Daily

On Sunday the website was down for several hours.  I sent two or three emails to my hosting company, and called their 800 number as well.  …Crickets!  Nothing but crickets.

Finally, it rose from the dead, but the OLD homepage was displaying.  From, like, a year ago.  So it looked like shit, and also appeared that I hadn’t updated the site since July of 2008.

I was about to have a stroke.

Another email was sent, this one a little more… asshole, and I got a response saying the hardware of the server had been upgraded.  They’d fix the homepage issue, they promised, and all should be right with the world.

They did, and I thought I was back in business.  But when I tried to change the Further Evidence link this morning, I got a message saying I didn’t have permission to perform that function.  I don’t have permission??  It’s mine!  I own it!!

When I checked the WordPress site there was a warning telling me I’d better not screw around with “permissions” unless I damn sure know what I’m doing.  And, needless to say, I don’t know nothing about nothing.

This kind of stuff makes me insane, way past the point of a rational reaction.  Be glad you’re not here right now.  I’m howling at the freakin’ moon; I’d probably try to stab you with a Johnny Bench statuette.

Toney somehow got her hands on a $50 gift certificate for the yuppie bar, and we decided to have dinner there on Friday evening.

When we first moved to this musky neck of the woods, the yuppie bar was a great shithole-dive, called John K’s Pub.  I liked the sound of it, and started hanging around there a little.  It was a dump, but the burgers and hotdogs were good, and they had Yuengling for two bucks a pint.

Then it was abruptly closed by government officials.  I heard two stories:  tax problems and health department issues.  Both scenarios were fully believable, and it made me sad.

A few months later we saw people doing massive renovations on the place.  It looked like they were gutting it, full-on.  Then it reopened as a fancy bar/restaurant, with hanging plants, candles, and glass tabletops.  John K was spinning in his grave…

But Toney and I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, and went there for lunch on a Saturday.  And the menu was full of weird shit nobody eats, like duck tacos, and water cress salad in a braised kangaroo pouch.  Or whatever.

And when nobody was looking we sneaked out the side door…

After about six months, though, we heard they’d normalized their menu a bit.  Apparently nobody wanted the bizarre stuff, and they were forced to start selling steaks and regular-people food.  Still a tad “pinkies-out,” but not as bad as the early days.

We hadn’t been back for a meal, since the first time.  But we started going there for beer and appetizers, and the food seemed pretty good.  When Toney received a gift certificate from her employer, I was looking forward to giving them a deserved second-chance.

We started with beer and pierogies.  I had a Newcastle, and Toney went with Sam Adams.  The pierogies were great, almost as good as the first time we had them there.

And for dinner I ordered the New York Strip.  There were lots of things on the menu that seemed interesting, but most had something in the description that disqualified it.  Like “garlic,” or “fennel.”  Toney went with the salmon.

Here’s what I was served.  I ordered the steak “medium,” but I think it was a little closer to “well.”  No big deal.  And those are sweet potato fries underneath, covered in sea salt.  That little bowl contained some sort of creamed spinach, which tasted better than it looks.  I don’t eat asparagus, so I can’t tell you anything about that.

And I don’t think I was supposed to eat the flower.  It didn’t taste very good…  Heh.

But everything else was excellent.  We had our dinners, an appetizer, three beers each, and the check was $73.  But the gift certificate took the edge off that, nicely.

It was a good beginning to a great weekend.  Which I’ll tell you more about, tomorrow.

I’ll leave you now with a Question that came to me while folding an enormous pair of underwear a few days ago…  What one thing about you would some people find to be a bit odd?

Like, for instance, the fact that I still do all my own laundry.  Toney does hers and the boys’ stuff, but I’ve always washed my own clothes.

It started, you see, when we lived together, a hundred years ago.  I took my nasty stuff to the laundromat when I could, and she did the same.  And I just never stopped doing my own laundry.  It’s not some grand statement, or anything, it just started that way, and never stopped.

So, that’s your assignment:  tell us one thing about yourself that some people might find to be a bit… unusual.

And hopefully I’ll be able to focus better tomorrow.

See ya then.

…Oh, and by the way, I can’t add a picture to this update, either.  Everything’s jacked-up!  I’d settled down a litte, but now I’m cranking again!!

Now playing in the bunker.

I have a 36 mile commute to work, and it took 1 hour, 25 minutes for me to get there on Monday.  I was massively late, and so agitated I almost blew a hole in the side of my brain.

The next two days I tested alternate routes, and both were only slightly better.

I’ve lived in Atlanta and Los Angeles County, and this place is just as bad.  Not because of the number of cars on the road, but because of “construction.”  Continuous, unceasing “construction…”

My blood pressure is spiking, just thinking about it.  I feel like going to Target, and throwing haymakers at complete strangers.  …I almost said Wal-Mart, but I’d probably get my ass kicked in there.

I’m fairly confident I could take the average Target shopper, though.

A few days ago our cable service stopped working on the Big Ass Television (BAT).  Well, to be more precise, all channels above 13 stopped working…  Just downstairs, though; the TV in the living room was somehow unaffected.

Fearing the worst, we (Toney) called Comcast.  And they tried to fix it remotely, which didn’t work.  So, they said they’d have to send someone out.

We haven’t experienced too many bumps in the road since Adelphia went away; Comcast has been shockingly reliable, with both TV and internet.  But I know how these outfits operate…  I figured we’d have to wait a week before they had an opening, and got pissed in advance.

But they said, “How’s 8 AM tomorrow morning work for you?”  I couldn’t believe it.  I realize it’s not fashionable to praise your cable company, but Comcast has been great.  Expensive, but great.

And while I prefer cheap but great (the Clive Bull full-show podcast), or even free and great (WordPress),  I’ll gladly settle for expensive but great (Comcast).  Ya know?

What would you list in those three categories?  Do you have one for each?  Use the comments section to bring us up to date.

I know I’m jinxing myself, and being completely foolish here, but it’s already July and we haven’t had to use any of the Soviet humbox air conditioners yet.  All twenty of them (or whatever) are still stacked in the basement.  It’s been an unusually mild summer, and I’ll take it.  In fact, it’s a little chilly right now.  How great is that?

But, of course, now that I’ve spoken about it, all hell will break loose.  Within days it’ll be as if we’re living deep inside Ernest Borgnine’s butt crack.

Yes, it’s best to keep some thoughts to ourselves.

Wanna see something strange?  Why, of course you do.  My friend Tim mailed me a brochure a few days ago, advertising Ripley’s Aquarium in the Smoky Mountains, and their new summer exhibit.  Check it out.

Tim included a post-it note with the following written on it:  “Come one!  Come all!!  See the little babies as they struggle for each breath.”

Is that some weird shit, or what?  What will they have next year?  Polio victims?  The Lighter Side of Dementia?   People who communicate through a microphone pressed to a neck hole?

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

And Brad sent me a funny link a few nights ago.  This one.  I thought some of you might get a kick out of “Ryan Jensen’s” impressive accomplishment.

Do you have any scars?  My knees are all jacked-up from various childhood shenanigans.  And I have a scar on the pointer finger on my left hand, from an old paper route injury.  But that’s all I have to offer, I’m ashamed to admit.  What about you?

…Yes, scars.  That’s what it’s come to.  Do we have a problem?

This month’s Best Beer of All-Time:  Stone Brewing IPA.  God, I wish I had one right now.  They’re nothing short of fantastic.  Indeed, it’s the Best Beer of All-Time (July).

I’m not very good at doing accents.  I start out OK, but always drift Chinese.  If I’m trying to imitate an Indian customer service person, for instance, I sound Indian for a few seconds, then lapse into the voice of a ball-busting Chinese man who worked at a laundromat in Greensboro years ago:

“You marrie?!  Hahahaha!  You nee wife!!  You goddamn pathetic.  Hahahahaha!!”

Every single time.  The man haunts me in my soul…

And I’ll close out this disjointed mess with one more Question:  Do you still read a daily newspaper?  If so, which one?  What sections?  What features keep you going back?

I’ve never been a big newspaper reader, I’m afraid.  I used to follow the baseball standings, and checked out the box scores, etc.  But I don’t even do that much anymore.  I get all my info via the internet.

Toney, on the other hand, still reads the paper front to back, like it’s 1978.  She knows all the local scuttlebutt, and I know nothing.  I envy her focus, but I just can’t do it.

What about you?  Do you still read a physical daily paper, made of paper?  Tell us about it.

And I’m going to Best Buy now, to purchase the new Wilco album, entitled Wilco (The Album).  You guys have yourselves a great weekend.

I’ll see you on Monday.

Now playing in the bunker.

Yesterday I posted an article about the death of Scott Baio at Mockable, and the sky immediately turned black and all hell broke loose.

Maybe the Big Guy didn’t care for my “humor?”  I don’t know, but for a few minutes I thought we might have a situation on our hands.  I was about to order the Secrets into bathtubs, with mattresses over the top.

The wind was howling, it was raining sideways (sometimes up), and I could hear lightning.  Know what I mean?  I’m not talking about thunder.  I mean everything was happening so close, I could actually hear the lightning crackling and whatnot.  And I can’t have that.

So, that’s why there was no Tuesday update.  I believe I was issued a warning from Home Office.  Our internet completely shit the bed, as did our cable service, and all the clocks said it was noon, then nothing, then noon again, then nothing…

I apologize to everyone living in the greater Scranton area.  I take full responsibility.  I will never again make a joke at Scott Baio’s expense.  Sheesh.

On Monday Toney told me she wasn’t able to pack me a lunch for work.  She said I could either do it myself, or just buy something.

So, I was driving to McDonald’s on my lunch break…

I was planning to buy one of their fake Chick-fil-A samliches, which is better than it has a right to be, and a $1 tankard of sweet tea.  Mmmmm…  It was going to be very good indeed.

But it was gone!  The McDonald’s, I mean.  It wasn’t there anymore!!  The whole damn thing.  Where it had stood, just a few days before, there was now an open field with a dark spot in the middle.  What in the knuckle-cracking hell?!

It was a disconcerting experience.  If you can’t rely on McDonald’s in this world, what’s left?  They’re as predictable and consistent as it gets.  And the whole freaking building was gone!

Sweating and hyperventilating, I drove past the black spot, looking for a quickie alternative.  Off in the distance I spotted a KFC/A&W hybrid, and decided it would have to do.  Even though I’m not really a fan…

Wotta shithole.  The cashiers were surly, and sporting questionable dentistry solutions.  The place was also filthy, and in a state of decline.

I ordered one of their “famous bowls,” because I kinda liked the one I tried before, and went looking for a place to sit.  And most of the tables were covered in garbage (fucking pigs), or smeared with questionable sauces and/or bodily fluids.

I headed toward a booth in the corner, and one of the bench seats was gone.  Missing completely:  wtf?  And the other one had a gaping hole in it, with stuffing and gnarled metal inside.

Some guy was sitting a few feet away (in front of a box with “$5!” printed on the side), all hunched-up like a gargoyle.  The dude was stripping a chicken breast all the way down to its basic infrastructure.  And there was no way I was sitting near him…  It was like something off Silence of the Lambs.

I finally located an acceptable table, and sat down with my four pound mixing bowl of sodium and fat.  And it was edible, but not nearly as tasty as I remembered.

While I choked it down, a parade of Harbor Freight customers went past.  There were screaming dumplin’ children with buzzcuts and muscle shirts, flabby mommas with leg tattoos, dads who couldn’t have possibly seen their feet or penises in decades, and dipshit idiots in their twenties dressed like Eminem, circa 1997.

As I was leaving, an enormous pickup truck rolled onto the parking lot, shaking the earth with its engine and exhaust system.  The behemoth parked, and when the driver door opened a step came down.  I’d never seen that before…  Fancy.

What kind of neighborhood was this, anyway?  I should’ve just slapped some turkey between two slices of bread, and stored it in a padded box — like everybody else at my job.  I wasn’t aware we worked next-door to Six Flags Over Scary White Trash.

But now I know.

What’s the worst fast food experience of your life?  How’s that for a Question?  Tell us about it in the comments, won’t you?  And don’t leave out any of the details of filth and degradation.  We need it all.

I’ll leave you now with a picture of the younger Secret sporting one of our new t-shirts.  Right here.  Pretty great-looking, huh?  I think it might possibly be the best one we’ve ever done.

I’ll be back tomorrow, with a big ol’ End of Week Topic Dump.

See ya then!

Now playing in the bunker.

How many actual albums did Michael Jackson release during the past thirty years?  Three?  Four?  Hell, he’s only a few ahead of me, and I’ve been sitting around eating Funyuns and power-farting into upholstery my entire adult life.

In any case, it’s been a bad couple of weeks for celebs, hasn’t it?  Maude, Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Sky Saxon, Billy Mays, Scott Baio…  Who am I missing?

I liked Ed, a lot; he and Johnny were the classiest, and the best.  Maude scared me a little; I think she could palm a basketball.  It was hard not to like Farrah; she provided, um, fuel for an entire generation of boys, worldwide.

Michael Jackson released some great singles, but I was never a huge fan; I probably own more than 10,000 albums and CDs, and not one is by MJ.  Sky Saxon was one of the 1960s acid casualty musicians; I own two CDs by his old band, The Seeds.

I hope Billy Mays’ denim shirt and beard are on their way to the Smithsonian, as we speak; he seemed like a good guy.  And Scott Baio hasn’t died, as far as I know; I just listed him as a “joke.”

Agree with my quickie reviews of the recently deceased?  Tell us about it, in the comments.

On Friday the family, plus one, went to Knoebels amusement park.  And it was a great time, as usual.  Well, after we extracted ourselves from the Interstate 81 cluster-copulation, that is…

For roughly an hour we were either sitting still, completely, or inching forward so slowly the speedometer couldn’t read it.  I hate I-81, it’s the devil’s parkway.  I think the state of Pennsylvania just uses it as a jobs program, putting people to work doing “repairs” to stretches of road that don’t need fixin’.

But after that high-aggravation, we jumped onto I-80, and it was smoove sailing.  Before we knew it, we were walking into the greatness that is Knoebels.  God, that place is awesome…

It’s like going back in time to, say, 1965 or so.  But everything is clean and well-maintained, and you never feel like you’re putting your kids at risk.  It might be “vintage,” but it’s no K-Mart parking lot carnival.

Their food is also shockingly good.  During the day I had cheese fries, a “Southern Style” barbecue sandwich, a sweet tea slushie type of deal, three perogies, and an ice cream cone (Moose Tracks).

And all took up residency under the heading of yum.

The boys don’t really need our help with anything anymore, so they were off on their own most of the time.  Therefore, I didn’t ride as many things as I usually do.  (Too busy eating.)  But I went on the Phoenix roller coaster, and I think they had the speed all cranked-up on that thing.

You know how you practically come to a stop at the top of the first big hill of a coaster?  Then you creep over the top, and all hell breaks loose?  Well, on Friday we went sailing over that peak, without even a hint of slow-down.

It was crazy.  The thing was careening around the corners, and it felt like the fillings were about to fall out of my teeth.  I’ve probably been on that ride twenty times, and it’s never moved so fast.  I was mildly concerned.

But it was a great day.  While we were driving home, the younger Secret said, “Can we go again tomorrow?!”  It always leaves you wanting more.

The older Secret brought a friend whose mother is a little on the Nancy side of the spectrum.  She doesn’t let him eat garbage and crap, and everything’s gotta be a learning experience.  Therefore, he loves going places with us…

I think he had four bottles of root beer, a couple hot dogs, a wheelbarrow full of candy, and a family-sized serving of macaroni and cheese for dinner, at Cracker Barrel.  His mother would’ve had a stroke, but I think he had more fun than any of us.

I took a bunch of pictures during the day, but this is the only one I really like.

What did you do over the weekend?  Anything exciting?  Tell us about it, won’t you?  Use the comments link below.

And I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker.

Last weekend we were pulling into the Sam’s Club parking lot, when Toney’s cell phone started ringing.  “Probably Sunshine,” she sighed, and grabbed it from her purse.  But it wasn’t Sunny, it was… me.

That’s right, her phone said I was calling from my phone.  But I was sitting right beside her, probably going on and on about something nobody cared about, and singing along to Hall & Oates’ Greatest Hits like a retard with a toothache.

WTS?!  Where was my phone, anyway?  It’s usually on the console while I drive, but it wasn’t there.  Immediately I thought I’d lost it somewhere, and some good Samaritan was trying to track me down by calling numbers in my directory.

Toney answered, but nobody was on the other end of the line.  Then I remembered I’d put the phone inside my back pocket, while walking around Target.  And when I did a pat-down of my ass, that’s where I found it.

We thought that was a riot, my butt cheeks giving Toney a call.  But when we parked I looked at recent numbers dialed, and learned that my ass had also called Bill in WV, my brother near Pittsburgh, and a guy named Joe at my old job in California.

And the weird part?  The one to Joe had lasted for over four minutes!  Apparently he and my ass have a lot in common?  Of course I knew this on a subconscious level, but didn’t completely put it together until last Saturday.

The younger Secret and I were in my car (again) this morning, and I’d left a Fleetwood Mac CD in the player by mistake.  And, as always, he howled in protest:  “Aaaaahhh! ‘70s crap-music!!”  For a person born in late 1998, he sure has picked-up a lot of strong opinions…  Sheesh.

I told him he needed to give the band another chance, and tried to provide a little history and background.  And here’s what he said:

“So, let me get this straight?  Stevie is a girl, and Lindsey is a boy?  I rest my case.”

Yes, the younger Secret will be taking over the Surf Report someday.  The site is secure for another sixty or seventy years, I believe.  Because he’s me, reincarnated, before I’ve even had a chance to die.

And speaking of TheWVSR, here are three things I’ve learned since starting it:

1.  How to correctly spell diarrhea, without cheating.
2.  It’s “far be it from me,” and not “far be it for me.”
3.  It never pays to bring up politics, religion, or chili.

And since I mentioned cell phones…  I hate mine.  I did an inordinate amount of advance research, but still picked out a turd.  It’s the first generation LG enV, and I really don’t like the thing.

I called Verizon to see if I have any upgrade options, and it looks like I’m stuck with this dog until March 2010.  Unless, of course, I want to buy a new phone at full retail cost.

Have you ever been in this kind of situation, where you’re locked into a contract, but hate your phone?  What did you do?  Buy one off eBay?  What?  Help me out, won’t you?

My mother had knee-replacement surgery this afternoon.  She’s been limping around for almost a year, and wouldn’t go to the doctor.  But my Dad finally insisted, and they said her factory-installed knee was shot.

I know that kind of surgery is extremely common now, with very little risk, but I was on pins and needles all day.  I don’t like my parents being put to sleep, and somebody carving holes in them.  Ya know?

But she’s reportedly doing fine.  I don’t envy her next few days, but I’m sure she’ll come through it OK.  She’s far more courageous than I am.

There’s a guy at my job who looks EXACTLY like Babe Ruth.  I’m not kidding.  When I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, I instantly think, “Holy shit, it’s the Bambino!”

Do you have any “celebrities” at your place of employment?  How about around your town?  Have you ever run into “Jackie Gleason” at Wendy’s, or “Dwight D. Eisenhower” in the cereal aisle at the grocery store?  Tell us about it, won’t you?

And finally, a follow-up to yesterday’s story about the girl with blue skin…

If you’ll remember, a woman I know has a sixteen year old daughter whose skin started turning blue, for reasons unknown.  They took her to at least two doctors, and everyone was stumped.

The final doctor, a big-time specialist, thought she might have contracted an ultra-rare disease which makes a person literally change colors.

But the mother finally solved the mystery.

It seems the girl had been using some kind of spray-on tanning solution (tan in a can), and sleeping on new (blue) sheets.  The color bled into her skin, and literally changed the tone of it.  It wasn’t just on the surface, the shit was blue all the way down!

So, there ya go.  That’s what happened to the teenage girl with the blue skin.

And I’m calling it a week here.  I just found out Michael Jackson died on the same day Farrah Fawcett bought it, and I’m completely distraught…  What’s next, Scott Baio??  These things happen in threes, you know.

Wonder if they were able to save the nose, at least?  I’m picturing it in a laboratory somewhere, still breathing.

I’ll see you guys on Monday.

Currently in the trunk of my car.