Witz DOESN'T KNOW IF HE Pickz: The Socio-religious Nature of Brisket, The Most Terrifying Balloon Experience Ever, and MORE!

Brisket. Simple enough. And yet this morning at the train station, an offhand remark by my friend "North of the Border" made me realize just how political, religious, and potentially world altering brisket really is.

North of the Border: I went to this place for dinner last night with really amazing brisket.
Witz: Cool.
North of the Border: You know who makes good brisket?
Witz: (thinks: the Jews)
North of the Border: The Jews.
Witz: Very true. And you know who else?
North of the Border: Who?
Witz: Texas!
North of the Border: Very true.
Both: Complete opposite ends of the spectrum.

This makes me wonder if that was like, God's plan all along. He was like, "We'll make the Jews have great brisket and Texans have great brisket-- they can meet in the middle." Did He do that for a lot of things? I mean, was that the same logic he used for The Middle East?

God: Hey, you guys wanna hangout here?
All Religions Ever: Uh, I guess so?
God: Done! I'm gonna go space out for a while-- and by "a while" I mean three-thousand years.

After all, the universe (and numerous religions/philosophies) is characterized by opposites. Light/Dark, Good/Evil, Pleasure/Pain, Meet The Parents/Meet the Fockers...maybe everything was created not to have polar opposites, but to have those opposites slowly move towards each other until they meet in the middle-- like socially viable, but ultimately weak-willed political candidates. Maybe brisket is a microcosm for the entire universe. Or maybe I just have too much time to think on the train.


The Most Terrifying Balloon Related Experience Ever:
About 3:50 p.m PST, yesterday, Hello Leslie and I had the most terrifying balloon related experience ever. I don't care if you've fallen out of a hot air balloon. I don't care if you've been molested by a balloon clown. This was worse.

I should have known something was up when The Balloon Guy hemmed and hawed about taking the balloons over himself. I mean, he's The Balloon Guy-- that's his thing. Instead, he pointed at the 15 inflated helium balloons rattling in the wind, that he's intertwined and tied to a pole and told me they were all mine. He then booked it to his Balloon Van and went on with his Balloon Life. "No problem," I thought, "we'll just bring them over in that golf cart." See, our only option for transportation was to walk about half a mile or to use a golf cart. Since we were in a rush, and I didn't want to look absurd, I decided the golf cart was our best bet. I loaded the balloons into the back seat and let them rest against the roof of the open air cart. Hello Leslie climbed in back as my balloon wrangler (which I'm pretty sure is not another name for a Fluffer), and I climbed in the front to drive, theoretically not absurdly.

About five seconds later, as I pushed my foot down on the accelerator, that theory went out the open air window, along with several balloons. The cart might only max out at roughly 10 mph, but those balloons got moving in the wind like there were hurricane gusts. They started flying around Hello Leslie's head and clustered forward toward the back and sides of mine. They whipped around and made hollow thwunk sounds as they careened off our faces and back into the chaos. Quickly, the chaos overtook us.

Picture this: You are walking quietly on a sidewalk. There are the sounds of birds, a slight breeze, and nothing else. A golf cart slowly approaches on the street. There's a guy in a jacket and tie, hunched desperately forward over the steering wheel like how a T-Rex would drive, a terrified woman in a dress in the back, balloons enveloping them both, and two loud, constant "AHHHHHHH!!!!" screams as they slowly pass you by and leave you back in your silence. That was us. We were rolling down the street, a cart full of multi-colored helium balloons, one dunking booth away from a street fair, scared out of our minds.

Back in the balloon hell, the balloons swirling and thumping against each other and us like a pack of angry bees, I suddenly understood what Hurricane Katrina must have been like. The balloons were gaining static as they slid against our hair and clothes, and I became obsessed with the fear that a balloon would pop right next to my ear. Then it happened-- like a gun going off to start a race, it popped right against my ear and I let out a pained shout, while making eye contact with a man crossing the street in front of us. He hustled along. Suddenly, there was another pop from the back and Hello Leslie let out a shout. If I hadn't seen Saving Private Ryan, Generation Kill, Star Wars, Rudy, and The Mighty Ducks, I might have just quit right then and there; just bailed on my vehicle, left the balloons and went AWOL. Fortunately, however, those things and the first 30 pages of Bill Clinton's presumably inspirational book, "My Life," led me to press on. We made it to the dropoff points, set the balloons up, and succeeded in our mission. Post-Traumatic Stress pending...

Currency Exchange:
For a number of years, I have classified how much I want some food or entertainment item in terms of what and how many of a thing I would kill or do to get it. Here are some more-- feel free to add your own in the comments:

-I would kill four tiger cubs for a pumpernickel bagel.
-I would kill three innocents for a milkshake and fries.
-Matt says: I would kill a bald eagle for some wendy's.
-I would kill six gerbils for a grilled cheese.
-Titan AE says: I would kill a million gerbils. For no reason. Those things are gross.
-I would de-foot fourteen penguins for a new episode of House.
-I clubbed seven baby seals and got a new Mitch Hedberg CD.
-Global Warming killed millions of polar bears. (That's my blunt global warming "fact-as-joke" joke).
-I would kick seventeen manatees for Lost to come back, get its shit over with, and be done forever.

I Would Kill Nine Attractive Mutes For Better Blog Fodder,
Witz