Lessons in Religion

"Be not fearful of my presence mortal, for I bring with me only mirthful tidings," said the Archangel Dagmar.  And so Jebediah cast aside his fear and approached the towering celestial figure.  The silence of the night hung heavy as a wreath around the two of them.  "Am I wrong, during this most joyous time of year, to revel in the Dionysian pursuits of the mortal world," inquired Jebediah.  "What knowledge have you of the pleasures awaiting you in the next life, or if such a life even exists," responded Dagmar.  Jebediah pondered the Archangel's words for a moment, and then with great jubilation answered, "I suppose there is no certainty in a life after this one.  Perhaps I should feel no guilt indulging in all the glorious delights this Christmas has to offer!"  "Yolo," responded Dagmar, "Yolo."          

Humping an imperial walker is acceptable.

Bring all your friends together!

Los Gatos in full splender.

Pour your own beer on your birthday.

Make a steak face.

And never forget the ham.  

Crossbreeding the Holidays

There are some folks who might mate a Schnauzer with a Shih Tzu, or perhaps graft an olive branch onto a cherry tree.  These activities, and a slew of others, are considered normal.  So I think it perfectly fine that I take footage from this past Halloween and display it on December 17th.  Stay strapped for the holidays my friends, what if it isn't Santa coming through yo chimney.  

Christmas Clog Wellness Advice

As hopeless as a middle aged white man in a nightclub searching for a way to gyrate his hips to the beat of some tune completely foreign to him, a car's wiper blades will never truly sync up with the music being played within it.

The bass thumps
the blades jump to catch up,
land perfectly as cymbals chime,
but fall behind in short time.

On occasion song and blade will share a perfectly choreographed duet, but only for a fleeting moment, and then it's back to heads bumping and toes exchanging blows.  While the wiper blade syncopation issue may be out of our mortal control, there are a few simple activities proven to enhance our quality of life.  
 

Always eat a hotdog before or (and) after cutting down a Christmas tree.

Always grind your own spices.  It speaks volumes about the type of human being you are.

Always go to a body of water when it rains, because this is when they are the happiest.

Finally, always lick the beaters.  You know that you want to.

(I completely condone the consumption of raw eggs)

Empty Nest Syndrome

I am not sure whether my love of minimalist living drives me to reside in a tiny room, or my love of quaint dwellings forces me to toss away all but a few scraps of my earthly possessions.  I do know however, that my purging of clutter is akin to the vomiting patterns of a bulimic super model at a buffet.  And when my beloved roommate Niko moved on to greener pastures, I stood in my doorway surveying a barren four walled wasteland, with a bed and a desk occupying but one lonely corner.  Clothes, books, memories, and the like could be fit into several boxes, or just as easily become snacks for a hungry dumpster.  A room swap was surely in order!

You a space to plop down a beanbag chair or sofa, but I see only a dark abyss.

My new window to the world!  It should also be notes that I have now occupied every room in the upstairs of Yellow House.

Or maybe I was just doing Irving the hoarder a favor.

See you on the Battlefield

I have always thought that stumbling into a rowdy bar is similar to charging headlong into battle.  This ignorant uneducated comparison is in no way meant to belittle those who have experienced war first hand, and the significant date of this post (Veterans Day) is nothing but coincidence.  Excellent, now I can belly flop guilt free into this completely absurd and untimely Clog post. 

Drinking within the cozy confines of a bar is nothing more than an adult version of playing with little green army men in a sandbox.  Now let us decide which plastic soldier you most resemble.  

Clockwise from top left:

1.  You are spending far more time on the phone trying to call for reinforcements than actually pounding brewskis with the troops already at your side.  Or maybe your girlfriend is just pissed off at you.  

2.  You've got the heavy artillery out tonight, with plenty of shots to go around.  You may not be on the front line chatting it up with every human being in sight, but anyone who gets in your path is going to get a firm hug or an earful of nonsense. 

3.  We see you over there in the corner, acting all sly with your cocktail and curiously shifty eyes.  Perhaps you only wish to observe the madness, or perhaps its sexual conquest you're after.

4.  You came straight from cashing your paycheck to knocking back shots at the bar.  You are on the front line demanding nothing less than death or glory.  You'll be telling your friends war stories, if you can remember them.  

5.  You are in way over your head but still want a piece of the action.  This battle is no place for someone as shy or sober as you, but still you insist on crawling into the melee.  Is it a blind sense of duty or mere stupidity that drives you to fight?  Stray bullets and splashed drinks assail you whilst ponying up to the beer soaked bar. 

6.  Oh hey there wildcard, what's that you got there in your hand?  You've got a couple screws loose because the AMF is your weapon of choice.  Suicide bar bomber best describes you, and your time in battle will be brief.  I sense a dishonorable discharge from the bar within minutes.  

P.s. I always fancied the flamethrower soldier myself.    

Tools of the Trade

Pie Season is a fictitious collection of calendar days spanning from November first to January first, during which time pie baking flourishes like a naked mud covered hippie at Woodstock.  I take full advantage of the cold weather and shortened days by cranking out a cornucopia of pumpkin, pecan, and apple pies.  And while these pies may look pretty and taste divine, special attention should be paid to the tools that make it all possible.  

My great grandma was a rotund woman who I never met, but her old ceramic mixing bowl is present every time I bake a pie.  It is the perfect size, weight, and shape.  The handle allows for easy turning and the smooth glazed surface is much less prone to sticking than metal.  The crude markings carved into the bottom of the bowl are those of Bybee Pottery, a company out of Madison County Kentucky whose roots date back to the 1809.  All of this boring drivel means that inside every pie I bake there is love, history, and probably some toxic ceramic particles.  Embrace Pie Season! 

Half way Through Film Review

October is half way finished and I have yet to provide all of you loyal Cloggers with a proper horror movie to "Netflix and chill" to.  

A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is sure to get you laid, but also a subtly brilliant movie.  As far as I'm concerned this little gem is perfect for a romantic evening with your "bae."  What could be better than a Persian vampire Film Noir shot in Southern California?  Oh I dunno, maybe one with an eerie soundtrack, tense methodical pacing, and even a dash of skateboarding.  Did I mention A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is literally available right there on Netflix?!  No need to say thank you, just think of me as you are lighting up your post sex smoke.  Actually please do not, because that is strange.