Slambezi

I'll admit it: Sometimes I think I'm awesome.

Seriously. I run tight trips as a guide at the U.S. National Whitewater Center. I thrash. I surf.

In general, I kick ass.

Then, I watch videos like this and get the feeling that the the Class III-IV stuff I'm running daily is like, say, guiding a rubber ducky through your bathtub:

That's the Zambezi River in Africa. I don't have words for this. I suddenly feel lame. Very lame.

The Voices In My Head Give Me Traffic And Weather On The :10's

There's an old adage in broadcasting that if you don't like something: you can always change the channel.

So with that being said, I need to say this to the fine folks at WBT radio: I can't change the channel.

Really, I can't.

As I sit here typing this, John Hancock is speaking to me on the tweeters hooked up to my computer. Pretty soon Neal Boortz will take over. And after that, Coast-to-Coast AM will come on, where George Noory will come on and debate, among other things, curious looking rocks and the upcoming destruction of the planet Earth.

These people don't just talk to me when I type on the computer, THEY FOLLOW ME TO BED. The speaker on the phone next to me spouts off talk radio and does far less ringing and message answering than it should.

WBT is a 50,000 watt AM blowtorch which, at night, can be heard all up and down the east coast. It also can be heard when I put my TV on mute. Apparently, some kind of glitch in the wiring in my condominium causes every cord hooked up to a speaker to act as an antenna for conservatism.

I had to find the source. One day, using a combination of the internet and talent on loan from God, I tracked it down to an antenna farm about a mile-and-a-half away. I drove up to it. I shook my fist and swore. I told it to stop. I came home. Nothing changed.

I like the station. I really do. I just, and I say this as an independent, find it hard to fall asleep, or unnerving to wake up to somebody calling me a damn dirty liberal. Repent, you wussy war-hating loser Democrat, somebody in my answering machine will say. Then, someone else will come on and tell me how to knock $100 dollars off a new set of Michelin tires.

I swear it makes my bed slant to the right.

Some mornings, I'll wake up Republican, after an overnight subconscious bombardment of WBT. A friend will call and I'll think: I don't want to talk, I WANT TO TAKE THIS CALLER ON. "Glad to have you," my subconscious will tell me to say, before I cut my friend off in mid-sentence. "Hey, it's not Bush's fault that you can't meet me out for dinner. If you weren't so soft on terrorism and illegal immigrants, we could be sitting down for prime rib RIGHT NOW. But [sigh], I guess since you want to sit down and talk things over with your girlfriend, weeeeeelll, I guess you just don't like food. We all know we can't be diplomatic with these women. Me, personally, I would have bombed her back to the Stone Age. You know, REALLY send her a message."

Then, I thank my friend for calling, say the time, and toss to traffic.

Other days, I'll want to talk about the existence of aliens before, of course, the government can shut me up. Sometimes I'll dial up my mom and fight back the urge to ask, "Am I the fifth caller?" I look at myself in the mirror and see a member of the liberal media staring back. "You disgust me," I think to myself. "You even part your hair to the left."

I sometimes get into conversations with half my brain tied behind my back, just to make it fair.

So with all of that being said, I have just one small request to the fine folks at WBT: mega-dittos, but please, turn off your radio transmitter at night. Or, at least, turn it down. People here are trying to sleep.

That, I suppose, is not going to happen. So please, if I'm acting weird tomorrow, remember, I can't change the channel. All I can do is unplug my appliances and hope for the best.
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From January 31, 2007

Anatomy Of A Swim

Here's what happens when you're by yourself, and you don't have enough speed to get through the M-Wave (Class III) at the U.S. National Whitewater Center.

My bad.

My legs were in the whole time, but I ended up bailing because I couldn't pull myself upright without flipping the entire raft.

I'm Trying To Concentrate. Call Off The Choppers.

I was informed today that YouTube can now group videos geographically, which means there is such a thing as a most popular video for Charlotte.

What is it?

You guessed it-- some guy flipping out at a city council meeting:

Number two is a minute long video of a baby laughing hysterically. It got 564,000 views.

Nobody said you had to put a lot of hard work into these.

Hitting the Big Time

Anyone who already knows anything about the Avett Brothers knows what it's like to go to one of their shows.

Count me among the wannabes.

The Avetts are now going big. Really big. Columbia/American just signed them to a record deal. From their website:

We have recently begun working on a new full length album with Rick Rubin. The recording process has been, and will no doubt continue to be, an experience defined by heightened levels of commitment and conviction. It is our distinct pleasure and honor to be in such fine company as we build and bring this most current chapter of songs to fruition.

Rick Rubin. Yeah. He's kind of a big deal. People know him.

I heard a story once that the Avetts were approached once before by a record exec who wanted to sign them, then make them into the male version of the Dixie Chicks.

They declined the deal.

Here's to hoping that this one will be a good one for everybody.

This is Paranoia in Bb Major. One of my favorite songs:

Do You Realize That Jesse Helms Is Dead? No.

I really had no idea who Jesse Helms was when I stumbled upon a website that politely asked him to die.

There wasn't much to it. At the top, it asked you "Is Jesse Helms dead yet?" A double-click took you to another page that featured only three things:

- A large picture of Helms with his arm raised

- The word "No" in large bold black letters

- A short statement that read "If you would like to ask Senator Helms to die, click here."

Helms died Friday at the age of 86. Delving deeply into what he did during his five terms in the U.S. Senate could take up an entire book. I'll leave that for others to discuss.

Instead, I've always been fascinated that somebody out there took the time to make a website devoted only to the topic of whether one man was still living. I found it about ten years ago, under Yahoo's "Useless Pages." It was wedged between the crude "Internet Disco Light" and site that featured a man who, daily, took and then posted a picture of one of his nipples.

Every so often, I checked it. It never changed. Helms was probably in his late 70's when one day, I searched for the site and couldn't find it. "Is Jesse Helms Dead Yet" actually died before the senator himself.

On Friday, I saw the news. Immediately, I did a search for the site and found what appeared to be a copycat. Or a tribute site. Either way, it featured the same simple layout.

This one was a bit more mean spirited. The "No" had been replaced with "Nope." The message below was harsher, asking "this long past-due windbag to die." You no longer "clicked here," instead, his e-mail was now linked to a statement that said "Please Senator, Just Die!"

The best part? As of Saturday night, it still listed Helms as alive; an egregious error for a site devoted only to the mortality of a man who its creator clearly wanted dead.

Who knows how long it will stay that way. At some point, somebody will probably try a little too hard to get ahold of the person who created it. It'll probably change to "Yes" or "Finally" or "It's About Time."

After that happens, will I ever search for it again?

No.

If you would like to ask the creator to update his site, click here.

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One more thing, somebody has apparently updated another useless page, the Hampster Dance. It's all 3-D now. What a travesty.

Here's a copy of the original. You're welcome.

Other useless pages that still work include the Infamous Exploding Whale, a Really Big Button That Doesn't Really Do Anything, and a site asking you not to click on it.