h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Autumn is here in all its glory in the Northern Rockies. The maples, poplars, cottonwoods, oaks, and elms are ablaze in town. Up in the mountains, tamaracks, dogwood, and huckleberry provide an incredible contrast next to the ponderosa, spruce, and fir.
The sky is that wonderful bright blue that only occurs in October. I scrape the frost off my car windows in the morning and stroll through fallen leaves on the sidewalks. The air is filled with the tang of woodsmoke and apples are at their ripest. Apple pie and apple cider, pumpkin ice cream, Halloween, and grouse hunting...this is my favorite time of year.

Autumn is here in all its glory in Southern California. The days dawn crisp and chilly, with a bit of fog on your windshield and, more often than not, hanging about you. The mists slowly burn off to reveal a sky which begins to approach the color blue, but doesn't quite live up to its aspirations. Gentle breezes tug at clothing, which suprises the onlooker with the occasional sighting of a sweater or a light windbreaker. As the day approaches noon, that windbreaker finds itself discarded to welcome the sun, which is not suffocating, but comforting, more like a warm blanket and a cup of cocoa than the popcorn-kernel-in-a-frying-pan sensation that dominated the weeks before. Clouds cling to the mountains that dominate the horizon, carrying promises of a carnival of winter activities. Comforted in the knowledge that the howling Santa Ana winds are only now marshalling their forces, I take a deep breath of the mostly clean autumn air and sigh... this is my favorite time of year.

Okay, smart ass. I'm a cold weather junkie, what can I say? This was my attempt at a journal entry that was bucolic. I can change back into the horny drug addicted chef if you want.
Here's hoping those Santa Ana's singe your butt.

A big wet sloppy Bronx raspberry to you, my dear.

Fall is here in not-quite Southern California. The days stink of rotting leaves, the smell carried like feces on the bottom of one's shoes by the ubiquitous fog. When the fog burns off, it reveals a depressingly blue sky accompanied by an irritatingly cheerful sun, as if to remind you that today is the perfect opportunity to get something happy and productive done, whether you like to or not. The days start out chilly, causing people to leave their homes wearing heavy jacket, but the middle of the day becomes hotter and more humid than the inside of a prostitute's mouth. Those wearing jackets become the unfortunate victims of a meterological "Made You Look." Fake snow and pine trees dot the townscape, reminding consumers of their obligation to buy useless novelty gifts for those they are required to show affection to. Thinking to the drunken chaos of college Halloween parties to come, I trudge to my next class and grumble...fall sucks.

I have my bucolic side, but it finds few avenues for expression in Southern Cal. I once returned here for a visit while living in Hawaii, and I delivered these famous words on the way to my mother's house:

"Well, Mom, the sky is brown and so is the grass; I must be home."

Love 'ya Scout/Sniper!!
Let's not even get into the California shopping malls at Xmastime playing "White Christmas" over the PA system, the inebriated child molesters temporarily donning the Santa suit, the sweaty fat ladies grabbing at sale items, the children running amok and smelling of urine, and outside...80 degrees and sunny. It's so wrong.
Montana, I love you, I love you, I love you.

As the bumper stickers around here say:
"Welcome to Montana, now go home"
"The last thing Montana needs is more people"
and my personal favorite,
"Cows not condos".

Montana sounds like my kind of place.

Except maybe the part about cows. My college has a big ag program, so at any given time one is probably downwind of some big pile of bull%$#@. Especially now, since the landscapers keep leaving random smelly piles around school.

I personally don't patronize those shrines to consumerism, especially during the so-called "Holiday Season." The only person I ever buy gifts for is my girlfriend, and since I don't have one anymore, there's really no one I'm worried about shopping for.

Wampus

Why don't you buy stuff for yourself. You have to worship at the altar of materialism sometime. What better person could you choose?
"Happy Birthday Jesus, now I'm gonna buy some crap!"
When I go Christmas shopping, with every gift I purchase for someone else I buy a little something for moi.
Call me selfish. I don't care.
My good friend Molly's mom says: "Love many, trust few, always row your own canoe".

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Why don't you want human contact? Mmmmmm???
I didn't mean to imply that I'm selfish only at a particular time of year. But if your prone to the Christmas Blues, it certainly helps.

There's something lacking in purchasing products from the Internet. I 'm a very tactile soul. I like to feel the fabric of the clothes that I am buying, page through the book, try on the good-smelling lotion ("Warm Vanilla Sugar" from Bath and Body Works is my favorite. I like to smell like a big cookie.), and sample the produce at the Farmer's Market. Who wants to live a sterile life?

Speaking of the X-Files, every time I have watched that show (granted, only a handful of times) I've been totally confused. That goes for the movie as well. Or maybe it was because I was very stoned at the time and found something on my foot that was fascinating to watch.

Sure, I like human contact. Just not with anyone I might happen to meet at the businesses I frequent. There are very few cute girls to be found in used book stores and video rental places.

For the times when you know exactly what you want, there's something to be said for not having to go out looking for it, or driving back and forth across town comparing prices. Usually I'll order something, then forget about it for a few days, and when it arrives, I feel like someone sent me a present.

I do, however, make sure to frequent the organic/health food store as much as I can. Lots of desirable human contact around there.

X-Files is a show that you have to pay attention to in order to understand. I've tried working on my computer while listening to an episode, with the net result being that I have no idea what's going on. Also, the show does seem to be written for people who've seen every episode, because they have a lot of things happening that relate to previous events, but if you haven't seen it before, you're completely lost.

Maybe I'm just lucky. I live in a very attractive town, and it's usually a pleasure to go shopping here. And while I like most of the stuff at our organic market, the Good Food Store, I wouldn't say the people usually found therein are all that desirable.

Unless you like dreadlocks and patchouli.

It works better if the health food store is right next to a university full of health-concious young college students. I very often see very good looking girls shopping there, because they think, for some reason, that the food they buy there is more "healthy" than average supermarket faire.

Furthermore, living relatively near Southern California, there are a lot of good looking, stupid, trendy people (read: women) around. Not that I tolerate them any more than I tolerate telemarketers, but they're nice to look at sometimes.

Wow, suddenly you're sounding like a lecher.
Do you always ogle every co-ed in sight?

Nah, just the good looking ones.

Typical juvenile male response. I noticed a lot the the guys on this site have these great personal space pages where they blather on and on about how iconoclastic, how original, how brillant they are, but when you read their journal entries you see the whining about what a boring life they lead. They're actually geeks dressed in wolves' clothing.
You're really all sheep. The wool over your eyes is just a little thicker than the rest of the herd. You are blind to your own loserhood.

Ah, Fraulein Grafenberg! You of the grand ennui and cheese fetish! What say you call me and we do lunch? Mayhap hash over the past few weeks, chat about various and sundry, etc. Now I know who you are! And I want your spanikopita again...I'll make the bakalava!

You cheap slut!
How on earth did you find me? And how do you like all the boys here chasing me? Nothing new, really--as you well know. I heard from our mutual friend Pine Mountin' Molly that you are going to a party given by Randy and Tim rather than ghost hunting with us next Saturday night. Can this be true? I thought we had a date! I was all ready to put out, too! How rare is that?!
Oh you slut, you're breaking my cold little heart.
But for you my dear, I'll make spana anytime. Call me and we'll do each other.

Well, it is a little like this...I made plans with you and with you-know-who, little realizing that, well, they were going to be on the same night. Ergo, since you-know-who (I feel like we're talking about Voldemort here!) is equipped with things that, sadly, you lack, I may just have to ditch you. And I was so looking forward to it. See now, you just need to have that sex change and all would be good...so we'll just schedule that for next week, alrighty?
You, my darling, are just so gushy!