Archive for January, 2013

Vs. Goats

Posted: January 30, 2013 in Animals
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Here’s the deal. What’s so great about goats?

For those outraged readers who are, at this very moment, leaping from their recliners and shouting to no one in particular, “What the fiddlesticks!?! We need goats!” I humbly disagree. I mean, come on, we already have sheep.

And aren’t goats just the sheep family’s black sheep? A goat is like the twenty-two year old sheep who, trying to find himself, comes home from their sixth year of college sporting a goatee, shaggy hair, one too many body piercings and ready to butt heads with any and all authority figures. Settle down emo-goats, you’re not nearly as hip or original as you imagine.

Allow me to counter every pro argument for goats.

PRO – Goats are valued around the world for their milk, meat and hair.

CON – Goat hair? What the hell am I going to do with goat hair? Gross.

And that’s it. Those were all of the known pro-goat arguments.

Speaking of hair, did you know that both the male and female goat have beards…that’s just freaky.

A 2 month old goat kid in a field of capeweed

What’s the big deal?

Honestly, what is it that goats do exceptionally well? They’re coordinated and have great balance, which comes in handy…almost never, as they spend all of their time standing in remarkably flat fields grazing. Other than that…they’re known for eating almost anything. So is my Uncle Bobo. Big deal.

Goat lovers claim that they (the goats, not the lovers) are extremely curious and intelligent. Well answer me this – if they’re so smart, why did they choose to be goats?

Even history’s most famous goat isn’t really a goat. Pan is a well-known character from Greek mythology. You’d recognize him if you saw him. He has the lower body of a goat and the upper body of a cooking utensil.

Bottom line – everything goats do they do not as well as some other species. Rhinos laugh at goat’s sad little attempt at horns. Sheep baa their derision at goat’s attempt to create wool. Rams snort their disgust when goats butt heads as if they’re afraid they’re going to break a nail.

When people all over the globe enjoy their delicious stewed, baked, grilled, barbecued, or fried goat meat, each and every one of them are thinking to themselves, “I’m thoroughly enjoying my stewed, baked, grilled, barbecued, or fried goat meat…the only thing I’d enjoy more would be anything else.”

And what’s with the milk? Goats are all like, “Look at us, we’re making milk!” Uh, yeah, just like every other female mammal on the planet. Big whoop. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, goats, but not that many humans enjoy your milk. Only two percent of the world’s consumed milk comes from goats (95% comes from cows and the remaining 3% comes from Pamela Anderson).

And what do goats call their kids? They call them kids. Real creative, goat-jerks. Way to steal our name for our offspring. Think of original names for your young much?

And what the hell is a bleat?

I’m sorry. Deep breaths. I need to settle down. It’s just…I hate goats so much. No, no, it’s okay. I’m okay. I just need to relax…I’ll be fine…I’ll just slip on my comfy cashmere sweater and enjoy a scrumptious slice of feta.


Here’s the deal. I just returned from my weekly trip to Las Vegas. Sure, it’s a four hour drive, but the casinos are really hurting financially and I just want to do my fair share and chip in. Of course, we all know that Sin City has all of the drinking, gambling and adult entertainment a fellow can handle. But did you know that Las Vegas is the Women Walking Around Barefoot and Carrying High Heels Capital of the World?

That’s right, you can’t go five minutes in a casino without seeing a woman pass by shoeless…except for the heels she holds in her hands. They tend to travel in packs and it’s a phenomenon I simply don’t understand. Are they so proud of their footwear that they want to display them at a height nearer to eye level? Do these same women, not entirely clear on garment placement, spend hours trying to fit their feet into their gloves? Or (and I understand that this is clearly the most likely scenario) do they put on glamorous yet really uncomfortable shoes and walk around in them for about eight minutes before realizing that their glamorous shoes are really uncomfortable and would be equally glamorous and far more comfortable if they carried them around in their hands?

To further understand what’s going on here (and pad a content-lacking post) let’s take a look at the history of high heels. According to Wikipedia, “In ancient Egypt…murals dating from 3500 B.C. depict an early version of…both upper-class males and females wearing heels.” Wow. High heels have been around a long time. Then again, Wikipedia has also reported that David Beckham was an athlete…in China in the 18th century. They’ve claimed that Plato was a Hawaiian weatherman and surfer. And their site clearly states that Pauly Shore has starred in thirty-one movies….what? Pauly Shore has starred in thirty-one movies? Forget the women carrying around their shoes, this is the real problem.

Regardless of how many film sets Mr. Shore has snuck onto, and whether or not high heels are thousands of years old (and even if these murals depicted individuals walking like an Egyptian in high heels, I bet there’s a mural next to it that shows these same noblewoman, drink in hand, trudging through the Luxor carrying those shoes on her way to the next slot machine) we have a real issue to address with these unshod gamblers.

I don’t understand why these women can’t keep their shoes on. With the exception of foot pain, increased likelihood of sprains and fractures, an unsteady gait, stress on the knee joint, a shortened Achilles tendon, lower back pain, blisters, bunions, hammer toes, corns, and plantar fasciitis, high heels are the best.

Really, women of Las Vegas, you need to make a choice here. Because, believe me, those casino floors you’re walking across barefoot aren’t nearly as clean as you might imagine. Unless you want what happens in Vegas to stay on your feet, we’ve got some tough decisions to make. Comfort or style. Because walking barefoot and inebriated whilst carrying your heels doesn’t look as good as you’re imagining it. I suggest you pick some shoes that you can wear for more than half an hour.

Or start wearing really uncomfortable shirts.

Here’s the deal. Ever since I moved out from under that rock, I have been aware of the Angry Birds phenomenon. But, as enticing as the premise sounded, I managed to go nearly three years without once playing this game. And then I got my first iPhone. And then I downloaded Angry Birds. And I haven’t stopped playing since.

For example, earlier I sat down to brainstorm a topic to versus…but nary a droplet formed. So I decided to take a ten minute Angry Birds break. That was three and a half hours ago.

I have a problem.

Hello, my name is Makya McBee and I have Anger management issues (get it? Angry Birds? Managing the amount of time I spend playing? It’s funny, right? Or should I have just gone with, “I’m a birdaholic.”)

A yellow bird collapses a structure onto sever...

Come on…just one more hit.

But I do have a problem. And I’m not alone. Over one billion downloads? How is that possible? Who knew that the world was just itching for the chance to slingshot inexplicably flightless birds at rotund, green, sometimes mustached, egg-thieving pigs that are holed up in a series of simplistic yet remarkably solid stone, glass and wooden structures? How do you pitch that game?

“Hey, guys, you know how helmet-wearing hogs are always stealing your eggs?”

“Um…no…and who let you in here?”

But it works. Damn if it doesn’t work like sweet, sweet Finnish magic. That’s right, Rovio is Finnish for, “That will be another ninety nine cents, please.” Turns out the game was developed in Espoo, Finland. And, no, that is not a lame attempt at scatological humor…the city is really called Espoo. So we’re not even wasting endless hours playing an American app. Those gosh-darned Nordic programmers are taking our pointless video game making jobs and, to add insult to injury, they made a game so ridiculously addictive that we now don’t even have time to look for new jobs because we can’t stop playing.

Angry Birds is destroying our world one golden egg at a time. Imagine if we could harness even half the energy we dedicate to seeking revenge on those swindling swine and use it to develop…oh, I don’t know…I can’t stop thinking about how to get Matilda to drop her egg bomb on to that stack of dynamite. Yes, I know the bird’s names. Like I said, I have a problem.

So I’m taking a stand against my furious feathered friends. I’m tired of lying to those closest to me and sneaking out for one more sling. I need an app cap. I need to set limits. I need to take my life back.

Right after I figure out how to get three stars on level twelve of Mine and Dine.

Here’s the deal. As I crawl towards my fourth decade of life (and I’m not speaking metaphorically, my knees are shot and I’m actually down on all fours), I’ve noticed something. If you show anyone a picture of themselves from twenty years ago, they are almost guaranteed not to like their hair. Recent studies conducted entirely within my brain indicate that nearly 97% of all adults regret their teenage hair.And this has been happening for a long time. Cave paintingologists have determined that some Paleolithic images are actually crude prehistoric yearbooks. No doubt Neanderthals would stand around the cave lamenting their former hairstyles. “Ugh, me no believe thought cool to wear bone in hair.”

And it’s been happening ever since…

Actress Louise Brooks in 1927, wearing bobbed ...

This is cool every ninety years.

In the 1920’s, women were sporting the bob cut, until they grew up and looked back at their misspent youth. By this time, their sons were now rocking the Pompadour, until they also matured and saw the folly of their ways. By this time, the daughters of the former Pompadourians were strolling out of salons with beehives, but time would prove this too was a do don’t. The beehive ladies eventually had children of their own who proudly pruned their locks into mullets, Mohawks and perms. The years continued to pass and, thankfully, the perms weren’t as permanent as their name suggested because the trend of hair regret continued. The next generation went for scrunchies, mall bangs, cornrows and “The Rachel”. But now friends of Friends regret their former styles just as everyone who came before them. Today, it’s all about side swept bangs, shag cuts, loose up dos and face-framing layers (I have no idea what any of that means). But here’s my guess…twenty years from now you’re all going to look back with shame at what is currently the height of fashion. And what’s in for 2013? According to a couple of sites, it’s the bob cut. Alas, if only the twenty-somethings of the 1920 somethings were still alive today…they could finally look back proudly on their ghosts of haircuts past.

How does this continue to happen? How is it that whatever we choose as our main look always ends up looking like a mane mistake? Is it simply a byproduct of aging? Are we destined to eternally be embarrassed by our former selves?
Actually, there is hope. Justin Bieber famously sported what I affectionately call the “hair smear” across his forehead. But last year he paid someone way too much money to de-shag him. Is it possible that this represent a major evolution in the history of hair awareness? If Justin was able to regret his former hair while still a teenager, there truly is hope for future generations. After all, the sooner we can get through the first stage of aging – regret, the sooner we can get to the next stage…