Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Social Network Rules

Good evening dear reader(s)!

As I type this tonight from my underground bunker in a secret location, I am beginning to realize that despite my near perfect track-record of anticipating the next big thing, and my penchant for having vast amount of knowledge when it comes to the interwebs (which is indeed a series of tubes), I completely and totally misunderestimated the phenomenon that is this whole "Facebook" thing.  But since everything is better late than never (that is what I tell my creditors), I have decided to embrace this emerging technology and help spread the word because I am certain the majority of people have no idea what this is all about.  Also, I understand Google has decided to enter the fray.  Wait, what do you mean they already tried a social network site and it failed miserably?  Google can't fail.  They are Google,  Don't believe me?  Google it. 

That said, this second attempt looks like it might actually have legs, which is important as the legs will be needed to navigate the series of tubes.  (The legs accomplish this feat (not to be confused with feet) using packets, which scientists say are basically the packs of silica that prevent your shoes from molding before you buy them.)  Anyway, because of the popularity of sites such as Facebook, Twitter, Google's new thingy, and of course, the most cutting edge of them all...MySpace, I figured it was about time someone created rules to follow when on these sites.  Because nothing is more fun on the interwebs than a restriction of your freedom. 

And so it is with great joy, that I present to you infidels...Josh's Big Ol' List O' Social Network Rules!!!!!

1.  If you play a social network game such as Farmcity, Townfarm, Mafiafarm, and Farm Wars, please, for the love of all that is good in this world, don't let it post your accomplishments to your wall!!!!  This only annoys your virtual friends and makes you look pathetic as everyone can see that is all you do all day long.  (PS, quit posting about how hard it is to find a job when it is sandwiched between 50 straight hours of crop fertilization requests.)

"But Josh, who the hell do you think you are to tell me what I can and can't do?"

Well, I'm your friend.  Are we cross?  Why Ed, if I didn't think you were my friend, I just don't think I could bare it.

"But Josh, aren't you also pathetic?"

Yes, admittedly I am pathetic, however I only choose to let my friends know this in my blog-type-thing which they have a choice of whether or not to read.  I do not force them to wade through 500 million updates on their news feed for a single valuable post that explains how pathetic I am by listing my 50 solid hours of farming accomplishments.

2.  If you made fun of me in school, don't expect me to accept your friend request.  You are a douche, and I do not exist to help your "friend" numbers.

3.  Do not put any stock in your friend numbers.  Unless your name ends with Tequila, nobody gives a fuck. 

4.  If you do something of value, let us know.  Sure, it is easy to update your status by saying, "I fucking want to kill the asshole who just cut me off, license plate XXX-1234!"  (example only)  But if you just cured AIDS, I think your friends might rather know about that. 

5.  If all you do is re-post, you should check to make sure that you are capable of original thought.  Re-posting a funny thing every so often, or a quote that TRULY inspires you is one thing...but for the last fucking time, it is NOT Special Education Week, we know that cancer patients would rather be cured than get a new flat-screen and all your chain posts accomplish is making people like me want to murder special children with fucking chemo-therapy drugs!

(Deep breath.)

Okay, so that is all the rules the bulging vein in my forehead will allow me to type for now, but if you have any you would like to contribute, feel free to comment with them, find me on Facebook, Twitter, or lying in a gutter somewhere. 

Until next time dear reader(s), follow the Social Network Rules...or face the consequences.  (I don't know what those may be, but I'm pretty sure they exist.) 

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Making peace with being stuck

Good afternoon dear reader(s)!

Today I am typing this blog-type-thing live from a computer in sunny and not-too-hot Sparks, NV.  Even though I live in Reno, I am at my dad's house which is in Sparks.  I hate it here.  It is suburbia on steroids (or more likely, given the area, meth, but the bad drug specific doesn't really mater).  I hate it more than I hate Reno, which is pretty difficult, given how much I hate Reno.  For those of you who don't know the level of my hatred for Reno, I need to ask how you stumbled upon my blog-type-thing for the first time, because it is a recurring theme in my post-type-things.  (Recurring=obsessively bitching about it.)  Anyway, (too may people on these interwebs say anywho, so I have stricken it from my vocabulary for now.  I may bring it back once the hype dies down.)  Anyway, despite my hatred for Reno, and Sparks, and the area, I have started to notice that my seething hatred for it has seemed to be seething a little less lately.  To the point of seething-lite.  I have been looking into why this may be and have determined there can be only one answer.  Money. 

What does money have to do with it?  (Originally a song by Tina until Ike knocked some sense into her, FYI.)  Well, I'm glad I asked myself.  You see, with money, it is possible to buy things such as alcohol and other things that help you to not notice your surroundings.  Now that I have a job that comes closer to paying my bills, I have noticed that I can afford more alcohol so as not to notice that my job is keeping me in Reno.  It is a vicious circle.  Earn enough money to leave, but have a good enough job that you don't hate that pays enough to live to cause you to stay.  This is the hell that currently is my life.  The good news, is that my job will eventually supply me with vacation time and enough money to possibly actually take a trip out of town from time to time.  Which leads me to the trip taken yesterday.

Okay, to be fair, going to the lake is not really a trip out of town.  I mean, not really.  It is more like a trip in town but to a far less disgusting part of town.  Similar to coming from Sun Valley and going to Plumas.  But at least I was able to have enough gas, and a new serpentine belt to be able to get even to the lake. 

"Which lake are you talking about, oh mighty Josh?"  Well, voice in my head, you must not know very much about Reno.  Because even though there is more than one lake within 4 hours of Reno, there is only one "the lake".  I may have talked about this before in a post-type-thing, but since you obviously didn't read it, (and most likely aren't reading this), I will elaborate.  In Reno, when you go to "the lake", you are going to Tahoe.  When you go to Pyramid lake, you go to "Pyramid".  When you go to Frenchman's (which I think might technically be a reservoir), you go to "Frenchman's."  This formula also works with places like "Boca" and Lahontan".  Why does Tahoe get the distinction as being "the lake"?  Well, because Tahoe is not ugly.  In fact, the only thing that Reno can truly brag about is being within a half-hour of what is quite possibly the most beautiful lake in the country.  (There are many beautiful lakes, but Tahoe really is amazing.)  Here is a picture taken from my phone as I was hoping to find signal in order to call 911 as I was stuck on the side of a cliff yesterday.  Story to follow.
  "Wait a second, did you just say you were trying to call 911 because you were stuck on the side of a cliff?"  Yes, I did say that.  I am lying, but I did say that.  I was stuck on the side of a cliff, but at no point did I decide to try and call 911.  That would have been giving up, and I am a man.

So now I am sure you want to hear the story of how I got stuck (for a while) on the side of a cliff.  (Or more likely you don't care, but just expect me to go into the story since it is a natural segue.  Okay.  Fine.  Because Tahoe is "the lake", and because it is the only placed within a hundred miles where non-meth dependent life flourishes, and because it was a sunny Saturday, everybody and their brother decided to go to the lake.  Our original destination of Sand Harbor was not an option because the lot was full, and parking within any distance I would want to walk along the side of the road was also full.  So we decided instead to park further up the road and hike down to Hidden Beach.  Now for those of you who don't know about Hidden Beach, this is the small beach that has no parking lot, where you must park along the road and hike down to.  It is also clothing optional, but that is neither here nor there because at this point I didn't really care if I had to see some saggy nakedness to enjoy the lake.  The problem however, is we miscalculated our destination, and instead ended up hiking (more climbing really) down a very steep (sometimes shear) cliff only to be greeted at the bottom with nothing but ant infested granite boulders that were still about 20 feet from the surface of the water below.  The 20 foot jump in would have been fun were there also not boulders in the water itself.  So after about 20 minutes laying out on the boulders until realizing that we could no longer fight off the giant attack ants, we decided to leave our spot and attempt to find a beach that was less busy. 

The climb down was tough, the climb back up was retarded.  More accurately, I was retarded for climbing down without thinking of how I was going to climb back up with my crappy flip-flops and a beach bag in hand.  After a good half hour, a few near falls, a mild heart attack, bumps and scrapes, throwing the bag to Hannah once she reached a plateau, and her throwing it back so she could start the next climb once I reached a plateau about 4 or 5 times, and sweating so bad that I was literally drowning from it, we finally made it back to the vehicle.  We pulled back out onto the roadway, dodged some cyclists, pedestrians, idiot park-jobs and drove about 10 minutes in the opposite direction of where we wanted to go so we could turn around. 

Eventually we were able to turn around however, and we decided to head to King's Beach in CA with the hope we could park and actually enjoy the beach.  When we got to  King's Beach, we spent another 30-40 minutes driving around, looking for parking, until we finally found a spot that was only about a 15 minute walk away.  We finally found some beach!  We were bruised, scratched, exhausted, but we finally were relaxing on the extremely packed beach.  For about 2 hours.  Then it was time to go.  2 hours.  Am I bitter about all the work we did for a small 2 hours?  I should be, but around here 2 hours to spend lying on a beach looking at a very beautiful lake is worth all of the work.  This isn't the Pacific Northwest, where beautiful scenery exists within 15 minutes of wherever you are.  That 2 hours this weekend may be the difference between being able to stay sane here for another month, and shooting a man in Reno, just to watch him die. 

And so I realize, that if I can leave here enough, and since I like my job, and it pays okay, and if I get to take a multiple day vacation within a few months, I may be able to make it here a little longer.  I just hope I don't become one of them.  (Yes, I know I was born here, but I feel as long as I continue to resist, I will not be one of the Reno people.)  (Also the fact that I am not interested in doing meth probably helps with that.)

One other thing that seemed to make the last week okay:  I got a grill.  I have a cheap charcoal grill that works just fine and the other day I made kabobs.  I went to WinCo where I usually do not go because of the section of town I happened to be in, and there it was, staring at me in all of its yellow glory.  I haven't had one since Summer, 2008.  I found a big, perfect looking Walla Walla Sweet Onion!  Maybe I can make it here for a while after all. 

In case you have never had a Walla Walla Sweet, let me say that you have never had an onion.  Oh sure, you can find jumbo yellow onions all the time.  Some are even sweet.  They look pretty similar.  But make no mistake, there is nothing as good as a Walla Walla Sweet.  In Seattle, you would wait for them to appear in your local grocery store, shipped over from the East side of the state (hence the Walla Walla) every Summer.  You could also get them for a couple months as Kidd Valley Onion Rings.  (Kidd Valley = so-so burgers with amazing onion rings, specifically when they had the Walla Walla Sweets).  It is almost as exciting as waiting for Copper River Salmon to hit the stores.  I didn't have any during my last Summer in Seattle, but now I have found them at WinCo.  And it was good.  And the clouds parted, and Josh looked down upon the land and decided to spare it.  For now.  My kabobs were excellent.  Here is a picture of the world's greatest onion.  Admire it, for it has changed my wrath into forgiveness, no sheep sacrifice necessary. 
So until next time, dear reader(s), give praise to the Walla Walla Sweet, the lake, and alcohol.  You may not have known it, but they have spared Reno from the fire and brimstone I most certainly would have rained down upon it without their calming influence. 

Take care of yourselves, and each other. 

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


Good afternoon dear reader(s)!


Today the mystery ingredients in your basket are: 

Bagels, Cream Cheese, Energy Drinks, Powerade, and Bloody Noses.  You must try to weave these ingredients into a cohesive blog-type-thing using these mystery ingredients that will delight the reader(s) so you can avoid being chopped.  You also have access to our pantry and fridge.  There are 20 minutes on the clock, and time starts...NOW. 


As you may or may not be able to tell, I have spent a lot of time watching Food Network lately.  This is because my brain has been fried (or grilled, depending on the kitchen setup) by all of the garbage that has taken place since I moved.  The garbage to which I refer is basically the laundry situation.  After squeezing the washer and dryer through the tiny door down the stairs into the basement, and hooking up the dryer lint vent to the lint exhaust tube (which went surprisingly easy), and feeling all accomplished because we were able to get them down there and positioned to be able to wash and dry clothes, and having the 220 box for the dryer that was just hanging by the conduit secured to the wall, and hooking up the cold water intake to the faucet on the laundry sink, and making my own clamp to hold the drain hose over the side, I was thinking I was ready to wash and dry clothes. 


Only, it turns out that the 220 on the house was the older 3-prong type and the cord from the dryer is the newer 4-prong style.  This is only the case because when I brought my older dryer into my former rented luxury condo, it had the newer 4-prong outlet and I had the older 3-prong cord.  So I took a giant risk of shocking myself and changed it.  And it worked.  And I was scared to use it for the first 5 weeks, but, apparently I did it right.  So I threw away the older 3 prong cord thinking I would not need to use it again in the lifetime of the dryer.  Oops.  So now I need a new 3-prong cord again, and probably the old grounding strap because I'm sure I didn't keep that. 


Okay, so that is still no big deal, if I didn't kill myself once, I am sure I could do it again without killing myself.  But that isn't the real problem.  It is summer, and I have a backyard, and I could hang the clothes out to dry in order to save energy, money, and the planet until it gets too cold.  (Or, more likely, it allows me to put off changing the cord again, because I am lazy.)  The real problem was the first time I tried to run the washer.  In addition to leaks in the pipes to the sink once the water is turned on, I just left the Hot Water Intake hose hanging off the back of the dryer.  No big deal, I'm not using hot water, there is nothing to hook it to, and it is an intake, right?  Well, some of you may know this, but...no.  As soon as I turned on the washer, all the cold water that came in from the cold water intake promptly ran right out of the hot water intake onto the floor.  So I go online, learn that this happens, learn that I can go to Lowe's and pick up a hose cap, take off the hose, cap the intake at the back of the washer, and all should be good.  Cool.  So I cap it, use some Teflon tape on the thread, seal it up nice and tight, and I should be good, right?


Well, my first load of laundry hits the drain cycle.  My clamp is ingenious.  The hose does not move.  The intake cap is sealed tightly, and does not leak.  The water drains into the sink.  The sink that does not drain.  At all.  I have my lint bag over my hose, so it isn't because of me.  So after using buckets to drain the sink, dumping the water in the backyard (EPA violation?), and almost passing out running up and down the stairs to prevent the entire basement from flooding, I have my first load of wash done.  I have rigged a piece of co-ax. as a clothesline, bought my 98 cent pack of clothespins and now I can dry them.  One actual load of laundry done, and only a ton of work done to do it. But unless I want to bucket brigade each time, I can't really run a load of wash again. 


So I pour an entire bottle of liquid Plummer down the drain.  Nothing.  I buy a drain snake.  Does nothing.  Meanwhile, the leaky water pipes to the faucet have started leaking more.  I go to Lowe's yesterday and buy a P-trap.  I remove the old one, and check it.  It is not clogged.  The clog must be on the other side of it.  I decide to replace it anyway, but when I try to put on the new one, I realize it does not have threads on both sides, just on one.  The old one has both sides threaded.  Well, while it is off, I try to run the snake on the other side of the P-trap.  It does nothing.  I put the old P-trap on, add Teflon tape, tighten it down, and in the process almost take the entire sink down with me.  It is supported by 3 wooden legs, one of which is rotting because the water leaking from the pipe to the faucet runs down it.  I test the drain, it still does not work.


Long story still long, but slightly less so, the landlord is dragging her feet taking care of this, I have tried myself to take care of it but have so-far failed miserably, and I FUCKING hate going to the laundromat!  So when I get home from Duds n Suds at 9:00 every night, after spending 2 hours after I get home from work trying to fix the issues, after being at work for 9 hours plus another hour for the commute, all I have energy for is watching the Food Network.  How exciting is my life?


Which brings me to my mystery ingredients.  After actually doing my job for 3 weeks, I was made to begin a mandatory new-hire training class which would have made sense had I not started the job 3 weeks before the training began.  So now for the past 3 weeks I have been taking a class that I need energy drinks by the case in order to stay awake.  During these training classes, (which are by conference call), I eat breakfast which I like to be 2 bagels from Smith's each morning with cream cheese.  Then, for later in the day, so I can sleep, I drink a Powerade Zero because it has no caffeine, quenches my thirst, and is cheap.  And finally, for the past 2 months I have been under relentless attack from cottonwoods which has caused severe nosebleeds on a daily basis.  There, everything on the plate.  I rocked that bitch!  Chopped Champion, motherfuckers!  Take that, Ted! 


So until next time dear reader(s), remember that while you have made it through the appetizer round, there are still two rounds left to go and it only gets more difficult from here.  So who will be the next food network star?  Are you grillin' and chillin'?  Are you ready for a throwdown?  More importantly, are you ready for Laundry Impossible?  Seriously, help! 

Sunday, July 3, 2011

My Nemesiseses

Good afternoon dear reader(s)!

Today I make my most triumphant return black to the blog-type-thingoshpere from the comfort of my father's dining room, where he has chosen to locate his computer, despite the fact that it is a horrible location for watching porn.  I am blogging from this location because I am at my dad's house today, and there is no way in hell I am going to go outside right now.  I have no Zyrtec.

For those of you who do not know what Zyrtec is, fuck you.  That's right, I said fuck you.  "But Josh, that is not fair of you to say fuck me just because I don't know what Zyrtec is.  Why would you do such a thing?"  Well, asshole, you're right.  It would be unfair of me to say fuck you just because you don't know what Zyrtec is.  In fact, I am not saying fuck you because you do not know what Zyrtec is.  I am saying fuck you because you obviously do not have the NEED to know what Zyrtec is.  Zyrtec is a semi-less-drowsey than Benadryl allergy medication that keeps me from wanting to rip my skin off and put it into your gourmet food as vengeance for being able to stand having skin.  You see, this year, because of the unusually wet Spring, my number one enemy (cottonwoods) have been releasing more fluff, and for a more extended period of time than in most years past.  The lack of a month-long cottonwood assault was the one solace I took in moving from my beloved Seattle back to po-dunk Reno.  This year has taken even that away from me.  My face is one giant hive.  My nose is so congested it makes West-bound rush-hour traffic on the 520 seem free-flowing.  (That is a Seattle area joke.  For you Reno people, think of the construction on 395 South to the spaghetti bowl, times 500,000 with more Lexus SUVs full of idiotic yuppies on their cellphones blasting the Grey's Anatomy soundtrack out their windows as you sit at a standstill right beside them.  I miss Seattle, not Bellevue or Redmond commuters, FYI.)  Anyway, long story still rather long, but now coming to an end:  I am stuffed up and itchy and miserable, and cottonwoods are to blame.  Add to that the fact that my skin is not only itchy and inflamed, but would instantly catch fire in this 97 degree heat, and I think blog-type-thinging from the air conditioned inside is the way to go. 

Later on, I have to walk outside onto the patio (or flat-top grill for humans as food), and barbeque some chicken and corn on the cob.  As lovely as this deliciousness sounds, I am not looking forward to it.  Hey, you know what makes 97 degrees even hotter?  How about standing over a 350 degree grill?  And enjoy this as the cotttonwood fluff continues the air campaign against your forces of freedom and barbeque.

Which can mean only one thing:  Cottonwoods are terrorists.  They are affiliated with Al Qaeda.  They hate our freedom and are attacking innocent civilians!  And on the Fourth of July weekend no less!  A three day weekend that is my first actual rest since starting the new job and moving!

Well, we will not take this threat lying down.  We will fight these terrorists wherever we find them, and bring them to justice.  Join me today, in the eradication of our enemies.  Fight this threat for the innocents (me) who have been lost (unable to spend extended periods outside).

Well, it is time to get the grill ready, if I am not back in 10 minutes, go on without me.  

Until next time my dear reader(s), I recommend you be vigilant.  Report cottonwoods.  Contact your local arbor day foundation and tell them that if in planting trees they include cottonwoods, that they are giving material support to terrorists.  Start petitions in your community banning these enemies of freedom.  And have a happy fourth of July.  Remember to thank all of those people who have done so much to fight to preserve our freedom.  People such as the makers of Zyrtec, Zyrtec D, Benadryl, Claritin (even though it is only mildly effective, it does not make it any less noble or brave for taking up this fight), and the developers of future, more powerful allergy medications who's side-effects don't involve lymphoma and anal hemorrhaging.

God Bless pharmaceutical companies, and God Bless America!  

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Farmer's Crap!

Good evening dear reader(s)!

Tonight I am live blogging to you  from O'Ski's at Victorian Square in Sparks, NV.  As you may or may not know, tonight is the 1st night of the Farmer's Market here in Sparks (or 1 or 2 California berry vendors and a bunch of overpriced fair food market).  Okay, so that wouldn't be too bad, but this year, business like O'Ski's are kept from making any money off of the locals who are starved for entertainment because the City of Sparks has elected to move the market to a little plot of space by the movie theatre, leaving the businesses along Victorian well away from the fun.  The message from the city?  We support California farmers, but think the local Sparks businesses and the local economy can go fuck themselves.  Wow.  And I wonder why the local economy is worse than Detroit!  

Fuck you Sparks!  Fuck you!  Are you trying to be Reno?!?!?  

Please, if you care about your local businesses, events, etc... Contact Mayor Geno Martini @ 775-250-1612 and tell him we support local businesses.  

Thank you, and goodnight.