So over a decade ago I promised the second part of my rodeo escapades. Here it goes:
When one attends the Houston Live Stock show, they are quickly reminded that in Texas there's a fine line between child abuse and mass entertainment. This is clearly demonstrated in the Mutton Bustin event. I'm serious when I state that my jaw did indeed drop when I first witnessed this.
Mutton Bustin is the last event every night at the rodeo before the BIG COUNTRY CONCERT!!! WOOO!! (I'll address that in a few paragraphs. Yes, it does directly correlate with that $18 ticket price.) Any how, the art of Mutton Bustin has a few precursors. First, you must have a parent willing to endanger their child's life for 30 seconds of fame. Second, you must purchase a child-size flack jacket (Did not even know they made those in children's sizes) With these two steps done, your little cowboy, or cowgirl, is ready to be thrown on the back of a sheep who will run a terrifying several hundred feet and thus solidify your child's unconscious hatred for you. Once the child is trampled, bucked off or the sheep just stops running two grown-up cowboys will hoist him or her off the beast and a interview for the jumbotron will take place. The child, if not fully catatonic, will state through tears and sniffles that he or she had a blast. Several thousand people will cheer and I die a little bit inside.
I have two other favorite events at the the actual rodeo, the "Yes Young High Schoolers, We Are All Making Fun Of You" event and the "Sorry That Bull Castrated You. If We All Cheer Extra Loud You Get A Free Airplane Ticket!" event.
The "Yes Young High Schoolers, We Are All Making Fun Of You" event is simple. 20 or so rambunctious teenagers (FFA or 4H or some farm club I guess) are lined up in the center of the arena. A giant white rectangle is drawn in the center. Suddenly, 15 calves are released and all hell breaks loose. The object for these adolescents is to catch a calf and drag it to the rectangle. If they accomplish that, they get to keep said cow (And to think, all I got when I read a book during the summer was a personal pan pizza). Have you seen a 115 pound child try to drag a 300 pound cow? Physics simply states that this is not possible. The more testosterone prone boys will try to put their cow in a head lock, the sad part is that just leaves them in the dirt with a cow in a head lock. No progress is made. Not like a referee comes and pounds the ground 10 times and you win. The smarter ones chase after the calves near the adults. With that move a really pathetic looking girl is bound to attract the sympathy of a nearby cowboy who will haul the creature in for her (Chivalry is alive in a strange way in Texas). The rest just hope they head lock their calf close enough the rectangle so that when time runs out they are given the "Close Enough" nod. Once again a drunk crowd is roaring with ridicule. Self esteem boosting at its finest I'm sure.
"Sorry That Bull Castrated You. If We All Cheer Extra Loud You Get A Free Airplane Ticket!" event is like a western version of America's Funniest Home Videos. They show a highlight real of cowboys getting thrown by bulls. Most of them involve the bull reminding the cowboy that he is a large angry animal and that cowboy is a wee creature in this status quo. Horns reach places they shouldn't, hooves land on vertebrae and the standard to be a "Texas Man" is set to a suicidal high. It's ok though. If I cheer loud enough for the gentleman who will now be eating his meals through a tube, he receives a plane ticket to anywhere in the lower 48. Do they serve peanuts in liquid form?
Finally, I address the craziest people at the rodeo. It's not me, for subjecting myself to this debacle. It's not the guy next to me who has a flask in each pocket and is risking a nose-dive from the nose-bleed section with every drunken pee break. It's not even the cowboys who jump on the back of an angry 2 ton animal with large horns. It's the Rodeo Clowns. I imagine the job requirements for that particular position reads like this: Must be clinically insane. These fellows have one job, when the cowboy is catapulted off the bull, get the creatures attention while the cowboy runs to safety. So, when the guy who pissed the bull off in the first place is running away like a petrified child a rodeo clown waves his arms, smacks the bull and runs in circles to keep the creature occupied.
Here is how I would perform in that occupation:
Bull: Ha, I knocked the cheeky bastard off. My turn to ride him. Where did he go?
Me: (From the stadium parking lot)Where did I park my car again?
Oh, and as for that headliner concert that follows the rodeo? 10 songs from that particular artists greatest hits album in a stadium definitely not designed for smooth acoustics.
I think the double flask guy has the right idea.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Cowboy hats, Carnival rides and Lifetime calorie intakes.
Ha, I warned you all that turtles complete life journeys in between my blog posts. I'm working on that. For lent I gave up procrastination, well, that's my goal for lent 2012.
So on to the subject, eh? Every March, Houston, Texas becomes every cowboy's fantasy. Bulls, cows, steers and finally, cute cowgirls. The Houston Rodeo just might be one of the current modern wonders of the world.
Last spring I had my first taste of this event. I threw on the closest thing I have to a western shirt and laughed when someone asked if I was going to wear my cowboy boots. I've never ridden a horse or shot a gun, cowboy boots would likely shrivel up in shame upon me touching them.
So I set off with a few friends towards the ginormous Relient Stadium complex (complete with the defunct, ugly old Astrodome right next door).
I'll give you all a quick run-down of how entering the Houston Rodeo goes:
- Pay waaay too much for parking, then walk about 5 miles to the midway gate, which is still about 6 miles from the actual stadium.
- Practice your Heisman moves as you work through the massive crowd. Small children tend to run at will here, if you step on one, or kick one, run away quickly. If the parent/guardian actually makes eye contact with you, point accusingly at a nearby stranger who seems less agile than you (seniors with walkers are my go-to's on this).
- Sub note: while zipping through the crowd, keep an eye out for golf carts and listen for their honking. They don't slow down, never stop and if you get hit, you'll be lucky if they radio for medical assistance as they fly towards their own Rodeo Emergency. Additionally, watch out for cowboys with boot spurs or wear shin guards.
- Try to only grab two pieces of carnival food. Stay away from the booth that fries anything that ever exsisted. I learned that the hard way
- Me: Umm, fried Snickers bar? Jackpot! Free carton of fried Oreos with a double purchase? Hell ya! No way this could be a terrible idea. Definitely no way this could lead to me consuming my next 10 years worth of calories.
- Stomach: I give up on you. Seriously, I give up on you.
- Stumble to the stadium gate with your yard-long twist margarita. Remind yourself it's completely manly because you saw a extremely manly cowgirl drinking one. Try not to cry when you remember her and her friends laughing at you.
- Herd through the gate like cattle (Ironic, right? Herding like cows into the rodeo? Take that Alanis!) P.S. remember those fried treats you accidentally fell on and inhaled on the midway? They will begin a battle royale with your stomach as you climb a mile into the air to get to the nose bleed seats for which you paid $18.
- Prepare to feel like you are actually a Texan for 3 hours.
Tomorrow I'll share more, like how the rodeo reminds awkward teenagers that everyone really is pointing and laughing at them and how some parents in Texas have perfected the art of emotionally scarring their children with out having someone call CPS on them.
Additionally, I have a new roommate living on my couch. I'll name him in my next blog because I'm quite positive my future stories will include him.
So on to the subject, eh? Every March, Houston, Texas becomes every cowboy's fantasy. Bulls, cows, steers and finally, cute cowgirls. The Houston Rodeo just might be one of the current modern wonders of the world.
Last spring I had my first taste of this event. I threw on the closest thing I have to a western shirt and laughed when someone asked if I was going to wear my cowboy boots. I've never ridden a horse or shot a gun, cowboy boots would likely shrivel up in shame upon me touching them.
So I set off with a few friends towards the ginormous Relient Stadium complex (complete with the defunct, ugly old Astrodome right next door).
I'll give you all a quick run-down of how entering the Houston Rodeo goes:
- Pay waaay too much for parking, then walk about 5 miles to the midway gate, which is still about 6 miles from the actual stadium.
- Practice your Heisman moves as you work through the massive crowd. Small children tend to run at will here, if you step on one, or kick one, run away quickly. If the parent/guardian actually makes eye contact with you, point accusingly at a nearby stranger who seems less agile than you (seniors with walkers are my go-to's on this).
- Sub note: while zipping through the crowd, keep an eye out for golf carts and listen for their honking. They don't slow down, never stop and if you get hit, you'll be lucky if they radio for medical assistance as they fly towards their own Rodeo Emergency. Additionally, watch out for cowboys with boot spurs or wear shin guards.
- Try to only grab two pieces of carnival food. Stay away from the booth that fries anything that ever exsisted. I learned that the hard way
- Me: Umm, fried Snickers bar? Jackpot! Free carton of fried Oreos with a double purchase? Hell ya! No way this could be a terrible idea. Definitely no way this could lead to me consuming my next 10 years worth of calories.
- Stomach: I give up on you. Seriously, I give up on you.
- Stumble to the stadium gate with your yard-long twist margarita. Remind yourself it's completely manly because you saw a extremely manly cowgirl drinking one. Try not to cry when you remember her and her friends laughing at you.
- Herd through the gate like cattle (Ironic, right? Herding like cows into the rodeo? Take that Alanis!) P.S. remember those fried treats you accidentally fell on and inhaled on the midway? They will begin a battle royale with your stomach as you climb a mile into the air to get to the nose bleed seats for which you paid $18.
- Prepare to feel like you are actually a Texan for 3 hours.
Tomorrow I'll share more, like how the rodeo reminds awkward teenagers that everyone really is pointing and laughing at them and how some parents in Texas have perfected the art of emotionally scarring their children with out having someone call CPS on them.
Additionally, I have a new roommate living on my couch. I'll name him in my next blog because I'm quite positive my future stories will include him.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Snuggies, Catheters and Early Mornings
Disclaimer: First off, I haven't been slacking on the blog by choice. Long story short- I made a Gmail account to make the blog account and I forgot the username. It's weird because I use the same E-mail name for most anything, but apparently when I started this blog I thought I was gonna be the coolest dude around and try something new. It worked about as well as a banana wearing pajamas. (And if there's anyone reading this blog that thinks bananas in pajamas work, the need to move on from the late 90s).
Now, on to the best three minutes of my life this weekend (Please don't judge the state of my life after I explain this).
There I was, sitting with J-Cuz at 2 a.m. on a Friday night watching some crappy movie on T.V. when low-and-behold a sequence of brilliant commercials began. First, the folks that run the advertising at the Snuggy corporation turned an info commercial into persuasion gold by panning people dressed in Snuggies doing the Macarena.
That in itself would of turned my medicore night into a night that rivals the night I saw the Crocs' commercial where they did Thriller, but it got better! Directly after the Snuggie commercial a Catheter company decided that enough of it's target audience was watching and they decided to inform the world on the process of purchasing sterile catheters for bargain basement prices! (Evidently the catheter industry has invested a significant amount of money, like $47 and a pack of Big League Chew considering the commercial's time slot, to combat the idea that it's okay to re-use one's catheter).
So there I was on what felt like the cloud nine of laughing at this disturbing sequence of late night commercials when the Television gods decided to bless me once more, this time with an Ostomy product manufacturer's commercial.
Quick Explanation: an Ostomy refers to the surgically created opening in the body for the discharge of body wastes.
Don't worry, I didn't know what it was either until I Googled it during the commercial. Needless to say there's nothing that moves that type of product off the shelf like scenes of elderly folk walking through parks and waiving off the public restrooms because they just made a giant purchase from this company.
J-Cuz and I didn't watch television for three days after this miracle.
Oh ya, I know why I'm always late in the mornings to just about anything. Sleepy me has no concept of how long it takes me to travel places. Awake me knows it takes 20-25 minutes to get to work in the morning, sleepy me is convinced I can exceed the speed of light and arrive in five minutes.
Conclusion: I need to quit watching Back to the Future as I fall alseep and it is time to sell the DeLorean.
Now, on to the best three minutes of my life this weekend (Please don't judge the state of my life after I explain this).
There I was, sitting with J-Cuz at 2 a.m. on a Friday night watching some crappy movie on T.V. when low-and-behold a sequence of brilliant commercials began. First, the folks that run the advertising at the Snuggy corporation turned an info commercial into persuasion gold by panning people dressed in Snuggies doing the Macarena.
That in itself would of turned my medicore night into a night that rivals the night I saw the Crocs' commercial where they did Thriller, but it got better! Directly after the Snuggie commercial a Catheter company decided that enough of it's target audience was watching and they decided to inform the world on the process of purchasing sterile catheters for bargain basement prices! (Evidently the catheter industry has invested a significant amount of money, like $47 and a pack of Big League Chew considering the commercial's time slot, to combat the idea that it's okay to re-use one's catheter).
So there I was on what felt like the cloud nine of laughing at this disturbing sequence of late night commercials when the Television gods decided to bless me once more, this time with an Ostomy product manufacturer's commercial.
Quick Explanation: an Ostomy refers to the surgically created opening in the body for the discharge of body wastes.
Don't worry, I didn't know what it was either until I Googled it during the commercial. Needless to say there's nothing that moves that type of product off the shelf like scenes of elderly folk walking through parks and waiving off the public restrooms because they just made a giant purchase from this company.
J-Cuz and I didn't watch television for three days after this miracle.
Oh ya, I know why I'm always late in the mornings to just about anything. Sleepy me has no concept of how long it takes me to travel places. Awake me knows it takes 20-25 minutes to get to work in the morning, sleepy me is convinced I can exceed the speed of light and arrive in five minutes.
Conclusion: I need to quit watching Back to the Future as I fall alseep and it is time to sell the DeLorean.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Paper explosions and the ballad of the Rolodex
My desk looks like a paper suicide bomber hit it.
Brochures are bunkering under the wine glass (completely unused unfortunately, just a sample sent to us by a product company). Newsletters and grant drafts have started a support group near the old desktop computer, which was used for 8 hours on my very first day of work, before I got a laptop. Golf tournament hats and a half eaten package of sprees are shooting the breeze near a display for a silent auction package donated by a photographer. A barren Rolodex sits near the edge. He looks like he's contemplating to end it all. I can't stop him, silly Rolodex, computers and cell phones hold phone numbers waaay better than you do!
Rolodex: There's no point to living, I haven't been turned ever, I'm still a turn virgin.
Me: Well, maybe if you didn't take more than 15 seconds to help me find a contact you'd have lost that v-card.
Rolodex- Maybe you should stop and smell the roses and take your eyes off the damn computer!
Me: Hey, the computer gets me, she can pull up the contact I need in 5 seconds. You sir are an embarrassment to contact finding, and I would further encourage you to take that jump into the trashcan full of paper I finally had the guts to throw away.
Rolodex: Fine!
Me: Wait, no, I need you, but not for utilitarian purposes, cause, seriously, you're way outdated. I need you to hold all these freaking business cards I get from every single person I accidentally look at during a networking event. Plus, you make my desk look somewhat professional.
Rolodex: I hate myself and you.
When I attempt to clean my desk, I just end up shoving a bunch of those papers into a file cabinet or I trade a sea of papers for a set of neatly stacked papers (with no actual semblance of order to them, more or less stacked because they were within the vicinity of the papers they were stacked with).
Two days later the paper bomber generally hits again. When will the world go paperless and stop all this madness?
Brochures are bunkering under the wine glass (completely unused unfortunately, just a sample sent to us by a product company). Newsletters and grant drafts have started a support group near the old desktop computer, which was used for 8 hours on my very first day of work, before I got a laptop. Golf tournament hats and a half eaten package of sprees are shooting the breeze near a display for a silent auction package donated by a photographer. A barren Rolodex sits near the edge. He looks like he's contemplating to end it all. I can't stop him, silly Rolodex, computers and cell phones hold phone numbers waaay better than you do!
Rolodex: There's no point to living, I haven't been turned ever, I'm still a turn virgin.
Me: Well, maybe if you didn't take more than 15 seconds to help me find a contact you'd have lost that v-card.
Rolodex- Maybe you should stop and smell the roses and take your eyes off the damn computer!
Me: Hey, the computer gets me, she can pull up the contact I need in 5 seconds. You sir are an embarrassment to contact finding, and I would further encourage you to take that jump into the trashcan full of paper I finally had the guts to throw away.
Rolodex: Fine!
Me: Wait, no, I need you, but not for utilitarian purposes, cause, seriously, you're way outdated. I need you to hold all these freaking business cards I get from every single person I accidentally look at during a networking event. Plus, you make my desk look somewhat professional.
Rolodex: I hate myself and you.
When I attempt to clean my desk, I just end up shoving a bunch of those papers into a file cabinet or I trade a sea of papers for a set of neatly stacked papers (with no actual semblance of order to them, more or less stacked because they were within the vicinity of the papers they were stacked with).
Two days later the paper bomber generally hits again. When will the world go paperless and stop all this madness?
Thursday, November 4, 2010
"Cooking from scratch" experiment
I cooked chili from scratch last night. My roommate, who is also my cousin and will henceforth be referred to as "J-Cuz" cause I'm a dork like that, he did not believe me. In fact, he looked a little nervous when I pointed to the pot simmering on the oven.
Things to know about me- I rarely cook. If I liked a woman enough to cook for her she usually earned macaroni and cheese with toast. When I was 15 my mom taught me to cook my great-grandmothers meatloaf. Let me tell ya, I have yet to have a woman take me up on an offer to let me cook her meatloaf. That is the least sexy meal ever.
Me- Hey, how bout we stay in and I can cook tonight
Attractive woman- That sounds nice, what were you thinking of making
Me- My great grandmothers secret meatloaf
Attractive woman- I think it's time we see other people. Or not, I just think it's time we see less of each other. Or maybe none of each other.
Me- Damn you unsexy meatloaf!
That's how that plays out in my head.
That being said, the chili wasn't that bad. FYI there was nothing healthy about it, it had pepperoni in it for crying out loud! But J-Cuz and I wolfed it down.
I was also surprised out how many cooking-from-scratch supplies I lacked in my kitchen. Seriously, I had to buy basic things such as chili powder, sugar and beef bouillon. Come to think of it, I don't have any flour, cooking oil or the likes either. Lets be honest though, you never purchase that stuff at the grocery store unless you need it for a specific item you're cooking/baking. Who rolls into the grocery store and cleans out the spice racks and baking supply aisle because "They're running low on that stuff"?
"Uh-oh it's 2 a.m. and I'm down to two cans of cream of mushroom soup, are there any 24 hour grocery stores I can use to fill that void? I don't think I can sleep until this task is accomplished."
J-Cuz and I are still alive after my foray into "from-scratch" cooking. I think that's a win Iceman.
Things to know about me- I rarely cook. If I liked a woman enough to cook for her she usually earned macaroni and cheese with toast. When I was 15 my mom taught me to cook my great-grandmothers meatloaf. Let me tell ya, I have yet to have a woman take me up on an offer to let me cook her meatloaf. That is the least sexy meal ever.
Me- Hey, how bout we stay in and I can cook tonight
Attractive woman- That sounds nice, what were you thinking of making
Me- My great grandmothers secret meatloaf
Attractive woman- I think it's time we see other people. Or not, I just think it's time we see less of each other. Or maybe none of each other.
Me- Damn you unsexy meatloaf!
That's how that plays out in my head.
That being said, the chili wasn't that bad. FYI there was nothing healthy about it, it had pepperoni in it for crying out loud! But J-Cuz and I wolfed it down.
I was also surprised out how many cooking-from-scratch supplies I lacked in my kitchen. Seriously, I had to buy basic things such as chili powder, sugar and beef bouillon. Come to think of it, I don't have any flour, cooking oil or the likes either. Lets be honest though, you never purchase that stuff at the grocery store unless you need it for a specific item you're cooking/baking. Who rolls into the grocery store and cleans out the spice racks and baking supply aisle because "They're running low on that stuff"?
"Uh-oh it's 2 a.m. and I'm down to two cans of cream of mushroom soup, are there any 24 hour grocery stores I can use to fill that void? I don't think I can sleep until this task is accomplished."
J-Cuz and I are still alive after my foray into "from-scratch" cooking. I think that's a win Iceman.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I am a blog murderer
It's true. There are like 2 or 3 dead blogs out there that I created, breathed life into by posting one or two posts, and then I just forgot/ignored them.
I think by now the blog police must be on to me. They've deployed blog CSI to examine the crime scene and the blog Behavioral Analysis Unit is enroute to study the victimology and prove that a serial blog killer is on the loose.
So I did the logical thing. I started another blog. Hey, don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing. It's not like people quite speeding in their vehicle after they've received 25 moving violations in a 10-year period and cannot legally purchase a motorized scooter in the state of Louisiana.
Maybe this blog could live. Maybe it could go on to be a great political voice. Maybe it could be the next "it" humor site. Maybe this blog could change lives. But most likely, it will be a dumping spot for my random thoughts, complaints and generally humorous views on my life, and life in general I guess. I have no qualms taking, and subsequently making fun of, other peoples views on life.
Maybe it's time I begin rehabilitating myself before I'm forever banned from blogging.
I think by now the blog police must be on to me. They've deployed blog CSI to examine the crime scene and the blog Behavioral Analysis Unit is enroute to study the victimology and prove that a serial blog killer is on the loose.
So I did the logical thing. I started another blog. Hey, don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing. It's not like people quite speeding in their vehicle after they've received 25 moving violations in a 10-year period and cannot legally purchase a motorized scooter in the state of Louisiana.
Maybe this blog could live. Maybe it could go on to be a great political voice. Maybe it could be the next "it" humor site. Maybe this blog could change lives. But most likely, it will be a dumping spot for my random thoughts, complaints and generally humorous views on my life, and life in general I guess. I have no qualms taking, and subsequently making fun of, other peoples views on life.
Maybe it's time I begin rehabilitating myself before I'm forever banned from blogging.
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