Mexico In The Couve

There is just something Kitschy and wrong about the vast majority of chain Mexican restaurants in this country. I recently went to dinner with the fam at a place called “”On the Border” out in the newer, flashier part of Vancouver. What border they are referring to, I have no idea, since the closest border is about 300 miles north of there and is better known for its Marijuana smuggling and the Winter Olympics than it is for its high-powered tequila or salsa.

Regardless, we went to dinner there because it beat the pants off of the drive-through called “Pollo Loco,” resplendent with the image of some kind of crazed seabird and, judging by the cracks in the windows and the particularly low amount of general upkeep, cockroaches the size of my fist. On the border is one of those restaurants that allows the quest for “AUTHENTIC” atmosphere to get i the way of things like “good taste” and “comfort.”

Upon entering I was bombarded with a crappy pseudo-house remix of Low Rider blasting out of the poor quality speakers and a waaaaay to perky waitress asking to show us to our tables. We were seated at a table with would have been kind of nice had it not been for the over-zealous lighting designer who had taken it upon herself to individually light each table with its own 30 million-lumen arc-light.

Squinting across the table I glanced at the laminated and tri-folded menus full of “AUTHENTIC” mexican creations the likes of which I had never seen in a real Mexican restaurant. These menus were the kind that made you think that real mexicans wrote with markers and spelled all of the words they wanted emphasized in jagged, bright yellow strokes.

I ordered a grilled chicken enchilada – which turned out to be more of a Taco-Bell crunch wrap with better chicken – from a man with an obvious crack habit (but who was wearing the requisite amount of flair, so I won’t rag on him too much.) I gazed around me and was amazed at the amount of thought that had gone into the creation of AUTHENTIC atmosphere here. Fired ceramic vessels were all over the place, as were plastic trees and flowers that served to brighten up the otherwise poorly lit areas between the tables. There were nice pictures on the walls of ordinary Mexicans in ordinary Mexican towns – as long as you have never been to Mexico and don’t know that they have some of the largest, dirtiest cities in the world – doing ordinary Mexican things – like sitting against the wall or sleeping… seriously. The walls were the requisite color of adobe and there were enough neon tubes and Margarita glasses near the bar area to do Jimmy Buffet proud.

I ate my food which, to the credit of this place, was really pretty good. The waiter – along with the entire staff – checked on us every 13 seconds to make sure that things were good and to ask if we wanted desert.

While we were still eating.

Every 13 seconds.

For most of the meal.

I appreciate a restaurant with good service, especially a chain, where the best service you are likely to get is a waiter somewhere in the vicinity of your table every 30-40 minutes that you have to flag down with a signal lamp or road flare and who will be MORE than happy to help you… sometime in the next 30-40 minutes. That being said, if I’m eating the food and haven’t complained yet, it’s probably at least adequate, so let me eat my food and talk to the people that I am trying to eat with in peace.

All told the entire experience seemed cheap, and for the amount of money they charge to get your frijoles, one would think that they could come up with something better than signage that says banjo and looks like it was printed on someone’s Lexmark and glued to a piece of driftwood.

On the speech.

I’m not usually a political hack, but here is my thoughts on what happened tonight.

Anyone reading this should honestly want this country to succeed and go forward, be it for their own personal desires to be successful or their desires to be a part of the shaping of our future.  If you are not one of those who wants that, you should stop reading now, for you are part of the problem and can not hope to be a part of the solution.

–

The president was right.

Today this nation of our stands at a crossroads the likes of which has never before been seen.  Through the lens of history we can see that the occultation of our difficulties by the technology, intelligence, determination and sheer potential presented by the people of not only the US, but of the planet, has never before been as much a possibility as it is now.

Our drive and desire to get out from under the problems that  we have created – through our belief that the markets and financial institutions that make our country so great  would simply bow to our decadence – is what will be the determining factor in the continued existence of this country as a great force in the world.

Clean, cheap energy.  Increased social justice and human rights.  A basic increase in the quality of living for all of our people.  It CAN be done.  It can be done rather easily and in far less time than was possible even a decade ago.  But it is not going to get done unless we come together as a people and want, need, and demand that it be so.

We must come together and demand that all of the vast resources at our disposal be used to improve our financial, political, technological and industrial credit in the eyes of the world.  Through the utilization of these resources, and the careful parsing and oversight of our decision making, we can chart a way through the future that will end up in a world where everyone is able to do the things that they want to do, and will be the best, most secure, and therefore most peaceful in history.

I call on all of my friends, their friends, their families and everyone who could possibly come across this writing to please put politics aside – something that can, despite popular opinion, be accomplished – and think about how you see what we can do in the near term to help us out in the long term.

Thanks.

Do The Right Thing.

Please allow me to take time out of my hectic schedule of ridiculing the things that pervade my space on a daily basis to speak of something that I deem very important, serious and near to my heart.

Beer.

For those of you who don’t already know this, Oregon is one of the beer mecca of the world.  We have several breweries that compete and win medals in international beer festivals, and many of our beers are showcased in books such as Michael Jackson’s (yes that is really his name) “500 classic brews” alongside such greats as Chimay, Duval and HofBrau.   The northwest in general has the highest density of breweries in the world per capita, and is as proud of a cottage industry that has given rise to such giants as Rogue, Widmer, and Henry Weinhards as Detroit is in it’s Steel.  From the big-dogs to the small breweries like Roots, HUB and others, Oregon is literally swimming in craft-brewed deliciousness that also happens to be a multi-million dollar-per-year industry.

There is an entire culture in Oregon surrounding the greatness of our beers and we are regarded as the United State’s capitol of craft beer artistry…  Nay-sayers aside.  This is an industry that employs literally thousands of people in the area and is, in the words of one commentator to The Portland Business Journal, “one of the few industries that Oregon has an advantage in.”

And a few lawmakers on the Oregon State Legislature are trying to ruin everything.

Four lawmakers have joined with a Senator from Springfield to attempt to change the Oregon Excise Tax on beer manufacturing from $2.60/barrel to $49.61/barrel.  That is an increase of 1,800 percent by this fall.  This site had an excellent breakdown of what this would mean for local Brewers.  The change in taxes paid annually for the largest brewers in the northwest are as follows:

*  New Old Lompoc Brewery: from $5,330 per year to $107,030
* Hopworks Urban Brewery: from $7,857 to $157,778
* Ninkasi Brewing: from $18,460 to $370,691
* Rogue Ales: from $34,091 to $684,577
* BridgePort Brewing: from $60,315 to $1,211,167   <-!!!!!!!
* Deschutes Brewery: from $215, 990 to $4,337, 241.

According to the Oregon Brewers Guild tax payments for Oregon Based Brewers would rise in-toto from $847,000 to $17 million in one year.  Laurelwood Public House and Brewing Co. Owner Mike De Kalb is quoted by local news station KGW article as saying “If that tax is passed it would mean consumers would pay $315 million more (in 2009) to buy the same amount of beer they bought in 2008.  A pint of beer would go from $4.50 to $6.”

These are not trivial numbers.  Indeed, these are numbers that could very easily see many of the craft brewers and mom-and-pop brew-houses that add a not-insubstantial piece of Portland’s unique character go completely out of business.  As one commentator I read said, “The state, due to their lack of ability to manage money, does not need to hinder the growth of an international icon.”  This hinderance would, of course, be due to them not being able to afford to pay taxes into a system that has mishandled its budget since before I moved here, over 16 years ago.

Loss of Oregon’s character aside, this would mean a devastating loss of jobs in this admittedly niche sector of the northwest economy.  Smaller brewers would go out of business completely, and the loss of ability to market and sell their beers would have many of the local big-dogs hiking their prices beyond the reach of common folk who can justify spending $4.50 on a pint, but not 6 bucks.  In the words of Kurt Widmer of locally famous Widmer brewing; “This is mind boggling.  It’s as if they don’t want any beer sales at all in the state of Oregon.”  Backers of the bill claim that the increase for the consumer will really only be about 15 cents per glass, but according to Jim Parker of the Portland Drinks Examiner “because the tax gets charged at the brewery or wholesaler level, it will be multiplied, like any other cost of business, as the beer moves from brewer to wholesaler to retailer to consumer.”

Backers of this bill claim that it would generate literally millions of dollars for a state that is already wallowing in deficit, and that this money would be used to fund substance abuse and addiction education and treatment programs throughout the state.  A noble cause indeed, and one that I am all for (given the right method of fund-raising, of course).  I doubt, however, the state’s ability to manage a new influx of money and direct it to the correct place when their track record shows that they are capable of anything but.

Despite the idealism and obvious good-intentions shown by the bill’s proponents in their justification for the destruction of Oregon’s pride and dominance in its craft brew industry, the basic fact that it will lead to the rapid decline and eventual downfall of all but the largest breweries in the area should render the option null and void.  In an economic atmosphere like the one that is currently dragging down everyone in the country and forcing business after business to shutter its doors, it does not make sense to me for the Oregon Legislature to attempt to tax to death one of the few truly thriving areas of it’s economy.

This is not, of course, to say that there cannot be a tax hike.  Anyone with half a brain knows that in   order for Oregon to bring in more clams they have to raise taxes somewhere; might as well be beer and cigarettes, the usual go-to guys for such increases.  I’d be willing to pay a little more a pint if I knew the money was going to a good cause. That being said, a tax that will increase by 1,800% in one year is so extreme as to be ludicrous.

Think of it this way: a certain company over 200 years ago lost a whole bunch of cash when settlers in a far away land decided that they were sick of paying taxes on something that they enjoyed and dumped tons of tea into Boston Harbor..  The US was born a little while later.

People are not going to stand for this, and I believe strongly that none of you reading this diatribe of mine should either.  This is not about drinking, it’s about trying to do the right thing for those people who are going to be hurt by this ill-concieved and poorly presented idea.  I don’t care if you drink or not, this has to do with Oregon as a whole.

House Bill 2461 has been introduced by Portland Reps. Ben Cannon and Michael Dembrow, Portland Sens. Jackie Dingfelder and Diane Rosenbaum, and Springfield Sen. William Morrisette.  Write to these people and let the know that not only are they destroying jobs and security for thousands of people, they are irreparably damaging Oregon’s pride and dominance in the international community of brewers, and that this is something that Oregon cannot abide.

Thank you for your time, and please stay tuned for new information.

Your Media IIIIINNNNN SPAAAAAAAACE……..

This is your media.

Most you probably don’t know, because most people don’t know, that on the 13th of February this year something happened that has never happened before. 2 satellites, one Russian and on American, slammed into each other. On accident. While this is interesting merely as a curiosity and the fact that little pieces of debris will be raining down on the earth for quite some time, it is more so to me because it shows the difficulty in believing what the news says when it writes about science.

Case in point:

On Sunday there were sonic boons and shaking ground in Austin Texas. A camera man for a local news station caught a large fireball blazing rapidly through the air and this video was promptly added to every nerd-site that I visit. It was quickly determined to be a meteor, not a part of one of these star-crossed satellites, due to its relative speed across the sky, its color, the fact that it was burning so bright that it was seen during the day and a myriad other reasons. For an example of this rapid and rather thorough analysis of the phenomena, check out this page (which also happens to be one of my favs, and has been for a while).

That was on Sunday, and has been developing for a few days now, as other fireballs have been reported – earth has been going through a spate of very large and bright meteorites for some reason. SO… I check cnn.com today (2-16-09) and see this.

It is an article that basically says NASA doesn’t know what the object was, paints the picture that pieces of space-junk are falling down about our head and shoulders, and basically does a very ill-informed and at least partially in-accurate job of detailing what this thing was. This is of course despite its insistence that the US space command – the agency that owns and operates the radars that NASA uses to track space debris and satellites – puts “no correlation” between the two events.

Now I understand that some journalist, even one how writes about science, wont have the expertise necessary to get the story completely right every time. That would be an unreasonable expectation. But the fact that I, a rank-amateur scientist and history major, was able to pick up on the dichotomy between reports shows that with a very little more research this article could have been correct, concise and not smacked of media-sensationalizing.

I mean seriously. Thee satellites hit each other at between 6 and 10 miles per SECOND (depending on the source)… do you really think that there would have been a piece big enough to make a sonic boom over Austin that morning?

Methinks not.

Not that I’m bitter…

As a note, I posted this this morning and it never made it for some reason, and got erased in the process… So you get the slimmed down, less well researched and far less articulate version.  So there.  -J-

—

Hey you.  Yeah, you, Valentines; with the hearts and the flowers and the bullshit.  Get over here, I go something to say to you.

I know who you are.  Oh yeah, buddy… I got yer number.  You’re Valentines day.  You are that time when people get together to celebrate the fact that Hallmark splattered pink and red ribbons all over you local Albertson’s and force-fed them sugar and spice until they were so full of the “spirit” of this season (that being the dead of winter) that you decided it would be nice to buy their girl a card.  Or some Candy.  Or some solidified carbon peddled by people who made them think that said carbon was for some reason rare.

You know what you are?  You are a fraud.  You are the Christianization of the Pagan festival of Lupercalia.  You are the day that Chicago Mobsters killed a dozen of their own in a warehouse on the lower east-side.  And you are a criminal.

Yeah, you heard me.  A criminal.

Your entire existence as a famous person is hinged upon the deception and willful insubordination of your emperor Cladius II.  You knowingly went against his wishes and you got locked up for it and sent love letters to your sweetheart and now you are the reason that people feel that there has to be some Chocolate-inspired special reason to do something nice for their significant other.

Had it not been for Esther A. Howland and her relentless pursuit of all things ribbony, people in the US wouldn’t even know of your existence.  And even if they did, they wouldn’t spend it worrying over whether or not their gift was to be good enough or their idea original enough to impress their women; themselves spoiled to tears by your continued existence.

I think you need to take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror and decide if you are a god thing for all of these poor people.  I understand that you have a contract worth literally billions of dollars with ever Holiday-type business in the country, and that money is hard to walk away from.  But let me put it in plain words for you.

Go away or I will take this baseball bat to your kneecaps.

FIGHT!

I was watching a television show today about ancient weapons adn fighting technique – I am a nerd, we have been over this – and I was confused by something.

Hand to hand combat wearing 40-60 pounds of stiff leather armor while holding a 40 pound shield and using a nine foot long spear doesn’t strike me as the most efficient way to go about things.  Me?  Dude comes at me wearing leather chaps, a helmet with a horse-tail sticking out of the top and wielding a weapon that is utterly useless if I’m farther than 10 feet away I’m going straight for my Gladius.

But that’s just me.

Seriously?

I was in one of my least favorite places today.

I went to WinCo to get some foodstuffs and provisions for my forthcoming trek through the recesses of boredom when I saw the best thing ever.

There was a woman – late 20’s, pretty, blond as hell – walking through the store pushing a cart full of diet foods and juices while talking loudly on her cell phone.  She was weaving unsteadily down an aisle packed with people talking loudly about the last night at the bar with some dude and laughing that intensely high-pitched squeal that some girls emit when giddy about nothing of any substance.

I was thinking to myself that this is what people do when they get into car accidents when all of a sudden she rams an elderly woman in front of her that had not moved for 30 seconds or more.  Keep in mind when I say rammed I’m not talking about a love-tap that scrapes the paint on your Prius but a blatant rear ending that results in a Jetta’s ass riding your hood.

Despite the incredible awesomeness of this event, the best part was that she looked at the woman that she had nearly knocked directly into a stack of discount pickles like she was the spawn of a slightly moronic Satan, flicked her long overly-bleached hair over her shoulder with a sigh of exasperation and strutted down the aisle, still weaving her cart through people while holding her phone with the other and leaving a group of people to stare at her rather shapely behind, mouths agape at what they had just witnessed.

It was the culmination and vindication of every blond, female, cell phone talking driver I have ever heard, and it was utterly hilarious.

Realizations

I have discovered that I am a part of a not-so-unique crew.  This is the story, all about how…. well, I came to this realization.

Few things in life are sadder than the frozen-dinner aisle at the supermarket. As I scuffle my way in there after a day of work, my eyes actually hurt from the glare of the blazing white lights off the entirely over-polished tile floor. The tinny presence of Paula Abdul floats down from the ceiling as I gaze into the long line of glass doors, their insides stuffed full of shiny boxes and bags; the colorful salvation of people who either don’t have the time to cook dinner, or the ability.

I know its in there. The orange bag with the do-it-yourself kit of stir-fried veggies. An amalgamation of everything a single man who can not cook needs to make a dinner that doesn’t involve Ramen Noodles or Taco Bell. Mind you, Im not saying that there is a problem with either of those, but still… Vegetables are good for you once in a while, even if they have been flash-frozen and chemically stabilized to be cooked to perfection in 7 minutes flat.

I scoot down the aisle, occasionally glancing up at the people around me. The woman with three children orbiting her like errant planets. Planets that scream and climb on anything they can find and play soccer/baseball/vollyball/football and who obviously make their mother NEED the cart full of TV dinners she is pushing sluggishly through the store. The girl that is too skinny but for some reason still buys the single-serving dinners that say they have no calories/fat/sodium/flavor.

This is the part that I was talking about. Most of the people that I saw were guys. 20 something guys. Dudes who obviously never really learned how to cook. Dudes who realize that putting something in the microwave is easier than learning how to cook. Dudes that have no one else to cook for and don’t want to take the time or expend the effort.

Yes, this is the fraternity in which I now find myself.

So I found the bag of veggies, and cooked them, and it was good.

The NASA-Bama Connection.

When NASA built its two plucky little rovers to motor around the surface of Mars and beam back pictures of rocks and clouds there were eyes watching the builders.  There have been eyes watching the budget, eyes watching the launch and after the successful touchdown, there were eyes watching those rocks and clouds and occasionally the little pieces of them that have fallen off or stopped working,

When the President got sworn in this last January – the first time, at least – there were millions and millions of eyes watching.  They were watching the President, they were watching the eyes that were watching the president, and there were eyes watching those eyes.

But there was one pair of eyes that took in more of the picture than any other.

Those rovers had on board a camera that is built to the capacity of 1,474 megapixels.  To put this in perspective for you, the camera you use to take pictures of your friends when you go out to the bar, get drunk, and do things that could possibly land you in jail is somewhere in the vacinity of 10 megapixels.

These super cameras are usually used to take pictures of things light-years away, so you can imagine what useing them to take a picture of something a hundred feet away would create.

No?  Well it created this.

Want to see Obama’s face?  Do it.  Want to see the face of someone a half-mile away?  Do that too.  George W. Bush looks cynical while Yo Yo Ma is taking a picture with his celly.

This is somethign that a lot of people need: a visual example of how NASA creates things that can be used in ways that dont involve millions of pounds of rocket fuel or math that only that guy from your high-school that walked into walls and ate lunch with the teachers can do.

Ok, so it’s not neccessarily practical, but it’s gee-whiz, so wtake it for that, k?

Some Children’s People, Part Two.

Your kids are dying.

It’s true.  I see it on an almost daily basis.  I see little bundles of future diabetics trundling through my Starbucks.

Let me tell you a little story about a little girl that waddled into my store today.   She was probably about 20 lbs overweight and couldn’t have been more than 7 years old.  Her mother AND father were skinny a rails.  Anything this little girl asked for she got, including the 500,000 calorie large blended caramel drink that she whined for.

Let me tell you something, adults.  7 year old children are not supposed to have deep clefts where their little joints come together.  They are not supposed to be tubular in nature and walk with a pronounced waddle.  These kids are fat, they are dying of it, and it is your fault.

Make you child exercise with something more than the remote for their video games.  Make them eat something that is not from McDonalds/Starbucks/wherever the hell you are getting their food currently..  I recommend fruit.

Fruit is good.

Make them do whatever is the opposite of what it is that you are doing right now.  Say no every now and again, especially when your kid complains that they cant have the 16 oz. cup full of whipped cream that is covered in caramel and Mocha-chocolate.

Basically what I’m trying to say is that there are very few genetic disorders that make kids that age fat.  Sometimes they are a little chubby, and that’s fine, especially when the parents are a little heavier.  That makes sense.  But when the kids look like they should be slapped on a hoagie and slathered with ketchup despite the parents being bean-poles it is simply bad parenting, and that make me oh so angry.

This makes me angry because my taxes are going to be used to get those kids their insulin because their Parents thought that over-indulgence made them good parents.  It makes me mad because it is simply sad to know that these children are going to be in bad health for their entire lives.  It really makes me angry because these kids will eventually have a placard that will let them park in handicapped spaces simply because they are to heavy to walk the extra 25 feet to get their triple-quarter-pounder meal with the 125 oz. diet coke.

And I hate that.