Pignose
1997-2006
RIP

Some hippy puked on my Kid!

The State of Washington in trying to tell me something.

Around the beginning of the New Year, I received the annual notice of renewal for my license plates. After scanning the notice, I found out that I need to purchase new plates. This seemed pretty stupid as my current plates were not damaged. Due to the fact that I have never washed my car, the license plate, under the 1" of dirt is pretty much in pristine condition. I did some research and found out that every seven years you need to get new license plates because the reflective properties wear off after seven years.

I went online to renew and have my plates sent to me, and I noticed that for an additional $20 bucks, the "State" of WA allows me to get new plates and keep my current plate numbers. This sort of angered me. What kind of dummy do they think I am. It didn't take me more than three or four years to memorize my current plate number 172 JVN - ha I still remember it after 4 months. I figured the state was trying to screw me out of $20 bucks to build more pet mausoleums in the county parks. I decided to stick it to the man and save $20 bucks by getting a “new” number.

Here is a picture of my new license plate.



Notice anything “fishy”? That’s OK. It took me a few months to notice it. Look at the three letters. That’s right, U R D!!!! The State of Washington is telling me that I am ¾ of a TURD!!!!

Two can play this game. I think the State of Washington is 7/8th of a pile of rotten cabbage. There! Take that State of Wa….. I await your next move. Bring it on, suckas!!!

Cat Nap.

My kid has fat rolls on her forearms!

Month 5!

Ah a shameless ploy for traffic. Put up pictures of my daughter. Today my daughter turns 5 months old. When I left for work today, she was soundly sleeping in her crib. I told the wife that every hour that she sleeps while we are awake is another hour that she owes us in yard work! We went for a walk yesterday to a little park by our house in order to put Genevieve on the swing. I snapped the above picture of her swinging. The wife kept telling me to stop swinging her so hard, but I feel it is my duty to toughen her up a bit.

On the walk back home, it started to hail, but Genevieve slept right through it. I felt vindicated in my toughening stance... We ran into one of my old coworkers on the way home and she kept going on, and on about how much Genevieve smiles. She's right, we have one happy baby. I like to take credit for her good disposition.


Besides smiling, Genevieve enjoys eating! The kid can really pack away the food. When she is not eating food, she is eating her foot. If I didn't stop her, I sometimes fear that she would eat right through to her mouth.


Update! Update! Update!

After posting this earlier today, I noticed that the first picture of Genevieve sort of looks like we are cooking her in a cast iron pot. I want to assure all of my readers, (especially the cannibals among you, you know who you are!) that the wife and I would never cook our daughter in a cast iron pot! She is far too young and could benefit from some Hansel and Gretel treatment.

A Response to the Wife

Since all two of my readers also read my wife's blog, I feel compelled to answer the significant slander, both verbal and artistic, found on my wife's blog entry dated 4/13/06 entitled, "How to Ruin Family Picture Day.

The Setup: Baby Pictures at JC Penny
The Players: Me, The Wife, The Nanny, The Kid, and guest starring.... Satan's Spawn!
The Location: Bellevue WA JC Penny

After getting up early to make it into work by 7 am, I left the office to meet the nanny, the kid, and the wife for baby pictures. It was lightly raining, so people were driving like one-legged goats swim.

I arrived at the JC Penny "photocenter" 10 minutes before our agreed upon appointment. The nanny showed up with the kid, and the wife showed up a few minutes late. The wife said, "Sorry I'm Late, I have to make the money, Are you mad?" I replied, "No." As usual, the wife does not believe me. The wife goes on to complain that we should be served immediately, since it is past our agreed upon appointment time. I know from being in these situations many many times before, that our appointment is scheduled for whenever the hell JC Penny Photo specialists feel like it is scheduled.

After waiting perhaps ten minutes longer, it is our time to enter the "Studio". Photos begin almost immediately. This is quite the departure from my days as the top male model of Belarus. My previous photo shots have always started with the photographer giving me some direction, you know, telling me about what they are going to try to capture. For instance, "Hi, I Ghar, for today's shoot, I'm aiming for "Baby two dirty diapers past angry" or "Baby too cute with sandals No. 5". I can deal with that. This photographer said nothing. She manipulated our baby and began to make coo coo noises at her like she was some sort of slack jawed yokel. My baby is a pro, but I began to wonder if she could work with these amateurs.

Half way through the photo shoot, an elderly (I would guess Russian from the accent) man, barged into the studio and demanded that our photographer take his picture. He then produced what looked to be a passport (from a foreign country). I was about to call the authorities when the photographer distracted the old man by telling him to sit in the lobby and wait. Pretty good plan, make him think you are going to do his bidding, while secretly calling the authorities, so as to not make a scenes and ruin my baby's concentration.

The photo shoot ended and my wife escaped with the kid and left the nanny and myself in the purgatory of the lobby. The lobby was occupied by aforementioned crazy Russian man, JC Penny "Associate" showing pictures to large overbearing soccer mom, 10 year old boy (most likely son of soccer mom), and The Devil sitting in a stroller being rocked by soccer mom.

At first I didn't realize that the six year old girl sitting in the stroller was the Devil, but then I heard the most blood curdling sound. It was deep and resonating. It said, "Cllaaaaaaaaa Dunnn" getting deeper as the sound came out of its mouth. I looked at the nanny and I could tell from the look of fear on her face, that she heard it too. Once again it said, "Cllaaaaaa Dunnn". I snapped a quick picture with my cell phone camera (photo is posted below). As for the rest of what The Wife said, she doesn't know what she is talking about.

The Big Climb

Last Sunday I participated in the 20th anniversary Big Climb for Leukemia. The picture at the right is the Columbia Tower, the tallest building in Seattle and the site of the "Big Climb". Key stats:

• 69 flights of stairs
• 1,311 steps
• 19 steps per flight
• 788 feet of vertical elevation
• 1,389 people finished the race

I've contemplated participating in this race ever since I went to fat camp and lost 80 lbs by working out on the step mill. This piece of machinery will Kick Your Ass! I vividly remember the first time my personal trainer told me to get on and try it for "oh five minutes or so on level 3." After about 2 minutes I had created a step mill waterfall of sweat that would nourish a small African village. Over time, I eventually worked up to level 14 for 45 minutes. Other people in the club would always look over as I jacked up the speed and started to work out. -- Finally after 3 years I decided to try this race and see how close the step mill reflects climbing actual stairs.

I arrived at the Columbia Center (know locally as the death star) about an hour before my assigned race time, found a parking spot in the garage, rode the elevator to the first floor of the building, and witnessed my first jackass. As I left the elevator, I noticed a lean "Earth Runner" type warming up for the race by sprinting up the down escalator. This guy was taking this pretty seriously. Why would someone do this?
I checked in, and made my way over to the area I was told to wait in. All around me, a ton of people were stretching, tying and re-tying their shoe laces, running in place etc. I began to question my training regime. The previous afternoon I had participated in a Texas hold-em tourney followed by a large sushi dinner with plenty of beer and wine. I woke up race day and went out for a large breakfast which included a pretty stiff cocktail. Had all of this work prepared me for the race?

The group I was racing with consisted of all types; young, old, male, female etc. After our group's race time was announced, we all rode up a series of escalators which took us to the start line. The way these tower climbs work is, about every 5-10 seconds, a racer starts by swiping their timing chip as they run into the stairwell and begin their race. Being a rookie, I was a little nervous about the correct procedures / etiquette. Do you allow people to pass you or is it like roller derby where you elbow people trying to pass you? If you are passing do you yell "Left" like they did in Spanglish? I didn't have much time to dwell on this because pretty quickly I was at the front of the line and the line police guy yelled "Go!"

I went. Like the wind. I swiped my chip and headed for the door leading to the stairwell. I took the first 8-10 flights at two steps at a time, looked down at my heart rate monitor, and did a double take. My heart rate was already at 158 beats per minute. I quickly realized that I wasn't going to be able to do this thing at 2 steps at a time. I dropped downed to 1 step at a time and tried to find by rhythm.

Things are different in the well. At first you notice the silence. Waiting for the race to begin, there is the general buzz of tons of nervous competitors and their families. As soon as you go through the stairway door, the buzz quickly disappears. The silence is deceptive, and is quickly replaced by other sounds. The clop, clop, clop of rubber soles on cement steps. My loud breathing and the breathing of other competitors begins to overpower the silence.
It is also hot and humid in the well. The heat is comparable to a wrestling room. Hundreds of exerting bodies have run these stairs before I started. The humidity is from both the exercising humans and also from the spilled water from the watering stations scattered every ten floors or so. The race facilitators try to alleviate the heat and humidity by running large fans spaced every few floors.

I pass my first competitor around floor eight. He is a large muscular guy, and he looks like his heart is about to explode. I continue to pass people as I make my way up. The further up I go, the worse people look. I tried to pace myself with the goal of not getting passed by anyone. The over heard the gal that started right after I did telling her friend that this was the eighth race she had run, and she was on my heals through about floor 30.
The middle floors of the race are sort of a blur. I know at one point I grabbed a cup of water, and still had the same cup of water at the next water station ten floors up. The race was worth it for the middle section alone. The best part of tough exercise has always been getting into the “hypnotic” rhythm. When you get into this rhythm, it seems like you could go all day.

My rhythm was broken in the last 10-15 floors by a bunch of Muslim children. How do I know they were Muslim? The girls were wearing head scarves. My only complaint about the race was this aspect. These kids were blocking the stairway and wouldn’t move over. Some of them were sitting on the stairs stating that they were dying. I managed after some struggle, to get around this bunch of kids, and before I knew it, I was through the finish line door and on the observation deck of Seattle’s Tallest Building. The views kick ass! Final time: 11 minutes, 58 seconds.

After catching my breath, I rode down the elevators and grabbed my free t-shirt. I’m looking forward to a sub ten minute performance next year.

How to have a bad day

This isn't quite "Gramdma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" but it is pretty damn close. How much would that suck? Let's see, I'm leaving a basketball game, minding my own business, and Bam-0! freakin Bambi tramples me. Do you think she heard the clop clop clop of little deer hooves on the pavement right before she got trampled? How will this experience change her life? Will she starts shaking and blinking her left eye the next time she sees a deer on the side of the road? Will she no longer swerve when a deer runs out in front of her car? Will she take up hunting in much the same way Rambo went after Murdoc after Murdoc sold him down the river to the Soviets in Rambo 3? Maybe she will go the other way and become wacky deer lady, protector of all deer. She will really try to get into the head of deer. Become one with the deer. Something like this....

Mustache Contest Finale

I lost. I lost bad. I lost really really badly. Damn my hairless body! A curse to all of those ethnic types that need to shave 15 times a day and still look like sasquatch. My only solace is that the terrorists can grow bitchin' beards and I don't want to have anything in common with those Piglet hatin' head choppers. Here is the growth chart for the winner.

I have one word to describe this guy: Terrorist!

Here is a group shot of all of the participants. You can tell by our expressions, that January with facial hair was a cruel combination.

This is the trophy.

It is pretty sweet. A little too sweet if you know what I mean. This will definitely end up in the winner's metaphysical hall of shame. Wouldn't it be strange to come upon this little gem in an old trunk of your dead grandfather's house? What would you think? "Wow it looks like old Pappy won a "Stachey" back in aught 6. No wonder I have to shave my legs four times a day....

Here is my picture from the final day:

I think you will agree that Jason + Mustache does not equal mad love. Having a mustache is kooky. Complete strangers start calling you "Dude".

I leave you with possibly the most disturbing image of them all.

* Warning * * Warning * * Warning * * Warning * * Warning * * Warning *

He's single ladies!

Cox and Forum.

If you are not going here daily, you should be. Probably the best libertarian/conservative cartoonists out there.

Let Us Get Honest

Now that Hamas has won a huge victory in the "Palestinian" elections, can we finally stop saying that the so called "Palestinian" People want peace. Democracy is a great thing, primarily because it allows people to express their individual hopes and dreams through a political process. With the election of a terrorist group, no one can doubt that the "Palestinian" people hope and dream for the destruction of Israel.

I'm waiting for the United States, EU, and the rest of the West to stop sending foreign aid to these losers.

Also... Why are so many people shocked that Hamas won? The only reason I can think of is that they though Fawtwah would cheat.

An Ode to my Cat!

Pignose oh Pignose,
Why do you look so blue?
Pignose oh Pignose,
Your disdain for me is true.

Pignose oh Pignose,
Why do you feel so free?
Pignose oh Pignose,
Please don't squat on the carpet and pee!


I found an interesting post on the link between the parasite that lives in cats and schizophrenia. It seems that this parasite has been shown to infect rats brains and make these rats less afraid of cats. Rats not afraid of cats = rats in the bellies of cats. Rats treated with anti schizophenia drugs regain their fears of cats.

Note: this parasite can also affect humans.

Things are beginning to make sense. Due to my wife's recent pregnancy, I became the designated "litter box boy". I now suspect that I have become infected with this parasite. This infection explains much of my recent poor behavior. In addition, it seems that my cats have been controlling me.... causing me to purchase kitty treats and to feed them beef jerky. It is only a matter of time before Pignose rules the world. Say goodbye to clean carpets everywhere.

Mustache Contest Day 19.

So begins the dog days of the contest. The mid point week and the bloom is definitely off the rose. Scratchy, itchy, and definitely the ideal habitat for breeding lice. Enough of the benefits of the mustache, now on to the negatives of a mustache/facial hair. In researching the ideal style of mustache, it began to dawn on me that many mustaches (mustachi?) seem to have a high correlation to EVIL. Hitler, Stalin, Castro, pretty much all head choppers, and various male porn stars all sport a mustache. Which came first, the mustache or the megalomaniac behavior. I'll be closely monitoring myself for evil and or the impulse to audition for "low budget" film projects.

Those wacky Germans!

Mustache Contest Day 13:

Did you know that there is a "World Beard and Mustache Championship"?

In three short years it will be held in Anchorage Alaska. I have begun planning and construction of my own masterpiece. I'm leaning towards "The nuclear destruction of Iran" expressed in facial hair, but may yet change directions and construct the "Islamification of Europe" That last one may not work so well due to what appears to be a heavy European slant in the ranks of contestants.

Oh, check that, I'm not going to participate in this crap. I just read "This time, there was no overall winner, consistent with the regulations of the Association of German Beard Clubs." Only the Germans would institute a contest with no winner. Of course this may be a reflection that in a beard and mustache championship there really are no winners... just losers.

Anyway, day 13 not much different from day 12. Growth continues unabated. I've come to believe that if my beard was thicker, I would look like Grizzly Adams right now. No more withdrawals from the contest, and we have begun designing the trophy. I suggested a Mr. Potato Head with nothing but the Mustache attached. We are researching the costs of bronzing said Potato Head.

Office Mustache Growing Contest

My team at work decided to hold a little mustache growing contests for the month of January.

Day 12:
Growth continues unabated. Not yet Gabe Kaplan, but well on my way. Yesterday we had our first quitter. He only lasted eleven days. Due to the early withdrawl, I decided we needed to institute a buddy system. Much like an alcoholic has a sponsor they can call in their hour of need, we now have mustache buddies. People who have never attempted to cultivate the perfect mustache do not understand the dark recesses of the soul that a man explores peering at a half grown mustache at 5 AM.

Snared in an OFFICE TIGER TRAP!

Yesterday in a meeting with a few of my coworkers, one of them was snared in the dreaded OFFICE TIGER TRAP. The incident went down as follows:

The players:

Coworker A seated, Coworker B seated, Coworker C seated behind desk, and me, seated in front of desk.

The timeline:

8:05:03 – Meet to discuss typical office drudgery.
8:06:41 – Gaze out window.
8:07:21 – Coworker A rises from seated position. Initially ignored by all present.
8:07:32 – Coworker A begins to walk, destination unknown.
8:07:34 – Coworker A passes a seated Coworker B. I begin to speculate that Coworker A is heading towards Coworker C seated at desk looking at a Dell computer monitor. No way to speculate on the possible reasons why Coworker A would want to do this. Coworker A seems to have an almost hypnotic gaze. Something unworldly is pulling Coworker A toward the computer monitor.
8:07:35 – Coworker A steps in the loop on the pull rope of a set of window blinds. All present unaware of Coworker A’s precarious situation – including Coworker A.
8:07:36 – OFFICE TIGER TRAP is sprung.
8:07:37 – Coworker A is on the ground. Right leg elevated in OFFICE TIGER TRAP. Pain begins to Appear on Coworker A’s face.
8:08:01 – Coworker B and Coworker C begin to offer solace. I attempt to contain myself.
8:08:41 - Meeting continues.

One month old

I snapped this picture while genevieve was pretending to sleep. Right now she is laying on the couch beside me listing to 70's music. It really seems to have a calming effect on her.

Today is daddy/daughter day. Genevieve's mom is going out Christmas shopping today and that means Baby's first Seahawks game! The education begins in earnest today. First a little football, then a continuation on musical themes. I started her out on 70's music because it was the height of the signer/songwritter era and as such is pretty mellow. You can't force feed baby reggae at one month, although I will probably slip a little Bob Marley in, just to get her interest peaked.

The musical education became important once I found out that her mother had been playing total "crap music" when she was in the womb. Backstreet Boys, Modonna, etc. is not going to cut it for my daughter. Badfinger just came on, and Genevieve is grooving. Got to go, the Mom just woke up.

Workout Change Up

I changed up my daily workout this week, and boy am I sore. My entire lower body is wrecked. I'm limping around the office like I just spent a month on Brokeback Mountain. Ehhhwww!!!

Dirty diaper, dirty diaper, dirty diaper, dirty diaper, etc, etc, etc,.........................

3 week old daughter.... nothing but poop, puke, and crying...


the weird thing is I love it. I promise to blog more when I get some time. Work has been crazy, but good, I finally have something to do.

I will have much more on wine and wine reviews when I start posting regularly. Also, I turned 32 last week, and I didn't post my thoughts. - may be a good thing.

Consumed a great Spanish wine tonight, - I must warn, after I drank it, I ordered ABBA Gold, - it was that good! - anyway, I will post soon.