Punkin Chunkin

Punkin Chunkin happens when a bunch of teams of people get together in a field and lob pumpkins into the distance using a variety of means of propulsion. The team whose pumpkin travels farthest (regardless of means) gets the trophy below,



All teams name their machines and some have painted mascots. Team Morgana, below, named themselves after King Arthur's nemesis -- King Arthur being the name of another team. King Arthur is not pictured.



Team Onager has a Roman Legionnaire.



Punkin Chunkin takes place in many states, but the championship takes place in Delaware. There is a sideshow carnival-type-thing with fried goods, Midway-style amusements, local crafts and a cheerful bouncy dinosaur.



Centrifugal machines fire pumpkins as you might imagine. Whereas catapults' and air guns' violent motions, magical clouds of vapor and wham-bam army noises to announce the deployment of the gourds, centrifugal machines sound like a blown-up lawn mowers and the pumpkin leaves relatively unannounced, the sound of the belt unclasping far too soft to hear over the hum of the arm spinning.



Air guns are big and loud and generally fire the pumpkins too fast and far to see. We were not at the show five minutes before we heard our first cracks from one of the torsion teams regarding the needle-dick-ness of the air gun crews. Bad Hair Day, below, is fielded by a team of women. They do not fall under the needle-dick heading, I suppose.



Appropriate safety attire is required for all crew members.



To this day, I have no idea what a hard hat is supposed to accomplish. Should it deflect the thing that's hitting you? Should it shatter and dissipate the force of impact? Is it like border security legislation?



This is Fat Jimmy. He's a super nice guy. He's wearing a costume and name tag reading "Fat Jimmy/Queen Is A Fella." He rode up on this motor bike and was summarily molested by a young lady (not pictured) who grabbed his plush, ample bosom and held it to her tongue. Jimmy was at the event with his daughter, who was not seen after the events described, nor could she be reached for comment.*



In conclusion, Delaware is a land of many contrasts.

*I did not try to contact her.

Retroactive Post to June 24, 2007

Me: "Oh! We can stop at Randy's Donuts on the way to the airport!"

Dan: "Yes... we could do that."

In truth, I'd never been to Randy's, even when I was going to Kings games when they were still at The Forum (which is still, even in religious mothballs, better than the Staples Center). We arrived at Randy's with a good two hours to spare before it could be considered panic time at the airport, but we had to wait in line for a good fifteen minutes before our turn came. The line itself was always about ten people deep (there is one walk up window) and the drive-thru windows were easily backed up onto Manchester Blvd. They seemed understaffed for a Sunday morning, even though it was going on ten AM.


In true (bad) scientific form, I consumed one (1) plain cake donut as a control. The donut base is really pretty good -- better than you'd expect, if you're the type who figures they'd coast on reputation -- cakey not too sweet with a nice crisp exterior that holds up well to dunking, which is the only way to enjoy a fresh donut.

I then had a maple long john, which is a surprisingly obscure commodity here on the east coast and found it to my satisfaction -- the light sweetness of the cake portion didn't make the whole thing sickening or overwhelm the maple flavor which, while as inauthentic and synthetic as anything else, was passably "maple."

In conclusion, Dunkin' can take a leap. Horton's gets a pass for belonging to a culture. Krispy Kreme remains some other-type shit.

The whole detour to Randy's took a good half hour longer than we had figured and by the time we made it to the airport a pipe had burst in the first terminal, forcing passengers out into the street and causing massive congestion that seems to happen in L.A. no matter what. Still, we made it into the waiting area with ten minutes to spare and pacified our producer, M., who got a chocolate-cake donut with a sugary glaze. He declared it "good."

Sea Otter Skulls, Santa Barbara, CA

I'm making a few mixtapes for a friend -- the playlist being a skill I've sent packing into semi-retirement. Long story; not very interesting; traditions are hard to break. I give good tape though, if I do say so myself. Plus, The nice thing about having expensive toys is using them to print your back catalogue for frivolities like liner notes and tracklisting graphics.

These little buggers were part of an exhibit put on by the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History of errata that isn't on display; obscure stuffed birds, Native American oddities, dead shit in jars of fluid. From the press release,

Over a span of 90 years the Museum has collected more than 2.5 million artifacts and specimens to preserve, document, and promote understanding of the fascinating diversity of the world around us. TREASURES provides a glimpse at some of our more eclectic and rare collections. Also enjoy a video that gives a virtual "behind-the-scenes" tour of the Museum's collections and research areas.

These are Sea Otter skulls, and apparently the bones acquire a tint over time due to the purple pigment in their favorite food -- sea urchins.

In another one of those you-can't-go-home-again moments, this exhibition was set up in a hall that used to have an expansive display of small stuffed local birds in wall cases, as well as rows and rows of floor cases containing sample nests and blown eggs of the various California species. Of course, now it's cleared out for this particular traveling show and I suppose the bird exhibit probably wasn't as cool as I imagine it would be now (it was pretty boring back then; not as cool as the mammoth skeletons, anyway).