Went to see the play Seussical at the high school last night. My niece was in it, and my nephew made a couple of appearances as a stagehand.

I enjoyed the play, especially the performance of one of my niece's friends as a yellow bird. There were two things that struck me as unusual though.

I realized about halfway through the thing that, as good as it was, it would probably be unbelievable if I were stoned - and that's a thought I haven't had in over two decades.

Near the end, when the Whos are trying to be heard, one of the characters takes a deep breath and shouts

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...

I was positive that this kid was going to say fuck but the applause over how long he held the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu made it impossible to hear how he finished.

After the play, I went to Rich O's and met up with my sister's friend SpoonsGirl and her imaginary friend HotBlonde. I had a Corsendonk Christmas Ale, a Rogue Dead Guy, and a Hitachino Red Rice Ale. Rich O's wasn't as crowded as Fridays have been lately, but of course I did arrive later than usual.

SpoonsGirl wanted to steal a mead cup then, when I told her I wouldn't allow it, she grudgingly offered to buy a mead cup, but they didn't have any for sale. I promised SpoonsGirl to remind someone to order an extra one sometime so she could buy it.

Yesterday for work we went to the zoo.

It was the first time I'd been there in a while. I guess I've become a little uneasy about the whole idea of keeping all these animals on display for our amusement.

I know, I know, we also get to study them, learn to appreciate them, and in many cases, help to save them from extinction.

Extinction that we're causing.

It's the apes that make me the saddest. Their faces are capable of showing all these emotions, and the only emotion to see at the zoo is sadness. Sadness at being trapped. Sadness at being stared at, pointed at. Even the ones born and raised in captivity are sad - they just don't know why because they don't know anything different.

At least on a conscious level - or whatever passes for a conscious level in apes - they don't know what they're missing but they know they're missing something.

I don't know, I guess I think that by taking these animals from where they belong, we're taking a lot more than just their freedom. We get to look at them, and study them, but we're only seeing their physical being. The rest of them, their wildness, their spirit, their soul if you will, is long gone.

If it ever had a chance to exist at all.

Now, after writing this, I feel like a hypocrite because I've got three cats that never get to leave the house.

It's for their own good, I keep telling myself.

Different for me, anyway.

All day yesterday I was working, in my head, on this entry about 'blogging and how it's not only about opening up, it can also be about showing off.

Then last night I got this other idea to write about the creative implications of living near natural wonders like Mt. Rainier or The Grand Canyon.

Well, these two ideas ended up cancelling each other out in my head, so I didn't write a damn thing yesterday.

This damn gorilla is really testing my patience.

I've tried threatening it. I've tried reasoning with it. I've even tried to tempt it with trinkets.

I can't get it to budge. Talk about a one-track mind.

I have one pretty drastic thing left to try, my secret weapon actually, but I'm reluctant to use it. I don't want to kill the pitiful thing - I just want it to get out of my face.

I guess I'll give it a little more time. Maybe if I just ignore it for a while it'll get bored and leave on its own.

Sitting at Rich O's after work today, talking with Roger and some guy I don't know, and drinking a couple of those Hitachino Red Rice Ales, I was reminded of an idea I had last night.

To test this idea, I asked the bartender to bring me a small amount of NABC Tunnel Vision and a small amount of Rogue Smoke Ale.

Oh, yeah, I asked him to bring them both in the same glass.

For whatever reason, I just figured that the honey sweetness of the Tunnel Vision and the smoky bitterness of the Rogue Smoke would play off each other quite well.

I actually think I was right. I would drink the stuff if it were available.

Now I know, if I ever decide to cave in to the peer pressure and dabble at homebrewing, what my first beer will be. A Belgian wheat with smoke and honey.

I think if you die and then come back as a zombie you should probably just take Halloween off, because nobody would take you seriously, and if people weren't running away from you it would be no fun at all.

The same advice would apply if you got turned into a vampire somehow.

The jungle envelopes him, claws at him. He doesn't know where he's going anymore. There is no sense of direction. There is - nothing at all except the sound of the twigs snapping under his feet and the rustling as his trail heals itself behind him. Even the sound of the ocean has become lost in the past.

He runs, as well as he can through the thick brush. Something is following him, some thing has been following him since he left the beach. And it's gaining on him.

I found out today that, for some unknown reason, I've never rated Delirium Tremens at ratebeer.com. I just corrected this injustice:

Delirium Tremens

(draft) My desert island beer. I only wish I could drink more than a couple without going into a coma. The ultimate Belgian as far as I'm concerned.

Another thing about this beer - when I tell the bartender at Rich O's that I'd like a Tremens, he invariably asks, "Delirium Tremens?"

Like there's any other.

I didn't plan to do anything last night except just have the game on in the basement while I shot some pool.

That way I could say I'd watched the stupid thing without being a complete liar.

At one point, however, I went to the store to gas up my truck (so I wouldn't have to do it this morning) and when I left the gas station I just reflexively headed to Rich O's.

Actually Rich O's was closed, it being Sunday and all, but its sister-business Sportstime Pizza was open so I went there.

Football really pisses me off. It preempts my regularly scheduled programming. It always runs late. It's boring.

And it makes otherwise normal people into obnoxious drunken idiots.

I ended up sitting at Sportstime with NotGeorge while I had a Gulden Draak and a Tunnel Vision. Every time somebody on TV would do something people would start jumping up and high-fiving (fiveing?) each other like they were the ones that had just done whatever it was.

Only NotGeorge, red-blooded male that he is, was able to pull his attention away from the TV long enough to pay proper homage to SmolderingHotGirl who was sitting a few tables away. She was with people we were assuming were her parents and her daughter, but now I realize that it could have been her parents and her sister, in which case NotGeorge and I might both be going to hell.

I bet it's all Bud and Miller there.

I guess the theme of tonight - at least the theme of the conversations we had tonight - was what the fuck does/did she see in him?

Not very original, I know. This question has been pondered since the dawn of time, and will continue to be pondered at least until the Sun expands 93,000,000 miles and turns our little planet into charcoal.

Original or not, there it was. The Big Question.

What the fuck does ExtremelyHotGirl see in ShavedHeadFatFucker? What the fuck does KindaCuteGirl see in ClearlyGayGuy?

What the fuck did you-know-who see in FullOfHimselfDude, or in NaiveAndCluelessGuy?

These questions will probably never be answered.

Tonight was a fairly typical night at Rich O's, highlighted only by a little paranoia on my part that proved to be unfounded.

To drink, I had a Rogue Smoke, a Delirium Tremens, and an NABC Tunnel Vision. Nothing new for me, thanks anyway. All are excellent beers. The Tremens, in particular, is just fantastic.

The first half of the night I spent talking with MusicalHippyDude and the guy who I think is the singer in their band. The second half of the night I spent talking with one of LaptopGirl's ex-boyfriends. The cool one, for those keeping score at home.

ElPresidente is turning 40 this Monday. This revelation only served to remind me of my own impending birthday, just two weeks away. I'm not depressed about this milestone at all, but I am irritated by it. There was a lot of stuff that was supposed to have happened by now that, I fear, will never happen as I slide down the other side of this hill I'm about to crest.

I have more to say, but I'm going to hold off. It's this new "restraint" thing I've been working on.

(PS, 020805: I fucking hate typos. I just corrected one in this entry that had sat for nearly three days. If you hate typos as much as I do, please point them out to me so I can correct them as soon as possible.)