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Friday, April 30, 2004
I Love You Means Never Having to Say, “I’m Sorry I Ate the Rest of Your Pad Thai.”
The past 24 hours (or 36 hours by the time I post this) has been a rollercoaster. That only goes down. Which might a good trait for a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend, but ain’t so fun for . . . y’know, this whole metaphor is just falling apart.

I wish that waking up to find my pad thai gone was the worst thing that could happen yesterday. Y’see, my honey (the same one who ate my pad thai) had a crap-tacular day at work yesterday. And ended up quitting. (Not the phone call I wanted to get in the middle of the afternoon, but she’d had a really shitty day, so I tried to be as supportive as possible while setting our financial future dial to “Self-Destruct.” Luckily, her ineffective supervisor beeped in and took her resignation as a bluff (which it wasn’t). So, reportedly, things were going to be starting “fresh” today.

Glad to know I can put away my harakiri death-mat. For now.

Other (somewhat trivial) bad things that have happened since waking up Thursday morning:

-- Mia played with my $12 Panama Jack sunglasses until they broke. I really liked those glasses.

Okay, so not much of a list. I mean, really, what the fuck, man?

So, I’ve been really busy this past week; I’m actually writing this on my lunchbreak. I still have a Christ-load of CDs to send out, including one for Mark who’s been doing some networking for my band. (Thanks!) And a special mix CD with bonus tracks for Mrs. Dayment.

But sometimes, nature provides a nice, distracting backdrop to our mundane existance. We had our first honest-to-goodness thunderstorm of the season this morning. I was trying to weigh the odds of being struck by lightning in the shower while I had a bowl of cereal. I decided to go ahead and take a shower, and listened cautiously to the rumbles of thunder through the mist and our tin roof.

If I'm struck by lightning in the next six months, it'll be because I talked shit about Dubya and he is, in fact, one of God's little lambs. But if I make it to Election Day unscathed, it'll be because I either didn't talk enough shit to enrage God, or He wants me around to see what Dubya has comin' to him (y'know, karma and all).

Or, maybe there's no God.

Thursday, April 29, 2004
A Choppa of a Different Sort
You may have seen this. A co-worker forwarded me the link. I’m not that video-game savvy, so I’m sure you can beat my top score as of this writing (1064).

Wednesday, April 28, 2004
It’s Just Another Random Wednesday (Whoa, O-Whoa-oa-oa)
But, unlike the Bangles’ song, Prince didn’t write this.



(Disturbing link courtesy of “Sugar Balls”)


Overheard at a thai restaurant in town last night: “Yeah, I think we’re going to need a draft.”

Thanks, Mr. President. No, really, thank you.


Okay, last night I watched the Deadwood I’d taped from Sunday, and here’s my question: Who is your favorite character, and why? Or maybe the most intriguing charcter.

Monday, April 26, 2004
It’s nice to have the rare weekend where we don’t have any real plans . . . no show(s) to plan around, no party or social gathering to get ready for. Our recent weekend plans didn’t extend far beyond Friday night’s Iron Chef event.

We’d tentatively planned to see a movie Saturday afternoon, so I scheduled my morning accordingly . . . taking mom grocery shopping and timing it so Mia was at the grandparent’s house for lunch and a nap. (They were going to keep her for the afternoon while we went to a movie.)

I met Michelle for a quick bite at Boston Market. As it turned out, we had time to kill after lunch, and decided to drop off one of our cars at the house on the way (not really) to the movie (The Ladykillers).

We never made it to the movie. When I got to the house (after stopping for gas), Michelle’s stomach was bothering her, and she didn’t feel like she could make through a movie. When it was apparent that any remaining plans for the weekend were fading fast, I contemplated lawn work. But Michelle’s stomach cramping subsided and we resumed talking about our lunch topic: looking at potential candidates to replace our gas-guzzling, British-built SUV.

It was all a hypothetical situation. Just like it was when we drove onto the lot with our VW Beetle six months before our lease was set to expire, and stumbled upon the godforsaken Land Rover.

We talked about the Scions (Michelle likes the boxy cars). We talked about cheap things. So, really, we had nothing better to do than go and look at cars.

It should be noted here that the three things I hate doing more than anything in the world are:
-- interviewing for jobs
-- going to the dentist
-- dealing with salespeople

The Scion (Toyota) dealership was very nice. The salesman was nice, too. We looked at it and were impressed. The test drive was fun. The negotiating process would’ve been great . . . if we weren’t thousands and thousands off from what they were going to give us for a trade on the Land Rover. (That turn from “hypothesis” to actual “negotiation” is never comfortable, is it?)

We still had time left in the afternoon, so we stopped by the Hyundai dealership to scope out the Santa Fe (not the one they had, but the model . . . of which they had, like, 20). The saleswoman (very motherly in a helpful, nurturing way) swooped in and showed us around. She let us drive one. Long story short(er), we bought a Santa Fe. Yes, we are rid of the Land Rover, although the spirit of it still haunts us (in the form of “negative equity”). We now have something that gets much further per gallon, and promises to save us lots of money in repairs and gas and insurance and humiliation at driving a yuppie mobile. Now we’re in a SUV that’s for sensible, but poor, people.

Friday, April 23, 2004
You’ll Always be Top Shelf with Me, Baby
Debbie recently posted about the concept of A-list ‘bloggers, and how you might wonder whether you fit into that category. Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll never be part of their world, but it’s nice to post something and see that there are 26 comments . . . even if several of them are mine. And all I had to do was ask what the worst song ever written was.


In case you didn’t know, tonight is the kick off of Iron Chef America: Battle of the Masters. Three of Food Network’s finest square off against the original Iron Chefs from Japan. I’m sure it’s mostly an excuse to put Bobby Flay on T.V. as much as possible. Hopefully he won’t win (again) and jump around like an asshole (again). Let’s have some respect, eh?

I’m curious why they didn’t get Anthony Bourdain to do it (he probably turned them down, if they even bothered to ask), or that sacred cow, Emeril Lagasse (probably because he’d go “BAM!” one too many times and Sakai would rush across kitchen stadium and chop off his big ol’ head).

So, yeah, what are you watching tonight?

Thursday, April 22, 2004
The Interview
Apparently, today is “Take Your Daughter (Child) to Work Day.” I only know this because the two daughters of The Boss™ were handing out interview requests. Not sure what this is about, but they want to spend a few minutes asking us about our jobs and what we do.

Should I feel a little nervous about this? I mean, on one hand, you don’t want to piss off The Man™ by ducking an interview with his pre-adolescent daughters. But the flipside is that the guy you ultimately report to is going to know (second-hand) what you said about your job to his daughters. It sounds like a lose-lose situation because, really, what 8-year-old gives a squirt of pee-pee about what my job entails?

“Yeah, well I read a lot of environmental and remediation reports. And I do a lot of typing. And copying. Hey, y'know, once I even wrote a report for your dad in, like, a couple hours, while he was telling everyone that he was locked in his office for a week and a half writing it. Funny stuff . . . hey, wait, what was the question?”

Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Bad Songs Say so Much
I’d heard about this list (from Blender) on the radio this morning. I’ve been looking around for the complete list . . . y’know, gotta make sure none of my favorites are on there.

Jefferson Starship’s “We Built This City” was named the #1 worst song. Don't know about that, but I agree with some of the other choices I heard. I’ve recently seen some minor debates at other sites as to what constitutes bad music.

For me, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” might be near the top of the heap, although there are surely worse songs.

What are your picks?

Monday, April 19, 2004
No Blow
So, I guess the major disappointment (for you) is that I didn’t get to see any extreme PDAs at the show Friday night. Or PDEs. Or PDFs.*

The Girls played first, and there was a band in between them and the main act . . . which we did not feel inclined to sit through. Instead, we went to wind down at The Space Bar (or is it Space Port?) where the singer for my band bartends on weekends. The Girls’ singer and her fiance (the ‘Ju) went, too. We got to hear several organ-only versions of Smiths’ songs. (Is that a "plus?")

This past weekend had a serene, yet unmemorable quality to it. Kind-of like a seeing a movie that you really liked, but you can’t remember what your favorite parts were, or can’t recall any good lines. I mean, there were one or two really memorable parts, but it’s not like I can I'm gonna tell you about it.

In other news, Michelle went home with a stomach thing, so send some well-wishes her way . . . y’know, if you feel so inclined.

And this series of strips (from the infamous Get Your War On) exhibits my feelings about the current Administration and the press conference better than I ever could.

* If PDAs are “public displays of affection,” then we could have PDEs (“public displays of erection”) or PDFs (“public displays of fellatio”).

Friday, April 16, 2004
The Education
I remember the last rays of Innocence. Of being a young boy in an E.T. shirt on the school bus.

It was sixth grade. The bus was nearing our neighborhood, when an older girl started quizzing the younger kids on sex. Most of us had seen the videos in elementary school . . . the ones that showed the differences between boys and girls. But the quiz on the school bus wasn’t quite that clinical.

I was asked if I knew what a “boner” was. And I did not.

It suffices to say that I’ve learned a lot in the past . . . um, many years. Much of that can be traced back to middle school. Of course, now, kids in middle school are probably engaging in all-night orgies and slipping roofies to their pre-pubescent classmates. Maybe I was behind, but I don’t think so. Not that much.

Sure, I learned a lot from my friends. And then my dad’s collection of Penthouse Variations and Penthouse Forum. And then my dad’s collection of Swedish porn.

So, I don’t really consider myself to be a prude. But where do I draw the line?

Tonight, the Girls are playing with this band. Michelle’s mom caught wind of the show’s lineup and the headlining band's reputation, and now she’s worried that, somehow, the Girls will be tagged as a live-sex act. The jury’s still out on whether we’ll be staying to see any of the headliner’s set. Or act. Whatever.

But if I see any real-live fellatio at the show tonight, you’ll the be the first to know, The Internet.

Thursday, April 15, 2004
Tax Day is All About the Drama
I did our taxes months ago and then put everything aside. I had planned to double-check my math before sending the paperwork out.

I sent everything this past Tuesday. Without really double-checking anything . . . just adding Mia’s social security number and making sure we’d signed the form in the right place.

And in keeping with the president’s nationwide bribe, we’re getting back a few hundred dollars more than last year. Hopefully, we’ll do something smart with that money. And then (smartly) vote for Kerry in November.

In addition to being Tax Day, it’s also the birthday of Ms. Jazz Hands (girlfriend of Mr. ADD and Girl on Film). To celebrate, a group of us are going to dinner at a chic (read: pretentious) eatery near where I work in the ‘burbs. I’ve been there for lunch and brunch, and it’s frequented by doctors’ wives in tennis skirts and attorneys. The food’s pretty good, though.

So, Happy Tax Day, everyone! And Happy Birthday, Ms. Jazz Hands . . . may your day be free of choke-holds and the “ground and pound.” Or full of those. Whichever you prefer.

Wednesday, April 14, 2004
It’s Like College, Without All the Drugs and Binge Drinking
I remember how cool it was when I started college and I could make my own schedule. My first full semester, I scheduled all Monday, Wednesday, and Friday classes so I’d only have to go to school three days a week. And it sucked.

I’ve noticed I’ve been on a MWF schedule here lately, too. And I don’t mean to be. I actually composed a thoughtful post for yesterday, but it was boring and purposeless. Kind of like this.


Anyone catch the press conference last night? I know, I’ve been resisting the political stuff but, obviously, it’s not every day that the Boob-in-Chief does a live press conference with actual reporters. I was heartened when some of the reporters stood up like men (even when they were women) and asked tough questions*. Was it just me, or did David Gregory (NBC) pretty much just call the president “retarded” . . . y’know, in so many words? But my favorite part was, after spitting that no-one wants to see “dead bodies” on the news, he said that it wasn’t a mistake to invade Iraq. Even if they didn’t have Weapons of Mass Destruction. Oh, and the part where he doesn’t make decisions based on opinion polls. Newsflash, Georgie-Boy: YOU AND YOUR PUPPETMASTER (Karl Rove) DON'T MAKE ANY DECISIONS WITHOUT TAKING A POLL OF YOUR BIBLE-RIDING COMPADRES!

Speaking of poles, didn’t Rove look like a smug asshole? I think it’s because he was wearing the president’s perma-smirk. That slick fucker . . . may his road to Hell be paved with the Santorum of angry, chili-eating men.

* All that sexism . . . I think I’ve been watching too much Deadwood. It’s my new favorite show. All the violence, all the swearing, all the dirty people in period dress. I was sold when a prominent character got shot in the head at the poker table with very little warning. Yeah, sure, there was a lot of foreshadowing during that fateful episode, but no pre-headshot chit-chat, like, “See you in Hell, Wild Bill.” Nope . . . just walk in the door, step close, pull out the gun, and BLAM!

Monday, April 12, 2004
Hallelujah! Christ is Risen! Oh, Look, Mia Picked Up Another Egg! (camera flash) What Channel is the Weather On? Can I Have Your Basket? Thank You! See the Pretty Bunny? Do You Have Any Regular Mustard? I Don’t Understand Why Anyone Wouldn’t Have Regular Mustard (Amen)
So, now I’m at the “other end” of the weekend. And I feel like it.

Quite the whirlwind of activity, the weekend was. (And writing Yoda-speak, I am not.) I’m still rundown; I could’ve (and should’ve) gone to bed when Mia did (at 6:30). Just one more bad decision to bring my lifetime tally to 4,326,985. Before the weekend, I felt so normal, and then . . .

-- In a Hell-focused society such as ours, it’s easy to understand why Dante’s Inferno is so popular. But it’s his less-adored work, Paradiso, that intrigued me most this weekend. Particularly the canto he left out, which continues to boggle the minds of grad students everywhere. This missing section involves a part of Heaven reserved for husbands who scrub the grout in their kitchen floors with toothbrushes and Soft Scrub in the hours leading up to wedding showers that their wives may be hosting in their houses. Yes, it’s an obscure canto, but I’m sure you can find some information on it.

-- I’m not usually plagued with severe bouts of heartburn, but I was this weekend. In fact, the only time I was not afflicted was after eating an entire medium pizza and chasing that with some ham and turkey roll-ups at a friendly picnic. The heartburn didn’t really rear its ugly head until after I went to dinner (still full from pizza) with Michelle, and then went to the club to play and had four ciders. And then . . .

-- I broke a guitar string. On stage. In front of a pretty decent crowd. Oh, yeah, and I was about to go into a guitar solo. Now, for someone’s who’s been “playing” guitar for almost 20 years, it should be fairly easy to transpose a guitar solo to another string. But being that I am, despite my experience and music-theory knowledge, a pretty sloppy guitar player, I was left thinking, “Fuck. How the Christ am I going to do this? What note am I sliding down to? Fuck.” The cider wasn’t helping matters. What I should have done was cover it up with some impromptu guitar noise that, given my situation, would’ve seemed appropriate. What I did do, however, was fake it. And sounded every bit like the guitar ‘tard I am.

-- What’s the best way to get last-minute things done before your family arrives for an 11-a.m. Easter get-together? Well, waking up before 9:19 a.m. would be a good start. Waking up perfectly sober and/or un-hungover would be good, too. Still, in my foggy state, I managed to use the blower to sweep the back porch (not a 10x10 square porch, either), clean pollen off the patio furniture, mow the back yard, take out the trash, and mop the kitchen floor (again!) with a broken Swiffer Wet (no handle, so on my hands and knees). In an hour.

-- It’s nice to have gatherings . . . at someone else’s house. And when I’m not hungover. But the combination of my mother and my father-in-law had me on edge. It’s like I’m a tennis ball being volleyed back and forth. One player is very shrill and likes to loudly commentate everything the kids are doing, and the other is very hard to please and likes to tell us what we need (or what we need to do). (I should ‘blog a list of the things that we need and/or need to do.) And, also, all the kid-related events (like egg “hunting”) seem less fun when its just an extended photo-op. So, anyway, I was ready for everyone to leave after a while. Sadly, “a while” came and went with people still in our house. (If you're reading this, I don't mean you.)

-- Do you know the muffin man? Yeah, because it’s me, motherfucka! Our daughter’s weekday guardian gave me her muffin recipe. So far, I’ve made applesauce muffins and (yesterday) sweet potato muffins. And they’re right up there with some of the better muffins I’ve ever eaten . . . y’know, if I do say so myself.

Friday, April 09, 2004
On Being a Fucking Mute
I’m totally half-assing this entire week . . . on my ‘blog, anyway. I could use the excuse that the quiz and/or burning CDs has taken a lot out of me. But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? (Yes, it would.)

Wednesday, we had that aforementioned appointment to evaluate Mia for any communication difficulties. The 45-minute evaluation revealed that Mia is, in fact, developing normally. Her receptive and expressive communication skills are in the average range. She does a lot of pointing when she wants something. And a lot of her “talking” is starting to sound more like words. Words that are lisped, yet enthusiastic. And foreign.

This weekend is gonna be a blur of wedding shower-hosting, Easter egg-hunting, rock-and-roll posturing, and mix CD making. I’ll let you know how it goes on the other end.

And you lucky kids who will receive the Glory Hole mix, a dare: Play Peaches’ “Fuck the Pain Away” at your desk. I can’t get that song out of my head. Just ask Michelle. (Well, that song, and Adam Green’s “Bunnyranch.”)

Wednesday, April 07, 2004
The Proof is in the Pudding
So, the quiz was a smashing success. Or a smash. Or something. Most of you who participated will be getting a CD. Or something.

We had a tie for first place between Bob and Mrs. Dayment. Bob will be receiving copies of the Spring mix and the Glory Hole mix, plus two other CDs (which I am currently at work on) at a future date. Mrs. Dayment will be getting the two featured mixes and something else . . . maybe a hand-drawn map from Ft. Myers to Tallahassee.

Estella and Amy obviously cheated off one another. I’ll have to figure out whether both of them will receive copies of the Spring and Glory Hole mixes. Really, I can’t decide which one would want it less. Both of these gals are so cool, though. I’ll have to work out something. (Maybe I’ll get my co-conspirator / wife involved.)

The rest of you who qualified will be getting an e-mail wherein I will solicit your mailing information. Have a merry Spring.


This past weekend started with Michelle calling me five minutes before she was set to get off work.

“Hey, I don’t know when I’m getting out of here, so don’t wait for me. I’ll probably be here ‘til fricking midnight!” (people shouting in the background) “Kiss Mia for me and tell her I love her and not to forget who her Mommy is.”

This past weekend ended with this exchange:

Me: “Will you be my friend again?”

Michelle: “Maybe if you rub my head.”

All the stuff in between included:

-- me watching Ultimate Fighting (there was no "Championship" that night) with Mr. ADD (It was a night full of surprises. More straight-up fighting and less of the “ground and pound.”)

-- Michelle painting the hall (the least-visible part of the house) for the third time since we moved in (and we didn't move in back in 1974)

-- me hanging curtain rods for our bare kitchen window (which we have been walking past naked since September 2000), proving myself to be the worst carpenter on the motherfucking planet (eyeballing vertical planes and using a tape measure is no-one’s idea of proficient carpentry)

-- me updating the tips from Home Engineering as it applies to bed maintenance (specifically how you can prop up a bed frame that’s missing a rivet and is, therefore, not structurally sound by using a stack of your wife’s magazines . . . those copies of Glamour, In Style, and Cosmopolitan are well-regarded construction materials)

Monday, April 05, 2004
They Don’t Love You like I Love You
Here we are again. I decided to combine my quiz idea with some heavy-duty ‘blog-pimping. You can post your answers in the comments, or send them to my e-mail. There are CDs for the top five finishers (or first five, if this quiz proves too easy). Fourth and fifth place finishers get the new “Spring” mix, and the second and third place finishers get that CD, plus a copy of the Glory Hole party mix. The grand prize winner gets both CDs, and then some. I haven’t figured out exactly what “and then some” is, but it’ll be special. Maybe even personal.

Some of you are getting a CD no matter how you do on the quiz, and you may or may not know whether you’re one of those people. The smart thing to do would be to try hard and get in the top five. Because everyone likes a guarantee.

1. A lot of bloggers have quit and/or gone on hiatus recently (mostly due to real-life people finding their blogs). Which one of these people is not currently on hiatus?
a. Caitlin
b. Snowy
c. IA
d. Estella
e. It’s a trick! They’re all on hiatus.

2. JenB recently had a baby girl, whom she named ____________.
a. Christina
b. Angelina
c. Sophie
d. Charlotte
e. Estella

3. Everyone knows where to find Michelle’s husband, obviously. But where would you find Mrs. Lady Byrne’s husband?
a. The Chucklehut
b. Witt and Wisdom
c. Briantology
d. Queserasera
e. In Mrs. Byrne

4. Amy Choppa is reportedly moving to a new city this summer. Which city?
a. Chicago
b. Atlanta
c. Boston
d. Peoria
e. Tallahassee

5. Styro has a dog named __________. Shampoosolo has a cat named __________. Mrs. Dayment has a cat named __________.
a. Sabrina, Benoit, Rufus
b. Rufus, Reno, Jalen
c. Mr. Humpers, Sidius, Shit Ass
d. Jason, Padme, Mr. Banks
e. Archie, Bear, Benoit

6. Two (in)famous bloggers recently had a contest to see who could mail a 45-rpm record to Amy Choppa the fastest. Who were they?
a. Leo and Sarah B.
b. Jules and Greg Howard
c. Styro and Eurotrash
d. Greg Howard and Sarah B.
e. Jules and Styro

7. Which of the following statements is true?
a. Debbie is a registered Republican.
b. Teahouseblossom was fired from her law firm and now works as a Nokia saleswoman.
c. She-Dork recently broke up with her long-time boyfriend, KSA.
d. Kat is a bisexual who has a strange (or not-so-strange) attraction to Patrick Stewart.
e. Julia is a bisexual who has a strange attraction to CW’s wife.

8. Mark refers to his daughter by the name of which actress?
a. Kyra Sedgewick
b. Lucy Liu
c. Renee Zellwegger
d. Nicole Kidman
e. Jenna Jameson

9. Her man may be out at sea, but her daughter (Mia) is still there when she comes home from work. Who is she?
a. Patricia
b. Deirdre (the Hootress)
c. Eurotrash
d. SJ (I, Asshole)
e. Kerry

10. This ‘blogger just sent me two CDs chock full of post-rockin’ delight, while the rest of you didn’t. Who is it?
a. Bob
b. Melly
c. J.R.
d. Enemyster
e. S. (from Down Yonder)

Friday, April 02, 2004
Monday = Quiz Day
This is all the warning you're gonna get. I'm going to try to post it at exactly 3 p.m. EST (or is it EDT?).

Sorry I don't have more for you. I've been slack today. We're actually drinking beer at work for someone's 10-year anniversary with the company. I've been working on the quiz and some other bloggitty goodness. If you're good boys and girls, I just might show it to ya.

p.s. -- You might want to familiarize yourself with my blogroll to prepare. Yeah, over there on the left.

Thursday, April 01, 2004
You'd Think . . .
that I'd have more imagination than this for April Fool's Day.

And you'd be wrong.

It's after 5 p.m. I had wanted to do so much more. Well, what I lack in imagination, I more than make up for . . . never mind. We know that that's not true.

In the meantime, put your mouth around one of these.