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Thursday, December 30, 2004
Happy New Year, Corn-Holes! Technology (or the lack thereof) is preventing me from posting from home*. And the combo of work and a toddler daughter is preventing me from posting (much) from the office. There is a lot of excitement planned for the weekend, though, but you’ll have to trust me on that. As for the ol’ weblog . . . well, there are some upcoming items, like a Best of 2004 retrospective, a probing and much-circulated questionnaire meme from k, and resolutions. And on the topic of resolutions, what are your * Re-animating our home computer is a work-in-progress. Comcast is supposedly sending us a disk for re-installing our network and modem drivers. We also need to re-install, like, everything on our computer, too. So, yeah, the Comcast thing is just a small piece in a much bigger, cluster-fucked puzzle. Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Hey, at Least I Don’t Have Strep Throat (*Knocking on Wood*) Thanks for everyone’s concern about my stress levels and/or homicidal tendencies. The Holidays are going swimmingly . . . if by “swimmingly” we mean that my job is expecting me to perform report-production miracles with my daughter out of daycare, my wife unable to help watch her much, and extra family in town. Actually, they’re not being quite as demanding as I’d expected. Here’s a list of facts that will help illuminate the goings-on of the past few days: -- Approximately 95% of my Christmas gifts (received) were either CDs, DVDs, graphic novels, or guitar-effect pedals. -- For the fourth year running, dad’s Christmas egg rolls still seem like a great idea. -- Cream cheese doesn’t really belong in any pumpkin pie recipe. -- When it comes to bringing wine or champagne to dinner, often quantity is better than quality. And for that, there is Ballatore. -- It’s really hard to entertain a 2-year-old at the office. Unless you have special help from receptionists with popcorn or CADD designers with “sickees.”* * suckers, or lollipops Thursday, December 23, 2004
Are You Lost, Little Girl? Dear Susan Smith*, I thought you were supposed to be in prison for killing your two kids 10 years ago, y’fuckin’ bitch. Did they let you out to go shopping in Tallahassee? You look like you've lost a lot of weight, but that Anyway, I haven’t got time to shoot the proverbial shit with you, y’child-killin’ whore. I’ve got shopping to do here at Target. Shouldn't you be down the road at Wal-Mart? Hugs, Scott In other news, I went to buy the Avon again this afternoon. And again the door was locked. It was after 2 o’clock, and there was no sign telling me where the fuck everyone was. Okay, EAT ME, Avon-pushers! I hope your business fails and you get ass cancer.** So, instead, I got a gift card to TGI Friday’s (where my grandparents like to eat). On the gift card holder, there were lines for “To” and “From” and “Amount” . . . and “Because.” In that blank, I wrote, “Christ was born in Bethlehem.” * It really did look like a shorter, skinnier version of Susan Smith. Actually, approximately 13.9% of all southern women look beaten-down and homely, so it could’ve been anyone, I suppose. And all of the 13.9% wear those t-shirts. ** Okay, that might be a little harsh. Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Giving the Gift of Blog Mom told me to get my grandmother some "rich moisture cream" from an Avon boutique "behind the Publix" near my work. Seems easy enough, right? I went Monday on my lunchbreak, and drove down the road next to and behind the Publix. I was looking for ANY sign that mentioned Avon. Crap. I'd never asked what the place was called. Today, I called mom to ask, and she couldn't remember. "It had Avon in the name, I think. Do you want me to call and call you back? Or, I could just give you the number." "No, I'll find it." Well, I DID find it. In a last-ditch effort, I pulled into the only clump of "storefronts" it could have been in. There was a tiny sign that mentioned an Avon "boutique." More obvious were the signs that read "OPEN" or "NOW OPEN." So, of course the door was locked when I tried to open it. If it was something that I could find anywhere else, I would've burned that fuckin' place down and just bought it from Wal-Mart. But I'll be forced to go back tomorrow. I'll let you know if I say something inappropriate during my "rich moisture cream" purchase. Monday, December 20, 2004
Bird Shot(gun) My planning and follow-through continue to fall apart. Every year, I start the Christmas (shopping) season by printing out our spending budget, so we know (theoretically, of course) how much we're going to spend, and on whom. Then we start the buying. And every year, there comes that moment when time is running out and there are still several names that have not been checked off, crossed off, or totaled. It's the "bird shot" moment, when I just start buying things and assigning them to people (and you probably don't wanna be one of those people . . . unless you drink, because liquor gift sets make great "bird shot" gifts).* I don't think we're there yet, but we might be in a day or two. I squandered my lunchbreak today, and with all the various band-related activities (two bands) and subsequent shared childcare duties, it doesn't seem like there will be much time to shop in the evenings. I can tell that Friday is gonna be a "bird shot" day. * Target is really popular, also, in these instances. Seriously, there was one year where I went to Target four or five times in the two days before Christmas (it's a couple miles from our house) and bought a significant portion of my gifts. In a fit of hip-discount-store panic. Friday, December 17, 2004
Well, I WAS Going to Leave a Little Early OR Outing Myself . . . as a Snotty, Selfish, Reactionary Prick Jackass Yesterday (and the day before), I talked to my mom about an appointment she’d made to have the doctor look at a “red spot” she’d found on her leg. She’d called to see if I could take her to the appointment. As I could see it was going to be a large chunk of my morning (when I’d be busy), and there was still enough time between then and the appointment, I asked if she could book a trip on Dial-A-Ride. Which she did. I told her if her return trip got screwed up, I’d take a long lunch and come take her back home. I got to work this morning at about 7:30 (very early, as Mia’s sleeping patterns seem to be shifting some). So, I took it easy. Checking my e-mail, reading a few blogs. Slacking, basically. And at the exact moment when I decided to start working on something, the phone rings and it’s my mother (suddenly, I’m Travis Morrison!*). Mom had slept through her alarm (or the alarm hadn’t gone off . . . the jury’s still out on that one), and the Dial-A-Ride dispatcher had called to say that the driver had come to get her but couldn’t wait. Mom: “I guess I should just call and cancel the appointment.” Rage. It was all I could do to suppress a primal “FUUUUUUCCKKKK!” But I considered that if she didn’t go the appointment, she’d dwell on the “red spot” during her parents’ visit (arriving tomorrow). And I was a little concerned about the “red spot” because the last time she stubbed her toe, the fucking thing was almost ripped off her foot. Selfish Prick: “I’ll come!” “I’ll come?” Is that a threat? A promise? Both? For sure. After calculating the drive times (very accurately, as it turned out), I slacked off for a few minutes before leaving to pick her up. Being the snotty fuck I am, I listened to some emo (Knapsack) on the way to her house, and then switched to Marilyn Manson (Mechanical Animals). The rest of the story is not so much interesting as it is a mimeographed narrative of every time my guilt-ridden** mother gets into the car with her sullen son and they ride along as she prattles on and on about their mutual shortcomings . . . blah, blah, blah, ad infinitum. I cooled down and just accepted that being an only child might mean I’m more prone to selfishness, but there are moments (like these) when I can’t be weak. Because that’s when I’m all she has. (Speaking of her having, I need to jot “new alarm clock” on her wish list.) The moral of the story is: Be nice to your mom. Especially when she’s had a stroke and In other news, Kat needs to renew her goddamn domain. Can someone pass that along? And if you haven’t sent me something for the Best of (or Worst of) 2004, and approximately 6,164,882,087 of you haven’t, get on it. A Top 10 list (to be combined with the other I’ve gotten), your favorite Deadwood moment, the best hotel-heiress blowjob video you’ve seen . . . anything. I’m waiting. Two posts in one day? There’s gonna be five or six really surprised readers out there! None happy, though. * Preceding words directly (but unintentionally) lifted from “The Ice of Boston” by Dismemberment Plan. ** One time, my mom woke me up at 2 o’clock in the morning. She apologized before telling me that she had tightness and pain in her chest, and she was crying and panicking. You can probably imagine how confusing the subsequent 911 call was. And someone somewhere has a tape of that. *** We were customers of cell-phone Company A, which sold their local business to Company B, which has now merged with Company C. I called Company B yesterday to find out when our two-year contract expired and they said it basically had expired during all the corporate re-shuffling. Company B said they were encouraging all their users to sign new contracts with Company C, which I did. Goodbye, exorbitant roaming charges! Hello, new flip phone! Hello, text-messaging capability! Tonight’s the Night It’s here. Tomorrow We Will Be Victorious make their debut tonight (click and scroll down some). I’ll be really disappointed if several of you don’t fly into town for the show. --------------- I printed out Styro’s pumpkin bread recipe last week and hoarded the ingredients we didn’t already have. And then I kept putting off making it. So Michelle took the reins and, lemme tell you, it’s awesome. It wasn’t spectacular to look at because the loaf fell some in the middle. But it tastes great (but not less-filling, I’m sure). I’ll have to get Michelle to make it again for the Christmas Eve Family Event™. Maybe I’ll make my pistachio pudding pound cake.* --------------- It doesn’t snow very often here in Tallahassee. Every other year, we might get a hint of a flurry. I was born in Connecticut and my parents have lots of pictures of me running around in the snow . . . when I was 2. We moved here the next summer, so I don’t remember any of that. But I do remember the first snow I saw here, when I was 5 or 6. I was outside, playing in the front yard when the snowflakes started falling through the branches above. I caught one in my hand, and it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. The winter after I graduated high school (and started college) is the most memorable. We had a full-on snowstorm. By Deep-South standards, anyway. It started snowing a few nights before Christmas, and no-one thought it would stick. But in the morning, there were a few inches of snow on the ground. I woke up and looked out the window and was blinded by the sun reflecting off the white that covered everything. It stayed for a couple days and by Christmas, there was little left besides flakes of ice in the shaded grass. The point of all this is that I heard on the radio that there’s an outside chance that we could see some snow flurries Sunday night. * The last time I made it for the same event, only my mother and grandmother had any. I was a little put off. No, really. Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Best Of! (Things to Come) I thought it’d be cool to do a Kamikaze Lunchbreak “Best of 2004.” But I can only think of the worst. Really, my Election Day™ hangover is that bad. Plus, I’ve seen only a handful of movies that were released this year, and have purchased only a handful of “new” CDs this year. So, I could use your help, The Internet. E-mail me* with your favorite things from the year (all pop/political culture considered). Make up categories if you have to . . . the more creative, the better. I’ll do a roundup as late in the year as possible, most likely in that week between Christmas and I can’t promise prizes. But having your ultra-snarky witticisms decorating my humble ‘blog-site for tens and twenties of people to see . . . I mean, isn’t that reward enough? * You know you can leave your “nominees” in the comments, if e-mailing is too much of a burden. Lazy ass. If you’re feeling really industrious, though, you could mail a postcard or Christmas card with your picks. That would be TOP-NOTCH. Monday, December 13, 2004
Beer! That was the Friday-night mantra. Kind-of an affirmation to keep the vomit(s) away at Michelle’s work Christmas dinner. We met up with the Glory Holes for pre-event drinks at TGI Friday’s (actually, it was one drink each . . . a 22-ounce Happy Hour draft). Having chosen our alcohol/path, we went to the dinner armed with the knowledge that we would be okay. To make the strategy a sure-fire success, I steered myself away from fried hors d’ouvres, having only one crab cake. (I did have six un-Kosher bacon-wrapped shrimp and a few meatballs.) Dinner and dessert were innocuous enough, and I washed it all down with about (*calculating*) 56 ounces of beer. As a bonus, I drank water in between the beers, so I was feeling down-right chipper Sunday morning. Chipper enough, in fact, to not be too concerned about losing all my money at poker. Actually, that part really bothered me. Particularly the painful way in which I lost it. To my father-in-law. Ouch. Friday, December 10, 2004
Raj Rhymes with Sabotage I think NBC is going to do everything in their power to make sure that The Donald hiring what’s-his-name (yeah, Kelly) doesn’t appear to be a foregone conclusion. The guy is obviously the most capable and professional. Enter Raj. Is he going to torpedo Kelly (a la Omarosa in Season One)? And what about that pesky rain on the polo field? Of course, Jen has her own problems . . . and not all of the inherent to her character. You know Chris Webber didn’t back out of the event; NBC is dropping a fuck-bomb on Team Jen. Ouch. And if education is always going to “trump” non-college-grad entrepreneurs (even the spunky ones), why have those people on the show? Sandy got a lot further than I’d have predicted but, in the end, she was fucked for not having 15 degrees from prestigious schools, or not being a lawyer. In the boardroom, Jen kept crowing about moving to San Francisco to practice law “in a very competitive market.” Sandy owns two businesses, which she started with no higher education. No business degree. You can throw a rock and hit a lawyer (and a homosexual . . . with the same rock!) in San Francisco, right? What’s special about that? --------------- A gentle reminder (to my liver, my stomach, and my pride): Tomorrow night is Michelle’s office Christmas dinner. I’m very sorry for what I did to the three of you last year. It won’t happen again. When I stopped by her office for the weekly Mia visit (for the office, not Michelle), I heard mention of a “Scott Rule” that has come about after my full collapse last year. Something about a drink limit . . . maybe? Apparently, it was a problem that I couldn’t keep my head off the table. This year, it’s beer all the way. Because beer doesn’t sneak up on you like wine does. Wine may be classy, but wine could have me kneeling on the cold, hard tile. (To throw up, smartasses.) ----------------- You’ve probably heard that it’s my honey’s birthday tomorrow. Stop by and leave her some well-wishes. Thursday, December 09, 2004
Tuning Out My mother has been calling me at work a lot lately. Pretty much every day. She “hates” to interrupt me, so she’ll build up (and not write down, of course) a list of things she wants to tell me / remind me about / nag me about. And once she starts talking, there’s no stopping her. Even if she forgets what she was going to tell me. Seriously, I’d have to yell, “I’M CROWNING!” to get her to stop. Complicating things is her weakness (fondness) for digressions. She can’t complete a thought without remembering something else and immediately (mid-sentence) having to tell me about it. My grandmother often says it’s nice when they’re here for two weeks, because that gives my mom enough time to finish all of the stories that she tells in the middle of one another. So, she’s been calling me. And, being the good son I am, I half-listen to her as I half-try to work. It’s not ignoring, exactly, although that’s what I did as a teenager. No, this is more like filtering. I listen for key words/ideas and the rise in her voice when she asks a question. Today, she was going on about her Christmas list and how she needs some new insulated cups, and that we shouldn’t get her a CD player (as I’d previously mentioned), and she was wondering what the plan was for the weekend (when I will be taking her shopping), and then back to the insulated cups. She talks pretty loud (even louder than before her stroke), so I just put the receiver on my shoulder (facing away from my ear) and kept reading, every once in a while picking up the receiver to say, “Uh-huh” or “Okay.” And then came the direct questions. “Did you watch Lost last night?” “No. I think Michelle taped it.” And then she went into another freeform exposition about how her VCR cut off the end of Lost when it flipped over to start taping West Wing (also touching on crucial plot points that I would not know having not yet watched it). “Did you watch West Wing?” “No. I think Michelle . . . I’ll have to check and make sure I have it.” “Okay, I’ll save it for you just in case.” (pause) “Man, West Wing was devastating!” “I’M CROWNING!” Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Call Me in the Way-Back Machine I’m a big fan of most things Retro™. Okay, maybe just the music. And porn. One of the excluded things would be our office’s voicemail system. First of all, it’s not user-friendly. I’ve moved offices a few times, and it’s a pain in the ass to change the settings, record new out-going messages, etc. And the system has Alzheimer’s, apparently. It “lost” my greeting and reverted back to my (fired) co-worker’s. They’ve been talking about replacing it for almost a year now. So, I refused to change the out-going message again (so everyone who doesn’t know me thinks they’re calling “some girl”) and waited for them to replace the system. And waited. And waited. Well, this morning, after weeks of the receptionist rebooting the voicemail server several times a day, the system crapped out (for realz). And the voicemail wizard came to spirit the server’s CPU away (for repair). Suddenly, replacing the 15-year-old phone system is an official crisis. This whole scenario is just a snapshot of how things are managed here. It’s worse than the “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” rule. Here, the axiom seems to be, “Don’t fix it until it’s broke beyond repair.” Which is a corollary to the principle of “lastminute-i-tis.” That this company seems to be founded on. In other “Oh, I didn’t eat/shop there anyway” news, we’re having a Blue Christmas. You should, too. Fuck Red Lobster. Fuck Outback. And fuck (as always) Wal-Mart . . . y’know, if you can find anywhere else to shop. Tuesday, December 07, 2004
What’s Best This is a Public Service Announcement for those of you (perhaps) youngsters who may be thinking about / planning to have kids. And the subset of those people who have relatively normal relationships with their parents. And the subset of those people who are basically normal themselves. Y’know how your parents often tell you that they “want what’s best for you?” Or how they “only have your best interest in mind (or at heart)?” Well, when you have a child, that all changes. Now, this might seem to be logical (the world revolving around your child), but it’s shocking at first. Suddenly, your parents aren’t that interested in what you’ve got going on. Suddenly, your house is a crack den (or worse). Suddenly, your car is Unsafe at Any Speed. Your parents won’t always ask how you’re doing, but rather how the baby is doing. Your parents no longer shower you with unexpected gifts, but rather shower your child with gifts. Now, this PSA is not borne End transmission. Monday, December 06, 2004
Lesson One: Misanthropy Michelle and I are not naturally social creatures. I mean, when you take us out of our comfortable environments, we’re likely to be pretty quiet . . . and maybe a little rude. Here are three examples of things that may or may not have occurred Friday night at my office's annual Christmas dinner: -- As we were driving to the dinner, I said, “I hate people.” Not “I hate slow drivers” or “I hate people who drive slow,” just “I hate people.” Michelle replied, “Not as much as I do.” (Or, perhaps, it was “Not as much as I hate people,” which is even better. Really, my short-term memory is that bad. Literally five seconds after the words passed her lips, I thought, “Hey, maybe I’ll ‘blog that.” And then I couldn’t remember what her exact words were. Is this when you people just invent shit that was said? Julia? C-dub?) -- When we go to these type functions, we spend an inordinate amount of time talking to each other, rather than other people. Yes, some of it is low-grade, passive-aggressive domestic banter, but most of it is just us lamenting various stages of the evening’s itinerary. Or making fun of people. Just know that if we talk to you at one of these forced-politeness-a-thon’s, it’s because we genuinely want to talk to you. Or you happen to be sitting at our table. (I think a lot of my enthusiasm about going boils down to it being an excuse to wear one of my two suits---which happens once or twice a year---and getting to eat good catering.) -- We’re stingy. We were one of the first couples there and, after debating a few minutes (and looking at the sadly monolithic* wine selection at the “bar”), we decided to drive to the house to get our champagne**. Which we shared with (almost) no-one. Before driving home to get the champagne, we’d also flirted with bringing back one of Michelle’s bottles of Patron. Which we did. But we left it in the car to (perhaps) be brought out later. Which we never did. Even after I’d repeatedly mentioned getting it and pouring shots for people at the table. Look, we’re really not bad people. Once we get to know you, we’re almost normal, funny even, in these social situations. But in awkward work-related bring-your-spouse functions, I find that I’m socially retarded and Michelle refuses to fake being pleasant. This all adds up to Certain Doom™ for Michelle’s work party this Saturday.*** * There were about a dozen bottles of wine . . . all of then either Chardonnay, Merlot, or some sort of Cabernet. I guess I need to broaden my horizons and learn to enjoy something red and/or dry (especially after *** below). ** The regional V.P. just asked me, “Hey, did you guys finish that bottle of champagne the other night?” To which I replied, “We finished it before dinner.” *** You might remember how I threw up there last year. Friday, December 03, 2004
Work Part(y) the First Tonight is my work’s annual Christmas dinner. I miss every other year (because of conflicts with Michelle’s office, which passes out bonuses and, thus, trumps my office). There promises to be a shortage of people from the “cool” contingent there (for a variety of reasons), and Michelle’s lobbying to skip out early to see Closer. Hmmm. Open bar + free gourmet dinner + company swag + retrospective slide show + potential on-screen emotional deception and sexual tension = an evening that I’ll need a full night’s sleep to recover from. In other news, our know-it-all IS manager is a motherfucking douchbag. Best wishes, and I’ll see you all on Monday. In my spiffy leather jacket Thursday, December 02, 2004
The Five-Year Plan? I recently crossed the five-year threshold at my current job. Not so coincidentally, my wife reached the same milestone at her current job. I now realize that this is the longest I’ve ever worked at one place. (Three years at McDonald’s, four years at the video store, a little over a year at the Office of the Auditor General, two and a half years in the HMO communications department, and now five years here.) What do I get for this? Well, tradition holds that I will receive a nice leather jacket (with my company’s logo). That’s pretty cool and all, but I was actually more excited a year ago when I started earning three weeks of vacation. (At ten years, you get a $1,000 cash bonus and start earning four weeks of vacation.) In other news, it was 39 degrees this morning and I refused to wear a jacket. I mean, I’m inside all day . . . why bother lugging around a jacket when I leave work at it’s in the 50s. Call it a lack-of-Real-Winter protest from someone who lives in Florida. Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Mina I think we’re making actual progress here. For the past several months, when we’d ask Mia, “What’s your name?” or “Mia, what’s your name?” she would reply, “Mommy!” In the past few days, though, her answer’s been “Mee-na!” It’s a tough world of identifiers that we’re bringing our daughter up in. Two grandmothers (well, my mother and my dad’s wife . . . who are different people) who want to be called “Nana” (with different pronunciations, of course). Two grandfathers who are “Papa” and/or “Poppa” (again with the varied pronunciations). Michelle’s mother wants to be “Grandma,” but I keep pushing “Ma-maw” (which her children had called her mother . . . and which she hates); Mia calls her “Momma” and Michelle “Mommy.” I’m just “Daddy.” Except when Mia wants something. Then we’re all “Mommy.” Saturday, November 27, 2004
I'm Rooting for You, Fuckers. Michelle's still in Jacksonville at the infinitely disorganized In other news, Thanksgiving went well. Except for walking into that porch light and ripping an inch-long gash in my scalp. Oh, and dropping that 4 x 12 on my big toe. Tuesday, November 23, 2004
It’s a Bouillabaisse. It’s a Pot Luck. It’s a Jumbled Mess. OR I’m Too Y’know how when you’re taking group photos and there’s always that one person who fucks up the picture by looking like a total douche? Well, that’s me. I never know how to smile, always getting caught up in the show-teeth-or-not internal debate. And then there’s my lazy eye. Sweet Christ. Besides being an overly long experience, the Sears Photo-Trough Adventure™ went fairly well. We got some nice pictures. Maybe some of you will see them. --------------- The super-exclusive political ‘blog planning meeting went well. We’ve decided on a name (can’t tell you yet) and some broad conceptual . . . stuff. More details as they become --------------- Our computer is in an Arafat-esque coma. Thankfully, it’s never been an Islamic terrorist, because the Indian Guy I Know is going to fix it. Which he likely wouldn’t do if it were an Arab-backed system. --------------- My band has been in the process of reinventing / reconstituting itself for the past few months after the loss of a founding member. But we’ve finally gotten our shit together enough to play a show, and we’re making our debut next month. The new name of the band? Tomorrow, We Will Be Victorious. (I shit you not.) It may be a temporary name. It was a half-joke I offered as we were voting for band names the night before the election; if John Kerry won, that was going to be our name. Although that didn’t happen (sadly), the Bush-scenario name (Pornova) is a licensed porn site and we haven’t come up with anything else we can all agree on (and/or live with). At least we can agree not to hate this name. --------------- Fuck the South. That’s a real eye-opener. It’d be funnier if I didn’t live in this “shithole.” --------------- I’ve unexpectedly received a couple CDs over the past few On the CD-making front, I’ll be doing another mix soon. Once my computer is raised from its fucking grave! (Speaking of which, I sent a packet of long-overdue, oft-re-routed CDs to that fine couple in Tulsa. Did those ever make it? Is the U.S. Post Office gonna fuck me again?) --------------- I added a few new sites to the ‘blogroll last week in anticipation of some grand, related post (which never happened). I feel like there are more to add, but I can’t remember who they were. Maybe they can comment to remind me . . ? --------------- So I played poker on Sunday. It was a seven-person game of Texas Hold ‘Em, with a $10 buy-in. I was the third person eliminated. We’ll be playing poker again on Thanksgiving. My brother-in-law has won about $100 in the past week or so. It’s gonna be hard not to donate more of my money, but I have a feeling I will. I’m off (mostly) tomorrow. And because of the aforementioned computer problem, I might not be updating very frequently. But I’ll be spending time at the in-law’s (cat- and house-sitting), and their computer is 100% un-fucked. Maybe I’ll see you sooner than you think. --------------- * So I’ll just continue ripping off the best ‘blogger I’ve never met in Real Life. (That’s not meant to be a back-handed compliment, either.) Friday, November 19, 2004
You Ain't Seen Nothin' In mere moments, I'm leaving work (early) to pick up Mia, meet Michelle, and go to Sears for some Christmas-picture-taking action. Our presence in said pictures has been requested and, thus, I'm more dressed up than I'd like to be on a Friday (i.e., I'm wearing a white button-down shirt [tucked in] and nice[er] shoes). After that, we'll be picking up the house a little before Michelle goes to the studio (for Day 2) and I stay home to host my Political Blog Brainstorming Pow-Wow. (This will necessitate a run to the grocery store for wine and cheese, I should think. If we were meeting to discuss a Right-Wing 'blog, it'd be Miller High Life and pork rinds.) The weekend plans are a little up in the air. There may be poker. There may be intensive yard work. There WILL be football-watching though, as my alma mater takes on their most I know, I know. And "excitement" is my middle name. Thursday, November 18, 2004
Something to Thai’d You Over Michelle and I had Thai for lunch today. She stuck to her new safe pick (Panang Curry) while I tried something a little different (Chicken with Black Bean Sauce). Mine came with tiny mushrooms, which I picked out and put on Michelle’s salad plate for her to eat. She ate a few with her meal. When she was “done,” there were several left. “You’re done? You didn’t finish your fungi.” “My fungi space is full.” “But they look so sad.” “They’re lonely. They miss their vegetable friends.” “But they have each other. Maybe they’d be happier in the bowl of curry sauce. I know I’d be happy in a big bowl of curry.” “Who wouldn’t?” Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Want Your Vote(s) Back? Hey, Moderate Republicans and Reagan Democrats . . . feeling that regret right about now? Wha--? Y’say you didn’t realize that Colin Powell was going to leave right after the election? Yes, they’re still counting (or re-counting) the votes in some states, but the Administration is already shedding a lot of Cabinet members, including the once-respectable Powell. I really thought Powell would wait until closer to the Inauguration to jump ship. But we knew he was leaving, even as the But, Sweet Baby Jesus, it’s nice to see John Ashcroft going. Of course, they’ll just dip into the Vat of Evil to replace him. Maybe the next guy will bring some Scotch Tape for the Constitution. Probably not, though. Monday, November 15, 2004
Best Way to Turn $20 into $5.35? (Hint: It Involves Poker.) Haven’t had much of a chance to play poker in the past several months. Seeing as we’re not gonna stop playing in our bands, and we can’t stop being parents, looks like that gambling addiction will stay in the trunk. However, we’re trying to put together a semi-regular family game. Yesterday, it was our niece’s belated birthday party, for which a group of us related-types helped break in my not-so-new-but-wholly-unused poker chips. I think the pot was over $60. Michelle and I contributed (in every sense of the word) $10 each. Michelle chased two hands (back to back!) and lost most of her money (giving me the rest). I didn’t see any great cards, and only won a single large pot (on pure luck). We were running short on time, so we set an ending point (that luckily came with me still holding chips). I think the whole thing lasted just an hour and a half. I don’t think we can afford to have family games that follow a similar pattern. My brother-in-law, on the other hand, can afford it very nicely. Friday, November 12, 2004
Blog Intertia A 'blogger at rest tends to remain at rest, right? (Unless acted on by an outside Meetup, it would seem.) I had every intention of posting more Meetup-related fallout on Tuesday, but all the slacking I'd been doing in recent weeks caught up with me. See, we'd gone through many months of relatively increased activity at work . . . and then it stopped. So, I was happily catching up on my slack time. When the work started coming in again . . . well, I was quite content to continue half-assing it. And then I took a day off for the Meetup. And then one of my projects was greatly underestimated (see the kind of passive voice I have to deal with here?). And THEN I had to take a half-day for Veterans' Day (daycare closed). I know, CW . . . 'blogging about being busy at work is LAME. Point is I'm gonna need to be born-again next week. (Or, born-again-again if you count the fact that the Meetup was quite the eye-opening experience.) This weekend, there is quite a lot going on, so it should be drippingly heavy with material. Monday, November 08, 2004
Stats That Shape a Meetup Number of Bloggers Present: at least 9 Tab for Opening-Night Dinner (With Tip, For Nine People, with a Respectable Amount of Drinks): $227.29 (I know because it went on my credit card!) Number of “Strip Clubs” Visited: 1 Number of Drinking Games Played: 3 (but only one with any amount of real commitment) Amount of Alcohol Present at “Cookout”: a metric shit-ton . . . seriously, I couldn’t even begin to tell you how much there was to drink . . . okay, for starters, there were no less than eight varieties of vodka Number of People Who Threw Up: 0 (that I know of) Number of People Who Passed Out: depends on how you define “passed out,” but I’d say at least one Number of Drinks for Yours Truly Over the Meetup’s 30-Hour Duration: about 13 I could Thanks also to CW for letting us meet at his house . . . and, particularly, for letting us play “Asshole” in his living room. More tomorrow. In the meantime, if you haven’t already, go here to see pictures. And here. Friday, November 05, 2004
Mission: Meetup I'm writing this from my sister-in-law's apartment in Atlanta (Alpharetta, actually). We're here for the 'blogger Meetup, which has it's opening ceremony* tonight. We've been here less than four hours and, already, we've been in a car accident.** And had some good Thai food at a mall downtown. This Meetup will be the focus of several 'blog entries (I'm sure) next week. To help me get in the spirit (and update my 'blogroll), please leave a comment if I haven't added you over there and you've commented before; several of you have left comments and I keep forgetting to write those addresses down. (Much, much, MUCH) more later. * By "ceremony," I mean softening up the ol' liver. ** This really happened. Michelle was driving and sort-of side-swiped someone. Hello, $500 deductible! Hello, higher premiums! Michelle says it's karma for saying earlier that she was going to shoot some slow drivers in front of us, take them out of their cars, and run over their bodies. Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Wow. I didn’t see THAT coming. Sweet fuck. I’m trying to find something positive to hang my Motherfuckers. Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Vote or Die I do what Sean “P. Diddy” Combs tells me to do. My voting experience started out normal enough There were more people outside with signs for Kerry and people with signs supporting/rejecting various state amendments than there were people voting. No line, no waiting. I noticed when I signed the registration book that at least a quarter of the people in my precinct had already voted (absentee). For the record, I did vote for a token Republican*. * She is running for state Senate, and she often breaks with her party. So much so that she’s been stripped of committee seats and chairs. And she sent a load of manure to a powerful Capitol lobbyist. Really, how can you vote against that? Monday, November 01, 2004
Trying to Fix What Ails Me (and My Motherfucking Car) Friday, I told the story of a sick toddler. Shortly after the story was posted to the intarweb, it became a story of a sick father (and the continuing saga of a sick mother). Chapter 2 started with that generalized “queasy” feeling as I was leaving work and turned to a full-blown “pre-nausea” as I was contemplating going to see The Start when Michelle came home from her opening slot. Saturday was a lovely ride of ricocheting between “severe acid reflux / Ashlee Simpson” and “mild nausea.” When the awfulness abated somewhat, I made myself get up and clean stuff. I actually swept and mopped approximately 80% of the house (all hardwood and tile) and rearranged part of our bedroom. And then got to take a nap and/or watch some late-afternoon football.* To make myself feel more human, here’s a short list of the things I took: -- Mylanta -- Maalox Max -- Tagamet HB -- Ibuprofen** -- Pepcid*** MEANwhile, my car is anything BUT normal. Apparently, there have been two updates to the A/C-related equipment, one of which (windshield grommets) helps keep the A/C water drain from getting clogged (replaced last time). This time, my A/C fan is shot, so they have to replace it (not in stock), and I have to go back in a week; the even-more-recently updated equipment comes with the fan. The HOPE is that all the new shit will keep standing water from collecting in my floorboards, and my car from smelling like New Jersey. I felt a little bad for being a prick to the service-counter girl at the Mitsubishi dealership, but I was JUST THERE WITH THE SAME PROBLEM LESS THAN A MONTH AGO. And THEN she goes for the hard sell on a new brake job, a tune-up, and a 30,000-mile service (at $400!). I can only imagine my posts for the remainder of the week will be election-related. But, being where I am (the epicenter of election scandal in 2000), you could get some first-hand accounts of the post-election legal fallout. Let’s all pray to Baby Jesus that it doesn’t come to that. * Damn Seminoles. ** For my set-your-clock-back headache that kept me up half the night. *** This is the WMD for the lingering stomach acid; I never got around to using it. Friday, October 29, 2004
That’s Sick Well, we’d been blessed for a great deal of this year. And now we begin the dreaded Winter (or, sick) months. Memories of the Great New Year’s Flu of 2004 are still pretty fresh and, now that Mia’s not part of the high-risk pediatric group, we know all too well what we have to look forward to. The “sick” months started with something unrelated to season illness---a nice bout of viral nausea. She threw up the entire contents of her stomach at daycare Wednesday morning and was then fine for the rest of the day . . . until the evening when she puked up some juice and store-brand Crispix. And then some more after her bath, thus ensuring that she wouldn’t see the inside of the daycare for at least one more day. I was home with her yesterday, along with Michelle (who was also sick). She spit up again yesterday morning, and was acting lethargic and ornery. I took her to the doctor, who told me that we were doing all the right things and that the virus was unfortunately lingering. She cried herself to sleep at naptime and awoke about an hour later refreshed and much better. She hasn’t thrown up since and is back at daycare. And my phone hasn’t rung all day. The moral of the story: Any day you don’t get an adverse call from the daycare (or school) is a good day. Particularly when you earn 45 minutes of sick leave every week, and you just used about 11 hours in two days. In other news, my car’s A/C drain is leaking into my car . . . again. Those motherfuckers. Tuesday, October 26, 2004
All My Friends, the Socialists I got this link to a political quiz* over at Dawn’s. It uses 40 questions to determine where you fall in the political spectrum/axis. So, I forwarded the link to several friends** and family members. Turns out my wife is more of a “centrist,” but almost all of my friends (who responded) are more liberal than I am. And my boss must be fuckin’ Karl Marx. I also forwarded the link to my mother-in-law, who is a tax-friendly social conservative (otherwise known as a “totalitarian” . . . Darth Vader is an example they give of a celebrity totalitarian). I’d guess Michelle’s dad would be at least as socially conservative, but much more fiscally conservative. Observe the results: 
Where do you fall? * I forwarded this to one of my coworkers, who sent back a link to the site’s “slut” quiz. Turns out I’m 54% “slut.” There were comments from some of the other respondents (who were much sluttier). One wrote that he’d fucked his best friend’s girlfriend in the elevator of his apartment building. Another wrote that after receiving oral sex from a “pretty young girl,” he proceeded to have sex with the girl’s mother while the girl was in the shower. However, the icing on the cake was the guy who claimed that he’d sucked off his best friend’s dad. I don’t know how true any of these claims are, but shit . . . that last one is just plain wrong. ** All this political writing/talking/ranting is going to come to an abrupt end sometime next week (I hope). After the election, no matter which way it turns out, some of these same Monday, October 25, 2004
Kamikaze Psycho Y’know in the beginning of American Psycho, where Patrick Bateman is telling us about his morning ritual? Do you have one of those? Maybe not as clinical and exact as Mr. Bateman’s, but do you use the same products, in the same order, in the same way, each and every day? I think about this shit sometimes. Because I’ve fallen into a routine, although my product-use is somewhat un-rigid. I can safely say that my “metrosexual” reputation wasn’t born with my hygiene routine. You can imagine Christian Bale’s voice narrating my morning: The alarm goes off at 6:15 each morning. The clock is across the room, so I have to get out of bed to turn it off. Once the echoes of beeping have subsided, I stand bracing myself against the wall in the dark for a few moments before heading to the shower. Our shower is special (in the retarded way), so I turn on the hot water and wait about 15 to 20 seconds for it to start running lukewarm before I step into the stall and turn on the cold water to balance things out. I start by lathering my hair with whatever Suave / Prell / Pert 2-in-1 shit I have on-hand. Before rinsing my hair, I soap my face with the oatmeal-blend hotel soap from our trip(s) to Destin. After that, I use the bath wash / gay-scrubby combo to wash my body (the body wash is about as particular as shampoo). Once, I’m fully rinsed off, I towel-dry, starting with my hair, which goes from the towel to my shaving hat (a backwards baseball hat I use to keep my hair out of the shaving cream . . . also keeps my hair flat so I don’t have to brush it . . . seriously, I haven’t brushed my hair in over a month). The shaving ritual is a little more brand-specific than the showering ritual, in that I use Edge gel and a Gillette Mach 3 Turbo razor. Once I get the shaving cream on, I get dressed on the lower half of my body. Then I shave (using very-bad short, quick strokes), apply no after-shave or cologne, and finish getting dressed. I can’t believe this is what I’ve been reduced to. But Michelle already covered a lot of the weekend which, even for us, was pretty non-exciting. Two weeks from now, however, we’ll be getting back from Atlanta with more than a few stories to tell. Of course, several of you will have Thursday, October 21, 2004
Botox.* Heh, That’s Funny. But Who’s Your Daddy? I stopped by Kat’s to console her (sort of) about her team losing. And “losing” is putting it kindly. As much of an ass-kicking as the game was, I really thought that the Red Sox were gonna crumble when they put Pedro in to pitch. Hello, remember last year? Now, for my wife’s sake (and mine), I really want to not care about baseball anymore. So here’s what we need to happen: The Astros need to win Game 7 tonight, and then the Red Sox need to rain down a gadzillion home runs on the “Rocket” so he’ll fucking retire for good, and then the Red Sox need to finally break The Curse. --------------- In other news, I have blood all over my shirt. After I’d left the house with Mia (on the way to an eye appointment, then daycare), I noticed there was blood on her shirt, her left hand, her left arm, and scattered other places on her body. She didn’t seem to be in pain, or really bothered by it much, but there was quite a bit of blood. Then I noticed I had blood on my shirt where I’d been holding her. I dug out a wipe and gave it to her to get the blood off her hands; she played with it for a second and then put the wipe down on the seat next to her. When we got to the hospital, I used the wipe to get all the blood off of her and couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. It could’ve been a puncture wound on her fingertip, but I couldn’t see it. Was it paint from the living room? Anyway, because I * how Kat refers to the "BoSox" Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Jeremy Spoke in Claa-aas TodaaaaaaAAAAY . . . HOOO, HOOO, HOOO, HOOO, HOOO, HOOO, HOOO First of all, I guess I should apologize to Michelle for my behavior last night. This “behavior” included watching baseball. And, for that, I am sorry. I guess it’s just because it’s the Yankees and Red Sox, with the latter trying to do something no baseball team has ever done before. Against the team that represents everything that is bad (and sacred) about baseball. Also, for those of you who, like my wife, weren’t paying attention, A-Rod is a big fat cheater. Go Red Sox! --------------- Here are two observations that have me questioning just how specialized broadcast media and advertising have become: -- I’ve noticed that all the Wal-Mart “testimonial” commercials I see feature people with Southern accents. Being in the South, this doesn’t surprise me. Except when I think about whether the Wal-Mart commercials in New England feature people with Bostonian accents. I mean, how region-specific is Wal-Mart’s advertising? -- When I drive home after picking Mia up from daycare, I usually don’t listen to CDs, unless I have something dance-y / bouncy / upbeat in my car (because I’m not sure I need to subject my 2-year-old to moody post-rock or loudly melodramatic British guitar rock). So, I surf the radio stations. And I’ve noticed a peculiar trend. The “80s, 90s, and today” station, the “classic rock” station, and the “new rock” station all seem to play Pearl Jam and/or Red Hot Chili Peppers for the drive home. A lot. These bands represent a very, very small part of their respective potential playlists, yet I hear those bands all the time. Now, if you like Pearl Jam and/or Red Hot Chili Peppers, then that’s great. I don’t have much of an opinion either way about either band, so . . . y’know. Has anyone else noticed this in their Arbitron-tested, inoffensive, market-tested, commerical-drowned radio broadcast area? Monday, October 18, 2004
Seen/Scene I saw a lot of great and interesting stuff over the weekend. While not all of it could be as magical as the happy-flash in Mia’s eyes while we played with a balloon yesterday, it was worth documenting here. Maybe. -- We got to see what Mia’s third birthday could be like if we invited several kids from daycare, as well as many other partially related kids. And it wasn’t pretty. Michelle commented that we’d only have small family gatherings for Mia’s (early) birthdays. I agreed. -- I got to see my alma mater finally -- We were pulling into the Eckerd/CVS Drugs drive-thru yesterday. There was a car at the window with its rear driver-side door open and a young boy standing next to the car. “What is that?” Michelle asked. I could just tell it was a boy . . . with his hands down near his crotch. He turned a little and that’s when I fully realized he was peeing. In broad daylight. In a drugstore drive-thru. And, lemme tell ya, he was arcing that pee about 5 feet. (Rather than directly confronting the situation, we parked in front of the store and went in to get the prescriptions. We told the pharmacy tech/cashier about the peeing incident, and she was unimpressed.)* -- I got to see my beloved Steelers beat the once-hated Cowboys. I use “once-hated” because I’d always hated them, but I’ve backed off in recent years because their lameness had diffused the hate somewhat. But now that they’re getting better, and have the Big Tuna coaching for them, maybe it’s time to re-ignite that hatred. Had Testeverde not totally fumbled the game away for them, I would’ve been back on the hate-wagon. But right now, my team’s on a Halloween collision course with the undefeated-record-setting Patriots. --------------- * This was really the reason for the post. I thought I’d seen more great stuff this weekend. Maybe I did and forgot. Maybe I just felt like writing about all the great football I got to see this weekend. Hey, at least I’m writing about real football and not fantasy football (and my team, The Angry Dragons). Friday, October 15, 2004
6:30 Tiger Waking to the borrowed cell-phone alarm, I know we must collect our rafting-wet clothes, gather ourselves, shuffle out to the car. There is no encouragement you can shout to someone flying overboard. There is no time. From airborne to the cold slap of water to 30 feet downstream--- hiking boots heavy with the river’s bitter bacteria--- the heart doesn’t beat once. I struggle to touch the bottom of the rain-swollen river, struggle to bring my feet up and forward to guide myself down the rapids, all the while thinking, “This is it. This is how it ends.” This sudden morning, I’m rinsed clean--- bedewed, adrift in a haze of cottonmouth and contentment. From a listing, eddy-trapped raft, I’m lifted, pitched, launched, but not unpiloted, not air-drowned and grasping for the rope bag, but home-bound, seat-belted--- on a highway from me to myself. --------------- 6:30 a.m. was the time we woke up to leave the rented cabin in Tiger (a backwoods town in extreme Northeastern Georgia). This poem was revised so many times over the course of a year, it’s not even funny. The back-story is (mostly) here. The poem leaves out the part where I pulled Mr. ADD off the raft with me, but hints at me being in a state of PTSD for the rest of that day (until I started drinking and passing a “funny” cigarette by the bonfire). Thursday, October 14, 2004
You’d Better Get This Party Started Another milestone: Mia got invited to her first birthday party. It’s for a boy who’s turning three. I think he and my daughter have some kind of flirtation. I also think he’s a little slow. Anyway, the birthday party is here, this Saturday morning. --------------- Speaking of “a little slow,” have you people been watching the debates? I guess it would just fuckin’ figure that coming down the home stretch, the debates have only helped to muddy the water. I mean, going into them, Kerry was down quite a bit but, with Bush’s first-debate fumble, he’s pulled even . . . but no further. It was more-than-slightly disconcerting to see Bush pull his shit together more and more with each successive debate. Last night’s was somewhat close . . . y’know, from a purely independent-voter/overall impression perspective (because, in the harsh light of Reality, Bush at best comes off like an exasperated and desperate weasel spouting half-truths and empty rhetoric . . . and Kerry doesn’t look a lot better). I have a feeling we’re still gonna be sorting through our votes when Iraq has their elections Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Bingo! Before the debate last Friday, Dayment sent out an e-mail with a link to the Bush Bingo card. I forwarded it to some of my coworkers . . . one of whom suggested that we play at lunch this week. So, being the dutiful little miscreant that I am, I printed several Bingo “cards” and taped the debate Friday night. Today during lunch, we watched and played the tape. I was surprised that we actually had a winner, because some of the Bingo “squares” were a little dated, and this was a debate and not one of his catch-phrase heavy campaign speeches. I think I was a “tax relief” away from winning. The lucky winner used the free space and had a “giggle” and a “smirk” on the same row. That’s just not fair. You can’t compete with that. Monday, October 11, 2004
Skills Things Mia has mastered in her 25.5 months on the planet: -- Accurately locating her “booty” (with both hands) when that part of her body is referenced. -- Asking for more “juith” when the liquid in her cup is “gone.” -- Kicking a soccer ball on command (and in the general direction requested). Things Mia’s father has not mastered in his 33 years on the planet: -- Chewing with his mouth closed. -- How to avoid making improper comments in mixed company. -- How to keep his wife from wanting to paint and/or re-arrange several rooms in the house every 6 to 12 months. Thursday, October 07, 2004
Kamikaze Reading Hour I’ve been trying to keep up with my resolved reading schedule, which means I need to read 12 books this year. It think I’m on pace to meet that goal, although I slacked a bit this Summer. Last night, I finished a real page-turner called The Girl Who Played Go by Shan Sa. It’s the story of a Manchurian girl and a Japanese soldier whose lives become entangled in pre-World War II China. I’d recommend it, highly, although many people don’t share my taste in books and might not enjoy its stark / spare imagery and characterization, sharp yet poetic language, sudden flourishes of violence, Asian historical anecdotes, and forays into erotica. But the combination of these make for a very languid, pleasing read. I give it 8 shots out of a possible 10. Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Dear Liberal Coworker/Neighbor* Look, I’m really sorry about not inviting you to order lunch with us for my birthday.** It’s just that, well, we don’t usually have lunch with you, especially not when we order in. I didn’t invite [UglyTrailerSkank], either, and she does eat lunch with us a lot (but that’s because she didn’t invite me to her wedding, which I pitched in on a gift for). Anyway, don’t hold it against me and get all passive-aggressive about it over the e-mail when I invite you to go out for pizza with us today. I know you don’t have a “better offer.” And, ask yourself, how often do you invite me to lunch? Wait, why am I apologizing to you, douchebag? No, seriously. Your comrade in arms, Scott-san * borrowed from CW (via Michelle) ** Actually, we went to Moe’s the day after my birthday, and ordered in (Chinese/Japanese) a couple days later (the “official” birthday lunch). Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Happy I think -- The FSU radio station played my “12 o’clock Takeover” -- The Explosions in the Sky show was pretty good . . . not quite as much of a life-changing event as the first time I saw them. Anyway, I found out that they didn’t play an encore in Atlanta, either, which made me feel better about our show and our stupid little town.** -- My car’s still not fixed. Yeah, this is no reason to be claiming a “happy” day, but it’s just typical . . . which lets me know that life is okay. I mean, they broke my window. I bet if I hadn’t told the Service Department manager that I had a back-up car (my mom’s van) on Saturday, he’d have my fuckin’ car done -- It was nice and cool this morning. I’m very pleased. * The DJ played the wrong Godspeed song, and then said that it was some other song title, “otherwise known as ‘Moya.’” Wha—? “Moya” is on Slow Riot for a New Kanada E.P., and the song he played was on Lift Your Skinny Fists . . . Sheesh. College kids. ** Look, an indie show in Tallahassee that draws over 400 people is nothing to sneeze at, okay. Especially when your last show in town brought in about 25. After playing your set (albeit an energetic one) and people are waiting for your encore, don’t draw straws to see who’s gonna come on stage and tell the crowd that you’re “really tired and just want to go to sleep.” Especially not two nights in a row. Friday, October 01, 2004
Poetry Got Me Off . . . the Space Station! I’m still reeling at how my dashed-off sestina was my ticket out on Reverse Survivor. Seriously, I waited until the last day to write it, and composed it in Notepad in between assignments over the course of a morning. Somehow, I feel empty now that I’m not being pressured to write. Perhaps I need to be pressured to write more often, eh? Besides that somewhat-instant gratification, here are some other happy-making things: -- My poker chips arrived yesterday. That’s right, Ebay’d a set of 650 professional-esque poker chips. They came in an aluminum case and weighed 22 pounds. (Feel free to make fun of me, Chipster.) -- Explosions in the Sky are playing in town tonight, and I’m getting in for free. -- I’m just generally in a good mood. On the flipside (and of course there’s a flipside), my car is leaking water from behind the dash on the passenger side. My wife’s coworker said it was a heater something-or-other. Look, I don’t know a lot about cars, but I do know that my passenger-side mat is saturated and my car smells musty. Thursday, September 30, 2004
W = Loser (I Wish) You know that I'd be remiss if I didn't make any predictions about the upcoming "debate." This may amuse about 1.5 of you, but I think: -- there will be some smirking -- about half the words Bush uses will be included in variations of the phrases "stay the course," "thugs and assassins," and "freedom to the people of Iraq" -- Kerry will be all aggressive and come off looking like a big ol' Massachussetts liberal Jerk (capital "J") -- the talking heads will pronounce that "Kerry didn't show us anything new" and call Bush the winner -- deep down inside, Bush will still be a loser I'll take this prediction thing a step further: Bush will win in November, getting about 55% of the popular vote and 295 electoral votes. And even further still, Colin Powell will retire from the Cabinet, we will have a military confrontation with Iran over their nu-cu-lar stockpile, kids will be drafted to fight, and Civilization as we know it will never be the same again. Or, I could soften that and go with the safer, less-flashy prediction and say between November 3 and the Inauguration, about 25% of Bush supporters will realize their mistake. And it will be too late to fix it. Ooops. Thanks, fuckers. Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Mixed Messages Management at our company has been fairly vigorous in its stand against sexual harrassment. Some of this stems from a printout of some teenage boobies on the community printer/copier a few years back. Usually, and especially since then, we're all pretty careful with our questionable e-mails and verbal commentary. Yesterday, as I was washing up and leaving the bathroom, one of the guys asked if I'd seen the new reading material in the stall. (There's an omnipresent pile magazines on the back of the comode, with titles like National Geographic and Water Well Journal.) He said it was only in there because it was the "Girls of the ACC" issue . . . of Playboy. The guy telling me this? Our Regional Vice President. Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Rituals My mother and I have birthdays that are two days apart. After she and my father divorced, we began a tradition of seeing a movie and/or having dinner on the day between our birthdays. Sometimes, this outing would include a stop to buy my gift (e.g., a pair of shoes). But growing up (more), getting engaged, and moving out of town put an end to that tradition. This year, we spent her birthday like any other Saturday, except that we ordered pizza during the football game. Oh, and Mia had a viral fever and was crying and had to be taken home early. But otherwise . . . just like any other Saturday. Sunday, we had planned to have a family “thing” with Michelle’s parents. I was going over early while Michelle ran Long story short, she had a Band Aid on her foot where there was no injury. I checked between her toes where all the dried blood was and found that her little toe was torn halfway around on the inside, and that pulling her toes apart I could see all the way into her foot. So, we spent the next four hours on an Urgent Care odyssey. When I finished that and her toe was surgically glued back together, it was a rush to the in-law’s house, eat some leftover pizza, open some presents, and eat some damaged (but very tasty) red velvet cake. So, the toe thing was the lowlight of the weekend. The highlight (even better than getting Interpol’s Antics before its official street date, was Michelle singing “Happy Birthday” last night at the Girls’ show. This is much more spectacular when you realize that Michelle hates being the center of attention for a big crowd and she doesn’t usually sing for anyone (mostly just Mia). I was truly awestruck. Still am, actually. Sunday, September 26, 2004
It's Just What I ALWAYS Wanted! Thank You, God! Another weekend in Florida, and you know what that means. That's right . . . Hurricane Jeanne. For my fuckin' birthday. Which, to be fair, is still a couple hours away. As I type this, the center of Tropical Storm (pardon me) Jeanne is less than 100 miles away. The wind is steadily 25 mph, and the rain is fairly constant. I have a candle burning next to the keyboard for that innevitible moment when the power goes out. Should be any minute now. This weekend hasn't been all it could be. I mean, yeah, several of my friends got together for a Thai dinner Friday night, followed by the yearned-for trivia. (For the record, Michelle doesn't usually choose to play trivia, but somehow wins once per outing. By "wins" I mean against the entire bar. She routinely kicks my ass.) The rest of the weekend, however, has been marred by untimely and unfortunately bad karm. A sick daughter and her sick cousin. A clumsy mother. And the aforementioned storm. There will be more details later, when I'm not ticking off the seconds in my head until the lights suddenly go off. Seriously, I promised drunk-blogging and I'm all too sober. Friday, September 24, 2004
33 I remember back when I was young, trying to figure out how old I would be on New Years’ Day 2000. Twenty-eight didn’t seem so old, so far away. But it took forever to get there. Since then, of course, things seem to have sped up. I can’t believe that it’s been almost five years since that New Years’ Eve. So, next Monday is the big 33. Only two years from the birthday I hear is scarier than 30, which was scary enough (until I was a few months away and realized that I wasn’t going to be a successful rock star and/or poet before I turned 30 . . . then it was just blah). Tonight, the plan is for thai food, and then trivia and drinking, and then possibly bowling . . . and more drinking. The rest of the weekend will probably be much of the same, with some football games mixed in. (I'd better increase my water intake.) Maybe I’ll stop in for some drunk-blogging. I’m sure Michelle will have a nice recap for everyone next week. Maybe there’ll even be pictures. Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Falling (Too) I was going to post about the beginning of We must be made for one another. Monday, September 20, 2004
Dread I remember the first time I saw Titanic. It was with Michelle. The thing that strikes me about that movie is how much it filled me with a sense of dread like no other movie had up to that point (no, not even Schindler’s List, which I paid to see three times). Yeah, I know, make jokes about the dreadful acting, or James Cameron’s dreadful directing (I don’t think either apply . . . well, except for Leonardo). But the movie just unsettled me. Made me feel less safe. I just wanted to crawl into bed with Michelle and our cats and hide for a few days. Like, wallow in hopelessness. Maybe it was the Irish kids lying in bed as the ship went down. Or the countless people being washed / swept off (or into) the ship. Or being smashed on/by various parts of the ship, or the ship itself. Or the mother and infant floating (frozen and dead) on the Atlantic. Seriously, the feeling I had after walking out of the theater was very similar to how I felt at about 10 a.m. Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Has a movie ever made you feel that way? Anyway, I’m sure you know what I did when it was on NBC last night. If you think it was “turned off the T.V., or at least changed the channel,” then you don’t know me at all. Friday, September 17, 2004
To the C--t* Driving in Front of Us on the Way Home from the Grocery Store** Yes, your carelessly thrown cigarette did hit my windshield. Even cars built after the year 2000 come with ashtrays, Countess Cancer. As yours was manufactured circa 1987, it should be adequately equipped to store your sucked butts. I realize that your ashtray might be full seeing that you're chain-smoking, and that the cigarette butt that bounced off my car was probably your 10,000th of the day and not likely easily remembered, but come the fuck on. THE WORLD IS NOT YOUR ASHTRAY. Okay, sister? It's disrespectful to me, and it's disrespectful to the environment. Use your ashtray, and roll up your goddamn window. Whore! * That's "cunt." ** Where's Enemyster when you need it? Thursday, September 16, 2004
Missed Over lunch a few weeks ago, one of my co-workers (the infamous IT manager) enthusiastically tore into Sierra Mist. He dismissed it as another X-Game drink (a la Mountain Dew), promoted by kids ramping bikes off buildings or surfing the waves generated by Hurricane Ivan at Jamaica. The guy said it fucking sucked . . . he may have even used those words. “Have you ever tried it?” I asked. No, he had not. I hadn’t either, which is when I got the idea that I’d bring in two cans of it and make him try it, in a nod to The Plug. Yesterday, I didn’t bring a soda to have with my lunch. And the soda machine downstairs has Sierra Mist. At $0.50 a can, it was a bargain to get two. I drank mine with my lunch yesterday and told my coworker that I’d gotten one for him. Honestly, it didn’t make much of an impression on me when I had mine. Today, he split poured half of his can into a glass and gave me the can, and we both drank in a not-so-blind taste test. His verdict: “A slightly altered, re-marketed version of 7-Up for you Gen X’ers.” My opinion was similar . . . not as painfully anti-flavor as club soda, but a lightly sweetened cross between Fresca and 7-Up. I’ll stick with Sprite. But thanks, Pespi Land --------------- So, it’s been windy today. It’d be great if it wasn’t in the upper 80s with 100% humidity. The power’s gone off three times at work; once, the exploding transformer sounded like a gunshot from about a block away. I’m actually ‘blogging my way out the door because, really, there’s not much more I can accomplish without our CAD designer . . . and some patience. ---------------- The first round of posts are up at Reverse Survivor. Mine should be easy to locate; it’s the really bad one. Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Florida is Throwing a Party, and You are All Invited (And by “You,” I Mean Natural Disasters) Y’know the people who forget to take down Christmas decorations, and then halfway through the year decide to just leave them up until the next Christmas? (Hey, you might be one of them!) Well, that’s how people around town are about hurricane preparedness. For example, several businesses boarded up for Frances and just left everything in place with Ivan on the way. Speaking for myself, I still have my sandbags exactly where I left them Labor Day weekend. I even trimmed our hedges around the driveway, front sidewalk, and back porch . . . and left the clippings on the ground, knowing full well that any flooding rains would carry them to our neighbor’s yard, and beyond. I mean, why rake when God or some Russian-named hurricane could do it for you? I didn’t even bother posting another hurricane forecast / tracking map for everyone’s amusement. Even though, once again, Tallahassee was in the dead center of the projected path. I guess I had a feeling that it would turn this time, despite the karmic retribution that was long overdue. Oh, wait. That retribution was dealt out to the population of Tallahassee by the Hurricanes a few nights ago. And by “population of Tallahassee,” I mean Chris Rix. Friday, September 10, 2004
I Didn’t Really Mean to Go Four Days Between Updates. I Mean, Christ, What Do I Think This Is? The Fucking Weekend? It started when my boss flew out (we think) to Key West on Wednesday evening for a six-day vacation. (I hope he didn’t really, because he would’ve been told to evacuate before he ever got unpacked.) So, basically, I have four business days to battle greedy, soul-sucking project managers all by myself. I know for a fact that there are two huge-ass reports due Monday, which will likely require me to put in some time this weekend. The upside is that this extra mental anguish / work could net me some beer, lunch, or the coveted “comp” time. (Yeah, thanks Mr. President, but I don’t GET overtime.) Anyway, all this means I’ve been busy as of late. Monday, my brain will be mush and my hands will be paper-cut-ed; if I post anything that day, it’ll be along the lines of, “lasdj lajsfd slasjf! Djkgjseic! %@#&!!!” So I might not be back until Tuesday. Unless, of course, I drunk-blog after FSU’s humiliating defeat to Miami tonight. (I won’t be making predictions as I did last season because, really, I have no fuckin’ idea what to expect out of our [once-mighty] Seminoles.) --------------- Oh! I’ve recently received word that I will be participating in Mister Crunchy’s newest season of Reverse Survivor. The first assignment is up. I can’t tell you my super-secret Survivor “code” name, but I can tell you I will be the last person left. And in Reverse Survivor, that’s bad. Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Have you ever been so geared-up with expectation for something, and then . . . nothing? All of you? Okay, so you might understand how I feel about preparing for this devastating hurricane-turned-tropical-storm-turned-I-stayed-in-my-house-all-weekend-for-THIS? Look, I’m not minimizing/poo-pooing the damage the storm caused to other parts of Florida, or the general threat that these storms present to coastal areas. I’m just saying that, had Charley not thoroughly fucked the west coast of Florida (partially by straying 100 miles off the projected course) only weeks ago, the population of Florida wouldn’t have worked themselves into such a froth; we need one of these every couple years to keep us on our toes. And I know that the hurricane mantra is, “Prepare for the worst, but hope for the best,” but, y’know, when I expend a good bit of time, energy, and mental capacity on preparing for a hurricane, I want the hurricane to bring it . . . at least a little bit. I mean, at least BE a hurricane when you get here. Seriously, I’m at work (and so is Michelle) but the entire state government, school district, and several major businesses are closed. I’m thinking that many owners, managers, and administrators were watching the weather yesterday (after declaring that they’d be closing up for today) and saying, “Is this it? Really?” So, as Frances was cruising toward West Palm Beach Saturday, I began keeping a ‘bloggerly timeline of events. Which, in retrospect, was a build-up to nothing. But here is some of what I -- Saturday morning, as Frances was inching her way toward West Palm Beach, Mike Seidel (of the Weather Channel) and Al Roker were embracing and exchanging sweet nothings. The Weather Channel’s location-meteorologist abuse was a running theme through the weekend. My favorite was when the poor girl in New Smyrna Beach (apparently a former local meteorologist) was almost attacked by a flying piece of sheet metal / aluminum siding. -- I would’ve been a lot more disappointed by Garden State if my expectations hadn’t been muted by my lovely wife. That said, I thought it was a good movie. Maybe not important enough to own on DVD, but I’ll probably watch it again someday. -- In a testament to our fair city’s steely public services, our power went out Sunday afternoon before the first drop of rain and before the wind had gusted over 30 mph. It was out for three hours. -- I spent an inordinate amount of my weekend locating, waiting for, making, and/or placing sand bags. Seriously. And that’s not including the ones that were graciously delivered by my father-in-law. -- Sunday night, things started picking up a bit more. The steady wind and threatening rain wasn’t enough to keep Michelle from going to the club, however. While she was gone, I got tired of lying in bed listening to the wind throttle the neighbor’s trees (waiting for the unsettling crack of a pine tree limb/trunk and certain death), so I got up and played guitar. Which I almost never do outside of band practice or performance. -- Soon after Michelle got home from the club and we’d successfully gone to sleep, a tree fell on her parent’s house across town . . . which we didn’t learn until the next morning. -- At 9 a.m. on Monday, our cable was out so I had to listen to NPR for an update on Frances. During the press conference, the state meteorologist said that it was projected to make landfall between two particular rivers. I had to check a map because my Florida geography ain’t all it should be. The point between those two rivers is the part of the coast (St. Marks) which is the closest to Tallahassee. Shit. -- During the afternoon, the weather was fluctuating between a standard afternoon rain and something moderately windier. My sand-bag breakwater wasn’t even being tested. -- Thirty minutes after Frances (now a tropical storm) had crossed over St. Marks (putting it very, very close to us), we decided to go to Michelle’s brother’s house for beer-drinking and card-playing. Our respective toddlers would be able to entertain each other and keep us from going completely batty. -- While eating their hurricane-preparedness food (Ritz Crackers and Easy Cheese) and drinking beer (AmberBock and Honey Brown), we played Texas Hold ‘Em ($5 buy-in) and watched our kids play with / fight over a succession of toys. Every once in a while, someone would lean and look out the window and comment on how little was going on. -- The girl the Weather Channel sent to monitor Tallahassee must have been very, very bored. “Y’know, guys, I wish this thing would strengthen to a Category 5 and wipe these fuckin’ people out. And I’m so bored, I wish I could die with them.” Thursday, September 02, 2004
Oh, C'mon, Haven't We Had Enough of These? Okay, UNCLE! I Give! I don’t know much, but I do know this: 1. Someone’s getting fired. 2. Zell Miller is easily riled. (And he may be an obsolete, covert Republican operative/automaton. Did you see his speech? Sweet Christ, with the, “AGAINST, AGAINST, AGAINST . . !” It was a total “Danger, Will Robinson” moment.) 3. We are fucked. And by “we” I mean the entire State of Florida. 
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Compassionate? or The Only Way I Could Attract Less Readers Would Be to Post a Copy of the Republican Party Platform . . . but I can’t find a copy of the fuckin’ thing. Seriously. I actually googled “2004 Republican Party Platform.” I found some articles commenting on it, and Fox News had a “draft” version that they Flash-ed into some interactive/click-y link-y window. But I want the raw, “ratified” version. I want the text of the whole thing. All together. But I don’t think I’ll find it. Because they don’t want me to. The GOP/RNC website, strangely, isn’t advertising their own platform. Could it be that they’re ashamed of it? Or maybe they’re afraid that moderate/swing voters will read it and be appalled. From what I can gather, the “official” platform comes out pretty hard and fast against gay marriage (calling for a Constitutional Amendment), against abortion, and against stem cell research. So, to help drive home their far-right conservative agenda, surely they must have a stellar lineup of speakers to appeal to their “base,” right? Perhaps some rousing primetime speeches by Rick Santorum, or Bill Frist, or Pat Robertson? Nope. All of the keynote speakers are moderate window-dressing. We have some pro-gay-rights, pro-choice guys like Rudy Giuliani and Ahnuld. This is typical, isn’t it? The parties run to their “bases” during the primaries and then to the “center” for the general election. And with things so polarized, you can understand why the Republicans want to hide their Conservative Agenda like a dirty secret. It’s, like, “Hey, let’s get Arnold to come out and talk about all the great things that America has to offer immigrants while we create policy that’s basically gonna close every door in their faces. Heh.” After Monday night’s lineup of everyone’s favorite “renegade”-turned-sellout, we were treated to standup comedy from Giuliani. Both of them carried the banner of how much unity there was after 9/11 . . . how the country supported the president, regardless of party affiliation. And how the world grieved with us. What they didn’t say was that the Bush cashed in every bit of that sentiment and sympathy and unity and used it to attack Iraq and push his Christian-Coalition-approved social agenda here in the States. Now I hear that the Log Cabin Republicans are considering whether they should endorse the president while, on the other side, there were some on the platform committee who actually wanted to make the planks more conservative. The head of the committee told Chris Jansing that they’re the inclusive party, and everyone’s welcome. Liddy Dole came out like a good salesperson to tell us all about the Platform. She seemed pretty happy about it. And that’s what it boils down to, folks: You can have exclusionary policies, and if they’re delivered with a smile, then you’re compassionate. Monday, August 30, 2004
Your Hand in Mine The weekend was jam-packed with activities, both of the fun and not-fun varieties. With Michelle’s parents out of town, we found ourselves cat-sitting . . . which quickly blossomed into full-on house-sitting. (The first night, given our schedule, made sense. But I suspect the second night just boiled down to, “Mmmm, king-size bed . . .”)* Michelle mentioned watching a movie after Mia went to bed Friday night, and I’m usually quick to jump on that. I think we even had her parents’ copy of The Italian Job lined up (for the job) when I discovered that ESPN was showing back-to-back installments of the World Series of Poker. So, I settled into Texas Hold ‘Em-ification, and Michelle activated her father’s recliner and got caught up on her magazine-reading. Saturday was another trip to see the Woodvillians. This time, I coaxed Michelle into going because: a) she hardly ever goes, and b) it was the weekend after Mia’s birthday, so I figured they were gonna do some celebratory thing. Which they did. It was actually a surprisingly nice trip, but that is probably partially because I played cribbage with dad rather than talking about things that may or may not matter. (I’ll just say, straight up, that no politics were discussed.) Dad’s wife’s nephew was in from San Antonio, so there was another distraction. And then bad karma was shifted in Michelle’s direction when she Saturday night, I was invited to another poker outing. On the way over, I listened to Explosions in the Sky’s The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place to convince myself that my poker game wasn’t a cold, dead place, either. Luckily, I wasn’t there long enough to find out (i.e., I only lost $15, rather than the customary $20 or $30). The highlight of the night, though, was the last hand, which featured a flop of three aces; the fourth ace turned up in the dealer’s hand. (By contrast, two of my best hands were the first two I got . . . which I folded. Had I played my usual game and not been a throbbing vagina, I could have won my first three hands.) Yesterday was “Try to Prove Yourself Handy” Day. I had quite a list of handy-esque things to accomplish. And being that I’m handy in the same way that George Bush is a capable president, I think I did okay. First, I successfully took apart the dryer and diagnosed the problem as a faulty element. Then I (mostly) put together our daughter’s new swing set. Until the thunder and lightning and subsequent rain started. Finally, today, I’ve had two reality-challenging moments: 1) standing at the counter of the Sears parts department while two people were helping one customer and the phone right next to them on the counter was ringing constantly and very, very loudly (I can still hear it echoing in my mind), and 2) seeing a car with a special Georgia plate that read “Give Wildlife a Chance” (or something similar) . . . and the car also had a Bush/Cheney ’04 bumper sticker. Hey, guy, why don’t you just track down some “wildlife” and give it a good ol’ American ass-fuckin’, okay? Because I’m sure the “wildlife” will thank you.** * Yes, the guest room has a king-size bed. ** especially if you give it the “reach-around” (What post wouldn’t be complete without a anal sex and/or Full Metal Jacket reference? Apparently many.) |
