if you're the owner of my amour, I'll follow you to the furthest reaches of Hell and back if necessary.
  5. I tend to like other people more than myself. Not that I don't like me (except for once, but more on that later); it's just that I find others so much more interesting. Myself... well, I've been watching that movie since I was born, so I find it far more entertaining to watch others.
  6. I do not like pretentiousness. Not at all. You own a Lexus or live in a mansion or look like a supermodel? Fine; good for you. I'm happy for you that you've got it so good, at least by outward appearances. But if you begin to use your possessions or intelligence or looks as a means to categorize others on a scale of superior, that's when we have a problem. Chances are, you're just as big a bastard as those you turn your nose toward, you just do it from an ivory tower.
  7. Music, to me, is linked inexorably with history. When I hear a song, it's not just a series of notes intertwined with words. It represents a time in my life, complete with emotions and events and if I allow it, hearing it again can bring me back to that state. This would explain why I can't replay music I listened to when Mrs. EA was in love with me.
  8. I'm funny. Not everyone gets my humor and I demonstrate the proclivity toward the inane, but I love making others laugh.
  9. I went to prison for a few months. Years ago. There is no way to accurately describe how that feels. It was like stepping into the seventh circle of hell. Just like you, I swore I would never ever do something that could lead me there. We all look into the mirror every day confident in the solidarity of our moral compass; assured that we're all good by default. That those who go "inside" have some fundamental flaw that makes them different from the rest of us. Then one day you look in the mirror and wonder "what the fuck ever happened to never ever, asshole?!" When society wrote me off, I swear I would not have been surprised to find this printed over the facility entrance: "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." Which explains the next item:
  10. There was a time when I was so consumed with self-loathing that I literally did not care if I lived or died. It's the only time in my life I've ever welcomed death. Sound melodramatic? Have a conscience and go to prison; then tell me about melodrama. At that time I looked into the eyes of my wife and kids and tortured myself over their being saddled with a man like me. So many counted on me and trusted me and I'd let them all down. For that time I lived only. for. them. More than once I came closer to ending my life than anyone realizes. Yet Mrs. EA didn't leave me, despite my belief that she not only had cause, but deserved better. She called me her "family." That, coupled with the promise of our life together (she, our kids, and me), forced me to want to rebuild my determination to live my life, only wiser. She probably doesn't even know it, but she and the kids quite literally saved my life. Which is probably why it's been so fucking, god damned hard to handle knowing that she doesn't want me anymore. I need a few minutes here....
  11. OK. Number 11. And a major shift in mood, k? Lessee.... Oh, this may not sound all that interesting to those who haven't seen me, but I used to be a pole vaulter and slalom ski racer. In fact, I lettered in those sports in high school. To look at me now, you'd think I was a football lineman, or maybe just a fat bastard. Ha! But no, I really did possess a fabulous body once.
  12. I can cook. Pretty well too, I'm told.
  13. I've lived all over the United States, and intend to take that international at some point once I have the kids safely into their own lives. Any ideas where I should live first?
  14. I don't know what you'd call it (stupid, reckless, adventurous), but I tend to do dangerous things from time to time, some of which have resulted in injury. Examples? Ok, here you go:
  15. I've bungee jumped from a hot air balloon
  16. Crashed a motorcycle on the 91 Freeway in Los Angeles in a spectacular man-meets-car-bike-meets-concrete-at-70mph incident while on my way to meet Mrs. EA to go Christmas shopping. Hundreds of staples, six titanium screws, two surgeries, and several artificial body parts later, I'm good as new (mostly).
  17. I once severed the last three fingers of my right hand after getting them caught in an air conditioning vent duct in my youth. One amazing micro plastic surgeon later and they were reconnected. And don't look too bad if I do say so myself, although if I touch something fuzzy with those fingers, I get a quick sensation that I'm being burned. Weird, huh?
  18. I played rugby in college, where I sustained many bumps, bruises, cuts, and a concussion or two. But you know what they say: "In rugby, there are no winners. Only survivors." No? How about this one: "Give blood; play rugby." No? Oh well, the post game beer parties were kick ass.
  19. Jesus lord almighty, we're only on #19? Hmmm... Ok, how about this one: I sometimes procrastinate.
  20. ...

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Day 19 Commentary

Hey, I've made my innaugural post on Burt's Stache. If you've all entries of EA, you will recognize it, but if not, consider it my least average moment. Perhaps.

Be back soon. Things to do with respect to the Event.


Friday, January 18, 2008

Why You Miserable Corksucker!

So, I sometimes say inappropriate things. I also laugh at some of the stupidest things. Those of you who know me will be like "NO! REALLY?!" right now. The rest will be all "huh, who cares?" and click the "Next Blog" button up there on the header bar.

But should you care, and by way of example, take the other day when I was in the kitchen with my offspring, whipping up dinner (cuz, hey, what else are you going to do in the kitchen besides cook and have sex, but I ain't gettin' any of the latter and even if I were it ain't gonna be in when the offspring are present). Flyboy was sitting on the counter. The Puffinator was standing in front of him with her cup of ice cubes, which they both snack on like M&Ms. I was at the stove practicing culinary excellence. The offspring were engaged in a dare contest: "I dare you to take a bite of this jalapeno," "I dare you to call Dad fat," etc.

Suddenly I heard from the corner of my ear "I dare you to swallow this, asshole."

I spun around, flinging chicken almondine in a graceful horizontal arc across the floor. "What did you say?!" You can tell from by my mixing of punctuation that I was incredulous.

They both looked at me with confused innocence. "What? We were just messing around."

Looking at my daughter: "Did you just call him an A-hole? You know we don't use language like that toward family members. And A-hole is reserved for descriptions of Dick Cheney or that jerkwad who hosts American Idol."

Holding her hand out, The Puffinator showed me the ice cube in her hand. "No, I said 'swallow this ice, whole!'"

"Oh. Carry on, then" I laughed and returned to creating my culinary masterpiece, recollections of Roman Troy Moronie quotes wafting through my mind.

Odd, but I didn't seem concerned about my son swallowing an ice cube whole. It would melt before he died, right?

Well, I'm outta here for now. My goal today: to see how many times I can crowbar "Surely you can't be serious? Yes I called you Shirley" into other blogs.

I'm out!

Thursday, January 17, 2008

On A Crusade for Safety

So anyway, yesterday I was reading the news between bouts of working and selling Girl Scout Cookies for the Puffinator when I saw this story.

Virginia Lawmaker Introduces Legislation to Ban the Display of Genitalia on Vehicles

Well great. Just great. Where am I going to view my porn now? What's that? The Internet you say? What is this internet of which you speak? Feel free to send me examples of what I'm missing. Except you, Dyck; Satan would shake his head in dismay at the horror of what you've likely got stored on your hard drive. heh. Oh what the hell, send me that too.

Anyway, as I read the story I thought more and more well now that's just stupid. That's listening to Dr. Phil stupid. Or not crossing your legs on the Drop of Death water slide stupid. That's Mission Impossible III stupid.

It appears that this particular lawmaker seeks to ban those redneck truck accessories that resemble men's balls. Redundant much? As if there's such a thing as women's balls? Of course, I have yet to see all of you women who read EA so there may be a few select cases out there, but that's not the point.

The point is that this schmo is claiming as his reason for this ban that "they distract drivers."

Now I know how hard it is to keep your eyes on the road when driving behind a truck with a dangling set of monster clackers jingling in front of you, but really, let's be honest here. What he's really railing about is some constituent who pissed and moaned because his daughter asked what those things hanging from the truck were and he didn't have the gonads to reply "those are supposed to be testicles, honey, because the redneck hick driving that truck doesn't have any of his own. Or, perhaps they are the former property of the man to whom that woman driver used to be married." I guess the truck has more balls than that father. After all, anything to avoid teaching our kids about sex because you know how it is: you tell your nine year old that those things under the truck's bumper are balls and within two years she'll be out gang-banging the high school football team.

Instead, he writes his congressman. "*In suitably whiny voice* My poor innocent daughter saw a pair of fake testicles and I don't have enough of my own to tell her the truth, so I think you should ban them for everyone else. That way I can continue to shelter my ignorant child so she can learn about sex from her peers and watching internet porn that objectifies women."

Or something like that, I'm sure. Kids and the media being what they are today, though, the daughter was likely not asking what they WERE, but how they got so much bigger than the ones she's already seen on the internet.

Then I got to thinking. If these juvenile displays of bravado are being banned because they're a distraction, then they better dip their fountain pens and have the paper ready because there's a whole long list of additional "distractions" we need to eliminate. Here's a few that come quickly to mind, but not necessarily from EA's personal experience:

  • Bumper stickers
  • Cell phones, even those with hands free options
  • DWS - driving while sexy. And while we're at it, ban hot people from the sidewalks because they, too, might distract drivers driving by.
  • Billboards
  • Radios
  • Conversation among passengers
  • Touching yourself
  • Eating and/or drinking
  • Midget leg wrestling
  • Personalized license plate and license plate frames
  • Road head (both giving and receiving)
  • Reading
  • Applying makeup
  • Applying a full body oil-based moisturizer for that moist, glistening look
  • Writing your dissertation
  • Performing circumcisions and/or vaginal rejuvenation surgeries
  • Cooking
  • Brushing your teeth
  • Brushing someone else's teeth
  • Beating your kids (specific to my mom)
  • Convincing that hot chick in the car next to you that she should show you her tits
  • Firing your Glock at other motorists (specific to California)
  • Changing the radio station channel or switching CDs
  • Break dancing
  • Origami
  • Roof surfing
  • Republicanism a-la Dick Cheney (specific to my dad)
  • Sleeping
  • Picking your ear, then smelling your finger
  • Chinese fire drills
  • Being insane/scientologist (specific to Tom Cruise)
  • Dressing, undressing, or changing clothes
  • Astral projecting Mayan gods
  • Acupuncture
  • Filming sex acts (specific to Paris Hilton)
  • Calculating Pi to the 25th decimal place
  • Searching for a suitable place to hide the body (specific to New Jersey)
  • Clipping toe and/or finger nails
  • Flossing
  • Using a carrot to satisfy that annoying deep rectal itch

I think we can all agree that eliminating these additional "distractions" will make our roadways a far safer place to be.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

The Event of a Lifetime, (so far)

And we're back! Welcome to 2008 everybody, welcome to January. I am your host, the interweb's Effortlessly Average. I'm in a fabulously optimistic mood today. I know I've been absent lately and while I'd love to claim sloth as my excuse, the reality is that the writer's strike has a broad, broad reach. I mean, if it affected the Golden Globes, one would expect it would touch this site as well. We can't all bribe our writers with pickle juice and lubricated bananas. Besides, I had been working on growing a beard, but I had to shave it off. Maybe next time I'll try to grow one on my face. Still, we have so much to talk about I don't even know where to begin.

I've been watching endless hours of TV, waiting for the infomercial rerun of the 20th anniversary Sweatin' to the Oldies. Several weeks or days or months ago -I don't do time well- I was sitting at my desk focusing on growing my beard when in the corner of my brain I thought I caught the faint lure of a bunch of fat chicks bustin' a move with some gay white dude with an afro, but I didn't look up in time and missed it. Oh, I suppose I could have probably found it online, but hey, if I order it during the infomercial I get a bonus DVD of Richard Simmons' gayest moments. And we all know no one wants to miss those. I mean c'mon people, Sweatin' to the Oldies has been unavailable for years, and now it's back! Just like me! That makes it like a collectors item! Also just like me! Two hours of fat people boosting their blood pressure to America's most overplayed hits. Just like me! And there was no way I was going to miss the chance to order my very own pair of striped shorts and sequined tank top!

Oh hey; good news. I've been asked to be a contributor on Burt's Stache. I'm the Day 19 guy. I've been trying to figure out what to write for my first foray into a broader world. I want it to be good. As I sat pondering which way to go, I thought to myself "hey, what's that smell?" Then I thought, "hey, maybe I should go to EA's greatest hits for a first entry!"

Perusing the vast archives of EA greatness mediocrity it occurred to me that I've been writing this blog for nearly two years! Two years people! It seems like only yesterday a young man with stars in his eyes and a belief that he was actually funny logged into EA for the first time, intent on changing the internet world with his wit and wisdom, convinced the people would flock to his site to read his every word. And I remember telling that boy, "Get me a latte, boy! and don't go overboard with the foam!"

You know what this means, don't you? It means this blog has lasted longer than 50% of my marriages! And involves about as much sex, too. And I didn't even realize it had been that long, so I guess you could say I've been withholding sex from myself, which is really surprising because normally I can't keep my hands off myself. In the end, I found the entry I'm going to use and it's a beaut. As far as this space's longevity, well I'm already engaged in an attempt to grow massive breasts that I can talk about endlessly in an effort to boost my hit counter. I'll let you know how it goes.

Also in an effort to avoid sitting down to write, I went cow tipping for the first time. I have to admit that's just a stupid activity. I mean, what exactly are the cows going to do with the extra money, anyway? And why did it take me four cows to figure that out? Oh, I tried to get my money back, but the cows get a little bitchy when you ask them to return the tip. Happy cows my ass. Anyone want another steak?

The next day found me pensive. As you know, I've been doing a lot of introspecting (new word!, new word!) this last couple months and as I mentioned before that I need a change. A change of something more substantial than underwear style. There may be many varieties out there, but low-rise mesh will always be EA. Anyway, during the course of my introspection I've come to the realization that my life needs adventure. I have a long list of things I've always wanted to do and let's face it, EA ain't getting any younger. Besides, I'm tired of surviving under the cloud of "it only hurts when I live." Frankly I'm tired of the pain. It doesn't do me any good anyway. I used to have dreams people. Aspirations. Goals. Sex. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but I used to have sex. Not that the drought will end any time soon, but the point is I want to begin checking things off my list.

So with the coming of a new year I'm going to violate the one invio...-uh-...lateable rule of all that is Effortlessly Average: I'm going to make some resolutions. I know! Shocking much?

In order to understand why this is monumental, you have to buy into the whole philosophy of EA. Being EA is like being vanilla: it just is, without fanfare or preamble. I'm synonymous with ho-hum; steeped in the mundane. My name is synonymous with all that is mediocre and easily obtained. It also happens to rhyme with "belly" but that's neither here nor there. And like vanilla, EA is wrinkled and crusty on the outside, but contains a lot of aromatic goodness inside if you're willing to scrape it free with the flat edge of a knife. Ew, this kinda took a creepy turn, didn't it?

Resolutions, however, suggest change. Resolutions hint at improvement. They point bravely into the future with a look of resolve and determination, crying to the cold expanse of the unknown "I refuse to eat generic peanut butter for one more day!" Or something like that. When living in the realm of resolution, the air carries with it the clean, fresh scent of progress, not unlike the new air freshener I put in the EA-mobile this weekend.

So you see my problem here. How do I resolve to change when the mere thought violates that which makes me so effortlessly average? Well, the answer lies in what I intend to change. Clearly some things will remain the same. For example, I fully intend to continue to apply footwear using the sock, shoe, sock, shoe methodology. I'll likely still mix darks with colors. And I also plan to continue to be the best father and man I can possibly be, excepting that I'm going to trip up from time to time and I don't have to make excuses for being hurt when my heart's broken.

Along those lines, I have several resolutions on which I plan to focus in 2008, although I think it might be more appropriate to call them "goals" as opposed to "resolutions." I've really hated feeling the way I have been this last several months. It's not me and I could feel it slowly bleeding me to death emotionally. The way I see it is I have a choice to focus on that which I may have lost, or toward that which I have to gain.

This is an entry about those goals.

You know, people often ask me why I choose to be a contractor when the pay is only about 75% of what I used to make and my experience dictates positions of far greater responsibility and potential. Of course the term "contractor" is so much less sexy than "EA, Danger Accountant." I'd have to say that my reasons for not going permanent are broad, like Rosie's backside but less hairy and dimpled. Don't ask me how I know. Besides the fact that I'm not an accountant, I'm a finance, uh, guy, I'd have to say the biggest answer is "flexibility." Being a contractor allows me the freedom to explore the world as I see fit without having to go through the interview, hire, work, quit process repeatedly.

For years now it's been a fervent dream of mine to travel more. I had intended to do with with Mrs. EA, but I've decided I'm still going to do it even if she wants no part of it or decides to do it with someone else. I have no doubt that there will be times when I'm standing on some mountain overlooking something beautiful or remarkable somewhere in the world and I'll look to my left, where she always used to stand, not see her there, and feel a pang of regret and sorrow. But I'm going anyway. And I've decided where the first "there" will be.

Some little while ago I eluded to an "event" toward which I was working. Here's where I tell you all about it. I sat at my computer a couple months ago and thought about what I was going to do going forward. I decided I needed to do something big; something that would remind me that I've got so much more to achieve in life than convincing anyone that I'm worth being around of commiserating over the less enjoyable parts of my life.

As I sat there trolling the interweb I had a thought: why not ride my bicycle from Washington state to the state of Maine! Yeah, that would would be exciting! I checked with all manner of resources, both online and in person and sure enough, it seemed to fit the bill. It would be a challenge. It would be an adventure. it would give me time to think about the past, present and future. But I had one glaring problem: I wasn't going to be sleeping on the roadside every night, so unless I intended to have about a bazillion dollars for accommodations, I'd need a chase crew. But I struggled to find anyone who could/would take that kind of time to help me achieve a goal like this. As the weeks progressed it started to look less and less likely.

Back to the internet!

Where I found Plan B, which quickly became Plan A.

Where am I going? Here:
And what is there, you might be asking? This:

And what would I be doing there? This:

And this:

And this:

You got it friends. I'm going to Patagonia on an adventure trip of a lifetime. Well, of my lifetime so far, anyway. 17 days of trekking, climbing, rafting, zip lining, rappelling, and horesback riding across the wilderness of South America.

Along the way I'll be sleeping in places like this:

And kayaking in place like this:

And the most exciting part, navigating rivers like this:

But this ain't no pleasure cruise, people. The info I've read states very clearly that this trip is NOT for the out of shape or faint of heart. There are no hotels or other apparent conveniences, like bathrooms or doctors. In order to prepare, I'm going to have to take a multi-pronged aproach. One that involves training in mountain climbing and repelling, rafting, and horseback riding. I suppose I could include trekking, but frankly I've been walking for years so I don't think I need much more training in that area.

The hard part is the trip extensions. Part of the trip allows adventurers to take one of five side trips to surrounding areas. I could take a five-hour flight to Easter Island where I could explore the hundreds of giant Moai statues, pink sand beaches, petrogliphs, and archaeological digs.

Or I could take in Torres del Paine National Park for days of trekking through what's called one of the most visually stunning natinal parks in the world.

Or travel the back roads of the Chilean Lake District to climb an active, smoking volcano

Or take a float plane into the lakes of Pategonia to sea kyak and hike calving glaciers

Or finally, take a trip into Santiago. I guess this would be for your shopping crowd.

I leave November 29th. I'd planned to go sooner, but as the whole earth is round thing is working against me, it will be winter down there when it is summer up here. So the only time to go is when between november and April. Since there's no way in hell I'll be ready by April, I guess November it is!
And you know what? I'm so jazzed about it that I totally should offer up a contest to take someone will me. I accept all manner of bribes and showings of undying devotion and adoration. Even if my breasts aren't coming in really well so far.

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- The Number of People Stunned by My Mediocrity