Driving home from a doctor's appointment yesterday, I spotted a bumper sticker that said, "Brake for moose! It could save your life!"
I couldn't help but think, "Really? Would anyone not brake for a moose that ran in front of their car?"
I mean, seriously, windshield wipers work for flies, but....
This just in from the Associated Press:
Missing German Kangaroo Captured
BERLIN -- Skippi, a wily kangaroo on the run since early August was returned to his home at a petting zoo Monday in southern Germany, but not after a chase through the German Alps that left the animal with a strained leg.
Funny. A German kangaroo. I always thought kangaroos came from Austria.
Copenhagen, Denmark
Driving through rural Sweden a couple of days ago, I spotted a herd of about ten cows grazing innocently by the side of the road. This, in and of itself, was no big deal. I see roadside cows grazing all the time when traveling through Scandinavia. But on this day, something looked horribly wrong.
The cows were all grazing directly in front of a large billboard for McDonald's
I have been keeping a secret.
My secret is that for many months, I have been making plans to do something very special this week. I have been making plans to participate in Pamplona, Spain’s legendary Running of the Bulls.
I decided to participate in the Running of the Bulls for personal reasons. I felt a need to challenge myself, to test my limits, and to fully taste how sweet and fragile life can be. I did not tell anyone I was participating in the event because, to be honest, I just didn’t want to deal with a lot of well-intended admonitions to “be careful.” I did not want to hear concerned but skeptical friends tell me I was not in good enough shape to participate in such an event.
So, secretly, I participated in yesterday’s Running of the Bulls.
Today, I am still alive, and unscarred.
At least seven people were gored yesterday. I am pleased to report that I was not one of them. I am fine.
The primary way I managed to keep myself safe during the event was that I took some basic safety precautions, the most important of which was that I participated in the Running of the Bulls by reading about it online from my hotel room here in Bergen, Norway. It is my understanding that some people actually go out into the streets of Pamplona -- while the bulls are running!! That is downright stupid. Those are some badass animals. No person in their right mind would tangle with them.
I was told that the main reason people participate in the Running of the Bulls is for the adrenaline rush. I felt that yesterday. My adrenaline was pumping after I looked at a picture of a medic trying to treat a gored runner. It was pumping because the medic had an expression on her face that was all, “Hey, this guy is, like, injured!” And I was thinking, “Duh! He stood in front of a bull! A bull with big-ass horns! That guy is a freaking idiot!”
I do not like idiots. They make me angry, and that gets my adrenaline pumping.
Last week, a group of Spanish women demanded that there should be a “Running of the Cows” for ladies and lady bovines. Yeah, okay, whatever. When I read about this proposal, I thought, “Maybe I will do that next year. Maybe I will participate in the Running of the Cows.” But apparently, the organizers want this to be a woman’s only event.
Okay, fine. I find your restrictions a bit ridiculous, but if you insist, I promise not to read the news that day.
Oslo, Norway
I bought a smoothie yesterday at Deli de Luca, a Norwegian convenience store chain that puts 7-Eleven to shame. (7-Eleven invaded Norway around 15 years ago, and is now as prevalent in Oslo as Starbuck's Coffee is in Seattle.) As I was leaving the shop, I looked at a label on the side of my cup. It was an environmental message with a sense of humor. The cup said, "Love me, but leave me in the trash."
Meanwhile the Oslo city government has declared Oslo a "pig-free zone," with an ad campaign reminding residents there are more than 2,000 trash cans around the city. "Don't let the city look like a pig house," say posters around town, and movie theaters are showing a short anti-pig film before the feature presentation.
I was in a taxi in Rome a couple of weeks ago at 4 a.m., on my way to the airport to start my second tour in Stockholm. As my driver sped through the streets, I looked out the window and discovered Rome at 4 a.m. is a peaceful place. No throngs of tourists clogging the streets. Just a few late-night drunks and prostitutes.
And birds. Lots of birds.
I began to wonder: Birds can live anywhere. What makes a bird decide to live in downtown Rome? I've got friends who prefer urban areas, and others who like to live out in the country. Are birds the same way? Do birds who live in Rome ever wake up and say, "Hmmm... I think we should get away from it all for a few days and go hang out in the Tuscan countryside?" Do they ever go on family vacations to the coast? If they do, do they stop at highway rest stops along the way to forage for food? Do the younger birds peck at each other until their parents threaten to turn around and go back to the city if they don't stop?
One wonders about such things when one is forced to wake up at 3:45 a.m. to catch a taxi.
Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland
I know you've been feeling sad lately. That cow you've dreamed of buying for so many years just isn't affordable, what with the sorry state of the US dollar against the Swiss franc and all. But cheer up. There's a solution.
Now, you can rent a cow from a Swiss farmer, and you don't even have to live in Switzerland.
Farmers in the Alps have developed a program in which you can rent one of their cows. The farmers will milk Bessie for you, turn the milk into cheese, and mail the cheese to you. Rental packages range from 255 to 425 Swiss Francs (about 210 to 350 US dollars). Packages include a certificate confirming you are the legal renter of the cow, a photo of your cow, all costs for milking, feeding, and other bovine care, and of course, the shipping of the cheese -- anywhere from two to ten kilos, depending on the package you choose. You can even come to Switzerland to visit your cow and have a picnic with it.
Don't believe me? You will find full details at www.kuhleasing.ch. (The website is in German, but drop them an e-mail in English if you are interested. I'm sure someone there can reply in English.)
Why would anybody want to rent a Swiss cow? For one thing, they are considered the happiest cows in the world. Why are Swiss cows the happiest cows in the world? Because they are all stoned.
Switzerland, which is not part of the European Union, has more liberal drug laws than most of Europe. Farmers here often feed cannabis to their cows... and the cows that get the cannabis typically produce more milk than their straight-laced counterparts.
The practice of cow-doping was officially banned in 2005, and boy do I wish I could have been at that session of Switzerland's Agriculture Ministry.
"I'm worried about our cows. I think it's time for an intervention."
Regardless, many farmers are not following the new rules, and agriculture officials say the THC could be finding its way into the milk.
It's times like this I really hate being lactose intolerant.
Here is an extremely useful IQ test you can take:
Which of the following is more like a car?
A) A Zamboni (You know... those vehicle-thingies that resurface the ice at hockey games.)
B) A Horse (You know... those animal-thingies that poop on the street during parades.)
If you are like me, and chose a Zamboni, you are wrong and stupid.
At least according to law enforcement.
A woman in Alabama was arrested last weekend for Driving Under the Influence. She was not driving a car. She was riding a horse.
Meanwhile in New Jersey, a judge has just ruled that if you drive a Zamboni while intoxicated, you cannot be given a DUI conviction because... well... Zambonis aren't motor vehicles.
Okay, people, help me understand this. Zambonis have motors. Horses do not. Zambonis have wheels. Horses do not. Zambonis have ignition switches, gas pedals, gas tanks, and optional air conditioning. Horses have none of those.
The woman on the horse, according to the Associated Press, allegedly tried to use the animal to ram a cop car. She then tried to flee from police, but the cops pulled her over and... asked for her license and registration? How do you pull over a horse? The woman was found to be carrying a small pipe, marijuana, an undisclosed variety of pills, and (surprise!) a child-sized portion of crystal meth.
In the New Jersey case, according to the AP, Zamboni driver Paul Peragallo ran amok at a sports arena, and a co-worker told police Peragallo was -- oh, this is a good one -- speeding. Speeding! In a Zamboni! Six miles per hour?! However, the judge ruled that since one cannot drive a Zamboni on a highway, and because the Zamboni does not carry passengers, it's not a motor vehicle.
Peragallo testified at his trial he did not drink any alcohol until after he groomed the ice. He reportedly told police at the time of his arrest, however, he washed down his two breakfast Valiums with a shot of Sambuca.
Regardless of how much the man drank, I beg to differ with the judge. I believe you could drive a Zamboni on a highway -- just very slowly -- and, drunk or not, I would welcome the opportunity to try.
Breckenridge, Colorado
Yes, I realize the calendar says today is Groundhog’s Day; however I have finally made it to Colorado after the Evil Airline-Crippling Monster Blizzard of 2006 shut down Denver’s airport over Christmas.
Breckenridge is not experiencing a blizzard this week. It is, however, experiencing a high temperature today of two degrees Fahrenheit. That, you will be relieved to hear, is a balmy two degrees above zero.
For those of you who do not think in Fahrenheit, two degrees above zero Fahrenheit is equal to approximately 17 degrees below zero Kelvin. Add 30-mile-per-hour wind gusts into the equation, and you know what that means. It means sun or no sun, the groundhog is staying inside today and guzzling brandy. Colorado will therefore not experience spring until Mr. Groundhog sobers up, probably sometime in August.
In spite of the blowing snow, which seems to be specially programmed to blow in whatever direction I am facing, Breckenridge is having an international ice sculpture competition this week. The winner of the competition is a giant head –- a wrinkled old man, leaning his cheek against a curled fist. The name of the sculpture is “Old Man Winter.”
As I stood and admired the sculpture for a brief moment, I happened to notice one spot at the base that was not white like the rest of the carving. It was yellow. Somebody here is apparently not so happy with Old Man Winter.
Just days after I blogged about a Dutch brewery that's brewing up beer for dogs, Washington State lawmakers are debating today whether or not to allow dogs in bars.
Yes, you heard me correctly. Our nation is at war, Seattle transportation is a mess, public schools are horribly underfunded, and lawmakers are arguing over whether or not poodles should be allowed to woof it up while their owners get sloshed.
State Senator Ken Jacobsen, who I am embarrassed to say is a Democrat, has introduced legislation that would allow dogs to hang out in bars with their owners. Jacobsen, according to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, does not own a dog himself.
The P-I responded to Jacobsen's proposal with an editorial that said, in part, "We suggest Jacobsen grab a six-pack and go to a dog owner's house...."
I have to agree.
I have nothing against dogs. Some of my best friends are dogs. I have issues, however, with some dog owners, who expect the entire world to love their pet unconditionally while they pretend the animal isn't theirs.
Case in point: I was working on my laptop last week in a neighborhood coffee house that allows dogs. A dog came over to sniff me and say hello. I don't know what the dog's name was. I'll call him Pookie. Via human-to-dog telepathy, Pookie and I had the following conversation:
Pookie: Woof! Hello!
Me: Ummm... hi.Pookie: I'm bored. You don't mind if I lick your ankle for a while, do you?
Me: Well, actually, I'm trying to write, and it's kind of distracting.
Pookie: Awww, come on! (Lick lick.)
Me: Don't you have an owner or something?
Pookie: Yeah. He's the guy over there who's ignoring me.Me: Why don't you go lick his ankles?
Pookie: He won't let me. He'll make me lay down.
Me: Well I'm sorry, but I really need to get back to....
Pookie: WOOF! WOOF WOOF!!! GRRRRR... WOOF!!!Pookie's owner: Don't worry. He won't bite you.
Fair enough, but I wanted to bite the owner. If I wanted to be woofed at by neglected animals while I write, I'd go write at the Humane Society.
"When I'm having a beer, I like seeing other people's dogs," Jacobsen told the Post-Intelligencer. "Having dogs in the bar and the pub, as far as I'm concerned, makes it a more human place."
More human? Ummm... I don't know. I've been known to frequent some pretty skanky places, but I have never seen a human poop on the floor, no matter how drunk he is.
Jeez, if we're going to allow dogs, why stop there? The bill discriminates against cats. And iguanas, ferrits, chimpanzees, and llamas. How about parrots? Oh, come on, the alcohol will kill off those avian flu germs.
I know I'll suffer the wrath of drunken dog owners for writing this, but before you send me hate mail, let's consider an alternative solution. I propose we legalize drinking in Washington State dog parks instead.
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