The Meaty Efreeti

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

I have just left Fahrenheit 9/11. And I'm sure what you're all expecting is a 5-star, two-thumbs-up, 20 tomato, 1 bomb, for-the-love-of-God-go-see-this kind of recommendation from me. So let me go ahead and torch the suspense. You're not going to get one. Did it say things that needed to be said? Yes. Am I disillusioned with my government? Yes. Did I leave furious? Absolutely. Am I broken-hearted right now? Yes, yes I am. But what I truly hope all cognizant Americans walked away from the theater thinking is, "Wow, all Michael Moore was missing was a Snidely Whiplash moustache on the Bushie. I wonder if I should look into this myself." You know, it's easy to find a grieving mother and splay her across the screen for 10 minutes in order to make people bend to your message. We all felt at least a small part of her pain. We're all human. I won't lie, I was also very moved by the sufferance of Lila Lipscomb, but what I won't succumb to is more manipulation. Yes, I'm very sorry that her son died for business in the war we're fighting. But I hope that she's seen how she was portrayed as one-sided archetype in order to elicit an illicit response in audiences...I also hope she was disappointed. She was a reality t.v. caricature, the empathy character, a bundle of very real and raw hurt, run through the Emot-o-Matic and packaged distastefully by Michael Moore to make us feel what he wanted us to. Disregard for a moment whether it was a worthy message or not...it was still an underhanded trick. I left the theater amidst the irritated barks of an American wake-up call, people buzzing angrily about parts of the film, shocked at some of the atrocities that we're committing in a country that most of this ignorant nation couldn't find on a map, and I felt that the beginnings of unified American voice, whose call for explanation could be heard around the country, was forming. But, as is our New American Way, that din subsided. It slid into the beeping of cell phones being turned back on, into the crumple of half-eaten bags of popcorn being tossed on the floor next to overflowing garbage cans, and it subsided into discussions of Starbucks, work tomorrow, who was in this weeks' "Style" section of the Houston Chronicle, and what they were doing for the 4th of July weekend. And that my friends...that disgusted me more than corporatized warfare, the Bushie's lies, and more than any number of slaughtered and mutilated human beings. America hadn't even pressed the buttons on their alarm keychain fobs to unlock their SUVs before the outrage had already settled back down into a dull, nagging uncomfort, and we quickly replaced the dissonance with the drudgeries of our lives. For me, that was the most infuriating part of the entire film. So, what did I walk away from the film thinking? What is different? What have I learned that I wasn't sure of before I went in? It's this. Independent theatres everywhere are thanking Allah for Michael Moore. The River Oaks theater here in Houston charged an extra dollar for this movie, and they still had a line around the block at 9:30pm on a Tuesday. You know, for some inexplicable reason, I just couldn't shake a strange icky feeling I had when I walked up to the theater...I knew it had something to do with the ludicrous amount of media exposure F 9/11 had been getting, but I wasn't sure why I would hold that against a film such as this one. But on the way home, I figured out what my distaste for it was... It has become like the Halliburtons, the Bechtels, and the other corporations involved. Profiteering off the destruction of Iraq. (And for that matter nearly everything else that we touch.) It lost credibility with me when it became encased in the margins of profitability that the rest of this country rides upon. Thus it became just another industry tool, and is making people extraordinarily wealthy on the guise of being something benign, proletariat and "grassroots." I can't help but wonder...where will the money for this film go? (Aside from lining the Marianas Trench-sized pockets of the Weinsteins once again that is...) Hey Mikey, what are you going to do with this influx of dollareenys? Any of it going to Iraq? Or to the American families that have lost sons, daughters, husbands or wives in the war? Yes, you're now accountable too Big Guy. Welcome to the show that never ends. Now, what does this all mean? Does this mean I'm saying you shouldn't go see the film? Am I waxing pro-Republican? Am I protesting the film? Absolutely not. In my bloated, Mu Cephei-sized opinion, I happen to think that everyone should see it...Democrat, Republican, Independent, Liberal, Conservative, and everyone in between... I think it's relevant and important in the time that we're living in. I believe that these are the things that we all must consider in order to adequately and intelligently play our integral roles as American citizenry. And I believe that most of the reviews that have been shrieking about "Michael Moore's lies" or how "he's ridiculing American soldiers!" are attempts to sway those conservatives and/or Republicans who are on the fence about going to see the film away from the box office. Conversely, please don't take the outrage spoonfeeding solely at face value. Go learn. You have the Library of Alexandria at your very fingertips as you read this. Use it. Find out for yourselves whether Michael Moore is telling you the truth, or manipulating you in the same way that the film chastizes. Only children believe blindly in what they're told. Make these decisions for yourselves. And for the love of whatever deity you worship, keep that decision close to your heart and mind. Don't let it ebb completely into the trappings of comfortable laziness. Complacency is revolution's cancer. j.s.

Monday, June 28, 2004

I am here in Nashville still, and have amassed a ludicrous amount of deviant photos of D. and I getting sauced and trashing the hotel. Good times...good times... The problem is, I'm getting ready to bail outta here in the next 20-30 minutes and head back to Houston, so I don't have the time to devote to setting it up and formatting it the way I'd like. (In fact, most of the rockstar shots are still in the camera...) I'll work on it tonight a bit...get things cookin'...and post it when I get back. Talk to you soon, j.s.

Friday, June 25, 2004

Hey, I'm off to Grand Ol' Opryland here in the next 30 - 45 minutes, but I thought I'd send a shout to all of you real quick like. Spitalfield/Northstar/Jealous Sound/Piebald was absolutely awesome. I wish more of you could've seen it. I wholeheartedly recommend going to see Piebald if you ever get the chance. Was a great time. I'll have more to say about it later...but I'm kinda under the gun at the moment. I'll write a bit in the car I'm sure and post it when I find a Nashvillian Starbucks or something. Oh, and on my way out... And he wiped himself off with the American flag. j.s.

Thursday, June 24, 2004

"It's been a busy day of makin' things mine..." say the rightsmongers from our City on a Hill. [via Sampo and Boing Boing] First, What the hell did I say to you people in Utah? WHAT DID I SAY??? DO SOMETHING about that Orrin Hatch of yours goddammit...this is all coming to rest on your shoulders since you've kept this smackerhead in office. Didn't you figure out he was a Froot Loop when he created the United States' only Porn Czar government position there? And yes, I know her position...ahem...has since been "downsized." (I almost said that with a straight face.) POW or try to read the cleverly edited version here... Second, don't expect to hear/see anything about Fahrenheit 9/11 after July 30th. You see kids, it's become a violation of campaign law for DOCUMENTARY FILM MAKERS to advertise their films 30 days before a primary election and 60 days before a general election. SOCK I'm more concerned about what this might do to other documentaries like The Corporation. And lastly, Rumsfeld couldn't let a day like this go by without playing a hand himself...so here's one just for you Donnie. THWACK I think I'm going to be sick...thank God for Piebald and Jealous Sound tonight or I'd be horribly depressed. j.s.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Welcome to Houston, Texas. The sky? Oh, it's orange because it's clean you see...pay it no mind. Have a fajita. j.s.



Hi, I've changed my "comments" format as the Haloscan bastards added a pop-up window to my site. Unforgivable offense. Hopefully these will be acceptable. edit Now things have gone completely haywire...grrrrr... j.s.



So I realized that I spend a good deal of time railing and ranting against America on here, citing all our problems, laughing at all our peccadillos, harping on our issues... and basically being a bald eagle hata'. But I've never gone over any of the things I really love about this here country o' mine. Below you will find all the things I could think of that make me like this place...in the order that I thought of them...I'm doin' this one on the fly. First, I have to give appreciation to the very right that you're reading now. The ability to voice my oft misguided and foundless opinion, with little concern of lynching or imprisonment. This goes double for all the people whose websites and blogs I read daily, the majority of whom are much smarter and more interesting than I. (Warren and Pete spring to mind.) I like that Americans are quick to help out other countries in need...sometimes even without bombing them into oblivion first. (read as: The American Red Cross, Peace Corps, Greenpeace, etc.) I think that speaks volumes about our collective character and I'm a big fan of it. And what of the American spirit...how we're most often seen as being decadent, but concurrently rural and piggish fops, yet somehow we manage to find a reserved seat at the international table to discuss the fate of the planet...despite inevitably cocking it up. We're the Mungos of the world, riding around on our oxen and terrorizing every town we saunter into. Oafish and brusque, club handed and dense, we can still come off endearingly kind-hearted and well-meaning, often for those very same reasons. Also as I've mentioned before, the American people can be a scrappy, tenacious and vindictive lot when we're tread upon, and I don't think for a moment that other countries that despise us aren't at least a bit fearful of that fact. Look what happened to Afghanistan...and they only harbored the guy who kicked us in the shins. And while I can't with good conscience stand behind the obliteration of every building in an entire country that stood taller than 5 hands high, the razing of Afghanistan did accomplish the desired effect of showing that America isn't just a complacent and docile lump o' laziness on the globe. We are still that "sleeping giant." A nation of grey hatted cowboys, twitchy hands hovering over our low-slung revolvers, just waiting for a new indian. I also like that we're first in the world in creativity, despite being Clear Channeled, "Left Behind" and Hollywooded to the hilt. There are a lot of very creative cats still fighting the good fight in this country, just trying to be heard... and I applaud, am awed, and am utterly thankful for their efforts and talents in their respective arts. Even those that I think suck... With the exception of The Icarus Line, who should do us all a favor and switch to hemlock as their drug of choice and begin new careers as halberd swallowers. I also like the religious freedom and acceptance of America. We have Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, athiest, Voodoo, Wiccan and Satanic people all living in close proximity to one another, and yet we somehow manage to get along at least well enough to avoid waging violent and fanatical religious crusades on one another, making people explode based solely on which omnipotent deity they choose to worship, or not worship, as the case may be. Nearly all of existence could take a cue from us on that one. So there you have it. Water is flowing uphill, swine have gone avian, and there's an inch of fresh powder in Dis...I'm saying good things about America, and Americans. Someone tackle me now. Please. j.s.

Monday, June 21, 2004

This email obviously contains an important message about free software, the conflict in Iraq, the existence of alien life, and the unification of the entire human race in synergistic harmony...but it seems I simply cannot decode its message of intergalactic love and peace. contraband miser icarus iceberg deconvolution democracy confederacy diego idiomatic adenoma toast mensurable deportation shady ash merrimack chelate tagging betelgeuse rhapsodic aegis becalm despot compensate chow titan come brenda hire austere autocracy trihedral businessmen custody bolton pike verify guise silk dairymen wingspan attendant amorous candlewick beatrice dip fe mudsling wrap du census lechery diddle devotion historiography celebrant deform arson programming demo artistry bowen cam battery forte abdominal partial vida accumulate monte bronx Seriously. What am I supposed to glean from this, and exactly how in the hell does it pertain to selling me software? Apparently they're just sending out spam for spams' sake nowadays... j.s.

Sunday, June 20, 2004

Good evening... It's Saturday night, and I'm at home, curled up on the couch in a comfy pair of jeans and basking in air-conditioned splendor...thankful to be recovered from the hangover that plagued me most of the day. Last night you ask? Well okay... After work I headed over to meet J.T. and Kristin for a b-day/happy hour thing at Drink. But I was kinda early, so I typed up the former post from a nearby coffee shop and hung about outside there until they showed up. We go inside, and are confronted with full-on 80's retro madness. Olivia Newton John posters, SIMON ads, and over the dance floor was a giant Rubik's Cube where a disco ball was supposed to be. We make our way through this, the first wing of the club, and head over to "Rain" the video lounge, where the gathering was supposed to be. Lots of 30 something Katy-ites, guzzling drinks, gossiping about one another, and gobbling the free buffet. The horror...the horrorrrr So I attempt to be amicable, nervously stash my computer in the corner, and then proceed to consume mighty amounts of alcohol until they all become more interesting. After an hour or so, they open the main wing of the club, and the throngs of claimjumpers pour in and scrabble for table space to act as their base of operations for the night. I decide that I'm getting too tipsy to keep an effective eye on my laptop, and convince J.T. to take me out to his car to lock it in his trunk. He agrees and we walk outside...into a torrential downpour. Unfazed, we briskly walk toward where he thinks the car is...but actually isn't...so we end up traversing several lines of parked cars before we find his. I was not quite in the Land of the Drunk at this point, but I could definitely see it without a telescope, so I didn't really care that much about the wettening. Until we went back inside, and got to our table...which was conveniently located right under an industrial fan the size of Canada that blew sub-arctic air directly down on my soaking wet head and shirt for the next 45 minutes. I looked like I was in a Gaultier bra it was so cold. So after awhile we all get tired of being there, and take off to head home. I decide to pit stop at...drumroll...The Belv of course, and I walk inside. Yes, Jenn was there. Yes, she bought me a drink. Then as I was leaving she mentioned that she was going to call me sometime this weekend. So yes, I asked her out again. And yes, she said "yeah, okay that'd be cool" once again. I reply with a grin, "you still have my number?" "I think so, but write it down just in case." So I do...and I'm so addle-headed by this point that I forget my own number for about 20 seconds...which doesn't sound like it but is actually a really long time when you're holding a pen and someone is waiting on your number... I finally remember where the 7 goes and hand it back to her, then I head home, read for awhile and crash. It would appear that I'm not quite done making a fool of myself for that girl just yet. Today I did breakfast at the Fountain View Cafe as per usual, then drove out to the airport to pick up Mom. Spent the rest of the day just kicking around with her, doing grocery shopping and stuff. Then had some dinner and I came home...which brings us back to where I came in...on the couch. J.T. and Kristin just called a few minutes ago and told me they were on their way to The Belv and asked if I wanted to go. But I'm thinking two nights in a row, mmmm...that's a bit sketchy, so I declined... Er...I really hope they don't say anything to Jenn... Uh... Oh no. I need to go make a call. Talk to you guys later. j.s.

Friday, June 18, 2004

Hey, to my peeps in the SLC...will one of you PLEASE shut up Orrin Hatch? [thanks Pete] How you do it is irrelevant...petitioning, voting, jello poisoning, millions of beestings, string 'em up by his garments, or just plain beat him down like you're Big Daddy Danite. (Those of you without prior Utah experience will be wondering exactly what in the hell that last sentence was all about...I assure you, was funny.) Just keep his "oh my heck"in' Nephite ass out of my computer okay? And in even more acronymic idiocy, the INDUCE Act actually stands for "Inducement Devolves into Unlawful Child Exploitation" Act. I mean COME ON man... You're not even trying to hide the fearmongering anymore...and using parental concern for the wellbeing of their children simply to boost your focus group agenda of $$$ is absolutely fucking heartless. Not that Ol' Orry isn't bananas when it comes to the pron...he is. I remember his billboard along the I-15...a huge largemouth bass being pulled out of the water by a hook, baited with a magazine. "Pornography!" the sign read, "Don't get HOOKED!" I'm so not making this up. Yes, child porn is disgusting, and the people who make it have a table for one reserved in the innermost circle of Hell...and as the good book says, "lo shall they be alternatingly penetrated in every orifice by electric eels, broken glass and hellfire". But trying to ban filesharing on the minute percentage of people who are twisted enough to want to look at naked children? Do you ban boxcutters? They could be used to invoke plane hijacking... Or camcorders? They could be invoked to record people doing, well, any number of illegal things really... And what of paper and pens? Are they next up on the bannable offenses list? Actually, yeah...he probably would...I'd rather not give that loopy bastard any ideas. And don't forget, all this comes from the same guy that (true story), passed a law 3 years ago making English the official state language of Utah. Right. Excellent usage of taxpayer funds Cap'n Currency. As a matter of fact, methinks Orrin doth protesteth too much... narrows eyes in the direction of Utah Hmmmm... j.s.

Thursday, June 17, 2004

I was wrong about the new low. My hairdresser just offered to kick Jenn's ass for me. The quote goes..."cuz she ain't no reeeal woman if she don't wantcha. Hehyl. I wantcha...we awl wantcha here. And that's all that matter 'bout that sheet." So it would seem that I'm incapable of pulling out of this nosedive... Watch next week as Lowry Mays has sweaty, grunting, squint-eyed sex with Donald Rumsfeld...and uses me as a condom. j.s.



Hello. So I may have hit a new low last night... I went to watch dodgeball. (Please to note that I did not capitalize the word "dodgeball," hence I did not go see a Ben Stiller film. No, I went to watch live dodgeball at Outback Pub.) Seriously...it was 2 steps from being NASCAR-style. Frothy, beer-soaked patrons, screaming through a chainlink fence at 2 teams slinging multicolored Scooby Doo emblazoned balls at one another... It was like recess at Thunderdome Elementary. The highlight of the night was when a girl, standing on top of one of the picnic tables outside the little arena they'd built, looked away from the game for a moment to take a sip of her beerwater...she'd just about raised the cup to her lips when... Blaough! Scooby Doo dodgeball. right in the face. She screams, because she has 2 eyefuls of beerwater now, and nearly staggers off the edge of the table before some guys underneath her hold her up. She gets full marks for not dropping the beer though...and after she'd wiped the barley sludge out of her eyes she "WOOOOOO!"'d and took another long draw off of her cup of white foam. Madness. The suckyWATT part became when D. and I headed back to the Jeep. And it was gone. Yes, gone. I'd parked it in what was apparently a tow-away mini-mall. So we got a ride out to the storage place with one of D's friends, where a horrible smelling little girl behind a wrought-iron window informed me that it would cost $163.00 to get my Jeep out. 163 fucking dollars... I vibrate with anger for a few moments, then get cash, pay her, urinate on their building (the apotheosis of revenge), then drive off and grab some dinner. So teh suck. Though I must admit...I don't think there is a more frightening place on earth than a salvage yard at night. The ghosts of all those rusty cars, the strange creaks from the shadows, feral, snake hunting cat eyes reflecting from within the wreckage, the unearthly glow of sodium vapor lights... And of course, you have to wander down aisles of these things looking back and forth for your own car...just like the bit part characters do in every single horror movie ever made... Unnerved me a bit. I think I peed a little. But I got it back, and she's fine thank you. It would seem the tow truck driver was uncharacteristically gentle. And all in all, I guess it could've been worse...someone could've stolen her. K, I'll talk more later. j.s.

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Sigh...and you want to know what the worst part is? I rant and rave about things...I appear anguished and indignant...I'm smarmy and elitist... And by doing so I'm just another part of it all. I'm a part of this America. I was angry and felt the patriotic surge after 9/11 too. I watched a Survivor and enjoyed it. I worried about more plane attacks...and still do. I lock my apartment constantly...even when I'm in it. I use disposable products. I take long showers. I read ClearChannel billboards and attend concerts they put on. I didn't vote, nationally or locally. I use Microsoft. I haven't attended any protests. I drive a Jeep, and sometimes for fun. I buy coffee from Starbucks. I keep my apartments' thermostat set to 70 degrees. I buy albums from artists on labels that support the RIAA. I attribute an unhealthy amount of attention to how I, and others, look. I have no way of condensing truth from vaporous news stories. I don't recycle. The list goes on and on... Which makes so much of what I say here just sound and fury. Yes, I'd noticed. I just didn't want to. It's odd how embarrassing simply being an American makes me feel sometimes. Sad too, since we're a proud and clever and indelibly scrappy lot for the most part...and we're capable of so much more than NASCAR, cheap beef patties and guns. j.s.



Hi, Before Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 911" comes out and everyone with a drink and a degree starts parroting the films points...I'd like to break down what is apparently a large bit of the film down...the Patriot Act...Meaty style. At least some of it anyway...it's over 300 pages of governmental legalese... Okay, first cockslaps go out to whoever is in charge of creating media-friendly names for these things. (i.e. USA Patriot Act = Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism.) First off, it created a new account in the Treasury for "counterterrorism" which is supposed to be used for rebuilding after terrorist attacks, pay for investigations and prosecutions of terrorists, and pay for "threat assessments" for Federal agencies. Fair enough I suppose. Though it sounds to me like we're all on the hook for paying for "terrorism insurance." [skepticism] I'm okay with that I suppose if it goes to victim families and to rebuilding. Whether the funds actually have gone and will go to that purpose remains to be seen obviously.[/skepticism] The interesting tidbit is, this section also provides financial support for "detaining, in foreign countries, individuals accused of acts of terrorism that violate the laws of the United States." Um...I hate to point an ethnocentric finger at that little rider...but Jeebus man. Does France have a fund set up to detain me if I stroll outside and denounce Jerry Lewis and publicly ridicule their cheese? Does Germany have provisions to arrest me for going to The Belv and proclaiming to anyone who will listen that most of their beer tastes like an amalgamation of carmelized piss and maple syrup? No, that's not "terrorism," I know...but where does that line between terrorism and protest get drawn? I sure as hell wouldn't give that responsibility to our government...or any for that matter. Let's keep going before I get bogged down in the potential ramifications of that last bit... Next, in a oxymoronic segment called "SENSE OF CONGRESS," They say that "Any acts of violence or discrimination against any Americans [shall] be condemned; and the Nation is called upon to recognize the patriotism of fellow citizens from all ethnic, racial, and religious backgrounds. Gee...thanks...but, um...I think we've already covered that one in The Declaration of Independence (The DELI Act!) with the whole "We hold these truths to be self-evident" bit? And in the Commonwealth Franchise Act? And in the Civil Rights act of 1964? Sigh. Let's continue shall we? Let's see...yadda, yadda, yadda...they give the FBI $200 million for tech support... Oooo...here's a good one. The creation of a "National Electronic Crime Task Force" is in there...to be based on the model that currently exists in New York. Mmhmm... And, as we know, the NY boys and girls are in the hip pocket of the RIAA...Google on "New York Electronic Crime Task Force RIAA" and see how many articles you can find about these two together...frightening. Next, the PRESIDENTIAL AUTHORITY section, which makes several amendments to the "Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act of 1996." (I might research this one later, as it is made mention of many times in the P.A.) Hmmm...they hired some people who speak Arabic... And this sounds kind of ominous... SEC. 206. ROVING SURVEILLANCE AUTHORITY UNDER THE FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE SURVEILLANCE ACT OF 1978. Section 105(c)(2)(B) of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act of 1978 (50 U.S.C. 1805(c)(2)(B)) is amended by inserting `, or in circumstances where the Court finds that the actions of the target of the application may have the effect of thwarting the identification of a specified person, such other persons,' after `specified person'. If anyone would like to look that one up and post it here I certainly wouldn't be opposed...you can see how awful the writing is in this thing now. I've read over a hundred pages of this pap so far... And from here the thing becomes a beast of circuitous references...some of which refer to documents created as far back as 1934. Lots of "Title 18, United States Code" references too. Oy...and now my brain has grown a layer of thick fuzz over it after reading the first 150 pages of this thing. Which begs another question.... How are we, as Americans, supposed to uphold our civic duty and obey the law as...if we can't understand it? Additionally, how are we to perform our Constitutional responsibility as American citizens to hold our government to the law...if we don't understand it? You're all welcome to try to read it for yourselves if you'd like here http://www.epic.org/privacy/terrorism/hr3162.html I'm going to take a break for a bit and pick it up later with a fresh mind. j.s.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Diedrich's WiFi sucks...I loathe coming to the diggydiggydiggy BUCKS, but I'm afraid I'm out of options. Sigh. So I've been consumed once again by a new music obsession, and I figured I'd share a few here for those of you who don't have the time or the inclination to search out new artists for yourselves...you lazy bastards. The first is Feist, one of the vocalists from Broken Social Scene that put out her own album. A beautiful album. Throwback bluesy vocals with multi-colored sugary synth sprinkles in all the right places. Currently my favorite cut is the title track, "Let it Die." Soft, broken-hearted and sublime. Good sauce. Another band would be a byproduct of the Jealous Sound show that is upcoming next Thursday, the headliners being Piebald, a group out of Boston who I'd heard some of before but hadn't really given a fair shake. It's full on emo/moperock, so it won't appeal to some of you, but I really dig quite a bit of it...especially "American Hearts" and "Fear and Loathing in Cape Cod." Whipsmart lyrics and just enough breaks and rests to make 'em interesting. That and they're Sox fans apparently, so I can commiserate with their pain. Yet another would be The Appleseed Cast, a CD I actually purchased a couple of years ago (Low Level Owl: Vol. 1), and dug...but lost and ended up completely forgetting about the band. Very, very talented musicians. They happen to be coming with Piebald and Jealous Sound next week too. Fucking w00t. Let me know if any of you want to go and I'll pick you up a ticket at Sound Exchange. Oy...okay. Switching gears because I can't sit here and not say anything anymore... So there's a heartachingly beautiful girl sitting at the table next to me, speaking in first-datese to the beefcake guy next to her...who it would appear made a poor choice for a first encounter by deciding on coffee since he's so goddamn jittery he's making me nervous. Crossed arms, ground-rumbling leg bounce, the ululating, inappropriate accentuations and volumes, and worst, he's not looking her in the eye...and talking wistfully about the fence he put around his house. And now his cell phone rang... And he's actually talking on it about the fucking weather north of here...and redfish...and a grassy knoll, as opposed to paying attention to the person he's sitting at the table with. ... I have lost count of the "that's cool"s. ... 5 minutes into the phone conversation...her hand rests on her cheek and she appears to be amusing herself by staring down car passengers at the stoplight. ... Heh, she just looked at him and derisively shook her head...at least she knows how ridiculous it is. ... Americans are so awful at cellular etiquette. Wow, he gets off the phone...and she counters with a white-hot quip about the thermometer in front of her house...and how it's 10 degrees off all the time. And I have to keep telling myself that Jeannette Winterson is right...it truly is better to be an unhappy Socrates than a contented pig. Although I often wonder, as I've mentioned to some of you, if the conversations that I have with folk while I'm out come off as being equally jejune and pointless to eavesdroppers. I'd like to think they aren't...I really would. But I wager that they really seem equally banal for the most part. Not that I'm in favor of erudite and intellectual conversations simply to badger nearby coffee patrons...wait...now that I think about it that actually that sounds kinda fun... Okay, scratch that, I am in favor of erudite and intellectual conversations simply to badger nearby coffee patrons. Especially these two. I think I'll call someone and see how many polysyllabic words I can use to give the false impression that I'm...sagacious. =] I'll talk to you later. j.s.

Monday, June 14, 2004

Sniffles Mc MopeyBoy has officially overstayed his welcome at the keyboard. There are no answers to what he's looking for, you know it, I know it...so I've been flicking lit cigarettes at his head to amuse myself for the past couple of days...you guys should've too. It's a lot more fun than listening to him drone on and rehash the same scenarios over and over hoping to come up with new answers that don't involve him being rejected. Heh, he just stood up in a huff and took his copy of "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," down to the Local Hipster Union #732 coffee shop to go have a good cry. So I'm back. And I'm getting more and more irritated by the second...mmmmmm....warm, tingly, life-giving, irritation. Like a tarnished cheese grater, stuttering along the hairy pectorals of life. Shut up, I'll go back to prose in a moment. Anyway, so I'm here to say what you've all been waiting for...which is "fuck that girl." I'll only tolerate ridiculousness and non-sequiturs for so long before I become fed up with semi-cognitive and purposefully vague meanderings. Now before you get all humpty, I don't necessarily wish the girl ill...I mean, I don't hope that some squamous, multi-legged, chitinous creature crawls into her dresser and builds a multi-tiered housing project for squirming larval pupae in her unmentionables drawer or anything... No. I just think she happens to have sucked quite a bit this past week, and textually slapping people who suck is what I do here. And the day I pull linguistic punches simply because someone won the genetic attractiveness lotto...well that's the same day I allow Herve Villachez to rape me with a staplegun and broadcast it live on pay-per-view. Suck it Snackwells. In other interesting news, my Dad gave me his old digital camera...so hopefully in the near future I'll have pictures to go with my thousand words. Talk to you later. j.s.

Saturday, June 12, 2004

So, I dropped by The Belv on my way home tonight, and the conclusion goes like this... "Hey." "Hey." "Sorry I didn't call you back the other day...I fell asleep." "Oh. Right...I figured something had to have happened. It's okay. Pause while she fixes a drink. "The game wasn't worth watching anyway, rain out." "Yeah. I heard. In the sixth. Did they pick it back up later?" "Nah. Finished the next day...lost 8-1. Still wasn't worth watching." "Ah." After which it becme kinda awkward and uncomfortable, which nearly killed me since it'd been such a fun vibe between us there just a week ago... So I closed out my tab, she gave me a professional "thank you," to which I shrugged, and then I headed home...with a pit stop here at Diedrich where I thought I was going to post this, but it seems their Net connection is down, so I'm just typing in Notepad. You know, perhaps it's just that my attraction barometer is skewed, but it did seem like she was at least a little interested in going out...why else would she have offered her number? I never asked for it. Well, at least it was a real number...not that I'll ever call it again. Needless to say, I'm feeling a little down tonight. "God, what is with this ridiculous self-pity" you ask? "Where is that arrogant, jaded and caustic bastard that I come here for?" "And just who the hell is this hampster?" Yeah, well the boisterous voice of that fictional character who violently jabs his thoughts into a keyboard here is quietly sulking and smoking, narrow-eyed, in the corner for now, his hands stuffed in his pockets. This would be just me typing in his stead. The confused, selectively vulnerable, and now disappointed guy...and things just don't seem to be working out quite the way he'd hoped they might. I know, I know, not nearly as much fun to read as the asshole with an opinion on everything. I do apologize. This whole thing is just a flare...one that throws my typically hidden shadows into sharp relief, and they tend to take over for a little while after such. You can either wait for it to burn itself out, as it inevitably does, or simply find another blog to read for the next couple of days. No worries. I'll still be where you left me when you come back. Christ it's hot out here...and there's really no point in my being here either since their Wi-Fi isn't working... No point at all. Good night. j.s.

Friday, June 11, 2004

I'd like to talk about secret societies for a moment if I might. I originally set out to write an enlightening piece on Freemasonry...however I didn't want to go into a conspiratorial rant, nor did I want to bore the hell out of you with theories, dates and "interesting coincidents." But I found a few things worth sharing today, so thought I'd give it freely to the smart people I love. As I'm sure most of you have heard, nearly all of our presidents and vice presidents have been Freemasons. Right? Ronald Reagan, George Bush Sr., Bill Clinton, Al Gore, George Bush Jr., Dick Cheney...and that's just to name the contemporary ones...this goes all the way back to George Washington's "Anti-Cherry Tree" movement. In fact, the only president that didn't have immediate ties to the Freemasons was... John F. Kennedy. (Conspire and rant away at your leisure...it's possible I suppose.) But did you also know that Donald Rumsfeld (Secretary of Defense), Colin Powell (Secretary of State), Alan Greenspan (Director of the Federal Treasury Reserve), Robert Mueller (Director of the FBI), Michael Hayden (Director of the NSA), and George Tenet (who until 6 days ago, was Director of the CIA) are all Freemasons as well? I mean, the presidents thing is spooky...but that doesn't hold a candle to the NSA, CIA and FBI guys...that's fucking terrifying. Here is every single head of our major governmental departments, all members of an organization that is devoted to assisting its own members above and beyond that of non-members. (i.e. the rest of America.) They eventually have to hold a Freemasons meeting sometime...and what do you think they talk about? Traffic? The Redskins? Cookie recipes? Sweet Christ man, these meetings must decide the fate of millions...all over brandy and biscuits. Then they scuttle back to their respective "independent" agencies to operate. That's not conspiracy theory...that's human nature. It would also seem that we have no choice as to whether or not we elect a Freemason this year, since, yep, John Kerry's got a compass ring too. In fact, not only is he a Mason, but he's also a member of the Skull and Bones society from Yale. (Don't scoff Skippy, so is the Bushie.) Oh, and as an interesting and only possibly related aside, Kerry's wife is also the heiress to the Heinz ketchup fortune. Isn't the Internet neat kids? A contradiction: Freemason websites repeat often the belief of a "supreme being," and on occasion, "a member must believe in his God." [italics mine] Now whether this is the "universal architect" that I've read about on some of the more off the wall websites or not remains to be seen... But I can't help but wonder that if the Masons were a straight-up now tell me, Christian organization, well why wouldn't they just say "God?" Now, I couldn't really care less about the deity they believe in. But what I do care about, is their aggressive-monkey grinned lying via "pro-Christian" campaigns...especially when they've given their everlastin' heart n' soul away to another omnipotent deity...one with a penchant for architectural accoutrements... This also seems to make our "checks and balances" system useless, since pols, members of the press, and judges are all members of the same little boys' club...(women are NOT allowed to become Freemasons by the way.) I'd like to say that this was anti-Constitutional, but see, the Masons drew up that little gem themselves...(The Bill of Rights and the Declaration of Independence too), so in actually, it's 100% Constitutional. Yes Virginia, the founding fathers weren't exactly altruistic in their dissemination of power. Conversely, the other interesting thing that this research provided was a cross-sampling of the people who believe enough in this type of thing to build websites about it...and one thing rang throughout the entirety of these write-ups. I would be absolutely thrilled if this was the demographic that was speaking against my evil organization. I'll give an example. One guy, in between plane of existence-hopping yoga sessions, apparently chanted and scryed the pyramid/eye on the one dollar bill, while simultaneously using the Tarot to guide said meditation...all to find its "source of power." I hear his Nag Champa chakra collapsed. Patchouli went everywhere. But that did make me stop and think for a minute, (after giggling about the potential for a Nag Champa joke), is that pyramid a symbol of American world domination? Our Novus Ordo Seclorum? A secret organization of Freemasons and/or Illuminati? Foreshadowing to the millions enslaved to the ph4r0hs of America Online? The answer is: I have absolutely no idea. But it's a spooky lil' fucker innit? I mean, there's no doubt that it meant something to the weird bastard that drew it on there in the first place...but it's hard to point an waggling, empirical finger at something contemporarily available and say, "YES, YOU! YOU SADISTIC MANIPULATIVE FUCK! TAKE YOUR CYCLOPEAN POLYGONS OFF MY CURRENCY, EVIL WORLD DOMINATY THING!" It is fun to say mind you...but doesn't accomplish much more than bewildered stares from strangers holding cash, and the subsequent rapid movement in radial directions from the person yelling. But you DO look at that thing nearly every time you hold a dollar bill, whether you notice or not, and that alone should be enough to cause you to at least wonder about it (just in case you hadn't...which I'm sure you have...because you're smart...and perceptive...) and maybe even ask some questions about exactly what the hell it's doing on our money, how it got there, and why. That is, unless no one is interested in these things...in which case you've probably stopped reading by now and I can make fun of your weird nose, and funky teeth without fear of revenge or possible dental injury. Ahem. So where does all this leave us? What conclusion have I come to? What in God's name was the point of this jeremiad? It's this. I don't trust the Freemasons, unlimited power entrusted to a small group of organized men is horrifying in scope. The problem I've run into is, I can't trust most of the websites devoted to their exposure and destruction either. And I'd be very interested in finding out more information about them from a reputable source...if anyone knows of such a place. j.s.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

And now, he's confused all over again. For those of you not keeping up with recent events, I was (I think anyway), stood up last night at Champps, the bar/restaurant where Jenn and I were supposed to go watch the Sox game. And I'm so trying to give her the benefit of the doubt here...because she seems like such a very cool girl and this would be completely unlike the person I think she is... Maybe she actually meant she couldn't go when she said "I think I'm working Wednesday," and I just misunderstood the nodding as a conveyance of her knowledge of a sports bar across the street that would, in fact, show a Red Sox game. Er, and then she gave me her phone number anyway, and didn't call me back after I'd left her 2 messages...to at least let me know that she wouldn't be there... Um, and then of course, was nowhere to be found when I left Champps and went over to the Belv, under the assumption that she was maybe too busy to make it over to Champps. "Hey," Jer thinks, "I don't care where I see the game. If she's too busy to come over to me, I'll just go to her and watch it...after all, finding out more about her was the real reason for my asking, not just the damn game itself." I suppose it's possible that she could've been working at a different bar last night...we've already established that she is employed by at least two separate establishments... But overall it doesn't look good does it? And It absolutely confuses the hell out of me. Not in the "I'm a good-looking, smart, and generally nice guy, and any woman that wouldn't want to go out with me is obviously the victim of cranial trepanation" kind of way... But in the "you know, if you weren't going to show up anyway, and you weren't going to answer my calls, why bother nodding your in agreement and giving me a phone number?" kind of way. If she didn't want to go out with me she could have just as easily said "No thanks." or "I'm busy," or "I'm married," or "I think I'm washing my neck that night," or any number of excuses that would've let us both go on our merry way and not leave any footprints upon the beachheads of HurtFeelingsLand. At the very least it would've kept me from sitting around a bar by myself for an hour-and-a-half, eyeing the door and feeling more slighted with each passing minute. Oh well. Yeah, okay...my feelings (and ego), are a bit bruised. But I'm going on my first assumptions about her being a good person, and I'll just believe that she had a reason. Though maybe I should've just left her to the "perfection of distance" that she'd attained in my head before I decided to ask her to watch a baseball game with me. I think I'm going to sleep now. G'night. j.s.

Monday, June 07, 2004

In the interest of giving back a little...you must all now follow this link and listen to what is quite probably the cutest little girl in the world sing to you...for she wants nothing more than the chance to tell you that you're her "cuppycake gumdrop snoogums." It even chipped a bit of the petrified, trilobyte-encrusted stone that surrounds my heart... And for that she has to die. j.s.



Once again it's time for, "HOW THE HELL DID THEY FIND THE MEATY?" Here are some of the random searches that people have used to find this... Cawfee "rhode island" Think meaty girls tux tails linens chair covers HYPERBOWL + CRACK PARIS HILTON VIDEOTAPE (the desperation amazes me) The Meaty Way (there were a bunch of these...is this a new Atkins fad that I'm unaware of or something?) and... sigh Meaty asses I mean seriously man...meaty asses??? Although I find it amusing that you'd click a website with the word "Efreeti" in the title whilst searching for pron. Smackerhead. Bah...talk to you all later. Nameatay.* j.s. *The bovine within myself bows to the bovine within you.

Sunday, June 06, 2004

Hello there all. Hope everyone's weekend was good? Good good... Oh mine? Why, I'm so glad you asked, I'd love a little Weekend Recappy...here we go. Friday I posted that little vitriolic gem about orga-food from Diedrich, then toodled my way back home to clean the apartment up a bit, take a shower, and head out for my confrontation with Jenn, the Ludicrously Hot Bartender. (Yes, it's with 2 "n"s now...I'll get to that in a moment.) So I get to the Belv a little before 9. I stroll up to the bar and... She's not there. I sigh heavily, order a gin and tonic, and send out a text message alert that she is not around and so please don't bug me tomorrow about whether or not I asked her out. I finish the text message, and hit 'send' when I hear a "Hey!" I look up. Jenn the Ludicrously Hot Bartender, staring back and smiling. "HI!" We chat for a bit about Boston, where the best place to find scalpers at Fenway is, about how awesome Nantucket is, about how the Yankees are evil incarnate, etc. She pours me another Tanq and tonic and says it's on her. I start to protest, given that she bought me a drink last Sunday as well, and she shuts me up by saying, "I don't like many people enough to buy them a drink. So just drink it and don't worry about it." At which point I get all sparkle-eyed, say something like "gerrfl, mmphonk...tankah," and grin like an idiot. Anyway, good time, good talk, and I'm working myself up into a tightly coiled bundle of nerves about asking her out...when two girls push their way up to the bar and order drinks next to me. Jenn sets off to work, and I distract myself by watching the Astros get the piss beat out of them by the Cardinals on the TV behind the bar. "They might actually beat us..." says one of the girls, empirically cute, blonde and blue-eyed. "Yes, yes it certainly appears so." I say back. "Terrible. You follow the Astros?" "Not as much as I follow the Red Sox, but yes, I suppose so." "Oh cool...hey...blah, blah, blah...blah blah...I work for Verizon as an account executive...blah blah blah...my friend's a teacher, guess what grade...blah..blah...blah...do you go to church every Sunday? Why not? Blah...blah...blah... It was awful. There I was, caught between my plan to chat with Jenn on one side, and the desire to rip the tympanic membranes out of my head and stuff them in this girls mouth, all so I'd no longer have to listen to her prattle. She chats about the fact that she's Methodist and very religious, that her Mom has cancer (that part sucked...I actually felt bad for her for a moment or two...), about my being a fashion major, and that no, I don't want to design a line of clothes with her, she talks about her ex-boyfriend and how she still kinda-sorta likes him but he's crazy, and eventually the conversation rolls around to me being "gorgeous," having "amazing facial features," and "beautiful doe eyes...all warm and sparkly." (Yes, those are the things that I actually paid attention to...shut up so do you.) Jenn realizes I'm not having the best of times by my repeated eye rolls when she glances over at me. She laughs and points at my now empty gin and tonic and makes a smirking look like "need another one?" I nod, and make a Big Gulp size semaphore back. She laughs...I'm all gooey again. Fortunately, this girl was so caught up in her own stories that she didn't notice the exchange...nor did she notice me putting two fingers in my mouth like a gun and acting like I was blowing my head off when Jenn looked back a few minutes later. I'm funny you see. TalkyGirl did however become amazed when she deduced that I am, in fact, a "nice guy." She was so amazed that she felt the need to say it a few times, loudly enough for Jenn to hear it. I meant to thank her for that, because Jenn said "Yes, yes he really is a nice guy. He's awesome." back to her. I protest again, and tell them to shush and I have an image to uphold and I can't have that getting out...yadda yadda. So, after awhile Luis shows up and the girl barely registers his existence...she's so caught up now in her tale of woe about her ADD when she was in first grade and how he teacher hated her...(I'm not making this up.) Luis has had enough and heads outside, and I start to prepare my exit from this girl as well...I too, have had all I can take. She hugs me a couple times, gives me her number, and says she's headed downtown and to give her a ring if I'm going down there. I say sure, smile, and send her off. I go outside, Luis gives me a quick inspirational speech, and I go back in, to actually ask Jenn out. I close my tab, and while she's ringing me up I keep telling myself 'fortune favors the bold...' and steel my resolve. She comes back...I take a deep breath. "Hey, what are you doing this Wednesday?" "I think I'm working...why what's up?" "Well the Sox are going to be on ESPN, was wondering if you wanted to catch the game with me." She smiles... And she nods. "Yeah sure!" We determine the place, say we'll have a few beers and watch the game and yeah, that'd be fun, and she asks if I've still got her number. Which completely throws me off... I begin to wonder if I've been too drunk in the past to notice that she had given me her number before... But I say no, and she writes it down, smiles and I walk away. And my feet didn't touch asphalt the entire way to Luis's car. Celebration time ensues, and things start to get foggy from there. I was informed that we were at Dean's for a drink, but it sucked, so we left. I was also informed that a girl told me "The party's in here!" as we walked by M Bar, to which I replied caustically, "Oh, I don't think so." Yet we still went in, and drank even more...after which I apparently danced with several girls, one of which was up on a illuminated pedestal (apparently I was all about getting up there), until I was commanded down by a very large bald guy in an M BAR SECURITY t-shirt. A pretty good night all in all... Saturday I went for breakfast, hit the office for a couple of hours, and then drove out to Luis's place in Clear Lake, where I've been watching movies, the National Spelling Bee and SportsCenter until about 5 hours ago, when I finally decided to peel myself up off his couch and meet D. at Wings for dinner. And now, now I'm home...and laying on my couch and racking my brain trying to remember the little details of what happened for the sake of posterity. (I'm certain I've told all of you this story at least once, probably multiple times, hence it's not really for your entertainment that I'm writing it here. And to be entirely honest, I've been telling just about anyone who will pause near me long enough for me to get the words, "Jenn gave me her phone number" out.) So that's it. And it's getting late, so I'm going to wrap it up here anyway. Thanks for all the well-wishings you folk have sent my way...they helped immensely. I don't know what I'd do without you guys. =] Take care, j.s.

Friday, June 04, 2004

I'd now like to talk about "health food" if I might.. I'm confused about where the Magical Maginot Line is drawn around what food constitutes being "healthy" and what doesn't. Take for example, the "organic" craze. Who decided that food that was grown in filthy, annelid and insect ridden, dirt is somehow better for humans than comestibles that are designed and created in a laboratory, and thus genetically engineered to sustain human life? Doesn't this sound completely arbitrary to anyone else? I mean, if they want to split hairs with the "clueless normalites," then here's a few right back atcha that you may not have heard... Like, for example, the extensively tweaked and supra-high glycemic rice cake. Or perhaps you'd like to look up the thyroid-suppressing qualities of an 8 oz. glass of soy milk? Or the sodium lauryl sulfate in your Tom's Toothpaste hippietube? Yes Virginia, they really do add "soap" to your all natural dental lovefest. Sigh, I've derailed again...the point I'm trying (feebly) to make is that one could create just as many "sound and fury" arguments about the benefits of scientifically engineered foods, as one could make about the superiority of the organic variety, after all, they have been designed for people to eat, are created in sterile (comparitively speaking) controlled environments, and can be reproduced relatively inexpensively, thus providing more food to millions at a lesser cost...) What I'm saying is, each is every bit as ridiculous as the other. Yes, I am admittedly a Neo-Babylonian...a believer in the power of humanity. Build it taller, build it better, make it faster, then clone it cheaply for the masses...and all because we can. But stop telling me I'm subsisting on animal flesh and vile chemicals, and I'll stop accusing you of masticating worm shit-encrusted bean sprouts and acid rain apples. Do we have an accord? Or should we discuss how tomatoes and eggplant are actually members of the "nightshade" plant family? Love, j.s.

Thursday, June 03, 2004

Not much in the way of posties today... Jam at end of month. Numpad bad. Jam not bad! JAM MASH ENEMY! It's raining like mad outside too...which has nothing to do with not posting...er..yeah...Massive Attack... Right. Surface thoughts have taken over. Okay fine, I'll post a bit for you slavering meaty hordes... I've made a very grave decision today. I'm going to go potentially make a fool of myself over Jen, the Ludicrously Hot Bartender, by asking her to go watch a Sox game with me next Wednesday. And for those of you that are saying, "Um, and how does that equate to making a fool of yourself?" you have to understand... I don't ask girls out. Ever. In fact, I typically require being chased mercilessly in order to pay any attention to them at all. For me to consider asking one out is a severe paradigm shift for me...and to be honest, it's not the most comfortable one either. But I think she's worth at least a shot. And that's all I'm going to say about it. Wish me luck. j.s.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

I'd like to talk about stop lights for a moment if I might. How is it that when I pull up to a red light, I am inevitably behind someone with the reaction time of a lobotomized, post-orgasmic lab monkey? I mean, the cognitive spin-up time is akin to a mental supercollider, and this all for just a change of color...one that should denote a simple, muscular contraction response. I can't imagine what would happen if you asked these people something complicated...say, like where they're going...as the light changes. No doubt they'd shit themselves, seize, then lapse into a catatonic episode for a good 20 or 30 minutes. And that's just the ones whose cerebella don't shuttle-launch out the top of their heads and through the roofs of their cars. This is made even more cognitively tragic by the numerous cues that our environment gives us that plainly say "Hey. I'm a stop light who's about to change. You might want to think about getting ready..." if only they were paying attention. Take for example, the lights on the perpendicular road. That light will soon turn yellow...and when that does it's a signal that your light MAY turn green soon. Prepare to loosen the vibrating calf smash you have on that wide rectangular pedal, and ready yourself to apply similar pressure to the vertical rectangle on the right. And once you're sure that the Green Arrows of the world have taken their rightful and superior place as the First to Make a Turn At Nearly Every Light in the Universe, you can even start creeping forward if you've an automatic transmission...or put your car in 1st gear and ease off the clutch if you're a standard peep like me. And if you're feeling really savvy, perhaps using the old "Walk/Don't Walk" signs on corners to determine when the light is going to change is a challenge you're up to. These help immensely on days when the sun is at it's diurnal Houstonian apex, which incidentally is also when it is closest to our city (14.4 miles), and it's too bright to see the light on the opposite side of you. Blinky "Don't Walk" sign becomes a solid "Don't Walk" sign? Prep the petrol, it's almost time. After the Alpha Left Turners of course. But no. Sadly everyone seems to take each and every stoplight like Ronald Reagan at a "This is Your Life" surprise party. "A green light? For me? You shouldn't have...I honestly never expected this. Where am I again?" Just a modicum of attention folks, a few sodium/potassium pumpings more than a striped bass can muster, and you'll be well on your way to lessening the blood pressure of the world stopped behind you at that light, and what's more you'll never have to look in your rear view mirror and see me making semaphores of violent death and dismemberment while foaming at the mouth and screaming "that light doesn't get any more fucking green asshat!" Thanks. You'll be doing a great service to the world. I said "Thanks." "THANKS!" honnnnnk "GO!" j.s.

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

Hi. I haven't spoken to you all weekend...I've missed you. So Friday I went out for a bit, here and there...I did go to see "The Day After Tomorrow" at the cine-mega-monstro-plex as I mentioned... I do seem to recall driving home on Westheimer and having a limousine full of hideously unattractive drag queens power down the window to talk to me. "Hey! Hey Butch! Hey Butch!" "The name's 'Jeremiah,' and yes?" Jeremiah...that's a pretty name. Hi." "Thank you." Hi. So...can you tell me where Westheimer is? I sigh, since this seems to be the best anyone (man, woman or otherwise), can muster when they pull up alongside me. "Westheimer? You're on it." "Aaoh! Rhealllly?" "Yes. Really." "Okay Butch. So heres the thing. You're going to pull over that Jeep, and get in the limo with us girls, and we're all going to go out and show you the best time you've ever had... Pull over up here. "No...no I don't think so. I have people expecting me at home. Sorry." And then the light turned green. "No Butch...no Butch...wait..." And off I sped, heading back home to meet up with K. and Luis. We lounged around at my place, drinking wine and chatting about everything and nothing, and then decided to hit Dean's for another bottle of wine since we'd gone dry. Quick parking job later, and we're strolling the streets of our fair city, heading toward the Home of Easy Credit. Quiet night there, cute girls abound, but none I'd lop my squeezin' arm off for... They drive me home and I crash. Saturday I got up around 10:30ish, and headed over to Ft. View for my Saturday breakfast...with a pit stop at Bedrock City for the first three collections of the "Transmetropolitan" graphic novels. You should all read them...Spider Jerusalem embodies all the vitriol and fame that I aspire my writing to become someday. So I hung about, read for awhile, then had to meet the guy who's buying Opal the Car from me at Joe Auto at 1:00. So I take off, and meet the cat over there. I call him once I arrive and let my presence be known. He says he's in a white Suburban with a trailer behind it out front. I walk over. He beckons me to enter his Suburban. And despite all my better judgement, and the repeated admonishments by my mother to never get into a stranger's car, I do so. We chat. I barely understand his Texan accent, I sympathize over his recent car accident and subsequent surgeries, and then I sign some papers. We go around back and try to get Opal hooked up to his trailer...which just doesn't seem to be working. But at this point I have my cash, and I've already paid Joe Auto what I owe them, so I make up a pressing appointment and leave the near crippled redneck to figure out how to hook my car up on his own. I drive off nearly in tears. I already miss Opal. =[ I mean, she coughed and squealed a lot, and was uppity about starting in sub-freezing temperatures...but she was my car. I'd done a lot of living in that car, and that was the last page in my history with her... Watching a yokel with a cane try and clip a comealong to her to pull her up on a trailer in my rear view mirror. Very, very sad. ... Moving on. So I caught up with Luis and K. at Diedrich and tried to drown my sorrow in caffeinated beverages. We really just sat outside and read more Transmetropolitan, then I met D. at Wings before we headed out to the A Perfect Circle show at the Woodlands. We pull into the Woodlands mall parking lot and run into Foley's to pick up a blanket real quick like...shove it into a bag laying in the back of the Jeep that I'd pulled out of Opal earlier, and head toward the venue. What I didn't know was that one of my little wooden yard gnomes was still hiding in the bag, apparently a layover from days spent in Opal's trunk. The subsequent bag search ensues by a fat guy with a black goatee. "What is this?" "Oh, hey! My yard gnome! I wondered where that went..." Does it take pictures? At this point I start to crack up, I figure the guy has to be kidding...but I look back at him and he's completely stone-faced. And now unamused by what I'm sure he perceived as me laughing at him. "Er, yeah man...you just push the head down right? And the flash comes out of his eyes..." "So it takes pictures? Still not even a crack of a smile. "Uh..no man..I'm kidding...I mean...it's a 4" wooden yard gnome." "I can't let you in with this." "What? Why not?" "It could be used to hit someone." I lose it again in laughter and D. has to take over. He starts to argue about the size of his fist vs. the size of the gnome, and which would make a better bludgeoning device. The guy is unmoved by our antics. "Look guy, my cell phone is roughly the same size as that gnome...are you going to tell me my cell phone is a bludgeoning device?" *"Does your cell phone* take pictures?" Cut to Jeremiah doubled over and coughing with laughter, D. is still trying to maintain order. "You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding..." No. You can't come in with this. I sniff and wipe away tears of laughter and again ask why the gnome prohibition. "You could throw it at someone. D. once again has to take over. "Throw it? We're not going to throw it...fuck Maynard, he has enough money he can buy his own gnome. And someone please pick up my brother, he's going to swallow his tongue again if he keeps laughing like that." This continues for awhile, and the guy finally says we're going to have to leave the gnome there. My laughing stops. "Oh no...no way. You just want to take him for yourself!" I begin to raise my voice and point my finger accusingly at him. Wha'? No! Look, you're going to have to go check the thing over at the information desk and you can pick it up after the show. "Wait...hehe...wait...hehehehehe....lemme get this straight. You want me to..." I begin to giggle again, "check my gnome at the door?" Yes.** Appendix rupturing laughter ensues...D. drags me away by the scruff of my shirt as I accuse the fat goateed gestapo of gnomish racism. So D. gets the idea to just roll the thing up in the blanket we bought, and smuggle him in that way through a different line. We do so, but now D. has the bag and I'm trying to look nonchalant. Sir? You're going to have to unroll that blanket and flip it open. I smile at D., he shrugs and does so...and the gnome goes skittering out along the pavement. The woman looks startled for a moment and picks it up... What is this? To which D. replies, "It's a gnome," and shrugs, "damn things get everywhere." My eyes explode and I pass out again with a grin the size of a watermelon rind. Thankfully she was not the Gnome Hate-a' the other guy was, and she simply shook her head and placed the gnome back in the bag and let us in. Gnomish victory is ours. So we wander up to the hill, lay out the blanket, and since we're terribly proud of the gnome smuggling that has come before, we place the gnome next to us on the blanket and smile, triumphant. He and I chat back and forth about stuff, until we're interrupted by a girl behind us... Excuse me... "Yes?" Is that...a yard gnome? "Why yes...yes it is." "That is awesome!" "I know." "No, I mean I love yard gnomes...I think they're so cool...yadda yadda..." I smile, and am cordial, and we tell her and her group the story of the goateed Gnome Nazi at the gate, they laugh...by this time we've attracted the attention of everyone around us, and they're all giving us the metal sign and saying "awesome gnome dude..." Ah, to be recognized as the deviant, anti-establishment, hell-raisers that we are...we thank them all and smile. After the din dies down, we lay back and stare up at the sky, D. takes the gnome and puts it on his chest...which prompts the girls sitting to the left of us to chime in... "What the fuck is that?" "sigh, It's a yard gnome." "What's it doing on your chest. "Um...standing." "No, no...I mean...why did you bring it here?" "Well, I'd rather have a gnome and not need it, than need a gnome and not have it." We laugh...she still looks confused. "Oh...it's kind of like a tattoo there then." D. looks as if he's going to reach over and slap her at any moment before I chime back, "You're absolutely right. I mean...wow. It's uncanny how much it's like a tattoo...amazing." I think the vitriol-o-meter was off the chart on my retort however and they fearfully retreated to the safety of their blanket...yet still seemed to orbit us throughout the show. Speaking of the show, it was really good. Turns out they were taping it for a forthcoming live CD, should be good from what I heard. Maynardisms abounded, and I appreciated him simply telling the kiddies to go out and vote without endorsing or slandering any particular candidate. Nice job mate. And despite the idiots behind me who screamed the lyrics of nearly ever song at the top of their lungs (yes asshat, I paid $50 per ticket to come in here and listen to YOU sing...fucking brilliant.), and the stoned slugs that stood next to them shouting, "That's tha JAM! Thas tha JAM! PLAY THAT SHEET AGAIN! PLAY IT AGAIN! I DIN' HEAR IT!" it was a decent enough show...pretty much just like the last one, just outside and much warmer...and without the kindergarten Christmas pageant semaphores during "Halo." After it's over we attempt to head home, only to sit in traffic behind 4 girls in a Cherokee (that was being driven by their mother), who screamed at the top of their lungs over, and over, and over, and over...I wanted so badly to get out of the car and walk back there...the conversation began to form in my head... "Excuse me." "WAAOOOOO....yeah?" "Look. Given that the concert has been over for almost an hour, we all know you're not screaming for any real reason in particular, other than you want your voice to be strained and crackly when you go to the local Starbucks tomorrow, so you can whisper to all your friends how you lost your voice at the 'APC' show and how awesome it was. Why I don't do you, and everyone else in this line a favor, and just cut to the chase by pouring gasoline down your throat, follow it by this here lit cigarette I'm smoking, and top you off by cramming a whole apple in your flaming maw you pathetic suburbanite piggy..." "GHAKK! Ahh...good times..good times... So Sunday I picked up #4 - 7 of Transmetropolitan, and then drove out to Katy. Went to Katy Mills and meandered around, stopping eventually in "Outdoor World" which was a terrifying journey into the mind of a Texan...when we reached the "Buck Goo" I began to fear we'd never make it out alive...so we turned back and took off. Headed home, changed, then went to Taco Milagro, (Miiiiiiracle Tacoooooo! I love the little tacos...I love them goood.) then popped over to "The Social" with J.T. and Kristin. And once we arrive at The Social...who is behind the patio bar there? Yes, Jen...the Ludicrously Hot Bartender from the Belvedere. I zap her like I normally do and grin. Talk briefly about her trip back home to Boston, to which she answers... "Bah, those lousy fuckin' bums. They blew the third game of series." (Have I mentioned I'm in love with this girl?) So we chat about the Sox. I mention I'm going up in August to see a game at Fenway and go out to Nantucket for a couple nights. She says that's awesome and to come and see her before I go so she can give me both her and her sister's number before I go. I have to go sit down after this and remember how to form complete sentences. Anyway, she hooks me up with some gratis G&T's, blows me a kiss, and I leave the bar grinning like an idiot. And the best part? She wasn't wearing a wedding ring. So J.T. and I are outside, getting ready to leave, when he decides he's going to have a quick piss before we get in the car. That, of course, is when the cop decides to roll by. Denial ensues...the cop almost gets out of the car to I.D. the urine puddle, J.T. finally admits he was peeing. The cop looks satisfied by this, I take the keys, and we drive outta there, and we're on our way to The Belv...but decided on K.C.'s instead due to several potential dress code infractions with the people who we're with. K.C.'s. I have drinks with yet another girl named "Buffy" who as it turns out has a degree in fashion and we spend an hour or so discussing modeling and working for Page Parkes here in Houston/etc. etc.. She gives me some contacts there along with her phone number on a paper towel. I smile and thank her. J.T. drives me home...and I crash. My hands are cramping now...so I'm going to wrap this up quickly. I bought the rest of Transmetropolitan yesterday, read some with Luis at my place before it was time to head out to Katy again for D.'s birthday. (Happy 24th lil' brother.) Then had dinner with Dad, Cary, D. and Tara and split home. Worked today... Gah...I can't feel my fingertips... That's all...I'll talk to you later. Once again my condolences if you made it this far... j.s.

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