28 September 2007

PJ's Aren't The New Black


**BLACK AND WHITE PHOTO REMOVED**

It's Photo Friday...haha, no I won't do that to you. Today could be Tripod Tuesday, but I'm feeling it should be Femma Frometimes Flack and Frhite Freadshot Friday.

Personally, I don't like themed days of the week, it's too restricting. When I get a bug to write, I want a blank slate before me. I could do Scissor-Kick Sunday, Thick Hair Thursday....or Mass Suicide Monday, just to shake things up a bit.

I only go with the flow if it's going in my direction.

Don't you find it interesting that meme and hell both have four letters? Coincidence? I don't think so.

In other news, our family has been stricken with the stomach flu. I hate barf and I have to buy more toilet paper. That's all I'll say about that.

The Stomp Dance Troop that lives upstairs is moving soon. Hurrah! In light of that, they've decided rules no longer apply to them. Cranked music at all hours, laundry at 3am complete with sliding / slamming closet doors, and sweeping their dried cat poop and kitty liter onto my balcony. I could look past this summer's constant barrage of cigarette butts raining down on my flowers but I don't want hepatitis or toxomplasmosis so call me picky, picky, picky..... There is a reason I don't have pets. It's the cleaning and responsibility. I already have 5 in the family to look after. Why would I want more of that? So, I'm happy the Riverdancing Cloggers are moving, catbox and all.

***



So how many of you wear your yellow boxers with pink butterflies in public? I see people out in their pj pants and a couple of days ago, I saw this 06 Grad out in Target. Please people, for the love of all things flannel and sleepwear, do not wear your pjs in public. It's tacky. It's sloppy. You look stupid. I always wonder if the offender is A) hygiene deficient, B) too lazy to do laundry, or D) seriously fashion impaired.

What do you think? Be honest now....


Won't You Be My Neighbor?

I've noticed a subtle trend in blogging that I would like to address. Why do people post themed days of the week? It can be too restricting and yet it is becoming very prevalent. When I get a bug to write, I want a blank slate before me. I could shake things up a bit and do a Scissor-Kick Sunday, Thick Hair Thursday....or Mass Suicide Monday.

Don't you find it interesting that meme and hell both have four letters? Coincidence? I don't think so.

In other news, our family has been stricken with the stomach flu. I hate barf and I have to buy more toilet paper. That's all I'll say about that.

The Stomp Dance Troop that lives upstairs is moving soon. In light of that, they've decided rules no longer apply to them. Cranked music at all hours, laundry at 3am complete with sliding / slamming closet doors, and sweeping their dried cat poop and kitty liter onto my balcony.

I should also look past this summer's constant barrage of cigarette butts raining down on my flowers but I don't want hepatitis or toxomplasmosis so call me picky, picky, picky.....

You see, there is a reason I don't have pets. It's the cleaning, care, and responsibility. I already have 5 in the family to look after. I would not want more of that.

I'm happy the Cloggers are moving, catbox and all.

25 September 2007

Real Men Eat Hard Tack

I managed to get my computer up and running again, sans hard drive. It had bad sectors in it and it wouldn't format properl...~glaze over, skip to the end~...now I am back to square one. So, enough computer talk.

These last two weekends the House of Coffee was attempting to benefit from the last of the nice weather. We don't tan in our neck of the woods, just rust a little. Consequently, we adapt by using sunny days to our best advantage.

Saturday, we pulled our rusty selves out of bed and had a little family outing that included a history lesson. We attended a yearly event at The Fort Vancouver National Historical Site on the Columbia River. They had reenactors, biplanes, camps from Civil war, WWI, WWII, and pioneers from 1849 to the Oregon Trail Days. Before you glaze over again, I'll show you some of the highlights with my usual demented intuitiveness. Just click to enlarge the pictures, or you can see these and more on my flickr page.

Here is part of the WWII camp. Mr. Coffee studies military history and I enjoy researching my genealogy. For us, this was a blast to take the kids. Mr. Coffee wanted to take a few souvenirs with him, starting with the M1 Garands these Reinactor Dudes are holding. Dear Santa...





The kids sampled hard tack ("blech!") and asked multiple questions such as, "Were you really in the Civil War?". I loved that the Reenactor Dudes would answer in character. Mr. Coffee busied himself, talking with a uniformed few. These Stars and Stripes replicas were serious men with every semblance of guts and glory. Mr. Coffee was in his element, and holy cow, I almost grew a beard with all the testosterone floating around me.

Forget seemingly manly things like golf, Monday night football, or poker. Real Men reenact including Mr. Coffee who now has a personal invite to kick some German half-track in a couple of weeks. I love it when he can go do things he really loves, if only he can pry himself from practicing his bass.

I like how they had all these camps around in their canvas and drab colors and smack in the center of the field is this fiery red historic hot dog / burrito cart. Honestly, they were good burritos but a burrito cart? Maybe this one came up from south of the border with the Rough Riders from TX. Is this where historic burrito carts come from? I don't know and Wikipedia has squat on this. Darnnnnn them.



I managed to escape the testosterone-filled air without growing a beard. I ended up amusing the kids and myself, joking about the giant doggy door (below), and laughing together at the crotch powder. I knew you wouldn't believe me, so I took pictures. The hard tack in the picture is a dental nightmare but if I was starving I'd be horking it down, too.




I'd hate to get the tooth powder and crotch powder mixed up. One slip before your morning coffee, you could easily end up with a peppermint clean crotch and soothing teeth that don't chafe and rub. I'm just saying......


Now this is a doggy door.



She does her momma proud. Grinding coffee, old school.



Have it be known, the Cavalry had the first drive-thru coffee idea.

That's what I've been up to. Meeting Real Men with rifles, drinking drive-thru Starbucks while using crotch powder behind the doggy door to get in line at the historic burrito cart.

17 September 2007

Do They Make A Blogger Scent?

I'm upgrading the computer tomorrow so I'll be offline for the next day or two, unless I blow out my motherboard with my new hard drive. I had to sneak in a post before I did. So, looky what I captured with my cell phone. Right in front of Target Dog and everything.


Personally, I think some Art Direction Dudes over at Downy need to be fired. You see the aloe and white lilac scent has an aloe plant on the front. Although, the lemon verbena and chamomile has what looks more like a daisy.

Huh?

I know, I know. I'm a green thumb myself and I've grown a florists worth of different aromatic bloomers. Yes, there is a kind of chamomile flower that looks similar to a white daisy but seriously, at first glance I think this looks more like a daisy. Doesn't it look like a daisy to you?

All those who kill houseplants say, "AMEN!"

This is the problem. Didn't Marketing Dudes know this label is all wrong? Daisies are amazingly cheery, should sweetly grace gardens far and wide, and even painted with wild abandon, but have it be known.....

They smell B.A.D., like stinky feet and wet dog.

I'm wondering what possessed them to use this picture on the Downy bottle? They might as well have used a snapshot of a full diaper.

I'll show *you* some pure essentials.

I like the fact that there are a few new scents to choose from albeit, I haven't found a smell that I'm hooked on. Downey with the pink lid is nice, so is their clean breeze kind. If only Downy Dudes could produce a fabric softener in other desirable smells besides something so flowery. I've even taken the liberty to concoct a few ideas of my own. These are ingenious because you don't have to wait to smell oh, so good.

For the Foodie:
Coffee
Chocolate
Cake Batter
Honey Baked Ham
Root Beer
Krispy Kreme
Garlic Pretzel

The Outdoorsy types:
Campfire
Roasted Marshmallows
Wet Tent
River Moss
Skunk
Fishing Bait
Coors Light

Parent:
Barf
Pureed Carrots
Play Doh
Sleeping On The Couch
Soccer Field
PB & J

College Age:
Beer Bong
Rimmel Lip Gloss
Pee-chee
Gym Shoes
Buffalo Wings
Appletini
Bath & Bodyworks (assorted scents)
Pizza Hut

The Smoker:
Airport Carpet
Firefighter
Slurp & Burp
Bowling Alley
Casino
Ashtray

The Beautician:
Ammonia
Nail Glue
Perm
Burning Hair
Aqua Net

Mechanic:
Rubber Tires
Transmission Fluid
Gasoline
New Car Smell
Electrical Fire

The possibilities are just endless. (Downey Dudes, call me!)

15 September 2007

The Sheep Don't Like It

I heard on the radio the other day a favorite song from The Clash, Rock The Casbah. I love how many misheard lyrics there are to that song.

Rock the cash box, rock the cash box...

I also heard on the radio that there is a conspiracy at the grocery store. Aside from paying $8 for shampoo what else could it be?

The DJ implied that Marketing People are out to get us. You see, when you walk into the store and you are deluded into believing Metamucil and some Grape Nuts are an in/and out purchase, you have entered: The Decompression Area.

duh-duh-dunnnn!

The Decompression Area is a deliberately orchestrated maneuver by the think tank known as: The Marketing People.

duh-duh-dunnnn!

Upon first glance, one would believe with this name that you had recently navigated through the atmosphere in a space diaper, but nooooo. The Decompression Area (or more commonly known as TDA) is designed to provide you with a comfortable ambiance, preparing you to spend beyond your means, grooming you to prance through the isles like a Fame movie remake while throwing your money to the employees.

I wanna spend forever...

Don't you think it's ironic that you are instantly greeted by flowers or the smell of baked goods piped to the entrance from the bakery?

They also put candy at kid's eye level or make endcaps unstable so with one little bump of your cart, you've knocked half the shelf to the floor. This should be called Inyerface Marketing and with marketing tactics such as this, they might as well hand out those Fame inspired tights and leg warmers at the door TDA.

The Marketing People know how market, but not once market store patron manners.

Now if TDA could instantly impart patrons with little more patience, then all would be well in the world. But for now, they can only get as far as making you feel just shy of guilty when you get home with a $100+ grocery bill and an entire frozen cheesecake all to yourself.

The #1 sold item - milk, is at the very back and surprisingly close to the laundry soap which is #2 for sales even though it costs double what Wally World charges.

These marketers have this down to an exact science to work against pocketbooks such as mine. How many times do I have a typical parenting meltdown moment at the checkout with my kids as I'm distracted taking in important information, like fabloid magazines.

I lost it at my last shopping trip having strayed from routine and 1) taken my kids and 2) without a list. This was absolutely a necessary evil. I was down to saki, diced garlic, and half a container of hummus. I needed dinner at least. How hard would that be? The truth be told because I never make up stuff on this blog, The Marketing People were against me AND patrons of the store were against me.

How dare I impose, making someone disguised as a gentile adult, walk TWO whole cart lengths to the diet soda. She looked like she would sacrifice me to the lobster tank but for that kind of workout, she should have just gone for the regular soda. Diet schmiet, I'm just saying....

I am now used to the fact that the general public believes I do indeed "have your hands full" and additionally, that with four mouths to feed, I am the sole reason for world hunger and government cheese.

My point is, when you are walking through the store, all comfy and decompressed, just remember The Marketing People and their wretched TDA.

She really don't like it.
Wash the catbox, wash the catbox.

08 September 2007

This Week

Last week was an odd one that I am glad to see disappear off my calendar. I've had my patience tested this week by several things, one of which is a collection agency that is calling for someone else. I think they think I'm lying when I say who I am. I want to waive my hand and tell them I am not the droid they are looking for.

I don't know how clear I can make this.

They tell me they will keep calling until I fork over a number for Nicole. I have started reporting them to the phone company for harassment because darn it, you can't scissor kick someone's head through the phone, no matter how much you want to.

I've been messing with Google lately. Have you ever used Google maps?

The map shows three options in the map window: Map, Satellite, and Hybrid. My kids and I had a blast this weekend with the satellite imagery. Just for fun we decided to look at a few landmarks:

Eiffel Tower
Tower of Pisa
Washington Monument
The Champs-Elysees
The White House
The Pentagon
Crater Lake
Golden Gate Bridge
Mt. St. Helens
Mt. Fuji
Mount Rushmore
The Grand Canyon
Statue of Liberty

I was floored to be able to zoom way in, especially on the Eiffel Tower, where you could actually see people lined up to go to the elevators. I couldn't help but laugh when Max asked me about Crater Lake.

I say excitedly, "It is a volcano in the middle and they haven't found the bottom of the lake. I've actually been there and took some pumice stone home and floated it in a glass of water."

The kids chime in, "WOW!!!!!"

Jaina immediately asks me excitedly, "So, the lake is bottomless?"

I answer back, "So they say..."

Max looks shocked and states matter-of-factly, "What if it goes to Japan and they say it's bottomless?"

I start to laugh, "You have a point there."

Lost In Space

Have you ever used Google maps? The map shows three options in the map window: Map, Satellite, and Hybrid.

My kids and I had a blast this weekend with the satellite imagery. Just for fun we decided to look at a few landmarks:

Eiffel Tower
Tower of Pisa
Washington Monument
The Champs-Elysees
The White House
The Pentagon
Crater Lake
Golden Gate Bridge
Mt. St. Helens
Mt. Fuji
Mount Rushmore
The Grand Canyon
Statue of Liberty

I was floored to be able to zoom way in, especially on the Eiffel Tower, where you could actually see people lined up to go to the elevators. I couldn't help but laugh when my 8 year old son asked me about Crater Lake.

I say excitedly, "It is a volcano in the middle and they haven't found the bottom of the lake. I've actually been there and took some pumice stone home and floated it in a glass of water."

The kids chime in, "WOW!!!!!"

My oldest daughter immediately asks me excitedly, "So, the lake is bottomless?"

I answer back, "So they say..."

My son looks shocked and states matter-of-factly, "What if it goes to Japan and they say it's bottomless?"

I start to laugh, "You have a point there."

~Bee's birthday is this week--see you next week

07 September 2007

Puccini: The Pioneer of Daytime Television



You may not be a fan of opera but I'm posting my last song here. You may listen for the first time or this may be a favorite as well. This song was my first exposure to Pavarotti, his signature song from Puccini's opera Turnadot: "Nessun Dorma" meaning "Let no one sleep".

When you look at it, Puccini was one of the first pioneers in the modern day "Days of Our Lives". There is drama, love, suspense, death, twisting and turning in the story. I'm just saying if Puccini were alive today he would be working for NBC as a brilliant writer and Epic would have him signed with billboard smashing hits. The man was bloody brilliant!

Here is a look at the story:

Turandot is a stunningly beautiful cold-hearted princess. The law is that anyone who wants to marry her is first asked three riddles. If he answers them right he gets to marry her as his prize. If he answers wrong he is put to death by beheading. She lures with her beauty, one man after the other, as they are put to death unable to solve the ridiculous riddles.

(Now you know how soap opera's got their name).

Our hero, The Prince comes along and answers his riddles correctly. There is a catch, he truly loves her would rather die than to have her forced into marrying him. He loves her but he has his pride and wants her to love him for who he is.

So what does The Prince do?

He pulls a Rumpelstiltskin and gives her a riddle. She must guess his name by daybreak or he will die anyway. She's a cold, stubborn woman and all that drives her is to find his name to get out of this engagement....and, of course, lob his head off. She proclaims over the city that no one sleeps until she finds his name. Princess Turnadot's heart melts as she discovers he is willing to die for her. In that, she realizes his name, "Amor" meaning "Love".

The Prince just wanted her to love him for who he was, to be given her heart and not taken by force as his prize. Add one mellifluous voice like Pavarotti's? Opera has never been the same.


"Nessun Dorma"

Nobody shall sleep
Nobody shall sleep

Even you, o Princess,

in your cold room,

watch the stars,

that tremble with love and with hope.


But my secret is hidden within me,
my name no one shall know....No!...No!...

On your mouth I will tell it
when the light shines.

And my kiss will dissolve
the silence that makes you mine!

(background: No one will know his name and we must, alas, die).


The Prince Vanish, o night!
Set, stars! Set, stars!

At dawn, I will win!

I will win! I will win!

06 September 2007

Luciano Pavarotti, Rest In Peace

I woke this morning with my husband telling me sad news. Last night, Luciano Pavarotti passed away after a long battle with pancreatic cancer. I am incredibly overwhelmed with sadness. The world has lost one of the greatest and amazing voices. There is no equal. May he rest in peace.

I give here my favorite piece of his from La Boheme, "Che Gelida Manina".

What a frozen little hand,
let me warm it for you.
What’s the use of looking?
We won't find it in the dark.
But luckily
it’s a moonlit night,
and the moon
is near us here.
Wait, mademoiselle,
I will tell you in two words
who I am, what I do,
and how I live. May I?
Who am I? I am a poet.
What do I do? I write.
And how do I live? I live.
In my carefree poverty
I squander rhymes
and love songs like a lord.
When it comes to dreams and visions
and castles in the air,
I’ve the soul of a millionaire.
From time to time two thieves
steal all the jewels
out of my safe, two pretty eyes.
They came in with you just now,
and my customary dreams
my lovely dreams,
melted at once into thin air!
But the theft doesn’t anger me,
for their place has been
taken by hope!
Now that you know all about me,
you tell me who you are.
Please do!

04 September 2007

The Martyr

I was once asked to answer questions about myself. I sat down and proceeded to write something and let my readers reader know who I was.

I stared at the questions.

What are your favorite books..and why?

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?

Easy enough, right? My problem was I couldn't think of my dreams let alone explain them.

I sat there....and sat there.

......and sat there. As I started to tear up, I could only think, "Who *am* I?"

Blindsided by the puddle of thoughts in my head, it became painfully clear. For years I've dived so deeply into being a mom that any semblance of me. My dreams and interests were ghost of what they had been. Buried. Nearly forgotten.

I took a long hard look at myself and it became blatantly clear: I resented my family for what I'd done to myself. I felt stuck in a life I had once wanted and eagerly chosen.

In hindsight, I can see vividly where my sole martyrdom toward motherhood hurt my family, and even at times, my relationship with Mr. Coffee. It wasn't their fault I caused my own unhappiness. I loved my family, true. I just needed to be more than I was allowing myself to grow and become. Being a wife and mother was and is rewarding albeit, not all of who I was. The revelation changed my heart and I've never been the same.

Dishes were no longer a mindless task. My kids became a joy and Mr. Coffee and I felt like we were best friends again, not the couple that could only be identified by wedding pictures. Not the screaming mommy who would put on her happy face when family or friends were around.

I read Robin McGraw's book "Inside My Life" and she talks about taking care of yourself as a mother. I read that Robin was talking from experience about being a burned out martyr for your family. The part about her own mother was incredibly sad and poignant to me. I walked away from it with full purpose to take time for something that rejuvenates me, no matter how little or small. Writing and witty banter makes my world go round so before long I closed down my myspace and started boldly writing my first blog.

Years of writing online, bring me to a place of peace. I feel I've finally grown into myself.

Bottom line is, you can only take care of your family when you take care of yourself. Whether it's a good book, Friday night movies with a friend, freshly manicured toes, or a corner of the web....being healthy made me ready and content to take on anything my family dishes out.

~Bee healthy

03 September 2007

Mrs Cleaver Has Nothing On Her


I found this picture online..somewhere, I forget, but by golly, she doesn't look like she is learning much from her punishment. If anything, she looks kinda happy.

She makes coffee every morning with her perfectly coiffed hair and pearls. She smooths her apron over her freshly ironed dress and glances into the stainless steel reflection in the stove to check her makeup. She would make sure her heels don't click too much on the clean and spotless, lemon-scented, tiled kitchen floor. She cooks his breakfast of two slices of toast, browned to perfection, and a two minute egg with a side of grapefruit juice, freshly squeezed of course.

And as she cleans up with her cute yellow rubber gloves, I bet you she purposely leaves the coffee can out every day of the week.

02 September 2007

Kissing Doesnt Make You Pregnant, Getting Nekkid Does

I read your story dated 14 Apr 2007, "And Kissing Doesn't Make You Pregnant, Either" over at Dear Margo. I read this with my mouth open and not because I was bored and yawning. The things people lie tell themselves....

Well, I have a few things to say about it.

Kissing doesn't make you pregnant but saying 'we are just friends', talking dirty to a guy friend and lying to a spouse about where you have been? This can eventually make you take off your clothes..and yes, that does make you pregnant.

We aren't doing anything wrong, but we keep it a secret.
Let me write the response, Dear Margo. Please?

Dear Ms. Who's Right,

So, when did cheating in your heart and mind become different than cheating in your bed? This aside from the obvious lack of embarrassing itch that flares up leaving you scratching like a zoo monkey while you stand in Winco, gazing agonizingly into the bulk cereal bins.

Let's say you had a child or niece that an adult was fixated on. Sick, indeed but if they just thought about it and never did anything about it, does this still make it right?

The grass is always greener until you get to the other side. You'll discover that the problem is you are unhappy and doing what you can to boost your self-esteem with this attraction. Greener grass will turn brown when you get tired of the attention (and you will) You will soon enough be dismayed that your side truly was greener and now you are stepping in manure covered crabgrass while tripping over gofer holes.

It's an affair, lady. End of story.


Now for more:

Dear Margo,

You say "
Your situation may well develop into an affair, but right now it's a flirtation." Really? Seriously? Seriously. A Flirtation? Is this what you call an 8th grade Teacher running away with his young pupil? Is this what Jeffrey Dahmer said to his victims right before he thought about boiling their heads for dinner? I don't think so. Call it for what it is. And thank you for at least challenging Ms. Who's Right to get her head out of her nether regions. Otherwise, I hope she likes bulk foods.

~Bee knows what makes you pregnant, believe me.

Doctor, Doctor

Today I'm not feeling too great. Mr. Coffee managed easily to hold down the fort, clean the kitchen, hand mop the floor, and make all of the meals. He also grocery shopped with two of our youngest children and brought me home coffee and flowers. To top it off, I had three loads of folded, clean laundry he had finished and had ready to put away. I don't know whether to shag him or scissor kick his head in a fit of jealousy.

I really hurt, so both kicking and shagging are out of the question. In fact, I'm hopped up on ibuprofen waiting for Monday to see my doctor. I have put off the doctor for reasons that I won't go into here but I'm pretty sure if someone stabbed me in the eye with an ice pick I still wouldn't go to the doctor. You can stuff brain matter right back in, can't you? I had four kids between 9 and 10 lbs for pete's sakes, this pain should be no problem.

It's not that I dislike seeing a doctor. I don't mind doing it, aside from handing over my firstborn as a down payment just to see the nurse. She always scowls as she scribbles my height and weight into the file.

Well, nurse, lets just hop right up and check your weight, you white-uniformed nurse Nazi.


If my doctor had to wait 45 minutes for me, I would be subjected to public flogging. They'd put me in a split-back gown and flog me while the staff laughed gratuitously at my flabby butt. They would then proceed taking wagers to see if I can take down their champion Lumberjack Nurse with my sweet ninja skills. She's scary and what's even more fun is she braids her armpit hair and has the biggest unibrow this side of the Ice Age.

When I see the doctor, they put me in a overcrowded bathroom-stall-sized waiting room for 45 minutes. This would be no problem, however, they would fully expect me to wait quietly with my children.

Have the MET me and my kids?

My children have ingrained in their DNA the uncanny ability to discovered that they own a 300 decibel voice. If the wait is exceptionally long, the kids grow bored very quickly and without notice, will turn on the office staff with requests. Suckers, paper, grenades, crayons, mallets, gum, handcuffs, pirate swords, Barbies...etc, and when refused, set about to shredding a 3 year old decrepit copy of some dumb magazine like, Foliage In The NW. The equally antique People Magazine announcing that Brad and Jen had gotten married would also suffer the same fate.

The waiting room must also contain several aforementioned children, one named something like Schylar or Douglas. Now this boy won't leave the fountain alone as he cycles up to 40 gallons of water through the drain. The boy's mother typically sits, never once looking up or backing her threats of, "If you don't stop that...". This mom will then proceed to call the boy's name 493 times before they finally go into an exam room for mom to be (one could only hope) sterilized to prevent further children.

I firmly sit my kids down amongst the broken crayons and pharmaceutical brand embossed post-its, where I would bribe them with ice cream. I can only sit and wait. Wait next to the full-grown adult that hacks away, oblivious of the "Cover Your Coughing Pie Hole" memo.

It's okay, it's only Bronchitis.

My children are finally subdued with promises of dairy delights in their future. They sit staring at the sleeping Veteran in the corner chair. They turn to me and ask why a wheelchair-bound woman has a giant yellow water balloon she's got hooked under the chair.

Finally, a nurse of what I believe to be closer to the female persuasion, complete with unibrow and smelling like patchouli is owning enormously freakish shoulders stuffed into a polyester white frock. She trots her orthopedic shoes over to me and asks loudly for me to follow her. She scares me, so I follow her to my room and wait for the doctor.

This is why I don't like going to the doctor. Enough said?

Who else has a doctor's office like this?



01 September 2007

Woolly Mammoth Rides $1

Today I am feeling much better, I just didn't think you wanted to hear me whine about how I'm one foot in the grave...besides complaining about your doctor is that much more fun.

In my drugged state, I woke this morning early and turned on my favorite travel program. In this episode Travel Dude went to Alaska and had at one point vocalized his concern about global warming.

This well-educated man told me that my first ancestors crawled out of the ocean but he is worried about global warming changing the earth. Since he believes in evolution, shouldn't change be pretty much expected?

In other words, anyone want to ride a woolly mammoth? MMMkay, maybe next time.