A Cold Wind's A Blowing

"Wanna know why the straw broke the camel's back? Here's the secret: There were a million other straws underneath it."

-Mos Def

War never materializes out of thin air. There is always a string of provocations leading up to the Fort Sumters of history. Raised as much on Nintendo history as I was real history, as a kid I thought World War II started in 1942. I guess that's typical of Americans to assume that a world war isn't really a world war until we arrive. That could have something to do with the fact that we live in a good neighborhood of the world. We have pretty good neighbors that we get along well with, and for the most part, we don't have to deal with their kids being hooligans and corrupting our kids. Sure, they jump the fence once in awhile and raid our barbeques, but they're mostly respectful, hardworking folks. We don't need to be suspicious of their motives, right?

Wrong.

The border wars have begun to gather steam, America. The campaign against our continental dominance is under way. But not from the source you might think. We've all read the news reports of heads in duffle bags and Federal agents being kidnapped and assassinated on our southern border. But the drug war with the Mexican cartels is not what I'm talking about. In that war, we are united with the Mexican government. The new aggression I speak of, detailed in a New York Times article, comes from our northern neighbors, Canada, host of the 2010 Winter Olympic Games. In an act of incitement, the Canadian Olympic Committee has severely restricted access to Olympic facilities for foreigners:

Count the American speedskater Catherine Raney among the athletes, coaches and officials of several sports surprised by Canada's approach to hosting the Winter Games in February.

Raney, who spent more than seven years living in Canada and training with the Canadian national team, was told after the 2006 Olympics that the Canadians did not want foreign athletes training with them leading to the 2010 Games in Vancouver. She and many other foreign athletes had expected to spend quite a bit of time practicing at the Olympic sites, but have been granted only minimal access.

And get a load of this double speak, eh:

Canadian officials said they were following rules of access to competition sites, as set by each sport's governing body. But they also intend to protect the Olympic host's home-field -- or home-ice, home-snow, home-track -- advantage.

At the Whistler downhill course, unfamiliar to most of the world's best skiers, several medal contenders were left watching over a fence as the Canadian team trained. "Everybody was pushing to get on that downhill," said Max Gartner, Alpine Canada's chief athletic officer. "That's an advantage we cannot give away."

[Officials] acknowledge that they are also driven to succeed at these Olympics, perhaps more than any previous host country.

"We're the only country to host two Olympic Games and never have won a gold medal at our Games," Priestner Allinger said. "It's not a record we're proud of."

To put that into shorthand for you, they're essentially saying, "We've gotten our butts kicked on our home court too many times and we're ashamed of ourselves. To remedy this we're going to handicap every other team and give ourselves as much advantage as possible to prove that ours are the best athletes in the world." You've got to be kidding me. What that means to me is they're admitting in advance that their athletes are inferior, but they just care about the gold medals, not about competing.

When the first shots in a war are fired, those who've been paying attention are never surprised. Unfortunately for us Americans, we pay sparse enough attention that when war does break out, we as a public are caught off guard. Especially shocking in this case is that it involves one of our neighbors, whom we generally think we can trust. Well let this be a warning to you, America: Canada is not the jolly, flannel-clad lumberjack nation they pretend to be. They keep their ax honed for more than chopping lumber. Be on guard.

And to Canada: thank you for hockey. And Rachel McAdams. And back bacon. I still like you. We're still friends. But you're playing a dangerous game. And I'm watching you.

Does the ShamWow! Absorb Blood?

Back in March of this year, I caught a news snippet about the arrest of chameleon-eyed TV pitchman Vince Shlomi, face of the ShamWow! super-absorbent chamois and the Slap Chop kitchen aid.

In case you don't remember the story, ShamWow! had taken a hooker back to his room in a swanky Miami hotel for what the police report refers to as "straight sex." (I find that portion of the police report odd. Straight sex. You don't say? Wouldn't you assume that if you're taking a female prostitute to your room, straight sex is somewhere in the evening's plans? Was that just a contractual prerequisite to make sure he didn't have to pay her if he got back to his room and discovered she was packing extra gear? It's like the old Gaffer used to say, "No use packing a fishing pole on a spelunking trip." Be that as it may, a quick deployment of the Crocodile Dundee technique could have clarified any questions before the subject of price was even broached.) So back to the story at hand: ShamWow! goes in for a kiss and this gal bites his tongue. He has to punch the girl repeatedly until she releases his tongue. Cops show up, arrest both for felony aggravated assault. The Smoking Gun picks up the mugshots, both of them with that "longing for the meth lab" glaze over their eyes. It splashes across a slow news day, and I tuck it away in my Hilariously Sad file next to Gary Busy and Ashley Simpson without a second thought.

Then one day in September, I happen across the pictures taken of the two lovebirds at the hospital. Graphic. Back in March, I remember thinking, "Wait, he had to punch this little pixie multiple times to get her off his tongue? What kind of limp wrist was he swinging?" Well the hospital pics, (her passed out drunk and him trying to sell the photographer that Snuggie he's wearing), tell me he did more than Slap Chop her. He bloodied her nose and blacked her eyes. And I'll admit, I thought less of ShamWow! for hitting on a girl. But from the looks of it, he's lucky to have his tongue at all. She didn't just bite down, she bit in. Deep. A fair amount of that blood on her face must be his.

Now ShamWow! may or may not be the type who would, under normal circumstances, hit a woman. I can't say for sure. However, I can say for sure that I am not that type, and I'm not positive that if, (take a big hypothetical leap with me here, people), if I were in the same situation, I wouldn't employ the ShamPow! defense. How was he supposed to know kissing wasn't on the menu? I mean, he's paying $1000 for access to her VIP area, but he can't even get a kiss to start the show? As aggravating as that may be, it's not punch-worthy by itself. But why couldn't she have said, "No, sorry Romeo. Pretty Woman rules are in effect. No kissing." Instead, she launches straight into chomping down on his tongue, which, by the way, you don't get into someone else's mouth without an initial level of acceptance on the part of the other party. She waited until his tongue was in her mouth until she remembered that the Whoring For Dummies manual forbids it. That's malicious intent to bite. I'm not saying she deserved the two black eyes and a bloody nose. I'm just saying.

Ride Boldly Ride, The Shade Replied

In my short time here in DC, I've discovered that among the Mormon community, there are a few events that generate enough buzz to reach the ears of even the most socially inept hermits like myself. I know (or at least am on close enough terms with) so few people that I don't get invited to the regular parties where the cool kids hang out. So when I hear of these bigger events, I will generally try to go and make fond memories. Or at least send the cool kids home with someone to make fun of. Just like summer camp, right? Well when I managed to get on the email list for Dutch Bike Dutch this year, I trembled in anticipation of the mirth and merriment that lay in store.

Dutch Bike Dutch has become an annual event, started by a couple of aggressively charitable and considerate young ladies to raise some walking-around money for orphans somewhere. I'm glad I got to contribute for some pinatas and Jarritos for the childrenz, but if I'm being honest, I didn't really pay attention to exactly what the funds were for. Call me passively charitable. It was a good cause, I'm sure. Anyway, DC is only about a two hour drive from Lancaster County, PA, home to Dutch Amish country. It's beautiful farm land with rolling hills, so it makes for some good cycling. As a result, in the spring, carloads of DC Mormon singles haul their bikes up to Pennsylvania to do rides varying in distance from 15 miles to 50 miles.

I chose to go for the 30-mile ride. Never mind that I hadn't been on a bike since I was 14. I was fit as a fiddle and ready to rock. Or to fiddle if needs be. So I rented a high-priced carbon fiber road bike to really allow me to fly. But to simply ride a bike would be too mundane. The occasion demanded more spice, more verve. So I decided to make my thrilling return to cycling in heroic fashion. As a luchadore.



I thought there was a chance that others would be making the ride in costumes of some sort as well. I mean, who wouldn't want to raise some Amish pulses with a bit of bravado? I was wrong. So very wrong. The closest anyone came was Colton in his $2 Incredible Hulk riding jersey. Ugliest shirt ever, but I applaud the showmanship. And he one-upped me by doing the 50-miler. Two claps for you and the chef lady, Colton.



Anyway, the video will fill in the visual blanks for you. How was it riding 30 miles after a 16-year absence from the sport? Pros and cons both, I'd say. The biggest con was those padded biking shorts. Mercy me, I felt like I was walking around with a maxi pad attached to my gooch with rubber cement. Extremely uncomfortable for a man. Not in a wedgie way, but in a turn-and-cough way. Another con, when I attempted to dismount my bike after 30 miles, I had the spaghetti legs real bad. I almost had to fall over sideways so I could roll away from it, because I didn't have the strength to lift my leg over the bar. Pros, you really do feel like you're flying sometimes. When you crest a hill and hit the downslope and drop the gear, the road slips away beneath you as your cape flaps in the wind. It's quite a rush. It builds hella leg strength in your quads. Boy howdy. And it's a peaceful way to take in the countryside and get some exercise while doing it. I will have to be sure to beg onto the invite list for next year.

And now, a short film (footage compliments of V Slice. Edited by yours truly.)