Today was Hitler's birthday, no wait, the 15th anniverserary of the Waco massacare, no, 13th anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing, or is it nine years after the Columbine shootings? No, no, no, its the national observance of marijuana. Here in Boulder, Colorado, its not just another day, its a day for everyone to get just as blitzed as they possibly can.
As a drove to work I watched thousands of twenty-somethings make their way to the University of Colorado campus to celebrate with every other stoner that could still stand up and walk to Norlin Quad. They gathered to light up personal joints, blunts, and spliffs at 4:20 in the afternoon. Apart from the fact that the foothills themselves were on fire, this illegal blaze spouted the single largest skunk flavored cloud I have ever seen in my life, while the Boulder P.D. stand helplessly by.
At around 4:30 this massively disoriented group of people discend upon the many eaterys located around the Campus to gorge themselves on pizza, sandwiches, chinese dishes, and my personal favorite, calzones. Delivery drivers speed though this pedestrian mess to run horribly late food to starving customers all around town. No joke, I took an order from a fellow who ordered 126 wings. After cooking this obscene amount of food I expected to deliver to a party littered with glass. What I found were four or five bleary-eyed stoners ready to eat the meat right off my bones.
I definately remember saying this last year and I will probably say it again next year. If this many young people can get off their asses to attend a completely spontaneous (without formal planning) event, then why the hell haven't we stopped this war. All of this energy could so easily be used to protest any number of things, but what does it end up getting used for? Getting so fucked up that we can't even think anymore. You guys are using a precious mind-altering (and perhaps awakening) substance, for what? Somehow marijuana use helped to spark an entire generation of protest and dissent ending with new Civil Rights laws and the end to an unjust war. Don't fucking tell me that there isn't anything left to protest. When American morality is this close to being legislated and several foriegn nations would gladly cut our throats, the sure as shit is something to get out of bed in the morning for. For christ sakes this 4/20 thing has been happening for generations and these apathetic stoners still haven't done anything to reform the prohibition laws against their precious weed while alcohol, tobacco, and firearms run free.
Hey! Pay some fucking attention and next year lets march on Washington with our reefers in hand!
21 April 2008
20 April 2008
Popemobile unsafe in a 35 m.p.h. barrier crash test
Not only is the Pope against contraceptives, but vehicle safety. On his recent visit to the United States Pope Benedict Arnold XIV renounced seat belts in cars. The controversy began when the Holy Father refused to put on his safety belt in the back of the Popemobile, though Mecedes installed a special belt made of a holy relic said to have been worn by Jesus Christ himself. The Pope said to his Archbishop "Che la cintura di sicurezza è troppo unconfortable ed esso giusti fa i miei abiti legare in su. Inoltre, questa cosa va soltanto come cinque miglia all'ora. (That seat belt is just too unconfortable and it makes my robes bunch up. Besides, this thing only goes like five miles an hour.)"
Mercedes, sole manufacturer of the Popemobile, was actually the first automobile manufacturer to install safety belts in any of its cars. Seat belts have been mandatory in all cars in the United States since December 1, 1984. But that doesn't mean everybody wears them. Though they have been proven to save lives in the course of fatal accidents, many Americans still refuse to wear them. In Colorado, not wearing your belt is a secondary traffic offense, that is, a ticket can be issued, but only after a primary offense (you can't get pulled over for not having your seat belt buckled).
In the face of a nationwide "Click-It or Ticket" campaign to try to enforce seat belt laws, this Papal blunder seems to be disproving infallibility once again.
In a special April 20th press conference, political activist Ralph Nader stumbled out from under a NORML anti-marijuana prohibition rally to make a statement against the pope. "A lotta people look up to this guy," stammered Nader, "and for him to publicly refute the laws of this country in front of millions of New Yorkers and television viewers across the nation, uh, that's just not good, you know?" Nader has been a staunch proponent of the seat belt laws since there inception and personally refused to ride in any car that was not a Mercedes prior to the law's signing.
Surely we can't allow the head of one of the world's largest morality institutions to get away with this kind of behavior. Surely we can't give fuel to young Catholic children who already refuse to sit in their child safety seats and wear their seat belts. Raise your voices in public outcry and hold our world leaders accountable for their own behavior. Wear your seat belt Pope!
Mercedes, sole manufacturer of the Popemobile, was actually the first automobile manufacturer to install safety belts in any of its cars. Seat belts have been mandatory in all cars in the United States since December 1, 1984. But that doesn't mean everybody wears them. Though they have been proven to save lives in the course of fatal accidents, many Americans still refuse to wear them. In Colorado, not wearing your belt is a secondary traffic offense, that is, a ticket can be issued, but only after a primary offense (you can't get pulled over for not having your seat belt buckled).
In the face of a nationwide "Click-It or Ticket" campaign to try to enforce seat belt laws, this Papal blunder seems to be disproving infallibility once again.
In a special April 20th press conference, political activist Ralph Nader stumbled out from under a NORML anti-marijuana prohibition rally to make a statement against the pope. "A lotta people look up to this guy," stammered Nader, "and for him to publicly refute the laws of this country in front of millions of New Yorkers and television viewers across the nation, uh, that's just not good, you know?" Nader has been a staunch proponent of the seat belt laws since there inception and personally refused to ride in any car that was not a Mercedes prior to the law's signing.
Surely we can't allow the head of one of the world's largest morality institutions to get away with this kind of behavior. Surely we can't give fuel to young Catholic children who already refuse to sit in their child safety seats and wear their seat belts. Raise your voices in public outcry and hold our world leaders accountable for their own behavior. Wear your seat belt Pope!
09 April 2008
Boabblog
I'm so Phở'ed up right now I don't even know how I'm typing this. My stomach is finely layered with salty hot beef broth. My head is swimming with thoughts of partially cooked meat soaked in hoisin sauce. My eyes are so glazed over that I can barely make out the words that appear at my fingertips. I feel like if I have another cigarette I will surely poop my pants.
And what is this wonder drug that makes me feel so wonderfully sick, you ask? I was first introduced to it back in 2005 as an after work tradition. Everybody at Spyder loved to get Pho'ed up right after work. Some people go out for some beers or head home to hit the bong but we headed straight to Broomfield, where the best stuff is made.
Pho originated in North Vietnam in the 1950s. The French tried extremely hard to bring it South to manufacture it for themselves. The Vietnamese feared that the French would take Pho and manufacture it for themselves in the South for export to the West. Vo Nguyen Giap ultimately defeated the French and blocked Western occupation of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam and kept the Pho market out of the hands of the Western oppressors. The DRV kept its monopoly on the Pho market in China and parts of the Eastern Soviet Union. North Vietnam continued to be prosporous and rich. The Communist markets in the North became so huge that the DRV had to expand production and began moving into the non-Communist South. The Northern government promised that the Phở trade would bring prosperity to Hanoi and the rest of the traditionally poor South. Vietnam looked as if it was on its way to joining the ranks of the Soviet powerhouses.
Unitil 1961. In its never ending quest to squash Communism wherever it was born, the United States attempted to covertly invade Southern Vietnam. The invasion was made public and it quickly became apparant that the US was involved in an attempt to get into the Phở market. Under the guise of Cold War tensions, military conflict quickly escalated. China and the USSR quickly offered military assistance through technology and man power in order to beat back the "Democratic" Hegemon. Both Communist nations had developed a need for its Phở supplies, as it kept their citizenry quite docile under a seeminly unhealthy regime.
In a series of offensive battles, it seemed that the US was falling to bitter defeat. At the same time, 1969 was littered with anti-war and anti-Phở protests. "Not in our backyards" proclaimed placcards across the US and Europe. It seemed the deaths of close to 60,000 Americans and nearly a million Vietnamese over a soup to be fart oo much for the collective conscience. The constituency seemed to have had enough. It was time for the US to pull out of Vietnam.
As troops were pulled from South Vietnam the United States managed to operate covertly in the neutral neighbor of Cambodia. By sneaking North along the border several US Marine platoons were able to secure a small Phở production facility deep behind enemy lines. They were able to steal specific intellegence, and thus the recipe made it out of Vietnam. In the name of Freedom, Pho can now be enjoyed worldwide.
I'm here to say, "My name is Andrew Oren and I am a Phở addict."
And what is this wonder drug that makes me feel so wonderfully sick, you ask? I was first introduced to it back in 2005 as an after work tradition. Everybody at Spyder loved to get Pho'ed up right after work. Some people go out for some beers or head home to hit the bong but we headed straight to Broomfield, where the best stuff is made.
Pho originated in North Vietnam in the 1950s. The French tried extremely hard to bring it South to manufacture it for themselves. The Vietnamese feared that the French would take Pho and manufacture it for themselves in the South for export to the West. Vo Nguyen Giap ultimately defeated the French and blocked Western occupation of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam and kept the Pho market out of the hands of the Western oppressors. The DRV kept its monopoly on the Pho market in China and parts of the Eastern Soviet Union. North Vietnam continued to be prosporous and rich. The Communist markets in the North became so huge that the DRV had to expand production and began moving into the non-Communist South. The Northern government promised that the Phở trade would bring prosperity to Hanoi and the rest of the traditionally poor South. Vietnam looked as if it was on its way to joining the ranks of the Soviet powerhouses.
Unitil 1961. In its never ending quest to squash Communism wherever it was born, the United States attempted to covertly invade Southern Vietnam. The invasion was made public and it quickly became apparant that the US was involved in an attempt to get into the Phở market. Under the guise of Cold War tensions, military conflict quickly escalated. China and the USSR quickly offered military assistance through technology and man power in order to beat back the "Democratic" Hegemon. Both Communist nations had developed a need for its Phở supplies, as it kept their citizenry quite docile under a seeminly unhealthy regime.
In a series of offensive battles, it seemed that the US was falling to bitter defeat. At the same time, 1969 was littered with anti-war and anti-Phở protests. "Not in our backyards" proclaimed placcards across the US and Europe. It seemed the deaths of close to 60,000 Americans and nearly a million Vietnamese over a soup to be fart oo much for the collective conscience. The constituency seemed to have had enough. It was time for the US to pull out of Vietnam.
As troops were pulled from South Vietnam the United States managed to operate covertly in the neutral neighbor of Cambodia. By sneaking North along the border several US Marine platoons were able to secure a small Phở production facility deep behind enemy lines. They were able to steal specific intellegence, and thus the recipe made it out of Vietnam. In the name of Freedom, Pho can now be enjoyed worldwide.
I'm here to say, "My name is Andrew Oren and I am a Phở addict."
26 February 2008
From the Moon
I remember a day when the Earth seemed to stand still. It slowly rotated before my eyes so that I could see it all. Magnificent endless oceans and a single mass of rock. I gazed as the mass of land trembled and broke apart forming geodecent patterns across the surface. Foliage grew across these great continents and the clouds began to form. Ages passed as this orb seemed to dwarf even me. We almost became one as it turned below me while I slowly danced around it. Storms raged and I watched this ball of life erupt into life. Its peculiar rotation seemed to gain speed until a great celestial object silenced it once more.
My neighbor and friend slowed to an almost painfully boring pace. White ice and snow covered much of its surface as if it was as dead as my own surface. Ages wore on until a strange little species began to inherit its face. Turmoil and suffering once again returned the sphere to its normal speed and I again became one with my old friend. I smiled for centuries until one day.
I woke to a startling flash on a single hook-shaped island. It was as if the sun had invaded this tiny speck of green. I had gotten used to seeing flicks of light sparkle its dark side, but nothing like this. It was if the sun had rose and set all at once. Ever since that day, the ball before me has begun to spin out of control. We are no longer in sync. Perpetually in motion, I can barely see what is happening before me. Continents blurred into oceans. I continued my dance, but it is as if my partner has lost the beat. My grasp on her oceans had been reduced to a mere graze.
Then one day it stopped.
I could only see one half of my former love. Across her broad masses of land I could see the being I once watched smeared across her like a thin layer of strawberry jam. The lights had been extinguished. She was pulling me in, as if to destroy me as those beings had destroyed her. I felt my face dip into her cool oceans, as it had once before, but I knew it was over. It was a last kiss of a dead planet, and I knew I must leave.
My neighbor and friend slowed to an almost painfully boring pace. White ice and snow covered much of its surface as if it was as dead as my own surface. Ages wore on until a strange little species began to inherit its face. Turmoil and suffering once again returned the sphere to its normal speed and I again became one with my old friend. I smiled for centuries until one day.
I woke to a startling flash on a single hook-shaped island. It was as if the sun had invaded this tiny speck of green. I had gotten used to seeing flicks of light sparkle its dark side, but nothing like this. It was if the sun had rose and set all at once. Ever since that day, the ball before me has begun to spin out of control. We are no longer in sync. Perpetually in motion, I can barely see what is happening before me. Continents blurred into oceans. I continued my dance, but it is as if my partner has lost the beat. My grasp on her oceans had been reduced to a mere graze.
Then one day it stopped.
I could only see one half of my former love. Across her broad masses of land I could see the being I once watched smeared across her like a thin layer of strawberry jam. The lights had been extinguished. She was pulling me in, as if to destroy me as those beings had destroyed her. I felt my face dip into her cool oceans, as it had once before, but I knew it was over. It was a last kiss of a dead planet, and I knew I must leave.
12 February 2008
About As Many Brains as A Snowman (Part I)
What is it about snow that turns normal people into complete morons? I would like to think that the state does a reasonable job of distributing driver’s licenses to qualified people, but once the flakes start to fly, all conventional wisdom seems to escape out the window. Here are a few examples from my drive from Frisco last night:
1. Oh my God, it’s a semi-truck, what do I do? These idiots think that it is safe to drastically reduce their speed and take as long as possible to pass a tractor-trailer in bad road conditions. Why in the hell would you want to spend more time next to one of these 26,000-plus pound beasts when they can barely stay on the road as it is? Beats the shit out of me. This cake-hole screwed me over on my way up to the tunnel by slowing from 45 to 30 mph while passing an empty flatbed trailer. The reduced speed caused me to have to spin the wheels while trying to stay at a less than reasonable speed (I was doing just fine at 50 mph thank you).
2. The classic, driving with the high beams in a blizzard. A little common courtesy please! Not only are you blinding me from the other side of a six-lane interstate, but there is no way you can see through the reflection of those doily sized snowflakes. Maybe you should slam on the brakes to make sure that they are working too asshole!
3. Jab the brakes on a curve. Brilliant!
And still others from previous trips up and down I-70:
4. Anatomy of a traffic jam. Guess how traffic jams start? Incessant changing of lanes in hopes that you might get a few car-lengths ahead of where you were. This lane change causes the cars behind you to brake, leading to a six-mile chain reaction that slows everyone down. Even if the highway is jammed with 4:00 Sunday traffic, there is no reason that everyone can’t go 35 mph if you just chill the fuck out. Traffic sucks, we all know it, but making matters worse is not going to help you or anyone else. Pick a lane, stick to it, and suffer like the rest of us.
5. Oh no! A tunnel, now what? Better brake and slow down to ten under, maybe it won’t collapse now because of you. Thanks buddy.
6. Georgetown has a special lane for truckers to put their chains on. It has its own exit and is nowhere near the right lane. It is not necessary to slow down to 15 mph in a 65 zone. These truck drivers are professionals, their trucks are not going to spontaneously jump out and pummel your car.
a. On a side note I heard a story from a retired Colorado State Patrolman. He was stationed at the base of Vail pass one evening helping truckers out with their chains and what not. He stops one guy who thought he would try to continue unlawfully (and stupidly I might add, because I’ve seen trucks get stuck trying to get up that road and it certainly doesn’t look like any fun). So the guy concedes and puts on the chains on his rear set of duelies. A few minutes later he shows up at the window of the patrol car and says, “My truck still ain’t movin’.” The officer walks up to the truck while the driver climbs in. The driver steps on the gas and his front wheels spin furiously.
7. The H3 driver. This is my personal favorite, even if just thinking about it makes me irate. Note: just because there is snow on the ground, the roads are not necessarily icy. I’m on my way up the hill around Idaho Springs when I come up fast on this fire trucking red Hummer H3. I’m going the speed limit and almost rear end this monstrosity because he’s going 45 (that’s 20 under) in the left lane. I brake pretty hard but smoothly to come up right behind his or her bumper. I almost get rear ended myself. I figure, I’m not going to break the law for this asshole so I stay behind him. Meanwhile cars are screaming by on the right honking and making all sorts of friendly gestures and somehow this guy still doesn’t get the hint. I follow this guy for four miles before he finally gets over, continuing at his present rate of speed. This was about a month ago, so he should be almost back to the West Coast by now. Godspeed You! Red Pissant. Call it a form of road rage, but I really wanted to get out and interview this future candidate for the Darwin Awards. “Please sir could you explain to our audience why you are driving a vehicle originally designed for off-road trekking through just about any terrain in war torn countries at a dangerously slow velocity on dry pavement on a beautifully sunny Colorado day?” Well, he is driving a Hummer, and that says something right there, but that’s for another blog.
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