You know what I’m thinking about doing this weekend? That’s right, setting up a goddamn hot dog bar in the dining room. Yes, I’m a very ambitious man. But I have visions of having ALL the toppings available. That includes melted-down cheese “food,” sauerkraut, cole slaw (to satisfy the WV in me), chili, all the normal shit, and maybe even some crumbled bacon. Hell yeah.

However, I don’t want to grill the dogs. I want to attempt to recreate the fantastic hot dogs o’ my youth. I’m talking about the Dunbar Dairy Queen and bowling alley dogs that were (in my mind) the best ever. I assume they were boiled? I don’t know for sure. But they also did something to the buns. Steamed ’em? This could require some experimentation. It would be a whole lot easier if I had more knowledge and wasn’t so stupid on the subject. And many, many other subjects.

But that’s my weekend project, boys and girls. I’ll report back on Monday and let you know how it went. Again: I’m not looking to create some kind of fancy gourmet hot dog. I’m attempting to recreate something from my kidhood. PLUS, have a shitload of crazy toppin’s just for fun. If you can provide some tips or hints on how to create a perfect hot dog stand-style dog, please let me know. I know nothing.

And by the way, in my hometown, back in the day, there was an ongoing debate about which was better: Dairy Queen or bowling alley. It was almost like a Beatles/Stones thing. Most people took a side and were passionate about it. I never took a side, ’cause both were great! Just like the Beatles and Stones. Why limit yourself to just one or the other? It made and makes no sense to me.

What do you like on your hot dog? I’m not stuck on any one combination. I like many combos. And that’s where the big spread of topping will come in. I’ll mix it up and just roll with it. But here are a few of my standard go-to’s:

sauerkraut and mustard
mustard and onion
chili and cheese
chili and slaw (when in the motherland)

Help me out, won’t you? Any tips on the kind of normal everyday hotdog to buy… and what to do with the buns… I need lots of assistance.

And you know what’s the most bullshit of all hot dogs? That’s right, the Chicago style. What the hell is that? Are they just screwing with us out of towners? People who live in Chicago don’t eat those, do they? I think they’re having a laugh at our expense. Right? It’s the only explanation I can come up with.

Please let me know your thoughts on the whole… hot dog thing. Use the comments section.

And I released a new episode of the world-famous Jeff Kay Show podcast today. Right here. It turned out pretty well, I think. Here’s your summary:

In this one, I celebrate the arrival of fall and talk about my need for all four seasons. And I tell you about a book I’m re-reading ’cause I love it so much, and how my snobbery nearly caused me to miss it. And I have a couple of questionable stories to share from my ridiculous past, inspired by a man I spoke with recently who’s having trouble with his “ass.” Thank you guys for the support! I hope you enjoy this one.

I hope you guys have a great weekend!

I’ll be back on Monday.

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I don’t want to get into all the gory details. But I’ll tell you this much: if I’d been working during the past couple of days… my 35-year streak would’ve been in serious jeopardy. In fact, I’m a little nervous about going in today. I’m not sick, not really, but didn’t feel great yesterday. Not terrible, but something was definitely askew. And there were “fireworks,” my friends. Spectacular and completely out of the blue (brown?) fireworks. I’m semi-concerned. But I think I’ll be OK. There was a series of aftershocks, but they seem to be coming farther and farther apart.

The older boy is friends with a portly gentleman who has fully and completely embraced it. He’s gone all-in on the portly. And he supposedly got a new tattoo during the past couple of weeks: the Black Flag logo — which I’ve included to the right, in case you’re unfamiliar. But his version is four crinkle-cut french fries. I’ve made it clear that I need a photo, but so far that request has remained unfulfilled. I have to admit… I love the concept. Right?

For some reason, it reminds me of a story the same boy told me years ago when he was still in grade school. He said the teacher wanted everyone to write a poem, something to do with springtime. And a large girl raised her hand and said, “Can anybody think of a word that rhymes with Pringles?”

Have you ever watched a show called Restored, on HGTV or DIY? I’ve become somewhat fixated on it. The thing is fantastic. It features an impossibly upbeat and positive man in a cowboy hat who restores historic homes. They’re not always super-old — sometimes they’re from the 1950s. But he goes in and attempts to bring them back to the original while keeping them functional. He’s into the history and knows his stuff. He generally does research and finds old photos of the house, and tries to recreate the original look. Even going so far as to use period wood, etc. Sometimes he discovers secret panels or stained glass windows hidden by the drywall, or whatever. It’s fascinating, and it’s my current favorite obscure deep-cable program. I’ve got the DVR set to record every episode, new or repeat. And I’m bingin’ as fast as I can… What’s your current show in that category? Anything?

Remember I mentioned that I had eight days of vacation time I need to burn before 12/31? Well, I briefly considered taking five of them and going to a so-called “retreat” somewhere in Massachusetts. It’s a four-hour drive from here, and it’s a big country farmhouse owned by a couple of writers. They rent out rooms to people who want to get away and work on a writing project. I reread the beginnings of a novel I’d been working on a couple of years ago and thought it was pretty hilarious. And I’ve always loved the premise. I thought I might be able to go to this retreat (if they would approve me) and try to get the project back on track. It’s fairly inexpensive, and would certainly fall into the category of “an adventure.”

It’s not going to happen, of course. At least not this year. But I checked into it and read all there is to read. I’d have some concerns. Including, but not limited to:

No cell service, whatsoever. Your phone would be nothing but a block of plastic and metal. I don’t care for that. There’s WiFi in the house and a landline. But I don’t know…

The house would be full of other writers (including two “artists in residence”), all of whom would undoubtedly be more serious and almost certainly more talented than I am. I’d walk around feeling like I don’t belong, a complete and utter fraud. It’s something I’m familiar with, but don’t really enjoy.

Shared bathrooms. I mean… do I have to even get into this? I’d have to set my alarm for 3 am and go in for a sitdown, under the cover of darkness.

The food situation. They give you a bin in the kitchen, and another inside the fridge, where you can keep stuff. And you can cook down there, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable. Ya know? And I couldn’t use GPS to find a goddamn Denny’s or anything, ’cause the phones are deader than Kelsey’s nuts. Makes me uneasy.

They have to evaluate your work and approve you before you can stay there. I guess I could submit something like this, right? To tell you the truth, I think I would be approved. But it would be yet another thing to worry about.

So, there you go. I might consider it in the spring. We’ll see. Probably not… I mean, seriously.

I released a new podcast episode today. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not very happy with it. There are a few good lines, I think, but overall… not my strongest effort. I’m trying to stretch a bit, and challenge myself. I’m attempting to make the Monday episodes more coherent and about one overarching subject. It’s more difficult than anticipated. But I’ll get there. Maybe. Please bear with me. If you’re new to the podcast, please don’t start with this one. But if you’re a veteran, there are a few funny moments. So, proceed with caution. Next Monday’s will be better! And the Thursday episodes are always just a load of goofy fun. Pass the beer nuts.

For a Question, I’ll just keep it simple. What’s the most memorable pet name you’ve ever heard? I knew a girl in Greensboro who had a cat named Polyester, and I loved that for some reason. Also, Mark Maynard had a cat named Eartha Kitty. Heh. And Marc Maron has a cat named Buster Kitten. They don’t have to be puns, of course, but share your faves in the comments.

And I’m going to call it a day. Have a great one, my friends!

I’ll be back on Thursday.

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I went to dinner with a few work folks last night, and one of them mentioned The Grand Canyon, and how she’s seen it, and there’s no need to ever go back. I laughed because I think that’s the same reaction most people have. I believe Toney and I both uttered the exact same sentence, following our recent visit there. The only exception would be people who like to hike and explore, which ain’t me. Other than that… I think it falls into the “OK, mark that one off the list” category. Right?

I don’t think I posted any photos from our visit there, so there’s one at the top of this update. I took it with my phone, during a rare time that some asshole hadn’t wedged themselves between my girth and the edge of the Canyon. The rest of the photos I took that day are very similar to this one, but not as good. So… there’s no point in posting ’em.

Dinner was at one of those hibachi places, where they perform right in front of you and flick shit over your head and set off fire bombs, etc. The food was good, but I’m happy I wasn’t paying. I had a filet mignon and chicken combo dinner, and it was expensive. I had to return to work, so I didn’t drink any alcohol. But nobody else held back. The final bill was undoubtedly substantial.

There was another group sitting with us, which I don’t like. It was a giant obnoxious woman with a bellowing voice, three shockingly-behaved kidlets, and a weird jittery woman with almost no teeth on the top. The chef kept squirting some sort of liquid straight into Snaggles’ gaping maw, and this was apparently supposed to be entertaining. Shit! I didn’t even want to look at it. Big Mama kept shouting at those kids, even though they weren’t doing anything wrong, as far as I could tell. It was quite a crew. Especially for that setting. They seemed more… Wal-Mart than expense-account sushi restaurant. Oh well.

Everything was good, though. Maybe not as good as Cracker Barrel or Five Guys. But pretty good.

What do you make of this? Yesterday I received two phone calls from a number in Mississippi. I didn’t answer them, needless to say. But both times they left a message. And it was just some sober-sounding man, all business, reciting a series of numbers. When he was finished he said, “Again…” and repeated the number sequence. At the end he said, “Thank you” and ended the call. He called twice and left the exact same message.

I saved them and thought about posting the numbers here. But I’m afraid it might activate a sleeper cell somewhere and touch off a series of international events, or somesuch. I mean, what the hell? It reminded me of these creepy-ass shortwave radio recordings. Some of them were used in a Wilco album, and for whatever reason… they scare me a little. Heh.

Any idea what the Mississippi calls might be about? It’s weird shit.

I’m off today, for no other reason than I have eight more vacation days I need to burn before the end of the year. I can carry over 40 hours, so I need to take eight days off to get down to 40 hours. It’s a horrible problem to have, I’m telling you. I also took next Friday off, and the following Monday. Toney and I are planning to take the commuter bus to NYC on Friday, have lunch somewhere, walk around for a few hours, and finish with some adult beverages at Beer Authority. Then the bus driver can haul our semi-drunken asses back to Scranton. Should be fun!

And speaking of beer, Toney and I went on a tour of the Susquehanna Brewing Company last Sunday. I talk about it at length in the new podcast, but it was fun. We decided to go on a whim, and it turned out to be a blast. It’s inside a building that looks like a boring old warehouse, inside an industrial park filled with boring old warehouses. But there’s good stuff going on in there, including a surprisingly kickass bar, open to the public. We spent time with one of the owners, and it was great. We had some good beer too.

For a Question, I’d like to know how often you “unfriend” people on Facebook. And what generally causes said unfriendings? I don’t think I’ve ever done it. I’ve gone another route with it: I’ve just unfriended Facebook itself. I rarely go on there. It’s not hyperbole when I say I kinda hate it. There are exceptions, of course. But the overall Facebook experience? No, it sucks ass. But for those of you who are still engaged… how often do you cut people off? And why? Please tell us about it in the comments.

And before I call it a day, I’ll share with you a link to the new podcast episode. Right here. It’s possibly the raggediest installment to date. Man… I was a mess, and don’t know why. Here’s the summary I wrote:

Wow! This one was a struggle. I’m not sure why, but I was having trouble stringing together sentences during this thing. There’s far more mumblin’ and stumblin’ than usual. Around the halfway point I start to get into a semi-rhythm, though. You’ll get to hear one of the rejected show intros, my reaction to a man who’s trying to earn a living via farting, a report on a tour of a local microbrewery, and other assorted nonsense. There are some laughs, I think, in spite of the performance. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you, guys!

And that’s going to do it for me. I apologize for not posting on Thursday. I was having troubles here, something to do with the podcast. Technical difficulties that ate up a bunch of my time. The thing was recorded, but there were issues with the editing, etc. Anyway, it’s the first time I’ve missed a Monday or Thursday since I vowed to never miss again. I got the podcast up before midnight, so that streak is still TECHNICALLY alive. But I’m a day late with the Surf Report. Grrr…

But I’ll be back on Monday.

I hope you guys have a great weekend!

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I’m not a tattoo kind of guy. I have no problem if somebody else wants to get one, or 27. I mean… whatever. But it’s not for me. My ass is not a canvas, thank you very much. Although there’s enough room for a mural. A tattoo artist (are they all named Snake?) might take a look at all that real estate and swoon. But, no thanks.

However, it’s fun to think about what “ink” (I’m very cool) I would’ve chosen at various times during my life. I thought I’d quickly take a shot at three specific ages, and what I suspect would’ve been my choice or choices during each period of my life. Then I’m gonna turn it over to you guys, and hope you’ll do the same.

When I was 10 I know for a fact that this, or something very similar, would’ve been my first choice. I was fully obsessed with baseball, especially the Cincinnati Reds. I went to my first game when I was nine, so I was already experiencing the mania by 10. And the thing about it? I’d still be cool with it today. God knows there could’ve been worse choices.

The only other possibility would be this one, of course. At 10 I was also fully invested in MAD magazine, and all that entailed. Including sarcastic remarks around the house, a cynical view o’ the world, etc. Ahhh… MAD always felt so right. Still does.

By the time I reached 20, I probably would’ve gone with something like this. It might be the first one I regret of my imaginary tattoos. Not that I have a problem with The Clash — I still love them, of course — it’s just the whole idea of having a band logo. Ya know? It’s fairly hack. Or am I wrong about that?

Here’s another possibility from the age of 20. Hey, I’m just basing it on my main areas of interest at the time… For some reason, I went through a period when Rolling Rock was “my beer.” I’m very embarrassed by all of it. The fact that I chose R-squared, as my friend Cambo used to call it, and that I even had a “my beer.” Stoopid. This one I would definitely regret.

And finally, at age 30 there would’ve only been one choice. In fact, it’s the only one I ever actually considered. I used to go out drinking with Mark Maynard and he’d attempt to talk me into it. He had me close a time or two. But come on… As I said, I’m not a tattoo kind of guy. I don’t think I’d COMPLETELY regret this one, though. OK, maybe. It’s hard to say.

What do you have on this? Anything? I know most 10-year-olds don’t get tattoos, but what would’ve been your choice? And keep going up by 10 years, and let us know your thoughts for each era. I could enable images in the comments here, but somebody would upload an extreme closeup of a vagina within four minutes. So, just describe it, if you don’t mind.

And before I call it a day here, I want to direct you to the latest episode of the podcast. Right here. And this is the summary:

In this one, I describe the circumstances that led to me leaving a beloved job in Greensboro, NC and moving to Atlanta — one of America’s most intimidating cities — with no means of support and a horrible apartment rented sight-unseen over the phone. During the first few weeks, I was freaking out, man! I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know.

Here’s a half-assed graphic I made for it… last night, after a few adult beverages (not Rolling Rock):Have a great day, my friends!

I’ll be back on Thursday.

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It might seem weak, but I’d go back to my hometown of Dunbar, WV and attempt to just blend in. I’m a big fan of time travel books, and sometimes movies, and have done an inordinate amount of daydreaming on the subject. And sure, there are other scenarios I’ve concocted. Like, for instance, going back and witnessing the Beatles (the Quarrymen, then) when they were 17 years old, or whatever. Or maybe the Beatles in Hamburg, Germany in 1962? You know, that kind of thing? Or there are many, many baseball-themed time travel fantasies. I’d love to see Babe Ruth play or Ty Cobb. Or maybe Johnny Bench when he was in high school?

And that night at Ford’s Theater would be interesting, don’t you think? Maybe chillin’ at the Gettysburg Address with the ol’ Railsplitter? The list would get long in a short amount of time.

But, if I had a once-only opportunity, I think I would almost certainly just go back to Dunbar in the late 1940s. After WWII, but not immediately after. Maybe 1947 or 1948. I’d have to get some clothes that would allow for the blending-in. I couldn’t go in my Magnolia Thunderpussy shirt or anything like that. Then I’d rent a room at a boarding house in town, and just walk around and soak it all in. I wouldn’t even want to sleep.

I’d probably be considered a real-life giant, and the whole town would be buzzing about the huge stranger suddenly in their midst. That would be unfortunate, and could possibly ruin the whole blending-in part of it. But I think people back then were a lot smaller. It’s amazing when I see uniforms at the Baseball Hall of Fame, from the 1930s and 1940s. They look like they’d fit modern-day middle schoolers. Same thing at the Civil War museum in Gettysburg. The clothes and uniforms are shockingly small. So, I have a feeling I’d tower over most people, and be much, much fatter. That could be a problem.

One of the things I remember most vividly about Stephen King’s great time travel novel, 11/22/63, is when the protagonist first travels to the 1950s and tastes root beer at a drug store lunch counter. He describes how great it tastes without all the additives, etc. Those are the small little moments that I’d get the biggest kick out of. I’d have to be careful not to start shouting in amazement at every tiny little thing.

Needless to say, I’d spend ample time in the local taverns. It would be weird, but I might run into my grandfather. Or grandfathers, even. I don’t know how I’d react to such a thing. But that wouldn’t be the main reason for going. I’d just like to taste the beer and talk to the people. And… again, just soak it all in. For some reason, the notion of meeting people from my family kinda scares me. I’m afraid I’d somehow fuck it all up. I don’t trust myself with such a responsibility. Ya know?

And I’d walk through every business in town, and up and down every street. It would probably be bizarre: the familiarity of it all, mixed with the big differences. But it would be amazing. I’d listen to baseball on the radio and all the programs of the day. Maybe take a day trip to Charleston, on the streetcar or whatever. It would be fantastic!

That might seem like an odd choice, but it’s the scenario I return to whenever I think about time travel. A psychiatrist might be able to get to the bottom of it… What about you? What would you do if you only had one opportunity: one week in another time. I suppose it could be in the future, although that doesn’t much appeal to me. I’m all about the past. In any case, tell us how you’d spend your week. Use the comments link.

And, by the way, one of my all-time favorite time travel books is Time and Again. It features an unfortunate sappy-ass love story, which I wish wasn’t there. But the author puts a lot of emphasis on the small little things I mentioned above, and how amazing that stuff is. The main character travels back to 1890s NYC. There was a sequel many years later, published when the writer was approximately 150 years old. I think he typed THE END, and dropped dead. It’s good too, but not as good as the original. If you have any suggestions for great time travel novels, I’d love to see those too!

And before I call it a day, here’s your Thursday podcast episode, hot off the presses. And here’s the summary:

In this loose and erratic episode I tell you about a surprising modern-day phenomenon I discovered at Target, the current seasonal mash-up we’re living through, an explanation of Bourbon Season, an attempt at some music talk without being all music nerd about it, and the time in Atlanta when a delicate Australian musician was nearly pulled off a stage for being pompous. All that, and the Whistle Dick of the Week! It’s a bit of a mess but somehow hangs together. Enjoy!

I hope you guys have a great weekend!

I’ll be back on Monday. You know, in the future? Wow… lame.

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