Why I've been on extended hiatus.

I've been busy designing my new clothing line, Slurry Wear.  Below is a photo of my cousin modeling SlurryCo.'s flagship creation, which will be selling for $79.95 in select SoHo boutiques.  It's called the Jockey Top.

Steed Watch: Permanent Commando Edition

I know what you're thinking. The Steed tries to hang himself with his own underwear and I can't even muster up a sliver of time to write anything for my beloved Steed Watch segment. Well, I've been busy as balls with school and really haven't had any time to pander to the wants of an insatiable public. But there you go, The Steed tried to hang himself and although officials have not specifically stated he did so with his underoos, we can safely assume that he took a page from Cousin Ted's prison play book. On a related note, attempted suicide is nothing to joke about. I'm just reporting the news here.

*Odds and ends. Bits and Pieces. Scrap Metal. Particle Board. Random Musings*

In news that only Farmington, Minnesota cares about, Mountain Dew is running a promotion where they're asking the public to choose the next flavor, color and packaging of their new soda. They call it...wait for it...DEWmocracy! The operation looks ridiculously expensive, too, and includes such things as a live action movie (directed by Forest Whittaker!) and a virtual world for the nerds out there who need to meet and interact with other Dew drinkers living in their parents' basements. My prediction: leave the choice of a new soda flavor up to the Mountain Dew drinkers with such discriminating tastes and you'll likely end up with something that tastes like like crap, just like the original. I give the soda one summer before it's buried next to Crystal Pepsi, Surge, New Coke, Coke II, Pepsi Edge, and Slurry BetaCola ("Three times the sugar and caffeine as sugar and caffeine!").

****

That's it for me, but I will leave you with one final prediction in the spirit of upcoming holiday season: Aqua-dots won't be this year's Furby.

Oh, That O.J.

You could probably file this in the I Already Knew That Because I'm Exposed to At Least One Form of Media, Slurry Beta, You Idiot category but I still feel like this is worth soaking in. So we all knew that O.J. wrote a book with the amazingly absurd premise of contemplating in purely hypothetical terms exactly how he would've killed Nicole and Ron if he had, in fact, done so. We've all heard every O.J. joke under the sun so I'll spare you any from my end but I just want you all to take a look at the actual cover of the book entitled If I Did It: Confessions of the Killer. I'll give you a Slurry Beta 3rd anniversary commemorative haiku via email if you can spot the word "If" in the photo on your first try. It's there, shoved ever so inconspicuously into the letter "I". Perhaps even better is the "He Did It" commentary by the Goldman family. Purely hypothetical, of course. Does anyone else find this as awesome (in a bad way) as I do? Actually, don't answer that. I don't care.

And just to quash any fears from my readers that this post will usher in a slew of O.J. Watch posts, rest assured that it won't. I've got my hands full right now with the group I'm watching. Speaking of which, The Steed has been convicted of the accomplice to rape charges I broke down, in detail, for you all last whenever. There really isn't too much else to report on this other than I heard Lindsay Lohan was as at the court house, doing cocaine in the bathroom off of an iPod with Paris Hilton, Brad Pitt, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the new Halo 3 video game, Nicole Richie's baby and a Toyota Prius.

Okay, so I put a few hot search topics in there to generate more hits to my site. You got me. The rest is true.

Steed Watch: The Trial Begins

The trial of noted ladies' man, Warren Steed Jeffs, has officially begun and I think I speak for all of us when I say, "We are all really excited about this and Slurry is attractive." If any of you are unfamiliar with the case, let me bring you up to speed.

The Steed holds a firm belief that, when a man and a woman have an exclusive attraction to each other...wait, no...when a man is attracted to a woman and that woman has attractive friends who like to share...no, that's not quite it...when a man, under the color of a fundamentalistic interpretation of questionable religious doctrine, wants to do the Horizontal Mormon with several women in an acceptable manner under the eyes of God, he ought to be able to marry all of those women, even if they're minors or first cousins. That's not totally correct, either. It's called polygamy, okay? Look it up. The Steed is the religious leader of a group of these fundamentalist nut bags.

There he was minding his own business forcing a 14 year-old to marry her 19 year old cousin when the American justice system stepped in with a child abuse charge (correction: accomplice to rape). Get off his back, justice! He'd already been on the run from the law for a few years for stealing a candy bar or something so the buzzkills at the FBI threw him on the ten most wanted list and he was eventually caught at a traffic stop in true cinematic fashion. The cop spotted a pulsing vein in his neck-a sure sign of polygamy.

The proceedings officially commenced today with both sides delivering their opening arguments and, by all indications, the trial fixes to be a doozy. Don't bother following the case because I'm going to do it for you. That's just the kind of person I am. A giver. Stay tuned for more Steed Watch.

Sadly, I'm Back

I know it's been awhile and I've probably lost most of my readership but my crew and I have suffered some nearly crippling setbacks lately in terms of blog development. Let me explain. It's pretty well established that I'm really into famous people or "celebs" as I like to call them. The exclusive content I post on Steven Seagal in the regular "Seagal Watch" segment has become so popular on the Interweb that if you type "Slurry+Beta+Steven+Seagal" into Google, it's the number one hit. Not one to argue with or understand statistics, I presented the data at the Slurry Beta Annual Creative Direction Symposium two weeks ago and everyone agreed that the "Celeb Watch" franchise should be aggressively expanded. For the next six days, we bickered over who should be that flagship celeb that would officially signal Slurry Beta's new direction. "Pavarotti Watch" was born. Coffee mugs were made, shirts were screen printed, and an entire series of postings were conceived. Unfortunately, Big Pavi kicked the bucket last week, taking with him his famous High C vocal range, six weeks to five years of exclusive Slurry Beta material and an almost inconceivable amount of ad revenue. And he looked so healthy!

So we had to move to plan B: "Van Impe Watch!". Now, if you know about a little thing called the Apocalypse, you most likely know Jack van Impe, an "award winning" Bible memorizer and polka enthusiast* who's been predicting the end of the world for 25 years next to his ravishing wife, Rexella (my God, she's attractive!). He's also one of my favorite celebrities . He doesn't do much outside of predicting Jesus' return every week, but we're going to watch him anyway. Just in case.

*This album is real. I'm not good enough at photoshop to make this shit up.

Road to the Bottom: Installments Two and Three (Plus Extra)

Nothing motivates me to write blog entries more than homework so, readers, you're in for a real treat-two posts on two consecutive days. I think this is the first time it has happened. Don't get used to it, though.

In case you've forgotten, I'm still working at becoming next year's Bad Fiction champion. As I read my drafts over the other day, I felt like they were pretty mediocre so I tried to really dig deep for inspiration and spent most of the weekend at the local landfill. These next two have a "Steinbeck writes about trash" sort of vibe...or maybe a "Slurry writes about trash" vibe. Same difference.

No. 2:

In a flash, it was over and nothing remained but a three foot piece of bailing twine, a small, malleable chunk of black weather stripping, and a chipped ceiling fan blade which Todd fashioned into a non functioning yo-yo for the amusement of his newborn daughter, Chloe, who may or may not have been alive and even if she was, no reasonable person could expect an infant to know any yo-yo tricks.

No. 3:

The question was answered but not to the liking of an experienced janitor as he, so he repeated himself only this time while stomping his feet like an insistent child, one of wealth and privilege who probably knew nothing of cleaning a dumpster or that the ratio of bleach to water was one to ten when killing tuberculosis bacteria, but by that point the question had lost its relevancy because the person he was asking was now operating a loud weed whacker and could not hear him anyway.

*******

In other news, Attorney General Alberto "What's a Constitution?" Gonzales resigned. Does anyone else feel a really empty feeling when they hear of all these Bush administration resignations? They've already done irreparable damage to America's global standing, eroded our rights, and peed in our soup. Sure, it's nice to have some validation that they were horribly ineffective executives but now we've got all this inedible soup lying around that the French won't even eat. Bad analogy? Maybe.

Please Allow Me to Complain

Recently, I've gotten myself into a situation where my name is being frequently called out by those who have never met me and, hence, haven't attempted to pronounce my glorious moniker. It's not a difficult name: short, fairly Germanic sounding, no umlauts, and it rolls off the tongue pretty nicely, if you ask me. But for some reason, nobody can ever seem to get it right.

Sometimes it works out well for me. Often the phone will ring and I'll pick it up to hear, "Yes, is Slurry Brita there?" Click. Call over. I don't want what they're selling.

Other times, like in the context of beginning my first, wait, third advanced degree, it can get a little irritating. The other day, I was in a room full of Polish, Lithuanian, and Laotian students and some lady was handing out our folders, flawlessly pronouncing each name as she handed them their orientation folders. But when she got to me, she was all, "Slurry, uhhhhhh. Hmmmmmm. Now that's sure a strange, stupid, unpronounceable name. Oh, hell, I'm not EVEN going to try. Here's your goddamn folder, you asshole. Now get out of my sight." Before I knew it, I was getting the Stink Eye from just about everyone in the room. When I was on my way out of the building, some jocks grabbed me, gave me swirly and the worst purple nurple I've ever had.

It's tough being me.

Seagal Watch: Kiss His Arm Breaking Ass, FBI

Longtime Slurry Beta readers are well aware of my love for Sensei Seagal. I can't help it. His man musk is totally irresistible. When I originally started this blog, I intended on running a regular "Seagal Watch" segment but apparently, I was about 13 years too late. As far as I can tell, he hasn't been doing too much lately other than getting fatter, making terrible music, and not stocking America's Seven Eleven convenience stores with Asian Experience, which I'm still sort of pissed about (how am I supposed to get my energy?). To be honest, I had all but lost hope in Seagal but, as it turns out, his drift into obscurity was the FBI's fault. In a recent L.A. Times article, Seagal ripped the FBI for not publicly clearing his name after facts of an investigation into his alleged involvement with the German mafia were suspiciously made public. Apparently, involvement with the German mafia-not being a terrible actor-tends to make Hollywood studios reticent about putting you in their next big budget shit fest. Instead, they're forced to go with their second choice, Johnny Depp. Well, Seagal wants an apology from the FBI.

Honestly, I trust Seagal here. The dude's been in dozens of movies over the past two decades and has a secret FBI past in each one of them so he knows a thing or two about your precious bureau. Plus, the accusations are ridiculous in and of themselves. Associating with the German mafia and intimidating journalists into not writing negative reviews? Are you kidding me? First, there's no German mafia. I checked. Second, Seagal doesn't get negative reviews. Never has. This whole thing wreaks of global conspiracy.

Apologize, FBI, and allow Sensei Seagal to finally release another hit film. I suggest something with "Kill," "Death," "Deadly," "Dangerous," or "Mortal" in the title.

Road to the Bottom: Installment One

Every champion has to begin somewhere. Fortunately, my brilliant ability to compose bad fiction began at conception, some 22 years ago, give or take. When I'm hoisting the Bad Fiction trophy (or plaque or maybe printed email) about this time next year, you'll be able to fondly look back at these yet to be released nuggets and say to yourselves, "How truly fortunate we are to even know who Slurry Beta is. He's moved onto greener pastures now, but it feels satisfying to know that he once spoke to us."

No, that wasn't the first entry; it needs to be one sentence. Here it is:

To be a fire fighter is to be adored and this was never more apparent to Anthony Gardner as he suited up for yet another shift at the coal mine; he thought about fire frequently and how many flammable objects there were in the world that need only a simple spark to ignite and require fighting, which he had neither the training nor the opposable thumb on his left hand to do.

Now be honest, people. Is this bad enough? My standards are, uh, low I guess.

I'll release the next one in due time.

**Late update: after consulting with James, I made a small yet significant change. The sentence is now exponentially better. I mean worse.

The Zapruder Film of Miming.

It's a rare, special day here at Slurry Beta (for you, not me. My days are always special). Like the Loch Ness Monster or Sasquatch, catching Angel Moroni on video tape has historically been a near impossibility...until now. Knowing that he can always be found performing on Monday's open mic night at the local watering hole, my camera crew and I followed him for hours just to catch the three minute clip you see below. After a bit of practice in the bathroom mirror, Moroni delivered a performance for the ages; a three and a half minute pantomime odyssey that Pantomimus himself would have wept over...silently in an invisible box with perhaps a bit of wind. I believe he drew his inspiration directly from his daily morning routine. Keen viewers will notice the obvious lack of shower, toothbrushing, and deodorant pantomiming. I'm just saying.

Special thanks:
The camera crew
The unpaid joke consultant who basically came up with the punchline here
Angel Moroni for being responsible for 10% of my blog

Stay tuned tomorrow for my first bad fiction installment. You will hate it.

They Give Awards for This? Alternate Title: My True Calling.

Lately, a significant part of my day involves perusing the daily newspaper, which around here is usually the Star Tribune. Actually "perusing" may be a bit misleading. I read the whole damn thing, front to back and sometimes the classified section for no good reason at all. I look forward to Thursday's Taste section like it's the new Harry Potter book and I'm an awkward kid willing to put a striped tie and glasses on and wait or camp for hours in front of a bookstore.* I realize, as a blogger, I should be rejecting the print medium altogether and embracing my contribution to this populist movement but I need to get out of the house sometimes. Unemployment can get a bit lonely.

The point is, I read the paper...in hard copy. So why didn't I just get right to the point and say that directly instead of wasting your time insulting Harry Potter fans and revealing that I'm the only one I know that gets pumped for the Taste section? The answer: I'm a skillfully bad writer. That's right, it's not an oxymoron. Apparently they give awards out to those who can compose poorly written fiction. Since this blog is basically fiction, I may have found a literary award I'm capable of winning.

I discovered it while I was reading the paper about a week a ago because someone from Wisconsin won it, which means it was nearly front page Strib material. It's called the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest and it gives out an annual award to the individual who can write the most horrendous opening sentence to an unrealized novel. It was apparently inspired by Edward George Bulwar-Lytton's book, Paul Clifford, which had the famous opening sentence, "It was a dark and stormy night..." Yeah, I didn't read it either nor do I care to. But I do like awards and I think I'm going to give it shot.

As such, I will be posting a few possible contest entries over the next week or weeks or years (Slurry Beta time cannot be restricted). Your job as an active reader of my blog is to read up on the award's past winners (you'll actually enjoy reading them, trust me) and let me know what you think of my possible submissions, which one is the strongest, weakest, etc. Keep in mind, I have a massive ego and will not tolerate criticism so, Moroni, I will blocking all of your comments. In fact, I may block all comments and keep my brilliance to myself if you all can't behave. I have reservations opening this up to input from readers, anyway, because I have less than three and I like to think of my blog as ridiculously popular. Hey mom, you might want to create a few more blogger names.

Just to give you an idea of the quality I'm aiming for, here's this year's winner:

Gerald began--but was interrupted by a piercing whistle which cost him ten percent of his hearing permanently, as it did everyone else in a ten-mile radius of the eruption, not that it mattered much because for them "permanently" meant the next ten minutes or so until buried by searing lava or suffocated by choking ash--to pee.
Jim Gleeson, Madison, WI

A truly inspiring piece. Of course, throw potty humor into pretty much anything and I'll be inspired--to pee.


*Okay, that was a bit of an unnecessary Potter jab there. I know some of my readers are Potter fans but you have to admit, it's a little ridiculous for people to dress up like Harry Potter or another character and wait in line for hours for the new book. It's not like there are a limited number of copies, folks. In fact, you could've saved time by pre-ordering it or possibly reading it on the internets earlier than the release date, albeit illegally. But what do I know? I'm equally perplexed by Star Wars, Star Trek, and Grateful Dead fans. I suppose we're cut from different cloth. The cloth I'm cut from is made out of bear skin with "Slurry Beta" inscribed with intricate embroidery surrounded by flames and barbed wire while your cloth is most likely a poly/cotton blend. But enough about you, this is my blog.

Cabin Fever

I spent the past weekend at a beautiful lake cabin in Wisconsin for the annual Longfellow Neighborhood MENSA Chapter summer conference. Some of the highlights included: a wonderfully poignant keynote speech from famed wine maker, Carlo Rossi; an absolutely stirring rendition of "Stand by Me" from karaoke virtuoso, Angel Moroni, which was delivered to a group of cougars in sashes and tiaras; a dive bar scavenger hunt; some late night pontooning; and, of course, the budgetary meeting on the last night which ran into the wee hours of the morning on Sunday and got very tense at moments. Angel Moroni refused to see my side of things even though I am the self-proclaimed moral compass of the group.

Perhaps the main event of the weekend involved a highly touted beer chugging match between Angel "The Talker" Moroni and DC "The Walker" Josh that took place on the infamous Square Dock Arena on a lake near Danbury, Wisconsin (A.K.A. Beer Town, U.S.A.). Security was tight so all of us photo journalists were forced to remain the restricted docked pontoon area. Because I couldn't get all that close, the photos aren't spectacular but I was able to accurately capture the drama that unfolded.

Let me set the scene. Moroni was practically guaranteeing a victory over any challenger. DC Josh, a strong but relatively unproven athlete on the circuit offered a surprise challenge in the late afternoon on Saturday. Promoters went crazy. There were nearly three spectators. The stage was set for an epic battle. Before the event could take place however, some ground rules needed to be established. First, a referee (not picture but in an inner tube nearby) was to ensure the participants began drinking at the same time. Second, once the beverage is finished, the cup needed be turned upside down on the participant's head to ensure it had been completely emptied. In close calls, the referee was to check for spills.

Alright, here are the photos I took of the historical event:This is a snap shot we used for the event poster, which was displayed in approximately zero locations. Both participants had to be separated immediately as tensions nearly boiled over. Once they were safely sequestered in their corners, they were brought back to the middle of the dock for the contest.In a dramatic upset, DC Josh narrowly defeated Angel Moroni. But Moroni cried foul, claiming DC Josh raised his cup above the chest too early. DC Josh vehemently denied the allegations.Controversy ensued for several minutes. The athletes had to be separated once again.In a last ditch effort, Moroni proposed a rematch. DC Josh, although reluctant, agreed to at least discuss the details of a second contest.Negotiations were heated and took several minutes. Comparisons of each other's wingspans were taken to discern if there DC Josh's beer had to travel a lesser distance or if his wingspan violated any other regulations Angel Moroni made up. I believe the referee, on his way back with more beer, stepped in to mediate from his inner tube and it was agreed there would be a rematch.
With yet another strong performance, DC Josh won the rematch in convincing fashion (see cup on head). Ever the good sport, Angel Moroni conceded and did not request a second rematch. In fact, no contests were held on Square Dock Arena for the rest of the weekend.
And, with that, the waters calmed...until next year.

Not Cohesive Enough for a Title

Once again, I apologize folks. It's been too long of a blog hiatus for someone on unsubsidized funemployment. I must admit, I've been keeping fairly busy although that's really no excuse for not giving my fans what they want. I actually posted an entry last week but took it down because it was the blogging equivalent of telling a dinner party you have bird flu and an aversion to washing your hands. Then asking them how they enjoyed your special hand-rolled tamales and fresh squeezed lemonade. Awkward.

***

On Sunday I was dealing with an extended late onset hangover from Friday night and managed to watch an hour and a half of VH1's Rock of Love, which is basically a show for people who just couldn't connect with Flavor of Love seasons one and two. And it was delightfully terrible; right up my alley. I don't know when the Emmy nominations come out but it'll probably sweep them. Hell, they might even throw in an honorary Oscar nomination for high art's sake.

Anyway, it stars a washed up Poison lead singer, Bret Michaels, who is looking for "love" from rock and roll groupies who weren't legal when his band was popular. You get the idea-it's not complicated but it's completely awesome.

Just as Dallas (who's most likely from Burbank) was exiting without giving Michaels his mandatory elimination smooch and I was THIS CLOSE to purchasing a DVR machine to tape the rest of the episodes, I began to feel very guilty. So guilty, in fact, that I remained motionless for an entire Scott Baio is 45 and Lame episode, which I sincerely regret. More on that when I can sit through an episode again.

Why was I paralyzed with guilt? Last week Angel Moroni accused me of having the television programming tastes of a 14 year old girl. It cut me deep. He's omnipotent, after all.

Well, I implore any of you to find a 14 year old girl who has the mental fortitude to sit through as many Real World episodes as I have whilst keeping up with the more current drama of Road Rules/Real World Challenge. It's not easy--sometimes they run the challenge shows with the same cast members as the current Real World season and it creates some sort of metaphysical paradox or whatever the nerd term is for "confusion". Or find me one that has the balls brass enough to watch even five minutes of Hogan Knows Best, which is a near impossibility. Dude's really protective of his untalented daughter. Has been for thirty episodes. Nobody under 18 has the attention span to deal with that.

Whatever, I am who I am. Deal with it. And why the hell does Moroni know so much about the TV interests of 14 year old girls?

***

So this week is Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. Instead of running a shark related program 65 per cent of the time, they run shark programming 100 per cent of the time. Now, don't get me wrong. I love sharks. I'd probably own one if it wasn't so aquatic but I find Shark Week completely misses the boat (pun intended). Half the programs completely downplay the danger sharks pose to humans and preach shark tolerance and conservation, which is obviously great. The other half? Programs such as: Top Five Eaten Alive (by sharks); Deadly Stripes: Tiger Sharks (tiger sharks eating humans); Shark Bites: A Statistical Guarantee; If You Swim in or Drink Water, A Shark Will Eat You. Do they think people aren't watching Shark Week ALL the time? Do we need to kill them all or save them?

***

After three years without a vehicle, I finally had to buckle down and purchase one. Minneapolis is truly great for biking but I need a set of wheels to impress the ladies. Unfortunately, I've been told the Subaru Outback I purchased is a car for lesbians. I thought the portrait of the Indigo Girls covering the hood would make me seem arty but apparently I was mistaken. It actually might be counterproductive.

Glad you stayed around until the end of this post?

Welcome Home Weekend

What a great weekend! I think I need to just start leaving and returning to places, just for the going away and coming home parties.

This Friday, my new roommate in Mormon heaven, Angel Moroni, organized a little barbecue and keg party to celebrate my return and DC Josh's prolonged stay. To be accurate, it was really a guacamole party. I have never seen that much guacamole in one central location in my life. It was all I could think about for a good 20 minutes....okay, I'm still a little hung up on it.

Anyway, the food was great, the people were fantastic and I would give the welcome back party a solid A+. The only downside of it was that I was completely betrayed by a few of my closest friends. I learned that Angel Moroni pulled the ol' mattress switcharoo on me and switched the mattress Bobby Digital lent me with one stuffed with bricks that Moroni had been sleeping on since college. It gives me terrible bed head. Additionally, I discovered that Bobby Digital has been keeping massive secrets from me and possible playing both sides of a contentious situation. I really can't disclose what they were but they were serious. Also, I think someone switched my dinner with alcohol but so far I have no leads on that one.

After the beer, wine, and whiskey were gone, a bunch of us went to a local watering hole to talk politics over tea. It was nice except apparently the bar tender kept asking if I had driven there. She probably wanted to know if I drive a Trans-Am but I only seem like I do. Common mistake.

Today Moroni, an anonymous gentleman and I went sailing on the St. Croix river. Now, we all know that on land I am an impressive specimen. But put me in a sail boat and I completely shut down. I had never been sailing before so I had absolutely no feel for the vessel. Plus it was windy so when one of the first big gusts hit the sails and Moroni shouted at me to "GET DOWN!!" as the boat tipped on its side and the boom swung over my head, I was immediately convinced that I'm more of a pontoon guy. Two hours of choppy water, high winds and crude will writing later and we were back on land. Tomorrow I will be shopping for new shorts.

With the welcome home weekend over, it's time for me to buckle down and get my life back in order. There's a lot on my agenda, people, so I need to be the epitome of organization. As such, I will be making and adhering to strict to do lists that will help guide me through the next few weeks. See below for tomorrow's list.

Stay tuned for a live blog session later this week, this time from from the local laundromat. It should be interesting...or not.

Live Blog No. 7

Sorry for the obvious lack of an ending post. I wasn't in too good of shape when we rolled in this morning. Read josh's blog for all the details on that.

Now that I've regrouped a bit, I feel elated. I can imagine how the crews of the lewis and clark expeditions must've felt after finally reaching the pacific ocean. While I did not have to fight through a crippling case of syphillis en route to my destination, I was certainly fatigued.

All in all, it was a decent road trip. Thanks to all who cared. I'll see you Minnesota folk soon enough. Right now I need to sleep.

live blog no. 6

We've it a bit of a wall. Outside of chicago we were caught in an absolute deluge in the middle of a rest area parking lot.

Now I'm sitting on a bench at the wisconsin dells. Its 230 AM and some kid is making pay phone calls while Nickelback plays on the gas station PA. God, I want to be in Minny right now.

Live Blog No. 5

Since we're in such close, dangerous proximity, I'm going to give josh credit for his comment as a blog post. (Bad sentence. I know. No surrender, no delete) So we'll call this one number five.

I'm back in the passenger seat as you can tell. We stopped for a bit to take the cat out and urge him to make use of his litter box. Much like me, he has severe pee anxiety and couldn't muster up the courage go. I'm sure wearing a harness doesn't help much. It doesn't for me, that's for sure. The cat and I have become closer through our idiosyncracies. Although right now he looks like the most pissed off cat I've ever seen so I may need to wait awhile before I ask him what he's up to this weekend.

I drove through two hours of rain storm with no lights on. As you well know, I do dangerous shit like this all the time (see jaywalking post) but it was an accident; I thought they were on and miscalculated.

We're close to josh's birthplace, Somewhere, Indiana.

Currently playing: clap your hands say yeah (self-titled)

More later. I will tuck you all in with a nice post around 1100 or so.

Live Blog Post No. 3

Good news! We've found josh's ipod. Actually, I found it in the first place I looked: under the crackers. Needless to say, we're both pretty happy right now. Unfortunately, none of my clothes were under the crackers.

That's all. We're on the Pennsylvania toll road right now and it's quite a road, let me tell you.

Road trip blog no. 2

I know this is really soon to be posting again but I realized we need a name for our rig. So far we've come up with "big trouble, little china" but I'm going to go ahead and open it up to the readers. Discuss.

I just found out Lindsey Lohan has checked out of rehab and has to wear a bracelet that monitors her alcohol intake. Just in time for her new movie release! Its funny how publicity just sort of FINDS her at the most opportune times.

Live Blogging the Road Trip

1105 WED: We've hit the road and are somewhere between DC and Minnesota. Obviously, I'm bad with directions which is why Josh is in charge of getting us out of the city. I will take the long stretch when we get to Utah.

On a scale of 1 to 10, the snack situation is about a 12. Steff made us some unbelievable muffins which we are carefully conserving.

A few minor setbacks, however. I forgot to pack a change of clothes yesterday and all of my things are shoved way in the back or our rig (that's trucker talk for vehicle). So I bought some sexy road trip shorts and a $1.25 t-shirt at the drug store. I plan on being topless for most of this trip so I'm not concerned too much about the outfit.

Second problem: josh forgot his ipod so we have about 12 hours less music than anticipated. I was in charge of the spoken word material so I hope he enjoys chuck klosterman books on tape and lots of NPR podcasts.

The cat's in good shape right now.

I will post more as the trip rolls on. If you have any questions, need advice, or just want to check in, give us a shout. have fun at work suckers.

Oh, one more thing: I'm doing this with a mobile device so there will be a lot of misspellings and incongruity. It's basically stream of consciousness.

Josh says hello.