This weekend was one of my two long weekends per month, which happily coincided with earthdotprime‘s visit, hereafter referred to as M’ris. I started stalking M’ris on the tubes sometime in…2006, I think. I’m not even sure anymore, it’s like I’m some sort of insidious worm that finds one interesting livejournal and all of a sudden I am friends with half that person’s friends. Anyway, M’ris and I have since separately determined that the other one is either not Internet Crazy or at least crazy in a highly entertaining, most likely non-lethal way, and that we should definitely meet when she was in town. M’ris was at least crazy enough to entrust her life to the terrifying garbagewagon, and so we set off on the road for adventure. The day started off with auspicious signage, portending awesome. Our first stop was the giant metal Lenin, which M’ris promptly scaled.
Our second stop was the Fremont Troll, where we witnessed dudes climbing up and flashing gang signs for photographs; we both openly mocked them, and M’ris confessed that she’d never been able to make the Bloods gang sign that apparently everyone learns at summer camp. I spent a few minutes trying to rearrange my sausage fingers into the appropriate arrangement before I realized it was probably not a good idea with y’know, actual gang members hanging around.
As soon as they left, we realized we had our theme for the day: Climbing things and flashing gang signs.
Here is where I suggested M’ris find a way to slide down the face and straddle the nose. She began contemplating it, and I began to fear that I’d underestimated her potential craziness and exactly how I was going to explain her cracked skull to the internet at large.
I’m not going to lie: When she found a way to do it, I was both impressed AND jealous. Here she is as a human Q-tip.
I have determined that more pictures need to be taken of me straddling things, throwing the horns, and it might be my new Thing.
M’ris is gang-signing, I’m picking the troll’s nose. As you do. Then it was time for some tree-climbing action!
Keeping strong with our theme. After tree-climbing, it was time to visit Archie McPhee, because there is never NOT a good time to buy pickle-shaped band-aids. I love double-negatives.
The Mac & Cheese one cracks me up every time I see it.
M’ris was almost attacked by penguins, but then it was determined that we were all in the same gang, so everything was cool, dawgyo.
“Please don’t touch me, I am very expensive and short-tempered”: This is a sign I should probably be wearing, myself.
If anyone loves me, they will buy that tacky Sasquatch painting for me. It will hang on the wall next to my Baba Rama Nana!
Totally plotting to kill one another.
I really, really wanted to buy one of these cockroaches for Napoleon to battle, but the wires in the legs gave me pause, because the last thing I want is a dog with a broken tooth.
I totally don’t even care if I have lice now from trying on wigs and hats. Don’t even care. All of that battling works up an appetite, and thus, we went to the Lunchbox Laboratory and executed experiments in deliciousness and pants-expansion.
After lunch, we took a bit of a roundabout way back to the car and happened upon a bus stop painted by people on drugs.
ONE OF THESE PAINTINGS IS NOT LIKE THE OTHERS. ONE OF THESE PAINTINGS DOES NOT BELONG. We then drove to visit Bruce & Brandon Lee’s graves, only neither one of us managed to determine whereabouts in the cemetary they might be beforehand, so there was a lot of driving around and “I think Brandon’s is a big black twisty headstone. Like, beveled and twisty.” and backing around a corner praying to Cthulhu that I wouldn’t veer off and accidentally back over a headstone and once and for all destroy any chance I ever had at becoming President Mellzah. As it turns out, their graves are hidden behind bushes and we only found them via a stroke of luck.
All in all, a very, very awesome day.
Category Pacific
“‘Tis a fine barn, but sure ’tis no tidepool, English.” “D’oh-eth!”
On Saturday, my dad and I drove to the Cabrillo National Monument and visited the tidepools; the weather was perfect, and this is the only time of year you can visit, as in the summer, low tide occurs in the middle of the night. From this area, you can look across the bay and see San Diego and Coronado, and if it’s a clear day, you can also see Mexico (specifically, Tijuana). Also in the area is the old Point Loma lighthouse.
This statue marks the place where historians believe conquistador Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo anchored his ship on his ‘voyage of discovery’ and claimed the land for Spain. The area now has a huge military presence, and the military cemetary where my grandfather was interred is less than a mile from this spot.
The rules were pretty simple–if you see a tidepool animal, and you MUST touch it, use one finger and no more pressure than you would use to touch your own eyeball. Don’t pry anything off of the rocks, and just be respectful of the area and the ecosystem. Soooooo, I was pretty angry to watch people’s kids yanking stuff out of the water and stomping on it, with not a single move made by the parents to correct their behavior. There are times in my life where I wish, hope, and pray for a deep blue sea moment. Sadly, it was not to be. This seagull was also flagrantly breaking the rules and eating an octopus.
Mr. Simpson, stop! A barnacle is a living creature!
Anemone! After we hopped around on slick rocks for a couple of hours, the tide started to come back in, and going back the way we came would have been difficult without getting soaking wet. This was less of an issue for my dad, but I only brought one pair of shoes with me on my trip, so I was interested in staying as dry as possible. We ended up having to scramble up these rocks (I’m hesitant to say ‘cliff’ as it wasn’t quite high enough, but it damn well sure felt like one–my upper body is still weak as a baby kitten and needs much more work) to get back up near where we parked the car, which was the price we had to pay for being more adventurous in the hopes of seeing something truly awesome. We both escaped without cracking our heads, so I call this a win.
“Dad! You’re sinking!” “Naw, that’s OK. I’m pretty sure I can struggle my way out.”
After lunch, my dad and I spent some time in the cesspool–that is, we went to the La Brea Tar Pits. All these years, I’d assumed that the rotten egg smell of Los Angeles was a mere byproduct of the rotten, narcissistic attitudes of the people living there, or fumes given off by the metric tons of plastic surgery performed daily, but as it turns out, it’s hydrogen sulfide bubbling to the surface with methane gas. Alongside the tar pits is the Page Museum, which displays a selection of the fossils they’ve uncovered and puts scientists safely behind glass, where they can be observed without danger. It’s only inhumane if you put the Amish in a terrarium. It was about this time that both my dad and I were struck by how overtired we were–my flight didn’t arrive in San Diego until fairly late the night before, and we got a very early start to miss traffic on our drive up to LA, and all of a sudden, everything was funny and we became Those People. It started when we went to watch the movie on how the tar pits trapped animals, and, as a dutifully accessible museum, it was subtitled for deaf viewers. All it took was one [horse neighs] and I was on the giggletrain to That Persontown. If you’ve never heard a neigh, does that word even have any meaning? How about [dramatic music]? You’d never see a porno subtitled with [vaginal fart]–hearing some things just doesn’t add to the experience. But I digress. The oldest fossil found in the pits has been dated at 40,000 years, which means, if you have any sense of Earth’s timeline whatsoever, that no dinosaurs have been found in the pits, as they fell off the face of the Earth 65.5 million years ago. They have, however, found a number of now-extinct large species, and their disappearance from the face of North America is a mystery–animals like giant camels. This fellow here is an Antique Bison. This is where we became Those People in earnest, nearly crying with laughter over jokes as stupid as seeing what we could get for it on Antiques Roadshow. One guy commented that he couldn’t in good conscience follow us around the museum as we were having far too much fun doing something that was supposed to be educational.
Note the Shasta Ground Sloth. Shasta, if you are unaware, is also an off-brand soft-drink, and I, for one, would like to see a Ground Sloth flavored beverage on the shelves right next to the Tiki Punch.
They call this creature a saber-tooth cat. I, personally, defer to the Yellow Ranger, and if she calls it a “Saba Tooth Tiga”, then I shall as well.
The pits also nabbed a unicorn!
Something about this skull in particular I find terrifyingly freakshowish, but I can’t pinpoint what exactly about it is so creepy.
They’ve got an interactive display up where you can see what it would be like to be trapped in tar–it’s pretty safe to say that if I got a foot trapped inside, the only way I’d escape would be to gnaw off my own leg.
I also find this skull to be freaky, so I suppose there’s something about elephants and mastodons that I find unsettling. Did you know that mastodon and elephant bones and teeth were portrayed by the church as belonging to antediluvian giants until science stepped in and ruined their fun? It’s true! Some religious scholars went so far as to attempt to prove that all of our ancestors were much, much taller, with Adam topping out at 330 feet tall, or 63.95 Mellzah units. In the noncanonical book of Enoch, angels were so taken with the beauty of human women that they took them as wives and together spawned the race of evil giants, the Nephilim, and it’s been further postulated that the great flood was to destroy the giants–that it was worth it to God to destroy everything he had made in order to wipe out what his angels had wrought. However, there are references to giants in books taking place after the flood–King Og, for one, and Goliath, for another, which would mean that God destroyed his creation yet failed at his objective. This spawned another debate as to whether Noah and the other ark survivors were giants, which would explain the post-flood giants in the bible. Also: Lutherans blamed Catholics for the disappearance of Nordic giants, saying that all of their toils and fasting prevented their descendants from attaining the heights of their ancestors. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, elephant and mastadon bones were being sold to kings and churches as the remains of their mightiest heroes. Forgive the digression, I just find this sort of thing to be fascinating.
I like to imagine the middle skeletal bird as saying “WHAT UP, GUYS?” but that might just be me.
Ka-KAW, betch! My dad pointed out that they tried to make the exhibit extra realistic. I think that’s how a lot of birds got trapped in the tar, frankly. They saw the larger animals playing elaborate games of chicken, triple-dog-daring one another to, come on, just stick ONE hoof in the tar, and after they were hopelessly stuck, they became like statues–and we all know how birds like to congregate around/crap on statues. Their bowel movement habits became their downfall. Clearly, I am a scientist.
They have found a LOT of dire wolf skulls at Pit 91, more than any other creature. This display represents a very small percent of their total collection. Since they have so many, I, for one, was hoping that they’d sell off some of the extras in the gift shop. But nooooooo, science is apparently not for everyone.
Here’s an ice age Jack Russell Terrier.
When I look at this skull, I think it looks overwhelmingly smug.
Here’s the bit where they started putting scientists on display for our amusement. The guy with the bright yellow hair was up closer to the glass earlier making some very animated hand gestures and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t talking about science.
I, for one, was impressed at how no one in the fishbowl took any notice of the people gawking at them like slack-jawed yokels.
This diagram was incomplete as it didn’t show the methane coming out the other side.
Even 40,000 years ago, there were white trash neighbors putting pink flamingos out on the lawn.
This camel’s thoughts: “What in the HELL is all this greenery? I am SO. FUCKING. LOST.” Soooooo remember earlier in this post when I said that it’s unknown what happened to all of these large land animals, because it’s not like you see extraordinarily large camels bopping around North America? I think I just figured out the mystery:
The animals were likely delicious.
24,000 years ago was when the first schlubby dude invented the utilikilt.
Only one set of human remains has ever been found in the tar pit. I’m guessing she was the village idiot, but the (pretty clearly) male artist who decided what she looked like felt like drawing an attractive, stacked chick, with long flowing hair that looks like silk many thousands of years before the invention of Pantene. Isn’t that amazing? After we pressed pennies, it was time to start driving south to meet up with my dad’s boyfriend for dinner in orange county. I was hoping it would not go anything like when I met my mom’s boyfriend, but it would have taken a LOT to go that poorly–she sprung it on me, she couldn’t stop talking about what a jackass he was (then WHY do you think I’d want to meet him, mom? “Hello, I hear you’re a jackass!”?) and then as soon as he got into the car he started asking me personal questions–it was foul. This was pretty much that encounter’s exact opposite. My dad and I had discussed it on the phone beforehand, he’s only ever had positive things to say about J., and J. was delightful. We were comfortable with one another right away, and I’m so, so happy that my dad has found someone so awesome.