Obstacles to "Progress"

If progress is what you call starting this site up again. Anyways, when I got it in my head to start posting stuff on here again, the first step was to see if I could still sign in. When I did, I got this:

I don't read squiggles. My Arabic vocabulary is limited. My ability to read Arabic is nonexistent. The only word in Arabic I recognize is "exit," because it looks like "tits" in fancy letters (picture to come shortly). True story.

When I saw this, I was simultaneously confused, amused, and angry. I think the word I uttered was "Whaffnauck?" It's a strange emotion.

The last time I logged into the site was months ago, so navigating from memory was kind of hard. I figured it out, after first trying to type my email into the password block. Arabic is written right to left, so the password block is to the left of the sign in block. Once I mastered this, I somehow was able to sign in.

It took a minute for me to realize I get my wireless internet from some decrepid, bootleg Iraqi retailer. And of course it would be in Arabic.

And that's bullshit.

Another Love/Hate List, Now With Less Human Emotion

It’s Tuesday, which means it’s Love/Hate time. Wait...I don’t know what day this list is supposed to be on, since I haven’t written one in months. So now it’s going to be Tuesdays, because I hate Tuesdays.

Love

1. I’m kind of on the fence about this, but I’m leaning toward liking the fact that Jason Taylor is now a Redskin. The team did nothing during the offseason to bolster a weak defensive line, and I think he could bring a much-needed spark to our pass rush. As well as a sweet fouetté en tournant.
2. The Rum Diary by Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. A booze-soaked perspective of the gritty hopelessness of San Juan, Puerto Rico, and the false grandeur imagined by American outsiders. Makes me thirsty for some Bacardi.
3. Starting the morning with a Monster Energy Drink. The right amount of caffeine and cocaine to get through the morning.

I wish it were winter so we could freeze it into ice blocks and skate on it and melt it in the spring time and drink it!

4. The fact that Gorgeous has published more than three articles in a month. Congrats to the degenerate winos that inhabit this writing establishment.
5. Flav-o-ice.

Hate

1. Tuesdays.
2. Faux hawks. Even the name drips with homosexuality.
3. Cab drivers in D.C. I haven’t seen one use a turn signal ever. Anytime one pulls ahead of me, I instantly know he’s going to cut me off. But let’s be honest; if you’re going to cut someone off, why would you give them any warning?
4. Homeless people. Because I have no soul.
5. The oppressive, omnipresent, blood-coalescing heat that exists in this godforsaken swamp we call the Nation’s Capital.

A Rarity: Post from Arkansas

Defying stereotypes and conventional wisdom, I am sitting here writing a post from North Little Rock, Arkansas. I know, I know. I'm surprised there's electricity here, too. I'm out here for two weeks for a military course, the details of which would give you a coma. Suffice to say I am not happy being here, and the course is merely the tip of the iceberg.

Do I have to?

There is nothing here. Seriously. Literally. Suicidally. North Little Rock, the aptly named suburb north of the Arkansas River from Little Rock, is a depressing shithole that reminds me of the poor, run-down areas surrounding New Orleans. Yards are overgrown, cars are rundown, and the buildings are shabby and in disrepair. But enough of that. Let's get to the good stuff.

Little Rock, NOT North Little Rock

The guy next to me in the course, who has been here a few times, told me of North Little Rock Mall. Having nothing better to do last night, I decided to check it out. So I followed his directions, and shortly came to a strip mall called North Little Rock Mall that consisted on A JoAnn's Fabrics and a Smoothie King. I wanted to kill that dude.

Luckily, right down the road I found a Blockbuster. Having nothing better to do during these two weeks, this was a lifesaver. I went in, and noticed the latest Lou Diamond Phillips blockbuster called Lone Rider. Once I got past the captivating and original title, I noticed it also starred Vincent Spano, who is of course Jesse's older brother. He graduated from Bayside when Mr. Belding was still vice principal. As it turned out, I didn't rent this epic saga, although I felt really bad for Richie Valens.

LDP

I really wish I had remembered to bring my camera, because there's just certain things that mere words can't convey, like the sense of utter hopelessness that radiates from this area. I'm not sure what Little Rock is like, I don't think I'll be going there. Maybe it's better, but probably not. Maybe that feeling comes from the fact that this area is prone to tornadoes, severe flooding, and remembering it's in Arkansas.

A state which, by the way, really sucks. Crossing the Mississippi River from Memphis, the first two miles of the state was flooded. That's not an exaggeration. Immediately after that I saw Wal-Mart. Then another one. And another. One every exit, in fact. And apparently, North Little Rock has two within two miles of each other. Although one is a (trumpets) Super Wal-Mart.

Well, I've only been here two days so far. I'll get back to you wierdos after I experience some more the The Natural State. And by the way, when I checked the site right before I wrote this, I was the 500th visitor. That means people are actually reading this drivel. I like that. Keep up the good work, ya bastards.

Open Letter Wednesday

It is with both joy and sadness that I announce a new feature here at Gorgeous; Open Letter Wednesday. The sadness stems from a recent decision that robs Penn State of a gastronomic legend, the chicken Cosmo. Normally, booze, drugs or a delicious cocktail of both are to blame for the loss of college memories. In this case Pierce Chicken Products is said thief:

April 2, 2008

Pierce Chicken Products
c/o Pilgrim's Pride Foodservice
244 Perimeter Center Parkway, NE
Atlanta, GA 30346

To Whom It May Concern:

How does it feel to be personally responsible for the demise of a 26 year-old tradition? I’m speaking, of course, about the inevitable death of the chicken Cosmo at Penn State this Friday. That deliciously crunchy, shaped and formed patty shaped and formed many a student’s life in their four (or more) years on campus.

The Cosmo appeared on campus way back in 1982 at a time when Joe Paterno still wasn’t eligible for Social Security. Since then the Cosmo has endeared itself to students and alumni alike, and that ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie, considering the Penn State Alumni Association is the largest in the world. I was lucky enough to live in West Halls as a freshman and the Cosmo was on the lunch and dinner menus every day. In fact, since I usually didn’t wake up until the last hour of lunch, it was more or less my main source of nutrition for two semesters. Elsewhere it was a rare treat, so much so that those jonesing for a fix would make the trek to the Burrowes and Curtin confluence for some natural-looking (your words, PCP) goodness.

I left the dorms after freshman year, but I still had friends that lived there, fortch. Oh how I looked forward to tagging along for a Cosmo with a slice of tomato and ranch dressing on those atypical days when ventured to campus for an extended period. But this isn’t just about me. I had roommates that would schedule classes around the Waring Commons dining hours, friends that would attend a different section of their class and those that would skip altogether just for the flavorful, pre-browned all breast meat cutlet (your words again).

Let me get to the crux of this letter though, as this is more than just me waxing reminiscent. I want to know why you are putting an end to the Cosmo, and with it the happiness and memories of hundreds of thousands of people. You say it is because Penn State is the only institution still buying the patties. This may be true, but let’s break down the numbers. According to Penn State Food Service 274,000 Cosmos are sold each academic year, roughly 650 cases a month. Let’s assume these cases sell for $4.00 each (this is purely an estimate); we’re talking more than $31,000 in Cosmo sales alone and I can’t imagine the cost to produce them is any more than $1.00 a case. That’s a pretty hefty profit margin. I’d be a little more sympathetic if these were your bread and butter, but you are the largest chicken producer in the United States, the second-largest in Mexico and count Kentucky Fried Chicken and Wendy’s as two of your main clients. According to your website, Pierce Chicken invented the first fully-cooked fried chicken and launched the wing category. Methinks you aren’t hurting to turn a buck.

In closing, I ask that you reconsider what appears to be a rash decision based on dollars but not sense. You pledge to give the kind of respect one expects in a partner, but to me you’re more like a lover that got us hooked on smack, only to leave because you don’t like our drug habit. For that, you should be ashamed. I believe I won’t be alone in expressing my discontent and I hope my loyal Cosmo comrades can show you the error of your ways. If not, then good day to you. I said good day!

Buttermilk battered,

Brunswick P. Danforth

Bar Golf '08 -- The Aftermath

I'll tell you about it within the next couple days. I was up all night sweating, shitting, and having nightmares. Literally. I'll have a write-up tomorrow, when I'm back to normal. Suffice it to say my cell phone was in three pieces Sunday morning, items were lost, and I told my girlfriend "I don't have fun anymore because you moved me out of the Muslim community." More to follow, when body and mind become one again.