Pecadillo's new ride - part 2

Well you've seen the vehicles I've already ruled out, my quest continues:

Another possibility is the Honda Carry:



With the Carry, owners have the distinct privlage of driving a car that looks the same from both ends. While that's a dream I've had since childhood, I kind of want a vehicle that won't tip over at the first gust of wind.



What a beauty. I'm not sure, but something tells me that the Alto Hustle was originally designed for the Animal Control service. Call me crazy, but I don't want any passenger of mine to catch hydrphobie... again. C-train has never really been the same.


The aptly named StepVan derives its appellative from the fact that it is 1. a van, and 2. roughly the same size as a step ladder.



With the StepVan, you get a vehicle that can - and often does - double as a closet.



And just look at the colorful crowd of people that the StepVan attracts. Those are people I want to party with.



Although... chicks dig guys with trucks.

I don't know, maybe I've been going about this the wrong way entirely. I don't need another car, what I need is a hog. Yeah, a hog is sure to make me look butch. And nothing says "butch" like a Zook:



Even this young Asian man is frightened by the shear manliness that is the Zook.



I'll be honest, I'm not really sure what's going on in that last picture.



Sadly, I'm afraid I might look a bit silly on the Zook. I'm 6 foot 3, and I estimate our Asian friend here at no more than 4 foot 8. Even at his small stature, he looks like an awkward giant on the Zook. I don't know, maybe I should leave the Vespa's for Chesney Hawkes.



Maybe what I need isn't a motorcycle instead of a car, I need a motorcycle that will fit in my car.



The Trunk Bike has it all; it fits in your car, it doubles as a automan, it even comes with its own tote-bag.



My friends and I often find ourselves in this pose, all I need is the minibike to complete the picture.



Here it is. I've found my new ride. I need look no further. Who could resist a name like "The Road Fox"? I defy you to find anything cooler than a Vespa with training wheels.



While driving this beaut' around, people will know you're either the bad boy in town, or you've been stricken with adult onset diabetes.

Where do I sign?

Pecadillo's new ride - part 1

My car, a 1998 Honda Civic, is on the verge of death. Now that I have a steady, full time job, I'm officially in the market for a new ride. But I don't want one of the same boring cars that everybody else has; I want something that stands out. In my quest for a truly unique car, I've come across a Japanese web site that sells pre-owned vehicles that never exactly made it big here in the States. I now have many options, all I have to do is choose.

My first option is the Honda Vamos:



Nothing says farm work quite like a Honda. And with it's whopping 2 cylinders, the Vamos really has the power to get-up-and-vaminos. This unique automobile is said to top out at 35 mph... going downhill... while being pushed.



With the Vamos, my passengers will feel like they're on a back lot tour of my life. That might have something to do with the lawsuit that the Universal Studios Tour currently has pending against the good people at Honda. Notice how the spare tire also doubles as the front bumper. It's efficient and stylish... well, at least it's efficient.



The Vamos comes in Army brown, off-white, and more off-white. Originally designed as a rural golf cart, the Vamos made the transition over to bona fide vehicle status due to a typo made by Honda's marketing department. Nevertheless, the Vamos has since graced the driveways of literally tens of people.



The Vamos' trunk area is just big enough to hold many of the things I often have in my ride, such as a three foot ladder, a folding chair, or maybe a even whole bag of groceries. I'll tell you what, if the Vamos comes with a pair of those bright red pants, there'd be one parked in my garage already. Unfortunately, pants are not included so I must give the Vamos the adios.

Taking a break.

I hate to jump on the "taking a break" bandwagon but I'm moving in to my new place this week, and I don't have internet access yet.

Posts will be sporadic, but I will have to post a few times; Frank Turk has pulled ahead on hits-per-day and so I can't afford to slack off.

Live strong; fall strong III The Search for Spock

Well guess what, I really shouldn't have a bike.

During my maiden voyage since having my bike fixed yesterday, I ate it yet again. This time, I must have run over something because my back tire popped about six miles into my ride.

I think this is some sort of sign.

Anybody want to buy a relatively new bike with just a few dents and scratches? Anyone?

Live strong; fall strong part deux

Well guess what. Apparently, I shouldn't have a bike.

That's right, I ate it... again. Although this time, it wasn't due to any ill-conceived plans of going off sweet jumps. Also, I'm pleased to say that this time I stayed on my feet.

It is incredibly windy today; there have been reports of winds up to 45 mph. Nevertheless, I set out to ride on my favorite bike trail, about nine miles or so. The first half was horrible; it was on a slight incline and the wind was so strong I could barely maintain speed. My speedometer averaged a pathetic 6 or 7 miles an hour. Coming back, after the turn-around point, I started out understandably well. I was going downhill and with the powerful gusts of wind to my advantage. Here, my average speed was about 23 miles an hour.

Just as I passed a school playground that shares a fence with my bike path, something happened with my kickstand. My size 14 clown-shoe scuffed the ground, causing it to bounce up and hit my kickstand, sending it into my back wheel. If you've ever seen "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade," you can imagine what happened next. My back tire stopped dead in its tracks, causing the bike to do a front-wheelie for about a second and a half. Somehow my legs made it over the handlebars, so when the bike eventually flipped over front-ways, I was on my feet, skidding to a halt in the standing (more like hunched) position.

For about a nanosecond, I was able to contemplate the wipe-out I had just avoided and the position I was currently in. I came to the reasonable conclusion that I had just pulled off the impossible and come out of it looking pretty cool in front of all the elementary kids.

Then my bike caught up with me and hit me in the head.

Now there was no question about it—I looked stupid. Really stupid. Any doubt I could have had on the matter was immediately erased once the entire playground full of kids commenced the justifiable pointing and laughing.

How is it possible that every time I eat it, there are always punk elementary kids there to laugh at me? I think from now on, I'm going to avoid riding anywhere near children; they seem to always indicate that bad things are afoot.

To make things worse, my friends Joey and Erin Penberthy are both teachers at that school, and may have even witnessed this display of my total lack of bike-riding skills. Who knows, they could have been laughing too. I know I would have.

Pecadillo's Picks, volume 2

BLOGS
The Teak has a post about the differences between American toilets and "dunnies" from his native Australia that has absolutely fascinated me. Apparently, "toities" down under are far more effective than ours. Not only does he describe the mechanics in graphic detail, but in another post, the Teakster published pictures of his very own "Crocodile Dunnie."

I also found the account of his visit to In-N-Out particularly interesting as he visited one that I been have been frequenting my entire life. It's an interesting outsider's perspective that is also good read.

I must say, after reading of the wonder that is the Australian toilet, I have been given yet another reason to travel Down Under. Perhaps the best reason is because Australian chicks have the most attractive accent ever. It has long been my goal to find myself a God-fearing Australian lass, and make her Mrs. Pecadillo.

TV SHOWS
You'll never see a more realistic classic TV show than the Rockford Files. Today, reality is often the goal; everything is supposed to be as realistic as possible. Back in the 70's, there was one show that stood out among all others as entertaining and believable. James Garner's performance as a private investigator named Rockford paved the way and set the standard for the now redundant anti-hero character. Jimmy never broke even. He almost never got paid for his detective services, and when he did, he usually had to spend it all to get his car fixed, or pay some off a debt he wasn't responsible for. He often got beat up; usually the result of his friendship with a weasly con named Angel played by Stuart Margolin. Any episode with him is a guaranteed winner. Angel's always trying to rip off Rockford, or use him in some way. He's a dishonorable scoundrel you can't help but love.

Here's Angel's description of a chess game between Rockford and his dad (Rocky)—note the strong use of 70's jive talk:

"This game's over, man! You gotta move your Boss or Rocky's gonna lay a subpoenie on him; then his Torpedo is gonna smoke your Old Lady, and all your Heavies'll be doin' time—except for maybe your Mouthpiece, but Rocky's Sheriff's got him put in the corner. You got nothin' left but Punks and Junkies: you're through, Jimmy."

—Angel Martin to Jim Rockford

I love that show.

PRODUCTS
For the past year or so, I've been using a pen that is wicked awesome. It's called a Space Pen. NASA developed this truly ingenious invention so their astronauts could use pens in space. Obviously, the average ball-point pen would be useless when in zero gravity because it utilizes the gravity system to work. The Space Pen is pressurized, making it possible to write while holding it upside-down.

When I was abroad last year, some of my friends there told me a joke I would not likely have heard in the States: The Americans spent thirty years designing and perfecting a pen that works in space. Russian astronauts use pencils.

I actually know a guy who is an astronaut, but I'm a little reluctant to ask him if they really use these pens. The last time I saw him, he crushed me with the news that they don't really drink Tang. He didn't even know what it was. How can it be called "the drink of the astronauts" when they don't even drink it? And to think, all those times I drank Tang as a wee Pecadillo, thinking that would make me more like a "Space man"—now I know all I got was a better chance at diabetes.

Breaks my heart.

RESTAURANTS
Olive Garden. Before I continue, I want to make something clear; I am not one of those people that thinks the Olive Garden is Italian Food. It may be called Italian Food, but it's about as Americanized as it could be. Calling Olive Garden authentic Italian food is about the same as calling the sushi sold at Costco authentic Japanese food.

That being said, it should be noted that I have yet to meet a single female who doesn't love the Olive Garden. Clearly it has a purpose; dates. I have a theory about this: girls that would otherwise decline to go out with you (in my case, most girls) are more likely to say yes if they know they're getting free Olive Garden out of it.

Also, every so often, Olive Garden has a deal called the "Never ending pasta bowl". The name says it all. You pay for one bowl of pasta, but receive as many as you can eat. If you're anything like me, you like to get your money's worth. If so, it would be a good idea to not partake of the magical never-ending pasta-bowl while on a date. Especially if you suspect the savory cuisine is the only reason you're not eating alone. For more information, my buddy James, a server at "the OG", recently wrote a post about this deal and its effect on Olive Garden employees.

Confessions of a fat-boy, or, how to lose eighty pounds in a summer.

Warning: The following is an account of how I, Pecadillo, dropped eighty pounds in a single summer. It is not meant to encourage anyone to follow my lead, or copy my method. Looking back, I should have known better; Pecadillo's Weight Loss Program was pretty dangerous. Now that I've sufficiently covered my rear...

Throughout the last few years of high school and into my first year in college, my weight stayed pretty much consistently at 250-260 lbs. As a rather large, 6'4 growing young boy, that made me fairly chubby, but never really fat. You know how they say college freshmen gain fifteen pounds during their first year in school; the freshman fifteen? Well I innovated the freshman forty. Strangely, I put it all on during the end of the second semester.

So one day, I hopped on the scale and to my disbelief; I was "three bills". That's right, three-hundred pounds. "Dude, I'm fat!" I could not believe my eyes.

Memphis: July 28, 2003

As a 250 pound guy, 300 lbs seemed huge, much like the way 30 years of age sounds really old to a teenager. I was scared. I was so scared that I virtually lost my appetite for food all together. I'm not saying I became anorexic; I just wasn't ever hungry. Whereas food had previously been a priority and something I spent a great deal of time preparing and enjoying, now, I was simply not concerned with it. I was too scared about my own health to worry about what I was going to eat next. Growing up, I would eat every meal until I was full, now, after reaching three-hundred pounds, I would eat just a portion of what would have normally been a typical serving. I'd still eat the same types of meals, (anything Mexican) just much smaller portions. For example, in high school, I could polish off an entire pizza-no problem. However, after my stomach shrunk, I can vividly remember one night having trouble consuming a single slice. I call this the Pecadillo weight loss program-do not attempt.

After a few weeks of eating small amounts, my stomach actually shrunk. Then gradually, after my appetite slowly increased, I began eating until I was closer to being full, although, since my stomach had shrunk significantly, that meant I was still eating small portions of food. This is very similar to what happens to someone after getting their stomach stapled.

I never intended for this to happen; I didn't plan to shrink my stomach, it's simply what happened due to my sudden lack of appetite. And I want to be very clear on something; I am not recommending this for anyone. Looking back, even though I was careful to get all the food groups represented at each meal and took vitamins daily, it was still a stupid thing to do.

Hollywood: October 17, 2003

At the same time, my best friend C-train and I were both planning on enlisting into the Marine Corps, (this was about a year after 9/11) and spent the summer working out with our recruiters on the weekends, and running and lifting weights on our own during the week. Needless to say, the sudden drop in food intake and constant exercise made the fat melt off. I'm not exaggerating; there was one week where I lost twelve pounds.

It was an amazing feeling. By October, I felt so much better. Everything was different, I was no longer wheezing after running. I found myself sweating only after physical exhilaration. I could even go up numerous flights of stairs without fear of cardiac arrest. I had lost so much weight that my posture and general stance changed drastically. The loss proved so great that I found myself to be quite clumsy for a while. It was like I had been given a new body. The best part was I'd run into people I knew from high school or even the previous semester and they did not recognize me.

At the start of the summer, I tipped the scales at 300. By October, I weighed in at 210. Technically, I lost 90 pounds, but that last ten pounds returned just as fast as it had left.

My typically massive appetite has been reinstated, plus I don't run near as much, so my weight has gone up a bit, however, Crawford and I still lift so it's hard to tell how much of that is fat. Sadly, the massive weight loss has posed a serious side-effect; my skin is not what it was. Whereas I used to have tight (more like stretched) skin, now I'm more like one of those Chinese fighting dogs. That's right folks, loose skin. You know the way a balloon looks after its been inflated to its maximum density, then ,after time, slowly deflated; that's me.

If it aint' one thing it's another.

Stunt-doubles

As you might have noticed, I recently cut off all my hair. I didn't shave it to the skin but I clipped it at a "one." This summer I had the longest hair I've ever had in my life. After our recent heat season,(temperatures of 114 degrees) I decided it was way too hot to keep all the hair. Now that I'm bald, I've been getting quite a few comments. My boss told me I looked like one of those "hari krishna dudes." Another guy I work with said I look like Kojak; I don't see how that could be a compliment. I think, if I look like anyone, it's Curly from the Three Stooges. Who do you think I look like?




Curly, a true genius.


Kojack, who loves ya baby.


Burn Victim looking like someone just insulted his mother.


Paul Schaffer


Hari Krishna dude apparently standing down-wind from something.


Drew Carey


Six Flags old dude-looks kind of like Drew Carey much later in life.


Yul Brenner, one of the coolest bald guys ever.


Mel Cooley, one of the lamest bald guys ever.


Stone Cold-it's like looking in a mirror.


Weird tattooed guy... something tells me he lost a bet or two.

"Now a better blog!"

I was just enjoying a "fun-size" bag of Doritos Nacho Cheesier chips. "Fun-size" is the manufacturers' name for the smallest-size bag, although, I would think the largest size would be the most fun. Anyhoo, while I was contemplating what was printed on the bag, I noticed it also says, "Now better tasting!"

Huh?

How, exactly, are they able to make such a claim? Who is qualified to tell me what I'll think tastes better? Isn't that the same as if a woman, after changing the way she does her hair, walks around with a sign that says, "Now more attractive"? Or a guy who, after seemingly bathing himself in cheap cologne, wears a shirt that declares, "Now better smelling"?

As a guy who has just recently both; cut off all his hair and, began wearing a new cologne, I can say with authority that my looks and signature musk are still nothing to brag about.

Do not be fooled by Doritos' lies and exaggerations, they are clearly not looking out for our best interests.

What's in a name?

Are you telling me the best name they could come up with for this hurricane was "Katrina"???

Seeing how this was easily the worst natural disaster ever in America, shouldn't that merit a more fearsome name than "Katrina"? What's the deal with that? Katrina? That is not a name that evokes much fear. I don't know whose job it is to name these disasters, but the guy needs to get fired.

Last year, another hurricane ravaged the coasts of Florida and other southern districts, and some moron decided to name it "Betsy."

Betsy!?!

That has to be a joke. It sounds like a doll, not a destructive force of nature. No one is going to flee their home because "Betsy" is coming. Nobody in the history of mankind ever said, "Oh no, Betsy's coming, run for your lives!"

What's next? Hurricane Skippy?

Traditionally, hurricanes are named alphabetically. Apparently, they all used to have women's names, but some angry femi-nazis felt that hit a little too close to home, so to speak.

So now, in the name of equal rights, they rotate between boy and girl names. For example; the first one of the season might be called Andrew, followed by Betsy (apparently), then Chuck, then Doris, etc.

Last year, the second storm of the season needed a girl's name beginning with the letter B. Instead of "Betsy," maybe they should have gone with something a little more frightening—like Bertha. Now that's a name people will run from! "Bertha" just sounds like a powerhouse of destruction that claims hundreds of lives. In fact, most people are probably already accustomed to running away from people and things named "Bertha."

They never use famous names, but I can think of some really scary ones: Geraldo, Oprah, Cher, Seacrest.

And why is it only a first name? I think a last name or some kind of title could be useful to help people distinguish between disastrous storms that could potentially destroy their lives, and annoying relatives that might also destroy their lives. If they ever do name a hurricane "Bertha," it might be confusing for citizens who happen to have an Aunt Bertha. So maybe "Bertha the Horrible." Later that year we might encounter "Kevin Barstool." "Gunter Shirtstain." Or "Nigel the Colostomyzer."

Possibly someday we'll be hit with "Hurricane John Tesh".

Those are names people can be afraid of! Not "Betsy."

Live strong; fall strong

This morning, while riding my bike a couple of blocks from my house, I ate it... hard.

I had been riding for about twenty minutes, when I saw a perfect opportunity to take my bike off a sweet jump. The jump was the slope of the sidewalk on the left side of the street. Unfortunately, today is trash day, so there was a row of three trash bins just beyond the spot at which I planned to make my ascent. There are a number of reasons why this particular jump was unsuccessful; namely, basic laws of physics, but also the well-known fact that my physical prowess is limited, and my body can can best be described as "dead weight".

For this jump to have been successful, I would have had to either: jump completely over the row of bins, or lean out of the jump which would send me to the side of the bins. I attempted the latter, a far more plausible scenario given my physical dexterity. As I took off, my uncoordinated, non-athletic butt had a meeting with the trash bin, turning me sideways, in the other direction. I had failed to stay to the side of the row, thus throwing the opposite side of my body to the ground. I only skidded for seven or eight feet, though that was more than enough to tangle my bike chain. There I was—blood flowing down my pasty-white, hairless legs—trying to fix my bike chain, while a little twelve-year-old girl was laughing her head off at what she had just seen. In her defense, pasty-white, un-athletic chubby guys falling off their bikes in the middle of the streets is always pretty funny.

Pecadillo's Picks, volume 1

Every once in a while, I think a few recommendations are in order. Not just links to other blogs, mind you—but other excellent time-consuming media and products, too. The following is a list of quality time-wasters I have found particularly enjoyable.

TV
Has anyone seen that show on the National Geographic Channel called "The Dog "Whisperer"? That guy is awesome! Watching helpful shows about how to train your pet correctly or similar Animal-Planet-type topics is not usually my thing. Normally, I would much rather watch programs featuring real video clips of people getting mauled by a crazed circus elephant, a medical documentary about the effects of a flesh-eating virus, or news about an escaped Liger in Detroit. But there is something really cool about this guy. For one thing, his voice sounds like a pre-pubescent Ricardo Montalban. (Sadly, there is no counterpart for Tattoo on the program.) Still, the Dog Whisperer is able to turn even the meanest pit-bull into a cuddly little house dog, and every once in a while he gets bitten in the process.

BLOGS
Dave Cleland's got a winner. Don't get me wrong, I am in no way implying that Dave Cleland's blog is a total waste of time; it is actually sometimes edifying, and always one of my faves. However, a few months ago, he published a post in which he analyzed the endless debate of which is cooler: Pirates or Ninjas. It's without a doubt a very enjoyable read. As his central thesis is entirely incorrect, however, I deem that particular post a waste of time.

PRODUCTS
Last weekend, I purchased one of the most ingenious and essential kitchenware products I've ever seen. It's easily one of the greatest inventions since Gutenberg’s movable type printing-press. I'm speaking, of course, of the Chip & Salsa Sombrero hat tray.

The brim of the hat holds the chips (arranged in precisely the same manner as my famous chip-doughnut) and the top of the hat can be used to hold salsa or nacho cheese. The built-in cup that is designed to hold the salsa even detaches for easy cleaning. And what's more, it's dishwasher safe.

But wait; there's more. To uncover the salsa, one must press a button which simultaneously uncovers the dip and prompts the tray to play "Mexican Hat Dance". This thing is magical. This is surely something that will grace Pecadillo's actual kitchen for many years to come.

RESTAURANTS
My brother introduced me to one of the finest burrito joints known to man. A place that combines all the benefits of Subway's assembly-line style of preparation with the quality and freshness of Baja Fresh. The place is called Chipotle. If you've already discovered this fine franchise, then I congratulate you on your impeccably good taste. If you have yet to enjoy the magical burritos of which I speak, then I feel very sorry for you and suggest you get better friends. If you live in an area that has yet to boast its own Chipotle, then move. Do whatever you have to, just go there.

I always get the "Barbacoa" burrito (spicy braised and shredded beef) with pinto beans, rice, their hottest salsa, sour cream, and a generous amount of shredded cheddar cheese. You're going to need a large drink.

jenius

Is it just me, or is the word "genius" being thrown around way too much today? Apparently everyone today is a genius. Musicians, comedians, artists, and athletes alike are all widely acknowledged for their talents and declared geniuses.

For instance, ever since the Ray Charles movie came out, and it became cool to pretend you listen to his music, people have been very generous with their assessment of the man's talent. Would somebody please explain to me how Ray Charles qualifies as a genius? Clearly it took a lot of talent for a blind guy to play the piano so well, especially when you consider how "coked up" he was half the time. But was he really a genius? No. Ray Charles was simply a very talented blind guy.

You want to talk about a genius; the guy who invented the churro, that dude's a genius. I'd pay ten bucks to see a movie about that guy any day.