As many of you know, I am A Laundry Guy. Indeed, I am downright proud of my laundry acumen, which took years to acquire. However, occasionally even an expert runs into an unanticipated problem.

It seems that a week or so ago I accidentally tossed a medium-brown, Gold-Toe sock in with the whites (which means exposing a normally cold-water item to hot water and bleach). When I discovered my mistake, I compared the mustard-colored result of my screw up with its mate, and they looked nothing alike. The mustard color wasn’t bad looking, and, besides, I like the feel of these socks, so I didn’t want to throw them away (and be forced to admit to myself that the Laundry Guy made a mistake). Therefore, I decided to toss the mate in with an upcoming load of whites to produce another mustard-colored sock, thereby creating a pair of “new” socks.

So, the next time I did whites, in went the medium-brown sock, as I congratulated myself on being a seriously sharp Laundry Guy. Well, as you may have guessed, now I have one mustard-colored sock, and one medium-brownish – mustard-coloredish sock. They still don’t farookin’match. Not enough bleach? Most annoying.

However, I have not given up. I have just now tossed the medium-brownish – mustard-coloredish sock into yet a new load of whites, and I am anxiously awaiting the result of this bit laundry derring-do.

A Laundry Guy appreciates an occasional challenge.

Update: Success!! I now have a pair of mustard colored socks. I am a Gorilla-Stompin’ Laundry Guy.

At one of the many Christmas, holiday, almost winter, end-of-year parties I have recently attended, I had occasion to eat some white asparagus (It could just as well have been green). Because I also had been taking in copious amounts of vodka fluids, fifteen minutes after eating the asparagus I had occasion to visit the men’s room.

It only took that long for the asparagus to work its evil magic and cause the olfactory assault commonly known as “asparagus pee.” Oooofah!!!!

So I got to thinking a bit about asparagus pee and some of the facts and theories that surround this interesting, albeit most unpleasant phenomenon. It turns out that I am not the only one who thinks about this stuff. Indeed, I found a blog that contains, as part of its title “Asparagus Pee.” That blog contains a link to a site entitled, “The Skinny on Why Asparagus Makes Your Pee Stink,” which is an excellent summary of information on other sites.

The “Skinny” discusses a good deal of brain-numbing chemistry to identify exactly which compounds the body creates when it digests asparagus that cause this major stinkola. However, most interesting was the discussion of the genetics of the matter, because not everyone produces stinky pee after eating asparagus (estimates of the numbers of stinky pissers range from about 20% to 50%). It was, therefore, thought that certain people carry a gene that creates stinky pee. However, as the “Skinny” states:

Early investigators thought genetics had divided the world into stinkers and nonstinkers. That was until 1980, when three researchers had the presence of mind to wave pee from the nonstinkers under the noses of the stinkers.
Lo and behold, the problem proved to be one not of producing the stinky pee but of being able to sniff it out.

So, it may not be the case that some of us have been cursed with a stinky pee gene, while others have not. Rather, those who claim not to create asparagus pee might well carry a gene for a shitty sense of smell.

Being a man of science in a prior life and, therefore curious and empirical, I propose a simple experiment. I hereby invite one of you who claim to be able to eat asparagus and piss lilacs to join me for an asparagus dinner and a trip to the john about a half hour later. If I can smell yours, and you can’t smell mine, we will have answered this most important question without the benefit of a million dollar government grant.

And finally, for those of you who may consider yourselves to be asparagus pee connoisseurs (There’s no accounting for taste.), here’s a place where you can buy fashion items that permit you to share your passion with the world. (This link is also via the “Asparagus Pee” blog noted above.)

I know what you’re thinking. “Yo, Jimbo, with all this talk about disgusting stuff like stinky asparagus pee, can boogers be far behind?” – to which I reply, “hmmmm.”

Update: I had forgotten to post the link to the site where one can buy Asparagus Pee tee-shirts. I have since corrected my omission. There are still seven shopping days before Christmas Holiday. Get right on it.

I had arranged to meet the infamous Velociman for dinner and drinks yesterday. I was stoked at the prospect of an evening of revelry with this well-spoken southern gentlemen who, after a couple Maker’s Marks, morphs into an evil, bullwhip wielding space mutant.

Unfortunately, as sometimes happens, fate intervened in the form of the death of my friend’s mother. I’ve known him and his mom for forty or so years, so attending her wake was a given.

This causes me to look forward with even greater anticipation to his next trip to the Garden State. My reasons for wanting to dine and drink with the V-Man are not entirely selfish. You see, I worry that he may need me to coach him during the Maker’s Marking process lest he run afoul of Garden State etiquette with some of the wrong folks (e.g. the pinky ring guys), which in these parts could mean a one-way ticket to a landfill.

There was nothing yesterday here, and there is not likely to be anything more here today. It is a question of too many Christmas, holiday, almost-winter parties to attend.

This past Sunday, a couple of the Usual Suspects and I were surfing the channels at the Post during a timeout in a Jets game, and we came upon ESPN’s coverage of a bull riding competition. It struck me that, as compared to the well-padded behemoths on the football field, the almost uniformly slight men whose job it is to ride 1,800 pounds worth of pissed-off bull, made the guys squabbling over the pigskin look like pansies.

Christ only knows what motivates these men to try to remain for eight seconds astride a twisting, turning, leaping bull, complete with a set of menacing horns. I’m quite sure that, with the possible exception of a handful of bull riders, the lure is not the mega-money that professional football players typically earn.

Here’s what’s involved. The bull rider climbs onto a bull in the chute, and effectively lashes one hand to a rope that is tied around the bull. The rider finds himself in the curious position of hoping that the bull will be particularly nasty on that day, as points are given by the judges based on the performance of the rider and the bull. Once the rider has effectively tethered himself to the bull, the chute is opened and the rider’s job is to somehow complete a one-handed, eight second ride. (The rider’s free hand must remain free for the duration of the ride.)

If the rider is extremely lucky and skilled, he will be able to hop off the raging animal after eight seconds and land on his feet. If he is less lucky, he will be tossed from the bull but will not land on any body part the breaking of which will render him unable to walk, or worse. If he is even less lucky, he will be tossed from the bull and perhaps stomped or gored, or both by an animal that is damned near the size of a Volkswagen.

Of course, the most unlucky riders are those who are thrown from the bull, but whose hand remains tied to the animal. These poor bastards are dragged around like rag dolls until they work themselves loose, only then to risk being trampled or gored to death. It is said that, for bull riders, it is not a question of if you will become injured, but rather when you will be injured and how badly you will be hurt in what has been called “The World’s Most Dangerous Sport.”

These guys are some tough sons of bitches. If they can do this for a living, I cannot imagine what would frighten them. I want these guys on my side in a barroom brawl.

Oh, and a word or two about the “rodeo clowns.” Those of you who have been coming here for a while know that I farookin’ hate clowns. However, my clown animus doesn’t extend to rodeo clowns, as they are not the screw-around-with-your-tie type clowns. Rather, these guys are on what can only be described as a suicide mission. It is their job to purposely attract the attention of an already pissed-off bull so as to draw the bull’s attention away from the recently thrown rider, who sometimes is lying in a lifeless heap in the dirt. These guys may even be tougher (or crazier) than the bull riders themselves.

There are lots of things that I would like to try in my lifetime, but bull-riding is definitely NOT one of them.

WTF??

“Yo, barkeep. Ixnay on the Stoli. I’ll have a Svedka on the rocks.”

Are you bothered by any of these things?

Traffic jams around shopping malls.

Parents who let their kids run loose in stores.

Waiting on long lines at stores to pay too much money for too many dumb things.

Credit card solicitations.

Commercials that suggest that things like a plunger or a box of paper clips make a “perfect holiday gift.”

Driving yourself nuts trying to figure out what to buy for someone who doesn’t “need” a damned thing.

Bruce Springsteen singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”

(For bloggers) – The feeling that you have already written every original thought you have had or that you are ever likely to have.

If any or all of the above is frosting your ass, contact your doctor immediately and ask for a prescription for this.

Thanks to my friend Brian, the Air Force vet.

This morning I found myself wondering if there is anyone more strident and annoying than this loudmouthed, obnoxious dizzball.** She manages to make my hair and my teeth hurt all at the same time.

**Of course, there is always Hillary. However, while she is every bit as strident and annoying as Eleanor Clift, Hillary is not a dizzball. Rather, she is one dangerous, Machiavellian bitch. And those are her good points.

Sean Hackbarth of The American Mind has been blogging for five years. After having done this for a couple of years, and knowing what it takes, I have the utmost respect for this blogger and for his blog. In addition, I am kicking myself in the pants for having essentially lost his site amid the legions of blogs that I have bookmarked but don’t visit as often as I would like. I’m fixing that today by placing this excellent blog on Mr. Blogroll for regular reading.

Thanks, and I am looking forward to the next five.

As I write this, a clutch of my Jawja Blogger Buddies are in the process of getting hammered in Athens, Georgia. I wish I were there. I could use a bit of pickin’, grinnin’ and a cocktail or three with them all.

As Dax would say, “Just damn!”