So a woman develops the backless bra, and everyone is ga-ga over the innovation. Seriously folks, in an age when scientists are growing organs in petri dishes, and when surgery can make Dolly Parton forever firm, why has it taken so long for someone to patent this no-brainer?
I've been through enough earthquakes to know that they're no joke. In 1992, I was in Humboldt County when the big ones (so to speak) hit, and I saw the telephone polls waving back and forth.
Nevertheless, I can't help the rush I get when an earthquake strikes, and the little voice in the back of my head that screams for more.
Every time an earthquake kicks off, there's that initial moment of surprise, and then the anxious expectation — is this THE BIG ONE? The megathrust? Are we all going to be shaken off the planet like so many fleas off a pissed off dog? When, as has happened so far in my life, it never is the big one, I can't help but feeling a little disappointed.
I've just learned that the two Coreys of my youth — yes, that's right, Haim and Feldman — are together again, this time on the small screen.
Apparently, there's a show on cable that pits the two former child stars together in a reality show where they struggle to capture again the fame that dominated their youth.
Feldman looks good, Haim looks like a tweaker. Here's a clip:
Still feeling sad that FiFi the dog went to that kennel in the sky? Has Cuddles the Cat's sudden departure for the hereafter left you feeling blue?
Never fear — freaks the world over have found a solution to those dead pet doldrums.
You can now collect a decade's worth of Spot's shedded hair from your couch, your carpet, your bedroom comforter and have that lovely waste sewn into some kind of garish garment ... a sweater made from Fido? A scarf made from Patches?
Hell, if you love your dog that much, you can even make boxers from your boxer ... you'll be scratching your crotch like the dog always did. What better way to honor man's best friend?
All of this just further proves my theory that way down deep, people are weird. Really friggin' weird.
A battle for who is the greener ...
One neighbor installs solar panels on his home to get off the grid and consume as little energy as possible. Al Gore would call this a laudable goal.
The neighbors, however, have planted redwood trees, which over the course of several years grow so tall as to block the sunlight from reaching their neighbor's panels.
Of course a court battle ensues, and some of the trees are ordered cut down. Both have pure motives, and therefore clear consciences. Oh, and one had a Prius and the other an electric car. Who is the devil and who is the saint? Or, to ask the dirty question, who is the Republican in this situation?
All of this reminds me of a relative of mine. He lives in Ceres, California (Read: hot and dry), and takes great pride in maintaining his yard despite the heat. Many hours he spends, and many gallons of water brought in from outside the area via canal and pipeline, to keep the grass green and healthy.
But a lush lawn is not enough. He orders dozens of redwood trees, and plants them around the periphery of the yard (more than an acre's worth) for privacy and "a bit of grandeur," he said.
Never once does he consider that redwood trees aren't native to the area. Never once does he consider the amount of water it will take to keep these trees alive and thriving.
And never once does he consider that the water stolen for such a use was perfectly happy flowing down a river somewhere else, a river that could have had a healthy fish population but didn't because so much of its water was wasted on fruitless endeavors such as growing redwood trees in the Central Valley.
And we wonder if the human race is doomed.
Could this Gundersen story get any stranger, or more convoluted? It has all the makings of a Lifetime movie special, if only the reality of it all wasn't so disturbing. Rape allegations, machine guns, and small town cops suddenly thrust uncomfortably under the microscope? Who needs pulp fiction?
But on a lighter note, John Driscoll and I searched YouTube last week for machine gun videos that matched the caliber of the two dozen or so weapons held by the Blue Lake Police Department. We found a bunch, then had to laugh at the personalities drawn to taping themselves firing off long bursts of machine gun fire.
Below are posted only two examples. Note that the following are NOT weapons the BLPD is accused of having.
And then: Who said Hatfield V. McCoy is dead?
The following is titled "FAMILY FUN" on YouTube. Can you think of a better way to bond with your mum and pop?
Failed, that is, to make more than a token effort at blogging:
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But I am recovered, and hereby dub this strain of Humboldt Crud the Bedwetters' Bug. First, as some of you may know, my moniker here around the newsroom is Bed Weditor (web editor, get it?), and I am the Supreme Example of the waste this disease can lay on a person; second, after several nights of tossing and turning and coughing and crying under the thumb of this virus, one can't help but dampen the sheets with projectile emissions.
Horse dollops and trampled purple flowers — it's Eureka's Rhododendron detritus.
On one hand, it's the pinnacle of absurdity. A parade held every year in honor of a flower that no one I know even cares to look at. The rhododendron? C'mon — might as well have a truckers' parade at Christmas.
They are generic flowers for generic yards, and they leak their pollen paint all over the sidewalks and shrubberies of Humboldt County.
On the other hand, I know my deceased grandmother-in-law will be smiling down from above on the Shriners in their little cars, and on the atonal middle school marching bands. Sometimes, tradition trumps good taste.