Category Archives: Adventure

On A Dime…


Today’s Music: Soulive – Soul Serenade

I’m sitting back at home right now. I’m pretty relaxed. The errands and chores for the day are pretty much done.
I’ve had some time to poke around the web, read some blogs, laugh at twitter.
I’m listening to some good music.

Yes. That grumpy.

Yes. That grumpy.


My week didn’t start off that good. NYC was ridiculously hot and humid for about a week, and everyone was just miserable. I had Trombone Shorty tickets Monday night, with Soulive opening, promising to be a good show.
Soulive was great. Trombone Shorty was on fire. The crowd (as it did most of the times I’ve been to Central Park Summerstage) sucked.
It’s a personal thing, but my friends and I go to concerts to see the music, not to try and talk loudly over the music and pretend the venue is our living room.
Then it started to rain hard. So we left about twenty minutes into Trombone’s set.
Tuesday was a pain in the ass – email problems, computer problems, Big Red having issues with his computer stemming from the fact that he doesn’t know how to read what’s on the screen, other people having problems because obviously the instructions to do this and not that don’t apply to them because they’re special.
I kept thinking that the best solution would be to just throw their computer in the river, with them right behind it.
Wednesday was the same. New coworker thinks his job is 8 to 5. So any testing or maintenance or other work on weekends isn’t his problem.
I don’t mind doing the work because it has to be done, but it would be nice if there was someone to split the load with.

I was grumpy.
Office
Then I got to Thursday.
I had a doctor’s appointment at 0930, and since I’d be out all morning, I figured I’d take the rest of the day as a mental health day.
My wife (The Most Wonderful Girl In The Universe asked if she should take the day off too.
Sure! I said, with one condition – it couldn’t be a chore day, and we had to go out and play.
She agreed (there’s a reason she’s TMWGITU!).

So we made a reservation to go stand up paddleboarding in lower Manhattan (Pier 40) in the early afternoon. Because it was late when my appointment ended, we drove in. On the way, it started raining. then it started raining harder.
We found a spot as the rain dwindled away and made it to the place (N.Y. Kayak).
25 minutes later, we were changed, on the dock, and ready to slide the boards into the water and shove off.
In we went. Kneeling as we paddled out, I felt the beginnings of a smile on my face.
10 minutes later, I stood up, took two strokes and with a shout of “GOING ON!!!” completely lost my balance and flopped backwards into the Hudson River off West Street.
I surfaced with a big grin on my face, no trace of grumpiness, and pleasantly untensed shoulders.
And my mood turned on a dime.

That's fun right there!

That’s fun right there!


The rest of the day was a blur of fun – two hours in the water, finishing with a fantastic foray into the river itself, with a current fast enough that it was all I could do to paddle and keep my place…a trip to Chelsea Market for one of the best burgers I’ve had in a while (it was a lamb burger, but still, delicious!) and a delicious bottle of ice cold American Ale (this wasn’t gluten free, but apparently that’s available these days too), followed by some incredible freshly made mini donuts and then a stroll along the Highline park, built on an old elevated freight line along 10th avenue.
My mood couldn’t be broken, not even when the guy from NY Kayak called and told me I’d left our bag of wet clothes behind. We laughed as we flew back down to get it.
Grumpy? Yeah, I can fix that...

Grumpy? Yeah, I can fix that…


Friday was a quiet day. Dealt with whatever came up (which wasn’t much), mostly sat at my desk and caught up on blogs. Then for the evening, we went out for a nice dinner and saw a great set by Paula Poundstone, along with a few bottles of the ever satisfying Rogue Dead Guy Ale, a beer that will always have a special place in my heart.

Now I’m sitting at my computer writing this, and in a few minutes, I’ll pick up my guitar and a beer (Blue Moon, I think) and spend a quiet evening with my girl.
I don’t know when the next time I’ll get to go out for an adventure, but I’ll start planning another mental health day as soon as I feel the grumps coming on.

Makes me wonder, how do you deal with them?

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Gravity


Today’s Music: Cherry Poppin’ Daddies – Skaboy JFK

I have a love/hate relationship with gravity. From an astromechanical point of view, I love being in its pull, zooming earthward, only to pull up/bounceback/splash through at the end.
The feeling of wind whipping past your head at terminal velocity while your brains try and pick which ear to crawl out of is one of those experiences that make life worth living.

Sure, physics will make this much clearer!

Sure, physics will make this much clearer!


Then there’s interpersonal gravity. The only person who’s gravity well I’ve fallen into is my wife’s (The Most Wonderful Girl In The Universe. That means that I keep myself attuned to where she is, what her mood is, and whether she needs a hug or caress or joke from me. (To be fair, she’s also pretty good at knowing when I need one of those, or when I need to give her one.

There’s also the gravity of situations. I spent last Friday working at our data center until about 2130 diagnosing a server failure. Turns out it was a bad memory chip.
But it needed to be found, and the server’s disposition needed to be definitively diagnosed – would we be able to get it up by market open Monday? Did we have spare memory for it? Was Guap going to accidentally power down a whole rack of servers? Again?
(The answers were Yes, Sort of, No, NO!)

Three very different uses of the word gravity, all sort of tied together by different facets of the same definition.
Some bad, but some pretty damn good.

That’s my post for today.
Can you see what I’m getting at?

Yes! I am painfully bored!

Oh, and if anyone has anything I can jump off of, I’m open to suggestions (he said with gravitas).

Why I Started a Blog: Raisins and Beans (Translated from the French!)


Today’s Music: Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble – If The House Is A’Rockin

Dude, “raison d’etre” translates loosely to “reason for being”, not “raisins and beans”.
Umm…no one likes the French.
Jackass.
quill-and-parchment
It seemed simple enough when I started. John Scalzi had his blog about 10 years and was a best selling author. Jenny, the Bloggess, had been online for a while and had a book deal, as well as being an in-demand speaker. The lady that cooked all of Julia Child’s recipes got a book and movie deal.
That was how it worked, I thought. Go online. Be brilliant. Make money. Live your dream.

Or not…

Let me be clear here, the money is not at all the dream. I have no interest in having money as an end to itself. I’d just like to have enough money to not have to worry about money. It’s been a long time since I took a job just for the money, instead of the opportunity to learn and do something interesting.
But that isn’t the dream either.
dollars
So, I figured, start a blog. Post fun stories about adventures. Find a sponsor.
Do the dream.

Jet ski across the Atlantic Ocean.

(I’ll wait wile you stop laughing.)
(Hey, it wasn’t that funny.)
(Don’t hurt yourself.)
(Breathe.)
(BREATHE!)

(All better now? Ok.)

Think about it – a guy who ran under a truck. A guy whose last words as he jumped off a bridge were “I WANT A PONY!!!)
A guy who would pick his friends up at 10 am for lunch because he was taking them to PA for philly cheese steaks.
Who better to pull off one of the stupidest stunts ever (short of running for elected office)?

I don’t have a death wish. The exact opposite in fact.
The thing I’ve done that I’ve enjoyed most is probably rock climbing. There are moments where your fate literally is in your hands. Where will your hand go? Which way will you lean?
The equipment doesn’t matter. It’s acknowledged, then dismissed.
No, I wouldn’t climb without a safety line or without a belayer who understood what they were doing. But that gets dismissed from thought.
And up there in the air, or hanging from the cliff face, for me, is the purest expression of “What can I do?”. What are my mind and body capable of when they are completely focused on one thing, to the exclusion of all else?
To me, that’s living.
Not the adrenaline high. Not the stories afterwards. Not being part of a small club that knows exactly what you mean when you describe grabbing a bomber hold, or stepping out of a plane, or pearling off a surfboard.

Just that one moment of focus and complete calm as you go for the next move.

And beyond that, what can be done? What is possible?

I think jet skiing across the Atlantic falls into that last question. Is it possible? to take a few pounds of fiberglass, an engine and a lunatic across 3000 miles of ocean? Some of it piled up 40 feet or higher?
Damned if I know.
But I’d love to find out.
JetSki
So I started to blog. I’ve told some stories that give a pretty good idea of who I am.
I’ve met some great people. I’ve been turned on to a whole universe here in the sphere.

Still no sponsors. But I’ve met a ton of great people.
People that will listen to the stories (and the music), maybe say something funny, or wise, or thought provoking.
And I’ve enjoyed their stories, and the back and forth in the comments as we meet on other sites.
And that’s worth even more than getting a book deal and a movie contract.

So listen up, sponsors. When you come by to set me up with the gear I need, you’re going to have to kick in a little extra for paint. Because the avatars of all the people I read and that stop by here are going on the side of the ski.

Wouldn’t be any point otherwise…

An Adventure – The Naked Snow Angels


Today’s Music: The Fratellis – Look Out Sunshine

Note – Happy holidays to every last one of you. If we were hanging out enjoying each others company, when the topic sung around to white christmases, this is probably the story I’d tell.
So consider this a holiday laugh gift, and I hope you enjoy it!

*Disclaimer – The story below is as true as I remember it. But I was pretty drunk at the time.

So I’m in this bar.
It’s snowing like hell outside, a fresh layer of several inches on top of the inches already on the ground, for this particularly cold, white winter.
It’s me and Pat, the owner/bartender. We’re drinking pints and shots, trading stories, telling lies about the women (this was before TMWGITU).

They're keeping themselves covered to avoid seeing what's coming...

They’re keeping themselves covered to avoid seeing what’s coming…


By about 0030, we’re the only ones there, not even any stragglers wandering in, and the snow just keeps on falling.
“Want to walk down to Tracey and Don’s place?” asks Pat.
I think to myself. The snow is falling hard, but the wind is minimal. It’s a half a mile, about a ten or fifteen minute walk. I still have most of a pack of cigarettes.
“Sure, why not.” I answer, and down the road we head.

We get there. Tracey and Don are behind the bar, about two or three people in the bar, none of whom I know. They know me though.
“Guapo? Guapo…hey! You did those naked bar dances here! It’s great to meet you, man! I’ve heard those stories!”
Another of the patrons is a brunette girl, about 5’11”, college age. Not hammered, but she is definitely not on her first drink.
So Pat and I sit back, start talking with Tracey and Don, who, it turns out, have never heard the first naked bar dance story (I know, right?).
So, with the lure and softening of multiple free shots of Jaegermeister, I launch into a very animated retelling.
It’s a great story, and the group is laughing (with me) as I finish.
Tracey pours another round and says “I’ve never seen anything like that”.
“Sorry” I answer. “I’m not near drunk enough to do it again.”
“That’s alright” says Don, passing me another full shot. He looks at the girl. “Have you ever done anything like that?”
She starts laughing at him. “Oh my god, are you kidding?” She turns to me. “How drunk were you when you did that?”
“Too drunk to remember how drunk I was.” (Can you imagine I was ever single!)
“You could do naked snow angels!” yells Don. I look up at him. The girl laughs some more, as does everyone else.
We keep talking, drinks are flowing freely, and as happens, someone needs to go to the bathroom – the girl.
While she’s up, Pat comes over to me.
“You realize we have no interest in seeing you naked, right?” he asks.
“Thanks Pat. I’m both offended and relieved”, my usual answer when guys say things like that to me.
“But we want to see her do one, and if you do, she might too” he finishes.

Well, being one to sacrifice myself for the cause, I say that if she agrees, I’m more than happy to do it too.

She comes back from the ladies room. Drinks flow a little more freely, jokes, stories, laughter.
Tracey brings up the snow angel again.
The girl is still reluctant, but not as much.

More drinks (I’m pretty well wrecked at this point, and I know the 15 minute walk back will take me at least a half hour, with the weaving.

I don't care if it's my fault. I'm still blaming this.

I don’t care if it’s my fault. I’m still blaming this.


This goes on a little longer until I say
“I’ll do it if you will.”
She looks at me with a calculating expression. “Will you go first?”
“Sure. But once I do, you can’t back out. You know, embarrassment shared and all that.”
She thinks for a moment.
“Ok.”
Crap.

Jumping into a cold pool? Done it.
Run across snow to a hot tub? Fun.
Laying down in the altogether and flailing in frozen water? How on earth is that considered a good idea?

But seriously, it needed to be done if only to slow down the amount of alcohol pouring down my throat.

So I step up, kick off my shoes and jeans, my shirt and hat, my boxers.
But not my socks.
No idea why. Did I mention I was drunk?

And out the door I go.
And IT’S. EFFIN’. COLD.

I lay down, I wave my arms up and down, and yes, I open and close my legs. There is snow in places snow is not meant to be.
And there is naked in places naked is not meant to be.
And I learned that night, that if there is ever a speed snow angel competition, I’m a shoe in for the gold.

So I pop myself back up, stumble laughingly back into the bar (through the other laughing stumbling patrons), pull my coat (just my coat) back on, and drink my delightfully warm(er than me) beer.

The group comes back in, and now we’re waiting for her. She’s reluctant. Understandable – even in the pre-internet days, running naked around a bar is never a good idea. But eventually, she holds up her side.
She goes into the bathroom, strips down, then streaks down the bar, shoots out the door, does her angel and dives back in.

The whole place is cheering and applauding, and we’re all (including her) laughing our heads off.

She gets dressed. I start to pull on my clothes. Except the socks. Those I pull off. Because they were soaked.

Epilogue:
I go into that bar a month later. Winter has lightened a bit, and that first hint of spring is in the air. But the bar is holding onto winter.
In the form of my socks.
Which are nailed to the wall with a commemorative “First Annual Naked Snowman” marker.

But it looks so pure...

But it looks so pure…

Travelin’ Man – Turkish For A Day


Today’s Music: They Might Be Giants – Istanbul (Not Constantinople)
Note on Today’s Music: This is the third appearance of They Might Be Giants as Today’s Music. More than anyone else!

Note on today’s post: As with all my alcohol related posts, this is only as true as I remember it.

wild-turkey_765_600x450

Not the Turkey I went to.
More like the turkey I acted like.


Among the many things I’ve been lucky to do, I occasionally did pick-up work as a courier: check cargo in at the airport, fly with it to the destination, and deliver to the waiting party on the far side.
I did a few of these runs. This was the one to Turkey.

It started with a phone call:
Shipper: “Hey Guap, we need an airplane part dropped in Turkey. Are you free tomorrow?”
At the time, I was taking computer classes, with no gainful employment.
EG: “What time is the flight?

So I meet the shipper at the airport. I’ve got a decent size duffel bag. He hands me a box (an altimeter for a private jet), a phone number, and an envelope of money – my pay for the job.
I get on the plane for a ride to Turkey.

This was before 9/11, so the security was not soul sucking. Unfortunately, this was after the days of no smoking on international flights. But I was travelling alone, so I wouldn’t have to worry about breaking any friendships as my nicotine fits got worse and worse.

So umpteen hours later, I arrive in Turkey. I buy a phone card.
But can’t figure out how to use the phone.
The phone is next to an airport coffee shop that has comment cards on each table, in English and Turkish.
Aha!
Friends, when you are around the world, as long as you can find a bilingual comment card, you too can translate enough to communicate with the nice girl at the coffee shop and learn how to use a phone!

So I get the pilot I’m supposed to deliver the altimeter to on the phone. He comes to meet me in the airport “Oh great, just what we needed! Get a room at this hotel, we’ll meet you in the bar later and go out on the town.”
One hour in Turkey and I know people. Woohoo!

So I go get settled at the hotel, take a quick nap and a shower, and head down to the hotel bar, Ricks American Sports Bar.
Sigh.

The pilot isn’t there yet, so I order a beer. And drink it. He still isn’t there, so I order another.
I’m half way through my third when he comes down and orders one.
I finish mine. He’s only halfway done with his. I order another.
(You see where this is going, right?)

The copilot comes down and orders a beer. “Great!” says the pilot. “We’ll finish these and head out!”

The mighty Bosphorous. No, I didn't see it.

The mighty Bosphorous.
No, I didn’t see it.


The copilot works on his beer. The pilot finishes his and orders another. Then me. Then the copilot.
It’s like doing rounds of Row Row Your Boat.

The pilot is telling stories about working for the Prince of the oil republic they fly for. The copilot is telling the pilot he’s drinking too much to fly tomorrow.
I’m laughing my head off because I’m on the other side of the world for one night.

Row Row Row Your Boat…

We’re finally lining up our intake. Within a beer or two, we should all be synced, and we’ll head out.
Until…

In walks the American businessman on his way home from Russia!
“English speakers! Great!” He joins us, and orders a beer.
And around we go again…

Relax. It's only worth a bag of pretzels.

Relax. It’s only worth a bag of pretzels.

Around 2 am (my flight is at 9), I stumble back to my room. I wake up the next day at 835, with jet lag and a case of beer stomping on my head.
And with an energetic “CRAP!!!”, I grab my stuff and run to the lobby. Where I find American Businessman has held the shuttle for me.

We get to the airport (basically a coffee shop with a reaaaallllly long road behind it) where we drink jet fuel sold as coffee.
And then wide awake, get on a plane for a 14 hour haul to Miami. (Don’t ask.)

After trying to explain to the customs guy why I was in Turkey for one night, I found a palatable cup of coffee, and sat in the parking lot of Miami International and chain smoked for three hours until my connecting flight to NYC.

And I even made it to class on time.

So on those rare occasions when Turkey comes up, with more pride than brains, I chime in, “Turkey? Been there.”

An Adventure – Bungee Jumping


Today’s Music: ZZTop – Double Back
Note on Today’s Music: The song fits, and yeah, I guess there was a rock n roll soundtrack kicked in as soon as I jumped.

Bungee jumping is an exercise in insanity whereby a moron tosses themselves off a bridge to bounce at the end of hyperelastic cords.

My name is El Guapo. And I’m a moron.

If I look like I’m about to poop myself, it’s probably because I am*.

From a technical point of view, the sport is quite simple. The jumper is strapped into a harness (in this case, a waist harness and auxilliary chest harness). The bungee cord was in fact five cords held together, with fittings at either end connecting them to the jumper via two carabiners – one at the waist and one at the chest.

And the view was magnificent.

So at this particular site, the process was
– Fill out the questionnaire (my favorite question: Do you prefer an open or closed casket?)
– Get weighed. This is important. They ask your weight on the questionnaire, then confirm it on a scale. (And mock you if it’s different.)
They have several bundles of cords, color coded, with different elasticities depending on the weight of the jumper.
After the weigh-in, they give you a color coded bracelet and you wait until they’re up to your weight class for jumping.
– Wait, watch other jumpers, admire how much your hand is shaking (seriously, I couldn’t hold it steady), ask the staff questions.
-When asking the staff questions, be prepared for at least two answers that will make you question the wisdom of jumping before you get a straight answer:
Guap: How often do you change the cords?
Jumpmaster: When they break…
Guap: How often do you guys jump?
JM: Are you out of your mind? This is dangerous!

The only question I asked that they didn’t have a one liner prepared for:
Guap: At what point should I throw up so I can bounce through it the most times?
JM: *blink* *grin* Oh yeah, you’re one of us!

The answer, by the way, is at the top of the first bounce. 2 to 3 splashes!

So after watching several others jump, including a girl that held on to the Jumpmaster for a few minutes before going (and shrieked through the whole thing) and a 14 year old boy who didn’t even hesitate, it’s your turn.

They strap you in.
You climb over a 4 foot rail onto a 2’x3′ platform.
They count to 3.
You hesitate. Swallow. Take a deep breath.
They start to count to 3 again.
You think “Well, this is what I came for”.
And in my case, with all the grace (and much of the appearance) of a spastic gazelle,
You…
step..
into…

n o t h i n g…

(Insert gazelle noise here)

I was really surprised. Leaving the platform was easy. And the drop (191′ from bridge deck to stream) was fast!

My hair is magnificent.

And then comes the part everyone knows about – the bouncing.
In all honesty, this was the part that got me.
Going off the bridge wasn’t bad – acceleration kicks in, you’re whipping down astounded at what you’ve just done. Maybe you’re screaming something inane.
But then the slack is gone, the cord stretches and you’re catapulted back up. You come closer and closer to the top of the arc, all your movement slows down, and that’s when your brain turns back on.
And as every single one of my internal organs prepare to crowd their way into my throat, I realize that I’m going to go back down again.
So to brace myself, I grab onto the nearest thing.
Which is the cushion at the end of the cord.
WHICH DOESN’T STOP ME FROM DROPPING!!!

The hands begin their death grip.

The hands begin their death grip…

DEATH GRIP ACHIEVED!

Truly, the scenery around me was spectacular!

An idiot in Eden

And now that I had a death grip, I could bounce…happily(?) through it.

DEATH GRIP!!! *boing*

Looking through the pictures, I see the advantage of having long hair is that I can tell whether I was going up or down in any picture.

or sideways…But still magnificent!

Until finally, it came to an end.

A Guapo at rest really wishes he’d stayed at rest.

At this point, they lower another line, you clip in, and they pull you back up. Nice and easy.
It takes a few minutes to climb back over the rail onto the safety of the bridge, partly because all your limbs are jelly, and partly because your brain is too, and you don’t realize the Jumpmaster is talking to you.

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Oh, and the inane thing you might scream while you’re jumping?
Well, you’ll just have to listen and find out yourselves.

*No pants were pooped in the completion of this jump.
With extreme thanks to the photographer perched under the bridge for the photos, and The Most Wonderful Girl In The Universe for the video.

And when in the greater Portland/Seattle area, check out http://www.bungee.com for your own chance to joing the ranks of the courageously foolish!

Friday Foolishness – Elastic Edition


Today’s Music: Otis Redding – Sittin On The Dock Of The Bay-
Note on Today’s Music: One of my favorite songs, brought to mind in another thread by AFrankAngle. Thanks, Frank. Great call.

YEAH BABY!!! Friday at last! We made it. Thank. Goodness. The week (and hopefully the rain or heat or drought where you are) is almost behind us. And what does that mean? That’s right – the Friday Foolishness, to hopefully give you a smile and help set the tone for the weekend.
But before we get to my own peculiar brand of foolish, here’s a few of the many great posts I enjoyed over the week.
Bearded Iris is almost speechless over her trip to BlogHer ’12. Imakeeper was having issues with waxing.
And in an odd bit of syncronicity, Springfield Fem had the same problem. But someplace else.

Thanks to them, and all of you for a fun week of blogging!

But before we close the book on last week, we must, as we always do, seek answers to the big questions. Well, post answers actually. To some not so big (but hopefully fun) questions.
Last week, we asked what new events you would add to the Olympics to spice them up.
And if answering these polls was an Olympic sport, wow, would that podium be crowded!
Here’s what you had to say. (As always, my comments enter the record books in italics.)

The Roast of Edward Hotspur – wordsandotherthings
(Isn’t that what they feed the gold medalists?? (I hear it’s a little gamey)(hehehe))
I’m torn between knitting (world’s longest scarf!) and bobbing for apples. L&L
(How about bobbing for scarves!)
Womens Light Weight Brazilian Waxing. GingerWaxAlicious
(Is the competitor the waxer or the waxee? And can I be a judge?)
Womens 100 Yard-Dash-For-Her-Husbands-Cash. GingerSnaapedHisWallet
(Followed by the Mens 100 meter “We-don’t-need-one-of-those”)
Synchronized Shopping. GingerASnaapSnaap
(Only if they do it in heels.)
dumpster diving, or subway surfing (if nyc hosts) Brain_Tomahawk
(Trust me, BT, if they come to NYC, the new events will be Olympian Mugging and Mayor Punching.)
Simultaneous status updating across every social media possible (Kanerva)
(I’ve been training for that one!)
Tweeting (Kanerva)
(Wouldn’t that be a qualifier for the above?)
Dishwashing (Kanerva)
(Or they could use the dirty dishes for the disc event!)
Skateboarding (or has that already been)? Kanerva
(I think skateboarding is too stodgy a sport for the committee.)
according to a 10 yr old ‘burping’
(From the mouths of babes…)
Segway races: Michelle at Motley News
(Hey, that reminds me of…(see what I did there?) 😉 )
mental pugilistics…stupid people need not apply. Red.
(Ohno, stupid people should definitely apply! (can we execute the losers of that competition?))
having a nap butimbeautiful
(WE HAVE A WINNER!!!)
Book cooking – for all of the white collar criminals out there
(My money is on Barclays. I hear they’ve been training hard.)
cowbell ringing (Stacy Lyn)
(They couldn’t get a big enough team. Kept needing more cowbell…)
Baggage handling. Zannyro
(Lose the baggage, win the gold!)
cordless bungee jumping (Sightsnbytes)
(Wireless technology to its logical extreme.)
I’m tired & too lazy to scroll all the way down to the comment box. Have a great weekend, Guap! 😀 (Lilly)
(Thanks Lilly! Hope yours is…olympic!!! HAHAHAH- sorry.)
artistic hedge sculpting? I might be more inclined to watch. (Lilly)
(Only if they have the hosts from HGTV as commentators!)
like whack-a-mole except with politicians and shovels. 😀 (Lilly)
(They tried it but too many people showed up for the tryouts.)
a spittin’ contest. It would be more like the pole vault, only with spit. ~Lilly
(They do very odd pole vaults in your part of the world…)
No, I didn’t sleep last night. Why do you ask??? (Lilly)
(I often catch the subtle clues…)
Don’t forget your happy thought. 😀 I hope you don’t actually post all of these.Lilly
(Nono, I wouldn’t post these at all.)
Porch Judging (judging people from one’s porch) Carrie Cannibalistic Nerd
(For the finals, you have to judge from someone elses porch!)
Donut decorating while sweating, flogging, frying & ringing handbells? – asplenia
(I shudder to think of the specialized equipment for that one.)
all male synchronized swimming – whatimeant2say
(This is revenge for the Knox, isn’t it?)
Blogger horse jumping -where bloggers have to jump the horses Linda V
(Only if it distracts from this blogger jumping the shark!)
Roller-Blading Derby!!! I want to see some people get jacked up!
(Perhaps you should focus your attention on the traffic snarls outside the events.)
sarcasm Stay Abnormal
(The trials start right here in the comments!)
Wall Street banker hurling (calahan)
(I thought most people hurled when hearing about Wall Street Bankers.)
synchronized bird flipping (Madame Weebles)
(I saw that team training on the subway.)
channel surfing Stay Abnormal
(To any channel not carrying the olympics!)
Beer bong!!!! I won’t be a DD, so we’re safe!
(If you aren;t driving, that means you can drink. So…umm…how does that make us safer? ;))
Ahhhhhhhhhh. Nothing could improve it (Elyse at 54.5)
(Elyse says the Olmpics are perfect!)
What else but Guaponian adventures Frank
(Sadly, half of those couldn’t be televised. And the other half can’t be comprehended! )
Beer Drinking. ONE Canadian can win something! KJ
(Sure, they’d win.But then give the trophy to someone else, just to be polite.)
Llama racing
(How much horwepower in one of those babies?)

Congratulations butimbeautiful for this week’s winning answer! And from the offered choices, the most popular was commentator flogging. (I’m lookin at you, Costas.). Congrats to all you winners out there, and your Olympic flogs are in the mail!

And that brings us to this week.

In the near future, I will finally be crossing Bungee Jumping off my list of things to do. I’m so excited I can barely speak. Which is this week’s poll.
What should I say (scream/shriek/pray)? It’s a big moment, and we all know how momentous some words can be.
So help me pick the right ones. Vote early, vote often, but vote soon, because this one closes out at 2359 EST on 9 August 2012.

And to distract you from worrying about my hilarious potential faceplant, enjoy these.
First, a quick bit of off-the-cuff from Groucho Marx

And next, the 2000 year old man tells us the origin of the word cheese.

Have a great weekend everyone. See you on the bounceback!