Weird Crimes: Colorado’s Serial Sidewalk Pooper Makes My Day

Every once in a while, a new story breaks through all the worry and malaise burdening the national consciousness, (and myself, in particular, which is really the only worry and malaise I can actually, honestly attest to).

This bright, glittery meteor of a human interest (?) story somehow—someway—against all news judgement and journalistic standards manages to rise above all the reporting on hurricanes, earthquakes, Fed rate machinations, GOP “healthcare” bills, and America’s slow, inexorable crawl towards mutually assured nuclear annihilation.

That shining beacon of story is the Mad Pooper story.

colorado springs serial pooper_1505857866909_66768450_ver1.0_640_480

Perhaps you’ve heard of it? If not, let me enlighten you.

There is a woman—a jogger, even—in Colorado Springs who has chosen to defecate on a sidewalk in front of the same house on approximately seven occasions thus far. I say approximately, because honestly—who can say with absolute certainty? We just have the family-in-question’s version. It could have been more and they just didn’t notice it.

But they did eventually notice and even confronted the woman, who seemed oddly unrepentant and not at all slowed down by the discovery.

I actually have some experience with both jogging (barely) and people pooping in my yard. But in my case, the mystery of who pooped by the shed was never solved.

sweaty beast

The press are, quite understandably having a field day with this poop-and-run story. Check out this USA Today story. My favorite bits:

Then the woman jogged away. She leaves only confusion, and also the paper towels that she wipes with.

Even in a world wrought with senseless violence, the Mad Pooper’s antics astonish. There’s a portable toilet at nearby John Venezia Community Park.  A gas station not far from that.

BET had some funny nuggets (PUN: INTENDED)

However, for one Colorado Springs household, a human, exercising, pooping, bandit has been leaving her trace for weeks, and they are tired of her crap… literally.

Mediaite was feeling funny:

There’s a 99 percent chance that this will be the shittiest news story you read today.

And, crossing the finish line, Huffington Post, which has a photo of the Mad Pooper:

This runner keeps coming in turd place.

All I know is that the Mad Pooper has definitely got the Colorado Springs police on the run(s) (AGAIN: PUN: INTENDED).

innauguration porta potties.jpg

Friday Links: Snow Art and Snatched Crowns Edition

snow penis
Nobody said this was a family-friendly blog.
  • Airline workers kill time by drawing a giant dick next to one of their planes. This actually sums up perfectly how I feel about winter. Plus it reminds me of the infamous “Below Deck” episode where the chief steward made blanket art in the shape of a penis but insisted it was a misinterpreted rocket ship. Man, I miss that show.
  • But guess what IS coming back!! Get your sweet tea iced and set your Tivo’s for March 9 for a preview episode, and March 16 for the full “Southern Charm” assault on the senses, y’all.
  • The Chief Jefe of Poe Communications and Mattress Merchandising Inc., and my personal-boss-for-life XFE has always wanted to stay at an ice hotel. I prefer not to sleep with my teeth chattering throughout the night. So just for him and his thwarted dreams, here’s a roundup of ice hotels by OMGFacts.
  • It’s hard to drag yourself out of bed when it’s 6 a.m. and 17 degrees. It’s even harder when you’re bed is heavenly. The ladies at Cardigans and Couture know: It’s all about the bed. We actually have the same mattress (Westin’s Heavenly mattress) and it is pretty awesome.
  • Following up on the Christmas break wine heist at the French Laundry, Central Texas has a brisket bandit on the loose. No word on if they prefer the “packer” or the “flat” cut.
  • Required reading for our cat, Petunia: Neurotic people probably make pretty great pet owners, according to a new study on overbearing pet parents. Now get over here and let me smother you with hugs and kisses.
  • My favorite story of the week: A Brazilian beauty pageant runner-up snatched the crown right off the winner’s head. (Oh yes, there’s a video. Things get catty around the 1:50 mark. The crowd goes wild). And she’s not sorry about it at all, as you can tell by this amazingly awesome quote in a Brazilian newspaper: “What I did was not on impulse, [it] was to show Manaus, Brazil and the world, that money cannot buy everything. I didn’t do it for me but for other candidates … She didn’t deserve the title.”

Maybe I Should Play the Lottery Next

Sometimes you do something so stupid and potentially dangerous it puts a pit in your stomach and lingers around you for a whole day.

I-SEE-DUMB-PEOPLE

I’m not talking about something irresponsible, like, say, for example, staying far too long at a happy hour and not eating anything except a couple of chips and a teaspoon of guacamole, which, as everyone knows is not a sufficient anti-hangover base for 3 top shelf margaritas and a sickly sweet shot. Just as an example.

No, I’m talking about some stupid mistake that makes you question whether you should even be allowed to walk by yourself to the metro.

And every time you start to feel comfortable or safe or push the incident out of your mind, there it is again, sending a cold sheen of sweat over your upper lip.

My guardian-boyfriend XFE is out of town for work this week, so of course, when I went to bed last night, I checked every door and window and made absolutely certain they were locked before I went to bed.

I have recurring bouts of insomnia. I’m currently in one of those bouts, I’d say for going on about 2 weeks now. My insomnia is kinda interesting. To me, at least. I fall asleep easily, then wake up around 3 or 4 in the morning and cannot get back to sleep until about 20 minutes before my alarm goes off. So….super restful, that. If there’s anything worse than waking up for no reason, it’s finally being able to drift back to sleep only to be jolted awake again. It is exhausting, and frustrating, and mystifying.

So, last night, per usual, I woke up around 4 am and tried to lie still in the hopes that I could somehow quiet my mind enough to get back to sleep. I finally started to slowly sink back into sleep after an indeterminate amount of time when I heard the very distinct sound of our front door. Our door has a pretty unmistakable sound. It has a rubber weathering seal around it that makes it sound a little bit like a suction noise. That’s the best way I can describe it, and it’s totally inefficient.

apocalypse bird

Anyway, I know I heard something because even Petunia jumped up from her favorite sleeping spot — ie: between my legs (I also have a theory that perhaps my insomnia stems from the fact that I am physically trapped by a 13 pound cat and can’t roll over to a more comfortable position — I have a lot of theories about my insomnia. You think a lot during those extra 2-3 hours of wakefulness every night).

what was that

I stayed very, very still, holding my breathe and listening; watching the cat to see if she was hearing anything. Nothing. No footsteps on the wood floor. No sound of the door closing. It must have been our collective imaginations. Time to get up and get the day going.

I went through my normal morning routine – brew coffee, feed the cat, pet the cat while she eats, pour cup of coffee plus to-go mug, pet the cat while she eats some more, escape the cat-petting session and get showered and dressed.

Finally, it was time to leave. I open the door and hear the distinct tinkle of my keys still in the lock of the front door, left there from the evening before. Just hanging there vulnerable and exposed. Tempting evil doers of all shapes and stripes to gently turn them and come in our house. I immediately felt sick to my stomach.

defencedoormat

I’ve done this before. XFE has found my keys still in the door lock on at least 2 occasions that I can think of.

I immediately put down my raincoat, my purse, my to-go mug of coffee. I grabbed my phone and a very lethal looking butcher knife and began looking in every closet, behind every door, just waiting for my opportunistic murderer to jump out. I went out back and checked the shed, and behind the shed, my heart caught in my throat.

The scariest moment was the downstairs powder room. That door was completely closed. Was someone in there? What would I do? Also, I’m right handed. So, should I hold my phone in my right hand in case I need to call 911, or should I hold my knife in my right hand, so I can swipe and stab with premium skill?

armed

Luckily, my stabbing versus dialing skills were never put to the test. No one was in the house. But could I be sure? I mean, really, really sure? It worried me all the way to work, all day at work, on the way home, and especially while approaching my front door.

Obviously, everything was fine and normal and as it should be.

But I’m not out of the woods yet. I still have to get some sleep tonight and who knows how that’s going to go with the state of my nerves. What fills me with most dread though, (besides the possibility of making that mistake again and not having as much luck the next time around) is how much trouble I’m going to get in when XFE reads this. He hates these kind of stories, quite naturally. He’ll be worried and exasperated and it will come out as harsh and I’ll get defensive and teary-eyed.

But I’ll try to nod and agree and understand that he’s not mad at me, he’s mad at the situation. That I’ve put myself in. He’s far away and completely helpless. He’s only concerned and sad that he can’t do anything to help me or save me from my idiocy.

At least this time I didn’t need a locksmith.

Friday Links: Don’t Clip Your Nails at Home Depot

Little bit late on the links this morning. But there’s some pretty good one’s in this week’s edition, so pull up a chair, put on a fancy dress, grab some foreign cheese and get your dubstep on.

subway-etiquette-poster-082713-400x470

  • I am quite unfortunate to have not one, but by my count, at least two co-workers who think it is appropriate to engage in clipping their nails at the office. The metallic “ting” of each clip wafts over the walls of our cubicle farm and puts my teeth on edge. I think I’ll print this fake subway sign and post it in a few common areas.
  • True story: I worked at a 24-hour Home Depot for a summer in college, and I was always disturbed by the fact that we sold machetes at a 24-hour Home Depot. I thought that was just asking for late-night trouble. I also noticed during that summer, that Home Depot was a place where a lot of couples went to argue. But apparently, not this couple. Blech.
  • I just finished Michael Paterniti’s “The Telling Room,” a book about love, betrayal, perception, storytelling, Castilian culture, and, most importantly, the creation of a beautiful Spanish cheese. This CNNMoney story about an Italian bank that takes cheese as collateral on loans fits in quite nicely.
  • I could see XFE doing this. This guy has gifted his wife 55,000 dresses over the course of their 56-year marriage. Now, I wonder: do they fight over which dresses she packs when they go on vacation?
  • I know that by now everyone in the world has seen this, but I don’t care. I love Dubstep cat. Plus, the cat is dancing to one of mine and XFE’s favorite parody songs: “Cinnabon.” OK, it’s not, but that’s what we’ve turned it into — an ode to a warm, yeasty treat found in airports and malls.

Friday Links: Russian Cat Portraits and Dolly Parton

Welp, I made it through another week as a single pet parent and house caretaker. I’ve only peed my pants imagining someone was breaking in to murder me about 25 times this week, including one very terrifying instance where I was woken up at 5 a.m. by the sound of XFE’s shower mirror falling in his shower. There were some tense minutes while I crept around the house, wielding a high heel as a weapon, until I finally pinpointed the source of the clatter.

Needless to say, my nerves are a bit thin. Every the dutiful boyfriend, even from thousands of miles away, XFE has bought me a nice, long massage tomorrow. And I’m very much looking forward to that.

While it wasn’t a good week for rest, it was a good week for random stories on the Internet. Enjoy!

hermitage-cat-portraits-5

  • Since I dug around and learned about my heritage, it only seemed fitting that I would do the same for Princess Petunia. Turns out that she’s Russian royalty, of course. We’ll be commissioning one of these cat portraits to hang in the Hermitage any day now.
  • XFE was in Japan for work last week, and well, I love bunnies, so a story about a Japanese island that used to be testing grounds for chemical warfare and has now been left to be overrun by the former lab bunnies suits my weird sense of humor.
  • First Subway footlongs are not actually a foot long and now this? Oh, I smell a future class action lawsuit, by the way, which I will join and from which I expect to be paid in mounds of insufficiently stuffed Oreos. I’ll make it a work. I’m a survivor.
  • According to people who were there, members of this Peruvian “uncontacted” tribe asked for bananas, rope and a machete (ummm, quick tip: don’t give the strange angry people machetes). I think they were asking for Double Stuffed Oreos.  They obviously got worked up and hostile because they couldn’t make themselves understood.
  • Travel is so exhausting. This kid has the right idea.
  • Dolly Parton is my spiritual guru. I decided this while walking quite tipsily in the middle of the day in London in 1997. Me, and my older and way cooler British friend decided right then and there that Dolly was an absolute genius and we bonded over our love for her. Suddenly, the American Revolution seemed ridiculous and the key to British-American relations swas so clear: Dolly. Parton. This video sums up that day pretty damn perfectly.
  • Being blunt is a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, insults just bounce off of you (slide 1) and you’re the life of the party because of your honesty and big mouth (slide 14). On the other, people are just so damn sensitive (slide 2 and 7). Here’s hoping you think I’m an ironic genius anyway (slide 20).

I’m Going to Recommend You Not Swat At That TNT-Coated Bee

Bees are crazy interesting creatures.

For example, did you know a honey bee can fly for up to six miles and as fast as 15 miles per hour.  And to make one pound of honey, a bee would have to fly around 90,000 miles, which comes out to about 3 times around the globe, and, which might explain why the average honey bee will actually make only one twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in its lifetime.

Also, they see all colors except for red. I wonder what the bee equivalent of the Ishihara test is.

bee
Can you see the red number in this flower?

Another thing about bees is that they can be trained to find bombs. No, really. They’re like that guy in the The Hurt Locker. Only, with 6 legs, 2 compound eyes made up of thousands of tiny lenses (one on each side of the head), 3 simple eyes on the top of the head, 2 pairs of wings, a nectar pouch, and a stomach.

Some scientist is taking advantage of honey bees’ ridiculously acute sense of smell and training them to detect the scent of explosives. In particular, the scent of TNT, according to the Associated Press.

“Our basic conclusion is that the bees can clearly detect this target, and we are very satisfied,” said Nikola Kezic, an expert on the behavior of honeybees who leads a part of a larger multimillion-euro program, called “Tiramisu,” sponsored by the EU to detect land mines on the continent.

Mmmm, Tiramisu. That does sound yummy.

bee thug

(And, why exactly does this project need a super-secret code name? Who’s gonna make off with a swarm of specially trained, black op bees?Actually…..I see your point. But if I were giving out super-secret code names, I would go with something James Bond-ish, like “You Only Live 40-50 Days,” or “Honeycombs Are Forever,” or “License to Sting.” What about, “Octo-Buzzy?”)

Anywho. According to the article:

Several feeding points were set up on the ground around the tent, but only a few have TNT particles in them. The method of training the bees by authenticating the scent of explosives with the food they eat appears to work: bees gather mainly at the pots containing a sugar solution mixed with TNT, and not the ones that have a different smell.

Kezic said the feeding points containing the TNT traces offer “a sugar solution as a reward, so they can find the food in the middle.”

“It is not a problem for a bee to learn the smell of an explosive, which it can then search,” Kezic said. “You can train a bee, but training their colony of thousands becomes a problem.”

Yikes, I can totally imagine. Just training one Petunia to not claw the furniture is difficult enough. I can’t imagine a colony of thousands.

bee army
I’m pretty sure this is exactly what a bee army looks like.

So, just where would one find lots of undetonated landmines with which to test this TNT/Tiramisu theory? Why, Poe’s next vacation destination, of course, Croatia!

Croatian officials estimate that since the beginning of the Balkan wars in 1991, about 2,500 people have died from land mine explosions. During the four-year war, around 90,000 land mines were placed across the entire country, mostly at random and without any plan or existing maps…

About 750 square kilometers (466 square miles) are still suspected to be filled with mines from the Balkan wars in the 1990s.

Well, that’s just great.  But surely by the time we get there in early July, this whole bomb-sniffing-bee thing will be up and running and we’ll have no worries, right?

It may be a while before the honeybees hit real minefields, Kezic said. First, they will conduct controlled tests, with real mines but which are marked…

Even after the de-miners have done their job in an area, some land mines are missed and remain in the soil, and they are most often the cause of deadly explosions. Once the experiment with bees proves scientifically reliable, the idea is to use them in the areas that have already been de-mined, where their movement would be followed with heat-seeking cameras, Kezic said.

“We are not saying that we will discover all the mines on a minefield, but the fact is that it should be checked if a minefield is really de-mined,” he said. “It has been scientifically proven that there are never zero mines on a de-mined field, and that’s where bees could come in.”

You’re killing me, Kezic. Why so cautious? There are lives to be saved here. Science to be proven. Don’t you want to hurry up and get a patent on that Kezic Effect, and put that Pavlov guy with his silly dogs out of the behavioral conditioning business?

bee with guns
Ready to rumble in the jungle.

Maybe in the meantime, you could just go ahead and train a few of these bees on how to detect potential waterborne parasites real quick and truly make them useful? We’ll be there in about a month.

How Do I Put This Delicately?

For someone who is not involved in the medical or porn industries, I’ve certainly seen more than my fair share of …ahem…lady bits lately.

For the record, “more than my fair share,” would be anything over the number one.

And, again, for the record and clarification, I’m talking about nether regions. Boxes. Muffs. Putangs. I’m talking about “down there.”

Man, I can’t wait to see the search term results that this post attracts.

When we were in Peru (yes, I’m still talking about that trip. Sorry, I’m not sorry), we saw a poor old soul sitting on a church step in one of Lima’s busiest squares. She was wearing a stained and threadbare skirt and was mumbling to herself and swaying. Her, um, “Sacred Valley” was on full display, but she was quite obviously not right in the head and totally oblivious to her lack of underwear. The proper thing to do was just to look away. Which I did.

steve-lambert-look-away

I hurried up to my travel-companion-for-life XFE and whisper/hissed, “Did you see that old woman back there? She didn’t have any underwear on!”  XFE answered in the negative and got on with his life. I, however, was sad and disturbed for the rest of the afternoon thinking about that poor woman. I should have said something, or covered her, or given her some money. Something.

When I was walking home from work the other day, I got another chance to do a solid for my fellow females. There, sitting on some steps alongside a busy sidewalk and an even busier, rush-hour clogged street, was a young German fraulein with her muschi (German slang. Look it up) saying hello to all the passersby.

I presumed that she was so engrossed in her phone conversation that she was not even remotely aware of her state of overexposure (it was unseasonably cold, so I’m not really sure how this could be. For context, I was wearing tights and a trench coat. That’s how cold it was. She too, was wearing a trench coat, so I know she wasn’t completely impervious to the wind chill).

I walked past, shocked that she couldn’t know. I mean, unlike the poor old lady in Lima, she seemed to be in full mastery of her sensibilities.

Then I stopped in my tracks and thought to myself, “If I had a big chunk of spinach lodged in my front tooth and was grinning like an idiot, I would want someone to do the right thing and give me a heads up. If my skirt were caught in my tights, I would want someone, anyone, to do me a favor and tell me.”

With that whole reciprocity thing floating in my head, I went back and said, “Excuse me, ma’am, but I can see your vagina.” She glared at me and continued talking in German to the person on the phone.

In what had now become the single most awkward, one-sided conversation I’d ever attempted, I tried again. “Perhaps it would be best if you just lowered your legs a bit?” More glaring, but some shifting. “Ah, there you go. That’s better. Good job. You.”

Positive praise which, of course, was met with more glaring.

Angela Merkel is not impressed.
Angela Merkel is not impressed.

I walked off dumbfounded. Here I thought I was helping my fellow conspirator in the Sisterhood of the (Lack) of Pants. But I apparently had the entire situation completely wrong. Clearly she knew that the whole world could ascertain the color of her underwear and shaving preferences, and I was the one, in fact, who had crossed a societal line of proper etiquette by informing her that I did not want to know either of those facts. Obviously I was the one in the wrong here, a fact that I’m sure would have been supported by any one of the lecherous drivers stagnating in their cars at the stop light in front of us.

What would the Dowager Countess do?
What would the Dowager Countess do?

I should have taken off my tights and flung them at her.

How to be Completely Useless

This might be one of the most frustrating images I’ve ever come across in my many years of reading blogs.

 

I saw it on Sojourning Abroad and it claims to be a color coded map with a list of local emergency numbers. Hmmm, I think to myself, wouldn’t that be a nice, permanent addition to the Poe Travel Binders.

So I clicked on it. And this is what I saw. Is it me or are those numbers teensy-teeny tiny? I mean, seriously. You’d need a microscope to read those numbers! I can just imagine the scenario now:

Poe walks absently down some foreign street, distracted by many shiny things. Would-Be Robber (WBR) lurks stealthily several steps behind, waiting patiently, yet intently. Poe reaches down to pet some mangy stray cat, leaving her purse dangling. WBR seizes the opportunity and slices the purse strings. Poe pulls out her trusty travel binder with a map of foreign emergency numbers, but alas, her map-reading microscope was in the purse that just got snatched. Poe sits on dirty foreign curb and cries while mangy cat rubs around her legs and gives her foreign fleas. 

AND SCENE.

I tried opening the image in a separate tab, but that has not helped at all.

I’ve been looking around my browser for ways to blow it up, but frankly, I’m too bone-weary tired to worry about my safety anymore. Well played, WBR, well played.

Nerves of Jello Over Here

I am very nervous about our upcoming trip to Peru, y’all.

I’m not nervous about packing. For once. Although, my new laissez faire “take what you wore yesterday and throw it in a bag (*plus clean underwear)” attitude won’t work for this trip. For one thing, I wore a bulky turtleneck, wool pants and a heavy coat yesterday. That won’t really work for a destination with temperatures in the 60s-80s.

I’m actually following this girl’s advice on packing for a safari, since our trip to Peru is sorta similar in a lot of ways. (Seriously, she has packing advice for just about every conceivable destination/time of year. Very helpful site)

safari packing

This trip is heavy on the moving around and outdoor adventure front, so no need for heels or going-out clothes.

I’m also not scared I’m going to be eaten by sharks, like I was when we were planning our trip to Australia. (Turned out that reef sharks are kinda small and wimpy and are in no way prepared to take a bite out of my flailing body. Also: we’re not diving in Peru. Sooooo…there’s that.)

No, I have lots of other things stressing me out.

Don't worry, Poe! I won't try to eat you. (Wait....do llamas bite?)
Don’t worry, Poe! I won’t try to eat you. (Wait….do llamas bite?)

For one thing, it’s our first trip to South America together and well, South America is a whole other ball of crazy coca tea (I’ll explain that reference a bit further down).

Peru in particular appears to be a bit, well, how shall I put this…..flexible in terms of criminal justice and acceptance of bribes. To be fair, it does appear that Peru is cleaning up its act a bit in terms of corruption. According to this lady in Peru who I’m sure has no reason whatsoever to make up such an assertion.

So, I’m worried that we’ll get ripped off repeatedly by cab drivers (related: cabs don’t have meters). Or worse – I really do not want to be shot in the stomach. That would suck.

I’m, of course, scared I’m going to be mugged. This apparently happens a lot. Even in nice neighborhoods in Lima.

I’m worried that we should not be driving on the roads, particularly not out into the desert. I’m worried that my pigeon Spanish won’t be good enough to keep us from being thrown into a Peruvian jail for some minor infraction like not having our side mirror at a 45 degree angle.

If Peruvian prison scares this guy, what do you think a mushball like me is going to do?
If Peruvian prison scares this guy, what do you think a mushball like me is going to do?

I’m very worried about altitude sickness when we go to Cuzco and Machu Picchu. And that to combat said altitude sickness, I’ll have to drink the local cure, which is a tea make out of cocaine leaves. That’s right. Cocaine leaves. Something I don’t need in my life: failing a random drug test at work and trying to explain THAT.

I’m worried that I’ll accidentally eat cuy—guinea pig, a local delicacy. (I’m tipping a 40oz for my guinea pig homies and childhood pets, Peanut and Walnut, right now.)

Also: This British travel website? NOT HELPING. Some snippets:

Spiritual cleansing – Shamans and other individuals offer ‘spiritual cleansing’ to tourists, especially in the Amazon area and Cusco. This service is not regulated and there have been serious illness and deaths following such ceremonies.

Sand buggies – There have been deaths and injuries involving recreational sand buggies, particularly in the sand dunes around Ica and Lake Huacachina. These buggies are unregulated and the drivers and agencies take no responsibility for the welfare of passengers.

Ugh. This is what I do now that I’m in my 40s. I stress and worry. I fret and overanalyze about all the things that could possibly go wrong.

I know—at least in my head—that none of these things are likely to happen to us. That we’re seasoned travellers. That we’ll be safe and smart. I know that we’ve arranged a car service to take us to and from the airports. We know not to get into just some random old hoopty cab and we’ll always negotiate a price first.

I know we won’t carry valuables (I’m not even bringing jewelry, or my phone, or any electronics) and we will stay vigilant in public places.

I know XFE will not let me become a drug mule, and that he’s already gotten a prescription for non-cocaine-laced altitude sickness pills for us.

I know that I will not take part in any spiritual cleansings or drive sand buggies in a reckless manner or eat furry little childhood pets.

I also know damn well that I should never look on the Internet for things to worry about because you will always, always find them.

In Peru, they can hate, they just need to not masticate! (wow. that was bad.)
In Peru, they can hate, they just need to not masticate! (wow. that was bad.)

Would You Like Some Deer Antler with Those Wings?

Why yes, I did watch the Super Bowl this past weekend. I know the complete absence of any suggestion of Beyonce’s fierce halftime show outfit must have had you all wondering.

Best. Fierce face. Ever.
Best. Fierce face. Ever.

We actually went over to a friends’ house to watch it. It was fairly entertaining because (1) we’re not really that into football, (2) neither were our friends; and (3) the other couple they invited over were actually into football. Or, at least, one of them was. He must have been quite frustrated with all of us, as we ate and drank our faces off and kept a running commentary on everything except the big game.

By the way, in case you were wondering, I was cheering on Baltimore. I mean, come on….their mascot’s name is POE.

PoeToSchool_320x150

One of the topics we explored at length was this whole deer antler business. Most of us were quite puzzled by what it was, how it worked, why it was banned, what it might taste like on our delicious fish tacos (courtesy of our hostess, Monica). Luckily, there’s an infographic to explain (it is, of course, offered up by the fine manufacturers of deer antler spray. No ulterior motive there. No siree.)

It is pretty fascinating infographic, and I’m relieved to see it causes no harm to the deer. I had visions of some little Lord of the Rings Hobbit person chasing the poor deer around with a syringe (the deer are in New Zealand, by the way. In case you were wondering about the Hobbit reference).

And, I thought it was just athletes who were getting caught with this stuff, but apparently country singer Randy Travis hearts deer antler spray “Forever and Ever, Amen. ”

I also love how the history timeline on this infographic jumps from 13 AD to 1996. Seamless. Anyway, enjoy.

What Is Deer Antler Spray?