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Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Doldrums Well, it’s less than a week away—that post-Holiday period that my wife refers to as “having nothing to look forward to.” Sure, immediately after your New Year’s celebration hangover wears off, so does that spirit of rebirth and rejuvenation. And then what? The doldrums. I’m really trying to fill up my reservoir of optimism, but I’m getting a shitty break. Christmas was great and all . . . as great as it could be having to drive all over our non-winteresque Southern craphole visiting family on Christmas Day. The cheer was real my friends, but so was the fatigue. Anyway, over a dozen CDs, a few DVDs, tons of candy, and a personalized Columbus Crew soccer jersey later, and I’m squirreling away those good feelings. Spending gift certificates and Christmas money on some new Mossimo gear at Chez Target. Having a wonderful eighth anniversary dinner with my wife and some blackened mahi mahi (actually, one of those was the dinner). And then I went to lunch today. First it was a stop at the bank, going to the drive-thru to deposit some checks. It was one of those one-teller / multiple-lane situations. I pulled up just as a car was pulling out and pulled into the vacated lane. There was a car in the next lane, so I figured I was next. Which was correct. Although I didn’t realize that the guy in the next lane was opening a new bank account. In a foreign country. From his car. Seriously, I had to start reading the latest issue of The Big Takeover, getting well into that cover story about Death Cab for Cutie, all the while thinking, Man, Jack Rabid loves to go off on his little tangents but, y’know, he really knows his shit, and for the LOVE OF GOD, WHAT IS THIS GUY DOING? The window teller must have called for backup because, eventually, as Nick Harmer and Chris Walla were waxing philosophical about recording in the-middle-of-nowhere Massachusetts, there was a “Thank you,” and the cash / receipt vessel came back with my stub. And I was off to leftover crab dip. Or my stop at Best Buy, standing in a shorter line. Why is this line shorter? I thought to myself. Ah, the sign that read, "Debit and Credit Cards Only." The lost-looking older woman in front of me was clutching a $20 bill and some interactive Bible thing. As the girl at the register was finishing up with guy-of-unclear-ethnicity-buying-rap-CDs-with-a-gift-card, she made an announcement, perhaps having seen the $20 bill in the hopeful woman’s hand, that “This line is for credit and debit card purchases only.” The woman heard this, but still put her technologically advanced religious item on the counter. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not accepting cash at this register.” “Where can I go?” “To any of these other registers,” the girl indicated, waving her arm towards the half-dozen lines, each a half-dozen people long. I felt a little bad. Poor woman. Could’ve saved herself a lot of heartache by, y’know, READING THE FUCKING SIGN!* I hate people. A lot of the time. Because if they aren’t pissing you off, they’re making you feel sorry for them. Which, if they’re not pear-shaped with their muffin-tops hanging over their waistlines, or squeezing their ass-cheeks out of their cut-offs, it’s just not fun. I'm working extra-hard on that optimism. Can't you tell?** * I get the distinct feeling that the woman had no idea what a debit card is. Maybe not even a credit card. She was confused. ** I handled this a lot better than Michelle would have. Seriously. That teller at the bank would've been counting exit wounds for the guy in the next car, not tens and twenties. Or whatever-the-fuck she was doing for him. Christ. Saturday, December 24, 2005
Merry Christmas! A conversation Mia and I had in the car earlier today: Daddy: "So you're gonna have a long day tomorrow." Mia: "Why, Daddy?" Daddy: "Well, it's Christmas, and you're gonna open presents at four places. First we're gonna open presents at our house, and then we're gonna go to Momma and Papa's house to open presents, and then we're going to Nana's house to open presents, and then down to Woodville to open presents with Nana and Papa." Mia: "A birthday? With presents?" Daddy: "No . . . well, yes. Christmas is Jesus's birthday. I want to go on the record by telling you that on Christmas Day, we are celebrating the birth of Baby Jesus." I was thinking about all this last year, before John Gibson "uncovered" the "War on Christmas." Look, there are more holidays than Christmas, even if some of them are silly and/or made-up. (Actually, all of them are, but whatever.) The point is we celebrate Christmas in the Kamikaze house, even if Daddy is half-pagan and Mommy is a Southern Christian in hibernation. If I wished anyone well over the Holidays, though, I'd say "Happy Holidays" rather than "Merry Christmas." Because I like to be inclusive, not because I'm rejecting the Reason for the Season. Which we all know is the Winter Solstice. Happy Holidays! Monday, December 19, 2005
Down-Shifting Our Child’s Education. Or Improving. Depends on How You Look at It, Really. Mia is back in “daycare” as of this morning. The same one she “graduated” from in August when we moved her to “preschool.” Yes, the “situation in progress” from late last week blossomed into full-on drama / nuclear chaos. When we last left you, gentle reader, we’d been offered a chance to get out of our contract (along with Mia’s cousin) at the end of the month. I happened by the preschool at lunch on Friday to drop off some stuff for the “Christmas feast” (after-nap snack, really) and had an impromptu meeting with the owner / resident wacko. She ran the gamut of insults to everyone associated or affiliated with, or sympathetic to, our cause and the prospective preschool we’re moving Mia to . . . including my wife and sister-in-law (in-law)*. Very harsh stuff, really. I bit my tongue and pussily** decided to write a strongly worded letter to her once our child was safe from her clutches. I called my sister-in-law (in-law) to let her know about my talk and warn her that the woman had basically labeled her as the worst kind of bitch. I later went to pick Mia up and the owner / resident wacko asked, “Will we see you on Monday, dad?” And I was, like, “Uh, yeah.” What I didn’t know at the time was that she and my sister-in-law (in-law) had had an explosive phone conversation where the f-bomb was dropped and lawsuits were threatened (and invited). Soon after, our previous daycare provider (another target of the crazy lady’s hostility) offered to keep Mia and her cousin for the rest of this month and all of next month for a very reasonable flat rate. So we kissed the rest of our December tuition (and prepaid lunches) goodbye, and said hello to SANITY. Anyway, they’re gonna be playing all day*** (mostly) for the next six weeks and then starting a new preschool at the end of January. In other news: House? Cleaner. Office? Rearranged. CD burner? Working steadily. “Holiday” surprises and Christmas cards? Mostly going out late, or on time (as applicable). * She’s married to my wife’s brother. If he’s my brother-in-law, then his wife . . . how are we related? I ask you. ** I like this. Not as a characterization of myself (as accurate as it may be), but as a word. *** Not that different from what they've been doing for the past few weeks (for which we've been paying 33% more than the "daycare" rate). Friday, December 16, 2005
Our Child’s Preschool is One Woman’s Asylum We’re getting the distinct impression that the woman who bought a share of our daughter’s preschool (along with her husband) may be a little crazy. And self-aggrandizing. There’s a little more to the story and we’ll perhaps post about it in the future; it’s a developing situation (a “situation in progress,” if you will). Anyway, the bottom line is that Mia will be leaving that school (for good) at the end of the month. Looking forward, there’s a weekend of house-cleaning and present-wrapping ahead.* But to kick things off, we’re going to see this movie tonight. Because Jesus IS Magic! In addition to being the Reason for the Season! * There are a few packages in the mail already (mostly for our international readers). If you receive a package after Christmas, it’s because it’s a “Holiday” gift. Ungrateful asshole(s). Jesus. Monday, December 12, 2005
How Roller Skating was Different “Back Then” -- Back then, the adults who went roller skating (and didn’t have kids with them) were either sad and/or creepy. And very rarely did we see anyone at the rink with white, poofy afros.* -- Back then, we had our own skates. Well, most of us did. -- Back then, there were no roller blades. -- Back then, we knew every song that was played over the P.A. (Oh, wait. We didn't know all the songs, but the kids there probably did. So maybe this is the same as "back then.") -- Back then, we could couple-skate without killing ourselves. (And now, all the kids just skate side-by-side, holding hands. Often in same-sex pairs.) -- Back then, we didn’t spike our drinks with vodka. Or rum. -- Back then, we didn’t leave the rink to go for (more) drinks at a bar. -- Shit, back then, we didn’t leave the rink until our mommies and daddies picked us up. * That was me in the white afro. It was a 70s theme. There are likely pictures someplace, and you can probably find them easily enough. As fate would have it, Michelle and I forgot to bring the camera. Not that I would be in a big rush to post pictures of myself with a big, white afro. However, the birthday girl looked rather fetching in her long wig. Thursday, December 08, 2005
Drip, Drip I guess it’s the rainy season here. It’s been raining for almost 24 hours straight, and I think it’s forecast to linger into tomorrow. On one hand, it’s depressing. And annoying. And inconvenient. But, on the other . . . wait, how many hands do I have left? Oh, well. I like the rain, anyway. Moving on, it’s Michelle’s birthday this weekend. In case you didn’t know. There’s gonna be a 70s-themed Rollerskating Party, a daytrip to Apalachicola for New Age goods shopping and seafood, and some mish-mash of a family gathering . . . the kind that used to include poker and alcohol but will likely feature silence and resentment . . . and presents. And probably alcohol, too. Still moving on, I’m working in parallel and keeping my fingers crossed for Big Things ahead. This whole Yes, we are. Thursday, December 01, 2005
Five Things You -- I think “son of a WHORE” has officially replaced “Jesus fucking GOD” as my favorite reflexive/involuntary swear-exclamation. Maybe I’m not going to Hell after all. Or, at least, not as quickly. -- The name of my band may have been changed last night . . . to Thunderpony!** -- I just spent an inordinate amount of my lunch break looking for information on Misha Barton’s nipple exposure on The O.C. Not because I care about her or the show. Or that I needed to see it for myself. I’m just interested in the further eroding of decency standards on network television. -- Saddam had nothing to do with attacking our country on 9/11. And invading Iraq to remove him from power was a really, really bad idea. In retrospect. -- This weekend, while Thunderpony is rocking the Humane Society benefit here in Tallahassee, my wife and her girl-pals will be glam-waving the Gator-tards in Gainesville. * I think I really want this to be a regular feature because, you know, lists are great. ** Our bass player (Maria) related the conversation with her new husband went something like this: “Sit down, honey.” “Oh, no. What happened?” “The new name . . . just sit down.” “Yeah?” Dropping my head, “Thunderpony.” “Thunder-fucking-pony?!? Are you kidding me?” “No.” “That's awesome.” “No it's not. It sounds like a cartoon character.” “It's better than Tomorrow We Will Be Victorious.” “Yeah, I'll give it that.” Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Oh, Turkey and Stuffing Sandwich . . . I Miss You. Thanksgiving without the leftovers vs. Thanksgiving without the hassle of, y’know, actually having to cook. So, as alluded to earlier, we were in Atlanta for the long weekend. We made the executive decision to go out to eat rather than having three people who marginally know how to cook (and one toddler) scrambling to put together a meal that would be palatable (at best). And at worst . . . well, I’ve seen enough emergency rooms for the past year. Not in Atlanta, of course, but I can wait. Besides the eating, we (Mia and I) drove up to Melman’s house to visit with him and his horses. Later, his wife stopped by and gave Mia a quick ride on one of the horses. He even took some pictures. I went four days without taking any pictures. But I also went four days without giving a shit about stuff happening here in Tallahassee. Seems like a fair tradeoff to me. Tuesday, November 22, 2005
You See? You knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to pull up my page and look at the same bullshit send-off day after day. And then all this crap went on and I was, like, “Ooooo, that’d be something cool to, uh . . . nevermind. Dammit.” I seem to reach this point every year or so, where I keep “writing” and posting and then feeling like I’m not trying. Y’know, that this isn’t real writing, and I can’t even do this well. But it is, and I can. If I apply myself. Maybe. Anyway, I was originally thinking about taking a break for a bit (which, you see, is damn-near-impossible) and then I thought some reinvention might be in order. Again. So we’re working on that. In the meantime, I just wanted everyone to know that we’re okay here at Kamikaze Lunchbreak. And how I feel about my alma mater’s season going in the crapper and then having the crapper positioned at the 50-yard line of the Superdome just before Hurricane Katrina (I really hope they lose out so St. Bobby Junior will be demoted or shipped off to a second-tier football program). Or how I feel about my quick love affair/obsession with Sudoku (strangely lost). Or how Michelle and I actually went out to a show that neither of our bands were playing and ended up leaving early, which we felt bad about but now I’m pretty relieved because it sounds like I was spared a whole chunk of disappointment. Or how I discovered that one of my coworkers ate my lunch that I’d left in the freezer on Friday. Or how my band was thisclose to changing our name to “sad boat.” Or how the last two episodes of Rome have me excited about Season Two, which is only 18 short months away. (No, really, we have to wait 18 months for some resolution. The whole decapitation-by-shield was great, as was Vorenus making that guy’s mace his second head, but fuck. Thanks a pad-load, HBO!) Or how mom’s usual penchant for repeating herself and telling the same stories over and over has increased exponentially with her recent paranoia, but then she drops a deep-dark-secret bomb on me that I’ve never heard in my life . . . like, when did this become CONFESSION TIME? Look, we can’t all be great storytellers. We can’t all make the ordinary extraordinary. We can’t all be breeders and post pictures of our gorgeous children. And making money at it, to boot. All we can do is be ourselves. Except more well-written. For the entertainment of others. We’re going to Atlanta for Thanksgiving weekend. If you live “in Atlanta,” we might drop you a line and/or drive halfway to Tennessee to see you. Thursday, November 10, 2005
TWEEEEEEET! Timeout Called by Mr. Lunchbreak Until I can write something this good, or until things get a little more sorted out in my life*, I'm stopping. This. Stopping isn't quitting. Unless you don't start again. Which you know I will, because I'm as much of an attention-whore as the rest of you. I'm just not as good at it. Smooches, Scott * Things may be looking up . . . or at least not as bad as they seem. And don't think for a second that I don't appreciate all of your kind words. Even yours, C-dub. You fucker. Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Shake ‘n Bake Patients in the TMH Behavioral Health Unit are all too familiar with Florida’s Baker Act, which health professionals and law enforcement can use to send someone for an involuntary psych evaluation for up to 72 hours. Mom was Baker Acted a couple months ago when she was in the E.R. for babbling nonsense and accusing me of having an affair (among other things). Patients in the Behavioral Health Unit would say that she got “Shake ‘n Baked.” Mom got “Shake ‘n Baked” again yesterday. I don’t want to get into the sordid details*, but let’s just say that she was very confused. And that she likely won’t be living at her house anymore. * When the “confused” symptoms began to reemerge, she asked me, “How many people have you told I’m crazy?” Um, well, I never said “crazy,” but I have written about it on the blog. So . . . maybe seven or eight people? Ten people max. Thursday, November 03, 2005
Stats That Shape a Week Money Lost Playing Poker: $25 Number of Beers Consumed Over the Past Week: four Cupcakes Taken to Preschool for Carnival: 14 Cupcakes (Scott-Made) Consumed During Carnival: at most, two I was thinking Sunday how I needed to do a stats-related post. And then Monday about the same thing. And then Tuesday about doing a Halloween recap. Wednesday, it turned into, “I just need to post something. Anything.” Then I was really busy. So now it’s today. And I’ve already forgotten most details of the weekend and Halloween. I do remember Saturday, there was poker over at RLP’s. In his multitasking glory (hole), he set up the game to coincide with the Breeders’s Cup races, which he and other players were betting on. So every 45 minutes or so, we’d stop in the middle of a hand to watch the horses run around the track. And people were sitting out hands to place bets over the Internets. But the poker was great. I got some nifty hands, including an early full house on the flop and turning pocket aces into a “he-didn’t-see-that-coming” full house. However, I didn’t build well on these successes and squandered my money on some (very) bad play. As usual. Oh, during the poker game I had a few beers. My first alcohol in three weeks (since during the dark days of my stomach problem). There are no incidents to report. If I’d had four or five beers (and a camera), maybe the story would be different. We didn’t have a lot going on the rest of the weekend. We were house/pet-sitting for the in-laws, so we weren’t at home a lot. Which further delayed our adjusting to the new HVAC system. See, the old system’s thermostat was likely several degrees off from our current (digital) thermostat. We’ve had it set to 70 degrees, which feels like the mid-60s with the old thermostat. Michelle was complaining about being cold the other night. “But it’s at 70.5!” Still, it was cool. Now things are starting to warm up. On the old thermostat, it started getting warm and uncomfortable as the temperature got above 75 degrees, which is because it was really about 80. Christ. Anyway, now that we’ve had our very outside-the-code 1960s electrical system upgraded to this century, we can witness the firepower of our fully armed and operational HVAC. Y’know . . . now that it’s getting up into the 80s during the day and barely dropping below 60 at night. Goddamn Florida weather. Yawn. So, Halloween was grand. Michelle, true to form, dressed up as the Bride of Frankenstein. (The dressing up part was true to form, because Halloween is her second favorite holiday of the year . . . okay, maybe her favorite, period.) Anyway, Mia was a geisha and her cousin/trick-or-treating partner was a witch. Before trick-or-treating we went to her school for the Halloween Carnival. There are some pictures here, including this one:  Thursday, October 27, 2005
You Would Think that Being Off Work All Day Would Mean Lots of Time with the Internets. And You Would Be Wrong. I found out Tuesday that I'd be taking off the entire day two days later. To be at home while "the AC guy" installed our new all-electric system. Yeah, eat it, gas prices! Suck it, fuel-oil furnace! The ACg said he'd be here between 8:15 and 8:30. I dutifully signed the proposal he'd left and then tried to help Michelle get Mia ready for "school." We were just getting out the door when the ACg and his assistant arrived with our new HVAC unit on a trailer. It was quite a long day. For them. I got to do all sorts of . . . well, nothing productive. I did watch them some, offering inane chit-chat. I even offered a crucial helping hand once or twice. So what else did the day hold for Scott-san? 0. tried to watch a DVR'd installment of the World Series of Poker Main Event, only to see continuing coverage of the World Series (of baseball) finale (Hey, ESPN2 is for poker, assholes.) 1. watched an episode of "Invasion" I'd (successfully) DVR'd last week 2. worked extensively on my super-secret Christmas project 3. washed dishes 4. watched an episode of "Firefly" (the one where something in the engine blows up and we get flashbacks to how the whole crew came together) 5. rinsed out the recycled bottles and cans 6. watched an episode of "Firefly" (where the crew land on Ariel and Jayne tries to sell out Simon and River to the Alliance) 7. paid some bills Michelle picked Mia up at school while I watched the ACg and his Cuban compatriot finish up and then clean up. And then I wrote a really big check. Later Michelle went to practice. I had some momentum left. 8. watched another episode of "Firefly" (Oooo, the infamous one where Wash and the Captain are tortured by that crazy old German fucker) 9. watched the installment of the World Series of Poker main event that I'd tried to watch earlier . . . DVR'd safely with baseball over and done for another five or six months All in all, a pretty good day.  Wave bye-bye to the bane of our motherfucking existance, nasty-ass fuel-oil furnace. We never really liked you, furnace. When you stopped working properly, our dislike turned to Hate. With a capital "H." Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Florida: The Sunshine State? If the Motherfucking Hurricanes Don’t Get You, Unseasonably Frigid Weather Will. Granted, our fair state escaped the worst of this Hurricane Season (*knock on wood* . . . we still have over a month to go, right?). Now that Wilma has blown through and swamped all the kooky diehards down in Key West, those of us in the Panhandle are freezing our proverbial balls off. I love Winter. Enough to capitalize it, apparently. But we’re still in the midst of our HVAC repair. By which, I mean that no work has been started or even formally scheduled, but we have picked our contractors and we’re getting everything ready. In talking with the contractors (who I’ve oft referred to as “the AC guy” and “the electrician”), I wasn’t trying to rush anyone. Besides, we’d only had one cool spell that lasted a couple nights. Even at 49 degrees outside, the temperature in the house never dropped below 70. So, of course, the Weather Gods are now laughing their asses off about walloping us with sub-40 degree cold. Last night, the thermostat dropped from 71 to 64. I’ve borrowed a second space heater from the in-laws to combat the cold in Mia’s room. I’m hoping that the bright sunshine of today will warm the house, even if the ambient temperature hasn’t made it to 70. I really need “the AC guy” to return my call now. I think we’re going to need to get him to our house. Yesterday. Monday, October 24, 2005
Marching Bands Across My Abdomen About 10 minutes ago, I was listening to Death Cab’s new CD, and Ben Gibbard was telling me my love is gonna drown. Right now, I’m underwhelmed. I’m currently continuing the stomach-testing, having some of Uncle Ben’s (not Gibbard) Thai Chicken. I “officially” took my last dose of Flagyl this morning, so now I can have a beer in about 72 hours. The mystery illness that I probably didn’t have was Giardia. But, in an interesting development, three other people in my office came down with stomach ailments after mine began. Limited investigation, however, has not uncovered a connection. Yeah, this weekend, I started reacquainting myself with caffeine and spicy food. So far, we’re doing okay. “We” being my stomach and I. Let’s see, there were a couple double mochas, a jerk-chicken pizza, a jerk-chicken buffalito, some chicken wings (are you sensing a theme?), and pad thai (. . . chicken). Also this weekend, I informally began work on my plan for Christmas firebombing. Or shotgunning. Anyway, it’s a plan. If you’re reading this, odds are you may get an e-mail about it at some point. Alrighty, I’m off to write my suicide note. Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Monthly Newsletter: Month Thirty-Seven. And a Half. Dear Mia, What a beautiful little girl you’ve grown up to be. Y’know . . . when I say “grown up,” I mean relatively. We’re excited that you’re almost 100% potty trained. I mean, you are potty trained except for the occasional early-morning mishap. Actually, just this morning while eating your paternally mandated mix of Cheerios and Cap’n Crunch (with milk and by yourself), you told me that you’d wet your pants. I looked for a puddle under your booster seat, and then something in the seat after I’d picked you up. Nothing. And then you pissed like a racehorse when you got on the toilet. Maybe you like toying with us. Like when I went to get you up a week or so ago and, in the dark of your room, you kept insisting on handing me something pinched between your little fingers. The first time, I asked you what you were giving me and you didn’t answer. Then you did it again, and I asked again, and you said, “Booger.” Ah, there’s daddy’s girl. Of course, you’re also your mother’s daughter. Like when we signed you up for pizza on Fridays at your pre-school, and you stopped eating it. Pizza. What kind of American kid turns her nose up at pizza? You’d really better enjoy it, because when you get to middle school, it’ll be the best meal you get. Seriously. I'm talking all meals. We recently took you to a birthday party where you had the opportunity to ride a horse. Twice! And go on a hay ride. We had to negotiate to get you to stop screaming and asking for another ride, and I think part of the trade off was that you’d eat no real food and have a piece of cake instead. Making sure to stick your fingers in the frosting and lick them. I can’t remember offhand how hard it was to get you to bed that night. But I’d put my money on "very."  Oh, and how about that playground at Tom Brown Park. It’s only a few minutes from our house! Yeah, it was finished earlier this year and cost us City of Tallahassee taxpayers a gadzillion dollars. Or something. Anyway, you really enjoy running around in the area designated for kids over 5. Almost as much as I enjoy chasing you. (Though certainly not as much as Michelle enjoys sitting in the shade and watching me chase you.) Of course, then comes the time when we have to coax you away from the playground and back to our un-fun home. Whether you’ve been at the playground for 30 minutes or 30 hours, I’d imagine your reaction would be the same: “Nooooooo! I wan’ play for minutes!” And then hysterical crying. Heavy on the snot.  All in all, your first three years have gone fairly smoothly. Much better than I would’ve expected when Michelle first said she thought she might be pregnant . . . which was just days after I’d casually mentioned maybe she should go back on the pill. And much better than when you spent more time screaming and involuntarily kicking your legs at Heaven. Because, y’know, that really sucked ass. We’re glad you’re not a little baby anymore. Yes. XOXOXO, Daddy (who has no original ideas left, so we're now borrowing from Dooce) More photos here. Monday, October 17, 2005
Taking the Good with the Bad Annoying: -- The guy in the office who keeps asking if it’s “No-Tuck Day” just because I don’t have my shirt tucked in. -- That the upstairs urinal at my office requires at least two flushes to reach “all clear.” -- Tommy Maddox. -- Telling my doctor and his nurse all about my adventures in gastronomy, including descriptions of pain and bloating brought on, seemingly, by food. Pain and bloating severe enough to make me induce vomiting. Which I hate, more than Paris Hilton. More than the City of Miami and all of its football teams. And then have the doctor come out of left field with the diagnosis of . . . a parasite. Whose name escapes me but, after reading about it, it seems way less plausible than all of your helpful diagnoses, People of the Internets. Anyway, I’m on antibiotics now. As opposed to the “the sauce.” Which I can’t touch for 10 days. -- Bad officiating in the FSU / Virginia game. Like Virginia’s backwards pass early in the game that was blocked and on the ground . . . a live ball. And refs called it a “forward pass.” Even when the replay showed it was clearly not. The announcer was, like, “I don’t want to rock the boat or criticize the officiating, but there is no way that was a forward pass.” -- USC. And Reggie "We Can Only Beat Ourselves" Bush pushing Leinart into the end zone. Granted, Notre Dame put them in the position to win. It was my first and only time rooting for the Irish. Awesome: -- I’ve finally seen Serenity. Even after seeing the “spoilers” over at Gen/Syn (yes, I was warned). Anyway, it was wonderful. Different than expected, but great nonetheless. Better than most of the Star Wars series. No, I’m not even fucking kidding. -- Metric. I’m still warming up to the new CD, but they’re awesome. You should get to know them . . . if you don’t already. -- Having a nice, relaxing weekend. We had almost no obligations for the entire weekend, and the weather was beautiful. Nice. Just what I needed, I think. Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Saturday Night I-Wish-I-Were-Dead OR Styro is REALLY Gonna Love This Post Boy, was I wrong. I’ve been treating this “ulcer”* just like my previous GI problems. I figured if I was wham-bamming my stomach with Prilosec OTC and Zantac 150, I could eat whatever the Christ I wanted. Yeah, so we went to dinner Saturday night. Sushi. I chose the spicy tuna rolls and the shrimp tempura rolls (with spicy sauce). And dipped everything into the soy/wasabi bath. And chased it all with a generous amount of Sapporo. Things didn’t really start getting bad until a couple hours after dinner. It started with the familiar cramped feeling. We left our friends’ house and went home so I could take my Zantac (which I hadn’t taken yet). I took it a little after 10 o’clock, and was watching T.V. in the bedroom as I waited for it to kick in. Michelle was trying to go to sleep. After more than an hour, I started lamenting that I didn’t think it was going to work. The pain was still there, and worse. There was no way I was going to sleep, and Michelle was worried about me so she wasn’t sleeping. So, we watched Saturday Night Live. Holy Sweet Christ! I understand how Ashlee Simpson got to where she is, and that the pre-teen music-buying public will lap up anything that’s TRL’d down their throats. But obviously, none of these kids care about her live performances. She is AWFUL! There are no two-ways about it. She is to “talented” as quadriplegics are to “good at swimming.” Weak voice, no range, lame stage presence. And the song she says she “wrote” after her last appearance was sad . . . and trite and overflowing with pap. Michelle and I were looking at each other and shaking our heads. And now I also understand more about why we have the president we do. So, roundabout 1 a.m., Michelle’s really wanting to go to sleep. I felt worse laying down than sitting or standing. She suggested that maybe I could try to prop myself up on the chaise couch in the living room and maybe get some sleep. ("You might surprise yourself.") Which I did . . . after (unsuccessfully) trying to make myself vomit. (It turns out that this is possible.) I couldn’t really get comfortable in the living room as I watched the clock go past 2 a.m. towards 3 a.m. Not wanting to disturb Michelle, I got a mixing bowl out of the kitchen and conducted a (successful, this time) vomiting session in the living room. My stomach continued hurting, but I felt less bloated. I think I dozed off at some point . . . probably a total of two hours. Maybe three. I felt like Hell all day on Sunday. The stomach pain was slowly diminishing, but I was afraid to eat much. Still, I had to keep food in my stomach. By Sunday night, I was a zombie. I could barely stand up to wash dishes, constantly feeling light-headed and queasy. I'm better now. But I'm relegated to eating only non-spicy food and drinking no alcohol. I'm turning into a repressed British person! So . . . don’t let this happen to you. The End. * My blood work came back yesterday. I’m negative for the ulcer-causing bacteria, which disturbs me because everything going on is consistent with “ulcer.” I called his morning and now I have an appointment with my doctor. Jesus . . . I hadn’t seen that guy for a couple years and now I’ve seen him several times in the past few months. I’m fucking falling apart! Friday, October 07, 2005
This is What My Life Boils Down to, Basically: A Snapshot It’s been a while since I’ve done a list, so I thought I might as well “phone one in.” It’ll be just like my efforts over at Reverse Survivor.* -- Speaking of, I’m still “on the island.” Which, if you don’t follow or get the concept of Reverse Survivor, is bad. ‘stella was voted off quickly during the first cut of three contestants. When I was in fourth place by 5 one-hundredth’s of a point. -- The gastro/abnominal issue marches on. I started the Prilosec/Zantac two-step on Monday night and Tuesday morning. I called about the bloodwork yesterday, saying that I was told the test results should be back by Wednesday. “Who told you that? Us or the lab?” “Um, the lab.” “Oh, well, the doctor has to sign off on the test results, if we even have them. And it could be seven to ten days before we get them.” This morning, I had a mid-level (DEFCON 3?) episode that was alleviated with some generously donated Tums. I was feeling better by lunch, so I had a frozen Boston Market turkey and stuffing dinner and chased that with a Krispy Kreme donut and some Sprite. Fuck you, stomach! I might go buy some malt liquor to kick this “game” into overdrive! -- Michelle’s band is playing in NYC next Wednesday. I already e-mailed Miss THB the details. If you’re interested, check their website. -- Mia’s getting settled in to the preschool routine. But today is the last day for one of her “teachers,” who is taking her English degree to an editing job with the State. My mind races at the potential this blog would have if I worked for the State (again). -- I have all the bids for our new HVAC system. We’re actually gonna deep-six our current fuel-oil furnace and start from scratch. We’ll be having a pow-wow over the weekend to run the numbers and do the pros/cons thing. I’m sure I’ll be posting more about this adventure in the weeks ahead. -- My band is about to be on a little “break” during our bass player’s honeymoon (see posts below regarding nuptials). We’re in the midst of recording a full-length something, so we could work on that. But, as fate would have it, our recording engineer/producer is the one that our bass player married. So . . . yeah, we won’t be doing a lot to further that project. But we’ll be writing some new music, sure to be inspired by the bands we played with the other night: Mono and Bellini. -- I’m not gay. Really. I’m not. -- This weekend, we’ll probably be laying low. Which, if that were true, would mean catching up on all the shows flooding our DVR. But we’re taking Mia to a birthday party this Sunday where she will have her first experience riding a horse. Or pony. Something. Anyway, I’m sure it’ll be a much-photographed event. -- How long can I go without coffee or alcohol? Coffee? Feh. That’s not really a big hit, although I’m about halfway done with my coffee-shop survey, and I’d miss my brevé mochas. But alcohol? Sheesh. It was really hard to play the show the other night without having a drink. Well, not play the show, per se. But hanging out at the venue for hours and hours without bellying up to the bar for free beer? That just seems wrong. -- Fuck you, stomach! * This is what makes my RS failure that much more painful: I've actually been trying. Except for the week of the "cut," which I went into with a solid lock on second place. My entry kind-of blew, and many contestants agreed, dishing out low votes and scathing commentary. I can only blame myself. Thursday, October 06, 2005
Sunburst and Snowblind So we went to the wedding for my friend (and our band's bass player) this past weekend. Where I had my "gastro episode." But before all of that, we got to watch the ceremony, unembcumbered. Well, except for having to stare into the motherfucking sun. Oh, and knowing that I'd dated almost every female in the wedding party back in college. (Yes, including the bride.) Otherwise, it was all very romantic and touching.  Here are some other pictures I took. None of them are of me. Tuesday, October 04, 2005
I Don't Have the Stomach for This . . . Again Looks like I'm going back on prescription antacids again. Saturday night, during a friend's wedding (entirely another post), I had an "episode." Y'know . . . mild stomach pain to not-so-mild stomach pain to bloating to having trouble breathing to friend-running-to-bride's-parents'-house-to-look-for-antacids to having to leave early to numbness in limbs and bordering on panic attack. And then it started to fade. I nuked the last remnants of pain with a Zantac 150, and then went back to catch the reception. I had to take another Zantac at bed as I felt the pain coming back. I was great all day Sunday and had almost completely forgotten about it. Until yesterday morning. I was awakened at 2:45 by some pretty hardcore stomach pain. Now, we're not talking reflux. This is lower-stomach, not esophageal. Anyway, I tried a little of everything and then started to panic. Thus started a five-hour battle that ended with me throwing up. I eventually made it to work and called my doctor. A nurse told me to get some Prilosec OTC (for mornings) and Zantac 150 (two hours before bed). And get some blood work done to rule out an ulcer. Funny that, later, Michelle e-mailed me a link to this site, which lists my symptoms. Under the heading "What are the Symptoms of an Ulcer?" Great. Old, indeed. Friday, September 30, 2005
Four Days into That 35th Year I'd planned some R&R for this birthday week, but it didn't materialize. Not really. I did take off a day and a half . . . but that time was spread across five days. I left work for a few hours here and a couple hours there, in between projects and other distractions. (You, The Internets, were not much of a distraction. Sorry.) Michelle got back from the "tour" Monday evening. Tuesday, we went to dinner with family. I got a few CDs, including one from Michelle that she bought in Charlotte when they played with this band. (Definitely mix CD material.) The rest of the week was spent running errands and spending birthday money. Most of the money has been promised to a music store in return for customizing one of my guitars. The one that I haven't been playing, but will play when it's done. Because it will be bad ass. In other news, we're hip-deep in Project: New Heater. I'd gotten an encouraging first set of quotes, but today's contractor brought up a whole 'nother set of issues which will necessitate more quotes. Perhaps talking to an independent electrician. Goddamn 1960s house! Nasty-ass fuel-oil furnace! Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Fashion Week After reading about the recent "fashion week" that the shitheel, self-congratulatory, mutual-masturbatory clothiers sprayed all over the pages of In Style et al, I came up with the To explain the innerworkings of my wardrobe would really amp up the freakishness of my reputation, and probably cause Michelle to Baker Act me. Let's just say that there IS a "system" in place to keep the clothes clean and to prevent me from wearing the same clothes every week. Our office is very casual to business-casual. Seriously, on my most dressed-down day, I'm approximately 57% more over-dressed than the average guy. But, y'know, it's all geologists and engineers who do manly work. So, anyway, I don't believe in owning clothes and not wearing them someplace. Because, y'know, I might not always be working here.* The theory is simple: Where most offices have "casual Friday," I make Friday the most casual day and work towards that. It's a process.  Things start off fairly stiff and loosen up from there. Click on the picture for a tour. Noted on the photos are details about what I'm wearing and (generally) where it came from. The Rivers plastic-surgery-nightmare twins would be so proud. * Let's not get all frothy about me leaving my job, boss. I can't even get it together enough to update my resume. Friday, September 23, 2005
Percussive Maintenance When your washer gets unbalanced and starts to bang (very loudly) during its spin cycle, your first thought probably isn't to run towards it, jump in the air, and kick it really hard. In fact this might sound like a very bad idea . . . something only a crazy person would do. A crazy person with lots of towels to dry up the water that comes out of the washer during the rinse cycle because the drain pipe came disconnected somewhere between the banging and the kicking. Funnier still might be when the crazy person is washing the sopping-wet towels from the morning's flood and the drain pipe comes loose all by itself. So now we're dipping into the clean towels. Well . . . not we. The crazy person. In other news, I finally understand how single parents feel. Michelle's been on tour for, what . . . all of two days. I'll be getting a break tomorrow, which is the day before my mom's birthday. Which is two days before my own birthday. I guess when you're on the verge of turning 34 and you're still angrily kicking your washing machine, perhaps it's time for some sort of life assessment. Assessment. Reminds me that I brought home several hours of work. Mothers: Lock up your laundry appliances! Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Speed-Reading I've discovered during my first-thing-in-the-morning, exercise-bike sessions that it takes me about 20 minutes to "read" an issue of People magazine or ESPN: The Magazine. Granted, the latter was chock-full of lengthy articles on Hurricane Katrina (?), Golf (zzzzz), and NASCAR (!!!); in fact, most of the time I spent reading it was on the one page dedicated to soccer. Monday, September 19, 2005
Fall Cleaning In case you've been living under a rock (or, like Styro, you don't have cable television), the season/series premieres are about to start for many, many shows. There are some interesting (looking) ones . . . and a lot of Grade-A, surefire crap. How will I figure out what's going to be this season's Lost (vs. this season's first show to be cancelled)? The magic of the DVR. Yeah, it's not TiVo, but we do have a DVR that holds roughly 30 hours of programming. This morning, it was 70% full. You do the math. I decided to purge some stuff I've been holding onto for whatever reason. Here's what went bye-bye: 1 episode of The X-Files ("Home" . . . with the murderous family of mutants) 2 episode of The Kids in the Hall 1 episode of Futurama 1 episode of Entourage 1 episode of Mad TV 1 episode of TV Funhouse 1 episode of Dora the Explorer (the one introducing "backpack") 1 episode of Sesmame Street 1 episode of The Surreal Life 2 installments of The Daily Show 1 episode of Samurai Jack 1 episode of Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List 1 episode of The Ultimate Fighter 1 episode of ESPN's coverage of the World Series of Poker I hadn't seen most of these, and I figured I probably wasn't going to make the time. So, now we're down to 38%. I scanned what we had left. Besides a couple things that are Michelle's, there are three episodes each of Dora and the Powerpuff Girls and four episodes of Aqua Teen Hunger Force. That Mia . . . can't enough of the wacky animation. In other news, thanks for all the positive energy for my crazy-ass mom. Okay, so she's not really crazy; in fact, I think I'm picking her up in a few short hours to take her home. We'll see how that works out. Also, I'm thinking that this week will be Fashion Week here at Kamikaze Lunchbreak. Thursday, September 15, 2005
I Wanna Be Sedated “What time is it?” “It’s 8:31.” “God.” “What time is it?” “It’s 8:35.” “God.” “What time is it?” “Why do you need to know?” “I’m not wearing my watch, but you have a watch on.” “It’s 8:45.” “God.” --------------- Tuesday was strange to say the least. We were back at the emergency room again. “We” being my mom and I . . . and her friend, Mr. S. I’d seen mom at lunch that day and she was acting a little . . . off. By the afternoon, she was calling me repeatedly at work and accusing me of all kinds of stuff and then she’d start babbling people’s names. I had to hang up on her once when our “conversation” devolved into her chanting, “Mom and dad. Mom and dad. Mom and dad. Mom and dad.” She actually called me back and gave me a few more “Mom and dads” before hanging up on me. Soon after, she called Mr. S and did a lot of the same stuff. He went over to her house and she was still acting strangely, so he said he’d try to get her to go to her HMO’s Urgent Care Center and I'd meet them there. Well, that didn’t happen. I was on the way over a little later, so I called him and he said he’d try one more time to get her to go and then he was calling 911. I showed up at her place the same time as the sheriff’s deputy and ambulance. There was already a fire truck there. For 20 minutes, we negotiated with her to go to the hospital and had to threaten her with a ride in the sheriff-mobile if she refused to go. I signed her in at 8:00 and we were in the waiting room for just over three hours. The whole time, we were having variations of the same conversation. She was convinced that it was 4:40 (what time she remembered Mr. S coming to her place) and that if she went to sleep, everyone she loved would die. That’s when I realized that she hadn’t slept in about five days. She ultimately started refusing treatment, so I told the RN to call me when her tests came back and I went home to bed. (That was at 1:15 a.m.) They Baker Acted her shortly after and she’s (back) at the hospital’s behavioral health unit being evaluated. We’re guessing that she just needed sleep. I saw her for a little bit yesterday evening, and she said she’d slept for half the day. She seemed somewhat better. She didn’t say “God” once. In other (more sane) news, Reverse Survivor has started anew. Okay, maybe that’s not “more sane.” Sunday, September 11, 2005
Wine Score  Saturday was party day for us. First, it was a toddler's birthday for Mia and I. Then, that evening, Michelle and I attended a blind wine tasting to determine the wines to served at a friend's wedding. I'd never been to such an event, and I'm a bit of a wine 'tard, so I was quite enthusiastic. The capper for the night was another friend's party which featured a college-throwback atmosphere, complete with a keg of Yuengling. The keg and I were too well acquainted and, thus, I was very hungover this morning. Thursday, September 08, 2005
Wounded I'm wearing my wedding ring again. I had to take it off for a week and a half or so because one night, I was cleaning up in the kitchen and I reached to turn off a light. Well, the light switch location required that I navigate my left hand (never agile) between the bottom of a cupboard and the top of the toaster oven. And I caught the bottom of the cupboard with the ring, which pushed into my finger and shaved off the top layer(s) of skin. Even then, with my still-to-scab wound, I felt bad about not wearing the ring. I finally put it back on this morning and it's been fine. In other news, our ISP was fucking with us, telling us that our modem wasn't connecting to their system for some reason. And/or telling us there was a "hold" on our account and we had to clear it up with their billing department. So we've been Internet-less for the past several days (at home, anyway). Work's been work, so I haven't been in touch with you (all of you). I'll try to remedy that now that our Internet service has mysteriously (magically) been restored. Tuesday, September 06, 2005
"I Want Your Skulls. I Need Your Skulls." On my way back to work, I was stopped at a red light and could hear some odd-sounding music coming from somewhere other than my stereo. It sounded like fragmented cheering and seemed to be coming from my right. There was a Jeep with the top down next to me and I looked that the driver, who was looking back at me with a smug “fuck you” expression. I turned down my stereo and realized the odd-sounding music was The Misfits. We really went all-out last night for the FSU game. I went to the grocery store to secure over $90 in snacks, including four kinds of cheese, four kinds of crackers, a bottle of cheap champagne and cheaper Riesling, tortilla chips, queso dip (in a jar), key lime pie, a six pack of Red Stripe, and some peanuts. I didn’t know how many people to expect, so I went kind-of insane, I guess. We ordered pizza beforehand, so there was enough food for a couple dozen people, rather than the half-dozen who were there. And half of those people left to go to bed early (even when leaving was just walking the length of the house to the bedroom). Exciting game, though. Y’know, if "exciting" is watching your alma mater and their most hated rivals fight to see who wants to lose the most. Alas, Miami snatched defeat from the jaws of victory, and I went to bed, bloated and tired. With a refrigerator full of cheese and leftover bread sticks. Friday, September 02, 2005
Not the Time to be Pro-Choice I haven’t been to fill up my car since the gas-bingeing started, but several stations in town have completely run out of gas. A couple on my way to work had reportedly run out, but I noticed the pumps were all in use (again) at lunch today. And the signs indicated just one price (one was $2.99 and the other was $3.09). I’m oddly comforted that there’s only one grade of gas available. That’s, like, just one less decision I have to make. We’re hoping for a relaxing weekend here at Kamikaze Central. We’re staying at Michelle’s parents’ house tonight because they’re out of town and we’re watching their pets. And eating their food. I might even treat myself to some Jim Beam while I’m there. Y’know, to go with the news coverage from New Orleans. Don’t know what’s going on tomorrow, but I imagine there will be a lot of sports-watching. As I’m running the college football pool for the office, I have to keep abreast of 20 games (which is a light week . . . usually it’s 25 or 30 games). Also, tomorrow night, there’s another World Cup qualifier for the U.S. men’s soccer team. Against Mexico. So, I’ll probably be all up in some Univision. And, of course, Monday is Labor Day. Or, more accurately, The Day When the Seminoles Kick Off Another Disappointing Season. No predictions this year. Although I will say that I picked the ‘Canes for the Monday night game . . . 24-10. If only the president had picked the ‘Canes. Or, y’know, been aware of at least ONE of them. Which reminds me, CW is back with a great Bush-rant. And Amy Choppa has returned from camp. Stop by and say, “Hi.” To them. Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Feeling Gassy Okay, I understand the setback in domestic (Gulf of Mexico) oil production is going to reduce the amount of gas we can produce in our refineries (some of which are damaged or inoperable). And there’s a lot of speculation that gas prices are going to rise sharply. My question is this: Won’t some of the lost production be offset by the millions of people who will not be driving and/or using utilities? See, I'm sure when the president asks a seemingly naive question like that, he has someone who will give him an answer without shaming him. I just have you, The Internet. In other news, I’m hungry. It’s not even noon and I’ve had my lunch already. That SlimFast “shake” I had for breakfast didn’t really hit the spot. Can I make it for six hours until dinner? Survey says “No.” Monday, August 29, 2005
Hey, Maybe You'll Remember This the Next Time There's a Category 5 Hurricane Headed in Your Direction I just don't get it. Why is it that Americans, often portrayed as the World's saviours (by those who don't know better), are so reluctant to accept responsibility for anything? Let's make some excuses for why we don't evacuate. Don't have a car? Find a way or find a motherfucking shelter. You had days to prepare; start walking across town to the Superdome! People stuck on their roof. Or trapped in their attic. With kids, no less. They want someone to rescue them, putting someone else's life in jeopardy. Look, I've "ridden out" smaller storms and then made fun of them after the fact. But if I lived in a city several feet below sea level, and a Category 5 storm was headed in my direction, I think I'd try a little harder to, y'know, find safety. Dumbasses. Saturday, August 27, 2005
Presents!  Mia's birthday was a couple days ago and we've, only now, finished the associated parties. We've also recently finished off the bottle of champagne we'd been saving to celebrate . . . something. As it was a $10 bottle of champagne, we celebrated being done with opening presents and entertaining kids. Or listening to the shrieks of kids entertaining themselves and one another. Or, y'know, the shrieks of the woman who squeezed me out of her body all those years ago. Wednesday, August 24, 2005
One-Sided Conversation (With My Friend and Yours . . . The Internet) What have we been up to for the past week? Hmmm. Well, let’s see, my band played a show Friday night. - - - It sucked. This was our end of a show swap with a band from Gainesville who had hooked us up with a gig at an awesome club there, so we returned the favor up here. Except our version of “awesome club” was more of a den of choads . . . - - - Huh? Oh, “choad.” It’s a dick that’s wider than it is long. - - - Exactly. Anyway, we’re hopefully gonna stay great friends with the Gainesville band. Can’t say much for the venue, though. I guess we shouldn’t burn our bridges. I mean, we do have another show there in a couple months. - - - Funny you should ask. It’s going well . . . I think. The whole preschool thing seems to be a more structured version of daycare. Except that we have to pack her a lunch. And there’s a playground. And we pay $140 more a month. I’m just feeling a little inadequate as a parent. We haven’t spent a lot of time with her drawing or writing. They send home all their classroom projects and work, and there were big letters “A” and “B” to be traced over, and she just scribbled on it. I get the feeling that she should be further along, but maybe she’s right on track. I mean, she's only three, right? - - - She’s doing okay, thanks for asking. We had to go to the emergency room again last week, but it was a false alarm . . . a false alarm that cost me five hours of my life. But, y’know, better safe than sorry. - - - Michelle’s doing good. Her band had a hugely successful show Saturday night in Gainesville. - - - No, I didn’t go. It’s a long story. I stayed in town. Michelle’s parents had Mia, so I went out with a friend to a sports bar to NOT watch the Pittsburgh / Miami pre-season game. But I did get to kick a little ass in trivia, though. And, for the record, when you have Taco Bell for lunch, and you’re not really hungry and/or still bloated six hours later, perhaps you shouldn’t order the buffalitos, six wings, and an order of buffalo chips, because you’ll be popping Maalox Max all night and chasing those with Mylanta. Y’know, just a tip. - - - Is that all? Well, yeah. I’m pretty boring when you boil it down. - - - I’m sure my Internet friends don’t miss me that much. I’ve really been trying to get by to see everyone, but it’s hard. So much is going on and I feel really disconnected. Like Dayment moving to Vancouver, or Snowy disappearing into some witness-protection program for bloggers. And then there’s the whole Styro-letting-her-blog-die issue. - - - Yeah, I’ve thought about taking a break. But it seems like everyone makes such a big spectacle about it when they’re going to stop, even if it's temporary. I guess you want to go out on top and not watch your blog die a slow death (like mine). I don’t want to feel like I have to make time to do it, like it’s a (very public) chore. Maybe I could take a break to start a Queer as Folk fan-blog like CW did. Seems like it’d be infinitely more readable than the political blog I started. Then again, maybe they’d have a lot in common, like all the references to anal sex. - - - No, I was just kidding about CW. It was actually a fansite for The L Word. - - - Well, I am trying to write more. Maybe it’s an inspiration thing. Which I need to remedy as the next season of Reverse Survivor is going to start very soon over at Mister Crunchy’s. In addition to this schlock, the political schlock, my RS entries, and my poems, I was thinking of starting a webcomic. A really schlocky one. I’m hoping that, if my lunch breaks return to being mine again, I can spend more time on all of these. - - - Probably. Anyway . . . so, how’s that thing with your sister going? Did that infection ever get taken care of? And what about your mom finding that box of prison-sex snuff films? Ouch! Thursday, August 18, 2005
Swiper, No Swiping! Swiper, No Swiping! (Oh, Maaaaaaan!) So, I tried to teach Mia the merits of non-annoying children’s animation, like Spongebob Squarepants and the Powerpuff Girls. And Aqua Teen Hunger Force. But she’s really latched on to Dora the Explorer. Not that this is entirely horrible (e.g., Barney or Backyardigans). Now, I don’t mind Dora so much. It’s nice for children to be inexplicably bilingual, adventurous, and interested in soccer. But what is it with all the shouting? That’s my biggest complaint, really. Dora never just says anything. “WHO DO WE ASK WHEN WE DON’T KNOW WHICH WAY TO GO?” “DO YOU SEE SWIPER THE FOX?” “THOSE MOTHERFUCKING PIGS STOLE OUR PIRATE COSTUMES!” Okay, maybe that last one is somewhat enhanced. Nobody steals pirate costumes. Anyway, I could deal with Dora a little better if she didn’t shout so much. Even with all the bizarre plot holes. I mean, there’s a path from wherever she is to any place on the fucking planet . . . how could she get lost? Sunday, August 14, 2005
Uh oh.  There was another party this weekend . . . this time for a friend who just completed her Master's degree. I celebrated as expected (i.e., drinking my allotted "quota," making sure to pace myself, and then leaving for home after yawning several times and thinking about Thursday, August 11, 2005
The Ol' Plumbing. Literally. I'm sure everyone's getting pretty used to these extended periods of "quiet" here at Kamikaze Central. I'd really hoped for more activity this week but, as I told Michelle a little while ago, I haven't had much time for "the Internets" this week. Y'see, Mia's daycare is closed this week. Actually, Mia's daycare isn't her daycare anymore, as she's starting preschool next Monday. So, I've only been at work as long as necessary (and usually with Mia). Otherwise, it's been a series of errands and appointments. (The appointments generally involved someone handling my balls and pressing fingers into my groin area and telling me to "turn [my] head and cough" or "bear down." And, yes, another finger in my ass, too.) So, yeah, not much time for you guys. Sorry? For triumphs, I braved the area beneath our kitchen sink and did some (very) basic plumbing on the ol' PVC connections. I'm sure none of you wanna hear about the black, rotting funk I sprayed out of one of the baffle connectors, but you just did. The smell of rotting eggs was heavily featured. Anyway, early tests show no leaking, so maybe it was a success. I'm going to wash dishes in a few minutes, though, so we'll see how that goes. Oh, and then when we run the dishwasher this weekend. Just like your drinking days in college . . . we have a bucket handy. In other fun news, our debit card was declined somewhere and an ATM withdrawal was rejected for "insufficient funds." We just got paid a week ago, and I haven't paid the big bills for this cycle yet. And the trusty register is showing decidedly sufficient funds for the ass-shitty debits we've been racking up. We're thinking greivous bank error or identity fraud. My login information for our Internet banking is at work, so I won't know anything until I call in the morning. Dammit. And now I wonder which is worse: Finding out about $1,500 has been stolen from our account (somehow), or that I have to have another "prostate massage." I'll go with the money. For now. Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Tiki girls  The party on Saturday was a success. Well, probably a mixed success for us . . . having a child, limited social skills, and friends who are either absent or preoccupied with more important things. Friday, August 05, 2005
Loosening the Bible Belt Apropos of everything, I was driving behind a pickup truck this morning that had “If you lick them, they will cum” and “Girls will do girls” bumper stickers; the driver (strangely, a man) made a left turn into a parking lot . . . for Carpetland. Sorry I haven’t written more lately. It’s been a blah week, and I haven’t really felt up to the task. Hopefully, I’ll be more inspired this weekend, as we’re going to an art exhibit (of sorts) tonight, being put on by one of Michelle’s bandmates. The exhibit will feature another one of her bandmates (Ms. Jazz Hands), one of my bandmates, and an omnisexual/lesbionic photographer acquaintance of ours. It should be quite a ride. We’re also going to a tiki party tomorrow afternoon / evening. I foresee a lot of Flickr material. Gonna start a “friends” set. I know you’re all excited. Maybe I'll bring some 'tang. Tuesday, August 02, 2005
In the Stink When I was at my physical last week, the doctor asked me how my mental state was. I told him I was mostly fine, except for being traumatized a few days earlier when he’d stuck his finger in my ass. He tried to make me feel better by telling me that he’d had a prostate exam after that, and his doctor has “the biggest fingers in town.” So, as it turns out, I wasn’t lying to the doctor when he asked about my mental state. I just feel like I need some “quiet time.” The World is a loud, imposing place. I have so much going on; as I told Michelle, I’m either doing something, thinking about doing something, or feeling guilty for not doing something. It sucks that I get to relax more when I’m at work. Even sitting on the couch after Mia’s gone to bed and flipping through channels isn’t relaxing. (I look at the DVR menu and see that it’s 63% full, knowing that I need to watch something on there rather than another rerun of The Surreal Life.) In other (less whiny) news, the show in Gainesville (Florida, ‘stella) went well. If by “well” I mean pretty much just like a show here in Tallahassee in that we had all of a dozen people watching us with 30 or 40 people outside drinking on “The Porch.” Still, it was fun. And my “ball situation” is still in a grey zone. Things have been feeling normal down there, so I’m switching back to boxers to see if I can provoke a response. Y’know . . . from my balls. Friday, July 29, 2005
Rock As I was watching soccer last night (DC United vs. Chelsea FC) and wondering if Styro was at the game (and then realizing that the Maryland stadium isn’t exactly right down the goddamn street), I was thinking about blogging about how fucking awesome that match was and what a true MLS believer I am. So, yeah, mission accomplished. I guess. Tomorrow night, the band is playing at this club in Gainesville. Should be exciting. Should. Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Dump It’s one of those days when I feel like I’m stuck in the wrong lane. Literally. Y’know when you’re used to driving in the middle lane of a certain three-lane road and you’re coming up to a stop light and you notice a dump truck is in your lane and all the people in front of you are picking the right and left lanes so you pick the right lane and when the light changes you go by the dump truck but inexplicably remain in the right lane only to have nearly all of the cars in front of you making right turns at different places . . . and then the dump truck passes you a mile down the road. And you end up getting behind the dump truck at the next light anyway. Yeah, great start to the day. Mia didn’t really say much while I was carrying on, “Good God, I could’ve just stayed behind the dump truck.” Thanks for all the ball-concern, The Internet. Truth be told, I’m still in wait-and-see mode. I had a physical with the same doctor yesterday, and I told him I’d monitor the symptoms (which seem to be dissipating with the brief-wearing treatment) until I decide I need to see a urologist. I think cancer and UTIs/bladder infections have been ruled out. Can’t say I’m too worried. Once things stop working like they should, or I feel like I’ve been shot down there, I’ll ramp up the worrying. Monday, July 25, 2005
At the End of the Day, His Girlfriend Still Recorded a Godawful Country Duet with Kid Rock While I'll admit I wasn't really rooting for Thursday, July 21, 2005
tiny dancer  We went to a birthday party this past weekend for one of the girls at Mia's daycare. It was held at an indoor "playground," which is good because it was raining outside. A lot. Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Balls Not sure how carefully I can walk the line between “interesting” and TMI, but my day has been just fucked up enough to walk that line. Almost a week ago, I started having some pain . . . down there. On one side, mostly. (One of my balls was hurting, and the other felt great. I don’t want to be accused of being a prude, on second thought.) It felt similar to the hernia I'd had (before its repair 10 years ago), but for an extended period. In another context (guys), it might be how you’d feel an hour or so after someone kicked you in the balls. Anyway, it was like that for a few days. Yesterday, it was getting harder to walk comfortably; I was groaning (audibly) when I had to move in a way that . . . provoked discomfort. Oh, and now the pain was on both sides. Googling produced a number of possible culprits, the most reasonable of which seemed to be relieved with anti-inflammatories, so I popped some Motrin last night and felt better. But I promised Michelle I’d call the doctor today. Which I did. I had a “work-in” appointment for 2:45. I figured that afterward I could go back to work to get a head start on a particularly rough project that threatens to absorb much of my week . . . without going into too much detail and/or getting side-tracked. I showed up for my appointment at 2:35 and sat in the waiting room until almost 4:30. (As it turned out, I had been “worked in” to being the last patient of the day. Exploring all the long-unrelevant magazines you know in love. Good thing I’m “patient,” even as I’m mentally calculating how badly not getting back to work is gonna fuck me. Little did I know . . .) Weight checked, urine sampled, blood pressure taken . . . the doctor came in and started asking the specifics. No, it doesn’t burn when I pee. Not an injury that I’m aware of. Sex drive not affected, no. “Are you up for a prostate exam?” Uh-oh. I hesitated but figured this totally unknown quantity might come into play. “Sure?” He warned me it was going to hurt like hell. “You’re a brave man,” he chided. Nothing that happened to me for the rest of the day, none of the mind-boggling inconveniences and frustrations, could equal that exam. I’m sure my gaybo little yelps of pain did little to make me appear more masculine. "Massaging the prostate" isn't as innocuous as it sounds. Trust me. Monday, July 18, 2005
Thursday, July 14, 2005
 head with glasses Originally uploaded by Scott-san. This is kind-of cheating, because Michelle took this picture. While she was driving. But it gives you a preview of my hair. There's another picture of my daughter and I. Maybe you can find it faster than I can. Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Bruckheimer'd Yesterday, I was driving behind a pickup truck that was loaded with boxes marked to contain a range and a microwave. I guess someone was redoing his kitchen. Anyway, right out of your favorite car-chase scene, stuff starts flying out of the back of the truck. Big, white packets. I ran the first one over because, well, it basically fell out of the truck and directly in the path of my right front tire. I looked in the rearview and saw something that looked like a styrofoam peanut come out, and I was thinking it was just packing materials. So I didn’t feel that bad when I ran over the next one. Although, secretly (or not so secretly, I suppose), I hope there was something important in those packets. As long as it wasn’t a kid or a pet. Or a copy of the Constitution, because that motherfucker’s been through enough. Monday, July 11, 2005
All These Hurricanes? Getting Old. Really. Man, and I used to love Hurricane Season. If you watched the Weather Channel at all this weekend, you probably saw the Dennis-related hype and hysteria. This stuff moves in cycles. There’ll be a yawner of a storm and then everyone gets complacent only to get ass-raped when the next storm comes through and then feels really let down when the NEXT storm comes through. Now the Pensacola area has had, what, two powerful hurricanes in eight months? Ivan kicked their asses, so everyone was frothing away for this one. The Weather Channel field people are getting themselves all worked up and, afterwards, it’s, “Here in Mobile, we recorded a wind gust of 47 miles per hour.” And standing in the road as the eye wall passed by, Jim Cantore exclaimed (paraphrasing), “We just had a wind gust that was easily 75 or 80 miles per hour!” Gusts? Not impressed. For a storm that had sustained winds of over 120 miles per hour? Yeah, so, for the next one, we’re gonna drive to the beach with Mia for some family body-surfing. We're inviting the bull sharks, too. As it was, we spent pretty much the whole day inside our house. Except for a jaunt to Fresh Market to buy some (overpriced) groceries and organic “goodies.” Oh, and when Mia and I went to Target in the afternoon (around the time the storm was making landfall 180 miles to the west). The most amazing thing about the day? We didn’t lose power once. We live in a faberge egg of Tallahassee’s fragile power grid. They’ll probably wait until there’s some spectacularly beautiful fall day when I’m planning to watch a crucial football game, and then they’ll shut our power off for three and a half hours. Y’know, to balance it out. Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Yippee Skippy(ies) OR "Whores Don’t Get a Second Chance" First of all, the photographs. It seems that taking seven cameras to cover our trip to Atlanta is akin to ordering the First Airborne to take down a preschool full of French children. Yes, yes, I did take some pictures. Nothing quite worthy of a Flickr account launch, although I’m still pondering. I guess I was hoping for a more impressive start. (Michelle’s few pictures were much more interesting and artsy.) Now to the matter at hand. I’d mentioned doing a Skippies taste test (see previous post). The concept was simple: Give Ms. Brown’s version of the drink a test drive (and repeat as necessary). According to the Flickr post, the recipe was one part vodka, one part beer, and a part and a half of lemonade. Yum, you say. The proposed recipe hyped “cheap” beer and vodka and lemonade from concentrate (Country Time); we strayed from the path going with Hawaiian Punch lemonade, Smirnoff vodka, and Kirin Ichiban (in a can). Really, I don’t think this made a difference. (We were probably cursed anyway with Michelle’s sentiment that, “Beer and vodka just isn’t right.”) I took photos of the ingredients, but it’s not much more interesting than reading the above, and the picture of the resulting drinks looks like three glasses of frothy piss. So, y’know. Anyway, I did document the conversation that took place during Round One. It was tape-recorded (and is transcribed) for your “enjoyment.” Er, enjoy: (Scene: 10:14 on a Saturday night, apartment, child asleep in adjoining room, dimly lit, air thick with anticipation of scary drink and the impending Identity-viewing.) Michelle is staring at the three glasses, as Ms. JAB takes hers (having already “called dibs” on it). Scott: There shouldn’t be any difference. Michelle (laughing): There shouldn’t be any difference. Scott picks up one of the remaining glasses. Michelle: You seem to want that one. Scott (referring to the glass): Okay. Well, it’s square. There is a clink of glasses. Scott: Best of luck. (Long pause for drinking first gulps.) Wow. Ms. JAB: It’s like you don’t taste the beer until the end, like the aftertaste is the beer. Michelle: It tastes . . . Scott (laughing): Yeah, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to drink very much of this. Michelle: This is what I would imagine nail-polish remover . . . Ms. JAB: Yes! That’s it. Nail-polish remover. It tastes like how it smells. Michelle: It probably has nothing to do with the fact that I just painted my toenails, but . . . Scott: It doesn’t smell like nail-polish remover. I don’t know what it smells like. But there’s, like, that much vodka. (Holds up a vodka shot glass indicating about 2 ounces.) Ms. JAB (perhaps to Michelle, who put down her glass on the bar): You’re not gonna try to finish the first drink? Scott: Um . . . we can. Michelle: Ya’ll have fun with that. Laughter. (End scene.) There was no Round Two. Ms. JAB and I finished our drinks, and then I started in on Michelle’s while finishing of the huge-ass can of Kirin. None of this made Identity any more interesting, though. Which is sad. Very. Friday, July 01, 2005
Loose Ends No, this post isn’t about the Hilton family. But it is about the ‘kaze family. We’re leaving in just a few short hours for a long weekend in Atlanta. I’m all packed . . . with no less than seven cameras. We’re gonna be Flickr-ized next week, yo. I’ve also packed some vodka as there’ll be some kind of Skippies taste test. I’m not sure how beer, vodka, and lemonade can taste great together, but I’m willing to give it a shot. (I read about Skippies on Sarah Brown’s Flickr page. Which reminds me of a dream I had about Ms. Brown, wherein we went to visit her except she didn’t live in Brooklyn but some unnamed NYC suburb 40 miles north of the city, but she STILL had a great view of Manhattan and we went to a rooftop party with her. Look, I don’t know Sarah on any level---I think I’ve commented on her site exactly once---but, y’know, whatever.) There’s a good chance that this taste test will be documented here. Should it actually occur. --------------- So mom’s been home for almost a week now. Things are going pretty well. Getting her set up and organized has been a bit time-consuming, so any extra time I thought I’d have for blogging has gone to doing that. That, and getting SIX PACKAGES OF CDs out to some of you. Seriously, I’ve finally sent out (most of) the CDs we’d promised to send. In January. --------------- I thought there was something else. Hmmm. Well, you could go here, but only if you’re totally bored and have nothing else to do. Or if you’re curious where all my political semi-ranting has gone. Monday, June 27, 2005
"Good Luck, [Mr. Glory Hole]."* The gods of Good Fortune have been smiling on me. Last Thursday, I sat in on the “realest” poker game I have access to. And I tripled my money. It was every bit as awesome as I could have hoped. I’d detail some of the more memorable hands but, really, no-one would care. Well, maybe Melman. The bigger paradigm-shift-esque happening was that I cut off a full two-thirds of my motherfucking hair. For serious, CW. There is really no way that the word “floppy” can be used to describe my hair. I’ll work on getting a picture of it. Really.** Nag Michelle if you wanna make this happen faster. In other news, the ‘ju and I found a baby possum while playing disc golf yesterday. It’s currently on its way to some branch of the Wildlife Refuge (or some-such agency). * Early on in the night, I jokingly said this to Mr. Glory Hole as the cards were being dealt. Because I went on to win that hand (big), and Mr. Glory Hole had an awful night, this quote became the running joke for people wanting to change their luck. Mr. Glory Hole didn’t think it was funny, but fuck him. He’s in Paris for a week. ** I keep thinking about starting a Flickr account because that’s what all the cool kids have done. Y’know, you have a blog, a My Space page, an iPod, and an account on Flickr. And it makes me feel all empty that I can’t post comments on all these girl-on-girl pictures I’ve been seeing. Michelle has the digital camera most of the time and is really more savvy about digital-photograph management. Really, she should have the Flickr page, but I feel that I need to propel us into the 21st century. Thursday, June 23, 2005
Too Write I had a brief moment yesterday when I felt lighter, like the pressure of the World wasn’t on my shoulders. Like, “I’m finally getting caught up. Time to relax, enjoy life.” Anyway, it was brief. It’s nice that the creative stuff, like playing in a band that has made exactly zero dollars for its past two shows, is so rewarding. Seriously, the band stuff is very therapeutic. And the writing, well . . . it’s going. It’s funny how I go through phases with the poetry. I won’t write anything for a while, and then I’ll slowly start doing it again . . . coming up with a couple mid-grade poems. And then I get it in my head that I need to go through all of my poems since before college (we’re talking over 15 years of poetry, here, people) and make lists of possible chapbook/collection ideas and/or poems I need to submit for publication. Then I’ll churn out another poem or two, nothing spectacular. And then . . . nothing. In the current run-through, I just completed the “list” phase and I’m preparing to send out several batches of poems. (To put it in perspective, I’ve published maybe a dozen poems in 15 years . . . most of those in local presses where I had some kind of “in.” And quality? While listing the poems, I assigned semi-objective ratings to them [on a scale of 1 to 5]. No poem got a 5 and two of the three that got 4.5s were written last century.) It doesn’t help that when I read other people’s poetry, it’s very black and white (“How the fuck did this get published?” to “Man, I suck ass”). So, we’ll see how my domination of the poetry world (note the lower case) goes. Also in the world of writing, it should be noted that the ultra-secret “political” blog finally had an unexpected birth. I’ll post a link to it when it hits its stride. Y’know . . . in a few In other news, nothing helps heal the wounds of losing lots of money in poker to your family quite like playing with the "big boys," which I will do tonight. Pray to Little Monday, June 20, 2005
How Do You Put a Pseudo-Gay Craddle-Robbing Scientologist in His Place? WITH A LIST! Even a squirt gun. Or, hell, just get up and leave. --------------- We had a show over the weekend, opening for a band that I’ve long revered but, now, having lost some key personnel, I think the band is going to shift into “more electronic” territory. So, I’ll probably stop listening to them. Because, as everyone knows, God hates techno. As a humiliating aside, we pulled about six to eight (depending on whom you ask) people to the show. There were three people on the guest list, one of whom never showed up. I don’t think there’s any doubt that we’ll be bigger outside our “hometown.” --------------- The poker losing streak continues. I think I’m playing scared. I’ve done statistical analyses of four different games and my hands-played vs. hands-won percentage is dropping. Meaning I’m playing too many hands and/or I’m not betting effectively enough to win the hands I’m playing. Yesterday, I managed to avoid losing everything, but still. I'm down for the year. --------------- Continuing to roll the dice here at Kamikaze Central, we’ve decided to have my mother discharged back to her house this weekend. The hope is that this will end the four-month ordeal that began with her fall. There is talk of a legal action. Being very anti-litigious in nature, I’m advising caution. She’s feeling much better (physically and mentally), so I’m fairly confident that she can make it on her own (again). Of course, I’ll be checking in with her regularly. Thursday, June 16, 2005
Neighbors? I think I’ve hinted here before that Michelle and I are somewhat antisocial and/or mildly misanthropic. We’ve lived for four and a half years in the same house and we don’t know our neighbors. We’ve never even met them. Not really. On one side, we have the African-American “family;” I really don’t know what the exact configuration is over there. I’ve seen the same guy (I think) mowing the lawn several times (with an electric lawnmower). And the same woman getting into her police car. (Yes, there is a police car parked next door 75% of the time, which I’m convinced cuts down on our home-invasion potential.) Anyway, I’ve said (or waved) hellos to them a few times, hardly ever even exchanging banal pleasantries (like, “Wow, hot day,” or “Looks like rain”). They have an annoying little dog that yips at me whenever I go into the back yard with Mia (prompting the usual, “What’s that noise?” to be followed by, “It’s that shit-assy little dog from next door.”). Do they have kids? I’ve seen one or two on occasion, but it’s usually when there are several cars in the driveway . . . maybe a post-church get-together. On the other side, there’s a white couple. Who have a kid. Maybe. Our yards are separated by tall, bushy trees (on our property and I’m too lazy to trim), so we don’t see them a lot. Just when we’re pulling out of our driveway every once in a while or driving by their house. The husband sits on the front porch and smokes. We don’t wave. Oh, and they have a couple pit bull-ish dogs in their back yard. Now, the neighbor across the street . . . that’s the interesting one. Actually, he’s not that interesting. See, he used to have a wife. I’d see her out working in the yard, or jogging down our road. And then she disappeared. Her Trooper was never in the driveway. Sure, she’d pop up every once in a while, usually leaving within a few minutes of arriving . . . sometimes when he wasn’t there. His little red Nissan is there all the time. On weekends, there’s a maroon Taurus, but I’ve never seen who drives that. My money’s on casual-sex-partner-reluctantly-transformed-to-girlfriend. I need to make up a story "about" them and then use that as the basis for a tawdry book. In other news, Mia is 80% potty-trained. She hasn’t had an “accident” at daycare for weeks (even during naps). She still has an occasional accident with us on the weekends and she still wears a pull-up to bed. Sheez. Next thing y’know, she’ll be slamming beers in front of us and telling us to “Fuck off.” Can’t wait. |
