From a Cafe in Sydney

So here I am in front of Toby's Estate Cafe, Expresso School and Roastery in Sydney, Australia, bumming off their free wifi. This might be the one and only Australian post I make on this blog. That being the case, I wanted to take a moment to recognize all the abfab Aussies who have, at one time or another, read this blog. Your country slash continent is beautiful. My traveling companion and I have gone down the emerald coast down to Melbourne, from there to Glenrowan (where Ned Kelly made his last stand), through Kozciuzko National Park (drove by the tallest peak in Australia 2229m, Mt. Kozciuzko), then went to Canberra and back to Sydney. There was plenty of beautiful country to see and great people to meet along the way. It was an adventure to say the least. I wish it could've been longer. But oh well. To the pictures...

Follow me on twitter because google hasn't figured out how to let me pull pics from my ipad. Just follow "McConnaughey"

Brown Shirt

This article is somewhat of an anachronism. It was meant to be published some time in the middle of last year:

So I'm sure you've seen these shirts:

While generally I find the sentiment crass, I actually experienced a moment where that statement was indeed validating, vindicating and even...a personal victory.

That moment came shortly after I had my appendix removed. 

The white-lab-coat-clad doctor types had prescribed me some sort of weird black pill to "loosen up my bowels" after a fairly substantial duration of going without my regular porcelain project #2. So as I took the vicodin/percocet with religious devotion, I was no less devoted to this pill.

But even so, the shirt's victorious refrain was not brought to fruition without much trial and adversity. I'll spare you the vivid details, but I will allude to another theory I have to bring the appropriate mental picture to full focus.

So I'm sure you're familiar with full moons and the effect they have on pregnant women, tides, and romance. Well, similarly I have found that some of the largest donations I have ever made to the ivory throne in the bathroom have occurred during full moons. And these are not requited in the least. They generally resemble young brown whales, often times breaching and even beaching themselves on the lip of the bowl. It seems almost impossible that such monstrosities can be expended from intestines of such a known and finite dimension. The event requires an almost birthing effort. Inexplicable. Yet it happens.

So that first victory after surgery was similar in how grand an event it was. A rather large, and generally unrelatable victory. Well, not in polite company anyway. But, you aren't polite company. Not today at least.

Coincidence

Coincidence is an interesting thing. It's something that seems to happen to a point that it's hard to say so many things are coincidental.

Here is an example:

Yesterday afternoon I decided to go get my car cleaned. I pretty much only go to one place to get my car cleaned. And yesterday was no different. The guy who I dropped the car off with told me that it would take about 2 hours. I dropped the car off at 4:30pm. So, I decided to go on walkabout. (Yes, the aboriginal practice of wandering until you find yourself in this epic coming of age type journey - it was exactly like that). So I wandered.

I wandered down a couple blocks to India street, the main thoroughfare that cuts through Little Italy in San Diego. I was waiting for a phone call, and I was strolling, looking for some little nook that might have some good food and not too much bustle (hustle was ok). Well, after my fabulous phone conversation, and having gone all the way down and then back up India street, I saw a sign at this one little restaurant that had several delicious desserts on it. One of these desserts was tiramisu (one of the best desserts ever devised by the mind, hands, and culinary expertise of man). Just down the street there was some sort of concert, so I thought, "Why would anyone pay for an outdoor concert when you can hear it just fine from this fabulous pizza place that has tiramisu?"

Well, it just so happens that my buddy, who lives an hour away was a roadie for the night for one of the bands at this concert. So when he sent me a text message asking me if I was back from my usual sojourning, I said yes. However, I assumed he was at least an hour away. But then when he said he was in Little Italy at a concert, and I told him I was also in Little Italy at a restaurant it was like the intersection of two seemingly divergent universes, splitting the atom and peeling the onion of coincidence to some sort of obvious fate. He was two blocks away. So we ate pizza, tiramisu, and I got to check out this concert for free. It was awesome. I don't care much for the Wall Flowers, but one of my latest favorite bands was there. Walk the Moon:

Tabasco Chipotle Sauce

Tabasco Chipotle Hot Sauce

Once upon a time there was a guy named Jalapeno. He was British. His friends used to make fun of his name. They said his name made him sound like the diminutive version of a word used to describe an old car (His friends were smart, but they lacked the ability to make a good jab; that and they all drove jalopies anyway). This hurt Jalapeno, but he was a stoic British lad, and kept it all inside. He also thought to himself, "What good are my friends if they all drive beaters?" So, the next day, Jalapeno decided to tell them what for.

And so, Jalapeno had no friends.

But Jalapeno didn't care. He drove a nice car. It was a jaguar. That, and he got an invitation to a jolly good (as the host put it) social function in Lousiana. Jalapeno lived in Devonshire. However, he did always fancy America, and wanted to see what all the fuss was with cajuns and gumbo, and swamps. He also wanted to get a tan*. England would just not cut it.

So he went to Lousiana and met a man named McIlhenny. In fact, it was McIlhenny that had invited him to Louisiana in the first place. It seems they both had funny names. And, while they were chuckling and guffawing gaily about this obviously humorous connection (while at this social function), McIlhenny slipped something** in Jalapeno's drink.

When Jalapeno awoke everything was dark. It smelled like peppers. His skin burnt. His eyes burnt. He was burnt. He deduced that he had been put inside an oaken barrel of aged peppers. But, being the stoic Brit he was, he grinned and bore it, and realized it was all for the greater good. And now we have Chipotle Tabasco Sauce. Thanks dead British guy with the funny name! You made my eggs taste delicious this morning!**

* Like Snooki, his favorite trashy reality TV star

** It was a ruffie. Just so there is no ambiguity.

***This is a true story. My eggs were delicious, and Jalapeno is a pretty funny name (I mean, especially for a British guy)

Raw Asparagus

RAW. Such a small word with so many interesting connotations. Some like it raw. Some do not. Is it healthier? Well, that depends on what we're talking about. Let's just put aside what you think I'm saying and get to what I'm saying. Raw food. In particular, I would like to focus on raw asparagus.

Asparagus is good for you. I don't know the particulars, but I know it makes your pee smell; and that, is apparently a good indication that it's good for you. Some people say it tastes good. I guess I can see that. In the same way that orange peels taste good if you turn them into sugar-infused candy, or in the the way anything tastes good if you cover it in chocolate (even crickets). So asparagus, alone, uncooked...is it any good? The simple answer is no. Try it yourself, and don't lie and say you enjoy it. It's pretty much like going for a walk in the park, picking up some random plant and eating it. Given that the plant is not poisonous, you probably won't die, but your palate will most likely not thank you or feel especially expanded. Now if we're talking about steamed asparagus, cooked in olive oil and seasoned carefully with crushed pepper and sea salt, and used as a compliment to a steak and potatoes, then yes, it's good. But that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying this:

So there you are, walking into Trader Joe's because you're a crunchy hippy, a health nut, grape nuts-loving, almond milk-drinking, naan-munching, new age organic enthusiast and you bee line it straight to the fresh produce. In front of you are a plethora of options: arugula, kale, artichokes, assorted peppers, and asparagus. Some of the asparagus was grown locally, the cheaper stuff was trucked in from Mexico. You're a cheap sack, so you buy the Mexican stuff, saying to yourself that you'll rinse it thoroughly before eating it. But you can't see yourself eating straight asparagus, so you grab some broccoli spears and assorted veggies that you would find on a event platter at the end of the event because the ranch dip ran out and prior to that the cookies and good stuff ran out. But you need dip as well, because this whole raw thing is just not going to fly otherwise. You know yourself. Snacks can't taste like tree bark or the front lawn and expect to be eaten. So you go to the hummus section. You see varieties with red pepper, chives, cilantro, garlic, and anything else you can imagine to make smashed up chick peas and lemon juice not taste bland. You grab two things of hummus that don't sound too terrible. Then you continue shopping, check out and go home.

And you eat your raw asparagus. Did you rinse it? Did an amoeba eat your brain already? Ok, yes, you rinsed it. No amoeba. The asparagus is gross. The hummus makes it worse. Yet, you continue to eat it. Weirdo. Who does that?

You.

Russian Scientists, Dryer Buzzers, Sneezing and Online Dating

I have decided to do a mail bag of random ideas because they've been building for a while now. I have watched too many movies on Netflix and not written enough blog entries. That and I've been busy saving the world from drug traffickers that use fiber-glass submarines made by Russian scientists in the jungle. Yep. Get R' Done.

First. Dryer buzzers. Perhaps the most pleasant sound to ever caress my eardrums at 1:00am. It's not like that lovely, full-toned blare you get from an air horn, but more like a melodious screech from a buzzard two octaves higher and more prolonged, combined with your favorite little kid screaming for no apparent reason. Oh, or maybe it happens because your clothes are dry. Which they may not be. In which case, thank you dryer buzzer, you saved my life.

Moving on.

Sneezing is satisfying. And while I don't necessarily buy into the 8 sneezes equals an orgasm philosophy, I did just sneeze while writing this sentence and it was great. However, so often sneezes are taken from us. Like childhood innocence. Or the last cookie. Or our favorite TV show. Or our favorite, obscure, extended family member. Quite often we are left with "the sneeze that never was." It would make for a great book title if it didn't bring with it so much anguish and raw emotion. If you don't follow me, allow me to illustrate. So there you are, walking around, doing that thing you do when you're walking around, when you a) accidentally stare at the sun (right, like you can accidentally stare you idiot), b) are doing some spring cleaning and you get some choice dust in your schnoz, c) are presented with an Angorran chinchilla that has the most allergenic dander known to man and you think you're about to sneeze....but you don't. For whatever reason you can't. You come right to the precipice of sneezing, and then in an unfortunate turn of events, can't make the final leap to actually sneezing and ending all that pent up whateverness. Sad day for you. But, on the bright side, given that you didn't sneeze, you didn't give your friend, or the stranger sitting next to you, that ebola virus that you know you have.

Dating online. So I know this guy who does this. He says it's because he's busy, but I know the truth. He's a loser. At any rate, he scrolls through all the profiles but is amazed at the trickiness of the people on the site. The profile pictures make most of the ladies look like some type of Greek goddess, or at least someone that might be classified as cute, or even normally attractive to a man...or a woman who is attracted to attractive women. But then there is the second picture, and the third. And then all of a sudden they gain 50 pounds, a mustache (which can be fetching), and are now 43 years old and have 6 kids. I have always been amazed by the ability of all women to find pictures with just the right angle, lighting, pose, time of year, etc. that makes them look like Aphrodite incarnate. But, they then foil their plans by posting a picture of themselves the morning after their cage fight with a lumberjack and a bear who seemingly both weighed less and were fighting her only because she was mad that they were more photogenic. But if that were all, that would be enough. To top it off, they then put multiple pictures of their cat(s), dog(s), landscapes, feet, other people, or prior boyfriends and/or husbands. While I find all of this attractive, some guys, strangely, do not.

So there are my latest thoughts. I'm not putting up any funny pictures because I think the words paint funnier pictures in your head. Yes words can paint. Good Day Sir!

MOVEMBER or NOvember at all!

Movember. It is upon us.

It is that special time of year when men reaffirm their manliness, and non-men reaffirm their non-manliness, or support of men who are manly, or become manly if they are not yet already and want to become so. How do they do this?

Perhaps I can illustrate the cause best with the following photos:

Sam Elliot. I believe he just picked you up. Not just the ladies.

Isaiah Mustafa. He's on a boat, and he has a moustache. Capris. Trifecta.

Double the fun. Style points.

This transcends the word moustache.

This moustache transcends the word face.

Even Brad Pitt. That's right.

Salvador Dali is perfectly normal.

Even the ladies can do it.

Kevin Kline never looked more debonaire, and unsavorily satisfactory.

There will be moustache. There will be. Daniel Day-Lewis.

Rollie Fingers. All-time, All-Star Moustache.

Clark Gable. The moustache distracts you from the polka dots.

Errol Flynn. Better tie, less moustache.

Groucho Marx. He so funny.

Charlie Chaplin. Iconic.

Remember that Burt Reynolds guy?

San Diago. Ron Burgundy.

Lando Calrissian, the only black man in the universe...and an awesome moustache.

The greatest moustache the world has ever known. Thank you Tom Selleck.

Moral of the story: I forgot. I was lost in the awesomeness that is Tom Selleck's moustache. Oh yeah, something about Movember...

Grow a Mo for a Bro.

Low Fat, Low Cal...Taste Debatable

So you may have, from time to time, gone down the aisle of your preferred grocery establishment in search of a sweet treat like chocolate milk...only to discover they only offer "reduced fat" or "low fat" chocolate milk. To me, that is disappointing. Even tragic.

Sure, that cow on the bottle looks happy, but in truth he hates himself.

Similar things happen when you're looking for ice cream, candy, and even soda. You've got coke zero, diet coke, stevia sweetened ginger beer, candy with no sugar or trans fats. On the one hand you could get fat (if you go with the regular), while on the the other hand you could get cancer (with all the phenylalanine and like diet sweeteners).

I mean, if you're looking to eat something sweet and satisfyingly delectable, you probably aren't too concerned about the fat content. And if you are, please go eat some quinoa, buckwheat, amaranth, and then go do your yoga/pilates/tai chi and leave the fat foods for those of us with the restraint to enjoy them without forcing them to become crappy. Or just leave them for the fat kids who don't care.

So do I.

And so does this guy.

I didn't make you fat America. You made you fat. Like that grammar? I like my regular, whole milk chocolate milk. I like my regular, delicious food. I don't like diet anything. I don't like fat free, sugar free whatever. And guess what America, I'm not fat. I have it both ways. I have my cake, and eat it too (But actually I'm a bit particular with my cakes. I'm not a cake guy. I like pie. If I have to eat cake I like angel food cake or that dark chocolate mousse cake...or ice cream cake). I digress...

The point is this: If you want to lose weight, be aware of what you're putting in your body and how much exercise you get. Eat fresh fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and get fresh air and sun and work out as often as possible. And, it's not about losing weight, it's about being healthy. But you won't do it by eating tons of diet stuff. That's the problem. People go, oh, they're "mini" cupcakes, or it's "diet" and proceed to eat the whole bag, box, or case. So, to avoid that, don't eat diet stuff in the first place. Smaller regular food portion size is better than larger diet portion size.

Not everyone is going to be a nasty, emaciated, twig-type, and that's ok. In fact, it's probably good. I should never have something stuck in my teeth, look around for a toothpick, and find you to be a suitable substitute.

She drank the wrong kind of chocolate milk.

It's also ok, and even good to splurge every now any then. As long as butter pecan ice cream and cupcakes don't become your staple food items, and you don't eat your cereal with Dr. Pepper instead of milk, you'll probably be ok. Don't quote me on that though. I know some people who have Dr. Pepper fed intravenously into their arms and they do fine.

And the moral of this diatribe: EAT UP FATTIES!

Extreme Sandwich Eating

While some people are naturally inclined to believe that anything extreme is bad, crazy, reckless, stupid, careless, etc. I, on the other hand am inclined to believe otherwise. At least, in the case of eating sandwiches.

Yes. Eating a sandwich can be extreme. I'm not talking about eating a sandwich made out of plutonium, or eating a pig foot sandwich in downtown Jerusalem, but rather, eating seemingly normal sandwiches, in less than normal circumstances. Allow me to provide an example.

This past weekend I visited Yosemite National Park. It's my favorite park and it is a beautifully magnificent place. And, consequently, an ideal location for extreme sandwich eating. And, as it so happened, I had a magnificent sandwich made by my favorite butcher Albert. So, I declared to all that would listen (the one other person in the car with me), that I would eat my sandwich under a waterfall. So we went to Bridal veil falls, got soaked, and I ate my sandwich. And, wouldn't you know, it was delicious. Did the bread get soggy? Yes. Did it start to fall apart a little? Yes. Would I have traded that experience for anything? Possibly. But, I would not have traded it for eating a sandwich at a table.

And so I challenge you readers. Eat sandwiches. Eat lots of them. And do it in crazy places while doing crazy things. Here is a list of ideas for the non-creative normal people who read this blog:

Playing scrabble in a tree with a capuchin monkey

Riding a unicycle with an eye patch

Walking the plank after being captured by Somali pirates

Riding a horse backwards with a funny hat

On a pogo stick with a "little person" on your shoulders

None of the following situations qualify:

PS - "Little person" is the unfortunate political correct term for people who suffer from dwarfism. Typically I would use the word midget, but I am cow-towing to social pressure.

How Did Dinosaurs Go Extinct?

Everyone has a theory about the dinosaurs. And by that I mean everyone thinks something different about why they went extinct (Not to be confused with those who think the dinosaurs were alien God creatures that begat Xenu, or those who think fossils we strategically placed on earth by God to test us, or those who think they are dinosaurs). Some say it was a giant meteor, or comet that wiped them out.

Others think is was volcanoes.

Others think they annihilated each other with nuclear weapons in their own Jurassic World War III.

But to these simple-minded theories I say, "No." And, what's more, I said it in quotations.

The truth is, dinosaurs were wiped out by robots. Both in actuality, and proverbially. Back when they roamed the earth they had a terminator dinosaur scenario, just like the movie, except John Connor the dinosaur didn't make it. T-1000 the T-Rex, liquid-metal clawed his face off. So that is obviously disheartening, and to make things worse, the consequences are readily apparent today in museums, exhibits, and universal studios: animatronic dinosaurs/secret spies from the prehistoric past. Proverbially speaking, things aren't much better for dinosaurs. Back in my day, every little kid loved dinosaurs. Children everywhere had plastic dinosaurs, watched "Denver the Last Dinosaur," and thought they were T-Rexes. Some still do. But, unfortunately it seems the heyday of the dinosaur has been taken over by robots. And these robots are the following non-people: Miley Cyrus, Dora the Explorer, and Lady Gaga.

So, sad face for dinosaurs. But, on the bright side, at least we now know what happened to them.

Next week: How dinosaurs preceded the Romans in developing indoor plumbing