This, I have to admit, looks hopeful.

Per CNN, looks like the Protestants and Catholics in No. Ireland are set to try what is, at worst, a pretty good idea; and more importantly, it's an Irish solution for an Irish problem.

More significantly, Paisley and Gerry were in the same room for the first time, well, ever. That blows my mind, right there.

Now, if the Brits would just get out of there, I might allow for a little cautious optimism.

::End of serious portion of this post::

In barely-related news, I have a full beard.


(the rest of me was cropped for everyone's protection)

I grew it for the hell of it, and I think it's served that nearly-not there purpose quite well. Also, it's bothered some people, and I enjoy that.

Now stay with me, because here's where things get a little hairy (pun totally intended) - while at my local pub (and quite possibly the best place in the whole wide world) last Thursday, a general concensus was formed about the following: What with the beard and my "Macy's Hat" - which, again, looks basically like this but beat up, I rather resembled a sort of Irish Castro or something.

And that's when it hit me - the thing I can do at the end of my life - the totally fucking epic thing. I could go to Ireland and set up a new Marxist state - one that works, dammit. Hell, they saved civilization, ferchrissake - they could totally do the whole Marxist State thing, and do it right!

I know, I know - you can't just up and do something like that, takes planning, yadda yadda yadda. I've got some time to plan it, y'all - like at least 10 or 15 years.

Yeah.

Let's Try That Again, Shall We?

Long time readers of this blog will remember that some time ago I had set up a MySpace page for my band, Jim Jones Trio - and that page was unceremoniously deleted by the fine folks at MySpace with out even a howdy-do. My theory at the time was that they thought I was trying to infringe on the copyright rights of another artist (or perhaps artists) called "Jim Jones" - I mean, it's not the most uncommon name in the world, and though most anyone should be able to tell that we're referring to the Reverend who engineered the Jonestown Massacre, it's a reasonable hypothesis. At least as good as any other hare-brained idea I could come up with.

Well, I finally got around to giving it another go. This time I decided to be a bit more clever and give the page a barely-related name - you know, try and fly under the radar a bit. I'm (cautiously) pleased to say that it seems to have worked - the page is still up, and thus far all is going smoothly.

I invite all of you who are so inclined to check it out: Jim Jones Trio on Myspace. It's intended (for now) to serve both as an initial introduction to the band, and also as a little experiment to see if people would enjoy tagging along in the creative process. There are 4 rough demos of tunes we'll be recording, which will hopefully begin being replaced in the not-too-distant future with the proper recorded versions of the tunes as we complete them.

As always, enjoy - or not. Your choice.

And though it's been said many times, many ways:

Hey, comments-spammers: Go the fuck away, and stay away. If I want to try Mozilla Firefox I will, but all your obnoxious form-letter-comments aren't going to influence that decision.

Swine.

Sláinte, y'all.

It's St. Patrick's day, once again - and as always, we at the HSO are here to help.

First, here are a couple helpful St. Patrick's Day-related words and phrases in gaelic, along with a little pronunciation help; use 'em tonight at the pub, and impress your friends (or that lovely red-haired lass you've got your lecherous eye on):

St. Patrick's Day: "Lá Fhéile Pádraig" (law ae-leh paw-rig)

A pint of Guinness, please.: "Pionta Guinness, le do thoil." (pyunta Guinness leh duh hull)

Since lots of folks seem to enjoy thinking they might themselves be Irish on this day, (EDITOR'S NOTE: We originally linked to a "How Irish are you?" quiz here, but after taking the quiz ourselves and discovering that it's nothing more than a stupid SPAM fest, we're removing the link - feck those feckin' gobshites.)

Finally, do us all a favor and try not make too big an ass out of yourself; there are few things more depressing than the sight of some non-Irish lightweights proving without a doubt that they can't hold their liquor. It's a holiday, not amateur night - try to have a little self-respect, please.

Cheers, folks - enjoy some good craic and think of us Micks fondly on this, our special day.

Alphabet Meme

Reprise of my earlier "When in Rome..." statement - My ass got tagged, apparently. Fine - whatevs, even though I don't know what the fuck a "meme" is.

A- Available or Single? My own damn business, thank you very much.
B- Best Friend? Matt, Keith, Dels, others.
C- Cake or Pie? Pie, totally - I don't like cake (sorry, Sri).
D- Drink of Choice? God, this is like choosing a favorite child... for now I'll go with Redbreast, but I do so under duress.
E- Essential Item? A guitar - any guitar.
F- Favorite Color? Green. Ask anyone.
G- Gummi Bears or Worms? Neither, that shit is nasty.
H- Hometown? Rockford, IL - the mighty Forest City.
I- Indulgence? Guitars. I've got way too many, and I don't care.
J- January or February? Don't give a rat's ass - one's the same as the other to me.
K- Kids and names? As I've said way too many times, I ain't makin' no babies. That said (a-goddamn-gain): if it's a boy, Finn - if it's a girl, Rose.
L- Life is incomplete without…? Oxygen, duh.
M- Marriage Date? Not discussing this.
N- Number of Siblings? One.
O- Oranges or Apples? Apples.
P- Phobias/Fears? I don't believe in fear. I don't like snakes, though, and I don't want to go anywhere where I wouldn't be the apex predator - being eaten would suck.
Q- Favorite Quote? Oh, that's a tough one. I'm picking a couple: "The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side." - Hunter S. Thompson. "I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can't see from the center." Kurt Vonnegut.
R- Reasons to smile? I don't like to smile. But dammit, I laugh like a maniac whenever I witness someone falling down.
S- Season? Autumn, no question about it.
T- Tag 3 people? I will not - bloody poor form, if you ask me.
U- Unknown Fact About Me? Jesus H. on a stick, but this nosy... okay, I happen to be abnormally fond of this sappy-ass movie. I hope you're happy, you bastard swine.
V- Vegetable You Hate? Okra. Foul shit, that - full of snot.
W-Worst Habit? Smoking, I suppose - though I don't see what the problem is, personally.
X- Xrays You’ve Had? So many... I highly doubt there's a piece of me that hasn't been bombarded with x-rays, but the award for most often goes to my skull.
Y- Your Favorite Foods? If it's individual foods then I'd have to say steak, and of course the world's most perfect food: the potato.
Z- Zodiac? Gemini. I'm told my rising sign is also Gemini, which I'm also told is not good. It shouldn't come as any surprise that I think this astrology shit, is - well, shit.

Damn, that shit took like an hour of my life that I'll never get back. The next one of you that tags me for something like this gets The Boot.

From the mouths of babes.

Okay, more like a 9 year old girl, but that wouldn't flow as well.

I got a stark, cold look into the future last night, in the form of an encounter with the 9 year old daughter of a friend and co-worker. And I am now officially freaked out.

1. After staring at me in a very menacing way for about a minute, she exclaimed "You look like you're Amish!" Must be the beard, I suppose.

2. Of my hat, which looks a lot like this one, but is a good deal more beat up, she asked (in a very accusatory tone) "Why are you wearing a Macy's hat? I tried to explain that it wasn't a Macy's hat and asked if she knew anything about Che Guevara, but to no avail. It was a Macy's hat, and that was that. Damn you, Macy's.

3. Girls at this age are scary - they're starting to get odd crushes on odd people and flex their flirting muscles, but they're also still little girls who like to rough-house and cuddle and whatnot - in other words, the concept of a Body Buffer Zone is completely foreign to them. Basically, if you're new to them and one or both of their parents certifies you as Okay, they're on you like white on rice. Abso-fucking-lutely terrifying.

Once the whole ordeal was over, I pondered it for a while and realized that in roughly 8-9 years I will have THREE such monsters to deal with. I'm not ready for such a thing. My only consolation is that in all likelihood they'll have dealt with me enough by then that I'll be totally boring to them, and they'll save their pre-teen terrorism for some other hapless bloke.

Spring

So, the thing about Spring* is this: Me + Spring normally = badness. We just don't get along. Whether it's breakups, deaths, or just taxes, I've just never done well with this particular season.

Which is a little sad, really - I mean, I enjoy the easing of Winter's grip as much as anyone. Granted, I do seem to enjoy Winter more than most people, but by the time we get to St. Patrick's Day I'm generally happy to feel a bit more warmth, see a bit more green, and all of that. Plus, it's a time when I can have a little cautious optimism that my beloved Cubbies might, this time, just this once, finally have a good season. Finally, it's a sign that one of my favorite things, fishing, is right around the corner.

But, for whatever reason, it generally lets me down and I find myself annoyed and dreading the onset of yet another hot and shitty Summer (I'm a very fair-skinned Irish boy - I do not in any way worship the sun and I do hate to be sweaty, stinky, and uncomfortable).

This year, though - knock on wood, rub your rabbit's foot, shake whatever talisman seems to bring you good luck - things are looking a bit better for me and Spring. I'm even allowing myself a little cautious optimism that it'll be a good time, and maybe, just maybe I can head toward's Summer's hot breath in a slightly better mood than normal.

Or I just jinxed myself. We shall see, I suppose.


*Poet and I didn't even know it. I can rhyme all the time. Anybody want a peanut?

When in Rome,

Do what everyone else is doing. In that spirit, here is my VisualDNA:

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

NOTE: For those that actually go and read the thing, I think they took a few liberties with their prose. For example, a fat, hairy man back is quite gross, but the whole "You like people to be well groomed, with a tight bod and heaps of sex appeal" bit? That ain't me.

Uncle Stan's Girls

So, anyone who knows me (and coincidentally, that's probably the population that actually reads the shit I spew on this blog), knows that I'm - at best - ambivalent about children.

Prologue: I hate kids. Hate 'em. Hated myself when I was a kid. They smell. They're loud. Their parents can't go out to the pub as much due to the kid's need for care and attention, or if they do they bring the kid with them. Their arrival somehow turns perfectly tolerable people into blithering morons (parents constantly, others while in their presence) who I'd just as soon set on fire as deal with. I could go on, but I think the picture has been painted.

"You'll feel different when you've got your own." We've been over this more than enough times; I won't be having my own.

However, a good number of my friends have recently procreated (as I previously detailed here). I'll be honest: I was a little concerned I'd hate these kids. I mean, I've had younger cousins and I hated them - and I've had a couple friends who had kids earlier in my life, and I hated those kids as well. To make matters worse, the 3 most recent additions to my previously safe and predictable world are all girls. Crap. I don't understand women as it is, and I don't understand kids; the stage was set for some serious kiddy hatred.

But damned if I don't think the world of these little ankle-biters. For the parents' sake I'll forego my normal tendency to eschew anonymity and will refer to them by first initial only (and a memo to any internet pervs: do NOT touch my girls - hell has yet to create the kind of damage I'll inflict on anyone that goes anywhere near them), but I'd like to indtroduce you all to my girls:

NOTE: The oldest one of these kids is like 10 months old, so it's not like their full personalities are out and evident to anyone but their parents. I'm describing what I see of them, from my perspective. They're works in progress, and I look forward to witnessing their evolution.

F - The most recent addition (but we're talking by a matter of months - I'm not sure what drove 3 of my friend-couples to get it on in an earnest baby-making way at nearly the same time, but that's how it happened), and the one I probably understand the most. This could be because she's the most like me. This kid's got the best pissed-off expression I've ever seen on a baby, ever. Even when she's in the most benign of moods, she looks at you like you're either crazy or like she's trying to determine if you're worth even a tiny shit. It's awesome. She's also a master of the raspberry and has no compunctions about demonstrating that fact. Also awesome. She comes from a blindingly intelligent mommy and her dad's no slouch, either - they're also both pretty straightforward, no-nonsense people, and Pops, like me, can tend to be a bit... we'll call it surly. Both are also hellacious potty-mouths, so I can't wait to watch them have to try to tone it down once she gets old enough to start repeating what she hears. Needless to say, I'm looking very forward to watching this one grow up. For her sake I do hope she gets her mom's looks and kind nature; I'm a huge fan of Pops, but this is a girl, after all.

E - This one's the real girl of the bunch. She's SO a girl. She's also a really sweet kid (not to say that F isn't, she's just not always overtly so), and has one of those "light up the room" faces. In contrast w/ F, pretty much every time I've seen her she's smiling or just serenely looking about. Again, it's quite evident that she's a product of her parents, who are both genuinely friendly folks in their own right. They're also both hyper-talented and very intelligent, so she's got good genes on her side. Funny enough, these folks are also massive potty-mouths, so I get to witness their own struggles to keep it clean as she also starts to repeat what she hears*. Whereas I see F going on to be president of this fine nation, I expect that E will go on to be one of those once-in-a-generation huge stars. It's written all over her.

(For a hoot of a good read, I invite you to read this story of a recent lunch outing during which the above 2 girls managed to fluster the living shit out of their moms and damn near wipe out a small restaurant. I can't even begin to describe the extent of my pride.)

L - This one's my baby. This is because she's the daughter of one of my oldest and closest friends. Her dad and I have been boys for well over 20 years at this point, and quite frankly her arrival shocked the living hell out of me. Dude almost never dated at all, for years, and then one day he calls me to announce that not only did he meet The One and was going to get married to her, he'd gone and knocked her up for good measure. Whoa, dude. Sadly, she's also the one I've seen the least of, due to the unfortunate fact that she and her family live in another state. She's goddamn cute as a button, though, and she's my Peanut, for reals. Looks a little too much like her dad at the moment, though (for reference, he and I get mistaken for brothers pretty much constantly - hence she kind of looks a little like me, which ain't good), something I fervently hope she grows out of. Mom's gorgeous, so I'm counting on her genes to kick in at some point and fix things up. She's a very sweet little girl, and already starting to display the gentle, kind nature that both of her parents possess. I expect she'll be the doctor of the bunch, healing the world.

I'd like you all to welcome these lovely ladies to the world, and join me in congratulating their proud parents on 3 jobs very well done. I'd also like to take this moment to congratulate those parents on displaying good, intelligent parenting right off the bat; I'm very happy to say that I am not the godfather/guardian/any-sort-of-role-that-might-land-them-in-my-lap-should-anything-happen-to-their-parents for any of these wee ladies. Whew. Not that I don't adore them, but let's be honest - that would just be a BAD idea. I'm a lot better as their Crazy Uncle Stan, a role I look very forward to playing.

So welcome to the world, ladies - and just in case I didn't make myself perfectly clear above, if anyone out there so much as looks at any of these beauties funny, I will most certainly kill that person. Slowly. Excruciatingly. Brutally. This I can promise.


*so you're all saying, "But Colin, we do read this blog; how in blazes do YOU intend to tone your own language down, huh?" Ah, silly people - I actually have no trouble at all doing so if the need arises. In fact, I'm rather well known for admonishing other adults with a stern "Oy! Little ears!" if they cuss within earshot of a kid. No worries about old Uncle Stan with that issue.

Over-react much?

Memo to my fellow Minneapolis-ians: It's just snow. It isn't acid or poison or anything, just snow. Therefore you do not need to try to get out of it as fast as possible. In fact, due to the laws of physics it turns out that trying to rush through it will actually likely result in an accident - and then you'll be stuck in the White Death™ even longer.

So just chill, take a little extra care and time, and everything will be just fine. If you don't heed my words and fuck up my sweet little Rosie* in your haste, I swear I'll fuck you up.


*Rosie would be my lovely little car - full name Rosie the Rocket.