Jonathan Field - Maker of Random Stuff

Wazoo. Some good folks I know put on an “ugly sweater” Christmas party a little bit ago, and the pictures are now online. You’ll need to “sign up” to view them because Snapfish sucks, but then you can bask in the glory of truly god awful knitted tops. I’m quite impressed by my friends for going all out on this. The local Goodwill was done a favor, too, as all they have left after the raid are rather attractive sweaters. They’re almost like a little fashion boutique now.

I got a late start and couldn’t find an ugly enough sweater, so I cheated a bit and modified mine. It is not totally apparent from the picture of me, but I attached sleigh bells to the cris-crossy points of the argyle pattern. It made a wonderful sound when I bounced around. Which I am known to do from time to time.

If you were at the party, just be glad I didn’t wear this. I found that in the “Juniors” section at ROSS. I had to take a picture but I decided not to get it. Something going on there is just wrong.

Oh… and Merry Christmas. Is that in a couple days or something?

I think last night was the first date I’ve been on in well over a decade. It’s been a good decade, mind you, but just no dating. Well, unless you count married dating, which is truly wonderful but doesn’t have the same sense of mystery and trepidation that one usually associates with dating in its pure form. Sure, I did have a brief relationship a year ago, but somehow we skipped the dating part and went straight from being friends to being involved. Hmm. I haven’t played terminology games like this with myself in well over a decade either.

Anyways, the date went very well. Dinner, drinks, and karaoke, as it were. We didn’t participate in the karaoke, we just observed. Which was suprisingly cool, because the House of Blues does a great live-band-backed karaoke thing on Monday nights, and the singers were all quite good. Plus the House of Blues is just a great little venue anyways. Feels pretty real for a Vegas joint.

I just used “real” and “karaoke” in the same breath. I guess I’m starting to go blind from the Vegas lights.

I think there will be another date.

No, I don’t want to pick up chicks. No, I don’t want to have friends with benefits. No, I don’t want to convince anyone to sleep with me. No, I don’t want an open relationship. No, I don’t want a long string of hot women. No, I don’t want to get my rocks off. No, I don’t want to be the bad boy with a heart of gold. No, I don’t want to have a big cock. No, I don’t want to come on fast and strong. No, I don’t want to get it because she gave it up, even if she isn’t really interested.

I just want my meatloaf.

But given that we’re out of meatloaf…?

It’s like chicken pox. Learning this shit as a child is one thing, but learning it when you’re an adult can be fatal.

I am madly in love with Ann Coulter. If there is a finer creature anywhere in this world, I haven’t found her. Whenever I see her natural blond hair framing the classic beauty of her face, I am overcome with emotion; she is an angel fallen from on high. That God would bless us with such a gift is proof of his good will. Would a kiss from her delicate lips be too much to ask? She is beauty incarnate, and I am humbled by her.

It’s not just her appearance, though; I am not such a shallow man. I don’t understand a lot of what she says, but I am really turned on by strong, intelligent women. And she is undoubtedly one, taking on the mantel of pain and oppression that American conservatives have borne over the past century, as our country degrades into a haven for people unlike her.

If not for her tireless crusade, the disease of understanding and general kinship might well destroy us all. Let us all be thankful that she is there to draw antagonistic lines between vague groupings of otherwise peaceful people. It is her endless love for humanity, and her deep convictions, that protect us all from each other.

She is the complete package: looks, brains, and heart. She is everything I could want in a woman. I can hardly sleep at night, and when I do I dream of gazing into each other’s eyes with the most sincere expression of mutual love and respect.

But only a dream — for she is too high above me. She’s so lovely. Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite.

Ann, I devote that song to you forever.

Live well, mon petite chou.

…that Chipotle will give out a free burrito and drink to anyone who comes to the store with a tinfoil costume on Halloween? Neither did I, until yesterday about 5 minutes before lunch.

Yep, that’s some of the less inhibited members of the good ol’ Zappos dev team, Jon, Randy, and myself. Michael, the man who put the plan in motion is also adorned in foil, and is visible in one of the other pictures.

Oh, Eric was not around, but would probably have joined in. He seems pretty uninhibited. At least he was willing to blow a Jello shot into my mouth at the Zappos holiday party (before | during | after).

Yeah. We’re professionals.

My name is Fredrico. Or Fernando. Or something like that. I am a pimp. I am so good looking and smooth this should be obvious, but I still wear a turtleneck shirt when I go to clubs that says “pimp” on the back of the neck. It’s off the hook. Seriously. And so am I.

So one night I was hanging at O’Malley’s Four Corners with my crew, trying to get some play. Not that I have to try very hard, being a sexy mother like I am, but you know the girls — it always takes a little smooth to get them to give it up.

It was still pretty early but the club was a bust so we took off. We were trying to think where to go next… Jefe wanted to hit a strip club, as always, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. I wanted something real. Something with meaning. I mean, I’m a pimp, but I feel for my girls.

It was right then, cruising down third street that I spotted her. Wearing these boots. She was walking with one other cutie and a couple of dopey looking chumps. I pulled over immediately and pimped myself right up to her. Jefe kept watch.

She was a vision, with her little golfer cap, and these sexy boots. The girl had style. I told her my name, I think. And I told her she was beautiful. The girls love that. Her name was Cassandra — what a beautiful name. I asked for her number too, and without hesitating she gave it to me. I mean, she must have really felt a connection. No surprise there. Beautiful stylish people belong together.

Unfortunately one of the chumps she was with just could not get the hint and he stands right there as the two of us are trying to talk. I think she would have hopped in the car with us right then if it wasn’t for this fool. Instead, we said our goodbyes and I planned to call her later.

I ended dropping Jefe off at the strip club, because I had already found the woman for me. And I was ready to give up my pimpin’ lifestyle for her. I dialed her digits and… it was a wrong number. In her excitement, poor Cassandra must have got it mixed up. Oh, the bitter irony.

It has been over a month now and I don’t know how to find her. I have put my pimp life on hold, and I have tooled all around Louisville and the surrounding area looking for her, but had no luck. I am ready to resign myself back to pimpin and loneliness, which often go together, believe it or not.

Actually, at this point I’m looking for any girl wearing the boots. I’m not above takin’ what I can find. Real.

Just back from England. No, not Scotland, England. And this has nothing to do with it:

But I thought that was a pretty good menu. Particularly items 4 and 8. Yum.

Are you tired of bleeding? Would you prefer not to die? Tried gauze and pressure, but you’re still leaking and it’s just soaking up the blood like a sponge? Well have we got something for you!

I don’t know exactly why, but I just love it when high-tech is super-low-tech. This new bandage is laced with ground up shrimp shells. And applied to even a gunshot wound it can clot the blood in under a minute. Talk about old school… shrimp have been around for, like what, 250 million years? I guess that’s their secret to lasting so long, and why you never see a shrimp killed by a gunshot wound.

Anyways, I just love that. Next time I’m shot or stabbed I’m hitting Buffet@Asia and piling on the peel & eat.

First off, it’s pronounced “ed-in-burrow”. And despite only having been to 3 non-US cities in my whole life, I’m going to go ahead and declare it to be one of the world’s most beautiful. Nearly any which way you care to look there is some stunning piece of gothic architecture mixed with pleasing modern bits and bustling life. The skyline is graced by cathedral spires at each turn, and a huge foreboding Lord-of-the-Rings looking castle rises out of the stone hill in the middle of town and overlooks the central park.

Despite some rumors I’ve heard about food in the UK, Sophie and I found the restaurants to be top-notch. We had some of the best Indian and Thai we’ve ever had. And a traditional “Full Scottish Breakfast”, available identically almost anywhere, consists of a fried egg, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomato, toast, black pudding, and tea. Black pudding is actually another type of sliced sausage patty made of grains and pigs’ blood, which turns jet black when cooked. I tried some black pudding, but despite it’s inoffensive taste I just couldn’t get over eating blood. Yeah, I make no sense: I subsequently got the feel of it out of my mouth be eating the pigs’ fat on the other side of the plate.

We only had two nights in Edinburgh, but the better part of three days. we walked up to the castle, which is a huge tourist attraction — some beautiful views of the city from there. The castle itself was started in the 1100′s, but has been through so many wars (including a two year siege!) that only a small bit of the original remains. The rest has been patched and rebuilt, mostly as of the 1500′s.

They still fire a cannon every day at 1:00 PM (noon GMT). This used to be for the boats in the harbor to set their clocks. In fact, they had a map of how many seconds it takes the report to get to different parts of the surrounding area so you can set your clock to the second. We were about twenty meters from the cannon when they fired it and it seemed like the loudest sound I’ve ever heard. Even including Metallica at Monsters of Rock back in ’88.

It was on our way back from the castle that I finally gave in to buying a kilt. There was a touristy shop that seemed to have them for a little cheaper, and the rest of the outfit in bits so you could buy only what you wanted. But I ended up buying most of the accessories anyways to get the full effect. All together I think it cost a few pounds short of Rosanne, but we bargained the guy down a good bit so I didn’t feel terribly bad. Then we went out for a night on the town where it was quickly apparent that the only people wearing kilts in Scotland are street pipers and the occasional dorky tourist. It was great.

The last thing we did before leaving the city was to visit the zoo. It was quite large and had a great assortment of animals, but had the more relaxed feel of a casual park. We also noticed that the they were much more upfront about the natural situation of the animals; basically stopping just short of calling the zoo a DNA repository. Nearly every animal we heard them talk about had some sad small number left in the wild. At least we got to see them before they’re all gone.

We took a train back to Glasgow, completing our use of nearly every mode of transportation available in Scotland. I think the only thing we missed was a rickshaw ride. One last night’s sleep and zoom we were back in the US on 6/19. We left satisfied, but still wishing for more someday. A super-neato trip all around. Thanks to Sophie for suggesting such a great place to visit, that frankly I wouldn’t have thought of.

Okay, I’m done now. Move along. Nothing to see here.

The Orkney Islands… just a few degrees short of the Arctic circle. In June the the sun only sets for a couple hours. And even then it doesn’t get completely dark. This kills the hip and trendy farmland nightlife, but we made up for it by downing a whole bottle of wine between the two of us every evening.

Actually, we started our visit with a tour of Highland Park, the world’s most northerly whisky distillery, where we saw and touched fermenting grains on the basement floor. Yes, in 18 to 40 years someone will crack open a bottle of scotch and notice the fine flavor that can only be achieved by passing the grain through my fingertips.

We rented a car while we were there, which was fun. Driving on the left side of the road and all that. Though I must say that much of the the road didn’t even have sides, being barely wide enough for one car. So I spent much of the time driving in the middle, and pulling off-road to the left when someone came the other way. They have little “passing place” signs alongside the road where you can best do this. There’s so little traffic it works out fine.

The islands themselves are mostly covered in rich farmland. Cows and sheep wander alongside nearly every road. Oftentimes while we were looking at some attraction or other, they’d come right over and stare at us. The sea along the west coast was as blue as I’ve ever seen, and it played against some lovely cliffs and shattered stone. Orkney was basically the exact opposite of Vegas, which I guess was the point.

Continuing my fascination with the dead, we visited Maes Howe, a chambered tomb from around 4500 years ago. No remains; it was broken into by the Vikings thousands of years later and covered with runic graffiti. The finest collection of runic inscriptions in the world, in fact — we spent much time on the tour appreciating them. So here’s to those of you who annoyingly scratch your initials and whatnot into public property at every chance: your day of appreciation will come.

The castle we stayed at was lovely, and our jolly chef Fiona kept us very well fed. To the long list of things I’ve eaten I can now proudly add pigeon and pheasant. Dinner was served around a family table where all the guests ate together. A very nice newlywed couple from London was there for a couple nights; he was Scottish, she was French.

One night the Canadian Secret Service stopped by. We couldn’t tell right away of course, but we were curious… they seemed to be getting a bit of special attention. And we learned they had just flown 18 hours for one night in the castle and planned to go back home bright and early the next day. It seemed odd that three middle aged men would do this. We asked about their work and at first they just said “the government”.

Over dinner we chatted, and after a little wine we asked exactly what it was they did for “the government”. After joking they’d have to kill us if they told us, they said they ran security for the prime minister. He was set to arrive in a couple weeks and they were scoping the place out in advance.

They were very friendly. I guess there aren’t enough attempts on the CPM to grind them into the hard humorless bodyguards that we have around our own head of state.

Each night after dinner we’d relax with tea in the library. And each time the tea appeared magically without us ever bumping into any of the staff coming or going. The night the secret service was there we finally spotted the secret passage — one of the bookcases was actually a door, and the staff had left it open a crack by mistake.

I pointed the secret passage out to the secret service guys and asked if it would effect their security assessment. They said no, but they thought it was neat and that one of them might hide in there to jump out and scare the prime minister for fun.

There were several other ancient sites and prehistoric ruins we visited — there are so many on the islands that some of the lesser ones are hardly marked. My favorite was the 5000 year old village of Skara Brae; a collection of several furnished houses that were abandoned and then covered for millennia by a sandstorm. The people left no writings, so we know little about them, but one can get a sense of a fairly advanced and comfortable life by walking around their little homes.

Of course all of this was documented on film by Sophie.

We saw so much but the time raced by and then we flew off to Edinburgh. Hold your breath; more to come.