I think all my references are officially out of date. It feels like 80% of them are Seinfeld-based, which went off the air in 1998. But even the ones that aren’t from that show are pretty old. I was ranting at work a few days ago, for instance, and said, “Who do they think I am, Kreskin?!” Everybody just looked at me. And yesterday I asked the younger boy if he wanted to go to Arby’s for lunch. He declined, claiming it’s not healthy. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jack Lalanne,” I replied. He had no idea who I was talking about, but could tell by all the hand-waving and my expression of deep disgust what I was getting at. And while he was rolling his eyes and preparing to walk away, I added, “They have the meats, goddammit.”

So, there you go. At least that last one was fairly current. But I fear I’m viewed as a creature from a different era most of the time. When I was in Atlanta I worked with a lot of people who were roughly ten years older than me, and their dated references (“Land shark!” “Lighten up, Francis” “Well, excuuuuuse me!”) annoyed the shit out of me. Today my freshest references are generally 20 years old: probably older than the ones they were using in Atlanta. It’s disturbing. How did this happen??

I finally got a new passport photo yesterday, at Sam’s Club. It cost $4.97. The post office charges $15.00, and the one I got from AAA was $7.50. But that thing made me look like a bloated corpse they fished out of the Kanawha River. Before we got started yesterday I informed the young lady with the camera that I would need to approve the final photograph, and she said no problem. The hard woman at AAA would not allow any do-overs, but this girl seemed much more agreeable.

The first shot was not good. I looked like I’d polished off a cheese-lovers pizza, and was now experiencing catastrophic brick wall constipation. But the second one was better, and I reluctantly gave her the go-ahead. The problem: you’re not allowed to smile, or even smirk. And the lighting is horrific. Everybody comes away looking like something out of Re-Animator. And I’m going to have to live with this crap for ten years? Toney was trying to convince me to just go with the river cadaver photo, but I wouldn’t do it. I mean, seriously.

Speaking of healthy eating, I was in McDonald’s a few days ago and ordered a Quarter Pounder with cheese, no pickles. The portly lass in the petroleum-based pullover entered the info into the database, and said, “So, are you allergic to pickles?”

What do you think about that? Was she making me justify my order? Or was she telling me there’s a very good chance I’m getting pickles anyway? Perhaps she was merely curious? I’m not sure, but it annoyed me a little. Ya know? Am I too tightly-wound, or would that irritate you, as well?

Also, are some people actually allergic to pickles? I’ve never heard of such a thing.

I don’t feel great, my friends. I don’t sleep very well. I go for about four good hours, then fade in and out for the remainder of the session. I’m never completely rested. Maybe I need more exercise? Yes, that would almost certainly help. Also, I could drop fifty pounds. That wouldn’t hurt, either. It sucks.

Have you ever had trouble sleeping? How did you fix it? I’m not climbing into scuba gear before bed, thank you very much. And the thought of going to one of those “sleep clinics” freaks me out, for some reason. Somebody watching (filming?) me sleep? That’s weird, man. Especially if there’s audio. It would probably turn into some kind of underground party tape or something.

Any problems with sleep? Please tell us about it. I used to walk around in my sleep when I was a kid, but that stopped back when Kreskin was still a reasonable reference. And I used to dream (I guess) that I was awake and completely paralyzed. It was terrifying. I’d lie there trying to move, my heart hammering in my chest. Thankfully that also hasn’t happened in many years. Not a fan.

I need to go now. I’m not completely satisfied with this update, but my brain isn’t functioning very well. I’m just going to have to go with it, and try again next time.

Have a great day, boys and girls.

I’ll be back on Thursday.

Now playing in the bunker
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It was an emotional roller coaster for your corpulent correspondent on the day Petty died. When I arrived at work folks were talking about it, and I thought it must be a Facebook hoax. Right? People get sucked into those things all the time, ’cause they’re gullible and douche-infused. So, I did not react… walked to my desk… and began doing some shaky-hand investigatin’. And it was not good news, my friends.

At first they said he’d had a heart attack and was in critical condition. Then he was brain-dead and they were pulling the plug. Then he was all-the-way dead. Then he wasn’t anymore. Then he was gone for good.

The news hit me fairly hard. It was upsetting. The death of Prince was surprising, because he was so young and supposedly clean-living. And Bowie was a shock. But the sudden death of Tom Petty was the hardest to take of all the recent rock deaths. For me, anyway. I realize he was 66, but he seemed perpetually young. And check out the right-on-the-money opening paragraph in this Variety magazine tribute. It’s true. There’s nothing not to like about the man. He was unpretentious, consistently great, and relevant for 40 years.

In any case, I think I might’ve killed him, and feel terrible about it. This is a summary of my 2017 Tom Petty activity:

I launched what I called Project Petty and purchased every one of his studio albums on CD — in order of original release date. I owned a handful of his mid-period albums, from my days at WEA, but had none of the early CDs, or anything that was released after 2002 or so. I owned the early stuff on LP years ago, but never CD. The Project caused me to listen to more Tom Petty music in a tightly-compacted amount of time than during any other period of my life. And it helped me to get reacquainted with this often-overlooked gem. I didn’t realize it a year ago, but it’s one of my favorites.

I read this excellent biography and learned a lot of stuff I didn’t know. Highly recommended.

I watched this four-hour documentary on Netflix, also excellent. So many great scenes… One of the most memorable is when he’s blasting some record company weasel for not respecting Roger McGuinn enough. Tom Petty was a badass. If you haven’t seen the movie, and have an interest, don’t hesitate. It’s really great.

And finally, I went to see Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers perform in Philadelphia, on July 1. Just three months — almost to the day — before his death. Here’s a newspaper review of the show. I’d seen them once before, at the Lakewood Amphitheater in Atlanta. But this time I was fully invested, and far more sober.

So, you see, I’m thinking it might be my fault. Maybe I concentrated too much on Tom Petty this year, and it was like the sun shining through a magnifying glass, and poor Tom was the ant? Or something? …And how’s that for making it all about me? Good stuff. I should be a Facebook star!

Yesterday afternoon I went to the car wash at Sheetz, and was briefly thrown into a crisis situation. It was a warm and sunny day, so the car wash was hopping. I got in line and decided I would go with the $7 option, as soon as I reached the front o’ the queue.

After about fifteen minutes I was up-next, and paid with my debit card. I big redneck pickup truck went into the hurricane box in front of me, and the glass doors closed on both ends. And as I sat there waiting, I could see the guy maneuvering his vehicle even after the washing sequence had begun. Wotta shithead, I thought, but didn’t put too much emotion into it.

Eventually the door on the other end opened, and the truck exited. But the rear door, in front of my hood, stayed closed. What the? Then a receipt came out, saying my $7 had been refunded. And on the screen it now said ‘Car Wash Closed. Come Again.’ There were cars piled up behind me, the door was closed in front of me, and I couldn’t open my driver’s door because I was up against the payment station. I felt a slight twinge of panic. I was trapped, and claustrophobia was starting to kick in.

I picked up my cell phone, and called the Sheetz store. But it just rang and rang and rang. What the hell, man?? Would I have to call 911? Or maybe the Coast Guard? I hoped I wouldn’t snap and start trying to kick the windshield out.

Then, through the glass I could see a blurry lesbian messing around inside the car wash. I honked my horn, but it didn’t appear she’d noticed me. She meandered around, with no sense of urgency, and finally made her way to my window. “What did you do?” she asked, in an accusatory tone. Huh? I didn’t do anything, Chaz Bono. “Well, you’re going to have to wait until it reboots,” she sighed. Like I was being pushy about it. I’d said almost nothing. And car washes boot up? Who knew?

Finally the door opened, and she pointed what looked like a TV remote toward the interior. “I gave you the $12 wash for free,” she said, and walked away. There was no apology, or even a hint of humanity. Except for the freebie, I guess. She was not very friendly. Oh well.

The wash itself was pretty eventful. I’d never gone with such a high-dollar option. All kinds of shit was happening, for a long time. And at the end there was a sustained blast of air so powerful I thought my little car might tip over on its side. It was one hell of an automatic wash.

And today it rained. Pass the beer nuts.

Before I call it a day here, I’d like to know how you listen to music. I have a shelf stereo in the bunker here, but the CD player stopped working years ago. So, I’ve been using an iPod Classic, one of the big 80 gig models. I have a docking station, and run it through the stereo. It’s worked fine forever. But now the iPod is dying. It holds a charge for roughly 30 minutes, and the docking station no longer charges anything. So, I have a shitty situation on my hands.

I’ve been looking at stereos, but they’re few and far between. I was in Best Buy yesterday, and there was an old man employee who walks on a radical tilt harassing me the whole time. So, screw it. It appeared they only had about three or four stereos to choose from, anyway.

So, how do people listen to music in 2017?? The mp3, which destroyed the industry in which I worked for 20 years, is now as out of fashion as the wax cylinder. I can’t keep up! Seriously. Through what kind of apparatus do you listen to music? And it’s all streaming now? I’m very skeptical. We’re at the absolute mercy of a centralized database? What if they decide the Fleshtones or the Hoodoo Gurus are not worthy anymore? I’m just done at that point? Plus, every asshole who pays $9.99 per month has access to the same music library as me? I don’t like that, at all. I’ve spent my entire adult life amassing an amazing collection. Now everybody’s on an even playing field? Fuck that.

How do you listen to music in 2017? I was going on and on about it yesterday, to the point where Toney had had enough and we got into an honest-to-God argument. She says I’m obsessive, and ridiculous. But I need to know, dammit. I signed up for a trial membership with Spotify, and have to admit it’s pretty impressive so far. Almost like the old “every record ever recorded” bit by Robert Klein. We’ll see how it goes.

I need to go now. I’m getting a little off-track with these updates, but will make the necessary adjustments. Sorry about that.

I’ll be back on Thursday.

Have a great day, my friends!

Now playing in the bunker
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Last weekend Toney and I were walking through Sam’s Club and passed our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Half-Shirt. And we stared straight into the eyes of pure, undiluted hatred. They can’t stand me, especially, but don’t like Toney either. Sure, it’s easy (and probably prudent) to just say ‘fuck ’em.’ But I have to admit it bothers me a little. I mean, we’re not that bad. In fact, we’re pretty good. We’re quiet and stable, and create no neighborhood drama. We could have a passel of snarling pitbulls over here, and work on our 1984 Caprice in the driveway at all hours, and get credenza-shitting drunk and fight each other on the lawn while cranking the Atlanta Rhythm Section.

But they don’t approve of the fact that I don’t put lawncare at the very top of my priority list. Our yard always looks fine, but there’s is like some kind of showplace. And so, our levels of enthusiasm don’t match-up, which causes problems. He’s one of these guys who practically zig-zags around his backyard during the fall, doing shoulder-rolls and Pete Rose dives as each individual leaf floats toward the grass. We just get to ours as soon as we can, and that makes them INSANE.

Also, years ago they got it into their heads that we were responsible for their basement flooding. They said our downspouts were pointed in their direction, causing rain water to enter their house. I reminded them that the downspouts have been pointed the same direction since 1966. But they would not be convinced. One early morning they called over here and began shouting all sorts of craziness down the line, and I got pissed and ran over there. It was raining, my feet flew out from under me, and I went sliding down the hill on my back. I was wearing Dockers and a dress shirt, and was now smeared in mud from bottom to top. And Mrs. Half-Shirt and I got into a heated argument on their patio. Nothing has ever been the same, even after I paid someone to reconfigure the downspouts, to satisfy their delusions.

It’s been years now, and they won’t even acknowledge us. In fact, they’re fairly hostile. They want it to be known that they hate our guts, and are quite successful in the endeavor. I sometimes find myself altering my driving route, to avoid getting an icy stare from one of them. Other times, depending on my mood, I just smile and wave, and shout, “Top o’ the morning, Halfy!”

Whatever. It’s not a huge thing, and I rarely even think about it. But when you come face-to-face with both of them by an Oreo floor display… it’s uncomfortable. And it bothers me a little. Ya know? I don’t think I deserve to be HATED. Sheesh. I’m about as laid-back and easy as they come. Oh well.

In the comments please tell us about the worst neighbors you’ve encountered. I can’t really remember any other spectacularly bad ones, other than some upstairs apartment neighbors in Greensboro who never stopped copulating. Good god! The frequency… the tempo… the howling…. It was extremely distracting. And that was a million years ago. Do you have anything on this one? If so, please share.

And I need to get moving, my friends.

I’ll be back on Thursday.

Have a great one!

Now playing in the bunker
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A couple of things I loved that recently went away forever:

Half dotcom was a site owned by eBay, where you could buy used CDs, DVDs, and books. I bought roughly a million CDs from them through the years. They were the best, and I just recently purchased a handful of Green Day discs there. I was in one of those frenzies where I NEEDED (a powerful need) to own every album by a specific artist. So, I went to my old standby and completed the task. That was literally a few weeks ago. And now the site is gone! What in the harelipped hell?? It sincerely makes me sad. Sure, I can go to Amazon, but their prices aren’t as good, and their shipping costs are higher. Half has been a part of my life since 1999, I think. And that’s a long time.

Burger King hot dogs were the shit. They were always good — grilled and topped with chili and cheese — but the prices were way too high in the beginning. About six months ago, though, they cut ’em down to about $1.29 each, and that was the sweet spot. I was locked in, goddammit. But the other day I went through the drive-through, placed my standard order, and the woman broke the news to me: they’re gone, and they’re not coming back. She was speaking like we were at a wake. She was aware of my deep, deep fondness, and was very gentle. I didn’t break down, but it was close. There’s a hot dog-shaped hole in the middle of heart.

Another thing I love that’s gone, hopefully not forever:

Toney’s in Myrtle Beach, by herself. I remember a co-worker telling me his wife went to the beach alone, years ago, and I thought, “Well, there goes that marriage.” And I was right. Within six months they were separated, and divorced shortly thereafter. But that’s not what’s going on with me and Toney. We just can’t leave our kids alone for extended periods, on account of the hooliganism. So, we’re going by ourselves. It’s weird, I know. But there’s nothing more to it than that.

I took her to the Allentown airport yesterday morning, drove back to our little town here, had eggs and cheese at Waffle House… and she texted and said she was in Myrtle Beach. It was bizarre. It felt like I’d just dropped her off a few minutes earlier.

Her sister “Nancy” will be joining her on Saturday. We’ll see how it goes. Toney was drinking some ludicrous cocktail at noon today, so I guess she’s having a good time. She also sent me an incredible sunrise shot from the beach this morning. Me? I’m getting ready to leave for work, and will come home to some version of dumbass chaos which will make me insane and I might kick everybody out. Yes, it’s quite a life I’ve carved out for myself.

I knew a hipster girl years ago who insisted that Myrtle Beach is “the worst place on Earth.” She was one of these types. You know? Anything that everyday folks enjoy is automatically stupid? In any case, I’m going to call it a day here with a Question based on her ridiculous statement. In the comments section, please tell us what immediately jumps to your mind when you read the words “the worst place you’ve ever been.” I somehow got lost one time, and ended up in Camden, NJ. And I’m going with that. Holy shitballs! Can you do better than that? Please tell us about it. Keep it to places you’ve actually experienced firsthand, please. And if you have any recent losses to share, we’d like to hear about those, as well.

And I have to go now. Have a great day, my friends.

I’ll see you again on Monday!

Now playing in the bunker
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Here’s an excerpt from an update I wrote in early January 2017:

On Christmas Eve I installed a new light bulb in a lamp inside the bunker that will supposedly last for 22 years. Ha! I give it four months. Am I wrong? I have a backup bulb for when it burns out. But I guess I’ll be 76, so maybe my surly nurse can screw it in for me? Oh, she’ll be mouthy, but will have a heart of gold.

Well, I was wrong when I predicted it would last four months. It made it nine months. The box it came in said 22 years! Where did that number even come from? Is it based on anything, or did some whistledick in an exotic land pull it straight out of his speckled ass? Is it even possible for a light bulb to last 22 years? If so, I have a feeling it would cost more than what I paid: 99 cents at Ace Hardware.

A 99 cent light bulb that lasts 22 years would be the worst business model this side of the toothpick industry. Or the dog-eat-dog table salt racket. What everyday things do you rarely need to buy, but are crazy-cheap when you do? Help me out, won’t you? How about shampoo? I go through a bottle a year, maybe. What else?

Speaking of light bulbs, I’ve noticed in old movies (1930s/1940s) general stores, or whatever, sometimes had a screw-in bulb socket right in the top of the checkout counter, so people could test ’em out before they left the store. Apparently a lot of bulbs were duds back then, and were not exactly inexpensive. So, you could twist it in before paying, and confirm you got yourself “a good one.” I don’t know why, but I love that kind of stuff.

But, that’s enough scintillating light bulb talk… I’m off work today, for no other reason than the fact I still have 135 hours of vacation time for the year, and can only carry over 40. I’m running out of daylight, my friends. Maybe I’ll take two weeks in a row? How cool would that be? It would translate to 16 days off, while only using 10. Yeah, they’d never approve that shit. But I might take two full weeks, separately. We’ll see how it goes.

What’s your vacation time situation? I get 144 hours of PTO per year, and 40 hours of floating holiday. We can carry over 40 hours of PTO only. When I left Warner Home Video in 2007 I had 500 hours of PTO, which was the most they’d allow you to have on account. If I wasn’t capped-out, I’m sure it would’ve been higher. It was nice when they paid me for all that, but something got screwed up and the IRS came after us. Years after the fact… So, there you go. What appears to be a silver lining is sometimes a knife blade, waiting to lop your wiener off. Pass the beer nuts.

Over the weekend Toney and I were in a Home Goods store, and they had a pepper grinder that was — I’m not exaggerating — four or five feet tall. I asked her to snap a photo of me holding it, and when she handed me back my phone here’s the precious memory she’d captured. WTF?? Not only is it a mind-boggling failure, in terms of photography, but also wildly unflattering. I just stood there looking at my phone and blinking for a long time. I don’t understand a lot of things, and this is one of them.

Speaking of Toney and vacations… she’s going to fly to Myrtle Beach this weekend, by herself. Remember when I went to Long Beach Island alone, back in May? Well, this is her side of the bargain. It feels a little weird, but she deserves some downtime, that’s for sure. And we still can’t go off and leave these two hooligans alone. Well, we could. But when we returned there would probably be a big black circle on the ground where our house used to be. I wish they’d grow up already. Sweet sainted mother of Cool Papa Bell! But anyway… she’s going to the beach and I’m going to try to keep a lid on this place for a few days. Wish us all luck! Especially me.

There was an insert in yesterday’s newspaper showing the results of a wide-ranging reader’s poll that I did not participate in or even know about. You know what I mean… Best seafood restaurant (Cooper’s), best craft beer selection (Backyard Ale House), best grocery store (Gerrity’s) etc. Most of it’s standard stuff. However, a few of the categories were a little bizarre in my opinion. Like best cancer center. Seriously? And best local sweet corn. What in the hell? Best basement waterproofing? It’s weird stuff, right? How about best sun porch builder? Best drug/alcohol treatment center? Best paving contractor? It’s some of the strangest stuff I’ve seen in the local paper since the Helen Keller fashion show. Or this bizarreness:

I’ve always said this place feels like a foreign country. It is very odd. The people are more cynical and angrier than anywhere I’ve lived. And I feel like it’s either seeping into me, or just the natural progression of a curmudgeonly son of a bitch. Nature or nurture? Who the fuck knows? But Toney and I have a plan to get out. I’m glad we raised our kids here, it’s better than Atlanta or Los Angeles in that regard, but now they’re raised. On paper, anyway. We have no connection to the place, whatsoever. Over the next couple of years we’re going to scope some places out, and make the move southward. We’ll prepare the house for sale, zero in on a specific location, and shake everything up. It’s exciting, just the thought of it. And God knows we’ve done it before. Several times. What kind of changes do you realistically see for yourself between now and, say, 2020? Anything big? Please tell us about it in the comments.

And I’m going to call it a day, my friends.

I have to take Toney to the airport on Thursday morning, so I might not update again until Friday. We’ll see how it goes.

In any case, have a good one!

Now playing in the bunker
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