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Friday, July 29, 2005
As I was watching soccer last night (DC United vs. Chelsea FC) and wondering if Styro was at the game (and then realizing that the Maryland stadium isn’t exactly right down the goddamn street), I was thinking about blogging about how fucking awesome that match was and what a true MLS believer I am. So, yeah, mission accomplished. I guess.

Tomorrow night, the band is playing at this club in Gainesville. Should be exciting. Should.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005
It’s one of those days when I feel like I’m stuck in the wrong lane. Literally. Y’know when you’re used to driving in the middle lane of a certain three-lane road and you’re coming up to a stop light and you notice a dump truck is in your lane and all the people in front of you are picking the right and left lanes so you pick the right lane and when the light changes you go by the dump truck but inexplicably remain in the right lane only to have nearly all of the cars in front of you making right turns at different places . . . and then the dump truck passes you a mile down the road. And you end up getting behind the dump truck at the next light anyway. Yeah, great start to the day. Mia didn’t really say much while I was carrying on, “Good God, I could’ve just stayed behind the dump truck.”

Thanks for all the ball-concern, The Internet. Truth be told, I’m still in wait-and-see mode. I had a physical with the same doctor yesterday, and I told him I’d monitor the symptoms (which seem to be dissipating with the brief-wearing treatment) until I decide I need to see a urologist. I think cancer and UTIs/bladder infections have been ruled out. Can’t say I’m too worried. Once things stop working like they should, or I feel like I’ve been shot down there, I’ll ramp up the worrying.

Monday, July 25, 2005
At the End of the Day, His Girlfriend Still Recorded a Godawful Country Duet with Kid Rock
While I'll admit I wasn't really rooting for America "Livestrong" in the Tour de France, I respected his words to all the "cynics" about cycling being a real sport and how hard it is. So . . . when is Jeff Gordon gonna stand in front of the microphone? Never. Because millions of Americans are convinced that driving around an oval for four hours constitutes "sport."

Thursday, July 21, 2005
tiny dancer

We went to a birthday party this past weekend for one of the girls at Mia's daycare. It was held at an indoor "playground," which is good because it was raining outside. A lot.

So, there was a slide and lots of riding toys. And a dress-up area which is where Mia picked up this skirt. There are more pictures, too. Including the ever-popular, ubiquitous cat shots.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Not sure how carefully I can walk the line between “interesting” and TMI, but my day has been just fucked up enough to walk that line.

Almost a week ago, I started having some pain . . . down there. On one side, mostly. (One of my balls was hurting, and the other felt great. I don’t want to be accused of being a prude, on second thought.) It felt similar to the hernia I'd had (before its repair 10 years ago), but for an extended period. In another context (guys), it might be how you’d feel an hour or so after someone kicked you in the balls.

Anyway, it was like that for a few days. Yesterday, it was getting harder to walk comfortably; I was groaning (audibly) when I had to move in a way that . . . provoked discomfort. Oh, and now the pain was on both sides. Googling produced a number of possible culprits, the most reasonable of which seemed to be relieved with anti-inflammatories, so I popped some Motrin last night and felt better. But I promised Michelle I’d call the doctor today. Which I did.

I had a “work-in” appointment for 2:45. I figured that afterward I could go back to work to get a head start on a particularly rough project that threatens to absorb much of my week . . . without going into too much detail and/or getting side-tracked. I showed up for my appointment at 2:35 and sat in the waiting room until almost 4:30. (As it turned out, I had been “worked in” to being the last patient of the day. Exploring all the long-unrelevant magazines you know in love. Good thing I’m “patient,” even as I’m mentally calculating how badly not getting back to work is gonna fuck me. Little did I know . . .)

Weight checked, urine sampled, blood pressure taken . . . the doctor came in and started asking the specifics. No, it doesn’t burn when I pee. Not an injury that I’m aware of. Sex drive not affected, no.

“Are you up for a prostate exam?”

Uh-oh. I hesitated but figured this totally unknown quantity might come into play. “Sure?”

He warned me it was going to hurt like hell. “You’re a brave man,” he chided.

Nothing that happened to me for the rest of the day, none of the mind-boggling inconveniences and frustrations, could equal that exam. I’m sure my gaybo little yelps of pain did little to make me appear more masculine. "Massaging the prostate" isn't as innocuous as it sounds.

Trust me.

Monday, July 18, 2005
Take the MIT Weblog Survey

Thursday, July 14, 2005

head with glasses
Originally uploaded by Scott-san.

This is kind-of cheating, because Michelle took this picture. While she was driving. But it gives you a preview of my hair. There's another picture of my daughter and I. Maybe you can find it faster than I can.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Yesterday, I was driving behind a pickup truck that was loaded with boxes marked to contain a range and a microwave. I guess someone was redoing his kitchen.

Anyway, right out of your favorite car-chase scene, stuff starts flying out of the back of the truck. Big, white packets. I ran the first one over because, well, it basically fell out of the truck and directly in the path of my right front tire. I looked in the rearview and saw something that looked like a styrofoam peanut come out, and I was thinking it was just packing materials. So I didn’t feel that bad when I ran over the next one.

Although, secretly (or not so secretly, I suppose), I hope there was something important in those packets. As long as it wasn’t a kid or a pet. Or a copy of the Constitution, because that motherfucker’s been through enough.

Monday, July 11, 2005
All These Hurricanes? Getting Old. Really.
Man, and I used to love Hurricane Season.

If you watched the Weather Channel at all this weekend, you probably saw the Dennis-related hype and hysteria. This stuff moves in cycles. There’ll be a yawner of a storm and then everyone gets complacent only to get ass-raped when the next storm comes through and then feels really let down when the NEXT storm comes through. Now the Pensacola area has had, what, two powerful hurricanes in eight months? Ivan kicked their asses, so everyone was frothing away for this one. The Weather Channel field people are getting themselves all worked up and, afterwards, it’s, “Here in Mobile, we recorded a wind gust of 47 miles per hour.” And standing in the road as the eye wall passed by, Jim Cantore exclaimed (paraphrasing), “We just had a wind gust that was easily 75 or 80 miles per hour!” Gusts? Not impressed. For a storm that had sustained winds of over 120 miles per hour?

Yeah, so, for the next one, we’re gonna drive to the beach with Mia for some family body-surfing. We're inviting the bull sharks, too.

As it was, we spent pretty much the whole day inside our house. Except for a jaunt to Fresh Market to buy some (overpriced) groceries and organic “goodies.” Oh, and when Mia and I went to Target in the afternoon (around the time the storm was making landfall 180 miles to the west).

The most amazing thing about the day? We didn’t lose power once. We live in a faberge egg of Tallahassee’s fragile power grid. They’ll probably wait until there’s some spectacularly beautiful fall day when I’m planning to watch a crucial football game, and then they’ll shut our power off for three and a half hours. Y’know, to balance it out.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Yippee Skippy(ies)
"Whores Don’t Get a Second Chance"
First of all, the photographs. It seems that taking seven cameras to cover our trip to Atlanta is akin to ordering the First Airborne to take down a preschool full of French children. Yes, yes, I did take some pictures. Nothing quite worthy of a Flickr account launch, although I’m still pondering. I guess I was hoping for a more impressive start. (Michelle’s few pictures were much more interesting and artsy.)

Now to the matter at hand. I’d mentioned doing a Skippies taste test (see previous post). The concept was simple: Give Ms. Brown’s version of the drink a test drive (and repeat as necessary). According to the Flickr post, the recipe was one part vodka, one part beer, and a part and a half of lemonade. Yum, you say. The proposed recipe hyped “cheap” beer and vodka and lemonade from concentrate (Country Time); we strayed from the path going with Hawaiian Punch lemonade, Smirnoff vodka, and Kirin Ichiban (in a can). Really, I don’t think this made a difference. (We were probably cursed anyway with Michelle’s sentiment that, “Beer and vodka just isn’t right.”)

I took photos of the ingredients, but it’s not much more interesting than reading the above, and the picture of the resulting drinks looks like three glasses of frothy piss. So, y’know. Anyway, I did document the conversation that took place during Round One. It was tape-recorded (and is transcribed) for your “enjoyment.” Er, enjoy:

(Scene: 10:14 on a Saturday night, apartment, child asleep in adjoining room, dimly lit, air thick with anticipation of scary drink and the impending Identity-viewing.)

Michelle is staring at the three glasses, as Ms. JAB takes hers (having already “called dibs” on it).

Scott: There shouldn’t be any difference.

Michelle (laughing): There shouldn’t be any difference.

Scott picks up one of the remaining glasses.

Michelle: You seem to want that one.

Scott (referring to the glass): Okay. Well, it’s square.

There is a clink of glasses.

Scott: Best of luck. (Long pause for drinking first gulps.) Wow.

Ms. JAB: It’s like you don’t taste the beer until the end, like the aftertaste is the beer.

Michelle: It tastes . . .

Scott (laughing): Yeah, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to drink very much of this.

Michelle: This is what I would imagine nail-polish remover . . .

Ms. JAB: Yes! That’s it. Nail-polish remover. It tastes like how it smells.

Michelle: It probably has nothing to do with the fact that I just painted my toenails, but . . .

Scott: It doesn’t smell like nail-polish remover. I don’t know what it smells like. But there’s, like, that much vodka. (Holds up a vodka shot glass indicating about 2 ounces.)

Ms. JAB (perhaps to Michelle, who put down her glass on the bar): You’re not gonna try to finish the first drink?

Scott: Um . . . we can.

Michelle: Ya’ll have fun with that.


(End scene.)

There was no Round Two. Ms. JAB and I finished our drinks, and then I started in on Michelle’s while finishing of the huge-ass can of Kirin.

None of this made Identity any more interesting, though. Which is sad. Very.

Friday, July 01, 2005
Loose Ends
No, this post isn’t about the Hilton family. But it is about the ‘kaze family. We’re leaving in just a few short hours for a long weekend in Atlanta. I’m all packed . . . with no less than seven cameras. We’re gonna be Flickr-ized next week, yo.

I’ve also packed some vodka as there’ll be some kind of Skippies taste test. I’m not sure how beer, vodka, and lemonade can taste great together, but I’m willing to give it a shot. (I read about Skippies on Sarah Brown’s Flickr page. Which reminds me of a dream I had about Ms. Brown, wherein we went to visit her except she didn’t live in Brooklyn but some unnamed NYC suburb 40 miles north of the city, but she STILL had a great view of Manhattan and we went to a rooftop party with her. Look, I don’t know Sarah on any level---I think I’ve commented on her site exactly once---but, y’know, whatever.) There’s a good chance that this taste test will be documented here. Should it actually occur.


So mom’s been home for almost a week now. Things are going pretty well. Getting her set up and organized has been a bit time-consuming, so any extra time I thought I’d have for blogging has gone to doing that. That, and getting SIX PACKAGES OF CDs out to some of you. Seriously, I’ve finally sent out (most of) the CDs we’d promised to send. In January.


I thought there was something else. Hmmm. Well, you could go here, but only if you’re totally bored and have nothing else to do. Or if you’re curious where all my political semi-ranting has gone.