The Synapse Gap

CBGB

2006-10-17T07:49:00.000-06:00

Last night, the most hallowed ground of American rock music was sealed off forever and delivered to its rightful place in history. CBGB (actually CBGB & OMFUG) has lost its ongoing battle with the New York Bowery Resident’s Committee, and has been likely banished to – of all places – Las Vegas.

For those of you unfamiliar with CBGB, you have to imagine the lower regions of Manhattan. Just think of any Cagney or Bogart noir that takes place in the city, and chances are some of it took place in the Bowery. Once one of Manhattan’s most elegant strips, the Bowery became New York’s “Skid Row” populated with transients, alcoholics and the homeless from the 1920’s to the 1980’s. Most people steered clear of the area during the 70’s and 80’s due to the high crime. CBGB was at the heart of the Bowery – on Bowery Street itself with Bleeker Street pointing right into it’s front door. It was surrounded by – to use the pre-PC vernacular – flop houses and tenements. Mostly “men’s hotels” as they were once known.

The club itself was apparently designed along the lines of a shotgun shack. It was very long and very narrow. It had a bar running down ¾ of the left hand wall and ending just before the stage – a very small trapezoidal shaped stage that stood about 3 feet tall. The ersatz dressing room and bathrooms were behind the stage.

The man behind the club, Hilly Kristal, was a very no-nonsense guy. I had 2 conversations him. Once was when verifying directions and a few items on the contract rider we had given him. The other was when I was getting our money after our gig. Both times I felt like the biggest rube to come in from the sticks. He gave me the impression that he had seen it all, and I’m not sure he hasn’t. In the pictures I have been seeing of him lately, he looks like he has. When I last saw him, though, he had a full head of curly hair and a beard, and he looked like a younger version of Topol.

There are two things I will always remember about the set we played. The first is that it was hot and loud and once people found out we were from Mississippi, they kept screaming for us to play “Freebird”. I guess they didn’t trust non-southern bands to play it properly. Needless to say, we obliged – even down to the 3 guitars. The second was when I stood in the dressing room for about 20 minutes just reading all the graffiti on the walls. The New York Dolls, the Ramones, Television, the Talking Heads – all of them had played that very room and written things on those very walls. That will always be with me. And the photo I took of everyone standing under the awning…

So last night, Ms. Patti Smith gave the final show. Debbie Harry was there, too. I'm sure the party was long and lound. I wonder if anyone played "Freebird"?

I still have old copies of “Rock Scene” magazine from the mid 70’s full of shots of Patti Smith and Lenny Kaye, The Damned, Richard Hell, the Heads, the Ramones, Wayne County (ewwww) and a multitude of names and faces that meant so much to me. I remember being in Junior High and just imagining the scene. I used to read these magazines and dream of playing those cool Manhattan clubs. (I guess the equivalent of the stereotypical b-movie fodder - “the girl from Kansas reading the movie magazines and jumping on the bus to Hollywood”.) And while I never had the chance to play Max’s Kansas City or the Bottom Line (closed, closed), I will always have my memories of CBGB.

I don’t know if I like the idea of Hilly moving the club to Vegas, though. It might be a spectacular addition to Fremont Street, but it could never be the same. And perhaps he isn’t looking for it to be the same. And while I love Vegas, it’s hard for me to envision the gritty, dirty environment that I will always picture as the Bowery and CBGB and then reconciling that with the slick, choreographed, specatcular and money-grubbing Strip. For all it’s grime, CBGB also had a sort of innocence (not the right word, but go with me) that Las Vegas will strip away quickly and then turn her into a whore! I go to Nevada frequently, but I don’t know if I will be able to go to CBGB there. We’ll see…

By the way, CBGB & OMFUG means “Country, Blue Grass and Blues and Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers” (although I always believed it was “…Other Music for Under Ground”. I told you I was a rube!)

For more info, please visit the CBGB website.

Life without daddy...

2006-09-01T08:43:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow morning I will wake up, and it will be exactly 5 years since my father died.

Yesterday afternoon as I left the gym, it was five years to the minute that I had walked from the gym through the tunnel to the hospital across the street and talked to my dad for the very last time. I didn’t know he was getting ready to die. He was undergoing his second round of chemotherapy after having the leukemia suddenly decide that remission was boring.

A few years prior to that, he discovered (by accident) [well, the doctors doing the tests discovered – I just say “by accident” because he just went in for a physical even though he felt fine] that he had leukemia. The doctors gave him a “new” (that sounds like “experimental”) chemotherapy treatment. (In other words, they were guessing – and wrong at that!) It didn’t quite take care of all the bad stuff. So they gave him a second round. That wiped him out. He told me that dying of leukemia would have been much more acceptable. However, after all the sickness passed (after a stay in the hospital four times as long as expected) and the home nurses were through, the doctors declared him to be fit. He had lost a lot of weight, felt pretty darn good, and the next few years were spent enjoying life.

Then in July of 2001 it came back – with a vengeance. I was getting ready to do a cross-country drive out to Death Valley in August, and I asked him if he wanted me to stay. Silly me! Of course he said no. My biggest regret EVER is not cancelling that trip and getting a few extra days with him. A few days when he was not shivering and in agonizing pain – his state when I returned from my trip.

So 5 years ago yesterday I told him I would be back in a couple of days, and for his wife to call me if he needed anything. He felt really bad so I didn’t stick around long. So it was quite a shock when his wife called me up that Sunday morning and said that he was gone. At first I though she meant he had sneaked out of the hospital and she was blaming me for helping him!

As I was growing up, I watched my dad go from a 60’s boulevardier to a far right “Spotlight” reader and then back a little to just left of far right. But he was also a very smart man – the smartest I have ever known – and could listen to your arguments against him and see your point. At least as long as you were able to do so lucidly and with proper grammar. Our debates were fun. “I can’t believe that you actually tell people you voted for Clinton” he would say derisively. I wonder what he would think of the current regime. I know he would have some issues with W. W is not a thing like his dad. My dad liked George H. He flew in the Navy and was shot down. He liked John McCain (who flew in the Navy and got shot down). My dad flew in the Navy (I have his flight log right here!), but he didn’t get shot down. I guess that makes him better than they! Anyway, I don’t think he’d like W. He was a Reagan man!

His crazy wife waited forever to have the funeral. She’s weird. She threw out a bunch of his stuff and then told me about it later. “Well I didn’t think you wanted it because you aren’t sentimental” she said. Who the fuck are you, bitch! He was my fucking dad!!!! I don’t talk to her very much. I knew her daughter before she met my dad. Her daughter was a freak. Not to far from the tree, as they say. She was a party girl, for sure. She even used to bang (to use the vernacular) several of my buddies. I was at my dad’s fixing his computer many years ago and he said “Laura went and got herself got knocked up!” Crusty, old guy slang for pregnant. I was waiting for him to use the word “simoleon” next. He and his wife raised that child (because she wasn’t balanced enough) and then when she went on a tearing, drug induced rampage my dad really wanted his wife to have her committed so they could adopt him. She wouldn’t do it, so they raised him anyway but without parental rights. What a stupid bitch (his wife/her mom). She committed suicide last year. Not his wife… My dad really loved him, though. And had my father lived, the boy would have been much better off for it now. But now the kid is a freak because his mother had control of him for 4 years without my dad’s influence.

So anyway she (his wife) had him (my dad) cremated and we had the funeral and she dumped his ashes in the woods he loved so much. That was September 10th. The next day, well… you know what happened. I used to joke with my friends that the terrorists knew that everything was clear, since we had just buried my dad. But it was tough. My “go-to” guy was no longer there. I wanted to find out what his take was on everything, and couldn’t. I still find myself thinking about something and telling myself that I need to call my dad and get his take on it…

My other regret is that I didn’t get my pilot’s license while he was alive. He took me flying when I was a child. The first plane I ever flew in was a Beech D-18. I was 4. I thought it was so cool that my dad was driving! IN THE AIR!!!!! I can still remember that flight. It’s one of the memories that I am pretty sure will pop up in my last minutes on earth as well… Anyway, after having 2 kids and starting a business, he just couldn’t find the time to fly anymore. I started flying when I was 13, but ran out of money after just a few hours – long before being ready (or old enough) to solo. Every few years I would get to fly. So the week after the FAA let the planes back in the air, I called my old instructor and started lessons again. Unfortunately, I was then working in Savannah for 2 weeks at a time, coming to Jackson every other weekend to see my cat and check on the house, and then taking flight training in Greenwood. Slow going! Once I moved back to town, I got a local instructor and advanced rapidly. I soloed on 9/11/2002. (That's me coming back from my first solo!) And ever since, I have made sure I went flying on the anniversary of my dad’s death. Actually, on the first anniversary (a couple of weeks before my solo), my instructor and I did an early morning flight over to the Jackson airport (the big airport) and I was coming in for a landing on 16L, several deer went bounding across the approach lights. It was nice. I thought of my dad immediately. So hopefully, this weekend I will be able to get some flight time in. My girlfriend loves to fly, so that’s definitely a plus!

Occasionally, I see my dad. Not really, but occasionally I will pass someone that bears a striking resemblance. Of course, once I do the double take and get a really good look, there is hardly any resemblance at all. But I’m sure my stares have a most disconcerting effect on the “victim”. I guess it’s because there’s so much stuff I want to tell him that he’s missed out on. And I would love to be able to introduce my girlfriend to him. She would love him.

I have become my dad, in a way. The daughter of one of his old buddies gave me some pictures she found a couple of years ago. They were taken on Cat Island, in the Mississippi sound. (Every year around this time he and some of our friends would go camping for a few days. I remember being miserable when I couldn’t go. They finally took me 2 months before my eighth birthday on August 13th and we stayed until the 15th. In 1969. Ring any bells? Yes – Hurricane Camille was bearing down on Cuba – unbeknownst to us. This was before Jim Cantore started showing up a week before a hurricane would hit. Data wasn’t very good back then. Fortunately, we heard it on the radio. I remember thinking the Gulf was mighty angry when we were riding the pre-storm winds and waves in. It’s the only time I have ever been seasick. 2 days later, she hit.) Anyway, when I first looked at those pictures she gave me, my first thought was “where did she get those pictures of me?”. I don’t remember my dad’s goatee (it was a Vandyke, actually). I have only seen pictures. But looking at these, it was like looking in a mirror. I still run into friends of his, and they get weepy when they see me. I have become my dad.

Except that I would vote for Clinton. Again. In a heartbeat!

I love you, daddy!

Happy Birthday to meeeeeeeeee!!!!

2006-07-28T09:20:00.000-06:00

Yes, it has indeed been a year since I started posting to this blog. It seems almost like yesterday that I was a wee lad in short pants, dreaming of one day making daily posts to a blog, and having scores of fans hanging on to my every word, waiting for each witty pearl that I passed down.

Of course I have done no such thing. Tumbleweeds scurry across my page, and in the distance you can hear a screen door banging forlornly in the wind. What readers I once had have now gone on to better and brighter blogs. The sound of merriment no longer fills the room.

Too bad.

Well, since it's my birthday, I will tell everyone my birthday wishes.

I wish that Anne Arkham's sister would make a miraculous recovery, and that she (Anne) would finally get a really cool job and start posting again.
I wish that CheesburgerBrown would get some more books published, and that Oprah would tell everyone that he is the greatest living writer, hurtling him on towards multiple best-sellers. And I wish for his children to grow strong and happy and wanting nothing (although I have an idea that will be the case even without my intervention)
I wish that Steven Spielberg would show up on Neilochka's doorstep, begging him to screenwrite his next project which then becomes the highest grossing movie ever. And that he and Sophie would get back together. (Yes, I'm a sap!)
I wish for DeadpanAnn to get a job in a wonderful schools system and that decades from now, she and Tim are swamped by mail and calls from her past students telling her how none of their successes could have been possible without her guidance.
I wish that 1-2-3/Grumpy Teacher/Derek would finally get laid, and by a cute, smart girl!
I wish that TC Byrd would start writing again, so I could keep up to date on what's going on in Hattiesburg. And I wish for her pending nuptials to go flawlessly - even if she wears Doctor Martens.
I wish that Hillbilly Mom will enjoy her new home, for the sake of gummi Mary and all that is holy!

So let it be written... So let it be done!

Road Trip - Part 3

2006-07-14T09:28:00.000-06:00

Day 7 - Wednesday, 7/5/06

The last time to ever wake up in Suite 12403 at the Stardust West Tower. We took a nice bath together in the Jacuzzi and then a good, long shower. Grabbed muffins and juice at the lobby coffee shop, tipped everyone huge, and hit the Boulder Highway towards Henderson. Stopped for provisions in Henderson and found no avocado Pringles. Damn! Traffic over the damn dam was atrocious. (Go figure the traffic at Lake Mead would be bad over the July 4th holiday!) Wasn’t even halfway down 93 to Kingman when my girlfriend passed out. Woke up at the same Chevron station (fortunately the one-tooth burper was off duty) where we gassed up. I was learning that the Marquis did not hold a candle to the Impala we traded in when it came to gas mileage. And out west the gas is about 40 cents higher per gallon than back home. Ouch. This was going to cost me, now.

At Kingman we took route 66 northeast away from the interstate. This is (I think) the longest, unbroken stretch of original 66 left today. Some areas can only be described as magnificent desolation. Did I steal that from some astronaut? Sounds good, though. After winding up the hills through Hackberry and Peach Springs. You can see the southern end of the Grand Canyon from here! Not many people know this. On past Grand Canyon Caverns and Truxton. The road runs next to the Sante Fe RR through here, and we must have seen 12 huge trains in 150 miles. Long ones, with several locomotives pulling and a couple pushing! We were making our way to Seligman (what many consider to be the Capitol of 66) when, of course, the rain set in. A nice hard one, too. Couldn’t see the mountains, save a random glimpse through white sheets. Lightning flashing… Then about 2 miles west of Seligman it quit!

Stopped at the World Famous Snow Cap while in Seligman. Quite a crowd stopping by to get squirted with fake mustard. I also learned that since my last trip the owner, Juan Delgadillo, tossed in his apron, as it were. He died a couple of years ago. But his sons have taken over and seem to be keeping the place up to the same standards. The late Juan’s brother Angel was pretty much instrumental in creating the Nation Route 66 historical society in Arizona. “The Mayor of Route 66” is how Angel is referred to in just about any Route 66 book you can pick up. I did not see him, and unfortunately I did not talk to the boys and their families. It was like being in the presence of Pete Townsend or Keith Richards. But I took photos and we told everyone goodbye and got back on the road.

At Williams, we made a left through town (Arizona really touts it’s 66 traditions well) and moseyed on up to the Grand Canyon. We arrived about 6:30. It was cold and the threat of rain was in the air. I had been making big plans for this moment, timing the trip to arrive at the canyon to catch sunset. It also looked like all my plans were going to be for naught. Lots of tourist (duh!). This is where I realized that dads on trips are assholes to their kids and wives. I had been making these observations for a few days, but this one asshole really nailed it here. Plus he was rude to my g/f when she accidentally nudged his tripod. Dude! It’s not film! You can erase and shoot over! Now can’t you see I’ve been waiting patiently for your spot? After a span, the throng diminished. The light was fading fast, but I had my tripod so I could shoot good 20 second, light-gathering shots. It was us and one other couple (the girl had a nice Canon). We were all watching the little slice of clear sky on the horizon that we knew the sun was going to hit in a few minutes. We had out positions… Bam! Gold! In about 45 seconds, the crowds returned (except for the ashoole. Good!) but we stuck to our hard-earned positions. Once the sun passed the slit of clearness everyone left again. We remained but it was not to be. So at least we had that.

Back into the car and into Flagstaff. Checked in at the Fairfield and went exploring for some grub. We were both starving. I got a sammich at Arby’s, she got a salad and potato at Wendy’s. Stopped at a gas station for beers, when lo’ and behold - Wasabi Funyuns! Mmmmmmmmmmmmm! I had seen the BIG bags in L.V., but no small ones. My patience was to be rewarded! Went back to the hotel, ate, drank and passed out (after some really good “what a great day” sex!)

Day 8 - Thursday, 7/6/06

After 3 nights in the huge, spacious suite in Vegas, the Fairfield?marriot – while nice, don’t get me wrong – was like waking up in a steamer trunk. The bathroom was so cramped that you couldn’t touch any toiletries on the counter without knocking something over. But we managed more sex, a shower, followed by more sex. Then breakfast. Which tastes so good after sex! (Yes – I haven’t been talking about sex much, but as I said on the first installment, Oklahoma City and Amarillo were the only 2 times there was no sex. I figure you would get tired of hearing about how incredible I am! HA!) Anyway, the day was bright and clear (a rarity) and I was hoping to finally get some of the pictures I had planned (blue sky, puffy clouds, road and telephone poles looming into the horizon) but it was not meant to be. The good stuff was to be behind us all day (where we had been, dammit). A quick check of the groceries turned up no Avocado Pringles.

Bought more water and struck out to the next destination – Tucumcari. On all of my trips I had only been there during the day. I always longed for the chance to shoot the wonderful neon signs. This was to be it! Stopped at the Jackrabbit (what a wonderful place) but Two Arrows has fallen into such a state of disrepair, I just drove on by. Passed Meteor Crater again. Stopped again for gas in Holbrook (but no DQ this time). My g/f passed out about 2 hours west of Albuquerque. We stopped at Garcia’s in Albuquerque to get some more-authentic-than-you-can-get-in-Mississippi Mexican food. What a great place. I love Albuquerque. But I hate typing it. Go ahead – try it!

Drove into Tucumcari about an hour after dark, and was shocked to see that half of the city was dark. Even the streetlights! Had there been a power failure? I was crushed, yet again. Got pictures of the Blue Swallow and Teepee Curios. The rest was a bust, though. Disheartened, I drove on to Amarillo instead of staying in Tucumcari.

Of course, arriving in Amarillo at 1AM when there is a Jehovah’s Witness convention AND a rodeo does not make for an easy time finding a bed for the night. After stopping at 3 different places, the clerk said that the only place he knew of that had rooms was the EconoLodge. We had trouble finding it (since the name had apparently changed in the last five minutes) to the point where I almost drove on to Dallas! But my navigator – sleepy though she was – saw the little sign that said “formerly EconoLodge” and we checked in.

I have learned one thing. In my youth spent in a touring band, I had no qualms about stayin gin less-than-savory digs. Although I liked the really nice places with bellboys and room service, we wisely chose to bring back lots of money instead of spending it. In the autumn of my years, however, I now look askance at places that would have bothered me not at all 20 years ago. And I absolutely will not even think about checking into a motel that has different colored doors for each room.

While the “Luxury Inn”, as it was now known, boasted all the same color door, it was one of those places where I was sure I did not want to walk on the carpet in my bare feet. And while she passed out quickly, I wasted another 45 minutes trying to slumber. Such was also the case in Oklahoma City. So now you know my secret - I can only have sex in nice hotels.

Day 9 - Friday, 7/7/06

At about 4:45, some d*ckhead decided to roll his suitcase down the stairs just outside our room, instead of carrying it. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! I laid there for about another hour trying to get back to sleep, but it was not meant to be.

After a quick shower, I woke up baby girl and tossed her in the shower. As I was carrying the luggage to the car (carrying, not rolling down the stairs, mind you), my nostrils were assailed with the rich smell of bovine excretions. Welcome to Texas, y’all!

Again, no Avocado Pringles. Bought some beer to have icing down for our arrival in Dallas. Road a highway I have never been on before... Saw Wichita Falls... Made it into Dallas around 4:30 and checked back into the Sheraton Suites... Got the requested room on the downtown view side… Took showers, closed the curtains, and had sex until 7:30. Ordered room service, popped open the beers and watched “Monsters, Inc.”. Stood out on the balcony and took pictures of the Dallas skyline and watched the crowds leaving “Medieval Times”. A couple of hours later, drunk and sore, we passed out in a hotel for the last time on the trip.

Day 10 - Saturday, 7/8/06

Woke up around 7:30. Showered, occupied ourselves for about an hour, got dressed, wrote postcards, checked out, went to the post office for stamps, and then went into Dealy Plaza. We wandered around there and at Pioneer Park for a while, then headed back up to Northpark for Le Madelaine and the Puzzle Zoo (my new favorite store in Dallas). I bought a 2 level maze, a 3D Puzzle (level 4) and a wind-up bucking donkey. New office toys. Headed out Northeast Highway, got on Highway 80, hit I-20 at Terrell. Stopped in Kilgore at the Albertson’s to score some Lone Star beer, but was denied. So I settled on Asahi and Dos Equis. Crossed into Louisiana and stopped at the Welcome Center at 4:30. Hit the Mississippi River at 7:00. Dropped my girlfriend at her apartment at 8:00.

On Sunday, she came to my house and we had a clothes washing party, made a big salad and decompressed. It finally caught up to me and I passed out at 2:30. We woke up at 6, I took her home, went back to the house and went to sleep, after setting my alarm to wake me up for work at 5AM.

The trip was over.

Epilogue:

While my girlfriend has been to Vegas prior to now, she has naver made a trip like this one. I had the most fun showing her pieces of Americana that she never new existed or had only read about. I can never thank her enough for her patience and understanding, either. ANd we are looking forward to the next trip. Perhaps Mount Rushmore and the big sky country...

I shot about 500+ pictures, dumping the chip to my portable hard drive daily. I just haven’t dumped them to the PC yet. Then I have to convert them all from raw format to JPEGs. So I promise – pictures are coming soon.

Road Trip – Part 2

2006-07-13T11:00:00.000-06:00

Yes, it's long. But so was the trip. And I keep remembering stuff, so this is good!

Day 4 – Sunday, 7/2/06

I love Albuquerque. I like the people, the smell, the view and the grocery stores. Most of all, I love the fact that you can get Avocado Pringles there. Never again did we see these on the store shelves. It was a fluke.

Had a quick “continental” breakfast at the hotel (since we were Club Level – woohoo) and hit the road. But first we visited Smith’s grocery and purchased munchies and lots more water. Also, we deposited a large batch of postcards into a mail receptacle. Jumped onto Central (old Route 66) and headed west through “old town”. Beautiful. We also invented a new term – “Jesusy”. As in pressing the scan button on the radio, listening for a second and saying “sounds Jesusy to me.” Scan… When out west, you go through spells where you can only receive 2 stations. One is Mexican. When you have several stations, about 60% of them are “Jesusy” – at least on a Sunday, they are. Occasionally a good rock station. These increase exponentially as you cross state lines.

Here I must also add that in all of my trips to the southwest – including Death Valley – I have only seen it rain twice. Once, I saw a rogue storm scooting across the Arizona desert near Meteor Crater. Another time as I was driving back from Death Valley to Vegas, I could see angry clouds over the mountains near Pahrump, and the Vegas radio station I was listening to was giving traffic reports that would have fit well at Gomorrah. By the time I crossed the pass, it was over. Las Vegans driving in rain are somewhat akin to Mississippians in ice, apparently. Anyway, from the time we left Albuquerque, we saw storms every day until we went back through Albuquerque. They (Albuquerque) had over 2” of rain while we were in the SW area (compared to 1.5” in the previous nine months).

Most of the morning we played the “guess how many miles to that farthest rise in the road” game. My girlfriend is a wonderful travel companion, I must add!!!! We also noticed that we were both starting to miss green. Not much green to be found out there. We found more nice stretches of Route 66 and tumbled into Arizona around noonish or so. Lots of nice dinosaur statues along the road as well. We stopped in Holbrook for gas and burgers (at an ancient DQ) and hit the road again. No time for fooling with Rt 66 as we were trying to beat the weather to Meteor Crater. She had never been and I knew it would be a treat for her. Remarkably, the storm we drove through stopped 4 miles east of the crater. And from the “moon tower” overlooking it, we had a splendid view of the east side storm and another on the west side. We could also see smoke from the Sedona fires. Creepy.

While at Meteor Crater, I saw 2 girls (actually, they were “grrrrrls”) placing a Styrofoam chicken to be photographed with one girl, then the other. As we were walking up the steps from the observation post inside the crater, I noticed that this chicken had “Bob Mould” printed on the bottom. (Of course, I’m sure you all know that he was the songwriter/guitarist for the great Husker Du, before embarking on his solo career.) So I had to quiz them. These two were probably in their mid twenties and looked like a nice couple, and I was impressed that they would even know who Bob Mould is so I stopped to ask them about it. Their reaction? “She (the chicken) went to his show. Wow – I can’t believe you know who Bob Mould is!” This made me feel really old. I mean, Bob and I were playing the same clubs at the same time, way back when. He got famous – I did not. Then they also proudly displayed John Doe’s signature (and were duly impressed when I knew about “X” as well. You may remember him as Amber Wave’s husband in “Boogie Nights”.) Anyway, that chicken has been to some pretty cool shows. But how old did they think I was? “Yeah, I never got anything new once my Edison Cylinders wore out…” Hmph. They probably don’t even remember LPs.

Back on the road, we bypassed Winslow, the Jackrabbit and Twin Arrows because we were kind of in a rush to hit Hoover Dam before nightfall. It wasn’t to be, however. We watched the mountains of Flagstaff approach and marveled at how green everything got as we entered the Ponderosa pines. We crossed through 7000 feet and the Arizona divide, and then she passed out until Kingman. Again, drove through a pretty heavy storm, but then I got to watch a great electrical storm stuck in the valley at Kingman for about 30 minutes as I approached. Stopped for gas at the Chevron at the bottom of 93 and got waited on by a woman with one tooth that burped out loud – I mean LOUD! Headed north up 93 into that electrical storm and missed the best opportunity I will ever have to get pictures of lightning, mountains and sunsets. I could kick myself. (I just did!)

Crossed the dam exactly at 9PM Pacific Time. Breezed through Boulder City and Henderson to be welcomed with a view of Las Vegas herself, sprawled out and twinkling. What a sight! Made the trek into town and got stuck in traffic on the strip, of course. It took 45 minutes to go the length of 2 casinos. But we got to watch the Bellagio fountains, so it was cool. Made it to the Stardust at 10:30.

For those of you who don’t know, the Stardust will be imploded at the beginning of next year. She is one of the last of the original strip hotels. This is the only place I’ve ever stayed in that city – and I always get suite 12403 on the 24th floor. There are nicer places to stay, by all means, but from here you get the best view of the strip, and if you stay during the week you can get a 1000 square foot room for $140/night. Great bed for king-size sex, too! The bathroom is bigger than my bedroom at home! Huge whirlpool and a walk-in shower with a bench. The shower alone is about the size of my bathroom. She’ll be hard to replace. Anyway, we ordered room service and several beers, stuffed ourselves, got tipsy and passed out.

Day 5 – Monday, 7/3/2006

Skipped breakfast. She wanted to go to the Korean BBQ we passed on the way in, so we struck out on foot. It was only 90 degrees. We walked through the new mall (I think it’s called “The Fashion Show”) that sits between the Frontier and Treasure Island. They know how to do things right, for sure. It was cooled to within an inch of your life, lots of stores (that stay open LATE) and a great food court. Coming out of there, you have to take a bridge to the next corner and then around the front of Treasure Island (as opposed to walking through the casino – I prefer outside). 91 degrees. Past the Mirage. 93 degrees. Caesar’s Palace. 94 degrees. Stopped at the Bellagio under a blessed shade tree. We had only walked 1 ½ miles, and even though you don’t sweat out there, I could feel it sucking the life right out of my body! I came very close to diving in the fountain! Once past the Bellagio, we had to hop to the other side of the street just past the Aladdin. Our destination was just this side of the MGM Grand, behind the Walgreen’s. Ate some wonderful Korean food (I had never experienced it before) and then moseyed up the other side of the strip, past Paris, Balleys, The Flamingo and the (new) Hilton and Harrah’s. Went into the Venetian. I love that place. Got to see a couple of free performances, but didn’t ride the gondola as the lines were pretty long. Finally made it back to our hotel for a quick shower. The plan was to drive out to Death Valley and go exploring, but the rental car began showing signs of stress and developed a rumble at top speeds. We turned around at the Hualapai reservation and abandoned Death Valley. I am kind of sad, and she has never seen “real” desert before. But it would certainly have sucked to have the wheels fall off out there! So we went back to the hotel and then walked down to T.I. to catch the cheesy pirate show.

The cheesy pirate shows are at 7, 8:30, 10 and 11:30. We arrived at 6:30 and it was already packed. So we listened to it (oh, it is so freaking goofy) and then immediately parked ourselves in a good spot for the 8:30 show. (Yes – I am the best boyfriend in the world.) Chatted up with a nice lady and her friend (turns out she’s from Australia), watched the show and then tried to get some food. The food court at the Fashion Show closes at 9, by the way. So back to the hotel for more room service! Whee!

Day 6 – Tuesday, 7/4/06

Happy Birthday, America. Ran into some Brits in the elevator (excuse me, the lift) and had to chide them somewhat. Went to the Budget Car Rental to exchange vehicles. They tried to downgrade us to some trunkless wonder that was beeping for an imminent oil change. Went back in and managed to wrangle a Mercury Grand Marquis out of them, but I was going to miss the Impala. The new car had leather seats (instead of fabric). But Tony Soprano could have stuffed several bodies in that trunk. Of course, it was showing 37% oil life left, but at that point, I was ready to go.

Drove out to Henderson to find out where the fireworks show would be that evening. Can you believe that no one at our hotel knew where any fireworks shows were? Nor did the paper say anything about fireworks in Vegas. It just happened that 3 weeks ago I googled Vegas fireworks and found a small blurb about Henderson. So we visited and talked to an uber-polite EMT coming out of a 7-11 carrying what could only have been a seven gallon soft drink. He told us where the park was, how to get there, and what time we should show up to get a good spot. It turns out this was an annual festival they do. Lots of kiddie stuff, some food, etc… And fireworks. So we went back to town and visited the new Wynn Resort – the newest since the Venetian (which was the newest on my last trip). I must say that it is indeed the most sumptuous and well appointed place I have ever been. But it still wasn’t as fun as the Venetian.

Then we hit New York, New York and rode the roller coaster. That was a stone gas, baby! I really wish we had gone again (it’s cheaper, then) but for some reason we did not. We wandered around inside (got lost, actually) and then made it over the the MGM Grand and saw the lion. Back over to NYNY and found the car and headed on out to Henderson, but not before driving the rest of the strip into north Vegas (past Fremont) and then south to the sign. Got to Henderson around 6:30 and wandered around the park, enjoying the festivities. One reason I love my girlfriend is that, while she is most certainly an adult, she has the ability to get so excited about certain things that she appears quite child-like on occasion. We watched a couple of nice clowns making balloon animals for lines of kids, and she sent me off in search of a sheet of paper while she got in line – her goal was to trade an origami crane for a balloon duck. The crowd was pleasantly entertained during this show! Then we wandered over to the “Mad Science” tent and they helped her make some “goo”. She spent all evening shaking it and getting it to the perfect consistency. Then we set up the camera about 50 feet from where the fireworks were set up. I have to say that was the best fireworks show I have ever seen. And the loudest (since I’ve never been directly under the big aerials before). Car alarms were going off all over town. And it lasted a good 20 minutes or more. And on the way back, we could see hundreds of aerials going off all over Vegas. It was so freaking beautiful!!!!

By now we were exhausted. It was too late for room service, so we wandered into one of the restaurants to get a kick nibble before going to bed. Then I was reminded once again of the thing I hate most about Las Vegas (or any casino). Keep in mind, it’s after midnight. At the next table sat a puffy, round dumpling of a woman sitting across from her 2 kids. She had her cellphone cradled in her ample neck, chatting it up with someone as she sat there and cut her steak and ate. To me, this was wrong on so many levels! First, she was ignoring her kids. Second, why are the kids up after midnight – they looked to be about 5-ish to me. Third, don’t talk on a goddamn cellphone in a restaurant. Fourth, don’t talk on a phone while you are eating. Can you say “gambling addiction”? But then, as if she didn’t get a chance to ignore her children during all of that – she immediately started writing a text message once she hung up from that call. I can only hope that the phone call was her despondent husband’s lawyer threatening to take the kids.

For all the fun I can have in that city, it is really a depressing place – especially when you see people in gas station parking lots, sitting on their luggage. You know they lost the car on a crap table somewhere. Or old ladies shuffling through the lots next to convenience stores like they are looking for coins – like all they need is one more pull to get it all back. Any idiot should be able to look at the Venetian or the Wynn and know that they weren’t built by philanthropists trying to fill a void in their lives by donating to the public. The were built by greedy millionaires looking to exploit the weaknesses of the many-headed. C’est la vie.

Tomorrow – leaving Las Vegas

Road Trip – Part I

2006-07-12T11:20:00.000-06:00

First of all, thank you CheeseburgerBrown for the parting sentiment. The smells of cattle, desert rain and Ponderosa Pine are fresh in my nostrils as I write. And Lisa – we didn’t have sex in OKC or Amarillo. But we had sex everywhere else, in case you are keeping score…

Day 1 – Thursday, 6/29/06

So on Thursday morning, I picked up my girlfriend at 6AM. Yes – I was late. We hit the road and stopped for some coffee on the outskirts of town. We crossed the Father of Waters at about 7:15AM local time and made it across the Louisiana delta without incident.

We stopped in Shreveport to fill up at the ATM (our bank – no fees) around 9:30 and hopped into Texas with a stop at the Texas Welcome Center around 10. Hot and humid. Fortunately, the rental car had a bitchin A/C with dual temp settings – she and I are pretty much polar (no pun intended) opposites when it comes to comfortable ambient temperatures. It also had pretty good gas mileage, as well. We were getting about 30 MPG so we didn’t stop until somewhere around Van, Texas. Nothing special happened, except I almost elbowed the teeth out of a young Mennonite lady that snuck up behind me.

Hit Terrell around 1PM. Into Dallas and checked into the Sheraton around 2. The bonus item here was that the hotel was next to Medieval Times. For those of you unfamiliar with this name, it is where Jim Carrey and Matthew Broderick eat in “The Cable Guy”. (Janeane Garofalo was a “serving wench”) I hate to disappoint, but we did not feast within. No, instead we struck out for Northpark (a very rizzycratic mall) and wandered around for a bit. Then we drove around town to check out some sights, went back to the hotel, showered, changed and then made for downtown Fort Worth and The Cattleman Steak House. They did not actually slaughter a steer at the table and chainsaw it into cutlets, I’m sad to say. But a fine steak and a few Lone Star beers made it a wonderful evening. Got back to the hotel around 10PM and bedded down for the night.

Day 2 – Friday, 6/30/06

Friday morning dawned bright, and we struck out for pastries at La Madeleine, and tracked down a boba (bubble tea) shop. Unfortunately, they did not have coconut milk boba for me, but my g/f was more than satisfied with her purchase. Hit I-635, looped around to I-35 and headed to OK City. Made a boo-boo at the Red River and ended up turned around back into Texas. After turning around at another exit, we finally made it into Oklahoma. Stopped at the Welcome Center to powder our noses, and I sat in the most comfortable rocking chair in the world. Kudos to the Welcome Center. Good info, too.

Hit the city (OK, that is) around 3PM, jumped onto Route 66 (after a bypass to the big milk bottle) and checked into a “couple of steps away from sleazebag” hotel across from the 66 Bowl. Went to the Oklahoma City National Memorial and got thoroughly depressed. We were kicked out promptly at closing time, so we didn’t get to see the last few exhibits. Wandered through the chairs and then decided we needed to perk the scene up. Went down to Bricktown, but it turned out to be a touristy contrivance. The canal was nice, though.

I was also very saddened to see that the 66 Bowl (a grand sign in it’s day) has a lot less animated neon than it did 5 years ago. In fact, that would be - none? Just a few stationary circles. Apparently the cost of maintenance is too much to bear? At least I got good shots on the previous trip...

Day 3 – Saturday, 7/1/06

Saturday morning, we got out of town around 8. We stopped at McDonald’s in Yukon for some quick carbs riddled with fat. Being from an area that is littered with small towns, I was not surprised to see that at 8:30 in the morning, the Yukon McDonalds was packed with lots of old men (or codgers, in the vernacular) drinking coffee and talking about farm stuff and such. However, my g/f had never witnessed such a thing. She found it fascinating AND funny, trying to listen to their conversations. It was indeed a treat for her. And everyone was nice and polite, but I think they don't get too many Asian girls dropping by, so they had their onw stare-fest. Of course, it may have been the cute-factor, too...

Once on the road again, we spent the next hour or so tracking down long, lost bits of the old Route 66. Up towards Geary and Bridgeport and across the old Pony Truss Bridge that looks so cool. Then to Hydro with a stop at Lucille's. (Although Lucille Hamons died a few years ago, someone bought the old building on eBay and is supposedly going to fix it up. They are also opening a new tourist trap at the exit into Weatherford.) Then, Weatherford (home of Astronaut Tom Stafford and a quick stop to shoot the F104) and into Clinton and the Route 66 museum. While there, we chatted briefly with a French couple we had found on the old road. They were on a motorcycle and were navigating 66 by notebook. After buying souveniers, we were back on the road.

Foss, Canute, Sayre, wind farms, Erick, Texola and then on into the Texas panhandle. Shamrock (with the famous U-Drop Inn), Mclean and Alanreed. Onto I-40 to Jericho and then back on 66 past the leaning water tower. Of course, we had to stop at the western hemisphere’s second largest freestanding cross (since we saw it looming for the previous 10 miles) and a view of multiple Jesi doing the crucifixion, as well as a mock sepulcher and fake shroud of Turin. (It was THE largest, but I read that Effingham, Illinois built one 8 feet taller. Bastards!)

On down the road we broke off from I-40 again to follow the trail of 66 into Amarillo. On the other side of town, we visited Cadillac Ranch. We also got knocked over by a little tornado while standing out on the windy plain. The weather was clear and hot, too.

After stopping to take a couple of pix in Glen Rio (Exit 0 – long abandoned ghost town, but it sported the first and last hotel in Texas), we blasted out of Texas and into New Mexico. Several stretches of old 66 through here. Nice and mountainous… Wind farms…

As we were nearing Albuquerque, we got a wonderful sight. For about 30 miles, we were able to watch a small storm stuck in the valley just east of the big mountains going into the city. As we finally got next to it, we had the added bonus of the smell of desert rain. I have no idea how to describe this smell. But it certainly smells different from rain in the south!

Pulled into Albuquerque just as the sun was setting. Checked into a nice hotel, and hopped out to downtown to go photograph the neon paradise that is Central Ave and have dinner at the Route 66 Diner. Be advised – on weekends, Central is barricaded! Good and bad… Back to the hotel after dinner (philly sammich and beers, mmmmm) and passing out around midnight.

Next installment – Viva Las Vegas, baby!

Oh! And pictures soon.

He's leaving home... bye...bye...

2006-06-28T07:21:00.000-06:00

I will be leaving you. (But I'm not meeting a man in the motor trade!)

Dry your eyes. It's only for 10 days. I’m taking my girlfriend on a journey. And it’s not like I’ve been posting a lot, anyway. (I haven’t had anything to bitch about lately, and even less after reading this great post…)

Anyway, we will leave home around 5:30AM on Thursday and proceed to Dallas. While there, we will do some shopping at the Galleria and Northpark. (She deserves this for being such a good sport about what she will have to endure over the next several days!)

Friday, more stuff in Dallas and then on to Oklahoma City. Visit the Memorial. Get a hotel. Drive around and take pictures at night.

Saturday, west on Route 66 towards Albuquerque. With stops in Clinton, OK at the Route 66 museum and Amarillo at the Cadillac Ranch.

Sunday – west on 66. Stops in Winslow, AZ (Meteor Crater), Joseph City (Jackrabbit Trading Post), Seligman and Kingman. Turning north on 93, crossing the Hoover Dam and the checking into a suite on The Strip for 3 nights.

Monday/Tuesday – Death Valley, Mojave Desert, Baker, Amboy and riding through the desert under the stars. And fireworks.

Wednesday – Back on 66 to Williams, up to the Grand Canyon, then on to Flagstaff

Thursday – back through Albuquerque and spend the night in Tucumcari

Friday – back to Dallas

Saturday – home

Sunday – decompress

For those of you keeping score:
Day 1 – 427 miles
Day 2 – 205 miles
Day 3 – 551 miles
Day 4 – 574 miles
Day 5/6 – 500+ miles
Day 7 – 352 miles
Day 8 – 497 miles
Day 9 – 478 miles
Day 10 – 427 miles

Take care, and I’ll let you know when I get back…

Good News/Bad News

2006-06-14T09:15:00.000-06:00

(or “Things we learn from imdb.com”)

Madonna has dumped Britney Spears because she no longer follows Kabbalah.

While not a fan of the little redneck girl from Covington, I really do have hope that she will eventually dee-vorce the rappin' and dancin' doofus and learn how to be a good mom. In the meantime, (according to The Scoop website) Super-Whore Madonna is demanding that Britney return a 12th century book on the Kabbalah she gave to the singer as a wedding gift. A source says, "Madonna spent months teaching Britney the Kabbalah system (What? They have a system???), and splashed out thousands on the ancient scripture for her. She feels she has wasted time, money and precious gifts on Brit." But what about all of us hapless civilian that have wasted years having to endure Madonna? I’ve heard a lot more of her crap than Britney’s, that’s for sure… In the end, kabbalah is quite reminiscent of an appetizer served at a Mediterranean restaurant. (PS – I hate that piece of shit Madonna!)

In the meantime, Extra-Superba-Whore Paris Hilton (another useless waste of female flesh – a life-support system for a pu$$y) has decided she is swearing off men. She announced it on Letterman. Whatever will we do??? The good news is that she has decided “I don’t get to spend time on me.” Hmmm… One of us is confused.

Jaleel White did not commit suicide. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the best news of the day!

The new Jolie/Pitt spawn is starting a fashion trend after appearing on the cover of America's People magazine in a trendy T-shirt. Now EVERYONE has bought one! And I thought PimpFants was going to help me have a better baby than anyone else. Now I’ll never be able to have anything but a normal, sucky baby! Shit!

And lastly…

It may be possible that Sir Paul (McCartney - the cute one or the dead one, depending on your age) married a hooker. ‘Nuff said!

Have a good day!

Potty... what?

2006-06-13T14:08:00.000-06:00

From today's paper... (because I have nothing better to write about...)

Club shooting victim recovering

A woman is recovering at a local hospital after being shot at a local club early Sunday morning, Police Sgt. Joseph Wade said.

He said it appears that the woman, whose name was not released, did not suffer life-threatening injuries.

Latrina Newsome, 27, was charged with aggravated assault, according to police records.

She is suspected of shooting another woman after an altercation at Birdland Restaurant and Lounge on Farish Street, Wade said.

So now I am wondering - does Latrina have a brother named Toiletris?

Is it time for the cavity search?

2006-06-06T09:30:00.000-06:00

My girlfriend has lived in the states for about 8 years. She has spent all of that time in the south. She likes it here. People are friendlier, and a lot more laid back. Most times, that is… I love taking her out for “southern experiences”. It used to be that anything involving NASCAR was a purely southern experience, but over the last several years that has pretty much been co-opted by the rest of the country. So last week I decided to take her to that most southern of traditions – the gun show.

A gun show in Jackson, Mississippi is a sea of stereotypes. As I was getting our tickets, two young, well dressed African American gentleman were purchasing tickets as well. They had just come from a graduation ceremony for one of the local high schools. One of them had just graduated. When I saw them inside, they were looking at AK47-knock-offs. About 80% of the white-faced individuals were male and wearing some type of confederate flag representation. The whole room had the aura of right-wing Christian knee-jerk homophobia, and here I go bringing a little Asian girl into the mix. It was great!

However, the most stunning aspect of the room to her was the table where you were supposed to sign the petition for immigration reform. She sat on the sidelines of the room for about 5 minutes just watching that table to see who was signing. It was disturbing to her. I agreed. While I didn’t approach them to find out what version of immigration “reform” they wanted, by the looks of them I would just about guess that it involved ejecting anyone out of the country that did not look or talk like one of the several fatties behind the table.

Fast forward to Saturday…

The city of Flowood had it’s “Flowood Festival” in the park. Lots of rides, concessions and “entertainment” (if you consider John Conlee entertainment – he was old when I was a kid!) followed by a “fireworks extravaganza”. Craving stick food and fireworks, we decided to go partake of the fare. While making the rounds to see what type of stick food we wished to consume, we happened upon another “immigration reform petition” table. This was staffed by a very round and unpleasant looking woman. Here’s how the conversation transpired:

Once immigration is reformed, what is your proposal for determining who gets tossed and who stays? I mean, how do you know my girlfiend is here legally? Will she have to carry her visa with her everywhere she goes and have to go through document checks? “Are your papers in order?”

Well without immigration reform, we could have 200 million immigrants come in over the next 20 years.

So will the police need to stop anyone that doesn’t look like they were born here?

No, that won’t be necessary.

Well how do you know I’m here legally? What if I was born in Scotland but my dad came over illegally and I have been here long enough that I don’t have an accent?

Oh, we’re not worried about…

And then she stopped. In fact, she left and the table was packed up within 3 minutes (while I was waiting on my food). And she never answered my question - at least not the question I asked. However, she did answer the question I DIDN'T ask.

Now, to be fair (just because I like the high road), I think that you would probably never find that statement in any of the documentation. But it seems that at least for around these parts, that’s becoming the norm. If you look like us, you are one of us. Otherwise, go home.

We've got a long way to go on this one...

Screw you, Madonna!

2006-06-01T07:18:00.000-06:00

From web reports:

Madonna snapped at an audience member at her gig in Las Vegas, Nevada, on Sunday when she spotted he wasn't dancing. The singer took her Confessions tour to the gambling capital at the weekend after three dates in Los Angeles. Midway through the concert, she singled out a man in the front row, who wasn't getting into the groove and yelled, "If you are only going to sit there, at least you can smile," reports The Scoop.

So you think something is wrong with this guy because he paid $75 (at least?) for a ticket in the front row and has the temerity to not dance while you are performing one of your lame whore-fest sets?

There was a time when I respected Madonna very much. I have never really been a fan of dance music. While I have always leaned more towards heavy guitars, or lyricists like Paul Westerburg or Chris Stamie, during Madonna's first few years I found several of her songs really good and/or inspiring. But this diva shit is ridiculous.

Back when I was performing, I just immediately assumed that it was our fault if any audience members looked bored. I would sometimes single them out not to grill them, but to try and bring them into the spirit of the evening, as it were. C’mon! Have a good time! Help me to help you!!!!

Go have some more fake crucifixions, Maddie - just so the Catholics will drum up a little more free press for you. These days, you are nothing more than a carnival freakshow anyway. I would much rather pay a dollar to see a dead two-headed baby or a fake mystic than pay a quarter to see you eat your own excrement.

Get the fuck outta my town, bitch!

Hey, y'all...

2006-05-17T07:05:00.000-06:00

I thought I should check in 'cuz I know the information superhighway is abuzz with rumors of my demise.

Actually, that's kind of close.

The week before last, I had a slight "accident". This, in turn, caused a horrid infection to manifest itself. This caused me to have several days of temperatures that stayed between 101 and 102.4. While I am not old like Methuselah or Nancy Reagan, I am beyond the line reserved for "young adult". And let me tell you - when you get to be my age, a fever of 102 will turn you into a whimpering pu55y!!!!

Anyway, all is better now. Thank you for those cards and letters.

Now I am suffering from blog-block, brought on by recovery and another week of playing catch-up at work. Yeah, I got nothin'.

But please feel free to look around.

Mitigation

2006-04-19T10:53:00.000-06:00

May 23rd, 2006

Jackson attorney Judith Kristie Smith, 37, and Thomas Randy Clark, 33, both of Vicksburg were charged with a drive-by shooting that happened at about 12:30 a.m. in Ridgeland. Witnesses say the couple chased down another vehicle following a fender-bender in the parking lot of Krystal Restaurant on East County Line Road and opened fire, injuring the driver. Susan Wiltshire, 22, of Brandon suffered a gunshot wound to her left arm. Two passengers, Elizabeth Wiltshire and Joseph Turnage, both 19, were unharmed.

On Monday, Elizabeth Wiltshire described the moment shots were fired into her sister's dark blue Toyota as "surreal." She said they were planning to go clubbing Sunday morning when her sister suggested they make a stop at the restaurant. While in the drive-thru, a light-blue Jaguar XJ8 struck the Toyota from behind. When she got out to inspect their vehicle for damage, passengers in the Jaguar began yelling at her, she said.

When they left the restaurant, Elizabeth Wiltshire said the Jaguar followed. "They screeched and broke tread out of the parking lot. They were chasing and taunting us."

Susan Wiltshire was heading north on Old Canton Road when the Jaguar pulled up beside her vehicle and one of the occupants allegedly fired several shots.

It’s a toddlin’ town, for sure.

Now, I know – no matter what they say - the kids that got shot were probably yelling and flipping them off and just being teenagers. I mean – who wouldn’t be?

So on Monday, this Clark fellow pleads guilty to this. “A surprise guilty plea” was how the paper reported it. But he told the court he was provoked at the time of the incident. The local D.A. commented that all this time this white trash bastard has been demanding a trial. His attorney has noted that this asshole will present the judge with “mitigating circumstances” that led to the shooting. These are:

#1. He was flipped off.
#2. He didn’t know the gun was loaded.

I really wish I could be there to hear how that goes down in the courtroom.

WT: “But your honor, I didn’t think the gun was loaded!”
Judge: “What? Then why the hell are we here? Charges dropped! (the sound of the gavel banging) Court adjourned.”
WT: “But your honor, I was also flipped off by the prosecution’s witness.”
Judge: “Bailiff, arrest that young lady and cut off her middle finger. Then cane her on the steps of the courthouse. When you’re done, fetch us a round of lattes and some hookers!”

Morning commutes

2006-04-18T07:09:00.000-06:00

You've got to love life in a small town.

It is almost guaranteed that if you stick to the same schedule every day, you will start to see people over and over.

This morning, I had this fucker behind me all the way in. He had no clue who I was, because he has the IQ of a grain of sand. I, however, never forget someone who calls me an asshole! But there he was!

He got on the interstate right behind me, so he must live near me. And yes, I will now work on meeting up with him one afternoon and tailing him home. Then I can post his address and hopefully his name and telephone number on this blog, just because I don't think there's anything in the Constitution that says I can't. And he'll appreciate that, since he wants God to bless America (except for the assholes?). Which in my mind also means he doesn't want God to bless any other countries. If he did, then wouldn't his license plate read "God Bless Humanity"?

The weird part is that he was behind me the whole way in, but about four miles from downtown, I started getting the feeling that this was Mr. America. I don't know why. He never got close enough to see, and there are zillions of white Ford SUVs on the roads here. But he sure as hell had no clue. But I was sure enough to get my phone ready before he pulled in front of me. I had to check the license plate, so he got past me before I could snap. Today he was apparently driving the "Bachus 4 wheel buffet", as he was munching down on something (with his mouth open, if I'm not mistaken). I wish I could have snapped his face, just for your viewing pleasure. He looks like such a dickhead. I seriously hope to catch him one afternoon and snap his kids and pet and house.

On another note:

Yesterday, as I was taking my evening constitutional I happened upon an ATM/Debit card laying on the side of the road. I thought that was an odd place for someone to be keeping such an important thing. Anyhow, I picked it up and pocketed it with the full intention of either trying to notify the owner, or taking it to the bank. I figure option B is the best plan since option A would open me up for all kinds of shenanigans if the cardholder ending up being an unsavory individual. They could go buy a bunch of shit and then say I did it. Y'know, it sucks to think like I do sometimes.

But just so you'll not think I am a truly golden god, I did have a momentary lapse later that evening when I rode with my girlfriend to go fill up her car. It would have been so easy to pull that one off, and since gas costs more than uranium it was difficult to get that thought out of my head.

Boy, it's tough being a pillar of strength.

God Bless America

2006-04-14T07:36:00.000-06:00

“Asshole!”

That’s what he yelled at me. Wait – he didn’t yell “God Bless America, asshole!”. He just yelled “asshole!” From his car. But his tag was one of the special tags offered by the state. The best part was the tag number was IQ8. What a moron! My turds have an IQ higher than that!

So traffic on the drive home yesterday was pretty insane. Of course, a traffic jam in Jackson only lasts 20 minutes, versus 3 hours in Houston or L.A. So it’s not like people are getting shot every day. But the drivers here expect instant relief, and it is with amusement that I watch people in traffic, dodging from lane to lane – back and forth – as one lane stops and another moves. I invariably pass them at some point during their pathetic gyrations. They are beneath me.

Anyway, in the midst of the snarl yesterday, there was a car stalled in the passing lane. It was at a 3 lane section where the right lane exits and the middle lane can either exit or go straight. There is also a generous left hand shoulder (where the stalled car should have been). I spotted this about 200 yards away. About 30 yards from the car, Mr. America, in his white Ford Excremention (or whatever huge Ford SUV it was) suddenly pulls from his prime seat in the middle lane to get in front of me in the passing lane – where the stalled car awaits. No signal, no “excuse me” wave. But since I was being better than everyone, I didn’t honk or scowl or shake my fist or yell obscenities through the open windows.

With nary a thought, I turn on my right signal and ease into the lane he had just ejected from. We reached the stalled car at the same time, and as he was slowed by the traffic going around the car on the shoulder, I zipped past in my lane, executed a left signal and an “excuse me” wave and a smile through the window, and continued my journey in the traffic jam ahead of him.

Honks ensued. Many of them! And then, in the stop-start traffic of the rush hour, he pays me back for not endangering his passage in any way by getting about 2 feet behind me and making engine noises. And this was an adult, I might add. God Bless America. Since he was so worried about me being ahead of him, he didn’t bother to notice that there was still traffic in front of me. I was being required to stop, but that just made him madder. Which made me happier! His pain and suffering was an unending source of pleasure to me. I was so disappointed when the traffic finally cleared and he was able to pass me. But not before leaning out his window and calling me an asshole.

Yep, I’m guilty. And also a little late with the phone-cam…

The whole point is that while I can be an asshole in traffic, I’m not a malicious asshole. You have to ask me for it, first. Some days, you actually need to beg me for it. But the drivers that seem to really take it seriously (to me) are the uber-patriot-conservatives. The drivers with the “God Bless America” or “Choose Life” (anti-abortion) tags, or the different varieties of support ribbons next to Jesus fish. I have seen more than one case (not directed at me) of a “Choose Life” driver flipping off someone else! What does that say? And I can safely say that in my experience, not one “I Care For Animals” tagged driver has ever gone into type-A mode in front of me during high stress driving maneuvers. Maybe Mr. America needs a little pet therapy?

Speaking of tags, I wonder if it would be possible for me to get a “Choose Death” tag?

'Tis the season to see Charlton.

2006-04-12T08:00:00.000-06:00

Heston, that is. They say he’s one bad muthah-… Shut yo’ mouth! I’m just talking ‘bout Chuck… We can dig it!

I was reading with interest Neil Kramer’s post comparing Easter to Passover. One of his categories was “Holiday Movie – Easter vs. Passover”. His notion is that while the Jews had C.B. DeMille’s “The Ten Commandments”, the gentiles have Mel Gibson’s “The Passion Of The Christ”. While I think Neil is one of the best bloggers around, I took umbrage to this. My point is that for Easter movies, you should look no farther than “Ben-Hur”. ‘Nuff said.

What says Easter more than chariot races and lepers? Or Stephen Boyd and his oh so painful death scene, covered in cherry jell-o and croaking and squirming? Now don’t get me wrong – “The 10 Commandments” is a fine movie, and the definitive Passover movie. I would dare say that, pound for pound, it is clearly a much better movie than “Ben-Hur”. Therefore, I must agree that even though I am so white-bread that it hurts, Passover wins - at least in the movie category. So let it be written, so let it be done...

Dig!

B-H is slow (except for the galley scenes and the chariot races). 10-C is pretty much action packed (althought the action is kind of slow, like during the exodus).

B-H stars Stephen Boyd, Jack Hawkins, Haya Harareet and Hugh Griffith. 10-C has Yul Brynner, E.G. Robinson, John Carradine, Yvonne Decarlo, Vincent Price, and the always oiled John Derek.

In B-H, Jesus, Masalla (Boyd) and a few sailors get killed. In 10-C, the entire Egyptian army, lots of slaves and the first born males (twice) get snuffed.

B-H is pretty much made up to the point of the crucifixion. 10-C is Old Testament. And it has the green "creeping death".

I could go on, but to what end?

Not long after “The Ten Commandments” and “Ben-Hur”, Chaz played John The Baptist in “The Greatest Story Ever Told”. Was he typecasting himself in religious films for a reason? Perhaps to court the NRA 2 decades early? But his life took a strange turn in the late sixties. “Planet Of The Apes”, “Beneath The Planet Of The Apes”, “The Omega Man”, and then the piece de résistance – “Soylent Green”. Of course, there were some other movies during those times – “Skyjacked”, “Julies Caesar”, “Antony And Cleopatra” (he played Marc Antony in both – a sub typecast?).

But nothing – NOTHING I TELL YOU – could ever hold a candle to “Soylent Green”. “IT’S PEEEEEOPLLLLLLLEAHHHHH!” Now that’s some movie-makin’.

Mmmmmm… Furniture…

Gap assholes?

2006-03-31T08:46:00.000-06:00

My real function in life is being an I/T guy. But for all my ability to masquerade as a d.b.a. or write zillions of lines of code, I am really pretty lame when it comes to being internet savvy. Yep – I have no idea why I shouldn’t be on Blogger or why I should use Firefox. I am super impressed by the knowledge of the bloggers I read daily. They know shit. Impressive shit.

When I first started in what would eventually be my career (long before Al Gore invented the Internet), I was known as a geeky guy. I could program modems, do anything in Unix, knew several languages and had no problems doing low-level formats and rebuilding PCs. The advent of “plug and play” technology made me lazy. Now I have to go ask a 25 year old kid how to use VPN. It’s sad. And I don’t have high-speed at home. I still use a dial-up – although I no longer use my dial-up because some pr()n site dropped a freaking bothersome pop-up on my home PC, and my SpyBot can’t find it (although it did manage to kill my analog video input) and it takes way too long to update my definition files.

So as far as blogging goes, I am a mere babe in the woods. My technological zenith seems to be Statcounter. That being said, I really enjoy keyword activity.

gap assholes. Do we mean asshole clerks at The Gap? Or were we looking for gaping rectums filled with man goo?

gap her ass latina. This was from Kuwait. This almost has to be from some lonely G.I. posted over there. Tired of viewing women in hijabs?

sweet potato girls of jackson Mississippi. Is that you, deadpanann?

i'm so pretty lyrics. This has to be from Hillbilly Mom. Perhaps not finding what she was looking for, she then tried lyrics to i'm so pretty in west side story?

rita moreno stripper. This was from the U.K. I mean as long as we’re talking about West Side Story. Although I remember Rita Moreno from PBS’ “The Electric Company” (along with Morgan Freeman, I might add!) But Rita, while still hot (I'm sure), is kind of old to be stripping. Perhaps this person was looking for something to remove the previously applied "Rita Moreno Varnish"?

shaun and christina dillard. My favorite assholes. I hope whoever did this search found the pictures of those to crackhead-shithole-scumbag-motherfuckers!

ashley andrews picayune. The 12 year old victim of the aforementioned cocksuckers Shaun and Christina Dillard.

mississippi strip club shut down. Sounds like a Flatt and Scruggs song. Ahem... Well, I thought it was a funny joke!

amputee. From Norway. Sing it, Tom Petty style! “Now baby you don’t… have… to search for an amputee (don’t have to search for an amputee)”

I'm going to hell, I'm sure!

Don't EVEN think about messing with me!

2006-03-30T08:10:00.000-06:00

I have friends in high places.

Today I received a letter. Well, I didn’t really receive it… The actual addressing on the envelope was to “Someone connected with this household”. But it was meant for me, since I pay the mortgage. Anyway, it’s from a very, very old and established church. 55 years established, they are. They point it out twice, so I know it’s important.

So, the Saint Matthews Churches (“Friends of Jesus for 55 glorious years of service”) cares enough about me to send me an anointed prayer rug. Well, it’s not really a rug per se… It’s actually an 11x17 paper image of the Jesus with his eyes closed. Or are they? The letter says that if you use this rug and stare at the face, the eyes will open. Oooohhhh! Creepy! Oh – and they aren’t giving it to me. They are loaning it to me. And I can only use it tonight. Then I have to send it back with my money. I also have a checklist of prayer options:

My soul
A closer walk with Jesus
My health
A family member’s health
Confusion in my home (Praying to have more confusion?)
My children
To stop a bad habit
A better job
A home to call my own
A new car
A money blessing
I want to be saved
Pray for God to bless me with this amount of money: $_______
Please, especially pray for this person: ___________

Enclosed is my seed gift to God’s work of $_____________

SAINT MATTHEWS CHURCH MUST HAVE THIS PRAYER RUG BACK. PLEASE DO NOT MISPLACE IT. IT MUST GO TO ANOTHER HOME AFTER YOU USE IT.

These next 24 hours are crucial to you. Timing is important to God. (He’s a busy dude) After you kneel on this Church Prayer Rug, or place it over your knees (what if I am an amputee?), place it in a Bible (oh, okay) on Phillipeans 4:19. If you don’t have a Bible, it’s okay – just slide it under your side of the bed, for tonight, if you can. (So you homeless people, don’t even bother!) God sees. Then, in the morning it is a must that you get this unusual blessing prayer rug out of this house and back to us, here at the church’s chapel prayer room, in faith. We must also have this letter back, with whatever you need prayer for, printed on page 2. You must get this prayer rug back to us so we can rush it onto another family that’s in need of a blessing.

Please do not try to pray by yourself. Even though God sees you, we are professionals here. After all, we've been doing this for 55 years! We will make sure that your money gets to him. But please do not try to pray without this valuable tool we are loaning you out of the goodness of our hearts. Without our help, you will not get what you rightly deserve. So help us to help you. You know that God will only answer the prayers of those that have proven to him that they believe, and nothing says believe like cold, hard cash. No checks please. Paypal accepted as well. And if you don't get what you think you deserve, then your faith is just not good enough and you should be ashamed of yourself!

Fun at the office.

2006-03-22T12:21:00.000-06:00

The company recently sprung for me to get a new superbad PC (and I am indeed grateful) that is now running XP. My old box was running 2000, if you care. We use Office 2003, and Outlook is our mail client. Although there will not be a test, this will be important later.

For Valentine’s Day, I bought my significant other a large gift certificate to Victoria’s Secret. If I had readers, I would expect some females to be offended by the previous statement, and yet others would be thinking what a wonderful lad I was. She is in the second category. Much to my delight, I might add.

So Monday night, she asked me to go with her to Victoria’s to look at/buy stuff. Woohoo! Well, needless to say the local VS stores have a limited supply of stuff. Is it because we are in the so-called “Bible Belt”? Is it because our market area is not very populous so they decided not to build big stores? I have no clue. But our search yielded a cute pair of pajama pants and a couple of try-ons that thrilled me no end! Otherwise, there was surprisingly little stuff that she liked AND that fit AND was the correct color.

Yesterday, she sent me a link to the VS website selection with the heading “Do you like any of these?” I was unable to peruse then, so this morning I checked them out during my first cup of coffee. (I must say here that I love this woman more than life itself, and she’s got one helluva a great attitude. I certainly don’t deserve anyone that treats me the way she does, but I’m going to enjoy it until she comes to her senses!!!!!) So I sent back a couple of choices, along with some jokingly bawdy comments about how I thought she would look and the outcome of wearing these in front of me etc… You know - guy stuff! Then about an hour later, she sends another message. The subject line of this message is equally jokingly bawdy - “Just how bad do you want me?” and there are 3 links to some more VS items at the top of the page. (I should also point out here that my New Mail notification is Homer Simpson saying “WooHoo!”)

Unfortunately, 30 minutes prior to this, I started moderating a Net Meeting with some folks at my company and one of our sister companies. Since I was the “leader”, I had my desktop shared. You would think that since I keep my Outlook client minimized, we would be safe – just a “WooHoo!” and a mail icon popping up. But as you Outlook users know, a new feature of Outlook 2003 is the little blue ghost box that pops up above the systray with the email icon, Sender’s Name, Subject line and the first 50 or so characters of the message body. It hovers there for a few seconds and then sort of fades away.

I am now a legend, and they think my girlfriend’s a slut!

Those people...

2006-03-17T14:17:00.000-06:00

People suck. That’s all there is to it. This is why I have cats. I hold animals in much higher regard than most people (except for my girlfriend and a handful of pals/family). Oh - and the people on my blogroll!

On a recent business trip to New Jersey, I got to deal with New Jerseyans. ‘nuff said. Actually, the few people that tried to be assholes actually melted a little when I would thank them for services rendered, or say good morning. (Yes, I am a rube – it’s been a while since I went to the city!)

I also had to contend with a traveling partner that makes Sylvia Plath seem like Powerpuff Girl Bubbles. She told me right out she doesn’t like gay people. I sensed (but can’t prove) that she doesn’t care for black people. She uses the term "those people" way to much for my tastes! And she is just a freakin’ thundercloud of negative energy. Some examples:

Example #1
(Sitting in Hartsfield watching a couple with 2 very young kids go by)
MB: Wow. You have to really “want it” to fly with 2 children.
TP: Well, some people have to travel across the country, and that’s tough to do without flying because blah blah blah (insert several very good and obvious reasons why traveling cross country with kids in an automobile is less desirable than air travel).

Example #2
(Upon returning from a food joint with my lunch after having told her I was going and she offered to watch the bags)
TP: I’m getting pretty hungry.
MB: Why don’t you go to the food court?
TP: Well I wasn’t going leave the bags unattended!!!

So on example #1 I certainly did not say “People that travel in airplanes with kids suck and should be euthanized in the town square!” My point was that it is a commitment, and a difficult one. Kudos to the traveling family. But I hope your baby doesn’t sit in front of me on a two hour flight. Fair enough? And on example #2, I’m pretty sure I didn’t say “You stupid bitch! If you’re hungry, why didn’t you go get something to eat and shut the fuck up!” I think I was merely saying “well I am back now so why not take the time now to go peruse the savory offerings of airport fare”.

She also keeps haunting me by showing up in my office and telling me something else I should have done in a way contrary to the way I actually did it, be it responding to a phone call that she was listening to my end from the next room, or selecting a restaurant for lunch. She is like herpes.

Now people are spilling willy-nilly into my town. I learned the other day that we have the fourth largest St. Patrick’s Day parade in the nation. I’ve been to Savannah’s (#2), but I just don’t see our little parade being number 4. But it’s been around for 20 years, so it’s got staying power. And the Sweet Potato Queens. So now I have to put up with more out-of-town assholes. It’s been a tough week, and I apologize for not posting much this month. I promise I will do better.

In the meantime, I am going to rent a plane in an hour and fly over to the town where my girlfriend works, pick her up from work and fly her back here (after doing some sightseeing). It’s her birthday. And there aren't many people up there. Of course, I won't be able to take her out to dinner upon our return because every restaurant here will be filled to capacity with out-of-towners!!!

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, y’all!

Sense of smell

2006-03-13T08:30:00.000-06:00

I am sort of misplaced in the South. I am mostly democratic in my views. Actually, partisan politics make me vomit. My dad (a staunch conservative) and I debated endlessly on many topics. It fascinated him that I would actually tell people I voted for Bill Clinton not once, but twice. But one point we agreed on was guns. While I do not think that one day the government will kick in my door and take all my guns (as he did), I don’t see any problem with them in the hands of responsible people. My friends have a hard time reconciling the fact that I possess many weapons. (Actually, I only had one gun until my father passed away and I got his massive collection.) I don’t like to hunt, so people think I have them just so I can kill burglars. So be it.

Yesterday, I took my girlfriend out for the truly Southern sport of “shootin’”. Being from a foreign land, guns are, to her, mysterious and American and fascinating. As she is also brilliant, I was not surprised that she grasped the concept of gun safety quickly. Some people are scared of guns. Some people are idiotically stupid with them. She has a healthy respect for them. She is also, I learned, a super bad-ass shot with a .45 auto!

As she is 5 foot nothing, I started her off with a little baby .22 with little baby .22 shorts in it. With the hearing protection on, they sound like breaking a twig. Then we moved up to the .22 LR, about twice the size. A little louder, a little more kick (barley). She learned quickly about sight pictures, breathing, trajectories (well, she IS a math teacher) and wind effect. She was scared and thrilled at the beginning. She was shooting from a bench rest and as she would bring the hammer down on an empty, there would be no trace of flinching - an apt pupil, indeed.

Then, a good old boy that we had been chatting with at the range offered to let her fire his “piece”, a tiny Glock .40 with some light hand-loads that would not be too hard on her. After a magazine full of those, I decided we would skip the .32 auto I had planned for the next step, and progress immediately to the .45 auto. With her second shot she hit a 2 inch fragment of clay pigeon that I had set up 20 yards away. She has the ejected shell casing as her trophy.

We stayed for a few hours. I was able to relieve lots of stress with the .357 and .44 magnums, the .45 and a couple of .32s. I also impressed the shit out of her with my marksmanship. I just could not bring myself to confess to her that, as I had not been shooting in several years, my display of accuracy was just as easily attributed to dumb luck. Then we shot a lot of .22 rapid fire in a little semi-auto rifle and called it a day.

During the ceremonial “cleansing of the guns” that followed later, I mentioned how all day long the smell of spent gunpowder and ejected brass and then the scent of bore cleaners, solvents and machine oil brought back so many vivid memories of my dad. At several points throughout the day, I would be having flashbacks and not even be aware of it. They were vivid and real and very pleasant.

We talked about how smells did that to people, and I was reminded of a certain smell. I don’t know what the smell is, but when it hits me, I am projected back to my grandparent’s house. I am young and wearing Sunday clothes that itch as only Sunday clothes in the late sixties could. I'm sure they were some type of wool! The house is uncomfortably warm and dark. The silence would be complete save for a large clock ticking interminably. The experience is not completely unpleasant – I just have no idea what’s going to happen next. Will I eat Sunday lunch? Will I be spanked for some transgression? I have no clue. But whatever the smell is, it hypnotizes me.

Hmmm...

2006-03-06T08:41:00.000-06:00

Rather Experienced
You are 57% pure!

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 65% on purity

Link: The 100 Point Sexual Purity Test written by ocicat on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

A surprise post

2006-02-27T08:08:00.000-06:00

Yes, I didn’t think I would be able to squeeze another out before leaving, but such is life.

So on Saturday, my USM alumnus significant other went to Hattiesburg to view the USM production of West Side Story. Overall, I think the students did an excellent job. I have never seen a stage version, and of course I can’t help but look for Natalie Wood and Rita Moreno, but I had a great time. The USM orchestra performed really well, and all-in-all I give it high marks all around! Well, I did get bothered by the extra-thick Latina accents… Although the Rita Moreno girl pulled hers off convincingly so. Perhaps it was the tan? And the smile? The Natalie Wood girl was a little, ummm… white-bread? But she’s got some damn pipes and can sing!!! The George Chakiris guy was a little thick as well. Probably the best fit was the Russ Tamblyn guy. But they all did very well.

I also noticed that the lyrics to “I’m so pretty” have changed. No longer do they say “I’m so pretty, and witty, and gay!” I can’t remember what she actually sang, but it wasn’t gay. IS this a political correctness move? Not that it matters. I’m just curious.

But 2 things also came to mind during the song. The first was Hillbilly Mom. The other thing that came to mind during that song (and I really don’t know where this came from) is that I pictured the scene in Silence of the Lambs where Buffalo Bill is dancing around in the girlsuit in front of his video camera. I think he should have been singing “I’m so pretty”.

Off to the wilds of Jersey, I am. Actually, I'll be about 10 minutes from Asbury Park. I'll tell Bruce you said "hi".

What a day it has been

2006-02-24T15:52:00.000-06:00

If this were a picture from work, I'm not quite sure which one would be me. I'm positive the guy with the armband was, at one time, the boss around here. I'm pretty sure I'm the guy in the door. But I'm not sure if I'm pissed or just freaking out.

This has indeed been a week. And I get to go to New Jersey next week. Woohoo. So I doubt I'll be blogging any. But dry your eyes - I'll return. If not, I'll probably be rotting in some mob landfill.

Peace, y'all!

One of life's questions

2006-02-23T08:00:00.000-06:00

Note: Once again I am going to bore you to death
with historical filler before I actually get to the point.

I live in a suburb of Jackson, Mississippi. I work in Jackson. About (or should I say “pert near”?) 15-20 years ago, Jackson got some gentlemen’s clubs. We actually called them "strip clubs" when I was younger. Anyway, since Jackson is considered by most residents to be a very religious community, the whole strip club issue has been in contention ever since.

The problem was that no one ever thought it might happen, so the city wasn’t ready for it. There were no rules in place, so anyone that wanted could open up a club and have nekkid chicks dancin’ on tables! That brought about a flurry of reactive legislative moves.

The first step was zoning. Henceforth, no strip clubs could open within x feet of a school or church, and eventually could only be opened in business and light industrial areas. There are actually 3 or 4 clubs within 2 blocks of my office. Woohoo!

The second step was modesty. Henceforth, no chicks could be completely nekkid. Pasties and G-strings must be worn at all times, and no physical contact could occur between “dancer” and patron.

I myself have never been to one of the Jackson strip clubs. I have a soft heart (sometimes) and I usually feel really sorry for the poor trashy girls that never got an education and have to strip to make a living. And since Jackson is Jackson, the local talent pool is not that big. The majority of girls here are conservative enough to feel that stripping is either morally wrong or at least degrading to women. So while each of the several clubs might have some “hot talent” come in from some of the Memphis clubs occasionally, there is always the chance that you will be watching some (please excuse me) dried up skank take off her clothes. Ewwww! (Before I weather a storm of back-lash, I’m not making any insinuations about age. I am leaning more towards the issue of mileage!) And another reason I have never been to any local clubs is that I have this fear of seeing someone I know up on stage. I don’t think anyone I know is a stripper here, but it would kill me to see some girl I had a crush on in the ninth grade floozy-ing it up with a pole. Besides, on occasion when I take my car to the shop, I usually walk the 2 miles after work to go pick it up. The walk takes me through one of the strip-club parking lots. It’s usually at the 5 o’clock shift change. I recommend night classes. Lots of them.

(Steering slowly towards the point here…)

So the new mayor of Jackson has been on a tear this year. He shut down one club when he and officers showed up one night and found one dancer “really nood” and another couple having sex. He’s shut down 3 clubs so far for violations. He has actually said on the news that “Jackson is a religious community” and that the clubs “are degrading to women”, and he wants the clubs outta here. (This is the same guy who puts on a bulletproof vest and sidearm and goes on drug raids with the cops. I like him.)

(The point, finally.)

So last night another club got shut down. This one is actually one block behind my office. Good neon on it, too. I was watching the video this morning of them hauling 2 dancers out in handcuffs. They were arrested for breaking the naked ordinance. They were making a big show of hiding their faces from the camera. To me the question is – if you have the confidence to take your clothes off in public and in front of strangers, why do you need to shield your face from a camera while you are being placed in a cop car? Which is the part that embarrasses them?

Okay, so it sounded better at 5:30 this AM…

Cartoon Protests

2006-02-20T08:52:00.000-06:00

Okay – is anyone else as tired as I am of hearing about people killing each other over a damn cartoon?

Yes – it was insensitive of that guy to draw it.

Yes – the papers shouldn’t have published it.

Yes – the Italian guy shouldn’t have put it on a t-shirt.

(Okay – I’m lying! Being the “exacerbator” that I am, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when I first heard what he had done. Kudos to the Italian guy!)

But unless you are an idiot or have been in a cave for the last 20 years, you should know that a large majority of Muslims tend to overreact just a wee bit in situations like this, at least as seen through the lens of the non-Muslim world. When messing with an extremist religious group, there is always a price to be paid. I am somewhat surprised that some guy wearing a C4 t-shirt has not made himself wallpaper in the offices of the Danish newspaper that first printed it.

Of course everyone around here at work keeps talking about how stupid the Muslims are and how they are just trying to stifle free speech. So in fairness (because I am a Libra) I have to point out to them that the Muslims are actually practicing free speech by killing people. It’s what they do!

My argument is also usually met with silence. Especially when I point out that this whole thing reminds me a whole lot like the John Lennon “the Beatles are more popular than Jesus” fiasco. (In case you aren’t up on your history, John Lennon commented in a 1966 interview that Christianity was dying and that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. And if you aren’t up on your history, shame on you!) After his comment, religious groups around the world protested and started burning Beatles records in public in cities and towns across America and Beatles songs were banned from radio stations everywhere. Granted, no one was killed, but the KKK did make death threats against the mop-tops. And we all know that they are good at killing people. They are also an extremist religious group.

Hmmmm… I wonder what the Muslim counterpart to “Prussian Blue” would be?

Okay, so I suck lately!

2006-02-03T12:36:00.000-06:00

Yes, I've been post-less here for a while. I suck. Sue me. Just like the guy that bought the iPod and turned it up enough to damage his ears so he is now suing Apple. What an asshole!

Speaking of assholes, we've got a couple of good ones here. Actually, there are three. They just haven't told me the third name yet.

So the MS Bureau of Narcotics go bust a hotel where a guy and his "moll" are selling crack. Michael Liddell (45) and Elizabeth Crawford (31). Liddell is charged with the sale of crack cocaine and Crawford is charged with conspiracy. They were at the Quality Inn Hotel on County Line Road in Ridgeland, just north of Jackson. But the kicker is that the room is a FEMA-paid room. Investigators say the suspects were actually renting the room from someone else "claiming" to be a New Orleans evacuee. They paid 40 dollars a week to the "evacuee" to stay in the room. Police believe the so called evacuee may have several FEMA rooms in the area. Now the case is being handed over to the FBI for possible FEMA fraud. Duh!

So does that mean that once they catch the "evacuee", will he be charged for fraud and selling crack as well? I think that would be just grand!

Well, I have no excuses for my lack of new blogs lately, so you'll just have to trust me when I say I will try and do better. Once I figure out how to get the heroin out of my new puppy, that is... (Colombian fuckers!)

In praise of Lloyd Dobler

2006-01-26T07:19:00.000-06:00

Lloyd Dobler: I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.

Lessons in Religion

2006-01-24T10:06:00.000-06:00

I’m not a Christian.

I guess I was when I was younger, because I was too scared of the alternative. I came by my distaste for organized religion honestly, though. A Baptist preacher pissed me off when I was 8. I haven’t been back in a church, except for a few weddings and funerals, since 1970.

For the record, I don’t think most Christians are stupid. I think some are. I think some Muslims are stupid, but not all. There are stupid Buddhist, Hebrew, Shinto, Voodoo, Mormon and Mayan practitioners, as well as intelligent ones. And what religion would Native Americans practice? I don’t want to leave them out.

My point is that even though I am not religious and I have a hard time understanding what drives members of certain religions, I do not think they are stupid. While I do my best just to be a good guy and not piss over anyone (well, most anyone), I don’t look at them as if they are misled. It is something they need, and if they are happy with it then so be it. “So let it be written. So let it be done.” I do like a good Charlton Heston bible flick, by the way!

So anyway, my girlfriend is a southern transplant. She has lived only in the southern states in her 9 years in this country. As you no doubt know, southern America (not South America) is pretty much Christian country. The Bible Belt. Mississippi is indeed the buckle of said belt. She is always eager to learn, and she has witnessed some shit – good and bad.

She has been to a primitive Pentecostal church. They didn’t “take up the serpent” at that church (she would have returned home, I’m sure) but they did speak in tongues and fall down a lot. She was concerned. She has been to Baptist and Catholic churches. I think she needs to visit a synagogue just to round out her experience. Plus, I think the Hebrews have some cool traditions.

We first met just prior to Easter. She spent Easter with some friends in Louisiana. When she returned, she asked me to explain the whole Easter thing. (Excuse me while I burst into flames!) My ignorance was immediately apparent. About all I could tell her was what I learned from watching “The Ten Commandments” (for the whole passover thing) and "Ben Hur" (the crucifixion) about a hundred times. And what I knew from some of my catholic friends in New Orleans.

Anyway, I did some quick research to try and explain what was going on during the 40 days before ascension (although I promprtly forgot). While muddling through all of that, I discovered that Easter eggs come from the Germanic pagan rituals celebrating the beginning of spring. The Easter bunny and eggs symbolize fertility (oh, that promiscuous bunny!) and the bright colors of the eggs symbolizes the reawakening of the landscape as the winter solstice abates. What is it about Americans and their fondness for pagan rituals that if you call them pagan rituals they think you are a heretic?

But I am a shitty teacher.

When you get right down to it, you can’t go wrong with Edward G. Robinson as Dathan (and don’t forget the brilliant work of Rob Scheider on SNL as “Little Caesar Dathan”), Yul Brynner as Ramses (his best roll until “The Magnificent Seven”), and a brightly oiled John Derek swinging around the tops of the monuments – eye candy to a multitude of female moviegoers during a time when the American female was shedding years of repressed sexuality. And of course, this movie also gave rise to Metallica’s excellent “Creeping Death”. I can remember when I was a kid being so frightened of the green ooze coming through the streets, and the moans and screams and the guy falling down the stairs. A vengeful god! The best!!!!

BTW – in 1969, Brother Bill Causey (who has the same name as a recently arrested pedophile) made the comment in church (Parkway Baptist) that "the reason hippies wear turtleneck sweaters" was “to hide their flea collars!” I gave it up not long after that, when I realized that any fucker could get that gig no matter how much of a fucker they were.

But I sure do like me some Cecil B. DeMille!

Tote-Sum

2006-01-19T10:41:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid in the sixties, there were 2 convenience store chains in the United States. The first one was called 7-Eleven. Actually, the parent company had been operating convenience stores since the late twenties, but they didn’t start with the 7-Eleven chain until after WWII. The second convenience store chain in the U.S. was a local chain. It was the Tote-Sum.

Now, for those not hip to southern lingo, “tote” means to carry something. (It can also mean the thing to carry something in, but forget that one for now.) The word “Sum”, while a more correct spelling of the way we actually pronounce “some” was probably the owner’s crafty way of saving a little extra money on the signs by dropping a letter.

As a child, the Tote-Sum was my favorite place to go. At this writing, I can really only remember where about 4 or 5 of them were located, but there were at least 20 in the Jackson area. I know there was at least one in Vicksburg, but I don’t think there were any on the gulf coast. There were, however, 7-Eleven stores on the coast – something we didn’t have in Jackson. There may have been some in Hattiesburg or some to the north even.

If you ever run across someone who makes a reference to any convenience store as a “Tote-Sum”, you can pretty much nail them down as having lived in or around Jackson, Mississippi in the sixties, seventies or part of the eighties. To this day I still ask people “have y’all got a Tote-Sum around here?” Usually you get 2 different responses. One is “A what????” The other is invariably “I haven’t heard of a Tote-Sum in years!”

There were 2 within a 2 mile radius of my house. One of these was also very close to my school - an easy lunchtime trek through the woods surrounding a park to go fill up on candies and other goodies. I remember these both being open affairs – the storefront was really 3 rollup garage doors. It was like a big newspaper stand.

These did not have the trappings of a modern convenience store. There were no cappuccino machines or fountain drinks. The cooler was comparatively small, there were no aisles of products like motor oil and gloves and gas cans. There may have been light bulbs, but those were probably priced very high compared to the A&P across the street. I remember we also used to steal bottles stacked in crates behind the stores and bring them in for deposits – my first attempts at larceny. My store was on Northside Drive, across the stree from Highland Village and the Olde Time Deli. It stood next to the entrance to Maywood Mart. I once ripped out the oil pan of my ’72 Cutlass (the Brown Turd) in the side parking spaces.

To tell you the truth, I can’t really remember much about the inside of these stores. As much time as I spent there and as much crap as I bought, what once was such a large part of my life is not even a fading memory. All I can remember is a partial front-outside view of a paradise beckoning with open arms. And the sign.

The Tote-Sum sign was a thing to behold. Of course you would probably laugh at my recollection if you were to ever see one, but you have to remember that this was Jackson, Mississippi and it was the sixties and I was a child. In a metropolitan area of 250,000 souls and a 19 story building being our tallest, the sign was, to me, a thing of beauty. It was the closest thing I had to the streets of downtown Tokyo circa “You Only Live Twice”. Well, it and the Mayflower Café sign…

The sign stood probably 30 feet or so. It was a white pole, about 5 inches in diameter. Starting at the top were 8 olive green square metal boxes, each probably close to 2-3 feet per side, descending down the pole. On the left, right and front sides of each box was a reddish-orange-ish neon letter. T O T E – S U M. The neon was sequenced to start at the top, light a letter and pause about a second, light the next letter, pause, so on and so on until all 8 letters (well, 7 letters and the dash) were lit. Then they would all shut off for about half a second and then all come on for about a second. It would do that twice. Then it would start at the top of the sequence.

T…O…T…E…-…S…U…M…TOTE-SUM…TOTE-SUM

T…O…T…E…-…S…U…M…TOTE-SUM…TOTE-SUM

I remember some evenings, returning home with one or both parents, we would stop off for something at the Tote-Sum. Whereas most kids would always want to go inside and look around or spend their hard-earned cash, I would almost always elect to remain in the car staring, transfixed, at this wondrous device. It beckoned me. It spoke to me.

And not just to me!

In the nineties, I was working in the IT department for a grocery chain. The Tote-sum stores had long been closed, and most of the buildings were gone as well – victims of progress. My favorite store at least still remained – disguised as a Subway sandwich shop. I was working on a graphics-intensive executable and decided to have a unique “Exit” button. I made this button green and put big red-orange letters spelling “Exit” (of course) flashing in the same sequence as my beloved Tote-sum sign. E…X…I…T…EXIT…EXIT…E…X…I…T…EXIT…EXIT. I did it mostly because I was playing around and had way too much time on my hands.

While it was being beta-tested, I had at least 6 different people come to me and ask if I had modeled this on the old Tote-Sum sign. One even told me he used to sit in the car and watch the sign when he was a kid. Too bad I thought (and still think) this guy is an asshole. We could easily have been kindred spirits.

But he was a mainframe geek and never made coffee.

I can forgive the former, but the latter is a red-hot brad-awl shoved through my soul - no matter if you were a Tote-sum sign dreamer.

Road rage

2006-01-18T08:12:00.000-06:00

Another useless post, and also one that requires a little preparation.

Around the time I am making whatever meager point I am trying to make, I will ask you, the reader, to visualize a gesture. I feel as if I should go ahead and get this gesture firmly entrenched in your brain so that I can call it up at a moment’s notice. Actually, there are 2 gestures I will discuss later, but one I am sure you already know.

Imagine any Woody Allen film you’ve ever seen in which he is one of the characters. At some point he will be trying to explain some intricate, emotional problem he is experiencing, and he will take both hands and place them horizontally against his head, the fingertips touching between the temples and forehead, then he will bring them both forward in a movement clearly defining exasperation. Practice that image for a second… Are the pretzels making you thirsty?

Good. Now, also imagine that same gesture, but instead of a smooth, quick, forward motion, think of bringing them forward and splaying the fingers somewhat, and then waving them in a rapid, back-and-forth motion from about five inches away from the head to about three inches away from the head. This is also accompanied by eyelids going from relaxed to “Roger-Rabbit” eye-popping size. We will call this gesture “aghast-flabbergastedness”, for want of a better word.

Hey – never let it be said that I will send you off ill-prepared!

My girlfriend and I were driving home Monday afternoon after a busy day of skipping work (for me, at least, as her company is owned by foreigners who don't understand that they are supposed to hate black people and not take MLK Day as a holiday) and doing pretty much nothing productive (and having a damn fine time doing so, I might add!) We were stopped at a traffic light at Old Fannin Road and Flowood Drive (for those of you familiar with Rankin County and Dogwood Festival) and while waiting, she leaned over for a few seconds of “tongue-rasslin’” while I wasn’t having to divert all my attention to the road. My peripheral vision caught the change to green, and as I was shifting into first, a red mustang behind me honked long and loud, as if to tell me that the car in front of me was now 15 feet farther down the road and I was not yet moving.

He should have just gotten pissed and gunned his little mid-life-crisis-mobile past me and been done with it, because he was not yet aware of the sleeping tiger he had awakened within me.

About 200-300 yards down the road from this light is a strip-mall entrance and then a major intersection with a state highway. Traffic on this highway at that time of day in that area is usually reminiscent of a parking lot for a couple of miles until it opens up to 8 lanes (from 4). So as I am progressing towards this intersection with the idea of turning right (or west to any locals reading this), I notice that he is still behind me. I start to salivate in anticipation of the agony I can inflict upon his tiny-penis-hiding-hot-rod with my own vehicle, but it looked as if he were preparing to continue straight at the intersection instead of heading west.

Suddenly, he pulls into the turn lane! A quick “Yesss! Thank you, God!” escapes from my lips, turning my young lady into a squealing mass of laughter, as I never make any references to the hallowed one, except when deriding the “flamboyantly Christian locals” of the tri-county area.

Seeing this as a gift that must be accepted, I morph immediately into “fucked-up-driving-man”, unleashing my uncanny ability to second guess every move of my trailing prey and place myself soundly between the hapless victims and their destinations. It just so happened that traffic was indeed in parking lot mode, so all I was able to accomplish in such a short span was to pull out on the highway and then pull into the left lane to where a blue car was stopped. The right lane was stopped as well, but it was stopped farther back. So I had the lead - a whopping 2 car-lengths. But size means nothing to me! I was in front! Woohoo!!

Anyway, flaccid-penis-red-mustang-man pulls out onto the highway, guns his engine as if to pass me (although I am already stopped in the left lane) and then slams on his brakes to keep from ramming me. He then proceeds to display “aghast-flabbergastedness” (see above) as his aneurism begins to swell.

At this point I can only be amazed. This display, while rewarding, was certainly not an appropriate reaction for the limited skirmish we had fought. I don’t know if he wanted to be parked behind the blue car, or if he wanted to run into the blue car or what. But he was obviously pissed that I was stopped in traffic in front of him. So pissed, in fact, that he then proceeds to flip me off for a good 15 seconds. Quite a generous display, I might add. He was thrusting his fist and extended finger against his windshield, staring straight into my rear-view mirror.

All of a sudden, this was no longer fun. I realized that there could possibly be a madman behind me. He looked as if he were ready to ram me. I started to worry. The only weapon I had at my disposal was my phone-camera. I made a show of taking several pictures (the were worthless, but he couldn't tell!) and that seemed to have a calming effect on him. Maybe he just ran out of adrenaline? Who knows?

For the next few minutes, we crept through traffic. Once the jam began to ease, he continued to stay behind me. I think he was wary of me now. I had to turn off about then, and he shot past without even a glance, avoiding the all-seeing-RAZR-eye. Even though I bested this oaf, my fun was tempered with the realization that I was pretty damn glad he didn’t have a gun. And I was also pretty glad I didn’t have one, because I found myself fighting an overwhelming urge to yank him out of the car and shoot him on the spot in the middle of the highway for all the assholes to see. Road rage… It’s contagious.

Because even though I was completely guilty of wanting to be a pain in his ass, the traffic at the time did not allow it. I was innocent of any asshole-ishness or wrongdoing, but that was out of my control – I just never had time to use any of my moves. But he just freaked because I was in front of him, which would have been the case even if he hadn’t been an asshole and honked at me for kissing my girlfriend and wasting that valuable 3 seconds of his life that he would never be able to reclaim. It really could have been just an innocent thing. And he could have killed us, or worse, I could have killed him!

Epilogue:

About an hour after this incident, Kenneth Thornton of Crystal Springs, Mississippi, was killed on I-220 on the other side of Jackson from where my fracas ensued. Apparently, the gunman didn’t like the way this guy passed him, and shot him in the back of the head while they were going 70mph on the interstate. Police are still searching for the asshole.

It’s a good thing my guns stay at home, because it is contagious!

MLK Day observations

2006-01-17T15:18:00.000-06:00

I would like to apologize in advance for several things in today’s post:
A rambling, go-nowhere kind of post.
The use of the word “nigger”
The use of the word “pussy”
Over the years I have developed a great distaste for the word “nigger”, and I almost never write it, and I rarely speak it. Only when I am very pissed. I liken the word “nigger” to be as offensive as the word “cunt”, which I also rarely use, and only when I am really pissed off. However, I was not able to use the word “cunt” in the post below. Instead I had to use “pussy”. While speaking of the same area geographically, the latter meaning is the one needed.

I have decided that there are 3 types of people in and around the area where I live, and perhaps farther spread than that.

These are:

People who vehemently deny the honoring of Martin Luther King as they passionately acknowledge the honoring of Robert E. Lee.
People who vehemently deny the honoring of Robert E. Lee and passionately acknowledge the honoring of Martin Luther King.
People that accept both of these men and their places in history.

Numbers 1 and 2 are definitely the crowd pleasers here.

To tell you the truth, I have no idea when either birthday really is. But I do know that until I was in my twenties, business in Jackson, Mississippi (and I’m sure other southern cities as well) would close for Robert E. Lee’s birthday. I remember when I was young I was branded a heretic for asking why we celebrated him since he lost the Civil War. (Or the Great Unpleasantness as some still refer to it.)

However, through the years I have actually learned a little about the man and have come to realize that he did possess many traits that would should be considered noble. Now, I’m not making him out to be a great hero by any means, but he did manage some “forward thinking” actions in his lifetime, and I think that he and Dr. King may have been able to have some good discussions together.

So anyway, I took the day off yesterday. Not to honor either one of these men, but to spend the day with my girlfriend. Her company actually closed for a day! But they aren’t from around here.

It seems to me (and I may be wrong here) that some of the local businesses around here that once closed for REL day have, in a fit of spite to be admired by a precocious 2 year old, remained open once MLK day was established as a legal holiday. I can almost see these white-headed patriarchs, infirm and palsied, loosening their grip on their walkers in order to shake a spotty fist at the unseen enemy. “How dare you, suh?” they may croak. They probably feel as if the Negroes are raping their daughters unabashed, spoiling the flowers of Dixie.

Well, in case you were wondering, I am in the third category. While the majority of my friends are either 1 or 2. It reminds of the assholes that think that if you are not “pro-choice”, then you have to be “pro-death”. As if…

I can remember the turmoil surrounding the assassination if MLK. Memphis was just 200 miles from my house. My parents, as beatnik and uber-hip as the strove to be in 1960’s Jackson, worked themselves into a frenzy that night. I’m sure they were debating putting the mattresses against the walls to hopefully serve as projectile barricades or whether to go ahead and just shoot my brother and me and then kill themselves to avoid the coming slaughter. I had no idea of the scope of what was happening at the time. It just seemed to me like I was seeing an awful lot of televised funerals around that time.

Back in 1984 when U2’s “Pride” became a huge hit, the band I was in was covering that song. I will never forget the moment when one of my best friends said to me that MLK was “just another nigger” and then lashed out at U2 for writing that song. I have never been so astounded and amazed before or since. Here was a perfectly functioning member of society in all of the social graces and skills, but she was a true “daughter of the South” and it just freaked me out. Granted, her wounds were caused not by experiences, but by the clever honing of her mind by her parents and grandparents and a bevy of aunts and uncles, all intent on saving the South from the black man. And while I must admit she has mellowed over the years, I never again brought up that particular subject. I don’t want to know the answer. I pride myself on being patient enough to have friends in categories 1 and 2, but I guess one of the bad things about membership in the #3 club is that you occasionally just have to be a pussy and ignore the assholes.

Real-time controversy

2006-01-12T08:23:00.000-06:00

Well, it looks like I got right into the middle of this one... James Frey - a millionare author of 2 published "memoirs' is now having to defend his "embellishments" and is trying to sue thesmokinggun.com.

Last night, he was on Larry King's show, being petted and stroked and even having Oprah call Larry's show and offer her support.

Why is it that I have this insane desire to see this guy humiliated?

Damn!

2006-01-11T13:15:00.000-06:00

Which Napoleon Dynamite character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Thanks, DeadpanAnn

"In retrospect, maybe that's not quite right...?"

2006-01-11T10:05:00.000-06:00

Last night I was listening to All Things Considered on the way home. I had never heard of James Frey before, or his book. But William Bastogne, editor of thesmokinggun.com has!

Remind me to never piss these guys off!

There is no way in the world I could ever write anything that could do justice to this story. Please read it for yourself. It's ridiculous, but it's also sad how many people have been taken in by this guy. I just think these guys are geniuses at tracking down this bastard's lies. Why didn't we have THEM looking for nonexistent WMD?

Ahem... Kettle? You are indeed so black like me!

2006-01-04T09:35:00.000-06:00

I can't believe that the first 11 sentences in my previous post all end with exlamation points! See!!! I can't stop! Well, I will try to do better, since I also rant about good grammar all the time. And empty coffee pots. And fuckers.

So it's January 4th now. Wal Mart has already filled the aisles with Valentine's day stuff. Then on Feb 15th, we'll have the Easter Tree decorations out.

Where I live, Easter is decorated seriously. Lots of crosses. I live in a subdivision called Crossgates. I always thought it had something to do with intersecting roads. Now I wonder. On the other side of Brandon (where I live) is a subdivision that touts itself as a Christian subdivision. At the entrance to the subdivision is a big marble-ish cross laying on it's side. I think it would be creepy living there. I imagine Stepford.

On the other side of my subdivision is a neighborhood that was built after mine. It is called "The Commons". A commons is a green, pastoral, park-like area shared by a community. But the builders apparently didn't pay attention in grammar class. For several years the big wooden sign out from said "The Common's". I took it to mean that everyone that lived in the subdivision was a peasant. People didn't understand why I called it "The Proletariat" or sometimes "Le Bourgeoisie". I guess they thought I couldn't read. So about 4 years ago, someone got hip. Maybe one of the neighborhood children noticed after a heady day in the classroom. Anyway, they decided that a change should be made. And in true lazy redneck fashion, someone just got a little dab obrown paint and painted over the apostrophe. So now the sign reads "The Common s" with a darker spot of brown betwixt the "n" and "s". It sounds like a bar. Which we can't have in our county. Or liquor stores. Because people think that when you open up liquor stores and bars, you will get strip clubs. In fact, restaurants can only serve beer. How bourgeois!

Anyway, Easter is decorated with a seriousness akin to Christmas. Which is my segue into my last decoration update. If you have read some of my previous posts, you no doubt read about "penitent Santa", "new penitent Santa" and "upgraded penitent Santa". "Penitent Santa" (or "original penitent Santa") never showed up. In fact, no decorations at all went up at this house. "New penitent Santa", the identical twin of "original penitent Santa", will probably become "default penitent Santa" next year, if "original" skips a second year. Maybe there was an illness in the family? Who knows? "Upgraded penitent Santa", if you remember, was just like OPS and NPS except it bore the legend "EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW" with the postscript "Romans 14:11". But the morning I was leaving on vacation and driving to my girlfriend's apartment, I found yet another "penitent Santa". This one was just like "upgraded penitent Santa", but where UPS had a pink background for the text, "counterfeit upgraded penitent Santa" (as this one shall be known) boasted a baby blue background, and no postscripted bible verse. Now, in fairness, it could actually be "beta-version upgraded penitent Santa" instead of "counterfeit upgraded penitent Santa". It is located not far from the font of "upgraded penitent Santas", as well as elves, angels, etc... This yard bore the questionable device "Art for sale", leading me to assume that not only were these hideous pop-ups considered by at least one person to be "art", but that this was the well from which they all sprung. So, "counterfeit upgraded penitent Santa" could in all fairness really be "beta-version upgraded penitent Santa", and created before the artisan realized that "EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW" was plagiarized text and that the reference should be included. Or someone could have just made their own. I will do my best to keep the controversy to a minimum.

I can't wait to see his/her Easter "art".

Where the hell are the flying cars?

2006-01-03T10:05:00.000-06:00

It's a new year, dammit! It just looks the same to me!

Well, okay! I'm different! That's right! The last thing I did in 2005 was exchange bodily fluids! It's also the first thing I did in 2006! I have to be careful! At my age, that could kill me!!!!

So yes indeed, I am grinning like nobody's business!

But fear not! I am not going to waste your precious time with any "guy talk" (although I have to say taking all those years of sexlessness improved my outlook on sex [which is another way of saying "if she's still walkin', I don't know my business!"]).

No - I have decided that I must tell you why I hate foreigners. Nope - not right! I have many friends that are not native to this continent. Hell - technically I am not native to this continent! But no, I have decided that I hate other state's foreigners. Maybe it's foreigners on vacations? I have no idea!

Last week, I spirited my girlfriend (ooooohhh! I like saying that!) out of town for a few days. I had not vacationed in several years, and neither had she. Plus, she works for a Japanese company and they are notorious workaholics AND her boss is a cunt! They are workaholics because they have to deal with a mothership on the other side of the planet (half a day off in time zones). I have no idea why her boss is a cunt, though!

So anyway, because our schedules are what they are, we had to keep it within the region so we could drive. New Orleans is broken, so I thought Atlanta would be good. Big enough to do lots of shopping and nightlife. Plus, we wanted to have at least one night for a dress-up date at a good restaurant. (By the way - just because a restaurant says "proper dress required", it doesn't necessarily mean that you can't wear sweat suits or have your pants halfway down your ass or wear a baseball cap indoors! But that's also another blog...) We had also planned to go see the peach drop at Underground, but we ended up having sex instead. Did I mention that I had sex? That being said, it was an excellent trip. Except for the foreigners.

Now, before I get labeled as some politically incorrect (I am) republican (am not) southerner (definitely), let me explain that I am not some politically incorrect rebuplican southerner. In other words, "shut up, he explained". Let me just say that as far as I am concerned, you are welcome here as long as you aren't trying to knock down our buildings or radiating the populace by blowing up cobalt bombs. I am all about the "melting pot" philosophy. But just because your country's culture may require you to be a rude asshole when you are on the streets of whatever third-world piece of shit hell hole you left behind doesn't mean that you bring that crap to me. You are in the South, goddammit! (Well, Atlanta's no longer a southern town, I guess...) But down here, we say hello to people, or smile. You no doubt noticed that I not only held the door open for you and your abused and neglected wife, but also for the African-American (too PC? Negro is still easier to say!) couple in front of you! And their ancestors were enslaved by mine! Yet they still managed a "thank you"! And a smile! Because I was smiling at them, maybe? But don't look at me like I need to be washing the oil-well residue off your fucking BMW instead of staying in the same hotel as you! Eat shit, fucker! And you apparently know enough English to check in, so don't use that as an excuse!

Ahhhh... It's good to be back.

It turns out that the nicest people in Atlanta (other than the staff at Fellini's Pizza - but I already new that one!) were the hotel housekeeping staff. I had a wonderful time chatting it up with a young lady bearing towels in the elevator on New Year's day! The desk staff left a little to be desired. And the ancient white bell captain can kiss my ass. (Maybe he has a bigger problem with foreigners than I do?) But the (much older) housekeeping lady that interrupted us during sex (did I mention that I had sex?) (and that I was still having sex at 10:30?) was equally nice, but I didn't have much opportunity to talk to her through the half-inch crack in the door. But I would like to thank the housekeeping staff for being good people. You must be from the south.

But back to the foreigner thing. Here's where I sound like the right-winder that I am not. Make that right-winger. That I am most certainly not.

When you come here, try to learn these 3 phrases - "Hello", "Thank You", "Goodbye". It would be great if you could communicate in English, but I have learned that a large portion of the citizenry of the U.S. can't communicate in English. I mean people with English as their first language! But that's another blog... However, you are more than welcome (as far as I'm concerned) to come here and continue your "English As A Second Language" studies if you are planning on living here. If you are vacationing, then the above 3 phrases (and a willingness to experiment in hand signals) will get you extremely far in my book. (When I meet new Japanese students at the ELI at USM, I immediately teach them how to say "Hey y'all". Occasionally I get them as far as "how's your mama 'n' them?".) But for fuck's sake - just because you might come from a place where it's possible that someone smiles and nods at you and says the local equivalent of "hey" just prior to caning, flogging or beheading you doesn't mean you shouldn't do your homework before visiting to learn that, yes, there are some areas of the US where strangers say hello to other strangers! Hell, I say "hi" to strangers in New York! Sure, it brands me as a rube, but what the fuck do I care. I figure I'm giving them a good story for when they get home that night!

So on Sunday, we drove back home. I love driving with my girl, because when she gets sleepy, she wraps both her arms around my right arm and goes to sleep on my shoulder. But it was a grey, cloudy day and I was driving back roads instead of interstates. It took forever, but I was just prolonging the moment when we would be separated for the first time in 5 days. We stopped in Anniston to get some food and also to have 2 redneck crackers and their redneck cracker whores make some snide comments about my girlfriend's nationality that I didn't quite catch until one of the crackers started doing lots of throat clearing (in the American redneck fucker's signal for "shut up - he's listening"). But she was cool with it (because she's fucking awesome!) and just chalked it up to Alabama being full of ignorant RC/RCW pieces of shit. We got back on the road and stopped in Meridian for gas and snacks. In the store, I ran into a man and his son, both of a Latin-American persuasion, at the drink cooler. The young boy was speaking rapid-fire Spanish, proudly extolling the virtues of the candy bar that he was preparing to purchase. Out of habit I smiled, nodded and said "hey" to the father, and he smiled, and nodded back. No "hey", but I still wanted to hug him! I like our foreigners! I hate everyone else's foreigners!

So, except for the sex (I'm pretty sure I mentioned that I had sex!), 2006 looks pretty much the same as 2005. And now that I have a girlfriend, I have decided that I need a fiance. That's something I will have to work on this year. And dropping the five pounds of cookies, cake, ice-cream and strawberries and cream frappucinos that I seem to have collected during the holidays.

Rock on!

Jesus Is Loud.

2005-12-22T08:08:00.000-06:00

Well, the "real" penitent Santa has not made it out yet. In fact, the family could be dead in their house and no one has noticed. However, I did find secondary penitent Santa at a house on the edge of town (maybe they moved?) and I have also beheld "new" penitent Santa.

New penitent Santa is actually more like "upgraded" penitent Santa, in a way. While the almost exact facial expression remains on the kindly gentleman's visage (maybe little baby Jesus is a tad larger, too?), the words "EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW" have been added.

I live on a cul-de-sac. There are several escape routes out of my neighborhood. On one of the lesser travelled routes (the street directly behind mine, actually) I found "new/upgraded" penitent Santa this past weekend. Once I got on the "main drag" through my subdivision, I found ANOTHER "new/upgraded" penitent Santa. But actually, I think that this could be the proverbial font of penitent Santas. Either that, or the person living there has the most fucked-up sense of decoration EVER!

In the yard surrounding said Santa were wise men, angels blowing horns, elves, reindeer and some other exotic stuff I didn't have time to register. But there was also a sign that said "art for sale". I wanted to stop and ask if I could purchase a Picasso.

About 2 blocks into our subdivision, there is an ugly house on the corner that has a sign in front positioned so that you see each side depending on if you are entering or exiting the neighborhood. When I come home, I get some religious message that I can't remember because just beyond this sign is a yard filled with many lights and inflatable christmas icons. But when I leave the neighborhood, the flip-side of this sign tells me that "Jesus Is Loud". Is that because he's coming? (Insert sound of rim-shot here)

Okay, so it's a very scripty font that actually says "Jesus Is Lord". But I swear when you first see it, you will think it says "loud". If I can remember, I will try to quit taking pictures of fuckers long enough to snap some shots of penitent Santa and loud Jesus.

Who says Christmas can't be fun?

The new secret weapon.

2005-12-21T12:48:00.000-06:00

Okay, not a good blog today, but there's some pressure to produce, now!!!

So I don't know what my problem is, but I have a couple of really screwed up pet peeves. One is coffee. The other is driving. Vague? Yes. Don't worry... I'll explain. (Oh thank you!)

The coffee pot at work is a metaphor for America. It holds so much promise, and yet is taken for granted by so many. God damn! I'm a genius!

Anyway, I get to work in the morning and make a pot. I drink a cup. I go back for more and there's about 1/4" of rancid tar in the bottom of the pot where some asshole decided his (or her) time was way too fucking important to hook some up for the next guy (or girl). I think that rude assholes should be gut-shot on the steps of the courthouse and then spat upon. I'm pretty sure that anyone that would be so rude is probably the same guy that has to strangle a puppy just to get an erection. Sorry - I had to surpress a laugh on that one...

Driving? Well... It would take much longer than either one of us have for me to go over all the things that piss me off on the road. But suffice it to say that if you are reading this, you are literate and probably have at least some education, ergo you are probably pissed off by the same things that piss me off. No turn signals, changing lanes and then hitting the brakes, teenage girls, makeup artists... The list is huge.

Now, after all that digression, maybe I can get to the point. (Did I just hear a thank you?) While never having been a trendy type guy, I did just buy a new RAZR. My old phone (without a color screen or camera or internet capability) finally gave up the ghost. Well, I just learned that a camera in a phone can do two things for me.

First, when some fucker pulls some shit in a car and draws my ire, I have found that merely taking a picture of either the stupid act, or the car tag, or the fucker that is driving has effect of calming me instantly. When I do this, I am always thinking how great this photo will look on my blog. Along with an explanation of their deed. And hopefully maybe even an address if they can keep from ditching me before they get home.

I have now learned (after a couple of weeks and about 5 or 6 pictures) that when someone realizes what you have done, you are bound to get some good reactions. I had one guy try to get me to pull over to the shoulder. I guess he wanted to kick my ass and take my phone. Another flipped me off. Unfortunately I wasn't ready with the camera. One lady who pulled in front of me in a slot just big enough for her car without using her signal got a tag and facial - which was witnessed by her young son (unencumbered by his seat belt, I might add) who then started to cry to mommy causing her to speed up to get away from me. Like that would drag the photons with her, or something?

Anyway, I am really impressed at how that simple act can have such a lasting impression. I'm sure that one day I will get shot, but I'm having way too much funto worry about that. Maybe oneday I will also have a show of all my latest work.

I would also like to add that in the space between the 2 previous paragraphs, I went to the breakroom to get a cup of coffee. There was indeed a quarter inch of coffee sitting on the burner. But this time I saw the fucker that did it. He is so fat that he can't walk up a flight of stairs without stopping and collecting himself. (I can mock him because I lost 90 lbs.) He also thinks that women should make coffee and bring it to him. (I'm not making this up!) His supervisor (a woman) told me this. I'd love to read his review!

Well, I don't know if I will be posting any more before next year as I am taking the first vacation I have had in four years. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy (and safe) New Year. And if you pull in front of me or drink all the coffee, go fuck yourself!

Peace!

If you're happy and you know it... go to hell??

2005-12-16T07:44:00.000-06:00

Boy. I have learned that if you had 2 people reading your blog when you are bitching, you will have zero readers if you are happy. What is that all about?

I sure do hope that something really sucky happens to me soon so that I can write about it. Until then I promise to keep the gooey comments to a minimum. Unfortunately I am in too good of a mood and nothing bad has happened to me this week. And no one wants to hear about my love life.

I promise - I will try to get in a shitty mood over the weekend!

The new best night of my life!

2005-12-13T07:54:00.000-06:00

Last night at 10:57PM, the girl that I am devoting my life to (the object of my affection, my "crossing-my-fingers-and-hoping-she-becomes-my-significant-other", the girl that my one reader knows as the girl I am smitten with) were standing at the top of her stairs as I gave her a good night kiss (or two or so...). She wrapped her arms around me, leaned in and whispered "I love you" in my right ear.

I am smiling.

Sartorial nightmare...

2005-12-09T08:58:00.000-06:00

I cannot tie a bowtie. I have been trying for 3 days. I've got a big date tonight and I finally get to wear my new tux. My date is extremely stylish, hip and beautiful, and she is going to be a vision tonight in a black dress and long gloves! I really wanted to go the extra mile and get a real bowtie. Then I could be the only guy at the end of the evening with the untied tie hanging around my neck. How cool would that be?

But, unfortunately, it is not meant to be. Perhaps my neck is too big? Perhaps I'm just retarded?

I can write excellent computer code.
I can fly a plane.
I can play many instruments, some of them pretty well.
I can write songs.
I can take photographs and process them in a darkroom.
I can build things out of wood.
I can figure out electronic equipment.
I can shoot pretty well.
I can make people feel happy or stupid.

But I can't tie a bowtie. And for some reason that makes me feel incomplete.

Penitent Santa

2005-12-08T07:48:00.000-06:00

Where I live, people take religion seriously. Except for one middle eastern family (that I know of) that lives in the more upscale section of my subdivision, I am the lone holdout from Christianity. In fact, I don't even know that we have any jewish families around us. I'm sure we do. I think. And then my "crossing-my-fingers-and-hoping-she-becomes-my-significant-other" lives just outside my subdivision. (I can't wait until I can call her my girlfriend!) Anyway, she is from a country that is 99% Shinto or Buddhist. She's not a Christian.

I have no problems with Christians. I really was one when I was younger. But when I was 8, the uber-Baptist preacher commented that "the reason hippies (this was in 1969) wear turtlenecks is to hide their flea collars." Even at that tender age, I was able to smell the taint of hypocrisy and never attended another service. Not that my integrity was so advanced, but more because "The Bullwinkle Show" aired on Sunday mornings. Anyway, I don't throw Christians to lions or persecute them in any way. In fact, I persecute no one for any religious beliefs. Hey - do what you gotta do. That's my motto. Hmm... That's not really a good motto, I guess. My point is I don't go around trying to get Christians to switch teams. However, they are all the time telling me that I'm going to hell because I don't go to church. I keep wondering why being a good person is not enough to keep me out of the pit. Maybe they just want me in church so they can keep an eye on me? Perhaps there is a signing bonus?

But I am losing focus here...

So anyway, with Christmas now arriving, everyone is putting out the decorations. I, myself, prefer fun and secular. But this being Brandon, Mississippi, most decorations tend to be religious in nature. I feel that you should stick to one or the other. If you are going fun and secular, it should be big, loud, garish and bright enough to give Entergy a hard-on. The bigger the house, the more area you have to attach lights! It should destroy the night vision of passing motorists. On the other hand, if you want the religious tone, I feel like that is best served with "simple and subdued". Colorful enough to invoke passion, yet plain enough to keep the message from being lost. Yep. Secular or religious. Go right ahead! (I am getting sick of the wire-grid deer, though. And as for the inflatable decorations? Of course the kids will shoot them with pellet guns, you idiots! You might as well pour gasoline to put out a fire!)

So I have a couple of beefs with the Christians.

First of all, Christmas is representative of the birth of the little baby Jesus. It's been a while since I read a bible, but I don't recall anything saying that the three wise men came to Bethlehem and nailed LBJ (not the president) to a cross. That's what the Easter is all about - the Easter bunny nailing big, adult Jesus to a cross! So why do you insist on putting crosses out in your front yard? And hanging a purple cloth from it? Easter! And if you insist on having a cross, do you really have to have it completely wrapped in lights so that it comes very close to looking almost like a KKK rally? A few years ago the people that lived in the house on the diagonal corner from the middle-eastern family I spoke of had a large, light-wrapped, pupil-constricting cross on the streetlight pole at the corner of their lot, pointing directly at the MEF's house. I thought they were trying to incite jihad. But I digress... Cross=Easter=dead Jesus. Christmas=manger=baby Jesus. Oh - and MEF=middle eastern family. But you knew that!

Now we get to Penitent Santa.

The other beef I have with the Christians is the habit of mixing the stories. Not too far from my house is what I like to call Penitent Santa. I just found out that more than one exists - I have seen the second one! Maybe you have, too. So it's a wooden cutout of a regulation Santa, but he has removed his jaunty hat and is holding it, clenched between his hands. His brow is lined not with the lines of jolliness and laughter, but with a serious, eyebrows raised look that can only truly be described as the look of a peptic ulcer kicking in, but is actually trying to represent humble respect, and the awe of a miracle being witnessed. He is on one knee (I think - maybe both?), kneeling, hat in hand, respectfully humble, in front of a manger in which the little baby Jesus is laying in swaddling clothes. If you were to see one of these, you would understand why the term "Penitent Santa" is so apropos. In fact, you would no doubt applaud my sheer genius! "Mr. B!" you would say. "I have to applaud your genius!" And I would be gracious and modest and tell you that I was merely doing my job.

So my beef is that Santa Claus kneeling in front of the little baby Jesus is just... Not right! (Okay - so I'm not a genius!) I'm pretty sure that there was indeed some person that the stories of Kris Kringle/Santa Claus were vaguely modeled after. I'm pretty sure he was not alive on Jesus' birthday. So not only are we unravelling the fabric of time with this display (why not have a picture of ME handing Joseph a cigar in the stable, while congratulating Mary?) but we are also crossing the commercialism/religion boundary as well. Not that I really care, because I think anyone that builds a church the size of an office buidling instead of feeding and clothing the homeless pretty much is in it for the dough anyway. But the Christians don't see it that way. They go to church, so they're going to heaven. Yes, I'm generalizing.

Now - this comes under the heading of "anything worth doing is worth doing right!" Yep, if you're going to have a Christmas display that crosses all of these boundaries, then you really should have a Santa nailed to a cross. With presents at his feet! That's an idea I wish I had come up with! Also, I did see on the news this morning that the residents of a neighborhood in Florida are trying to get the city to make a resident remove his display. He has a Santa hanging from a noose in a tree, with a blindfold on, and his hands and feet bound together. My goal now is to have a Santa in a shower with his hands cuffed over the curtain rod, and a reindeer slicing him up with a chainsaw and spraying blood everywhere, ala "Scarface". I'll bet that would make quite the impression in my neighborhood.

I'm officially an adult, now?

2005-12-02T08:48:00.000-06:00

In the Hebrew faith, you have the briss (ouch?) followed by (some time later) the bar mitzvah.

Some african tribes mark the start of a young man's adulthood when he kills his first lion.

The world is littered with various ways of signifying the commencement from childhood to adulthood.

I, however, bought a tux.

Now I feel like a goddamn grown-up fer sure!

Actually, I feel more like James Bond than anything else. The Sean Connery James Bond, that is. Not the pussy Roger Moore James Bond. (Yes - he was the first Bond to wear a leisure suit!) If I were tall and skinny, I could probably hang with feeling like the Pierce Brosnan Bond, too. But (as far as I'm concerned) Sean is the standard.

Anyway, I now own a tux.

All my life, I have pretty much been a slob. Comfort has been the watchword with me. When I was on the road all the time, it was either sweats or jeans during the day, and then other jeans or (during the metal band years) leathers on stage. FYI - I was never one of these "put-on-all-the-shit-you-wear-on-stage-and-go-to-the-mall" kind of guys. I have to establish a little credibility here... As we got older and advanced into the "not-getting-paid-shit-to-travel-everywhere-and-play-your-own-music-instead-of-covers" scene, I found that whatever I was wearing during the drive to the gig was what I was wearing that night. Convenience has a name, too...

Once I "retired" from the music biz and started working "real jobs", I became aware of an idea known as a "dress code" (or "duress code" as I called it). The code was that whatever was most uncomfortable wear became that which you would wear. But that also brought about the advent of "casual Friday". This meant that on Friday, you could be more "casual", relatively. So if everyday dress was slacks and tie, on Friday you could wear slacks and polo. If everyday were "business casual", Friday could even mean blue jeans.

What I learned over the years was how to squeeze every ounce of casual out of "casual Friday". At one job that I kept for 7 years, I was down to sweats and tanks on Friday. I have a knack for making myself very indespensable at a job, which helps lower the veil of blindness over the eyes of the bosses. This also helps me get away with growin the hair back out, etc...

You guessed it... I'm just a big, dumb kid! But not anymore! I. Have. A tux! Woohoo!

During the last 10-12 years, I really let myself go. I was hovering around 300 lbs. Then (long story short) I dropped down to 210 and found that my only good suit could not be altered enough to fit me. No big deal for the nonce, as I wasn't planning on going to any funerals or suit-requiring gigs.

That was also before I met a girl that has become the object of my affection. She is stylishly hip, but also doesn't care if I dress like a tramp cyclist or homeless guy. In some freaky, quirky twist, that has made me want to "clean up nice" somewhat as well. And while I will never be one of these GQ model guys, I have begun to make something somewhat akin to an effort to, on occasion, attempt to portray myself as someone that doesn't make the average passerby feel sorry for the girl walking next to me. It's an odd feeling to have.

So anyway, since I have finally come to a weight that is probably where I will be staying, I decided to go ahead and get a new suit (since even the magic tailor Al couldn't bring the old one in enough to not look like somone had autopsied me while wearing it). A blue one. I am also having to learn a little about things like "what goes with what". She is infinitely patient with me. And while those who know me think I may be selling out, I have found that I really enjoy the moments when I appear all shorn and natty and her eyes pop open and she makes comments on how good I look. It's amazing.

However, while dressing up in a suit is nice, I still prefer a tux. A good tux makes you feel like you will be having sex before the sun rises again! Plus, I have made 2 trips to the opera as of last month, and an outing to the ballet is next week. I could have saved myself a little dough if I had bought this in October. So it's really a fiscal statement more than a stylish statement, I guess.

But it's a really cool thing to own. I feel almost like I did when I bought my house! How strange is that? But the really good part is that now, when I go to any function and run into other people wearing tuxedos, I can glance down my nose at them, roll my eyes and murmer quietly - "rental".

That poor, dying man...

2005-11-29T15:28:00.000-06:00

I just wanted to share a wonderful email with you. I just received it, and it just warms my soul.

From: Hassan Mohammed
Email: hassanmadi2001@netscape.net

KINDLY FULFILL MY LAST WISHDear Sir/Ma,As you read this, I don't want you to feel sorry for me, because, I believe everyone will die someday.

My name is Hassan Mohammed a merchant in Dubai, in the U.A.E.I have been diagnosed with esophageal cancer.It has defiled all forms of medical treatment, and right now I have only about a few months to live, according to medical experts.

I have not particularly lived my life so well, as I never really cared for anyone (not even myself) but my business. Though I am very rich, I was never generous, I was always hostile to people and only focused on my business as that was the only thing I cared for. But now I regret all this as I now know that there is more to life than just wanting to have or make all the money in the world.I believe when God gives me a second chance to come to this world I would live my life a different way from how I have lived it.

Now that God has called me, I have willed and given most of my property and assets to my immediate and extended family members as well as a few close friends. I want God to be merciful to me and accept my soul so, I have decided to give also to charity organizations, as I want this to be one of the last good deeds I do on earth.

So far, I have distributed money to some charity organizations in the U.A.E, Algeria and Malaysia. Now that my health has deteriorated so badly, I cannot do this myself anymore.I once asked members of my family to close one of my accounts and distribute the money which I have there to charity organization in Bulgaria and Pakistan; they refused and kept the money to themselves. Hence, I do not trust them anymore, as they seem not to be contempted with what I have left for them.

The last of my money which no one knows of is the huge cash deposit of eighteen million dollars $18, 000, 000, 00 that I have with a finance/Security Company abroad. I will want you to help me collect this deposit and dispatched it to charity organizations.You can also reply me on my direct email address of hassanmadi2001@netscape.net for confidentiality as I'll be awaiting your quick response. For your time and honesty, I have set aside 10% for you.

God be with you.

Hassan Mohammed.

So the way I figure it is that I need to hurry up and contact him before someone else that may try to take all the 18 million and not give any of it to charity! Really!!!

A brief history of Jackson music

2005-11-23T11:44:00.000-06:00

Wednesday, November 23rd. Thanksgiving eve, 2005.

This is also the eve of my return to live music for the first time in 17 years. If this were 10-12 years ago, I would be courting the feeling that pumas were attempting to exit my body through my stomach. I imagine I know how John Hurt felt in "Alien". However, I realize now that I pretty much have no dignity and nothing to lose. It’s quite relaxing, in a way…

A brief aside: Throughout my live career (from age 14 to 27), I constantly battled pre-gig jitters. I would be nervous as hell, but as soon as the first chord pounded me in the back, serenity would envelope me and I would enjoy the ride. Even the fuck-ups. But the jitters always hit me. When I get really nervous, I get sleepy. It wasn’t uncommon for me to be curled up under the drum riser taking a nap 5 minutes before show-time. So pre-Pluto Gang in the mid eighties, I was in a band known as Square Root of Now. We got tapped to open for the Power Station (you remember, the ex-Duran guys) at the Mississippi Coliseum. They were a hair band, we were a hair band. There were several thousand screaming teenage girls. A huge stage. Great lights. I was in heaven. And on the verge of vomiting a porcupine! Sure enough, 20 minutes before we started, I was sitting in the dressing room in a folding chair with my head bent over the back, sound asleep. For years, people would tell me they couldn’t believe how calm I was. Ha!

Anyway…

So back in the eighties, (that would be the period from 1980 to 1989) there came to be a phenomenon known as a local scene. The undercurrent was known as college radio (this was before the term “indie” was really around) and was a large part of what, for that time, would later be known as the southern indie rock scene. The best known band of this genre would end up being Athens, Georgia’s own R.E.M. But they were the luckiest. There were far better bands to be had. The dBs and Let’s Active out of North Carolina (fronted by Mitch Easter, an excellent musician and writer, as well as the guy who produced all the cool shit there was!), Jason and the Scorchers from Tennessee, the B-52s, also from Georgia, and Jackson’s own Windbreakers, fronted by Tim Lee and Bobby Sutliff.

The Windbreakers had the best career and garnered some really good national press. Unfortunately they were never able to quite land that major label contract. But that didn’t slow them down. Bobby would eventually go off and do his solo stuff, Tim would do his solo stuff, but he would also occasionally tour as the Windbreakers (I was fortunate enough to be tapped to do two extended tours as a sideman!). Both Bobby and Tim have enjoyed good careers. But they were just the tip of the iceberg.

During these “salad days”, Jackson had a shitload of bands. There were Oral Sox, Beat Temptations, Radio London (they would eventually become The Big Picture), Square Root of Now, Perfect Strangers and lots more that my addled brain is having trouble remembering the names of. Then, of course, there was our band Pluto Gang. All of these bands released records. All of these bands were very different. But we were also willing to help each other out. Many of these bands would cross-pollinate for gigs and sessions. No one really had the big head. Well, okay… I did! But we were there for each other and it was nice. We all wanted major label deals but would settle for indie label. Don’t forget, this was back when independent labels were truly independent, not some sister company to the bigs. We all gathered varying amounts of regional or local attention, college radio airplay and press. Terminal Recording Studios was just coming into it's prime, and producer/engineer Randy Everett built up his chops recording most of us, and in the meantime helped turn "The Terminal" into a state-of-the-art masterpiece that had it's share of national acts and even a few Grammy Awards on the wall.

The hub of the local scene was W.C. Don’s. In case you don’t know, that stands for “We Can’t Decide on a Name”. It was an ever-evolving hell-hole with a back wall about 3 yards from the Illinois Central mainline. I can’t recall there ever being 4 complete walls. The location of the stage and bar would change from week to week. It was long and narrow, low and dim. The cops hated it. They did everything in their power to shut it down. Of course, the crowd was pretty unruly. While Jackson, Mississippi never had a punk scene, we did have a few proto-punks and general hooligans. But it was mostly drunk kids in the parking lot and wandering around the neighborhood peeing in yards at 3AM. The southern indie scene paraded through Don’s. Every tour I ever did started and ended there. In fact, the last gig I ever did was there. But it was also our link to a huge network of musicians that gave a shit. Bands from all over the country came through there, and if you ended up getting a gig in Nashville, or Hoboken, Champagne, Chicago, Atlanta, Birmingham, you could call up one of the bands there and crash on their floor. Even if you didn’t know these people, the local promoter did and would hook you up.

Yes, those were the salad days.

So I’m playing Don’s again tomorrow. Terry has moved to a new building, though. It’s still long (much longer) and narrow, pretty low and maybe not quite as dim. It’s also 3 floors, has all 4 walls, A/C, pretty good plumbing and now food. The ubiquitous strategic demolition is also present. This is usually where Terry wakes up at 4AM and decides to put in a new restroom, takes out the sheetrock in the old one and promptly goes back to sleep. But it is home to many.

The scene is no longer what it was. All of the old guys (and girls) either moved or just quit playing. Some still record. Of course, Tim and Bobby are still at it. Jeff Lewis (Radio London) records constantly and is getting ready to release on Paisley Pop. This is also where Tim and others have landed. Robin Sutliff is still around, making occasional appearances. Sherry Cothren – one of the city’s least recognized great songwriters – is still writing somewhere, I hope. She gave me some lyrics once about her deranged, gun-toting, racist landlady. It became “Mary From MS” on our first release. It’s still a recording that I am proud of.

Tomorrow’s gig started off as a “vintage musician” reunion idea. The plan was that Tim and Bobby, J.T. from Oral Sox, Tuck Tucker, Joe Partridge, Jeff, Sherry, Robin and no telling how many others would have a night. I wanted the opening slot, but it all fell through. Now we’ll be opening for the (I think) only local band to get a contract with a big label (Capital). They are called King Elementary. They are young. There is also a rumor that the contract they have was actually bought by rich parents. All I know is they didn’t want us to open for them, but Terry talked them into it (since I had started putting out flyers weeks ago). So it seems as if there is no spirit of kinship. And their crowd will probably hate us. Possibly even boo us off the stage!

But, as I said, I have no dignity and nothing to lose. I am anxious to strap on the axe and see if I am still capable of windmilling my fingers to a bloody pulp. The guys all want to get back in the studio and start recording. Free mp3s soon to follow.

But my passion is still and will always be the live performance. I am excited and scared, but strangely calm. I’m sure I will be sleeping soon. And people will admire my steely reserve!

November 22nd

2005-11-22T08:48:00.000-06:00

So ever since I was a kid, I have always believed in the original conspiracy theory - that of the assasination of John F. Kennedy. As an impressionable teen, and because of the myriad of books and data that I was able to get my hands on over the years, plus the fact that the Warren Report is a major piece of crap, it has always been easier for me to subscribe to the notion that Lee Harvey Oswald was indeed the most unfortunate creature on the face of the earth, and was the biggest patsy that ever graced us with his presence. And besides, it's just not sexy to think of a cool, young president being killed by a loser.

I was so pissed when Ollie Stoner released "JFK". He took snippets of facts that made sense for, at least, a possibility of a conspiracy (by definition meaning more than one person is involved) and turned them into fodder for a piece resembling comic theatre. I mean, according to this film - the only persons that did NOT know about the conspiracy were LA D.A. Jim Garrison and J.F.K. himself. At least I don't remember anyone in the movie saying J.F.K. was involved in his own assasination...

So for about 20 years, I was more than happy to disbelieve the single bullet theory. Hey - it's still a piece of crap! And being an avid gun-guy (Ahem! I am a southern boy!) I know how difficult it is to hit a moving target with 3 shots in 6 seconds. And there were soooooo many witnesses saying the shots came from more than one place. And Lee Harvey was indeed sipping a coke in the employee lounge just minutes afterward. And how could they lose the brain? And the autopsy WAS a joke! Read the notes, sometime!

But I just keep going back to this: If we can't torture prisoners in a foreign country without getting busted, how could this secret be kept for so long? Our government is, at best, inept. As much as it would sort of be cool to know they could pull shit like that off, we all know it's impossible.

Well, 8 more years to go until the 50th anniversary. Maybe - just maybe - someone will make a deathbed confession and we'll find out that it was some rich oilman with just a few people involved and the government - instead of being a part of it - just blew it! Sort of like the Arubans and Natalee Holloway!

By the way - in 8 years the "rest" of the "evidence" that is "sealed"... I mean sealed away in the archives will become "public" again. It's just not as exciting to me anymore...

By the way - the picture above is (of course) from the most famous 8mm filmstrip ever. Abraham Zapruder bought his 8mm camera for the express purpose of filming the motorcade in Dealy Plaza. After the horror of it smote him, he sold the film and put the camera away.

By the same token, this picture was taken by a park ranger (whose name, unfortunately, I have forgotten). The brothers asked him if he would help document their experiment. He had never used a camera before. He also never took another picture for the rest of his life. Pretty cool. And coincidental... Hmmmmm...

For your viewing pleasure

2005-11-21T13:58:00.000-06:00

If, by chance, you ever see one or both of these fuckers, please be sure and shove them down a flight of stairs!

This would be Christina Dillard, the piece-of-shit-crack-whore-mother and Shaun Dillard, the piece-of-shit-crack-whore-mother-lovin'-stepfather of Ashley Andrews.

It seems to me that there was probably a time when my posting these pictures and writing those words would probably have broken several laws. Hell, for all I know it may still be the case.

Like I care.

Enjoy the pictures!

Welcome to my home - Part 2

2005-11-21T13:02:00.000-06:00

This just in!

The Catalogue of Philanthropy publishes a yearly Generosity Index. And while Mississippi may have it's share of piece-of-shit-child-murdering-crack-whores, it looks like we're pretty freakin' generous. Mississippi has yet again come in at #1 on the list of most generous states. The top 10 most generous states are:

Mississippi
Arkansas
South Dakota
Oklahoma
Tennessee
Alabama
Louisiana
Utah
South Carolina
West Virginia

So, 7 out of 10 happen to be below the Mason-Dixon line. Now, one would say that because most of these states are also Bible-Belt states, then you have the fear of God and the lure of heaven to get them going. In other words, if they give lots of money to good causes, then God HAS to let them into heaven, ergo, they can shoulder a little more sin without fear of retribution. Or else they believe that God will cast them into Hell for not giving what they could (or even more than they could!). Either way, it works out for us and keeps us in top of the list.

Of course, we could just be more generous because... well... we just are. I only have myself as a meter on this one, and I have to admit that I am pretty parsimoneous when it comes to philanthropy. Actually, I am more generous than I give myself credit for - I do give several hundred simoleons on a yearly basis, but only to animal sheltering organizations. The people of this planet don't get my money. So all in all I am much more comfortable thinking that people do good not because they want to, but because they are scared not to. I'm funny that way.

That being said, I will now present the list of the top 10 stingiest states:

New Hampshire
Massachusetts
New Jersey
Rhode Island
Wisconsin
Connecticut
Minnesota
Colorado
Hawaii
Michigan

Other intersting notes from the Catalogue for Philanthropy...

The latest Generosity Index mirrors the 2004 presidential election's breakdown between "blue" and "red" states. 25 of the most generous states voted for Bush, 11 of 12 of the stingiest for Kerry.

Mississippi was the poorest (average income $35,720) and had average contributions of $4,470. New Hampshire averaged $50,952 and $2,607. Fucking yankees!

By the way, I never can remember if I'm in a red or blue state. I know that if you go through the battlefield in Vicksburg, all the battlefield maps depict the northern states in blue. Or red.

Not that it matters. Bush and Kerry can both suck the pipe with verve!

Welcome to my home...

2005-11-16T16:29:00.000-06:00

In the James Bond film "Thunderball", there is the classic scene of the S.P.E.C.T.R.E. meeting, with Blofeld presiding over the different agents and getting progress reports on the current nefarious doings of the organization. One of the S.P.E.C.T.R.E. (that's hard to type!) men has apparently been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. Blofeld presses a button and the hapless individual is quickly terminated with extreme prejudice by our friend electricity. If you are one of the less fortunate philistenes that have never watched "Thunderball", this scene was also satirized in one of the Austin Powers films with Will Ferrell as the target of evil justice.

"What, pray tell, has made you think of this on this fine day?" you are no doubt asking yourself.

On October 12th, a piece of shit redneck crack whore named Christina Dillard and her piece of shit redneck crack whore lovin' husband Shaun arrived at the hospital in Picayune, Mississippi with a dead 12 year old girl - crack whore's daughter from a previous relationship. She had cuts and bruises all over her body, as well as chunks of hair missing - pulled out of her scalp. There was cat feces in her (remaining) hair and on her gown, and police found pieces of duct tape in the trash at her "home" with her hair stuck to them. Investigators believe that Ashley (the unfortunate one) was "severely beaten for the last 3 days of her life."

So these sacks of shit go to court yesterday. They each start blaming the other, saying they saw the other grab her by the throat and toss her in a chair. Then it comes out that that this piece of shit crack whore lovin' bastard was sexually abusing this little girl. But it's okay to him because he says it was consensual. Mmmm hmmmm! Then he laters changes the part about consent.

So the reason they got caught is because the staff at the hospital were freaked out and called the cops. These sacks of shit told the cops that they took Ashley to the hospital when she passed out at the table. The bitch later told the cops she saw the husaband drag her through the mobile home (go figure) by her hair. Then she claimed that whiel the fucker went to a neighbor's house to call an ambulance (Mmm hmmm!) she tried CPR and also cut patches of matted hair out of her hair so the people at the hospital wouldn't think she was a bad mother. Why would they ever think that, I wonder? She eventually told the cops that for the last couple of days, Ashley had been severely abused "at Shaun's direction."

At last, it finally came out that they had BOTH told the cops that they had BOTH beaten Ashley with a fishing pole, limbs and hangers, duct-taped her mouth and confined her to a bathroom.

They. Admitted. It!

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Which brings me back to the James Bond movie and my chagrin that a mawkishly sentimental legislature prevents the local cop-shops from installing one of those chairs in their interrogation room.

Hey guys, I promise won't tell anyone about it if you ever manage to get one in! In the meantime, I just have to go on imagining what 12 years of hellish existence must be like for a little girl, but she's over it now at least. It just sucks ass!

Those darn women!

2005-11-11T13:30:00.000-06:00

What can I say - other than the fact that I don't make this shit up? But now I feel better about myself that I can't seem to keep a girlfriend.

Eleven Tips on Getting More Efficiency Out of Women Employees

There's no longer any question whether transit companies should hire women for jobs formerly held by men. The draft and manpower shortage has settled that point. The important things now are to select the most efficient women available and how to use them to the best advantage. Here are eleven helpful tips on the subject from western properties:

If you can get them, pick young married women. They have these advantages, according to the reports of western companies: they usually have more of a sense of responsibility than do their unmarried sisters; they're less likely to be flirtatious; as a rule, they need the work or they wouldn't be doing it — maybe a sick husband or one who's in the army; they still have the pep and interest to work hard and to deal with the public efficiently.
When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some time in their lives. Most transportation companies have found that older women who have never contacted the public, have a hard time adapting themselves, are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It's always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy.
While there are exceptions, of course, to this rule, general experience indicates that "husky" girls — those who are just a little on the heavy side — are likely to be more even-tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.
Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination — one covering female conditions. This step not only protects the property against the possibilities of lawsuit but also reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job. Transit companies that follow this practice report a surprising number of women turned down for nervous disorders.
In breaking in women who haven't previously done outside work, stress at the outset the importance of time — the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.
Give the female employe in garage or office a definite day-long schedule of duties so that she'll keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. Numerous properties say that women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them but that they lack initiative in finding work themselves.
Whenever possible, let the inside employe change from one job to another at some time during the day. Women are inclined to be nervous and they're happier with change.
Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. Companies that are already using large numbers of women stress the fact that you have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and consequently is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.
Be tactful in issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can't shrug off harsh words the way that men do. Never ridicule a woman — it breaks her spirit and cuts her efficiency.
Be reasonably considerate about using strong language around women. Even though a girl's husband or father may swear vociferously, she'll grow to dislike a place of business where she hears too much of this.
Get enough size variety in operator uniforms that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can't be stressed too strongly as a means of keeping women happy, according to western properties.

Well, I'm glad we got this straight! Any questions?

Pluto Gang Comix

2005-11-07T13:44:00.000-06:00

The Pluto Gang.

Live on stage at W.C. Don's

Thursday, November 24th. Thanksgiving Night.

216 South State Street in downtown Jackson

You really can't afford not to be there at all!

The inevitable...

2005-11-07T09:55:00.000-06:00

Saturday night, I was invited by my "not-quite-my-girlfriend-but-my-personal-universe-revolves-around-her-but-I-really-wish-she-were-my-girlfriend" to go see "La Traviata" at USM. Never having been to an opera before, I was indeed looking forward to it, but mostly I was just looking forward to playing dress-up and hanging out with the object of my affection.

The main purpose for the evening was that she wanted to offer to a friend of mine (a USM student) the opportunity to see the opera as a "thank you" for having helped her out on a side-project when we needed some info at the USM Library. So she invited my friend and her boyfriend as well as me. A very thoughtful gesture! (Now you know one of about 18 million reasons why I love her so much!)

The performance was actually a major thing for the USM Arts. The Southern Symphony and the Southern Opera Musical Theatre Company joined withthe Mississippi Opera, giving the students an opportunity to perform with professionals as well. Then this week the whole show will perform at Thalia Mara in Jackson, so the USM kids will have their first professional gig.

The short version: Guy meets girl. Guy falls in love with girl. Girl says no. Girl changes mind. Guy's father breaks them up. Girl leaves even though she loves guy. Guy thinks she loves somebody else. Guy gets pissed. Guy insults girl. Everyone gets pissed at guy. Girl is ashamed but also dying. Father repents to girl and tells guy the whole story. Guy returns to girl. They make up. She dies. The end. Sounds like an opera to me...

Fortunately, I am not that much of a philistene. It was very well done and I am extremely proud of the USM kids. The music was fantastic. And the principals (the pros) were just freakingly amazing! Especially the girl. She's from Texas! Who knew!!! And she's got a voice that would bring tears to the eyes of a Georgia chain gang parolee. All in all, a great performance.

But what surprised us all was the fact that (other than production staff) I was the only guy in black tie. I had expected to see some shirtsleeves and jeans, but I was wrong. When I was first invited, my girl was under thin impression that no one would be dressing up. She was basing that on her years at USM. I, on the other hand, was arguing that yes, many people would not be dressed up, but I figured that at least half the crowd would be in suits and I was really expecting a couple of dozen attendees that went all the way. Hoo boy - was I wrong.

But oh well...

My girl was to die for. That was the best part. It felt good to put on the old monkey suit. It's actually the first time I have done so since I dropped a quarter ton of fat, so it was a pleasant experience. Other than the shoes... I hate the melon-slicers. Shiny patent leather shoes are a sign of man's inhumanity to man. They serve no purpose. However, my girl is equal parts stylishly hip and old-fashioned (another reason I love her), so to make the experience good for her, I acquiesced. But don't think I didn't wear my kicks on the 90 minute drive to and from H'burg! Fortunately she is also a good sport which is another reason I love her so. Did I mention that?

But also many thanks to the young lady I spoke to in Javawerks on the way back home. We had gone in to get coffee to go and I also had to put up a flyer for my band's coming gig in Jackson. After placing my order, I went back to the memo board. At the big table you can't see from the front were 2 guys and a girl hovering over a laptop. As I am always impressed by seeing students hard at it at 11PM on a Saturday night, I bade them a hearty good evening. They all smiled and the young lady called me "sir". I felt so ancient! But I just laughed and said "oh, it must be the tux" and then she commented that she really liked my tennis shoes. Ha! All was forgiven! Thank you, whoever you are! I hope your hard work pays off!

Good job, USM!!!!!!!!

Suicide makes sense now...

2005-10-19T12:03:00.000-06:00

Where I live, we have our local daily paper - The Clarion Ledger - or the Clarion Liar, if you are having a conversation with anyone of the conservative ilk. Out in Rankin County we have the Rankin County News - a weekly subscription paper. I have actually seen a story in this paper about a man arrested for boinking his pig. So as far as I'm concerned, this paper has my respect. An offshoot of this grand herald is another weekly rag that gets tossed into your driveway on Tuesday night - you don't even subscride to it. In fact you can't stop it! It is called the Weekly Reader and while I have never seen anything about pig-fuckings in it, it does have an occasional moment of mirth.

So there is a section in this beast called "Teen Voice". This is an ongoing list of Q&A that local teens send in anonymously. Every so often I have occasion to read this crap. I do so mostly because I am always in need of an excuse to mock and patronize the local youth. Or to ridicule their parents. Or both.

I need to stop doing this, though. While I really don't think that the youth of Rankin county could ever be thought of as a microcosm of any society (unless it happened to be a society of the spoiled children of ultra-christian, super conservative, middle-class parents) it does occasionally make me weep for the future.

For instance - last week's question was "Discuss your feelings about Hurricane Katrina and the aftermath". Today, we were presented with 3 answers.

I don't understand why the hurricane will cause bills to go up. It doesn't make any sense to me, but my parents are very worried. (from Brandon Middle School)

It's hard to believe people are still talking about this. I mean, get over it. (from Anon. 15 yr old)

My father's home office was in New Orleans, and he's had a lot of problems trying to get business done. He said that we're behind on bills, and this Christmas I can't get what I wanted. All because of a stupid storm. (from Pearl)

Huh? So these kids range from maybe 10 to 17. Probably 13 to 16. Anyway - when I am getting near retirement age, these kids will be running everything - or trying to, at least.

You can probably understand my concern, now.

Was I that big of an asshole at that age? It seems to me that my teenage years were one big quest for sex and good bags of dope. I certainly wasn't a civic volunteer or member of Greenpeace or any other worthwhile causes. But I also would never have been able to formulate a "lots of people killed and lives changed forever but so what get over it" statement even when I was ripped out of my mind.

Oh goddamn! The little fucker from Pearl isn't going to get what he wants for Christmas! Whatever shall we do???

Too bad the little asshole didn't ask for a hurricane to obliterate tens of thousands of homes and bring pain and suffering to hundreds of thousands of lives! Then he'd have a fantastic christmas!

Well, I'm wishing that his dad would have had a vasectomy back in the eighties! I guess my christmas will suck, too...

Homecoming (a pretty useless post)

2005-10-10T12:09:00.000-06:00

So on Friday I went with my Japanese tutor to see one of her student's homecoming programs at a high school about an hour away from here. I don't know if all high schools do this during "5" years, but the whole homecoming tribute was to the classes of 1925, 1935, etc... all the way to 2005 (last year's graduating class). The only reason I am curious about all schools doing it was because on Saturday I went to MGCCC/Perkinston's homecoming game (yes, I was making the tour of the small schools) and they mentioned something about all those same years. But I digress...

So anyway, I'm at this high school program, and it's pretty much a cheese fest from the get-go. So they start off with 1925, read a little bit about what was happening in the world that year, what was going on at that school that year, who was who, sports, etc... Then they would do a couple of songs from that era, with the the students dancing and (some) singing. (BTW - speaking of lip-synching, how did Ashlee do on SNL? Retch!) Anyway, it was a cute idea, but there were plenty of rough spots in the production. But being ex-"in the biz", I was able to overlook most. Several of the kids did very well vocally - including my tutor's student - so it was a pleasant afternoon for skipping work indeed!

Okay - so you get the basics of how the program was laid out.

So all was going well until they got to 1945. During the little skit (I can't remember the song) the pantomime was a teacher at a blackboard in front of several students. On this blackboard was a '60s era peace symbol. Now not having been born until the early sixties, I can't swear to this, but in all of my readings and studyings of the past, I cannot recall a peace symbol prior to the sixties. In fact, I now realize I have no clue where it came from! I know where swastikas got started (and isn't that a shame that the have been so warped?). So, not being an expert on the subject, I'll let that one by with just a little mockery.

When they got to 1955, they mentioned during the opening spiel that '55 was the year the Magic Kingdom opened. Fine. But the line was ended with words to the effect of this having forever sealed Florida's fate as a tourist trap. Wha???? Okay. I wasn't born in 1955, but a childhood of watching "Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color" (which then became "The Wonderful World of Disney" in 1969) permanently etched Anaheim's Disneyland as "The Magical Kingdom". It wasn't until I actually visited Orlando's Disney World that I could think any differently. Okay, so the folks that wrote this are idiots.

So then we get to 1965. As part of the musical tribute, the marching bard files into the auditorium, streaming up the aisles and lining up. I was pretty excited, because there's just somethin' 'bout a huge marching band indoors that just turns my willie up! But my elation was tempered when it became apparent that the musical tribute for 1965 was Van McCoy's "Do the hustle", which any infant knows was written in the early seventies. Okay, so now the writers of this program are crack smokin' idiots?

Well, I made it through the rest of the program. Even the last segment where the class of 2005 did a quasi-ballet to Jessica Simpson's version of "Boots" from the freakin' "Dukes of Hazzard" soundtrack.

This just sealed the school's fate as the biggest cracker-heaven that ever lived.

We finally get "mention"...

2005-10-05T11:40:00.000-06:00

So after the first week of the "aftermath of Katrina", we all know that the Mississippi Coast pretty much disappeared from national coverage. I guess we didn't have enough bastards stealing shit to make the nationals. Anyway, I just wanted to point out that we did get some mention today.

On CNN.com there was an article where they asked everyone to send in their ideas on 1) should New Orleans be rebuilt, and 2) if so - how? There were actually some pretty good ideas - although I'm not sure turning the 9th ward into a Venice-like area would really fit with the majority of the French architecture...

Anyhoo - here is where we got our mention...

As a New Orleans native, I am deeply concerned regarding the rebuilding effort. Besides honoring our architectural legacy, an effort should be made to create parks, gardens, state-of-the-art schools, libraries and community and cultural centers that focus on food, music, art and history. We have a wonderful city that has been hijacked by corrupt politicians. I don't want New Orleans to turn into Las Vegas, Biloxi, Houston, Atlanta or Disneyland.
Michael Dominici, New Orleans, Louisiana

First of all, I admire his ideas. Wouldn't it be great we just squatted down and shit money all over the place so we could fund all this stuff - and thereby give the admitted corrupt politicians an opportunity to start over and really fuck things up?

And another thing - I don't know if this bastard Mikey ever tried to walk around alone in Biloxi by himself at 3AM, but I guarantee that his heart was beating a little slower than if he attempted the same thing in New Orleans. I love New Orleans, but in the last 10 years I have found myself wandering around between 1AM and dawn less and less. Crap - I have felt safer in Vegas and Atlanta than I have on the last couple of overnights to N.O.

And the last time I looked, I seem to remember there being a little food, music, art and history in Biloxi, Ocean Springs, Gulfport etc... And even though the water is rank, we have beach! Well, had a beach... And we got (hopefully still) your god-damned Goofy Golf, too!

And there's definitely a shitload less complaining from a citizenry that actually lost something (everything) as opposed to people bitching about losing the stuff they got for nothing. Oops - I'm channeling my father now...

Anyway, it's okay to be proud of your city. Hell, I live in Brandon. It's nothing but "show-me" christians and a really fat mayor. But I'm not comparing it to Houston or Disneyland (although I prefer Disneyworld). And after everything that has been in the news from N.O. in the last 5 weeks, it appears this guy left out the paragraph where he describes how the poor and indigent of New Orleans will be systematically exterminated in order to allow his little fairyland to be built.

Fuck! Did I just say that?

Oh, for f*ck's sake!

2005-09-30T07:02:00.000-06:00

So this is probably one of those tell-tales like washing your hands every 5 minutes is to OCD or rotting teeth to bulimia, but I would rather go to the mall naked than have a typo sitting on one of my blogs for a week! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!

Okay - I got that out of my system. And corrected the previous entry. Too late it seems. I actually had a reader - and one I respect too!

So I think I have finally found the conspiracy. BTW - I do believe that Lee Harvey Oswald is innocent but Oliver Stone is an idiot. I am not a REAL conspiracy theorist (like the fuckers that said "the government" did something to turn Katrina from a Cat 5 to a Cat 4 during the satellite blackout and blew up the WTC for kicks) just so you'll know.

But has anyone else noticed that the gas companies seemed to have been disappointed that Rita did not slam Houston? I can almost hear them saying "well..., the damage we were expecting to drive gas prices through the roof didn't occur where we thought it would - but we swear there's lots of shit going wrong out on the Gulf and we just have to raise our prices while we're getting the government hand-outs! Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!" And all of this is being exacerbated by the press as well. And whoever started the "run-on-gas" rumors the day after Rita.

Now, on a more personal note - the Baptists need to just shut the fuck up!

I have always been torn over the Gulf Coast casinos. Because I have lived in Mississippi all my life, I remember when it was just a tacky beach "resort" littered with "tourist courts" and Goofy Golf. There were so many memories of my childhood destroyed by the casinos that I have always resented them in a way. And not to mention that they are funded by losers!

But the casinos saved the Mississippi Gulf Coast at a time when it was dying a slow death! There is no doubt about that. So now that Katrina has pretty much erased everything that I once associated with that area, I say "put 'em on land and make 'em twice as big!" We are going to need something to get the tourist dollars back into the area. They're certainly not going to come to view the container ship refuse rotting along the abandoned wharves.

Of course there are some that will say the casinos did most of the damage in their trek across the highway. I just look at it as a sign that God didn't want them in the water anymore! Put them on land where they need to be! Get the losers back to empty their pockets and give Mary Mahoney's some business as well!

And now my final rant...

I am not a fan of the Bush-man. I am not a republican, but I can't call myself a democrat anymore because those idiots have lost it! I personally believe that EVERYONE involved in the Katrina debacle is to be blamed for something. Guess what? We were unprepared. Move on and try to get it right the next time. Okay, so the next time is 3 weeks later. Several days before landfall, evacuations of Houston are being ordered. One huge clusterfuck begins several days early. But no one is killed. Everyone was better prepared. (Although, I can't understand Texas DOT and why the 45 contraflow failed. We got it right in LA and MS the Saturday before Katrina. I saw it!!!) Lots of kinks in the system, bet getting better.

So anyway, as I said I am no fan of Bush. He's an idiot. But how is that now all the fuckers are saying that since Houstonians have more dough than New Orleanians (Orleansians?) they got the "special" government treatment? I take that rhetoric back... I know how it is! They're all C*CKS*CKERS!

There are way too many better bloggers than I (here and here, to name just a couple of my daily reads) that have voiced excellent opinions on how the "poor victims" of these disasters are being ill-treated because of race, etc. (the media perception) and then go on to demand stuff they don't deserve and collect money they don't need (the real version). So I won't even try to go there - would that my wings melt! (Oh fuck - how poetic!)

But even I - a non-republican - can see that maybe "the government" was just trying to get it right this time. Yeah - I know... the same government that blew up the WTC with radio contolled airplanes...

Of course the point is moot. It seems that the world completely forgot Pearlington, Waveland, Diamondhead, Bay St. Louis, Long Beach, Pass Christian, Gulfport, (no, I'm not looking at a map, either) Biloxi, Ocean Springs, Pascagoula, Moss Point and Mobile - not to mention Hattiesburg, Laurel, Wiggins, and all the other little towns - many of which were just erased! New Orleans eclipsed us. Hell, Port Arthur eclipsed us. Port Arthur?

But if I had bought a generator and a chainsaw, I could be spending some FEMA dough in a casino in Bilo... Oops!

Brace! Brace! Brace!

2005-09-22T06:48:00.000-06:00

Scott Burke gets my vote for "coolest guy in the world" award... You may not recognize the name (yet), but he is the pilot that brought in Flight 292 safely last night in Los Angeles.

The JetBlue Airbus A320 suffered a mechanical problem on the front landing gear at lift-off, causing the gear to twist perpindicular to the flight path and then getting stuck in that position. After circling Long Beach airport for 3 hours to burn off fuel (their is a joke among pilots that the only time you can have too much fuel is when there is a fire!) before attempting to set it down.

I'm sure you've all seen the footage now - it's really cool! But Scott Burke put the plane down as if it were landing on fine china, holding the nose gear off the runway as he was killing speed, then letting the nose gear hit in a shower of first rubber, then sparks, then flames - all the while keeping the aircraft on the centerline of the runway.

Of course, he will also probably tell you that it's no big deal - he was just doing what any pilot has trained to do. And every emergency checklist tells you to do what he did. But he still made it look easy! I know a couple of hundred people that will never allow him to pay for his own beer ever again!

The other odd part about last night?

At around 7 local I got a phone call from a coworker. Knowing that I am a pilot, he thought I might want to watch the drama unfold on CNN - this was still a couple of hours before the landing. 4 weeks ago I would have put my book down and starting flipping news channels. But I guess Katrina has changed me. I knew that 98% of the bastards watching were going to be hoping for a disaster. I'm sure Tivo got a workout last night as well. For some reason, I decided that I would hear about the outcome enough today.

What am I becoming?

Still waiting for the "All Clear"

2005-09-14T13:25:00.000-06:00

Well, the 2 readers I had have probably given up on me by now...

Where to start? First of all, I was very fortunate. No damage to my home (although the ants came out en masse after the storm) and I was only without juice for 4 days. I did lose everything in the freezer, but so what?

Unfortunately, work is still fried. Because the company I work for supplies the guys who put the power lines back up, the Department of Homeland Security has deemed us important enough to have a secret handshake to expedite getting our shit back in order so we can help them help you get your power back. Inasmuch as that gives you a warm and cozy (I'm serious - you actually do begin to feel like you are helping, even if you're not stringing cable) it means nothing in the grand scheme. It really was like a nuke had airburst over us and EMP'd us back into the Victorian era.

Here's an important safety tip: When the salesman tells you that your network can be re-routed from New Orleans through Memphis at the flick of a switch, go ahead and kick his ass because he is lying his ass off. It took us a week to get anything resembling connectivity back to our branches. I'm sure we had guys writing invoices on napkins just to get the stuff on the way! We finally got back to normal from that, and then we take a (non-disaster related) hit to our main server that we are still recovering from.

But enough about me!

I'm happy to say that all of my friends are alive, and relatively few had major damage. A couple evacuated their homes in N.O. and have just decided to "abandon in place" and start over somewhere else. Some friends in Gulfport had a tree visit one of their closets, but the house is tough and habitable. Some other friends in Ocean Springs just had wind damage. I don't know anyone within my close circle that lost everything. I am thankful for that!

And all my friends in Hattiesburg survived, none the worse for wear. One of my friend's apartments tried to develop a skylight in her roommate's room, but that was the worst there. Of course no one had power, water, gas or food for a week either! Btu everyone is accounted for and classes started back yesterday.

Now, on to some random bullshit...

Isn't it okay to call someone a refugee if they are actually seeking refuge? And what is it about the word "refugee" that makes people think of 3rd world countries?
I'm really starting to get tired of every asshole clogging my Inbox with pictures of storms in Kansas (or somewhere in the midwest) saying they are cool pictures of Katrina. Even my cat knows that Katrina made landfall at dawn, that hurricanes don't have delineated edges, and that the bayous of south Louisiana don't have cornfields.
A picture of a car from a New Orleans traffic cam being blown across the screen at 133mph is an even bigger piece of shit!
I agree with deadpananne when she talks about the the bastards bragging about their corporate generosity although I could never have expressed myself so adroitly. But now I am trying to figure out what makes a ventriloquist-toting car salesman think he can get into this game as well?
I am certainly not a fan of Bush or his administration, but from where I sit it looks like everyone had a hand in fucking this one up! The crybaby democrats and republicans just need to shut the fuck up! Go sleep in a gym or a tent next to a slab that was a home for a couple of months of summer in the south if you really need an attitude adjustment. Get everyone help before you go about telling me why you can't possibly be to blame for any of this...
Sean Penn = bad... Harry Connick Jr. = good
Rude fuckers in gas lines = bad... Every lineman in the country = good
The owner of the Raju Food Market on highway 80 in Pearl... I suggest every person that paid $3.00/gallon in fuel on the night of 9/1 (when his credit card machine was conveniently not working) should take the time to go tell him what a piece of shit he is!
Houston - just because someone lived in New Orleans AND is poor and/or black doesn't automatically make them criminals.

Well, I'm glad I got that off my chest. It's good to be alive.

Batten down the hatches!

2005-08-29T09:08:00.000-06:00

They just passed the word that we were closing down at noon today, so some people are taking this storm seriously.

I haven't been able to get in touch with any of my friends in Hattiesburg, but I was keeping up-to-date by following a Hattiesburg-based blogger. She also has many links to good Katrina blogs! Unfortunately, she took a hit on her house and is now blogging via phone. Good luck all.

Before leaving the house this morning, I corraled all my ejectables into my garage, but noticed that none of my neighbors were so concerned with theirs. As I am recovering items from my living room, I hope that I can be a good neighbor and make sure they get back to the correct owners!

New Orleans is taking a beating today, but it may not be as bad as was predicted yesterday. I hope not. My heart bleeds for all the people that were incapable of evacuation. It must suck to have to beg for your life. And in the aftermath, their lives won't get any better. But maybe this catastrophe will be a turning point for New Orleans. Mayor Nagin is on top of that one. He sounds like a good man.

Right now the worst off seems to be my coast. The storm surge seems to be pretty incredible. Plus, if Jim Cantore is there, it has to be bad! Well, I need to wrap up here so I can scram to the house. I'm sure the kittens are freaking. It's going to be a long afternoon in Brandon, I'm sure.

Peace, everyone!

Could this be the one?

2005-08-28T11:49:00.000-06:00

Went to New Orleans yesterday to get a good look. I have an idea that the Crescent City is headed for a makeover tomorrow. I hope I'm wrong.

Getting there was quite the experience. I picked up some friends in Hattiesburg and we hit 59 South. About 10 miles later, we started seeing signs that said "I-59 South closed at state line" and nothing else. The we started seeing the big flashing roadside signs with the same message. I don't know why I was so perturbed that they weren't giving us information on detours to New Orleans. But the weather was so nice and it was still at least 2 days out.

I called a friend at home and got her to check the weather for me. A few minutes later she called back and said that the Weather Channel said there was a mandatory evacuation of New Orleans. Not long after that we reached the end of the line at Exit 29 Poplarville. I decided to take hwy 26 into Bogalusa then 21 south to Covington and then hit the causeway.

It was time for a plan. I had no idea if we would run into La. National Guard troops turning everyone around like in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" or what. So in between games of Mad Libs (yes, they are always in my car) we started working on a plan to circumvent any such roadblock we might encounter. My original idea was that since there were 4 of us in my 4Runner and we couldn't really use the "going to evacuate Grandma" routine unless we were going to put her in the back with all her stuff on the roof, that we should tell them we were going to rescue some loved one's pets. I figured a couple of crying girls in the back seat would lend itself to melting the heart of some stone-faced county mounty, and after the last few hurricanes the pet issue WAS a big deal. Plus, I am an animal lover anyway.

However, we opted for the "going to the airport to pick up our friend returning to the country" caper. We had an international-student friend of ours in the car which would probably lend credence, and all of our trips to the N.O. Airport to pick up or send off are always done with at least 5 people in the car (I have done it with 8 before).

So, with our carefully crafted plan agreed upon, we set about to do some interloping.

Now I must say that if you ever get a chance, drive through Bogalusa, LA to New Orleans via the causeway. Hwy 21 is also a "Louisiana Scenic Byway" and is very pleasant. It was quite an enjoyable afternoon drive.

When we reached Covington, it looked like all of New Orleans was heading north on that little highway. I'm guessing that it was Mandeville evacuating since Lake Ponchartrain was getting ready to surge. I wouldn't think, though, that the route we were coming down would be an efficient evacuation for N.O. But it was an impressive line of cars backed up, and signal lights flashing and gas stations getting hammered. For a few seconds I had one of those "and this is a good idea why?" moments rattling around in my brain, but imprudence quickly snuffed it. We stopped at the Causeway restroom for a quick break. They were putting the plywood up. The best part was that the tolls were waived - even for south-bounders. How cool! And it was a beautiful day for a trip across the lake.

On the other side, the lakefront area seemed to be taking the weather very seriously. It was actually a ghost town. There were only a few cars on the interstate and all the stores and restaurants were closed. Only one station in the area still had gas and even though I had plenty to get us back to H'burg and then get me home, prudence (and the recent memory of several miles of northbound traffic at a standstill) dictated that I fill up. Then we struck out for the quarter, wondering if it too would be abandoned.

What the hell was I thinking?

It was business as usual. However, the parking lots were eerily devoid of cars. The public lots - normally full on a Saturday eve - were maybe at 10% capacity. The girls did some shopping and then we were going to go get some grub back at the other end of St. Charles. While wandering around, I quizzed the locals on their feeling about Katrina. Many of them were beginning to get concerned and were wishing their stores would close so they could get on the road. The younger folks, revelling in their immortality, were mostly rolling their eyes at how much everyone was over-reacting. Standing in that shop on North Peters street, I conjured up a mental image of 7 feet of water in the room and the economic beating the city was probably destined for and wanted to tell them how different their lives were going to be in 72 hours, but I knew it would be wasted breath.

On the way back to the car I made the observation that if I didn't know better, I would say that it was pre-dawn on a Sunday morning. I wish that we could have spent more time there enjoying the unprecedented elbow room, but I was getting a hunger headache. I am also sad now that I did not go have some beignets and coffee, but Cafe du Monde will survive to serve me again. I don't know about the glass and chrome retail outlets along the way, but things will be different soon.

After a nice meal and a couple of Kirin at one of our favorite sushi joints, we struck out for Hattiesburg. The rest of the evening was a non-event, however. The dreaded traffic snarl I had been trying not to think about was not there. It was just another night. But it was quite a sight seeing the interstate in contraflow mode. Granted, there was hardly any traffic, but there were about 4 or 5 cars heading north on the southbound side. I wish that I could have been on that side. My friend from Japan was commenting that it was making him homesick to see the traffic moving that way.

I hope that my favorite city is spared from the ultimate ruin that everyone is predicting. If this beast move through quick, and the pumping stations hold out, maybe it won't be the one the people there have been fearing. But everything I have seen today is not making me feel any better. But I am glad I went and said goodbye. Now we have to prepare. It looks like Hattiesburg and then finally my town are in for it. Well, by the time it gets to me it will just be a windy, wet mess. But I hope all my friends in N.O., the gulf coast and points in between heed the warnings.

Take care, everyone.

I can say this shit 'cuz I used to be a lard-ass, too!

2005-08-24T15:29:00.000-06:00

Well, it appears that America's favorite left-wing scold has decided to check into a "Celebrity Fat Farm". Yes, film-maker Michael Moore has reportedly checked into a $3,800/week fat farm for a crash course in cooking properly and losing weight. "Undergo life re-education" is actually what the blurb says.

I respect Michael Moore. I agree with many of his ideas, although I own more guns than most Montana survivalists. Digression - I'm not a survivalist, and I don't hunt. Nor do I dance naked around the house while wearing a six-shooter on my hip. My father bequeathed me his collection (yes- he was part survivalist/hunter) upon his passing. Anyway, I have much respect for Michael Moore until he starts whining.

But he is (in my opinion) extremely intelligent. I would be loathe to try to confont him in any type of verbal debate as he would probably whip my ass handily without breaking a sweat.

So how come when I weighed close to 300 pounds, I just got a copy of "The South Beach Diet" and not only lost 90 pounds in 6 months, but I have also managed to keep it off for over a year? Is it because people with lots of dough are just lazy babies? Does he pay someone to wipe his ass for him? Now that I think about it, his girth would tend to hinder proper ass maintenance, so maybe he does have a personal wiper. Maybe that's the sudden reason for the attempt at weight loss?

It is reported that his goal is to lose (actually, the article said "loose") 12 pounds in 3 weeks.

For 3,800 simoleans per week.

$11,400 for 12 pounds of fat.

Oh - he also gets to learn how to cook healthy and "re-educate".

I live in Mississippi. You've heard of us? We consistently rank #49 or #50 among the U.S. in everything from education to crime (at least Arkansas is a buffer occasionally). Until yesterday, that is. That's when a report by The Trust For America's Health came out and voted Mississippi #1 in obesity! Woohoo! We win, dammit!

So after an almost failed flight medical (BP like 150/110) back in December of 2003, plus the added incentive of seeing every lard-ass in Mississippi shopping in Wal-Mart on Saturdays, I decided to do something about it. On Jan 24th 2004 I ate my last Wendy burger on a drive home from a business trip in Dallas. It was in Shreveport, in case you care.

I don't know how familiar you are with S.B. Diet, but I do not have a will of iron. I'm weak. But I am good with instructions, being the geek that I am. So I paid about $20 for this book at Wal-Mart, and started following the instructions. And I lost 20 pounds in 2 weeks. And I got really good at arguing with Atkins followers on the merits of "some" carbs versus "no" carbs.

But over the weeks I kept losing and losing. I was SUCH a loser. My goal of trying to lose 50 pounds came so fast and easy I decided to change my goal to fitting into a pair of pants that hadn't seen daylight in 10 years. Once I did that, I decided "what the f**k" and aimed for some pants I hadn't worn in 15 years. In 6 months I weighed less than I did 20 years ago. Oh yeah - the BP is now 120/80 when I leave the gym. I won't be failing any more flight medicals!

So, Michael, for 10 Gs I'll bring you a book, show you what a roasting pan and a gym looks like, remove all your cookie dough ice cream, ring-dings and Pepsi, and I will change for freaking life. In 3 weeks!

But since I don't get the gig, I will be watching. If you aren't wearing something smaller than a coleman tent in 6 months, I will be scratching you off my list.

Pat's memo pad

2005-08-24T14:44:00.000-06:00

Note to self: Check to see if there is a grassy knoll anywhere in Venezuela.

Physics and cars

2005-08-19T09:50:00.000-06:00

To the bastard driving the brown Jeep Cherokee on I-20 west (between exits 47 & 48) on the morning of 8/19 at 7:07AM:

YOU SUCK!

Every body's center of mass continues in its state of rest, or of uniform motion in a right [straight] line, unless it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed upon it.
An object in motion, will remain in motion and an object at rest, will remain at rest, unless acted upon by an unbalanced force (in which the NET force is not 0).

'nuff said. Thank you, Sir Isaac Newton.

By the way - I think the term "unbalanced force" is actually a description of this crap-weasel Jeepster.

If I am tooling along in traffic at 60 mph, then I am capable of doing the math when changing lanes. If a car is going alot slower than I am, then I will pull in front of it and continue forward at a constant rate of speed. If a car is going the same speed (or accelerating beyond) then I will decelerate enough to move behind.

How simple can that be. It's not like making coffee! Now that's tough!

The best night of my life!

2005-08-09T15:24:00.000-06:00

What is it about beautiful women that turns men into big idiots? And why do I always tell a story this way with a useless, throw-away statement up front and then a back-fill of info to the present?

I met a girl back in February that I was completely smitten with. I had, prior to that, seen her a couple of times (October 22nd would be the first time) and never could get up the nerve to talk to her even though I wanted to very badly. (But I would have talked to her very badly…) Well it just so happens that we ended up attending the same function back in February and I was finally able to summon enough courage to talk to her.

I should have been suave and dashing. I can be that guy, sometimes.

However, I was confronted with the most beautiful girl I have ever spoken to, 2 big, brown eyes, a constant smile, and a voice that just made me wilt. So about all I could manage was to stammer out was “hobbitta hobbitta hobbitta…” and just nod my head a lot. Being the angel that she is, she pretended she wasn’t talking to a retarded child and gave me her business card and said we could email each other. “Hobbitta hobbitta hobbitta…” I replied with equal amounts of charm and wit.

Well, we have been sending email back and forth almost every (work) day since. I can be freaking eloquent in email, mind you! I have even managed to spend some time alone with her and managed to get out a sentence or two. This beautiful angel is from a completely different culture. She has only lived in this country for 7 years or so. Her English is great (she’s a translator for her company) so that’s not an issue. Plus I am (slowly and inexorably) learning her native language, but she’ll be dead long before I will be skilled enough to attempt a real conversation using it… In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I have a huge crush on this young lady and I would love to date her! But I am hampered by not only my fear of rejection but the fear of freaking her out enough that she “must desperately escape the crazy American”. So I have been a model of restraint.

So anyway, this past Sunday I was able to spend the whole day with her. We did some sightseeing around the state and just had a blast together. That evening I dropped her off at her crib. We stood there for a few minutes. I kept coming up with random shit to say to postpone the actual moment of having to say goodbye and reenter my drab and lonely life. But for the first time she also seemed to be doing the same thing! This went on for a couple of minutes, too.

Well, by this time, my brain knew what I was going to do (although it kept me out of the loop!) and had signaled my heart to go into a state not unlike arrhythmia, and also to push double quantities of blood into my brain thereby making a very loud swooshing sound at irregular intervals that pretty much prevented me from hearing anything she was saying. The brain also decided, at that particular moment, to completely seize my lungs. This had the bonus effect of de-oxygenating my blood - which means that what my heart was forcing into my brain at high pressure was pretty much a viscuous, useless goo. I felt like I was suffering from nitrogen narcosis!

So my brain is yelling (over the din in my head) “kiss her, you bastard” because it thinks that her brain is saying “why don’t you kiss me, you bastard!” However, somewhere in my system was a pocket of resistance sending out a warning that what her brain was really saying was “I hope that bastard doesn’t try and kiss me!”

In the meantime, appendages tingling and unable to breathe and with my skull beginning to pop sutures from the pressure, my eyes focused just enough to see this beautiful face bathed in the glow of mercury vapor lamps with these eyes looking at me with what, at the time, I reasoned to be a glimmer of curious hope - but in hindsight was probably just curiosity brought on by streams of putrid, high-pressure goo shooting out of my ears. Anyway, that was all it took.

A curious calm descended upon me as the brain first dispatched a “search and destroy” team to eradicate the resistance, and then it shut down enough nerves in my body to make me fall forward. To avoid crushing her, I managed to will enough strength into my left arm to gently reach out for her arm and impede my forward motion. That allowed me to impart enough energy to the side to swing my body wide and to the right. The grip that I had on her arm gave me enough of a pivot point to circle around and slam my face into her left cheek.

Upon arrival there, I became aware of several things. First, she smells really great. I don’t know if it is perfume or just her skin, but it makes me want to sleep in her closet! Second, what tactile nerves I had available in my left hand that my current stroke-like disorder had not damaged were making note of the feel of her skin. I don’t have anything in my lexicon to describe it, it was just that nice! But the fact that she didn’t seem to be recoiling in horror was a very large bonus to me. Of course, the fact that I probably had a death-grip on her arm may have kept her in check…

But all good things must come to an end. I just planted a nice little smooch on her cheek and then began the arduous journey back to earth. I won’t explain the mechanics involved with the return, but as my hand slid forlornly down her arm and through her hand, she bent her fingers just enough to check my progress for a brief second and I could feel just a little hint of a squeeze. Also, I think that she sent some type of electrical current as well, because 2 days later I can still feel her fingertips holding my fingertips.

I'm sure that by now you are completely disappointed. "Why didn't you kiss her?" you might ask... "Why didn't you knock her down and get busy?" the less restrained individuals are probably wondering...

The long and short is that I really do like this girl. I have hopefully discarded any of the emotional baggage that I have been carrying around for the last few years. I really want things to work out between us. I really hope that she’s not a freak once I get to know her. Hmmm… I wonder why there aren’t any more guys trying to date her? Maybe she is a freak? I hope to find out eventually.

But that’s the story of the best night of my life.

Semper Fi, Marine…

2005-08-05T14:21:00.000-06:00

On the first day of August, my second cousin (whom I never had the honor of meeting) was killed in Iraq.

Here is the Department Of Defense release:

DoD Identifies Marine Casualty

The Department of Defense announced today the death of a Marine who was supporting Operation Iraqi Freedom.

Sgt. James R. Graham III, 25, of Coweta, Okla., died August 1 as result of a suicide, vehicle-born, improvised explosive device while conducting combat operations near Hit, Iraq. Graham was assigned to Marine Reserve’s 4th Tank Battalion, 4th Marine Division, Broken Arrow, Okla. As part of Operation Iraqi Freedom, Graham’s unit was attached to Regimental Combat Team 2, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force (Forward).

Because we had never met, I’m not sure how to feel about it…

First, I feel guilty for even bringing it up. I have a problem with people using the sacrifices of others as a means of gaining personal sympathy. Let me say right now that any sympathy you might have towards me is going to the wrong place. Duh!

I feel sad because Sergeant Graham’s father is a good man and is probably (assuredly?) devastated. I know his grandfather (my mother’s brother/my uncle) certainly is. He's the one that called my mom earlier this week to tell her the news. I also think that all his friends and acquaintances are feeling this in ways that I am not, and my heart goes out to all of them.

I found this item on a Tulsa station's website:

An Oklahoman has become the latest casualty of war in Iraq. US Marine Sergeant James Graham of Coweta was killed by a suicide bomber. And that has his family and friends mourning the loss of a hero who made the ultimate sacrifice.
News on 6 Anchor Craig Day says Graham was a husband, a father of two. A man loved by his family. James Graham III trained with the Anti Tank Company in Broken Arrow.
The US Marine Corps says Graham was killed in the Al Anbar Province in Iraq. He was conducting combat operations in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. The military isn't releasing any further details, but attacks on US troops are common in the predominantly Sunni Muslim western province that borders Syria, Jordan and Saudi Arabia.
Graham lived in Coweta. He left Oklahoma for Camp Pendleton in January. Then it was on to Iraq to take part in Operation Iraqi Freedom. The News on 6 talked with Sergeant Graham's family in Coweta back in January. They shared their concerns at that time about the dangers he faced. His mother said as an only child his deployment was tough for them, but they knew they had to be strong for him because he had a job to do.
And Graham's wife said being a US Marine is something he wanted to do. He wanted to serve his country. Graham was only 25.
Graham was killed while conducting combat operations near Hit, Iraq.

I believe he was casualty #1,805.

Is what I feel the same feeling that you hear survivors of battles and horrible accidents deal with? The guilt of having "made it"? Granted, I'm too old to fight, and I don't know that I would have to courage to do so.

I have on recent occasions been prompted to, when seeing a serviceman/woman, thank them. Sometimes I actually can summon the courage to do so. Sometimes I can't. Sometimes it seems cheesy. Sometimes it works.

I hope that maybe now I can do it more frequently, and with the honor these young men and women deserve.

And I will also start being a little more careful about how much gas I use...

In the meantime - To everyone "In Country", stay alert and keep your eyes open!

Rock Star:INXS???????

2005-08-04T14:03:00.000-06:00

I can't take it anymore.

As a lad (well, sort of...) in the 80s, INXS was probably one of my favorite bands. In fact, I saw them on tour more than any other band. I posess every album they cut up to whatever came after "Live, baby live". The last time I did ecstacy was when they played New Orleans Auditorium on the "Kick" tour. That's also the last time I ever a) asked a girl I had never seen before to dance and b) danced in public. (Yes, I DO dance worse than a white man!)

Anyway, so what's up with this T.V. show?

A more honorable fate for the rest of the band would be to hire some cool guy (or girl) and write a bunch of new songs under a different band name. Let the music speak.

I have to say I have never watched this program (and I am so proud of that fact!) so I have no clue how it works. As near as I can tell, someone tells the "contestant" what song to learn, then they come back and see it. And apparently, people vote over the web? Hell, I don't know.

This show also seems to air about ever 3 hours, 7/week. It's always on.

Anyway, my curiosity has now got the best of me. Would someone tell me what's up?

My neighbors

2005-08-04T09:25:00.000-06:00

About 4 years ago, the neighbors to my right moved out and a new family moved in. I had previously been made aware of the father at the local little league baseball field. He was an assistant coach on his son’s team, and he would dress out in a full uniform (pants, socks, shoes, hat and batting gloves) when the other coaches would just be wearing the team jersey. He was a source of good-natured ridicule by opposing team's parents as well as his own. One of my favorite things about him was when he would be first base coach. One of his team would make it to first, and he would constantly tell the kid to “get on off” - meaning, as it were, to take a few steps closer to second while the opposing pitcher winds up. I always hoped one of the kids would ask him “What is it? Get on or get off?” He drove a Frito-Lay truck (prompting us to dub him “Micro-Chip”). He was goofy, to be sure. But he was harmless.

His wife is a receptionist at my vet, and she is as nice as can be. The kids are not rude. In fact they are usually quite polite – which is rare these days! The daughter is pre-teen and has a neighborhood friend that makes them both look like the twins in “The Shining”. Ooooooooooohhhh…

They are conservative - as are most people in my neighborhood. But they were the only ones to put their "Bush/Cheney" sign up under the Christmas tree in the front yard after the 2000 election. (With a hand written note on top proclaiming "Thank God".)

But no one in that family ever waves back to me except for the wife. The son (he is in high school now) used to be very nice to me but now only speaks to me when he’s hitting me up for school money drives. The daughter tried to sell me some candy bars once, and I guess I ruined it with her when I made no purchase. (Hey, I don’t like candy bars!)

Then I finally found out what was up.

They think I’m gay.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, but I’m not. I swear!

Now I must point out that my brother lives with me. He has lived with me for a long time. A real long time… But that’s a different story. Anyway, my friend’s son (who goes to school with my neighbor’s son) told me that his reasoning is because I live with a guy who’s like my husband. My immediate reaction to that was “why do they think I’m the bitch?”

Proof that I am heterosexual:

I don’t dress like a gay man. Gay men have style and elegance – something that I am incapable of even when I try. I am a slob, plain and simple.
There are no flowers in my yard. There are probably gay men and women that don’t have flowers in their yards, but every gay man I am acquainted with have neat, tidy yards with nice flower beds. Mine – not so neat, not so tidy. But I do have a very large wisteria bush swallowing one end of my house and the trees in front of it.
Gay men don’t have girlfriends that spend the night all the time. Granted, I seem to be girlfriend poor at the moment, but the ex-girlfriends were quite the fixtures at my house whilst we were dating.
I fly an airplane and I am in a rock band. Okay, that’s not really proof of my sexuality – I just wanted to get those facts out on the table.

Anyway, I really don't know why they have taken this line of thought, and I guess it really doesn't bother me. At least I don't think it does... It just goes to show how narrow-minded people can be. That's small-town Mississippi in a nutshell. It also makes me very glad my parents made sure that I became educated at an early age.

I still wave at them when I drive by, and every now and then I am rewarded with a wave-back.

My town

2005-08-03T07:56:00.000-06:00

I live in a fair sized town in Rankin County, MS. We are (technically) a suburb of Jackson (the state capitol). However, I grew up in Jackson and as schoolkids we made Rankin County the butt of many of our jokes. Rankin County made people think of trailer parks, chicken farms, and small towns filled with not too bright people. (Now we just think of Pearl that way.) But we were quite provincial indeed. When I was in high school, the word went around that we’d better not get caught smokin’ dope in Rankin County because we would probably never be heard from again.

I moved to Rankin County about 12 years ago. My good friends (Randy and Sheila) had built a house about 5 years prior to that, and I was spending most of my time hanging out on the deck out there, so I decided to move out of Madison. (Yes, I had moved "uptown" from Jackson to Madison County. More on that, later.)

Keep in mind that at the time, I had a large headful of graying hair that went down to my butt. My idea of “dressing up” would be to put on some khakis and a shirt that might need to be ironed. I considered jeans to be okay for most social functions. If I didn’t have to go to the office (and sometimes when I did), sweats and tank tops were de rigueur. Oh – and I’m about the hairiest bastard you’ve ever seen. I sport a pelt.

So when I first moved to Rankin County, I would go walking in the evenings – usually to Randy’s house. On one occasion I decided to not take my usual pleasant back-street route, opting instead for the shorter yet busier stretch down Highway 80. It just so happened that I walked right in front of a cop car parked at a gas station. For the next 15 minutes, 4 different cruisers were “nonchalantly” driving up and down the highway, keeping a roving eye upon me. I don’t know if they were just trying to decide what they were going to arrest me for, or if they were scared of me or what. But they were concerned by my presence. I had just turned into the subdivision when Randy pulled up next to me (on his way home from work) and offered me a lift. At that point in time my “tail” had fallen behind and couldn’t see me as there was a building between us. I jumped in the car and we sped off to go drink beers. I have always wondered if the police department went into a frenzied panic looking for me – having given them the slip.

Well, I ended up buying Randy’s house. I spent so much time over there anyway, I think the neighbors didn’t realize that I didn’t already live there! Over the course of the next few years, I ended up cutting my hair and actually wearing slacks less infrequently. Of course, when I’m at the house I rarely get out of my flannels, but I am about comfort.

The police couldn't care less about me now. Maybe I don't look like trouble anymore, or maybe they just know who I am. They are also all very young.

Maybe I have finally become the object of our high-school derision - the "Rankin County Redneck"!

Wal Mart tips

2005-08-01T08:57:00.000-06:00

My life must be great, because one thing that bothers me incredibly is when I am in the "Speedy Checkout - 20 Items or less" line at Wal Mart and someone has 25+ items in their cart. Too bad I don't let the little things bother me, huh?

Keep in mind that I am allowing you five items! But that is also because I am selfish and know that occasionally I will go through with 21 or 22 items. But personally, I draw the line at 23. That is only because I am an icon of self restraint! But I know that in my Super Wal Mart in Rankin County, there are many shoppers who do not deny themselves even the smallest of comforts, so the 23 to 25 range is my way of being generous and kind. Ahem...

Anyway, I have taken to counting out loud when some asshole sports a buggyful in front of me. I have also learned the more "high-strung" shoppers tend to react best to this simple action. (Note: "High-strung" is usually gauged by any one of several indicators. My latest experiment has proven that a combination of age in sixties, hair piled several inches, and green lycra is a winning combination.) Each time the scanner beeps, just say the number out loud.

At around eight, the connection has (usually) been made as to what is going on. By around fifteen, the glares develop into a stern "I'm not listening AND you don't bother me" interest in the items.

For best results, when you get to twenty-three (or whatever you have decided your personal minimum to be) you should change the tone of your voice to something like "petulant futility". The first number is spoken with a rising intonation, with the second number dropping about a fifth and then training off to finish out an octave down. "Twenty three-eee", "Twen-ty four-rrrr", etc... This usually gets the cashier to smile knowingly and possible laugh. This has the added bonus of making the targeted consumer break their seeming trance and glower straight at you - possibly even promoting verbal emissions.

The trickiest part is deciding when to launch the "sparkler", as it were... In my experience, it's best played when you have counted at least 5 items using "petulant futility" and there are at least five items left. There could be more items, but I save this for the last 4 or 5. My tone of voice then changes to a sort of "amazed curiosity". Like "how on earth did this idiot make it this far in life without being able to read signs or count?". Merely shift the inflection on each number to a neutral intonation, but the last syllable is raised about a minor third. Make them hear the question mark! "Thirty two?", "Thirty three?", etc... Oh - if you smile the whole time you do this, the cashier usually loses it around thirty.

I have succesfully used this tactic several times, and I have only had 2 people speak to me. Even then, they were just telling me to stop it. I did have one woman throw some curses my way once she was safely on her way to the door.

I hope that you will have continued success with this tactic. Think of me fondly if you get the chance to try this.

I work with infants

2005-07-29T11:41:00.000-06:00

Question of the day: Why is it so difficult to make a pot of coffee?

Remove filter basket
Dump contents into (that very large and inviting) garbage can (next to the coffee pot)
Put new filter (from the shelf right above the coffee pot) into filter basket
Put (prepackaged/premeasured) coffee in filter
Replace basket
Fill pitcher with water to specified line
Pour contents of pitcher into coffee machine

Okay, when you put it that way, it looks like an awful lot of work I guess. Regardless, the whole process takes 45 seconds - 30 seconds if you move step #6 after #2 and letting it fill while you do #3 and #4. Oooohh, multitasking!

Just recently, the powers that be installed a coffee maker with a water feed, thereby eliminating steps #6 and #7. Just hit the "GO" button!

However, I am sure that I can go to the breakroom right now and find a quarter-inch depth of black, viscuous fluid that smells like burning vomit. (Eeewwwwwww! Sorry, folks!)

I think it's a lack of manners on the part of the bastards that will leave a minute amount of coffee baking on the burner that prevents them from making a new pot. Maybe their time is too important? Maybe they're idiots?

Maybe I take this crap too seriously. I think I need another cup of coffee!

I wish I had something to say

2005-07-29T08:23:00.000-06:00

Unfortunately, I do not. Pity.

I should probably work on that.

Maybe I just need more coffee.