The Meaty Efreeti

Friday, April 29, 2005

Poses Chapter 1 Devon made his “charming yet quirky” face as he pulled up to the stoplight outside the local hipster union coffee shop patio. He covertly reached a hand to the volume knob in his Jeep and turned up “The Postal Service,” a CD he’d burned earlier. He glanced over at a young couple leaving, specifically the female half of the young couple, who wore a black, midriff-baring tank top with the word “hyper” silkscreened in pink on the front, a pair of low slung, oilwashed jeans and pink flip-flops. The boyfriend, seeing Devon’s look, wrapped his arm around the slight pout of the girl’s hip and stared back into the Jeep. Devon leaned back in his seat and looked away. “I still make them nervous,” he thought and smiled a little. The light turned green and he accelerated through the intersection and continued his way down 9th St., singing along with The Postal Service. “…I am a visitor here…I am not per-manent…” At State Street, he took a right and headed into downtown, the sun streaming through the open top of the Jeep. Checked the clock. 4:20. Smile. He lit a cigarette and pulled up to another light, doing the requisite passenger check for cute girls on either side. He never actually did anything if there were girls in the cars next to him, although on several drunken instances he’d glanced in until caught, then grinned and looked away. Nevertheless, it seemed to be an automatic reaction to a stoplight these days when he had the top down. It didn’t matter this time though, as there was a Mexican guy in a battered old black Supra on the left and an old couple in genero-car with a CTR bumper sticker on the right. He debated turning the CD player back down a bit, but instead fiddled with the bass equalizer to busy himself, then stared up at the opposing stoplight, waiting for it to turn yellow so he could jump off the line and head toward Monk’s Bar. “I was the one worth leaving…I was the one worth leaving…” The light changed and he sped off, took a right on 3rd St. and pulled into the parking garage across the street from Monk’s House of Jazz, which was hidden in the basement of an office building, beneath the whirring din and pulpy smell of a Kinko’s. Devon parked, hid his CD case beneath the passenger seat, stepped out of the Jeep and swung his limbs into a runway gait for the trip across the street. He stopped at the corner, slid one foot behind the other, and stuck one hand in his pocket, subtly posing for the cars driving by, his face turned slightly downward for a profile shot. No stares, no whistles, no doppler shifting yells, nothing. “God Utah sucks,” he thought and stepped across the TRAX rails and into the office building lobby. As he descended the narrow wooden steps to the bar, the scent of stale cigarette smoke and spilt beer wafted up and swallowed that of the syrup sweet copy paper. He came around a corner and into the long hallway entrance to Monk’s. Historical pictures of Salt Lake City hung along the walls, which give the throngs who line up to get in on Fridays and Saturdays something to look at aside from the bathroom doors and faux wood-paneled walls. But at 4:30, the place was empty. “Hey Steve.” “S’up Devon, Where you been man?” “Out of town. I’m meeting Jen, she around?” “Yeah, I think she’s over at the bar with Dave.” “Right on. Thanks.” Devon strolled around the corner to the main stage area, making sure he took the entrance opposite the bar, so Jen could see his confident gait and trim body as he walked up to her. He turned the corner, and saw Jen sitting on a stool, leaning with her elbows on the bar and talking to Dave, who smiled and listened to her as he wiped out a martini glass with a grey dishtowel. Dave glanced over Jen’s shoulder and waved the towel at him. “S’up Devon.” “Dave. S’appenin’ man.” “Nada. You back?” “How could I leave all this?” said Devon, sweeping a hand to indicate the empty bar. “Shyeah, right.” Jen whirled her blonde head around so as to flip her hair into a flattering frame for her face, and gave Devon an over-the-top glare. “Hi there stranger, buy a sailor a drink?” Devon said, and sparkled a smile at her. “You’re late, ‘sailor.’ Did you get lost again?” “No. Well, maybe a little. I always end up taking 9th down to State for some reason…” “Right, right, you drive straight, always. What do you want to drink?” “A Sidecar would be awesome.” “Here you go D,” said Dave, having already made Devon’s favorite drink prior to his asking for it. “Ahh, and that’s why I come back here. Temporally unbound bar service. That and Jen, SLC's only diva.” “Shut up and hug me.” Jen said and stood up. “I’ve missed you a lot.” “I missed you too. It’s been a long time.” Devon said to the top of her head as he held her. “Too long. How’s Baltimore?” “Angry. Wet. Full of sucky people, with the exception of River and Bim. I think I told you about them didn’t I? Jen nodded, let go of Devon’s waist and grasped his hands as she looked him up and down. “You look good.” “Thanks, I’ve been rock climbing and doing yoga. How’s Salt Lake been?” “Mmm. It’s been cold. Snowy. Full of hippies and the pure of heart. Nothing ever changes here. Sit down.” Devon pulled up a barstool and placed it close to Jen’s, putting one foot on the bar step and the other on her stool, to give a “relaxed, but active and still intimate” look. “You know, I completely forgot how unattractive most Utah girls are.” Devon said after taking the first sugary sip of his Sidecar. “Thanks.” “Present company excluded of course.” “Ooo, nice recovery.” The sat in silence for a short while, sipping their drinks, and Devon pretended to look at the bottles around the bar while really using his peripheral vision to check the mirror and ensure the logo on his backwards baseball cap was centered between his eyebrows and at the right height. “How long have you been here?” he asked. “Just got here actually, but I wanted to give you static before you found out I was late too. Ty was totally drama-ing at my apartment earlier…she and Eric split up.” “Who’s Eric?” “Med student she’d been dating for a couple weeks.” “Jesus, doesn’t she ever date normal people? I mean, people who aren’t planning on becoming doctors?” “Not that I’m aware of. You want another one?” said Jen and pointed at Devon’s half empty martini glass. “Sure. You know, I don’t trust anyone who spends every day elbow deep in chest cavities.” “I’m drinking here.” “Sorry.” Smile. “Hey, I’ll be right back.” Devon pushed back from the bar and headed to the bathroom, idly reaching into his pocket and flipping open his cell phone. The screen read, “Emergency Only.” “Utah,” Devon sighed, and put the slim silver phone back into his pocket, wondering why he’d opened it in the first... He paused in front of the men’s room, the gauze of déjà vu wavering over reality, and a face swam into his mind. Rosaline. His hand pulled back from the brass push plate to the restroom and he found himself jogging back up the flight of steps outside before he'd even realized he'd made the decision to do so. He checked his mental Rolodex, and found he still remembered her number. 801…462…his trembling fingers surprised him, and he stopped a moment, wondering what he’d say if she actually answered. “No. Not without a script,” he said to no one in particular, flipped the phone shut again, and headed back downstairs. He reached over Jenny's shoulder flirtatiously and picked up his martini glass, smiling in her ear as he did so. “Hey.” “Mmm…flirt. Hey, I gotta take off soon. Kari is heading over to go rock-climbing in like 20.” Jen said. “Wow." Devon said, spinning gracefully to face her and lean back against the bar, "Gin and large rocks. The two great tastes that taste great together.” “Smart ass.” She stood up, tilting the last of her drink back and hugged him again. “Be careful,” Devon said. “I will.” “What are you guys doing tonight?” “I’m not sure. Ty wants to go to Harry O’s, but I’m not sure if I’m up for the 2 a.m. canyon trip back down. And Ryan is doing that party at Shaggy’s.” “Oooo, Scary Ho’s. Let me know if you guys go.” “Ok, how long are you in town?” “I’m not sure, a week or so maybe.” “Right on. I’ll call you tonight.” “K, you sure I can’t ply you with another G n’ T?” “'Ply' me? Is that what you call it these days?” “Only to those who don’t know what ply means.” “Still a bastard. And still a cute one unfortunately.” She touched the side of his face. “You get away with way too much. “Never.” Devon said. “I’ll call you.” Devon saluted as she turned away and watched her walk toward her reflection in the on-stage mirror. He stared, waiting for her to look up into it to see if he’d been watching her from behind. She did, and instead of seeing him staring at her hips, she met his stare eye-to-eye in the mirror. Her eyes widened for a moment, startled, and then she smiled quickly and ducked around the corner. He turned back around, lit another cigarette and spent the last few minutes of daylight sitting at the bar. So that's the first chapter of the "book thing" I've been sorta working on...for a while. It's still quite rough around the edges, and is in dire need of an edit or three, but I'm more interested in getting the story down at this point and going back to polish later. I might throw the others up here eventually, if this one is received well. Have a good weekend. See you when I get back from The Dallas. j.s.



And here's a little something for those who are interested in wasting a few minutes of your life.



Yep. You can stop mashing the "Refresh" button...your new Meaty post has arrived. Although I don't know how clever and snarky it will be...due to this Kirstie Alley-sized hangover I'm waddling around with. Yes. Did the O.C. last night. And I actually stayed there for the entire duration of an evening... fanfare N. and her beau were there, Chuck the Dishwater made a cameo, and the always interesting [TGFTP] came by a bit later, whom I talked with at great length for the rest of the evening. I'd really missed doing that with her. Unfortunately, much of the enthralling conversation has been lost today, since I proceeded to get galactically sauced by midnight. Ahem. And lo let it be written that if Jeremiah eats naught but a sandwich at lunch, and verily proceeds to practice BoozeMixing with wanton abandon (Red Stripes, Bass, Miller Lite, and 3 different kinds of Cabs), he shall find his retribution in the loss of many internal fluids. Sweet monkeys...did I ever pay for that. I haven't been sick from drinking in years, but I think the whole "not eating anything" thing kinda jumped up and bit me in the booboo. Come to think of it...26 hours later I still haven't eaten anything... Yes. This must be remedied immediately. So I shall take my leave of you for a while. I do expect to post a bit more later since going out tonight could be the straw that gave the camel alcohol poisoning. See you in a bit. j.s.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Hi, So I arrived home last night to find my front door not only unlocked, but slightly ajar... Preparing for the worst, I push the door open and head straight to where my laptop and turntables should be... Still there. I look around and everything seems to be in its place, so I head back to the kitchen and see, there on the kitchen table... A cable TV receiver. I cock my head to the side for a moment and look around again...my gaze returning shortly to the little black box. "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?" I have absolutely no idea of how or why this piece of electronic equipment has come into my life. My Jupiter Jones investigative techniques kick in, and I try calling my landlord to see if perhaps she'd dropped it off. I get a voicemail saying she's out of town all week and won't be back until Friday. Besides, she knows I have satellite (it's split from the feed from her house), so why would she bring a cable box over? I quickly dismiss the idea that people are B&Eing into others' homes simply to get rid of their old cable boxes...as awesome as that might be. Instead I've come to the hypothesis that it is just a stray. And some hard-hearted and irresponsible family simply stopped caring for it once they got their new "space-age" satellite receiver, and locked their poor little cable box up in the closet or garage or something. Neglected, it ran away, and came to me. So I plugged it in (and filled a bowl of milk), before I left this morning. Hopefully it won't make a mess of my shoes before I can find it a proper home. Unfortunately my apartment just isn't big enough for two breeds of television, as much as I'd like to keep the lil' feller. [[blue topic shift]] It's end-of-monthiness at work, so I'm all a tappitytappitytappity these days up here. I should be finished by tomorrow evening though, which is actually pretty early for me to finish the "close-out." And this Saturday D. and I head to Dallas for the the Red Sox/Rangers game. Yes, I'm excited. And as a super-deluxe-hyper-mecha-bouncy-bonus feature, I'll get to hang out with H. a bit as well while I'm there, since we're going to overrun her apt. for the evening after the game. Huzzah! Okay, I need to get back to work. Oh! Here is a disarmingly precious online comic I ran into today called Jellaby. Those of you unsure of what to get me for my birthday in August can rest easy now. I want a Jellaby...of my very own. Enjoy. j.s.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Wow. Something just clicked in my head and I went from being kinda mopey and despondent to being jubilantly goofy...all in about 10 minutes. I think it was a combination of listening to "Ageless Beauty" by Stars and this: Yes, those are penguins. Yes, that's a metal detector. And yes, they were required to waddle through it at the Denver airport. This reminded me the world can be a ridiculously awesome place sometimes, despite (and often because of), attempts to the contrary. Thanks Pete. j.s. [[Edit: And, I'd like to add that Exploding Toads for no readily discernable reason is probably a "bad thing."



Hey. I'm seriously busy, and I didn't do a whole lot this weekend so there's little to recap anyway. Friday night I stayed late at work, then went straight home...and it was teh awesome. Opened all my windows, lit a couple candles, made grilled chicken on rice, turned the mp3 player on my laptop on quietly, and lay on the couch with a halogen lamp over my shoulder, reading until 3 am. Saturday I did breakfast, then drove over to Hermann Park to finish up my book. I picked up Lighthousekeeping, almost 2 weeks ago, but refused to open until I'd finished Gibson's. (I have enough books that I'm in the middle of and worried I might never make it through any of them.) Anyway, caught up with Luis after the park and we headed over to see Wilco, which was quite good. The first band, "Healthy White Baby," was tolerable enough, and even enjoyable for their first 2 or 3 songs, before I tired of their wavering between alt-country and rockabilly. And lyrically they were...not good...which is the end of any band as far as I'm concerned. Wilco rolled out around 9ish, Mr. Tweedy sporting about 20 extra pounds and a new "Jim Ignatowski" 'do. (And for those of you too young to have seen the show "Taxi" Here's a visual aid.) I'm honestly only a middling fan of the band, most of my appreciation for them revolving around "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot." Although I'm now a big fan of "Misunderstood," which is apparently off of "Being There." Anyway, show was good. Luis and I hit Flying Saucer afterward for a couple of low-key beers before heading home. Sunday I hung out in Katy for a bit at my Dad's place, then went for a bike ride for the first time in a decade. Went over to a path near D's place and took it about 4 miles down and 4 miles back. And it was surprisingly pleasant. Breezing ahead through a tunnel of blurry green, blacktop to black tire, catching quick glimpses of a creek in between low-hanging prosceniums... Remember what it felt like when you careened down a hill, standing up on the pedals, t-shirt flapping at your sides? I can assure you, it still feels just as good, even at 29. So, last night was softball, and despite my having an absolutely horrid night, both in the field and at bat, we managed to eke out a win, our first ever. (We won the first game last night as well, but only because of a forfeit.) Something is very, very wrong with my hitting mechanics, and I need to go to a batting cage and work out the problem, whatever it is. Okay, I'm going to take off for a bit. Will talk later. j.s.

Friday, April 22, 2005

Hullo. My head feels like it's had the insides carpeted while I slept last night... Things are fuzzy, and slow. So I started the evening as I typically do on a Thursday, at the O.C. Had several drinks with N. and her beau and the other usual suspects. Then, as it seems to happen each and every Thursday at around 11:00, we decide that leaving the safety of the O.C. for adventures elsewhere in the city sounds like an excelsior idea, and we head off in search of urban diversions. This Thursday, it was the "Sam's Boat" that held the strongest pull, and we arrived there at about 11:00ish to meet up with a few girls. Come to find out, the friend that drove was quite interested in one of them. And that girls larger sister? Yeah, she was quite interested in yours truly. Lots of boozyslut rumpshakin' involved. Unnerving amounts of unsolicited pawing upon me. In-depth discussions of her (many) tattoos. Then she wanted to compare moles and began pulling her clothes in random directions to expose all of them to me. shivers I'll spare you the litany of excuses I created in order to escape this girl, while concurrently distracting her from being a drunken pain in the ass to the guy I came with. (Who, it appeared, was doing quite well with the girl he'd come to see.) At around 12:30 I resign myself to my fate, and simply allow this sauced tartlet to slump into my arms for an hour, where she proclaimed over and over how good I smell. I was doing my best just to hold her upright. Finally, at around 1:45, I caught a ride back to my house (with a pitstop by the O.C. to close my tab and pick up my credit card), and mercifully called it a night. And I'm still in quite a bit of slothy pain from the aforementioned evenings' festivities, so I'm thinking it's going to be a quiet night 'round the Miah residence this evening. And toward that end, I'm out of here. Take care. j.s.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Hello. So after leaving a long-winded rant on N's blog I think I'm all ranted out for the day. I am however going to the O.C. this evening for drinks, and you're all welcome to come... And yes, this invitation extends to [The Witless Anonymous Typist] whom I tore into as well and who has no doubt followed my namelink to this very page. (I would honestly rather discuss the issue and maybe try to change your mind over a beer or three, rather than just echo endlessly about how wrong it is mate.) See you folks there. j.s.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Hi there. So's I'm a sittin' out on the patio of Jason's Deli, listening to my mp3's, sipping a Nantucket Nectars lemonade and anxiously awaiting the arrival of my grilled chicken panini with a side of strawberries. Headphones. Laptop. Panini. Yeah, it's like that. The Astros game was good. We left with a win, which is all I can really ask for from those jobbers. Had a couple beers before the game, and IHOP afterward. Good night. I'm quite tired from sleeping on the couch at D's place however. I am so looking forward to going home after work, making a quiet dinner, and reading GEB for a few hours before bed. K, my lunch is here. After which I'm going to bolt back to the office in an attempt to finish early. Talk to you later. j.s.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Feast or famine around here lately, but I had a couple extra minutes so I thought I'd just chat with you about...something. I suppose I could talk about the new reign of Emperor Popetine, and the impending Conservative Catholic ClonesKrieg. And there's the merger between Adobe and Macromedia to consider ("Macromobe?"), both of whom have some lovely software which I use almost daily. It's also software that's proprietary, problematic, and prohibitively expensive. (If acquired through legal channels of course.) Or perhaps most exciting, this new technology used to decipher the Oxyrhynchus Papyri. And for those of you who love your online quizzes...Here you go . Or should I just talk about me. And how I've been unable to amass enough information to sate my need for it lately. I have been going pretty much non-stop these past couple weeks. Radio permanently affixed to NPR in the Jeep, strobing through channels at home while reading Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid, Pattern Recognition, The Selfish Gene, and re-reading Steppenwolf, and poring over random and sundry websites at all hours of the day and night... How about none of the above and I give University of Alaska: Anchorage a call and find out if I've been enrolled there? ... "All operators are currently busy at this time..." [triumphant horn muzak cuts in] This should be interesting... Okay, just got someone and gave my social... "Let's see what we got here right now...sniff" It's still pending. They've transferred me to the Creative Writing department now, and I'm speaking with Michelle...who needs to pick up my folder anddddd..... My application has been completed and they're trying to get all the letters out by the end of this month. So I still don't know. smiles and shakes head I love these people. It's taken them almost 9 months to get back to me about that application. =] Okay, I'm off to a baseball game. Take care. j.s.



Hey there. Sorry about the post hiatus. I actually wrote quite a bit on my laptop over the weekend, but have not, as of yet, been able to post it. Monday was ridiculously busy around here, and I had the softball game right after work until 10:30. So Thursday night I did $2 Red Stripes at the O.C. Met and hung out with an 82-year-old, toothless oddity named "Chuck the Dishwater." Chuck D. looked exactly like RiffRaff from The Rocky Horror Picture Show might if you imprisoned him in Death Valley for 50 years, with nothing for him to subsist on but gin and cigarettes. But he was a nice enough old coot...so I shared my table with him for the evening. Besides, I was barely at that table anyway, favoring instead a "table circuit" for a good part of the night. Apparently I've been going to that bar enough to meet and become friendly with the regulars. That's because I'm awesome you see... Funny, but I didn't have that experience at The Belv....and I was one of their best repeat offenders, outside of "El Gaucho" of course. Anyway we stayed there until around 12ish, then headed over to another friend's warehouse apt. downtown, where things became increasingly strange. For one, I was handed a didgeridoo and instructed on how to play it. Which I did to some measure of success, but only after making strange and unsuccessful elephantine mating calls into it for over an hour. After my didgeridoo lessons, I moved to the bongos...which held my interest for roughly 5 minutes. That's an over-the-top hippie instrument and I'll have no part of it. So instead we all went outside to sit on the front "yard." And light a bonfire. Light a bonfire with gasoline. Light a bonfire with gasoline poured directly out of the tank of a small scooter parked nearby. So we wheel the scooter over, turn it upside down and shake the gas out of it, then wheel it back. (I wasn't there in the morning...but I bet that person was pissed when they tried to go to work.) foomp! "Now that's a fhire!" We continue drinking outside for a bit, talk about snowboarding and rock climbing and such... Then the knives came out. At around 2ish, it somehow was mutually agreed upon (without my knowledge), that throwing enormous knives at the living room wall would be an excellent idea. Your guess is as good as mine. Now most of these knives didn't actually go in pointy-end first mind you, they hit on the hilt or pommel, so rather than looking really cool with their 1337 n1f3 5k1LLz, they instead just looked like drunks making enormous holes in the wall. It was at this point that I nudged my ride and informed them that it was about that time. Got a ride back to the Jeep, went home and crashed. Honestly the rest of the weekend was very uneventful, which was great actually. The closest I came to going out was The Social early Sunday evening, but even that didn't quite work out as planned, so I went grocery shopping and hung about the house watching movies. As I said, the softball games were yesterday, so I'm suitably sore today...although the soreness is subsiding with each game I play. And tonight is our second Astros game, so we're bailing from the office at around 4:45. The week should be settling down a bit after tonight, so I'll hopefully be posting with a little more regularity. Take care. j.s.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Greetings and salutations. I awoke full of piss and vinegar today, and was prepared to unleash PEEVISH MEATY FURY upon...something...anything...upon my arrival here. Although preferably, the thing in question would not be expecting my fury, nor would it capable of causing me any kind of retaliative monetary or physical harm after said wrath is exectued. (Freeways, pinecones, and squid make excellent targets for that kind of vitriol.) So I checked my normal avenues of internet irritations and found nothing. No half-wit political hacks in shady contrivances. No Gestapo P.D. antics. No special interest groups micturating on the Constitution. Nada. The best I could come up with was a bill attempting to actually protect online speech. I narrow my eyes, and look around nervously. Something's wrong here. So then I browse others blogs, looking for some inspiration, and find that it's actually a quiet day in the blogosphere as well. The kids are playing happily with their online quizzes, grown-ups busy themselves with figuring out how to rearrange their templates, and our various suburban plots are all happily co-existing together. So I dig further, desperation beginning to creep into my tapping fingers, and I decide to delve into the flaming cesspits of caustic human detritus that clot bandwith arteries like E-cholesterol. The message boards. Of course! They'll have something I can rail against. Something to irk the hell out of me and get my epinephrine pumping... And yet, as I'm browsing the miles and miles of collective degeneracy that are public message boards, it seems that even they have had their ululating echoes of hate turned down...if just a tad. Curiouser and curiouser. It's as if, for one day, we've exited the Information Superhighway for a quick leg stretch at the digital equivalent of Grover's Corners. All is relatively calm, and (cautiously) even keeled. So take a moment to tip your avatar's hat back. Lean back in your deskchair as if it were a front porch swing. And quietly enjoy the beauty of a drama-less internet day. For it is an all too fleeting gift. And I'm sure I'll find a way to cock it up tomorrow... j.s.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Hi there. Our coffee roaster came in last night! fanfare So after work D. and I spent the remainder of the day attempting to roast green coffee beans we'd purchased a few days ago. I say "attempting," because we really only came up with one roast. "D.'s Double Dark Blend," a.k.a. "Jeremiah's German Chocolate Surprise," a.k.a. "burnt." It wasn't bad mind you, but it was a wee bit on the ashy side, aftertaste-wise. So after trying the first pot, I think "Hey, we've got some Bailey's around here don't we?" So we put the rest of the beans in a big Ziploc bag, pour in some Bailey's, and let it soak for 10 minutes. Then grind, and brew it up. The coffee? Was not so good. But the Bailey's? After it had sat in freshly roasted coffee beans for 10 minutes? That...was one tasty byproduct. Okay, I'm off to work. I'll talk to you all later. j.s.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Ahoy sissy. So...where do I start? Let's set the Wayback Machine for last Friday. Friday evening I'd fully intended on studying for my ASA Instructor exam, but sadly I was derailed in that endeavor when [TGFTP] rang with a set of strange and cryptic instructions involving the O.C., 10:00pm, her solo status for the evening, and galactic amounts of wine. So I bit. And it was definitely an interesting time...as it typically is when I hang out with her. Decorum prohibits much of the discussion of the evening here, due to most of it revolving around someone who'd suffered a very personal tragedy. I can, however, give you some snapshots though... At one point [TGFTP] was standing in the middle of White Oak, pointing her finger at a car and commanding the driver to turn their headlights on and off. I was told that Bass Ale is a "pussy beer," by someone drinking a Red Stripe. The pitching coach for the Astros showed up and hung out with us. And in between his arm wrestling bouts with [TGFTP], we discussed exactly what is said when he heads to the mound to speak with Roger Clemens during a game. (Not much. Roger apparently tells him when he's done.) [TGFTP] and I briefly consider dancing at the bar inside. We quickly think better of this. Questions about Brandon Backe's sexual preference were raised... We closed down the bar and each of us headed home. Saturday I got up and did breakfast, then ran all over creation picking up things I needed for my sailing classes. Finished around 2, and sat down at the office to finally study a bit. I take off at around 4 toward Kemah, and roll up to my class, cocky and ready to get it over with. Warning flag #1 I notice that I'm the youngest guy in the room by a minimum of 20 years. Which I find kind of odd since one would assume that guys in their 50's would've already missed the whole "sailing instructor" boat, you know? Turns out they're all retired, own several boats each, and are there to embark on their new "careers" as sailing instructors. I learn this as we go around the room doing the "introduce yourself" bit. I'm met by cataract-hazed glares when it's my turn to talk about me. "Well let's see. I'm Jeremiah. I'm 29. I began sailing in Rhode Island..blahblahblah...and unlike you guys I don't actually own a boat, since I've continually been able to find people who are still willing to pay me to sail on theirs. The room laughs, until they look back at me and see that I'm being serious. harumpf, notacaptain, cough, youdon'townit, harumpf So we're all off on the wrong foot. Then the instructor takes over. Warning Flag #2 Our teacher is 72 years old, and proudly wears the moniker "The Drill Sergeant." So he gives a quick powerpoint presentation, and then says we're going to take the exam tonight in order to "get it out of the way." That was Warning Flag #3. No instruction. No review. Just insta-testing. 175 questions of the gape-at-the-blank variety. Now, I'm there to take the "Basic Keelboat Instructor" certification...meaning I'm trying to find the best way to teach folks how to sail in boats that are roughly 20' or less, and typically do not have motors. So, you can imagine my surprise at questions about tanker encounters in the ICW (IntraCoastal Waterway), what sorts of natural occurrences will affect my gas mileage, how far offshore I'm required to be before dumping oil, and numerous others that I fail to find any relevance to instructing people on how to sail in Optimists, Picos or Sunfish. Regardless, I think I scored about a 20% on the exam, and I walked out of the classroom feeling ripped off, dejected, and vowing never to return to an ASA class of any kind, ever again. Suck it Trebek. So after the exam I went to Luis's place, and then we hit a Clear Lake pub for a few drinks and so I could rant and bitch about the entire experience. (Thanks for being patient and letting me do that btw man...) Sunday I just hung about Luis's place for the day, then headed back home at around 11 that night. I had already taken Monday off, so I spent yesterday cleaning the house and doing desperately needed laundry. Turned out that softball was cancelled due to the torrential early morning rain, so all told it was a pretty slow day yesterday. And now I'm once again staring out the window and wanting to be outside rather than cooped up in an office...I'm going to finish up as early as I can in the hopes of catching some daylight. Talk to you soon. j.s.

Friday, April 08, 2005

You people need to stay the fuck away from my childhood. [Thanks J.] and They can't just randomly screw with time like that...can they? and This is brilliant. Enjoy your weekend. j.s.



Rejoice! I must now tip my hat to Blogger, and their new "Recover My Post" button. So many times have I sweat blood typing up a brilliant and comical post for you folks, pored over each and every line, trimming and smoothing until each sentence hums... Only to get a 404 error when I hit "Publish Post" and thusly lose everything I'd just spent all that time writing and editing. Hopefully this is no more. So I went to the O.C. last night. (I'm a sucker for $2 Red Stripe.) Caught up with J.T. and Kristin, and a miniature girl they brought with them. Seriously. The girl barely came up to my sternum, and I'm reasonably sure she weighed less than your average pygmy might. She looked like she'd been hit by the Infanto Ray. Anyway, hung out with them for a while. The wooden benches were killing my tailbone injury (sliding into 2nd base = not good), so I dragged a slightly padded barstool over and perched above the rest of the table, lording over them in Yertle the Turtle fashion. (It's semi-obscure reference day! You can Google them later if you're unsure of what I'm saying, just follow along for the time being.) N. came by later and hung out for a few drinks, and we caught up on current events and horrid Iranians. Later [TGFTP] dropped by, whom it is always a pleasure to see, even moreso when she has managed to shake her recurrent entourage. We all hung about there until roughly 9ish, and then headed in various directions...some to parties, some to another bar, and some to the comfort of their couch where they wrote for a short while while watching "Jersey Girl," and then settled into studying for a sailing instructor exam they're taking this weekend. And now, now I must head to the bank, and then go back to coming up with my 5-minute sample lesson plan for "Fire Hazards." I'll write from Luis's place sometime this weekend and let you know how the classes are going... Take care. j.s.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

So, what's happening... I had my heart broken for the first time this season by Derek Jeter...and I'm relatively sure it won't be the last. [edit: But not today fellas...today we score 5 in the top of the 9th to send you to Fenway one up on us in the series. Nice job Sox.] God I hate the Yankees. Went to the Astros season opener yesterday, and despite the shellacking received by the Cardinals, despite the $7.00 price tag for a 16oz. cup of disgusting Bud Light, and despite the weird grass pattern in short center, (can someone explain to me why the Portland Trailblazers logo was mowed into our field?) the game was good. We have absolutely no stick at all this year though, so here's to Pettitte, Clemens and Oswalt having career years and keeping the score low enough for us to win a few. And it was yet another twinge reminder of Russell, since I was at opening day with him last year. I received my books and exams for the ASA Sailing Instructor certification yesterday, and it's a pretty impressive amount of knowledge they're testing me on. And though I'm not too concerned about the nomenclature and theory, the practical has me sweating a bit. Specifically the figure-8 man overboard drill...which isn't easy and will be even more difficult since I haven't sailed anything in a few years. Here's to it coming back quickly. Okay, I'm putting out lots of computer fires here...so I've got to take off. See you around. j.s.

Monday, April 04, 2005

I would regale you here with stories of mayhem, booze and debauchery about this weekend past...however I don't have any such stories. I went to see Sin City on Friday night. Loved it. Absolutely loved it. And that couldn't possibly come as a surprise to any of you. Darkly beautiful imagery, twisted and sickening film noir with enough grit to sand deckplanks, yet a gossamer strand of humanity and goodness threads its way through each demented tale. (Was that too flowery for you?) I just dug it, and will probably go see it again. Saturday I did breakfast, then hung out at D's place until it was time to go to the Aeros game. Just went home afterward. Sunday D and I went to the driving range and smacked the hell out of golf balls for an hour or so...which was much more satisfying than it sounds. Then grabbed lunch and I headed home to change and watch the Sox/Yankees...which was ugly with a capital "ug." What I loved though was the lack of banners up in Yankee Stadium...as if they had very little they could say. (The best they could muster was one that read "1918. 2004. 2090. Bet on it." Sad. Especially that, when 2090 rolls around, there will still have only been one team that ever lost the last 4 games of a seven game series to blow their shot at the AL pennant and a World Series title... smiles smugly And tonight is softball at Papa B's. Here's to hoping for a better showing than last week. j.s.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Red Sox vs. Yankees. Season opener. Tonight. Don't bother calling me. Thank you. j.s.

Friday, April 01, 2005

GoogleGulp!! "You should be aware that by popping the seal on the twist-off Gulp cap, you send a wireless signal to Google's servers indicating your irrevocable acceptance of the Google Gulp Terms and Conditions, which do include the possibility, however remote, of hideous genetic mutation resulting from your consumption of this product. We're pretty sure you won't die, though." I love today. =]



"Emperor penguins look up at a giant imposter at Tokyo's Ueno Zoo, Japan. Zoo director Teruyuki Komiya dressed up for a stint in the penguin enclosure for the annual April Fool event to display a human being at the zoo(AFP/Yoshikazu Tsuno)" Words fail miserably when trying to describe the awesomeness of that picture...



I have a hangover borne of the plane of negative energy... You know, the ones that feel like someone poured cement into your head while you slept? It's seriously taking all the energy I have just to keep my wobbly noggin upright on my neck. It's unpleasant. And speaking of unpleasant, I'm going to let you all in on a secret. Lean in close to the monitor. Closer please. looks around Okay, so I slept with Mitch Hedberg's girfriend. And now I think he's haunting me. Yes seriously. Everytime I turn around someone is talking about, listening to or quoting him... So Mitch, I'm, uh, sorta sorry about that. Please go away now. j.s.

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