The institutional mouthpiece of Kjel.org

Sitting here with the radio playing quietly, and then “Six Pack” by Black Flag comes on. I really wanted to crank it, but, well, having a 10-month-old in the house is not very punk rock. I’m listening to the Warped Hours by the way, a show on KNRK Friday nights. Old and new punk and good hip-hop. I wish it was on every day all the time.

I first heard Black Flag when I was in Jr. High, and it was a revelation. It came to me that This Music Kicks Ass, and why doesn’t all rock music sound as badass as this? Even now when I hear it I feel like I should (at the very least) be out getting drunk and beating up hippies. Good thing the football game tomorrow isn’t in Eugene.

I’ll be in Corvallis tomorrow for the WSU - OSU football game. It is odd: I don’t go to much football, but I’ve been to every WSU-OSU game for the past three years. This one two years ago was awesome; last year, not so much.

The Cougs are a little better this year, and the Beavs are missing some of the weapons they had in 2004, so I’m hoping for a better game. Both of these teams are middle of the Pac at best, and know that this is a game they need to win in order to keep their bowl hopes alive. The best players on each team are probably Mike Hass (receiver, OSU), and Will Derting, (linebacker, WSU). I hope the two meet early and often tomorrow.

Derting, the-not-so-gentleman, pictured below:

I’ve mentioned before that I am headed to Florida in a few weeks for a business trip. Did I mention it was to a beach resort, right on the ocean? I was looking forward to an almost completely stress-free journey, albeit with a glaze of business-related boozing and schmoozing brushed sticky-sweet upon the few days I was to be there.

My fault for even thinking that way: I’ve learned today that I am now a speaker at one of the sessions at this particular event. It’s not that I’m especially nervous about it, (in my own microscopic niche I am somewhat of an expert, and I’m no more afraid of public speaking than the average misanthrope), but this means that the entire time I am there I am going to have goddamn speechifying on my brain, instead of thinking about the important things, like what sort of expense-accounted umbrella drink I want delivered to me poolside at the top and bottom of every hour, starting at noon. (”rum-based? tequila-based? hmm, I don’t know. . . how ’bout one of each?”).

Today I was the guy on eBay that everybody hates. There was an auction for concert tickets that had been running for days. I never touched it until today, when I placed my first, and only bid, with about 20 seconds left in the auction. By the time the “OUTBID!” email made it to the other bidders, the auction was over and I’d won. And at what seems a reasonable price, even.

To me!!

Cheers, lads — see you in December at the Rose Garden.

I shot my sister in the ass once with a BB gun, and it was no accident. While I don’t remember the details I’m positive she deserved it (and probably more) at the time. I certainly didn’t claim it was a ricochet.

Ah, the old Crossman 760. I miss her. The newfangled ones just don’t shoot straight.

The story about Notre Dame coach Charlie Weis letting Montana Mazurkiewicz, a dying cancer patient and rabid Notre Dame fan call his opening play against the Huskies is pretty touching.

Montana never got to see the play. He died Friday at his home. Weis heard about the death and called Cathy Mazurkiewicz on Friday night to assure her he would still call Montana’s play. “He said, ‘This game is for Montana, and the play still stands,”‘ she said.

Montana had called “pass right”, and Weis complied, even though Notre Dame was in a situation where a run would’ve been more prudent: the Irish succeeded in completing a tough one out of their own end zone for a 13 yard gain.

Weis called her again after the game, a 36-17 victory by the 13th-ranked Fighting Irish, and said he had a game ball signed by the team that he wanted to bring to the family on Sunday.

“He’s a very neat man. Very compassionate,” she said. “I just thanked him for using that play, no matter the circumstances.”

Well done, Charlie.

While I was rooting for (and had a small financial stake in) an Irish victory, I can’t help but wish that the poor lad had called this:

The halfback pass, maybe with a double reverse thrown in there too for good measure.

It begins.

September river trout are hungry, dumb, and aggressive. It’s why I like to fish late in the season: the rainbows and I narrowly match wits. Don’t bother calling or emailing tomorrow, I’ll be off the grid.

Never has a structure got down on its knees and begged for a Hellfire missile to land on its roof with more enthusiam than this one, described today in the New York Sun:

WASHINGTON - Emboldened by Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza and part of the West Bank, Hamas yesterday announced its plan to turn a synagogue in Netzarim into a museum that would display weapons employed by the terrorist group’s members against Israeli civilians.

Note to self: lock doors if ever driving through Pocatello, don’t make eye contact with anyone, don’t stop for anything. Pocatello breeds folks like this:

To the rest of the country, Scott Stevens is the Idaho weatherman who blames the Japanese Mafia for Hurricane Katrina. To folks in Pocatello, he’s the face of the weather at KPVI News Channel 6.
. . . .
Since Katrina, Stevens has been in newspapers across the country where he was quoted in an Associated Press story as saying the Yakuza Mafia used a Russian-made electromagnetic generator to cause Hurricane Katrina in a bid to avenge the atomic bomb attack on Hiroshima.

Korean battle robots to patrol the DMZ, equiped with firearms. Hopefully the Ohio division of Kjel.org, Cyberdyne Systems, can get the contract to build these.

Summer may be officially over, but I am going to try to sneak one in on Fall. If all goes according to plan Sunday afternoon I’ll be knee-deep in the South Santiam stalking quarry with my 4-weight Trout Wand of Death. Or wand of catch and release, as the case may be. Salem’s Creekside Flyfishing nicely describes where I am heading.

The new Chevrolet Impala tv ads irritate the bejeesus out of me. My specific problem is the way that the word “Impala” is pronounced. The voice-over says “im-pal-a”, as in “My pal got run over by an Impala”. I would expect the pronunciation to be “im-paul-a”, as in “Paul ran over some dude in his Impala.”

Looks like it’s time to write another letter.

I’m not sure what this means, but I’m certain it’s somehow related to my upcoming Florida trip:

Mysterious ‘Ball Of Fire’ Seen In Fla. Skies

Dozens of people from Jacksonville to Ft. Pierce flooded the U.S. Coast Guard late Tuesday with calls about a mysterious ball of fire seen flying in the sky, according to a Local 6 News report.

Callers flooded the newsroom of Local 6 News partner Florida Today after they saw the object over the Space Coast Tuesday night.

“Starting at about 7:30 last night, we started receiving calls here in the newsroom,” Florida Today online news editor Dave Larimer said. “In fact, the Coast Guard station in Port Canaveral got more than two dozen reports of people seeing a bright light in the sky over the ocean.”

New Orleans will be fine. I might even donate.

——————————————————————————–
Looks like this asshole is not actually giving up his WMDs Doesn’t he know what happens to assholes next? I’m gonna need a montage here.

Learned today that in four weeks I am going to southern Florida for a conference. I’ll bring my life jacket.

Shot about a 45 on the front 9 this Saturday. Merely 18 strokes off of a quite generous par. More importantly, over the course of 9 holes I poured 36 ounces of McMenamins beer down my gullet, and I won some money off of Kjel.org’s Chief Educator.

Tee time procured at my favorite golf course tomorrow. Maybe it’s my favorite because every other hole ends at a bar, or maybe it’s because the chipping wedge and the putter are the only two clubs I swing reasonably well, and the only clubs needed for this course. Doesn’t matter — a good time will be had by all.

Washington State plays Grambling State this Saturday. On paper, the outcome of both the football game and the post-game battle of the bands is already decided. In fact, since Grambling is a small school traveling a long way, and playing a team in a conference in which Grambling just isn’t designed to play, there has been talk of going easy on them, of perhaps playing the starters only one or two quarters, and letting the WSU benchwarmers play most of the game so as not to humiliate the visitors.

I tended to agree. I mean, unless they’re wearing purple and gold, who wants to kick a team when they’re down? Then I read Jim Moore today, and those wussy thoughts were immediately banished. The gist of Jim’s article:

Because of Hurricane Katrina, Alcorn State voted to postpone its game with Grambling State on Sept. 3.

Twenty-five Alcorn State players are from New Orleans or the Gulf Coast, and some had yet to learn if their relatives survived.

On campus, the power was out until two days before the game, forcing players to sleep on mattresses in the gym.

Yet [Grambling Coach Melvin] Spears does not want to reschedule the game, asking the Southwestern Athletic Conference for a win via forfeit instead.

I hope Bill Doba and his boys smear Grambling all over the field, then goes over and shakes hands to show him what a class act looks like. Sounds like Spears could use such a role model; he could do a lot worse than Doba.

Nice sunglasses, asswipe.

On behalf of everyone at Kjel.org, it gives me great pleasure to welcome the newest member of our team, the new Assistant Director in charge of Special Projects. She started on Monday, and is located in one of our Bellevue satellite offices. Everyone, please help her feel at home in her new position.

We expect great things out you, Assistant Director!

Vancouver BC is an interesting city. I had a chance to walk around the downtown quite a bit, and there are some very nice neighborhoods, albeit interspersed with some pretty tough ones. I can’t tell where anyone in Vancouver works, since every building in town seems to be high rise condos and/or apartments. Maybe the offices are all in secret underground complexes that they hide from the tourists.

The conference itself was worthwhile, and the conference hotel was top drawer. Every amenity you can think of, and located right smack in the middle of the city. Much, much too classy for the CEO. I showed a lot of restraint just getting the 90 minute massage, and not the two hour version.

Now I’m off for some creative expense report preparation. I hope our comptroller doesn’t speak French: I need to convince her that “Veuve Clicquot” translates to “standard service charge” or some similar term.

A word to the wise: don’t fly on Air Canada if you can help it. The plane I took last night from Vancouver BC to Portland was an antique turboprop of unknown origin. Bulgarian surplus maybe? On start up it sounded eerily but pleasingly like my old Subaru. My old Subaru did use to stall all the time though, but only when I gunned it. Like if I was trying to take off. I made sure my seatbelt was tight.

The stewardesses were surly, the plane interior dingy, the seats uncomfortable, and the cabin smelled like a Paris subway, though to be fair I may have had someting to do with the last part. Worst of all, there was some kind of problem with the pressurization system. About every 5 minutes it would shift from the “100 feet underwater” setting to the “top of Everest” setting and then back again. I felt like my head was doing this. To top it all off, during the flight I could actually feel myself getting a head cold. Sure enough, today I am chock full of mucus.

Next week I will be attending a trademark seminar in beautiful Vancouver B.C., or, as it’s known around here, the good Vancouver. At least that is what the company sending me believes. My actual plan is to get to Canada, check in to my hotel, and go on a Molson and back bacon bender to end all benders. I will wander the streets looking like a McKenzie brother, challenging random folks to a curling match, or perhaps a game of hockey. Hopefully I’m not picked up by a mountie.

I’d marry you again in a second, and stay with you until the End Times. I love you, CFO.

Butch T Coug needs your vote. Vote early and often.

I may send a campaign contribution to Alabama state Sen. Jack Biddle, on the sole basis of this quote (about 10 paragraphs down) regarding the misuse of eminent domain:

“We don’t like anybody messing with our dogs, our guns, our hunting rights or trying to take property from us,”

The gub’mint needs more Jack Biddles. I bet he wouldn’t hassle them Duke boys, either.

I did not realize this subnormal traffic law was in effect until 2006. I drive past an elementary school every day. The school and its parking lot are well set off from the main road. The road is four lanes as it passes the school, and is designed for 45mph. Probably safe at 55mph. You want me to go 20 at midnight when I drive past it? I’ll probably get rear-ended by some kid on a 10-speed.

The first time I see a cop camped out there I am making a formal declaration of shenanigans and getting out my broom.

Coverage of the disaster and it’s aftermath in New Orleans led me to finally indulge the wild-eyed survivalist who’s lived concealed beneath my domesticated exterior for so very, very long.

The CFO is already afraid of earthquakes, so, classy guy that I am, I’ve been talking up the 9.0 temblor that’s sure to hit us any day. We had best be prepared, and oddly enough the CFO agrees. Firewood, water, food, rescue/repair gear — gonna stack it up in the corner of my garage. I should probably top off the Strategic Gin Reserve, too. Strictly medicinal purposes.

I’m still working on permission to build my fallout shelter though. “It’s like a tree fort for the Jr. VP. see, except it’s 8 feet underground and made of cement.”

Also, when I look at the post flood anarchy in New Orleans, the immortal words of B-Real come to mind: We ain’t going out like that.

The CFO will be wielding the hardware like the chick in T2 or a cop in a John Woo movie. I myself would try to empathize and establish a dialogue with any poor souls who may feel compelled to attempt us harm after the breakdown of civilization, but I have a feeling that the CFO will shoot first and let God sort ‘em out. Looters, consider this your warning.

Kjel.org made a trip to Bellevue and Seattle this weekend to see some further flung members of the organization. There was much delight among the underlings as this story regarding my sartorial choices was related by the CFO:

The CFO, Jr VP and I were at Nordstrom’s a few weeks ago. I decided to buy some new shorts, and on the spur of the moment, a new polo shirt too. I happened to be wearing my standard leave-the-house-on-a-summer-weekend outfit: tan shorts and polo shirt, in this case, black. At Nordstroms, I picked up some tan shorts (same make and model as the ones I happened to be wearing), and a black polo shirt. The Nordstrom salesman was initially too professional to make fun of me as I stood at the counter paying for a new version of the same outfit I was wearing, but the CFO was not. Once she started, clothes-boy joined in on the fun too.

I can tell you that he got no tip that Sunday afternoon, and the CFO had a letter of reprimand placed in her file.

Most people don’t know this, but the CEO loves a nice poem, especially a haiku. I spotted this one over at IMAO and it spoke to me:

12 gauge in my hand.
Eyes in the trees upon me.
Must kill the monkeys!