Do you feel lucky, punk?

Santa didn't make it.

Someone needs to talk to this kid about his eating problem.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

"My baby is a genuine Ford
Born and bred in the USA."

Really?

Who in the hell approved this spot?

Your "baby" is a Ford? Born in the USA? People! It doesn't even kinda ryhme! It's a jingle! It's supposed to rhyme! Just who the hell are you marketing to? Those fat goobers clapping off beat during the sing along on TBN?

If so, why is the spot playing non-stop on KROQ?

Six months away from American marketing is looking better and better every day.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when Mighty Jimbos get lazy. I'm off to bed.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I fear my beloved Railay Beach in Thailand may have been destroyed.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (22)

Look, I can see clearly that you are a big fan of the band. The commitment it took to meticulously carve their name into the top of a filthy toilet seat in a seedy, Yucca Valley diner is certainly evidence. But maybe, just maybe immortalizing their name on top a temple of shit isn't exactly the message you want to send to your public.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Uber Hottie Friend in Long Beach: He bought me this jacket for Christmas. And these shoes!
TMJ: Nice! How many dates have you been on?
UHFiLB: Two. You don't think he's just buttering me up to get into my pants?
TMJ: Duh.
UHFiLB: Hey! I think I should be insulted by that!
TMJ: No way. You should be insulted if he thinks you are so easy that he DOESN'T need to butter you up!
UHFiLB: Good point.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

First they took over Yahoo. Then they waged a heavy assault on Adelphia. They near killed comments on my web site, and from what I have learned, my fix to close comments is temporary at best. They can break the script. It's only a matter of time until the trackbacks fall. And now, now they have hijacked my referrals. Referral spam clutters 75% of my referral log, making it impossible to accurately see who is actually reading all this narcissistic claptrap.

I'm feeling defeated and a seething, smoldering hatred for all those digital parasites.

I'm rewriting my list. No need to check it twice. All I want for Christmas is for all the spammers to die. I think that's what Jesus would do. Or at least hopelessly corrupt their servers. Is that really too much to ask?

Send back the Isotoner's Santa. Just stuff their cabinets with coal.

Tis the season for a rerun...

Posted by themightyjimbo at 09:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

My Dad says to me as he is leaving for mass, "Be sure to leave out the back. I want to lock the front door."

Lock the front door? Really?

So I'm thinking, sure, bolting the door is never a bad idea, but, really, is it THAT much of a concern?

On Christmas Eve. In a gated community. In McKinney. Thirty miles north of Dallas.

Are we expecting a crime spree? Is that deadbolt a real deterrent to a professional house thief? Are gated communities in McKinney overrun with rogue gangs suburban street hoods prowling the neighborhood in stolen SUVs and German luxury sedans and wearing matching "Juicy" velour track suits?

And even if some Christmas cat burglar came a calling in McKinney, I kinda think that amongst all the matching micro-mansions of north Texas, there has got to be an easier mark than the house with both an 80 pound Doberman and a 120 pound Mastiff prowling around the living room. No self-respecting criminal who has seen "Turner and Hooch" would ever, EVER break into this home. The drool alone should be enough to keep him off our porch.

Just what the hell are we all so affraid of?

Personally, I think we should be afraid of the gnomes. Always peeking in windows. Hiding in the bushes. Those gnomes are up to something, I tell you. And don't tell me they aren't mobile. I've seen pictures of those little fuckers popping up all over the globe!

I digress. Ceramic garden terrorists asside, I think maybe it's time we all begin to live with a little less fear. Unload the shotgun in the closet. Unlock the door. Smile at your neighbors, even that one guy with the rusty El Camino on the lawn and the stained bathrobe.

It's Christmas Eve. The only B and E you should expect is from Santa.

But do keep an eye on those gnomes.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 08:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

So I understand that when you baby-proof your home you should cover electrical outlets to keep curious toddlers with a penchant for danger from stuffing butter knives into them, but why should the covers be so tight that I have to stick a butter knife in there to pry them free?

Posted by themightyjimbo at 08:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I arrived in Dallas, stiff and exhausted on Monday. Hands and knees bloodied and bruised from battle with a flaring, gritty, granite chimney in Joshua Tree. Technically, I won, but it sure didn't look that way. Who needs an epidermis anyhow?

I arrived to a home with no less than seven, yes, SEVEN screaming, sniffling, swirling children, three large, drooling dogs, one bird who makes me seem positively reticent, a couple of Italian parents, and at least twenty garden gnomes. Somebody, anybody, please rescue me. I can handle the kids with just a few hours of quality iPod time, the dogs are always a joy, no matter how much Purina scented saliva I have to wash off my chinos, but the garden gnomes, the gnomes I fear are plotting a revolt. A cul-de-sac coup d’etat. Something about inhumane living conditions. Frankly, there are no females. The gnomes need women.

Heh. They probably still get more action than I do.

I'm here for the week. My record with Dallas weather stands. It snowed today. Yes. Snow. I left SoCal for this?

Oh, if it weren't for the slobber therapy. Both varieties. Drooling dogs and drooling babies.

I don't know what they put into a baby's skull, but the smell of my new niece's noggin makes even my ovaries twitch. I've got dogs drooling on my legs, kids drooling on my shoulders, and yesterday I lay down on the floor and put my hand in some rogue, roaming baby poop that managed to escape it's pampers prison. There's more cheap plastic, blinking crap in this room than on the dash of a Pontiac, and I'm constantly stepping on things that make noise.

That the homeowner's association hasn't kicked us all out of here is positively miraculous. Eh. My dad voted for Bush. They probably gave him a pass for that. Speaking of, what the hell was a copy of the Utne Reader doing in the YMCA in McKinney Texas? It's like finding a copy of The National Review in a Berkeley coffee shop. Geez. I thought they had run those liberals out of here years ago.

No matter. I'm sure to have some stories to tell. It's Christmas and there are Italians around. Something is bound to be blog worthy. Until then, I'll stick with pictures.

Genetics. They're a bitch sometimes.

This little one has been raised in Hawaii. Needless to say, this whole "snow" thing came as a bit of a surprise.

At the mass indoctrina...I mean baptism of my brother's children, my sister's youngest and the only boy amongst the latest generation decided to do a little break dancing on the alter. Clearly he has my respect for the church.

He also exhibits his father's respect for violence. He laughed every time he pushed my head back with enough force to make my next adjustment redundant. This picture was taken just before he wrapped four fingers around my bottom lip and pulled down. Hard. And then laughed at this new game, skin the bald dude.

There's nothing Atkins friendly about a dinner in my house.

Wash away that fresh baby smell for a lifetime of guilt. I'm gonna make a super Godfather, dontcha think?

Oh, I'm kidding. And if not, her Godmother will keep me in line.

This look. Right there. That's why I dig this kid so much. Right there this kid is telling you that he is copping a feel every time some hottie picks him up. See it? That glint behind the eyes. Ladies, watch out for this one. Watch out.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Happy birthday Tassy .

You have changed my life immensely. You have expanded my horizons, pushed my boundaries, and have positively been the worst possible influence for my gentle, upstanding, largely prudish life. You were not my devil. Not my Eve. Not even my apple. You were all three. You were sex, drugs and rock and roll all wrapped up in a big, pink box. Since I have met you, my career fell to pieces, my blog got smutty, I offended my family, pissed off the fan club, and been accused by my father of being “perverted.”

And I do so love you for all of that.

With you I learned how to be more confident. How to feel sexy. How to look a little less and leap a little more. How to inhale. How to, uh, properly use a web cam. And how to meet interesting and naked people on the internet. I live more in the moment. I’m more able. More confident. And more able to confidently grab a handful of her hair.

That you have fallen in love with my digital inspiration seems inevitable. And totally right. When Halcyon messaged me months ago and asked me if it was cool for him to pursue you, a tear came to my eye. Not because I was jealous that "Captain Happy Pants” was trying to get into yours, but because I was deeply touched that he cared enough about our friendship to ask. He didn’t have to. He didn’t need to.

A lesser man wouldn’t have. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have. But I was honored by the gesture.

I have been convinced for years that the two of you are perfect for each other. Both digital explorers courageously navigating life by the light of stars only you can see. While everyone else watches the road, you both watch the sky. Who would have thought that you both would find someone looking at that sky through the same pink colored lenses? You two are cut from the same, uh, latex.

So Happy Birthday, Tassy.
Thank you Hal for asking.
Thank you Tassy for, well, everything.
I love you both.
Keep thinking pink.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

In roughly two weeks time, I finish my last week at work for at least six months. A week after that I board a flight to Argentina, and a month there after I go to Antarctica and hope to find answers amongst the icebergs and penguin poop.

My friend E-Dogg has ALMOST convinced me I need to make a run at Aconcagua, as I'll be in Argentina. Why wouldn't I want to embark upon a seven day slog up a 22,000 foot dirt pile when I could be miserable on a beach somewhere with scantily clad Brazilian girls?

I'm a sick bastard. I swear I need therapy.

Wait, that's what this trip is about. Therapy. And I can't wait to go. After that, Australia, China, whatever, wherever till the cash or time disappears.

I've been trying to think about what I'm going to miss while I'm away.

Hot showers.
My bed.
Peanut butter.
Cereal.
Soy Milk.
Broadband.
Paychecks.
A 24 hour shopping culture.
Supermarkets.
The ten pounds of muscle I'm bound to lose.

Oddly enough, those are all the same things I'm not going to miss. Well, except for the ten pounds. I lose too much more weight and I look like a zipper when I turn sideways.

I'm likely to miss all of you too. So before I go, how about you all come to my house and send me off appropriately. And I don't mean with a boot in the ass.

I mean with lots of food and liquor (lots and lots and lots of that) and music and laughter. Let's eat and drink and dance and some of you kids can make a mean jello shot. I want to wake up and have to step over people to get to my door. I want to see at least six people making out on the balcony. I want to see at least one person duct taped to the ceiling. Hell, this is my last chance to get kicked out of the house.

I leave for South America on Jan 12. So how about Saturday the January 8. My house. Newport Beach. RSVP. Email me for directions. Bring a hot friend. Bring two. But for sure, bring yourself. If you don't live in SoCal, No excuse! Get on a plane and show up anyhow!

Posted by themightyjimbo at 08:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I am so ashamed.
I suck.
I've lived on this peninsula for nearly ten years.
I have been writing (occasionally) funny stories for nearly three.
How did I not notice the cosmic, commercial serendipity that "Woody's" bar is located right next to "Hooters?"
It took Elaine one, ONE trip to my house to notice that.
Ten years.
This is four blocks away.
I'm slipping, people.
I think I need to turn over the keyboard to her for a while.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

It's a bad sign when she asks me at dinner what I do for fun in Orange County and I don't have an answer. Any answer. I sat there stupid, drawing a total blank. Fun? OC? When is the last time I did something for fun that was actually IN Orange County? I haven't been to a movie in months, a theatrical event in years, and a bar in weeks. I rarely even go to my old health club any more as I do not work in the neighborhood and most of my friends are no longer regulars.

Orange County and I have become that couple we all know where neither party is happy but both are just too established or lethargic or afraid to break up. It's not a relationship any more. It's familiarity.

OC, I'll always love you. But it's time for me to go.

Addendum: Of course, on days like today, I know why I have stuck around so long. This afternoon, in the nearly 80 degree sunshine, as I motored my VFR up the long stretch of PCH in Huntington Beach under a clear blue sky, I pulled off onto the shore along the Huntington cliffs and watched as a dozen or so happy souls in black neoprene bobbed up and down in the blue water, riding through the smooth, green, head-high barrels as six-foot outside sets rolled in like blue corduroy, all fuelled by the warm offshore breeze and a low tide.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I have a problem. I always thought I could stop any time I wanted. But I can't control it. I'm a hopeless gear addict.

I realized it was becoming a concern when suddenly there was virtually no room in my garage for my sport utility vehicle because of all my sport utilities filling the space. Sure, who doesn't need FIVE sleeping pads and FIVE backpacks? Or maybe it's six. I can't keep count.

Knowing I would be away from my house and my garage and my gear for at least six months, I decided to cut back and gave a spare pack and pad to a friend. She's hot. She climbs. I'm a sucker for the pretty ones. Go figure. Besides, I have, you know, four others.

Of course, today I promptly went out and bought a new pack and a new sleeping pad. It's REI! Those people love me! They give me dividends! The more you buy, the more you save!

And I swear I needed them! Honest! For the trip! To hold the laptop! Better than the laptop bag I already have. Here. In the room. Right next to me. And this pad is smaller! Lighter! A lot lighter. So I can, you know, take more gear with me. I needed it. I did! Really.

Oh, roll your eyes right back down, missy. How many pairs of black shoes do you own? How many? I rest my case.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 01:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

So not to disclose too much information about my personal life (right), but not so long ago a certain lady friend and I purchased a bottle of Pjur Eros "personal lubricant." Hey, never can tell when you might need a good moisturizer and lubricant around the house for skin conditioning and "therapeutic body massage."

Regardless, it was brought to my attention by a dear, dear friend with more than her fair share of experience in this kind of product that "eros" spelled backwards is "sore."

Ironic cause that's exactly what you aren't supposed to be if you are using it, uh, backwards.

Thank you! I'm here all week!

Posted by themightyjimbo at 05:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

OK geeks, I have a Moveable Type question for all of you. As you know, I am four weeks away from scooting to South America and getting abducted by terrorist penguins or something. I plan to continue to write from the road, so I intend to keep my site active. Not as active, but whatever.

Problem is, I get somewhere between 5 and 300 spam comments a day. Yes. Every day. Although MT Blacklist makes it easy for me to get rid of them, when I am on the road I may not be able to check my site or email for days or weeks at a time, putting me at risk of having my site flooded with more spam than either it or my email can handle.

I want to close comments on all my old entries, preventing new commenters from posting to them. But as I have more than 700 entries, I don't want to do it by hand, one by one by one. Is there a way in MT to automatically close all the comments? I don't want to delete them or remove them. Just prevent any new comments from being posted. Any script? Anything?

Ideally, I would love to know if there is a way to program MT to close comments on all entries older than seven days. Some way to automate that process. Know of anything? As you know, Pinky and the Groin is my site administrator, but unfortunately he doesn't have lots of MT experience. Subsequently I am seeking advice from the rest of you experts.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

The upside of living on the coast are those most frequent of days when the air smells crisp and salty. The air actually smells, well, blue. If that makes any sense at all. Not that dirty, dusty, diesel crap that passes for air out in the valleys.

The downside of living on the coast are those days when the fog rolls in thick during the night, and in the morning everything smells remarkably like a wet, dirty dog. Woof.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Heather , don't feel too badly about tossing your kid head first into the rafters. It doesn't make you a bad parent, and from what I can tell, kids are pretty much made from the same material as a Super Pinky. They bounce real, real well. If an over zealous game of toss the urchin will get your breeder's license revoked, I think we all are guilty of child abuse. My mother for sure, but that's just for forcing us all to endure nearly two decades worth of Barry Mannilow LPs.

I once put a four-year-old I used to watch on my shoulders and ran him head first into a spinning ceiling fan. Whack! I could tell both from the sound of the wallop and the look on his face that the smack hurt too, but he didn't shed a tear. Just rubbed his head and bit his lip real hard. Tough little dude.

I also walked my climbing partner's darling little daughter into an unseen patch of low hanging blackberry briars while we were hiking to a climbing wall in Squamish - and subsequently tore her three-year-old face all to hell. Oh my God, I would have cut off a limb to have had the chance to go back and prevent that. I swear, she almost got a free college education from me I felt so badly.

Never in my life I have felt like a sorrier excuse for a human being. Well, there was that one time I gave a pet rabbit a bloody nose, but let's not talk about that. My friends at PETA still won't return my calls.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 02:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Random observations about a night in Hollywood.

I think I'm too old for this.
Tuck in your shirt, playa. The man blouse is so over.
I really can't be bothered with your bling when your clothes cost more than your car.
I really can't be bothered with your bling when your car costs more than your house.
Actually, I just can't be bothered with your bling.
Any bouncer who lets me in cause he digs my beanie (or "took" for all you maple leafs) is totally OK in my book.
If tits were a superpower, she would totally be Supergirl. I wish I had such a safe place to keep my cell phone. Well, maybe I do, but answering calls from the crack of my ass wouldn't look nearly as cool. Thanks for the free liquor, babe. You can drink with me, anytime.
I'm definitely too old for this.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

A well-dressed, middle-aged, white guy walked up to me in a bank in Seattle, and as I was switching playlists on my iPod, asked me, "What kind of radio is that?"

Blink.

"It's an Apple iPod."

"Is that like an MP3 player?"

Blink blink.

"Uh, yes. Yes, it is an MP3 player."

Really? REALLY? Never heard of an iPod? Never? Not once? Didn't register? In one of the most technologically advanced cities in the world with a huge population of tech workers? AND a college campus? AND a famous music scene? Never heard of an iPod, despite living in a major metropolitan area in the USA? Despite the billboard I passed on my way into the bank? Despite it being on the back cover of every other Newsweek for the last three years? Despite it being ON the cover of Newsweek just a few months earlier? Or all over television? Despite the ubiquitous white headphones dangling from the ears of at least a dozen people I passed on my way to the bank?

Really? Never heard of an iPod?

I could be wrong, but I'm guessing he is not an "early adopter."

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

I just reserved a spot on a Russian research vessel bound for Antarctica in mid February.

This is looking to cost me more than any purchase I have ever made in my life that didn't have doors or wheels.

Those penguins better be freaking fabulous. For this kind of money, I would expect Catwoman, but I'm pretty sure she costs a bit extra on a ship full of cold sailors.

To be sure, I'm not expecting to find enlightenment amongst the icebergs or anything, although there is probably something to be said for spending two weeks miserable, cold and sea sick. Makes ya sea worthy, mate. Arrrgh. I just think you can see more clearly when you aren't staring at the same obstacles.

Two weeks on a boat with a bunch of Russian sailors. Oh man, I will be just desperate for a week in Brazil after that little adventure. I'm betting we won't have too much trouble keeping the vodka cold. Remind me to pack tonic and lime.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 02:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Ever turn out your lights and realize that your bedroom looks remarkably like the bridge of the Enterprise, only minus the hot chick with an interstellar rack and a miniskirt?

Spock, I, I think I'm having a seizure from all these lights!

I swear, between the two digital clocks and the various blinking LEDs on power-strips and chargers and optical devices and routers and hubs and modems and laptops and printers and telephones and cell phones and electric toothbrushes and electric razors, you could use my boudoir to safely land a 747. I have seen Christmas trees with fewer blinking lights.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Uh oh. It's just a matter of time before it's Bud Light and barbeque, gambling and booze, and any vehicle that weighs just slightly more than the herd of dead dinosaurs required to power it.

He's already got the wardrobe and Barcolounging down cold.

If I can just keep him away from the Marlboro Lights and Republicans, there is still a chance for this kid.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 06:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

So it's time for my annual holiday letter and year-end summary. I just sent the note to most of my non-digital friends. The people who don't read the blog or at least don't admit to reading it. Come on! Quit lurking. Expose yourself. Lord knows, I can't be the only one around here with his digital pants around his ankles.

I could write about all the happenings of the last year, but really, seems redundant if you are a regular voyeur around these parts. It's all there. Most of it at least. And certainly far more than my family appreciates. I still don't know why my mother insists on reading this crap. It's wildly masochistic on her part. Eh. I guess she lives for that. She isn't complete unless at least one of her children is aggravating her.

I'll give a quick summary:

New job same as the old job. New girl (sorta), bye girl (sorta), no new girls now, still convinced that the odds of me finding love (or even a reasonably stable single female amongst the Barbie Army) in Orange County are just slightly lower than my winning the lottery. Same house (almost ten years now), same roommate, and I still love her dearly. She rocks like a hurricane. Sold the Mustang for something practical then immediately ran out and bought my first motorcycle, one that goes so obnoxiously fast that I routinely dust Porsches on PCH just for giggles. However, for a toy that has such a reputation as a "chick magnet" this bike really hasn't seen any action yet. Climbing trip to Italy. Got sick and rained out of half of it. Add to that the dry anal rape that is the current exchange rate with the Euro and I'm so over Europe. Bought two investment properties, both are rented, both about to be sold, both have taught me that real estate is an incredible pain in the ass, but one that can be really lucrative. Kinda like gay porn. I still do lots of things that scare the living hell out of my mother like climbing rocks and riding bikes and stuff, but not as much anymore. My job still had me all over the place, not so much in San Fran any longer (of course this happened at precisely the same time that Tassy moved back to Oakland), and frankly, my knees are starting to show the ill effects of fifteen years of abuse. The recent presidential election has further proved to me that Americans are generally foolhardy with respect to politics, and after a few days of nervous ticks, I finally embraced the result as just another four years of excellent blog fodder at the expense of our fearsome leader. And other than my usual Jimbo angst and general sense of self-loathing, I've been OK I suppose.

But then of course there is the recent big news I have been eluding to for a couple years now.

As most of you know, I was approved for up to twelve months leave of absence. For those of you who don't know, I have been saving money for the last few years to take a little sabbatical. I had actually hoped to take it with last year with my ex. We all know what happened to those plans. I am currently planning on leaving in January for up to six months of travel. Maybe more. I'm starting in South America - Chile and Argentina, for Patagonia visits and then perhaps back to Brazil. I still have friends there in both Porto Alegre and Sao Paulo. Then on to Antarctica if I can find a cheap boat. This right now is the biggest challenge. I have not found a cruise cheaper than $3500. I'm trying ot do this for $2K or less, without having to sleep in steerage. From there it's on to Australia for some rock climbing and eventually a tour up the coast to the Great Barrier Reef. I may toss New Zealand into that leg if I have the time. Then onto China, and if I have time, SE Asia and India. As you could guess, it all depends on the finances. I still need to figure out how much I really have, how much it's really gonna cost, and how much I'm really prepared to spend. I probably have enough saved for a year or more, but I'd prefer not to live on grubs and berries. I also need to decide If I am keeping the house. Right now it seems likely as the cost difference between my rent and a storage unit for all my crap is almost negligible when compared to the advantages of maintaining a "base camp" in the states.

I'm heading out solo, but I hope to meet up with friends in South America and Australia. I'm also hoping some of you will join me. Not for the whole trip mind you. I know most of you have those "jobs" or "kids" or "lives" or "responsibilities" that prevent you from tossing the conventional wisdom of mortgage and career out the window and living out of a backpack in some foreign dirt hole for months at a time. However, I know for a fact that a lot of you do take two weeks of vacation every year. So take a week or two and meet me somewhere on this stretch! I'm totally fun on a trip, no matter what my ex might tell you. Don't listen to her anyway. She's Canadian, and you can't trust any of those people.

Do you feel like seeing the Great Wall and eating food of highly questionable ingredients? Catch up with me in China! Want to see Patagonia? Meet me in Chile! Want to see obnoxiously beautiful people in really small bathing suits? Meet me in Brazil. Want to see obnoxiously intoxicated people in no bathing suits? Meet me in Australia!

Either way, I need the time. I need to regroup. I need to figure out where I'm going next in my life - at least professionally if not personally. I don't plan to stay in OC upon my return. I'm looking at Los Angeles, San Francisco, Phoenix, etc. Somewhere west. That middle part of the country and I just don't see eye to eye. My whole liberal vegetarian rock climber thing. Go figure.

So anyhow, best part of the deal, I have 300,000 frequent flier miles saved up on American, so most if not all the big International flights (read the expensive ones) are totally free. Yeah, I may not have been happy with my work, but I sure can't complain about the rewards.

Let me know if you are interested in tagging along for a little while. I don't want to hear any lame excuses like "I need a liver transplant" or "I have kids to feed" or "I'm getting married that week." It's way cheaper than you expect, and I promise not to make you nuts. Most of the time.

Anyway, I'll be using my blog for travel stories and pictures when I leave. I'll just be a more global internet slut. I broke two millon hits on Digitalcatharsis last week, and it freaked me out. Who are all you people?

And if any of you know how to get cheap boats to Antarctica, I so need to know more. I just gotta know what a field of one million fish-eating penguins smells like. Can you imagine? Yummy!

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

The famous lesbian episode was on South Park today. And there were hot girls kissing in Dodgeball. And I’m currently having a chat with a lesbian couple I know in Long Beach (ah, the people I meet on the internet). In the midst of all this it dawned on me that many, if not most of the women who are in my life, and certainly most of the women who have been in my pants, are at least occasional lesbians. I’m so not complaining about this, by the way. It’s not a party without at least a few hot lesbians making out by the punch bowl.

Now I recognize that human sexuality is far less viscous in the female of our species, and it is certainly far easier to appreciate a firm, supple breast then a firm, hairy chest, but this percentage seems a bit surprising, even to me. I think my girlfriends are making out with more girls than I am. This is certainly true lately.

What’s more surprising (or perhaps not) is that despite the frequency with which I have found myself intimately involved with a semi-professional homosexual, not once I have ever been involved or even invited into a lesbian threesome.

I have, however, been invited into a different kind of threesome, which, for the record, I respectfully declined. I don’t really think I’m an orgy kinda guy (I’m not ready to sport that set of gold medallions on my already hirsute chest), but that’s a story for another time. Namely, a time in which my mother isn’t present. Then again, she really shouldn’t be present for this story either. Best you log off now, Mom.

So nobody has ever tried to make me the meaty center of a flesh sandwich. I’m totally disappointed with this. What’s the point of having hot lesbian friends without an occasional threesome? Sure, girls kissing is hot. But girls kissing Jimbo would be so much hotter, dontcha think? I’m totally doing this swinger thing wrong. I need to go to a class. Swinging for dummies.

Oh who am I kidding. I’m probably just biting off more than I can chew. I should probably focus on getting just ONE girl to make out with me let alone two. I’m starting to forget how this whole process works.

This, of course, brings up another point. My recent (ok, frequent) lack of success with women. I really think I need to attend a class in dating for dummies. For someone with such well practiced sales skills, I really can’t close the deal. I’m definitely a much better order taker than a deal maker, at least in my sexual career.

My brother in law, as well as many, many, many other men and women in my life claim I’m just too nice of a guy. I lack that eye (penis?) of the tiger. To quote Sean, women like two things in life: problems and shopping. And although I can provide ample resources for fashion advice and impromptu trips to Fascist Island, I don’t give them enough of a headache. I give them nothing to fix.

Basically, I need to embrace my inner asshole. A little less talk and a little more cock.

And considering my recent romantic experiences with the Newport Barbie Corps, I’m thinking misogyny isn’t going to be too much of a stretch. I think I’ll take a new approach to women in OC. If they are going to treat me like an ass, I can treat them like shit. Treat me like a John and you’re welcome to be my whore. If you don’t make out on the first date, then we aren’t on a date. Worried I won’t respect you in the morning? Hell, I don’t respect you now. This isn’t going to happen? Then why are you still here?

Oh, who am I kidding? I just don’t have that in me. I’m not getting angry. I’m just getting jaded. In the end, I’m probably still going to be the boy who gets her door. I’m just sick of being the boy who gets hit in the ass with it on her way out.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (28)

So sometime yesterday, my Treo 600 up and went mute. Sure, I can get and make calls, but the mic is dead. I can hear you; you can’t hear me. Add to this the long deceased polyphonic ringer and the shitty condition of the camera, and you can guess how pissed I am for not springing for the insurance when I had the chance. But being without a cell phone while on the road has rendered me digitally impotent. I’m a road warrior with a flat.

So I had to run to CompUSA to replace it. $550. I so didn’t need that hit to the wallet. I would have considered a basic phone, but even the entry phones at Sprint are $200 for a replacement. With more than a thousand contacts loaded into this little bastard and the easy access to the Internet an instant pick-me-up for my blog habit, I’m petty much hooked. Two hours without it and I’m ready to blow that Verizon guy for a fix. Can you hear me now, bitch!

So I’m walking down Michigan Avenue in Chicago, and it’s so cold I can feel the pavement sucking my soul out through my shoes. But the sun is shining, and I’m listening to my angry mix on my iPod. And dammit, after dropping half a “g” to replace a cell phone for a job I’m about to leave, I’m pretty pissed off. But in a real Yuppie scum kinda way. I got a head full of Tupac and Rage and Slim and Chuck D, and I’m feeling like a badass. Well, as bad as I can feel with a tube of Burt’s Bees in my pocket and a pair of soft leather Ecco bowling shoes.

I’m gonna go crank some DMX and go get a henna tattoo or something.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I'm in Chicago. In November. It's snowing - that wet, icy, sideways snow that makes you remember just why 36 million people can deal with earthquakes and mudslides and the 405 Freeway. What kind of sick bastard schedules an international trade show for Chicago the week after Thanksgiving? I swear, radiologists are all masochists.

Although I am enjoying the hotel and the food and the drinks all generously provided via my soon to be missed expense account, the big corporate circle jerk of old white guys in rumpled suits and comfortable shoes is really a bit of a buzz kill.

On an upside, I think my maid is insane. It's actually entertaining. It's about 30 degrees here in this mid-western paradise, and subsequently, this SoCal boy with the single digit body fat index has been keeping both blankets on the bed.

At least until my maid removed one from the room.

Not cool (wait, no, I guess it is cool, but so not in a Fonzie way), but I could make due.

This morning, however, she took the other blanket, leaving me with just a sheet and a bedspread.

What is even more surprising is that after she took the blanket, she took the extra pillow from the closet and added it to the bed. So now I have four pillows, but no blankets! What kind of sick joke is this? Sure, I forgot to tip her this morning, but stealing my linens isn't exactly the best way to make friends with the road warrior. I'm betting tomorrow she starts removing bath towels, since she has no more blankets to pilfer.

I would retaliate by taking a dump in the shower tomorrow morning, but really, that won't get me anywhere. A good lesson in life: Never piss off the person who prepares your food, cuts your hair, or has any kind of access to your bedroom. Seriously. No good can come of this.

It's late. I'm mildly intoxicated. And I'm off to a blanketless bed.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)