Old Faithful Makes a Porno

Excited about having seen a bison, but disappointed that I was unable to get closer to it, I decide to head to Old Faithful. That couldn't possibly let me down; at least it implies so with its name.

Here are some interesting (depending on your definition of the word "interesting") myths about Old Faithful from the Yellowstone newspaper:

(Note: Each of these is considerably more amusing if you add "That's what she said" to the end.)

+ It erupts every hour on the hour.

+ Its eruption is not as high as it used to be.

+ Its eruption lasts less time than it used to.

+ Park rangers can control Old Faithful's eruption.

The last one doesn't work nearly as well as a euphemism, but it does demonstrate that park employees were asked by enough tourists to turn the geyser on and off that they felt the need to clarify the situation in print.

Speaking of humorous warnings, this sign was posted at the geyser entrance. Apparently, they are being serious.Old Faithful erupts every ninety minutes or so on average, so it doesn't take long for me to see the geyser in action. It's a pretty powerful natural force, and draws a steady stream of spectators to the nearby bleachers. Like most wonders of nature, it loses its appeal after a couple minutes and most tourists move on to the next site.

For the record...If you ever find yourself visiting Yellowstone with a spouse, it is generally a bad idea to refer to him or her as "Old Faithful." That's the type of joke that leads to an expensive ceremony for forced vow renewals.

Not far down the road from my bison sighting, I see a few cars stopped in the middle of the road. Blocking their way is a whole herd of bison.

Jackpot.

No bison or cameramen were injured during the making of the following pictures:

Now that's more like it.

I'm pretty sure that bird is the "butch" in that relationship.

It would be in poor taste to make the comment, "I sure hope that's a feeding bison calf and not an overzealous pygmy bison." That's why I'm not going to make that comment.

No moose. But the bison herd was a pretty great consolation prize.

Check in tomorrow to hear about my transition from Yellowstone to the Grand Tetons, which of course is French for "Grand Nipples."

Seriously.

Look it up.

Happy Halloween.

A Present in the Park One Should Never Unwrap

After visiting more relatives in Montana, I decide to head to Yellowstone National Park. This is what I know about Yellowstone before I get there:

+ It presents my best chance at spotting a moose since leaving British Colombia.

+ Yogi Bear's Jellystone Park was loosely based on Yellowstone. Though I venture to guess that the pic-a-nic basket prevalence was greatly exaggerated in the cartoon. Also, most bears at Yellowstone do not wear hats and ties and speak in a comical manner. Unfortunately.

+ There was a documentary that came out about supervolcanoes that claimed all of Yellowstone sits on one giant volcano that could erupt at any time, killing everyone in its vicinity and covering the United States with ash.

I tell this to three different people in one week and all of them know about it, which leads me to believe it is one of those facts that everybody thinks is impressive until they realize that everybody over the age of seven knows it too. You know, like the Daddy long-legs spider being the most poisonous spider on the planet but too small-fanged to bite humans (which coincidentally is an urban legend) or that men who live in their van have abnormally high IQs (completely accurate).

The supervolcano thing starts getting a little more frightening as I survey geyser after geyser. All you ever hear about is Old Faithful, but the lower part of the park is covered with volcanic pools and steaming geysers. Most of them smell like sulfur, but their visual awesomeness trumps that dilemma for most spectators.





Steam floats throughout Yellowstone, giving the park a creepy prehistoric vibe. Ravens frequent the landscape and I soon spot a fox off in the distance. These wildlife encounters are interesting, but I want to see something big. Something dangerous. Something like the giant elk attacking a man on the Yellowstone newspaper I'm given at the park entrance.

Apparently, it's mating season for elks and "both sexes are more likely to charge you or your car at this time." This disturbs me. Not so much the charging part, but rather the elk's intentions when it reaches me. Needless to say, I do not plan on dropping any elk soap during my stay.

It turns out, elks are not the animal I should be concerned with. About thirty miles into the park, I come across a car stopped on the side of the road. About thirty feet away from the car sits a giant bison, just chilling in the grass.

My immediate instinct is to get out of the van and take up-close snapshots of the bison. Before I do so, the following things cross my mind:

+ The video game "Street Fighter." It's a popular game revolving around giant mutants and men beating the crap out of each other. The main bad guy? M. Bison. They wouldn't name the boss after an animal that isn't prone to aggression. You know, unless they would.

+ This excerpt from the Yellowstone newspaper: Bison are unpredictable and dangerous; they weigh up to 2,000 pounds and sprint 30 miles per hour.

That's significantly faster than Martin "Van" Buren's top-end speed.

+ A picture I took next to the geysers in a moment of sophomoric weakness.

Mind you, the zoom function was not needed for this picture.

After careful consideration of the facts, I decide to stay in the van at the appropriate distance, living to blog another day.

Check in tomorrow for more about my voyage through Yellowstone, including more wildlife and a trip to Old Faithful.

And not including anymore pictures of giant feces.

That's a projectmeaning.com promise.

A Rogue List Killed My Father

Yesterday, I made the case for lists as a beneficial, necessary tool for society. Today I'll be playing devil's advocate, taking the position that lists are the work of the Devil.

Unfortunately, the most convenient way for me to detail the atrocities of lists is in list form.

Besides, I'm a big fan of irony. So I now present the eleven (seriously, Letterman, watch your back) reasons why lists are more evil than an Osama Bin Laden fart:

1. Lists are easy. They don't take a lot of time, thought, or facts. For blogs and columns, they're basically a parallel to the tv clip show. Of course, the lists on this blog are the exception, as I have painstakingly dissected all of my arguments for these lists and have carefully considered each point and supported them with scientific fact and extensive mathematical analysis, which is of course not translated into print so as to spare you, the reader, the boredom, and to keep you happy so that you don't notice, or at the very least don't judge me too harshly for, the occasional run-on sentence that goes beyond the grammatical bounds of common blog etiquette and perhaps even past the point of general human decency.

Just saying.

2. The Ex-List. This is that new show where the girl from Grey's Anatomy goes back to every guy she dated because a fortune cookie (or something like that...imdb.com says a psychic) told her that she already met Mr. Right and let him get away.

I have never seen this show, but that doesn't stop me from realizing that it's bad for America. Without lists, it wouldn't exist.

3. Did it annoy you that I just stated my uninformed opinion as fact and then proceeded to act like an authority on something I really knew very little about? Welcome to the vast majority of lists magazines routinely try to pass off as important, legitimate articles. Opinions passed off as fact really piss me off, and lists are a wonderful tool for employers of this strategy.

Which brings me to the biggest culprit, a person deserving of her own spot on this list:

4. Barbara Walters. Every year, Barbara Walters postpones regular network viewing with a special called "The Ten Most Fascinating People of (insert year)." Every year, the list gives me an aneurysm.

The honorees for 2007 included an actress on Grey's Anatomy, Tom from Myspace, a washed-up soccer star, his wife, and the guy from N' Sync with the whiny voice. The most fascinating person from the entire year, according to Walters, is a retired children's book author.

The entire affair is an insult to journalistic integrity, human intelligence, and the word "fascinating."

5. On the short list of people I regard with less respect than Babs is Joseph McCarthy, the U.S. Senator that led the charge against perceived communism in the 1950s. A master at harnessing the power of fear and using it to his own advantage, McCarthy used his power and persuasion to blacklist far too many Americans based on generally baseless claims of Communism.

Of course, the important thing to take from that lesson is not that divisive politics and name-calling across party lines can get out of hand quickly to devastating ends, but rather that lists are closely associated with Communism.

You don't support Socialism (excuse me, Freudian slip)...

You don't support Communism, do you?

6. We are currently living in The Great Text-Message Era, which swiftly followed the less celebrated, but equally as destructive "Instant MessAge." There are positives and negatives to the new methods of communication, but one of the overwhelming consequences has been the degradation of the human language. Abbreviations are prevalent, punctuation is a dying art, and spelling is seen as effective as long as you can sound it out.

Lists are yet another way of avoiding the traditional paragraph, and in order to effectively break the rules, you must first understand them.

Thank you for listening to my rant. I will do my best to avoid sounding like a disillusioned, bitter old man for the duration of this blog.

7. Thanks to lists, Hollywood has run rampant with talk of the A-List, B-List, C-List, and whatever David Hasselhoff belongs to at this point. These lists allow for class warfare within the entertainment industry.

Also, by the unspoken standards, a guy who blogs from the van he currently calls home is on the Z-list, several letters below the likes of the Dog Whisperer, Charo, and the Dad from "My Two Dads" that wasn't Paul Reiser.

8. For every valuable list (Schindler's list, the Ten Commandments, and the Bill of Rights come to mind) there are a thousand useless, degrading, and downright offensive lists that should not exist. Don't believe me, check out the following link:

http://www.amazon.com/The-nbsp-Best-nbsp-of-nbsp-Ben-nbsp-Affleck/lm/QUTT49Z0TK7P/ref=cm_srch_res_rpli_alt_1Hit lists

9. Evil Overlord List. Apparently, sci-fi geeks have been compiling a running list for nearly two decades listing all of the actions they would take if they "were an Evil Overlord." The idea supposedly stemmed from a "Saturday Night Live" sketch with Bond Villains praising a book entitled, What Not To Do When You Capture James Bond.

Sounds like fun and games now, but what would happen if the ideas ever stumbled into the hands of a real live Evil Overlord? Now we're talking about the first LMD, or "List of Mass Destruction."

10. Not all list violence is hypothetical, unfortunately. Ever heard of a hit list? That's right. Guns don't kill people. People with lists kill people. Which of course, pales in comparison to the most important reason why lists are slowly destroying the fabric of our society:

11. Ryan Seacrest.

He's the host of the most popular television show in America, has his own morning radio show in Los Angeles, and is in the process of replacing Dick Clark as the face most Americans see to bring in the New Year. And we wonder why our country is falling apart.

The point is, the last thing this country needs is more Seacrest. But thanks to lists, you can't even get away from him on the weekends. He replaced Casey "Don't call me Shaggy" Kasem as the host of "American Top 40," a radio show that I couldn't get away from even in Canada, and an entity that would not exist without lists.

If you leave today's blog with one thing, make it this:

Less lists means less Seacrest.

Next Week, I List the 42 Most Influential Plumbers of the Modern Era

Every year, Santa Claus, in order to find out who is naughty and nice, makes a list and checks it twice. Dude is capable of delivering presents to all of the children across the world in just one night (well, all of the Christian children whose parents have money) and he still feels the need to utilize a list.

That's because lists have become such an ingrained aspect of our society, so essential a part of our culture, that we couldn't live without them. If lists went away the financial market would fall apart, natural disasters would run rampant, and bastions of freedom would randomly pursue preemptive wars in faraway lands. And who wants that?

So today I celebrate the eleven (I'm coming DL) reasons why lists are to be celebrated.

1. Without lists, we wouldn't have VH1. List shows comprise exactly 98.2% of that network's programming, and without them, we wouldn't know nearly as much about Flavor-Flav's dating habits. Those list shows are just so damn watchable. I can't wait until they come out with a show detailing the 50 best list shows on VH1. That's something I'd definitely watch if I was bored and nothing else was on.

Related note: I remember one weekend in senior year of college, all four of my roommates and I sat down to watch an episode of "I Love the 70s" over breakfast. It turned out to be a marathon, and none of us could look away. Before we knew it, it was dark outside. This is how I explain the fact that I've been homeless twice since graduating from college.

2. High Fidelity. This movie turned lists into a way of life. As I see it, a pretty fantastic way of life. To honor it, I present a list within this list about lists, detailing the top 5 John Cusack movies (not to be confused with the top 5 movies with John Cusack in them) of all time:

1. High Fidelity
2. Say Anything
3. Grosse Pointe Blank
4. Better Off Dead
5. 1408

3. Maxim's "Hot 100 List." An endless source of enjoyable debate and yet another excuse to look at attractive women wearing very little.

4. Lists are a fun way to start debates and settle arguments. What better way to show a friend your opinion is better than his than by citing a published article in a reputable magazine that lists your preference higher than his. Where I'm from, that's called, "List Serve."

5. American culture is all about striving to be number one. But you don't get to be number one if there is no number two. And three. And four. And five. And six. And seven. And eight. And nine. And ten. And eleven. And twelve.

I bet you thought that was going to stop before it did. Well, you don't get to be the number one blogger through conventional methods.

6. Without lists, there would be no way to put the truly great and the truly horrible things in life in their proper perspective. Sure, that call by the referee on Monday Night Football was incompetent, but was it among the 10 worst calls of all time? Yeah, the mustache that guy on the bus was sporting was remarkable, but could it be considered among the 50 most influential mustaches of the modern era? These matters need their proper place in history, and lists allow for that to happen.

7. Lists are easy to write and easy to read. All I'm saying is that we're both winners here.

8. Remember when you went to the grocery store to buy eggs, got sidetracked in the magazine aisle, saw a bargain in the produce section, and suddenly remembered you are low on paper towels? If you'd made a grocery list, you wouldn't have come home with a trunk full of groceries and no eggs.

9. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." That's top notch Victorian poetry by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. You may see it as a passionate poem about love, but I see it as a clinical poem about the importance of lists.

Once again, ladies, I am single.

10. If lists didn't exist, you would not be reading this sentence, and your mind would not currently be blown.

11. Bucket lists are a pretty cool thing. I realize the concept has been tarnished recently by a movie which squandered the considerable talents of Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, but it's a pretty amazing idea when you think about it. Why wouldn't you make a list of the things you want to accomplish in a lifetime and then do your best to fulfill it? In fact, my advice to you is to finish reading this blog, make your own personal bucket list, and then start working to cross items off that list.

Seriously.

What are you waiting for?

Are List Blogs Listless?

Blogging a list of the reasons why I'm happy to have named my van Martin Buren got me thinking about the increasing abundancy of lists in modern society.

We have grocery lists, to-do lists, bucket lists, and even hit lists. We just can't get enough of the things. But is the ubiquitous nature of the list (yes, I do use words like "ubiquitous" to mask my insecurities by trying to prove I'm smarter than you) a boon to society or an annoying trend that, if left unchecked, will ultimately lead to our collective downfall?

I'm determined to find out.

Unfortunately, the only way I could think of to analyze the role of lists is by list form. Oh cruel, cruel irony.

Tomorrow, I will be providing a list of why lists are a national treasure and the next day I will provide a list detailing why lists are pure, concentrated evil. Afterwards, I will analyze both lists and ultimately determine the credibility of lists as they relate to the meaning of life.

If I were in graduate school, this would be my thesis. So yeah, there's a reason I decided not to go to graduate school.

After my list experiment (which I guarantee will fundamentally alter the way in which you view your own existence or your money back) I will be returning back to blogging about my recent experiences. This week you can look forward to blogs about Yellowstone National Park, experiences in Idaho that may or may not involve potatoes, and my insatiable quest for a moose spotting.

Until then, please enjoy this link to a video where a moose shows a dog what's up.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K94JlejW5LQ

Rutherford B. Hayes Didn't Have the Same Ring to It

After a world-wide vote that rivaled the voting turnout of American Idol (you have no proof that it didn't), a winner has emerged for the name of my 1992 GMC Vandura/ apartment.

It was a very close race and "Hydranoid" and "Pam Vanderson" put up strong efforts. Thank you very much for your suggestions, Matthew and Dan. However, just edging those out was the winner, and new name for the projectmeaning.com van...

Martin "Van" Buren.

There are several reasons why I am excited about this name. So many, in fact, that I will present the top 11 reasons (take that, Letterman!) why Martin "Van" Buren is an excellent name for my lovely home:





1. Martin Van Buren, though a forgettable president, had an amazing hairstyle. It feels good to be able to honor that.

2. It's a much better choice than his successor, William Henry Harrison, because Harrison died thirty days after taking office. That would be asking for a breakdown, no matter how much I wanted to use the slogan, "Tippecanoe and GMC too."


3. It's easy to shorten it to Martin, which honors Martin Sheen (a televison president), Martin Short, and the tragically forgotten hit sitcom featuring Martin Lawrence and the brilliant Sheneneh...come to think of it...she looked a lot like Lawrence.


4. Sticking with the television theme...Seinfeld once mentioned a gang called the Van Buren Boys, a rough tough street gang that was named after Martin Van Buren and "just as mean as he was." So it gives me, you know, street cred.


5. If "Martin" gets old as a moniker, I can refer to the van as "MVB," which sounds very important.


6. The "Van" part is meant to be used as a pun. Get it? Very clever, if I do say so myself.


7. According to Wikipedia (which is of course 100% accurate), Van Buren's presidency was "largely characterized by the economic hardship of his time, the Panic of 1837." So yeah, that makes the name politically and socially relevant for our current times.


8. The name was originally suggested by my friend Derek, who is currently in medical school. The man's about to be a doctor. If people are going to entrust him with their health, it should be pretty safe to entrust him with not screwing up my van's name.


9. If the name doesn't work out, I can blame it all on Derek. Here's hoping that judges take a liberal interpretation of the term "malpractice."



10. Van Buren is a busy street in downtown Phoenix. It is best known as a popular hangout for prostitutes. Just thought you should know.

11. When the van breaks down (which will likely happen at least twenty times in the upcoming year), I can loudly exclaim, "Damn you, Martin 'Van' Buren!"

I Found Nemo

Montana is roughly 100 times the size of Rhode Island, yet more people live in Rhode Island than in the entire giant state of Montana. I think this is because East Coast elitists are afraid of big skies. Montanans, on the other hand, are afraid of very little. Not only do wild animals not scare them, they actually pursue the giant creatures that roam the rural terrain.

Hunting is huge in Montana, so much so that during a gathering, my relatives chose to watch hunting on television. Let me just say, for the record, that the next great television personality will not come from a hunting show. These guys dish out high fives faster than Puddy on Seinfeld.

My cousin Shane wanted to share the beauty and splendor of the Montana outdoors, and after silently noting that I was about as likely to become a deer hunter as I was to play Russian Roulette, he invited me to go fishing on his boat in a nearby lake.

It turns out Shane's small fishing boat can really fly, and as we pull away from the shore, he cautions me to prepare for a swift ride.

"Hold on to your hat," he yells with a smile.

I laugh, noting his delightful colloquialism and enjoying the increasing breeze. Of course, not ten seconds later, the wind catches my hat and sends it sailing into the water behind us. How annoying. If only I'd been given a proper warning.

The bad news is that my hat will be soaked for the duration of the trip.

The good news is that, regardless of my fishing skill from here on out, I know that I have at least caught something with Shane's fishing net.

It turns out, I'm not so bad a fisherman after all, as my hat is soon replaced by a trout, which you can see by the picture to the left, is the most glamorous fish in existence.

That trout is soon followed by another trout, only this one is gigantic. I know it doesn't look huge in the picture, but what would you say if I told you that the tackle box in the background was the length of three football fields and that the hand you see is none other than the Hand of God reaching down from the Heavens to pat me on the back for catching such a gigantic fish? Shane estimated that it weighed well over a pound.

Fishing is pretty easy when you have a boat, technology that monitors the depth of the lake and at what depth the fish are currently swimming, and an experienced fisherman helping you out because you threatened to ruin his good name in your blog if he didn't catch you some fish.

But fear not, we release each fish we catch back into the water so the dumb things can live to be caught another day.

After all, our fishing expedition isn't about catching fish as much as it is about catching up with family. And even though the biggest fish we hook (Shane guesses it to weigh at least ten lbs. while I insist I've finally found my white whale) gets away by catching our lure on the botttom of the lake, the entire trip is an absolute joy thanks to Shane.

As a true Montanan, Shane loves hunting. He loves fishing. He loves the serenity of a day spent in the great outdoors. But most of all, he loves people.

"I love showing visitors a good time. I never get a chance to leave Montana, so its rare that we get to see family from out of state, but I would love to spend more time doing stuff like this," he shares on the way back. "The meaning of life, to me...What's important to me, is that I have the respect of the people I care about. "

On the Highway to Helena

With strangers in Montana treating me like a friend they'd known for years, I couldn't wait to visit my Montana-based relatives. After all, we Mosiers are known for our kindness, hospitality, good looks, modesty, intellect, senses of humor, openness, creativity, money-making skills, athletic ability, brevity, and colorful use of unjustifiable adjectives.

My cousin Shane and his wife Nelma live in Helena and they do not disappoint. Shane and Nelma make the amiable citizens of Great Falls seem like callous jerks in comparison (just kidding G.F.; you know I love you) and immediately take me in as family even though they haven't seen me since I was only nine years old.

The couple has had difficulties with work in recent years, but they have managed to handle things well. Shane worked his way up to middle management through many years of hard work and determination, only to see the company he worked for fall apart. With few options in a rural Montana setting, he turned to truck driving. He has been driving the past six years, making good money, but ruing the fact that the job takes him away from home so often. It is not unusual for him to work twenty hour days, six or seven days a week.

Nelma worked as a supervisor in the same tax company for thirty years, only to find herself being undermined at every turn. The stresses of the job turned her into a person she didn't want to be, so she recently tendered her resignation. The off time has given her time to breathe, and the result is a sweet, caring, happy Nelma. She has such a wonderful disposition that I hardly believe her when she says her kids couldn't handle her attitude for another tax season.

Nelma has made her world famous Mexican egg rolls and invited her immediate family over for dinner. Her kids, both roughly my age, have kids of their own. Saige, a precocious little seven-year-old, enters the house with an expectant grin on her face.

"Where's our cousin?"

"Here he is."

Saige strains her neck to look up at me. Her grin slowly turns to a poorly hidden mix of fear and disappointment. Her younger sister, Makenna, follows her into the room and also stares up at me, a feat that seems to make her dizzy. The scene is eerily reminiscent to the point in Kindergarten Cop when the children meet Arnold for the first time.

I smile and wave, which prompts both children to slowly retreat to the nearby guest room. As Nelma carries on a conversation in the kitchen, I overhear two little voices emanating from the room.

"He's scary!"

"No he's not."

"Well...He looks scary."

Touche.

Despite their fears, the little girls approach me before dinner to show me the clown noses their mother just bought them as well as their collection of Care Bear dolls. They put the clown noses on various bears as I react in emotions ranging from amusement to astonishment to horror. The kids find this very enjoyable. When they discover that I happen to know the name of one of the Care Bears (look, I never claimed to be cool), their perception of me changes from "big, scary guy" to "giant pushover."

Before I know it, I am being accessorized with clown noses, scrunchies, and flowers. I never thought I'd be nostalgic for the time when little kids found me scary, but seven hairstyles later, it happens.

Check back tomorrow to hear how my fishing trip with Shane caused a blackout in the New York City greater metropolitan area and other fish tales.

Sharpie Wisdom, Children's Edition

It's time for another edition of "Sharpie Wisdom," the consensus most popular blog dedicated to 1992 GMC Vandura autographs. Take that, www.vandurart.com!

This time, I thought I'd highlight some of the signatures of children I've encountered along my trip, because I strongly believe that children are the future. I've always said that. Ask anyone. I said that even before the song, and I wasn't born yet. Which made me, well, the future.

I rest my case. Onto the signatures:


While visiting family in Montana (more on that in days to come), my cousin Kelly signed the van, turned to me, and joked, "I'm envious of your trip. I wish I could do what you're doing, but unfortunately I had kids instead."

Her young son, Trevon, looked devastated. It turns out children don't always have the best ear for sarcasm. Trevon signed his name in his own tears, which luckily consisted of pen ink.



I have many quotes on the van, but Ivy remains the youngest person to use this technique. After writing the quote, Ivy signed her name. I suggested that she properly attribute the quote to Robert Frost. She called me old. I would have argued, but my bed time was fast approaching so I didn't have the energy.

Incidentally, I often take the road less traveled on this trip, but that's usually because I bought a budget GPS.


According to their mom, young Matthew and Megan fancy me a bit of a "rock star." I'm certain this will change when they get old enough to realize that rock stars absolutely never use "fancy" as a verb.







I mentioned to eight-year-old Wilson that a lot of people sign the van with "Stay safe" with the occasional "Don't die." He found this humorous and immediately prognosticated my death. Thanks, Buddy.

Wilson also liked the explanation of "42" as the meaning of life. Being eight, he accidentally wrote the "2" backwards. Either that or he did it intentionally as an ironic statement about the inherent fallacies of human rationale.



While watching a presidential debate in my van, I kept getting interrupted by a loud voice emanating from the car next to me reading the signatures on my van aloud. I soon discovered it was a mother reading to her daughters. They seemed excited about the novelty, so I offered to let them sign. Both girls signed with this same expression.

Some would see their statement as a lovely expression of childhood innocence and exuberance. I just saw it as proof that they've never been to Tucson.

Zing!

Well, that's all the time we have for today, kids.

Until next time,

Where People Are Greater Than Waterfalls

Great Falls, Montana is not aptly named. The waterfalls in the town are few and far between, and none of them are particularly great.

Picking up the slack, their gas stations are awesome. You know how many small businesses like to be creative in spelling words in their names, or "wordz in their namez?" One gas station chain picked a rather unfortunate word to misspell. On the positive side, the station is very popular with truckers.

After filling up on gas (I swear that's all I did there), I follow my extraordinarily cheap GPS to Black Eagle Falls and it leads me straight to a private golf course. After further examination, I discover that Black Eagle Falls is now a dam, and a dam closed to the public at that.

This does not particularly bother me. I am just happy to be back on American soil. It's not that I didn't enjoy Canada, it's that for a few minutes, I didn't think I was going to be able to leave. Let's just say that border guards are not known for their congenial nature.

I thought crossing the border back into America would be easier, seeing as I am an American citizen. I thought wrong. One border guard was particularly nice and fun to talk to. The rest all seemed like they wanted to punch me in the face, clearly ignoring the "pledge to be courteous at all times" posted in the room I sat in while they tore my van apart.

I'm pretty sure one guy was mad at me because he lost a surefire bet that I was carrying weed across the border. The other guy was probably pissed because he had to search through the laundry bag riding on top of the van. That smells about as fresh as the box Kevin Spacey delivered to Brad Pitt in the movie Seven.

Fortunately, my faith in humanity was quickly restored in Great Falls, home of the nicest people on the planet. People approach me all the time on this trip, but it's almost always because of the van. In Great Falls, smiling coffee drinkers continually approached me while I was typing this blog at Starbucks, just because they happen to be genuinely friendly and interested in striking up polite conversation with complete strangers.

Gary, a tall man in a leather jacket, espouses the virtues of enlightening philosophical conversations, then graces the van with a poem he wrote while dealing with addiction.

Rodger and Tait, an unusual pair with a friendship defying generational boundaries, are as pleasant as anyone I've come across (and an "s" away from forming a country western band. Tell me "Rodgers and Tait" doesn't sound like a popular music act).

Rodger is a Vietnam vet with gray hair and a positive outlook on life. He does his share of charity work and isn't afraid to share his opinion on anything.

Tait is an eighteen year old business owner who dabbles in acting, modeling, hiking, mountain climbing, and high school. In his spare time, he cures various terminal diseases and brokers peace talks in the Middle East.All joking aside, Tait is the most energetic young man I have ever come across. His credo is that God has given us all the gift of human potential and it is our duty to fulfill that potential.

"Most people never give themselves enough credit," he says, hopping up and down.

Tait is so energized with life that he seems to have trouble containing his physical excitement. Rodger, on the other hand, is the picture of cool and collected.

That the two have developed a friendship based on intellectual conversations over coffee is a testament to the atmosphere created by a town like Great Falls.

Or as Rodger likes to call it, "Good Falls."

There Will Be Blood

You know those end-of-the-world blockbusters that Hollywood keeps churning out? The ones where a widespread pandemic/unprecedented natural disaster/ army of flesh-eating zombies rips through society until only a few survivors (most of them slightly off) litter the streets of once crowded cities?

That's how downtown Calgary feels on Canadian Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving in Canada is basically like Thanksgiving, except it is held on the second Monday of October, lends itself to a weekend getaway, and is celebrated with far inferior football.

Calgary is large and sprawling, with a population exceeding one million Calgarians. Downtown is located in the middle of the city, with Centre street leading straight to the Calgary Tower, which is Canada's way of, let's call it "overcompensating" for their lack of a Space Needle.

Normally, I expect this area to be jampacked, as the various pay parking lots indicate. But on Canadian Thanksgiving, with many Calgarians leaving town and others eating turkey dinner at home, the downtown area is essentially shut down for the day.

Cruising through the eerie ghost town that just one day before was a booming metropolis, a particularly interesting piece of graffiti catches my eye.

Vomit...No explanation. It's not particularly offensive. It's not a swear word. Yet I find it oddly disturbing. Then compelling. What could it mean? Is the graffiti pro-vomit or anti-fence and simply expressing its disdain? Is there a street gang in Calgary that uses the name "Vomit?" Or is it a directive? Does some random Calgarian wish for all passersby to throw up?

I had to know, so I looked it up on Google, which led me to a world-wide graffiti appreciation message board. The same mark exists on various rail cars in Calgary. A member on the board named "Caboose" ends the thread by bragging, "I am friends with Vomit."

Using deductive reasoning, I discern that Caboose is likely a train-hopper and, rather than an ardent supporter of upchuck, knows a fellow who uses the moniker "Vomit." If I went by "Vomit," I would not be as eager to share this fact with the world, but I must admit, it did cause me to stop and take a picture.

As I get out to take that picture, I am met by a small congregation of quirky Canadians who have gathered just above the vomit and behind the nearby railroad tracks. Upon further investigation, I discover that I have stumbled upon "The Tree of Life." How apropos.

"The Tree of Life" is part of an upcoming city arts festival. A Hungarian born performance artist named Istvan Kantor (aka Monty Cantsin) has attached a red flag to an ordinary tree in the hopes of establishing the area as "a new landmark for Calgary to direct information exchange within the framework of everyday life."

Kantor is the disputed founder of "Neoism," an underground philosophy that supports radical performance art, pranks, and a collective identity where everyone refers to themselves as "Monty Cantsin." "The Tree of Life Project" is set to last for three days, and as far as I can tell exists as an opportunity for Kantor to self-promote and perform various odd tasks...or what some would refer to as performance art.

I interview Kantor on camera, and he provides an extemporaneous performance of an old folk song from his native land. His rambling answers to my questions often seem incoherent, but are interesting nonetheless. When I point out the unfortunate juxtaposition of "The Tree of Life" next to the "Vomit" fence, he shrugs it off, pulls on a ski mask and begins digging a hole in the ground.I can only imagine what the children's keyboard and Marilyn Monroe calendar lying around the site are for.

Say what you want about Istvan Kantor, but "Monty Cantsin" seems like a nice guy. The spectators that the exhibit attracts are all interesting and amiable. And why shouldn't they be? On this day, in the empty downtown streets, "Monty Cantsin" is Calgary.

A nice lesbian couple takes a picture with Istvan next to their car, obscuring part of the license plate with Kantor's hand to highlight "666."

A man named David, an Istvan fan, has volunteered to help with the exhibit and asks if I can give him a lift to his apartment so he can pick up his guitar and play a Monty Python song about the meaning of life. When we get there, he shows me his unique artistic passion. He used to live in Japan, and secured a piece of technology that converts handwriting into typeface.

The instrument looks simultaneously futuristic and archaic, but has allowed him to experiment with computer interpretation. The experiment allowed him to be a guest speaker at Arizona State University, an accomplishment David takes great pride in. He has spent countless hours writing various expressions backward in cursive and analyzing the computer's results. For instance, "Logan" backwards emits the word "regal."

Smart computer.

On the way back, David regales me with stories of Istvan's hardcore methods.

"He got famous for going into art museums and splattering his blood on the walls," David tells me excitedly. "Needless to say, the museums did not appreciate that."

Further research shows that Kantor got famous for throwing his blood around quite frequently. Getting kicked out of art museums seems to be his calling card, a fact he wears with pride and features on the front page of his web site, which shows him being dragged off by multiple guards kicking and screaming and proudly proclaims "Banned from most museums around the world."

When we return, David, stagename "Davisio" begins to play songs as Istvan digs a grave for a body that hopefully doesn't exist. David is interrupted mid-strum by a tall man in a Railway Security uniform.

"This is private property," the guard states matter of factly. "You're going to need to move away from the railroad."

Apparently, Canada also has "The Man," and here he doesn't take a holiday. I brace myself for Istvan, legendary blood-splattering resister to authority, to react with fire and brimstone. Instead, he quietly picks up his keyboard and shovel and feebly moves it away from "The Tree of Life" and next to the "Vomit" fence.I guess even Neoists need to pick their battles wisely.

I'm Sure Calgary Has Plenty of Popular Gay People

My first impression of Calgary was not a good one. I had just visited Vancouver, which is a remarkably beautiful city, and was really disappointed in the landscape transition from British Colombia to Alberta.

After all, Calgary is a sprawling city built on prairie land. The terrain never really changes. The biggest park in the city doesn't have a single tree. All I see heading into Calgary are a wealth of densely packed together houses and yellow grass.

Calgary sucks, I think to myself, simultaneously wondering why my subconscious happens to remain so immature.

Then a funny thing happens on my way to loathing Calgary.

I find out that good friends of my mother were visiting at the same time, so I call them at the nearest pay phone. They are in town for an Olympic pin convention (why wouldn't they be) and have never really left their hotel. They have a meeting in an hour, then leave in the morning. In order to see them, I must expertly navigate Calgary.

As it turns out, I am unable to expertly navigate a large city minutes after arriving, so I stop at a gas station. The two clerks are just about the nicest people I have ever met. They break out a map and write detailed instructions on how to find my friend's hotel. Intrigued by this project, they sign the van.

The guy is wearing a wristband that says "Life is a journey, not a destination," so he scrawls this expression on the back. Underneath, the girl writes "Michelle, Calgary's favorite homo!" I'm not sure that should be a self-appointed title, but it made me laugh nonetheless.


My mad dash to say hi to friends led to me experiencing the city, and I must say, Calgary grows on you. Between the people, the wide open spaces, and the lower gas prices, it might even be a comparable home to its flashier neighbor to the West.

It's even better on Canadian Thanksgiving, when the downtown area is so empty that wildlife confidently blends into the urban scene.


Be sure to check tomorrow's blog for more on my stay in Calgary, with a variety of tales including but not limited to: vomit, performance art, and the tree of life.

Reasons to Wake Up In the Morning That Don't Involve Megan Fox

Since I've already started ruling out items in order to find the meaning of life, I figure it is only fair that I start highlighting some underappreciated aspects of life that may hold greater meaning than they are given credit for.

The following are all possible answers to the ultimate question:

+ The smell of impending rain on a clear warm day.

+ An unexpected day off of work.

+ Condescending stupid people. I can deal with arrogance and I can deal with ignorance. When you put the two together, the results are magical. For clarification on this, check out the following links a good friend sent me:

http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2008/10/17/racist.obama.newsletter.kcal

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRqcfqiXCX0

+ Funny videos on the internet. Of course, this implies that life had no meaning before Al Gore invented the internet. Either that, or America's Funniest Home Videos was vastly more important than any of us realized at the time.

+ Bob Saget. That man is a national treasure.

+ That moment when you wake up and realize that it's Christmas morning.

+ That moment when you wake up and realize that it's the first day of Channukah.

+ That moment when you wake up and realize that it's time for Kwanzaa.

+ Making fun of political correctness.

+ Punching someone who really deserves it, then politely reminding children that violence is never the answer.

+ 43.

+ Meeting someone who makes you too nervous to function correctly, then realizing that you've had the same effect on her.

+ Earning the respect of the people whose opinions truly matter to you.

+ Speedos, chia pets, and the musical stylings of Wayne Brady. Of course, these are only applicable for the French. They live by different rules.

+ Ending a blog at exactly the right time. I can not stress how crucial it is to

The REALLY Bachelor Pad...Thanks Mike

My van just passed 100,000 miles on the odometer, and the first digit never rolled over from a zero to a one. That means, to my dismay, she likely has over 200,000 miles on her now. After all, if my van were a human, she would now be old enough to drive herself.

In honor of this, it's time for phase two of everybody's favorite promotional game, "Name that van!"

Since the last time we played, I've had numerous suggestions for names for the Project Meaning van. I've decided to list my five favorites here and let everyone vote on their preference. After all, I am all about spreading Democracy.

Here are the five finalists:

+ Martin Van Buren (suggested by Derek in Tucson, AZ) I like this one because it incorporates a bad pun, makes me seem educated, and reminds me of Van Buren Street, the road in my hometown of Phoenix that is notorious for its plethora of prostitutes.

+ Barking Beast (suggested by Jaime in Bend, OR) This is in reference to Arthurian lore and the legend of the questing beast. The beast was known for the great barking sound it emits from its belly. The beast has a mixed bag of body parts from a serpent, lion, leopard, and hart, which according to wikipedia is a fancy name for a deer.

+ Charles "Corky" Thatcher: The Van (suggested by Steve in Phoenix, AZ) I just thought this one was funny. And who doesn't love a good episode of "Life Goes On?"

+ Hydranoid (suggested by Matthew in Renton, WA) Hydranoid is a character from Mathew's favorite cartoon. I don't know anything about said cartoon, but I think the name has a classy, futuristic vibe to it. Plus, it's one of about three suggestions I got that didn't involve a pun.

+ Pam Vanderson (suggested by Dan in Phoenix, AZ) Because my van has quite a bit of mileage on her, yet remains stunning. Plus, I like boobs.

Thank you for everyone who contributed. I've been asked to keep Sexbeerviolence, a personal suggestion, in the running, so feel free to vote for that as the name as well. Let me know your favorite, and I'll do my best to stay true to the Democratic process.

Though I may involve the electoral college.

Tony Montana Deserves Better

It's time for another installment of everyone's favorite blog, "Finding Meaning by Process of Elimination." We've already discovered that the meaning of life has nothing to do with pogs. Now it's time to rule out something else in my quest for nirvana.

Once again, the rules are simple. I can not rule out anything as the ultimate meaning until its cosmic irrelevance leaves me more confident than David Hasselhoff at a German swingers convention. This time, I am ready to dismiss...Gigli.

The movie Gigli has absolutely nothing to do with the meaning of life.

Here are the facts:

+ It is widely considered to be one of the ten worst films ever made, yet remains overrated.

+ It remains to this day the film containing the worst acting performances of Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez. That's saying something. That's like having the worst venereal disease at a budget brothel.

+ Despite being absolutely ludicrous, the film lacks the ability to entertain with its campiness and incompetence, instead remaining simultaneously boring and flabbergasting for its two hour duration.

+ It is a slap in the face to lesbianism. Lopez's character changes sexual preference like she were changing clothes. And she converts for Affleck, marking the second time (Chasing Amy) that lesbianism lost out to the charms of Ben Affleck. If that's not a slap in the face, I don't know what is.

+ The movie manages to make Jennifer Lopez in her prime unattractive, an unpardonable sin. At one point, while working out, she decides to seduce Affleck. So she spreads her legs, glares at him with flirtatious eyes, and delivers the following line with a straight face:

"It's turkey time. Gobble gobble."

To the movie's credit, Affleck did not respond with, "Cock-a-doodle-doo."

All of this would simply make Gigli simply another awful movie if it weren't for the ultimate unpardonable sin: they dragged Al Pacino and Christopher Walken into this mess.

You don't mess with Serpico.

Therefore, I find that Gigli is irrefutably devoid of meaning and can under no circumstances be considered existentially relevant.

If anyone wishes to argue this point, I'm willing to take my case all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary, beacause not only is Gigli not the meaning of life, I'm pretty sure it is unconstitutional.

Gobble gobble.