I'm actually kind of disappointed in the lack of crazy escapades my family had this Thanksgiving. No hilarious burning of the turkey, no crazy grandma forgetting where she put her teeth, not even a jello-mold incident. Dammit, why can't my family just be normal for once?

also, it's going to be 60 degrees here in Chicago for the next couple of days. I would be happy about this, but i'm too busy worrying about the southern panhandle of Florida being completely submerged in the next 2o years. I didnt ever want to go to Disneyland anyways.

All I know about life, I learned from "Quadrophenia"

Lessons from Saturday night:

(1) 40's of King Cobra go unsurprisingly well with bad cinema
(2) Parents just don't understand (nod to Jazzy Jeff and Will Smith)
(3) The best way to be "different" is to wander around in huge mobs chanting stupid songs, wearing identical ugly green parkas and taking non-descript drugs in the form of blue pills

well, if I wanted to wander around recklessly abusing unknown drugs and wearing bad clothing, I'd just be friends with Lindsay Lohan, thank you very much.

On a related note: Is there any way to yell "Hey, nice scooter!" to someone riding around on a vespa without sounding like a complete asshole? Reader input greatly appreciated.

one degree of separation from bad-assedness

The other day, my coworker asked me to order some non-radiolabled bungarotoxin (a neurotoxin derived from snake venom). Whatever, another task that basically involves me going through a huge list of supply sites off of google. Little did I know, I was about to get the SHOCK OF MY LIFE.

Yeah, you heard what I said.

Turns out, the source of our snake poison isn't some hoity-toity company like sigma or fisher. No, the source of our supply is a guy named George Van Horn. Dude straight up breeds these posionous snakes and then harvests the stuff himself. And he pretty much is the sole supplier of it. That is some crazy shit right there. I just imagine this crazy-filthy Robert-Duvall-in-Apocolypse Now-lookin dude in a trailer in St. Cloud Florida, cigarette butt in one hand, snake head in the other. Totally. Fearless.

Also, I hear he runs a kickass tourist attraction, so I guess thats pretty cool, too.

Anyways, thought you'd all like a little confirmation that science is really cool and dangerous. You know you want to jump on the back of science's huge Harley and ride into the sunset. The end.

It's always better the second time around

It doesn't get any better than being in a crowded hot bar pressed up against someone listening to Greg Dulli (post 4 or 5 very large gin and tonics*) do a cover of Justin Timberlake's "Lovestoned".

I would have liked him to have done an encore both nights, but hey, I'll take what I can get. The dude is so intoxicating that I forgive him for any primadonna antics the audience was subjected to on Wednesday.

The evening ended with sweet potato fries with cinnamon sugar at Swank Frank while we watched drunk yuppie guys yell at the waistaff and eat corndogs. We contemplated asking them the eternal question "If you had breasts, wouldn't you just basically feel yourself up all the time?", but decided we probably knew the answer already. True story.


*I'm not positive that they were G&T's, but they were clear with a lime and it just seems like the kind of classy drink that a badass motherfucker such as Dulli would drink.