Monday, October 30, 2006Woo! It appears Blogger has fixed whatever their issues were in allowing us FTP'ers to post, so it's back to business. So Halloween... After work on Friday I drove all over town picking up random accoutrements for my costume, then Danny picked me up from my place and we headed for Austin. (Yes that makes twice in one week. Quiet you.) And after a pit stop in Giddings, Texas, where the most pristine Subway restaurant on Earth happens to reside, we arrived at Bryan's place and set to *work immediately on our costumes. [*That is to say, we drank several bottles of Lone Star, watched Court TV, and discussed how awesome our costumes were going to be.] Saturday we got up and had a couple breakfast tacos at Juan in a Million, and while I'm not typically a fan of plays on words acting as a title for anything, their tacos were quite good. And that Juan has one helluva forceful handshake I might add... Anyway, after breakfast we hunted down all the components for Danny's Teen Wolf costume (which proved less-than effortless), and roughly 4 hours later we gathered all our materials back at Bryan's and set about the task of creating our alter-egos for the evening. Pics of this are forthcoming... Once finished, and covered in duct tape, adhesive chemicals, and a variety of spray paint colors, I took a quick shower and prepared myself mentally to become DigDug...an endeavor that required 4 or 5 Lone Stars and a family-sized batch of Hamburoni to undertake. Sufficiently motivated, I donned my costume and we prepared to head out to Alecia's party.               [Captions are forthcoming] Exactly 4 people there discerned who it was I was attempting to dress as, which was more than I expected all night to be honest. Basically just hung out, drank some Shiner on tap, then at about midnight we headed down to Lovejoy's on 6th. And 6th street on Halloween was every bit the madhouse that you might imagine it to be. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten to create vents in my blue face shield, so I couldn't actually see the madness... It took all my concentration just to keep an eye on the 7' peanut in front of me so I didn't get lost. Had a couple drinks at Lovejoy's, then dropped by Aquarium for a couple more. And finally were thrown out of the bar at about 3:15. (Daylight Savings Time began, thus spontaneously creating another hour of drink-time.) Staggered back to Bryan's car, where Kim drove us back to Bryan's place...by way of wherever Rachel was staying. Sunday was miraculously hangover-free, so we went for breakfast at Magnolia and spent the entirety of breakfast discussing bumper stickers that should be: My other car is a t-rex. Quit looking at my goiter. Beirut is for lovers. The Marv Albert School of Piccolos and Fellatio. Help! etc. etc... After we'd exhausted nearly every automotive adhesive possibility, we headed back to Bryan's place to clean up and steel ourselves for the drive back to Houston. Left at around 6, stopped at the dine-in Pizza Hut in Giddings (which was significantly shabbier than their Subway), and got back home around 9:30. At which point I went directly to bed and got myself ready for work on Monday. Which is what I've been doing while awaiting the ability to upload this post. And now, I've got some stuff to finish up before I head out to camp next to a 425' batholith this weekend. Talk to you later. j.s. |
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Thursday, October 26, 2006Hi there. It's been a slightly frustrating day/evening, and yet I really don't feel like complaining about it. Okay, I feel like complaining about it a little. First, did you know that kids today don't play with punch balloons? Nope. No straining of tiny lungs in an attempt to inflate an inordinately thick piece of latex. No lessons in patience whilst trying to tie a rubber band to the end of an enormous over-inflated balloon. And certainly no idea about the joy involved in creating a very simple toy, and engaging in a full six, perhaps seven minutes of bouncy fisticuffs thereafter. (Before the balloon popped, the rubber band broke, or the novelty wore off.) Nope, they're too busy eating Wendy's, watching TV, and playing with their DX's. Sure it's kind of ridiculous, but for whatever reason it makes me sad to think of an entire generation missing out on the satisfying and repetitive *whumpwhumpwhump* sound that a properly batted punch ball makes. And you know exactly what I'm talking about. The point here, in case you're one of those types who go looking for such things, is that I searched all over for an orange punch ball to use as a Pooka today, and was unable to find one suitable to my needs. I've the dollar store and Wal-Mart to check tomorrow, otherwise I'm sticking with the $0.79 balloons I bought. What's that? Why the hell would I be looking to make a Pooka? Goddamn you have a lot of questions today... Well obviously because I'm dressing as DigDug for Halloween, and the ensemble is incom-fucking-plete without a half-inflated Pooka attached to the end of a bicycle pump. (Held in front of me by an extended coat hanger, twist-tied along the pump's tube.) And this brings me neatly to my next problem du jour, the fact that I can't find a white motorcycle helmet anywhere. I mean sure, I could drive out to the local Honda store and drop $300 on something I'll sand down, paint white, draw eyes on, and only wear once. And I could also sprout sculling oars from my navel and utilize them like helicopter blades, flitting daintily hither and yon while proclaiming my undying love and obedience to Ann Coulter. Um... Okay, I completely forgot what I was talking about. Oh yeah. No helmets. So I've no idea what I'm going to do about this. It's been suggested that I take a trip to Home Depot and look for welding goggles/face masks...but I'm not sure if that's going to provide the overall look I'm aiming for. Or I could go to Party Boy and rent an astronaut helmet, but I'm afeared that will just make me look like a guy who couldn't afford an astronaut costume, and settled on disposable white coveralls instead. I could also return to Wal-Mart and buy a helmet intended for kids to use on their BMX bikes, but it's missing the all-important face shield bit. Thus it would just create another desperate and bizarre search for malleable light blue plastic. And finally I could attempt to find an enormous styrofoam ball, and sand/carve the helmet out of that. Which would also necessitate the aforementioned malleable light blue plastic search. You see my dilemma... Although, in the best of all possible worlds, the random guy on Craigslist that I emailed could call me back and tell me that he does, indeed, still have the old motorcycle helmet that he was offering for free, and would I like to drop by and pick it up. So please send some happy thoughts of Halloween karma my way. Because if you don't I'll come to your house, inject you with the business end of my industrial pump, and inflate you until you explode and give me 200 points. j.s. |
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[[Written yesterday, but Blogger was down.]] Hello. So D. and I decided to make a day out of our Austin trip yesterday, and left work early to head up there. We rolled in at about 4pm, found a parking spot on Red River St. by 4:15, and by 4:30 we were sitting comfortably on the front ledge of Halcyon, sipping a trough of cafe au lait apiece and discussing why it is that I don't live in Austin. To which I didn't have a response other than, "I really don't know." Everytime I go up to Austin it becomes more and more difficult for me to leave. (Although this could be because I'm getting older, and arthritis is settling on my joints like a fine dusting of sodium urate crystals...but that's neither here nor there.) Aside from not having a job, or a place to live, or anyone But it might happen soon. Houston is definitely starting to wear on me again, like it does every year at this time, and I'm catching myself eyeing I-10 like an long expanse of potential adventure rather than a means for shuttling myself to work and back. Currently this wanderlust is manifesting in the desire to do things I'd otherwise avoid like the clap. (Like camping for example.) But we'll see. This could very well be the year that I finally snap and vanish from this city as suddenly as I arrived 4 years ago. Moving on... We caught up with "A Drug Against" at Halcyon for a bit and had a cursory catch-up session, I picked up Luis's shoes and his Communist computer cable that he'd left at A Drug's house, and then D. and I walked over to Lovejoy's for a beer before heading to Stubb's for the Decemberists show. And just in case any of you were wondering, The Decemberists are still quite awesome. Their opening band, Lavender Diamond, left a bit to be desired (ultra-girly hippy fluff), but they weren't bad if you're into that kind of thing. And after a tuning session that spanned the entire recording of "Peter & the Wolf" (which I hadn't heard since the day of my grandfather's funeral), the lights dimmed and a recorded announcer came on explaining that the band had a couple of caveats prior to the show. The first was that we introduce ourselves to our neighbor, and to tell them a short but interesting fact about ourselves. ("Perhaps you have flat feet? Allergies? Just be sure to make it 10 words or less.") The next was that we all close our eyes and [paraphrase] "imagine you're standing at the edge of a rocky precipice in the desert, the scent of lavender carries lightly on the desert breeze. In the distance, you see six figures walking toward you, their clothes rippling in the wind, and as they get closer you begin to recognize their faces, one by one. Ladies and gentlemen, The Decemberists." [/paraphrase] Kind of a fun way to start a show. Anyway, they came on and ended up doing the entirety of their new album ("The Crane Wife"), which is a move that I'd typically be pissed about, but they just sounded so damn good that I couldn't be upset. (They also played quite a few from "Her Majesty," but only "We Both Go Down Together" and "16 Military Wives" from "Picaresque," which happens to be my favorite album of theirs.) Kept the crowd involved with some general goofiness, terrible jokes, and a couple sing-a-longs. After warming our voices up with some scales of course. "This is a won-der-ful showwww..." "This is a won-der-ful showwww..." At one point Colin Meloy borrowed a cell phone from an audience member in the front row, called her mom, and sang the chorus from "Culling of the Fold" into it. (A rather violent song that didn't make their new album, but one which I will provide for you here because I'm such a swell guy.) The Decemberists - Culling of the Fold Don't thank me, thank the fine peeps over at Bon Ton who've provided it. Although perhaps most amazing was the array of instruments each band member was capable of playing, to almost studio-perfect reproduction. They rotated around the stage with the frequency of a collegiate volleyball team... So, excellent show, excellent time with my little brother, and I got to pick up "The Crane Wife" on vinyl at their merch booth, which was a definite bonus. We headed home at around 11, arrived in Houston a little after 1, and went directly to bed. And now, it's time to get back to work. Take care, j.s. |
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Tuesday, October 24, 2006Welcome to post 1K! *fanfare* That's right, 1,000 individual tales of debaucherous saucery, prosaic insight, and generally worthless tripe. Rejoice! *confetti* And in honor of this auspicious occasion, I've prepared a special surprise for all you old-schoolers. Come take a quick walk down memory lane with me... Thanks once again for catering to my ego, and pretending to read my stuff. =] So I'm bailing out of work early today as D. and I are driving to Austin for the Decemberists show at Stubb's. And I'm really excited about spending the evening up there... BBQ at Stubb's, beers at Lovejoy's, and perhaps most importantly, I'm excited about the prospect of doing the Craggy McSailor to a live version of "The Mariner's Revenge Song." Yarrr! Oh...and just in case anyone missed it, I'd like to send a digital handshake to Nick at the Blogger Help Desk for helping me reclaim my rightful and Meaty place on the web. SYN/ACK brotha. "Rock over London, Rock on Chicago. Blogger. Push-button publishing for the people." See you kids later. j.s. |
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Monday, October 23, 2006 So we're going to try this again. 50,000 words in 30 days. The third time just might be a charm... j.s. |
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Un-fucking-believable. So I alert the They in turn "solve" this problem by simply deleting the name and sending back an email instructing me to re-create the blog. [edit: I must sheepishly retract, and apologize for the above statement. Because the Blogger peeps showed up strong when I emailed them complaining about what'd happened, and they promptly reset my account again so I could claim my rightful place as the owner of "The Meaty." Thanks Nick.] And of course, before I can remake it the url is stolen by some slimy, inbred, fuckmook of a spammer who's harvesting emails via assertiveness courses or something. So, once again, please make sure to change your links from the meaty.blogspot address to frqnc.com. Thank you. And to whoever you are that leapt on my old address: I backed up my writing, but all the pictures and files that I kept on my FTP site are now gone, because of you. And if I ever find out who you are I'll be happy to give you a lesson in assertiveness, along with some tutelary dentistry. j.s. |
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Friday, October 20, 2006Hello there. So let's set the Wayback Machine for October 20, 1996...exactly ten years ago today. It's the early evening, and Jeremiah is flitting about in the kitchen of a rather grubby apartment in Logan, Utah. He's just about finished cooking chicken parmesan with garlic bread for his roommate and for his new girlfriend, Adrienne, who is on her way back to Logan from spending the weekend with her parents. But 8pm comes and goes with no sign of her. Then 9pm. Then 10. Jeremiah starts to become irritated that she'd skip out on dinner without even calling, but he wraps her chicken in some foil anyway and settles down to watch "Restoration" with his roommate. At about 11:00 the phone rings, and the roommate gets up to answer it. "Hello?" ... "What?" ... "Oh..." ... "Okay I'll tell him." He hangs up and turns to face Jeremiah, who is laying on the fold-out couch and glaring at the phone. "She told you to tell me she was sorry for not making it to dinner?" "No. That was Leslie." [Her sister] "Oh." "I don't know how to tell you this man..." "Tell me what?" "Adrienne is dead." There's a long pause. "What?" "Adrienne's dead man...she was in an accident in the canyon...I guess there was some ice...I'm sorry." At this point, things get a little fuzzy, although somehow it's determined that Adrienne has been brought to the hospital directly across the street from that grubby apartment. So Jeremiah puts on his shoes and begins to walk to the hospital, with a brief stop to throw up next to his mailbox. He walks through the automatic doors to the emergency room, and up to the nurse's window. "Hi...uh...I heard...um...I'm looking for Adrienne Thompson?" The nurse glances through a list of names on a clipboard. "No, we don't have anyone here by that name." A flicker of hope lights. "I swear to God, if someone is fucking with me..." "Well she isn't on my list." At this point another older nurse opens the door behind the first one, sees Jeremiah and his roommate standing there, and asks who they're looking for. "Is she a young girl? Car accident?" The flicker is doused. "Yes..." Jeremiah says. "She's gone. I'm sorry." Things go fuzzy again here, but I do recall the nurse behind the glass looking at me with concern, and telling my roommate to make me go sit down because I was about to faint. The thing I remember clearly though, is walking into the room where they were keeping her. 2 of the 4 fluorescent bulbs overhead were burned out, and the room was very dark. To her right, her mother was holding her hand. To her left was her grandmother, who simply stared down at her, eyes filled with the pain the elderly feel when they see a young life cut short. And standing at her head was her sister, who stroked Adrienne's hair and whispered to her. It was one the most beautiful, and awful, things that I've ever seen in my life. And it haunts me to this day. All three women turned to me when I walked in, and all three began to cry when they saw the look on my face. Later, standing in the hallway with some friends, their bishop came in to talk to us. (Her family was LDS.) And I'll never forget what he said to me. "Jeremiah, there's only one thing that will make sense of this. And there's only one way that you're going to make it through." "What...what is it?" I say expectantly. "It's faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, and faith in God's plan for Adrienne." My mouth fell open, and I was just about to lay into the guy about my plans, and how pathetic I find it when people are so crippled by tragedy that they have no recourse but to attribute it to some divine blueprint rather than face the secular horror that people die, unjustly, unexpectedly, and there's no rhyme or reason or grand unifying theory behind it. But none of that came out. I got about as far as a "You know what Bishop? You can..." before my roommate stepped between us and pushed me out the sliding E.R. doors and into the parking lot. We went home after that. And I cried until my lachrymal glands gave up, and I passed out. Her funeral was the following week. And, speaking during the procession, was a boy that her family had really liked. A fine, upstanding, returned missionary. [Note: not a godless, long-haired, cigarette-smoking, outsider.] He spoke at length of how he and Adrienne had loved each other, how they'd talked of kneeling across the altar someday, and lamented how badly he was going to miss her. Aige had talked of this guy before, and how her family really liked him and wanted her to marry him, but how she didn't really care much for him. I don't know if she was telling the truth. Or if he was. And I never will. Anyway, the post-script to this story is that Jeremiah curled up inside a bottle for the next 3 months, failed out of school, was evicted from his apartment, and eventually drove back to Houston, completely broken. Sorry to be such a downer on you all, but I'm awash in these memories today and I was hoping I could let some of them go by writing about it. I guess it worked a little. Thanks for listening. j.s. |
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Monday, October 16, 2006[[ed: Added RenFest trip.]] Wow. So it's been a while huh? Sorry, I've been drunk. Actually that's only moderately true... But I've been really busy during the infrequent sober bits. I'll try to catch you up quickly. Thursday evening was spent bouncing around a few bars with the usual suspects, topped off by ruffling the feathers of the strangely straight-laced bartender at La Carafe, before I headed back home at around 2. Good times. Friday was the IRP at The Roof which, for whatever reason, I just wasn't in the mood for. But I dutifully attended, like the good lil' column monkey I am, then bailed at the first available opening and went to Katy to hang with Rez and Kara. Saturday I got up early, nabbed a croissant & coffee from Onion Creek, then drove over to REI to pick out a sleeping bag to match my newly procured tent. (Grrr...don't bother with that link. It seems Blogger has cocked up my direct post linkage again.) Anyway, REI. So after perusing their selection for a while (sleeping bag selection is very serious business), I finally settled on a $189 North Face bag that had been inexplicably marked down to $60. Admittedly, I was a bit nervous about the whole plush sarcophagus look of the thing...but the price was just too good to pass up. So I pick it up, then bolt over to my Mom's place where I'd planned to I start rummaging through her storage area and find not only the chair, but a camping stove that D. and I bought during the Hurricane Rita fiasco last year, along with a case of propane. Fortuitous. So that gets And yes, I went by myself. Unfortunately, you're going to have to wait for that part of the story as it's getting late and I seem to have left my notebook (upon which I've already written this part of the post), out in the Jeep. To be continued... **poof** And just like that, it's 10am on Tuesday and I'm at work rather than laying in bed...more's the pity. Okay, the RenFest. So I drive out to Magnolia under some absolutely beautiful Texas weather (I wait all year for this climate to return...and it never fails to reassure me as to why I live here), and after circling the campground for a while I finally settle on a suitable spot next to a group of about 8 younger folk who were drinking beer and playing guitar.  [The RenHood.] Pitched the tent with ease in about 3 minutes...  [God bless those Kelty folk] Then pulled out the propane stove and set to work grilling the hot dogs I'd picked up for the trip. (Fat-free hot dogs mind you. Yes, despite the unusual environment it is still me here folks...) It was at this point that I'd assumed I'd bump into some peeps to hang out with that night, however it seems I'd misjudged the insular nature of my neighbors, and thus picked my locale poorly. They never even so much as said "hi." They did, however, glare and turn their back quickly whenever I'd look over. (And the guys would bee-line for their girlfriends whenever I walked to the Jeep to get something...which would've been really funny if it weren't so disappointing.) So I had my dinner, sipped a couple Killian's, labelled the neighbors a lost cause, and after watching a brilliant sunset...  I wandered off to look for trouble, and instead found lots of RV's with Christmas lights strung on their porches/overhangs, people selling mead from large coolers in the back of trucks, a "movie theatre" tent showing Invader Zim episodes, and eventually I came upon a clearing with logs for benches and a huge bonfire in the center. About 5 or 6 guys with bongos syncopated an ever-shifting rhythm as scads of girls in their early-20's stomped and spun and whirled around the blaze. (This scene was conveniently located next to the "Show us your hooters for some Jello shooters" RV, which appeared to be doing a brisk business...that is, until the park security arrived.) I stood around there for a bit, watching druids, pirates, knights, scotsmen, wenches, peasant girls, and all manner of hippiedom clap and dance with wild abandon. Until a couple guys begin to wander around the circle asking people to "Back up please! Burning hair smells like shit! Back up please" And with good reason, because directly following them were the fire breathers. One of which was a particularly cute brunette with a pierced septum and belly dancing attire, and the other was the spitting (zang!) image of Karnov, replete with axe and pantaloons. Lots of highly flammable entertainment ensues, in the midst of which one of the belly dancers walks over and sits on the log next to me. "Hi!" "Hello." "You're sitting alone?" "Ah...yes." "Why?" "Well I came here alone." "Oh. Why?" "Well because my friends were either busy, out of town, or disinterested." "Lame." "Nah, it's fine. I don't mind." "Okay, come up here with me for a sec." She takes my hand and leads me toward the bonfire, and once we're close enough, she turns around and looks at me. "Wow. You're cuter than I thought you were when I saw you sitting there!" "Um, thanks." "What's your name?" "Jeremiah." "Beautiful..." she says while still looking up at me, "Is that your real name?" "Yes, yes it is." I laugh. We talk for a while longer and then she abruptly declares that "I'm off to buy some ganja. But I'll see you around, Jeremiah the Beautiful." "Oh...okay. Good luck with that." And, as suddenly as she arrived, she disappeared again among the tiki torches and RV's. Shaking my head and grinning, I turn back to face the bonfire just as a trio of sixteen-year old girls push up behind me, one of which is declaring herself to be "The High Priestess." I glance back at them just in time for the Priestess to tell her friends, "Servants! Grab that boy's ass!" I figure out she's talking about me just in time to feel 2 pairs of jailbait hands on me, and I respond by whirling around and glaring them 4 steps backward. "That's hardly regal behavior your highness." They giggle and wander away. I instinctively reach back for my wallet to ensure I haven't just been pickpocketed. At this point that I decide hanging out in such a high-visibility area isn't such a great idea, so I go back to my log and watch the rest of the firebreathing show, which is puncuated with the occasional chorus of: "Hip Hip...HUZZAH! Hip Hip...HUZZAH! Hip Hip...HUZZAH!" Fucking RenFest... Eventually I tire of spectating and head back to my tent. I sit outside and look at the stars for a bit (they're pretty scarce here in the city, so it's nice to be reminded of just how many there are when away from the light pollution), and then decide to call it a night. Or I attempt to anyway. Since the raucous renaissance revelers kept yelling things like, "KINKY FRIEDMAN! CHANGE THIS FUCKIN' STATE!" "FUCK YOU! YOU LEFT ME ALONE AND FREEZING IN THE TENT! WHERE'S MY JACKET?!?" "WOOOOOO! HUZZAH!" And the surly neighbors had taken to singing along with Sublime's "What I Got" and "Doin' Time." Just those two songs...over and over and over again. Odd. Later the mood shifted slightly, and I could hear the incessant thump of Prodigy songs, and the tent would occasionally be illuminated by passer-bys with glowsticks. It was like trying to sleep in the middle of a rave. Eventually I did crash though, but was awoken by the sound of thunder in the distance at around 5ish. I leap out of the tent, throw on my dewy shoes, and scramble for the Jeep to get the tent fly. It attaches easily, and I go back to the Jeep to pull the top up. With all my possessions sufficiently rain-proofed, I go back to sleep for a few hours. I wake back up at 9, have an apple for breakfast, and after checking the weather on my phone I decide heading into the RenFest for the day is a bad idea. (If you're in Houston you know exactly why that would be.) So I pack up and head out by 10. And I'm about halfway home when the rain starts... And then it strengthens...strengthens even more....and by the time I get home it's damn near a monsoon. And it didn't stop raining until late last night. Flooding everywhere. City was an utter mess. So I took it easy, laying around the house and watching football all Sunday. An interesting side-effect of the rain however, is that it knocked roughly 5,000 web worms out of the pecan tree over my house, and the tenacious little buggers were swarming my house in an attempt to get back up into the tree. This was creepy in and of itself, but when I went to make my bed and I found one on my pillow I decided something had to be done. So I donned my foul weather gear, pulled an old pair of Adidas out of the closet (wielded akimbo), and stepped out onto the patio to address the caterpillars with solemnity: "Behold, I am become Wooly Death. The shatterer of arthropods." At which point I embark on a whirling, shoe-splattering dance of destruction that lasted roughly 20 minutes, and would've made Shiva herself lower her eyes with humility. A cautious estimate would be that I smacked about 50 of them...but in reality it was probably more like 80 or 90. Fortunately it was pouring at the time, so I didn't have to rinse off the caterpillar remnants that had made the exterior of my house/porch look like a hylic Jackson Pollack painting. After I'd killed everything with more legs than I have within a 20' diameter of my front door, I drop the shoes to the ground and walk back inside, swinging the door behind me with a satisfied slam. Merv the Plant is safe this day. Okay, I've really got to get back to work now. Talk to you soon. j.s. |
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Wednesday, October 11, 2006I love this comic from XKCD, and its been floating in and out of my consciousness for over a week now, so I'm exorcising it be posting it here.  Adorably brilliant. j.s. |
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Tuesday, October 10, 2006I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, and it's a rather drastic topic shift (thus it earned its own post), but I'm pretty sure that the Muse video for "Knights of Cydonia" is the greatest achievement in music video direction to date. It's been out for quite a while, but if you've somehow missed it, here you go.  j.s. |
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For those interested in historical Jeremiah data, HERE's a link to one of the old fashion shows I did with the event production company in Baltimore. The Warhol Marilyn Monroe was created using: frosting for the face; cherries for her lips; lemon slices for her hair; lime slices for eyeshadow; olives for the shading; and yams for the background. Yes, it was a pain in the ass. j.s. |
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Monday, October 09, 2006Hi. Let's talk Weekend Recap. Although since I didn't go out much, this edition is going to be rather tame. So allow me to apologize in advance for what will almost certainly be 1,000 words of meandering pablum. Okay. So on Friday... Uh... Friday... Er, I worked late? Read a bit of A Movable Feast before it's due back to the library. And I think there was some "Six Feet Under" watched in there somewhere. Jesus...I guess that's it. Depressing. Let's move on to Saturday. Left the house around 11 to wash the Jeep, which I had neglected into a vaguely car-shaped conglomeration of faded red dirt. Afterward I caught up with Dixie and Dincy for brunch at "Lankford's Grocery" which...wasn't bad. The biscuits were awesome, but my omelette looked unsettlingly like a very small cheese torpedo. (It's paltry, I know, but I really prefer the cheese to be nestled within the warm folds of the omelette, rather than draped atop it like a lactose quilt.) I'll test out the burgers there before I completely write the place off. However the company more than made up for the B- fare, and afterward we decided to Jeep it over to Sculptworx to take a look at what we'd heard were a series of gigantic presidential Pez heads. And hey...I mean...giant presidental Pez heads.   And Here's the Sputnik view. Made everyone's Saturday slightly more surreal, which is a good thing. Left there and headed home to shower before the Aeros season opener. And thankfully they've done away with that awful jet logo from the past 2 years...  and gone back to their classic, and awesome, WWII bomber look...  Unfortunately, it also seems they've done away with all the talent as well. (With the exception of Harding in the net.) Our puckhandling was atrocious, the offense modest at best, and our defensemen looked like they'd be more comfortable playing the "pylon" position in the Galleria rink. (I lost count of how many 2 on 1's and 3 on 1's there were.) Anyway, the only saving grace to this was that the team we played against were a class act. They gave a standing, stick-banging ovation to Chelsea Gamble, a little girl who'd survived an extremely rare form of cancer and who was dropping the ceremonial first puck. (The Aeros merely sat bemused on their bench.) And when a puck left the ice, sailing into the audience and striking an older gentleman in the face, the Griffins immediately tossed towels over the glass to help stem the bleeding while paramedics were summoned. If suppose if you have to lose, it helps to do so against a group of guys like that. Thanks fellas, and good luck this year. Anyway, it's a fine, fine thing that hockey season is back. Makes me happy. If anyone is interested, our next home games are the 27th and 28th of this month, to which excellent tickets will run you about $22. And if you're going, you have to bring me. After the game, I went home for a quick shower/change, and then sped over to Epic for Toni's birthday. Fortunately I caught her outside talking to some people and got to give her a happy b-day hug, because there was no way in hell I was going to set foot inside that place. Awful. I mean, if I were a basketball player with a silicone fetish and an IQ like a sack of Jessica Simpsons, I might've enjoyed myself... Thankfully, I'm not. And the people jockeying for VIP entry into a little corner lot in a fucking strip mall had to be seen to be believed. You couldn't have floated a matchstick on their collective depth, each suffered from grandiose delusions of adequacy, and the lot of them angrily demanded VIP entry (with irritated swivels of their heavily producted heads), all because they know the lighting guy, or interned for the architect, or are the 2nd cousin of a busboy, etc. The guy working the door was congenial and professional about the situation though, smiling and nodding and generally being courteous. And that alone almost kept me standing in the line past the 20th minute... Almost. In the end I texted Toni, explained that I was queue weary and to have a happy b-day, and then went home to write until I fell asleep on the couch. Sunday was football day until around 8ish, then I caught up with Luis, Danny, Alysha and a couple others at Red Lion for a beer. Really good time, then headed home at around 12:30 and bed. And today, it's worktime. Although I would like to pause for a moment to reflect on the unparalleled beauty of the New York Yankees paying $230 million dollars for one playoff win. ... *sniff* heh... hehe... HAHAHA... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! You've spent ONE BILLION DOLLARS over the past 6 years, and all you have to show for it are some pennants, a couple failed trips to the World Series, and the reputation as one of the worst chokers in the history of professional sports. Money well spent! And you know, your consistent shellackings in the playoffs are starting to make our 2004 win over you look slightly less incredible. *grin* See you bastards in April. j.s. "I like A-Rod more and more with each passing post-season..." -Red Sox Fan- |
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Friday, October 06, 2006File under: "Excellent Ways to Pass the Time on an Idle Friday" Create a Gmail thread with friends listing the names of bands that should be.
j.s. [Thanks Bryan & Danny.] |
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Thursday, October 05, 2006Hi, I'd like to talk about this whole 700 mi. fence/illegal immigrant thing for a moment if I might. Normally I would give only a cursory glance to this issue, and move right along. I mean, if someone wants to live in the U.S. so badly that they're willing to strap themselves to a drive shaft and pirouette at 8,000 RPM to freedom and opportunity, then more power (zang!) to 'em. Yes, I'm all aloof disinterest and dismissive jokes...right up to the point where an illegal immigrant (who also happened to be a 2 time felony sex offender), shoots a cop. Which is the part where Jeremiah's liberal, humanitarian leanings get stowed neatly in the corner, and he goes full-throttle into Texas Justice mode. You can say what you will about the police, they're a flawed organization just like any and they make an easy target for rants, but they are our first line of protection against thugs, criminals and people who'd hurt you if they thought they could net a few bucks in the process. (Please don't split hairs with me and bring up the concealed weapon argument with me here. Equestrian rigor mortis has already set in there.) For those who aren't in the Houston area, or who don't know the specifics of what's going on, 2 weeks ago a Houston police officer arrested a man for failure to provide proper identification, cuffed him, and put him in the back of his cruiser. Apparently his preliminary search of the suspect wasn't as thorough as it should've been though, since once in the back of the car the guy pulled his hands around his legs, reached into his pants for a gun, and shot the officer 4 times through the plastic between the front and back seats, killing him. Afterward, the moron just sat there, still trapped in the back of the car, until additional cops arrived and detained him...after giving him what I'm sure was an ass-beating for the ages. (Oh, and this scenario has played out before, when Edgar Tamayo, also an illegal immigrant, shot one Officer Gaddis in much the same fashion.) This event has been burning Houston up of late, since we have almost a half-million illegal aliens residing within our city limits. And suddenly, we're pissed off at all of 'em. Now I'm going to try to refrain from waxing didactic about the whole thing, and avoid preaching about whether this fence is or isn't a good idea (mostly because I think it's all political grunting and posturing anyway), but I am a little peeved about how the whole thing is being received by the Mexican government, and that I would like to discuss. Specifically, it isn't the goddamn "Berlin Wall" that Vicente Fox claims it to be. And if you weren't encouraging your entire populace to sneak over here to work, we might just have the room to provide them with legal work visas. [Note: those that aren't convicted felons.] But we're being so dragged down by the current tide of border jumpers that we simply can't afford to allow entry to the honest, law-abiding Mexican citzens who want to work here legally. So, do you want to know why he's really protesting so loudly? See, when illegal immigrants work over here they're paid in cash because a.) they don't have Soc. Sec #s, and b.) because the shady businesses that hire them need to "cocine los libros" so as not to pay taxes on their labor. And in nearly every case, the majority of that cash gets Western Unioned back home to Mexico, a process that's pumped approximately $15 billion into the Mexican economy in the last year alone. (That's $5 billion more than their entire tourism industry.) Thus Bush's quick trick brick stack might impede the green stream of Mr. Fox's Fort Knox boxes...and that really, really pisses him off. And as for the merit of the Bush Border, if it works then that's great. (A 9.7 on the Unlikely-Meter.) Much like spraying Bactine on an arterial wound, it certainly isn't going to do much harm. j.s. |
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Tuesday, October 03, 2006And this barely merits mention, but today is the 4-year anniversary of that infamous afternoon when I typed the words, "Let's test this little bugger out shall we?" and hit the orange "Publish Post" button for the first time. It worked. And after 4 years, 3 states, 6 homes, 5 jobs (including one where I actually get paid to write this prattle), 2 cars, several heartbreaks, lots of new friends, the continued love of many old ones, the addition of new family members, and a list of good times too lengthy to quantify... I guess it's still working. Coincidentally, this Thursday also happens to be the one-year anniversary of the first thing I've ever had published. Hard to believe it's already been a year since I wrote about that damn carpet purse isn't it? It seems so to me anyway. But perhaps most importantly, this also gives me an excellent excuse to pause and thank you all for being a part of my strange little world, and for dropping by to read me every once in a while. Thanks. =] j.s. |
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"Just take a look at who voted for [illegal wiretapping] and which party voted against it." -G. W. Bush - Oct. 2, 2006 - Desperately campaigning to retain Republican control of Congress in the wake of the "Foley's Juniors" Expose - Oh we will Bushie. And thanks for bringing that up. j.s. p.s. Did you know that Mark Foley(NAMBLA) was the chairman over the "House caucus for Missing & Exploited Children," and actually helped write the "Child Protection & Safety Act of 2006?" [via Slate]  And the administration not only granted quarter to a known pedophile, but allowed him continued access to children and teenagers? *retch* Now the question becomes, how long do you think it will be before he tries to check out early? j.s. |
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Monday, October 02, 2006Whoa! People! Hi there. So after work on Friday D. and I went over to the Vespa dealership on 59 (which is in actuality a Ferrari dealership), to get pricing information on my potential scooter purchase. And I left just about sold on a midnight blue, 50cc model, boasting a top speed of 39 skin-flaying miles-per-hour. What I wasn't sold on was their method of financing however. Basically if you aren't paying in full with cash, you have to apply for a goddamn credit card (complete with a 21% APR), in order to fund the purchase of the Vespa. When we incredulously asked if anyone actually ever does that, the guy grinned and said, "yeah, you'd be surprised." So will they when they see how much they ended up paying for a fucking scooter. After leaving there I just lounged around my house, did a bit of cleaning and random 'net browsing, and generally had a slow Friday evening at home. Yeah, I'm really not very cool. Saturday I did the Ft. View breakfast thing with the fam, then caught up with Danny at Sam's Boat for a couple beers. And somewhere between our first and second pitcher, we decided that camping overnight at the Renaissance Festival was an absolute imperative for the evening. (I'm not entirely sure how that happened.) So we sped back to our respective homes, threw the bare essentials for such a sojourn into overnight bags (water, toothbrush, blanket, halberd), then headed west to Katy to have dinner with Rezki and Kara. And after eating way too many excellent fajitas at their place, we ran over to the liquor store to purchase a bottles of honey mead, then to Academy to pick up a 4-person Igloo tent (hey, priorities people), and finally made our way out to Magnolia, TX. We roll in at roughly midnight, and given the KKK rally amount of cops that surrounded the camping area, those ren fest peeps must be a seriously wild bunch. Although I suppose I'd like a bit of backup too if I were asked to provide security for 1,000 drunk people, each with access to chainmail and an armory's worth of primitive weapons. Anyway, we pay our $10 parking fee then head into the campground, declaring a spot in the center as ours. Upon parking I open the car door and promptly fall out into the grass, a declarative statement about the sobriety of everyone's new neighbors. When we finished laughing I grab the tent out of the trunk and set about setting up our shelter. Let's cover that again. It's midnight. I'm drunk. And I'm attempting to put up a tent that I've never seen fully-constructed before. Heh. Heh heh. Fast forward 2 hours, where we find Danny and Jeremiah in the middle of a dark field, stumbling around with a flashlight and swearing virulently at something that looks like an enormous nylon jellyfish. We gave up at about 2am, broke down the ctentophore, and then drove back into Houston, arriving home dejected and beaten at 3:30. *sigh* I'll tell you this though, using lame little metal flanges as the sole method of securing support poles to the corners of a tent seems like a sick tentgineer joke. On Sunday afternoon I stuffed the worthless tent back into its bag and returned it to the Academy from which I'd purchased it. Of course I'd lost the receipt somewhere along the way, and as such I had to settle for store credit rather than a refund. *grumble grumble* So, rather than hang on to a $40 store credit from the Katy Academy (one that I would assuredly forget about 5 minutes after departing the store), I stormed directly to the camping section and found the most expensive smallish tent they had, noting that the instructions promised that even drunk, citified Yankees, 20 years removed from their days as Life-ranked Boy Scouts, could pitch it. And an additional $60 later, I left with a 2-person hiking tent from Kelty that I carried directly to my Dad's place to ensure that it was one I was able to set up by myself. And it was...although sobriety and daylight probably helped a little too. Stuck around there for a little while and watched the late Sunday NFL game, had a dinner discussion about securing a loan for the aforementioned Vespa from the police credit union (apparently not all that difficult to do), and then I headed back home and to bed at around 10. And now it's back to work. Take care, j.s. |
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