In 1982 Arthur C. Clarke published a novel called, 2010: Odyssey Two which was made into a film in 1984 with the shortened title 2010 which was a sequel to his 1968 novel 2001: A Space Odyssey which was really just a novelization of the Stanley Kubric film predictably called 2001: A Space Odyssey which — I know this is getting confusing — was based on Clarke’s short story The Sentinel.

I remember seeing 2010 at the movie theater in 1984, seeing the awesome space-oriented special effects, and thinking how awesome it’s going to be when 2010 finally gets here. But, the tag-line of the movie was: the year we make contact which, after seeing other movies such as Signs and Pitch Black make me wonder if we really want to be here barricading our farm house and waiting for the aliens to swoop down and suck-out our insides.

1984 was also the year I bought a Hewlett-Packard 11c calculator with RPN (Reverse Polish Notation). I’m guessing most of you have no idea what this calculator is and why I should be making such a big deal about it, but I’m also willing to predict that those of you that actually own one have never upgraded and are still using it to this day.

How can I make such a claim? Because, not only is the HP 11c the greatest calculator ever invented, but once you get used to it you are completely ruined when it comes to operating other calculators!

I’m not going to bore you with the details as to why this is such a great calculator because you will most likely have the same reaction as hatingtherain did on the phone yesterday: “I don’t want to hear about it!” which was quickly followed by her calling me a “geek” and asking me what color pocket-protector she should buy me for my birthday.

See how she loves me?

The sad thing is that my 11c is beginning to show signs of wear and Hewlett-Packard stopped making them more than 10-years ago. You can periodically find them on eBay for $200-$300 but usually they are in worse shape than the one I’ve already got.

Which is why I am so glad I live in 2010. Yesterday, after fiddling around in the app store on my iPhone, I discovered they have an application. Yes, someone created an exact duplicate and I can now have a fully functional HP 11c calculator with me at all times wherever I go!

When will the future get here? Trust me, the future is now.

Last night I woke up to the phone ringing. It was 11:30 p.m. and I was out cold. I’m always nervous about answering the phone at that hour because everyone knows I get up really early (3:00 or 4:00 am) to go ballooning and it could only either be an emergency, or the occaisional call from Costa Rica from someone wanting to know if I want to place a bet (I have no idea why they call me, I don’t gamble and have no intention of EVER placing a bet by telephone — especially to some random casino in a foreign country).

I answer the phone and the voice on the other end sounded very juiced-up — almost out of breath with excitement. I’m still waking up and not fully registering the words, but the tone and urgency in the voice starts my heart racing. Finally, I’m able to put the words together:

“Hey! I’m watching The Wizard of Oz… with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon as a soundtrack… It’s GREAT!”

It was my buddy Bret. A few weeks ago I told him about turning the sound off while watching The Wizard of Oz and playing Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album as a soundtrack. If you start the Dark Side of the Moon album right after the 3rd roar of the MGM lion at the beginning of The Wizard of Oz it is uncanny how well the music goes with it.

Of course, it helps if you’ve seen The Wizard of Oz a few times and know what’s going on during the scenes without the help of the dialog. It also helps to be a fan of Dark Side of the Moon. Otherwise, you might not fully appreciate the multitude of coincidences.

For instance, if you don’t know that Dorothy is running away from home, you won’t think it’s interesting when the lyrics say, “run… rabbit run…” or when Professor Marvel reads her fortune and tells her she needs to go home, it won’t be as interesting when the lyrics say, “home… home again…”

One of my favorite parts is when the scarecrow is dancing around like a lunatic and the lyrics are saying, “the lunatic is on the grass…” And what song title would be a more appropriate soundtrack during the scarecrow scene than Brain Damage.  LOL

But, I digress…

After I realized the phone call was not an emergency, I relaxed a little bit and, to tell you the truth, can only recall portions of the conversation. I guess I nodded off a couple of times during the dialog.

I do remember him telling me about some incredible automatons from the late 1800′s that were featured in a YouTube video or something.

Anyway, the reason I’m telling you all this is because after I hung up the phone I immediately fell back asleep and had one of the most bizarre dreams I’ve ever had:

I was a robotic scarecrow chasing people through a corn field. And, yes, I could breathe fire.

The most disturbing part, though, was that I actually enjoyed being a fire-breathing mechanical scarecrow.

I think maybe I need to get laid.

The Wizard of Oz (70th Anniversary Two-Disc Special Edition)

Dark Side Of The Moon

The main reason I got an iPhone—aside from the fact that my previous RAZR phone had reception equal to that of a 1960′s short-wave radio (“Come-in Tokyo!”)—was so I could keep connected to the internet and my billions of fans no matter where I was or what I was doing.

So, on Monday, I decided to take it up in a hot air balloon. Normally, I don’t fly much, but when there are too many people for the mid-sized balloon but not really enough for the big balloon, the pilot likes to have some extra weight in the basket for maneuverability, so one of the crew guys will jump in.

Usually, it’s Roeland, because he’s training to get his pilots’ license and needs all the flight-time he can get. But, it was a nice day and I thought it might be fun to try twittering while I was up there.

Although most of my tweets were of the simple “Hello from 2,500 feet!” variety, I did get creative enough to take a self-portrait and upload it for all the world to see (or, at least all of my 8,000 Twitter followers).  What I didn’t realize, though, was that the photo I uploaded didn’t really capture the essence of my charm like I thought it did when I viewed it on my iPhone in bright sunlight while not wearing glasses.

Nope. In this particular photo I looked like a liquor store panhandler.

Could you imagine?: You get into a hot air balloon to go for a ride and after you’re way above the ground—high enough so that if you jumped out and hit the ground it would look more like a Rorschach Test than a dead body—a stinky, unshaven, yet surprisingly handsome panhandler reaches out his hand and says, “gimmie a quarter!”

Trapped at 3,000 feet with a panhandler. That would suck.

Anyway, the photo in which I’m referring is NOT the one you see at the top of this page; although, it was taken within seconds of the other one which, believe-it-or-not, is much worse. If you really want to see it, I’m sure you can find it in my twitter feed somewhere.

The great thing about being a hoarder and never throwing anything away, is that you are often nostalgically surprised when you pull something out of a box you’ve had stored in the attic for 20-years.

Take this Farfrompüken t-shirt I discovered this morning. This thing brings back memories. Memories such as waking-up under a freeway overpass in a shopping cart and wondering at what point during the previous night I agreed to wearing a “Picasso-deranged” version of clown makeup.

It’s funny how, when you’re in your early twenties, spending two hours in the imported beer section at Liquor Barn was not only acceptable, but crucial! Every label must be read in order to guarantee you were getting the most alcohol content possible while still maintaining some sort of traditional, non-threatening ingredients. “Now With Extra Turpentine!” is probably a clue you should try something else.

Once you hit thirty, buying beer is much less exciting—oh, you’ll drink more—but, spending more than 10-seconds choosing a beer is pretty much a thing of the past.

I spent most of my 30′s living in the land of beer: Wisconsin. If you live there, it’s a written law that you must drink a Wisconsin beer; otherwise, I’m pretty sure it is legal for citizens to dress you up in a Minnesota Vikings uniform and let you loose in a frozen, but moderately trafficked section of the state (Wisconsinites will immediately recognize this as a fate much worse than death). The good news, though,  is that nearly every small town has it’s own brewery, so you can always find something you like.

My favorite brewery was Leinenkugel’s in Chippewa Falls, and in particular, their Honey Weiss beer. I’ve had many exciting adventures fueled by Honey Weiss—sometimes mixing such unrelated themes as lumberjacking and the abuse of fireworks.

By the time you get to be forty-years-old you drink almost the same amount of beer you did in your thirties, but the beer-induced adventures consist of you watching your drunk, thirty-something friends experience their alcohol-fueled adventures. When you’re forty, climbing trees in 10-below zero temperatures doesn’t sound like the greatest idea ever anymore—but, watching your inebriated buddies do it can be very entertaining.

Now that I’m through my forties and living in Southern California, I just don’t get that excited about beer anymore. I might have one or two if I go out to a Mexican restaurant or something, and you can’t even get Honey Weiss out here. If I do order a beer it’s usually Dos Equis—not because it tastes the best, but because that’s what the most interesting man in the world prefers.

Stay thirsty, my friends…