Friday

Toney went to the grocery store before I even climbed out of bed, and was spinning fantastic tales of teeming crowds and impossible traffic upon her return.  I’d wanted to go to Border’s books today, mostly to get out of the house, but also to look for a Bentley Little novel or two.

“You don’t want to do it,” she said, “I’m serious, you don’t want to go anywhere near that mall.”

I’ve been known to take such proclamations as a challenge, but something in her voice, and the rate of profanity being used in the horror stories, told me I’d be wise to heed her warning.

But, what were we going to do?  Stay home all day – again?!  It’s nice as an occasional novelty, but I’m not wired for such things on a regular basis.  I’d lose my mind if I didn’t at least get out for an hour or two.  The walls were closing in on me, maaan.

“Well, let’s go somewhere for lunch,” I said.

“We can’t eat every meal in a restaurant, like Woody Allen,” Toney said.

“Not every meal, just the next one,” I answered.

So, we ended up going to Bennigan’s, which is nowhere near the mall.  I had the American burger (damn right!) and it was excellent.  That place is wildly inconsistent, but I hit the jackpot on Friday.  ‘Cause the shit was good.

And even though it was the only time I was outside the house all day, it was enough.  When we got home the mild panic I’d been feeling was gone, and I was able to embrace another afternoon of fat-pants sloth.

I finished a super-secret update for VIPs, sent out the email, spent some of my birfday money at Amazon (I bought all eleven 2 for $10 CDs I’d been eyeing), and also used up some of my preliminary downloads at the excruciatingly hip eMusic.

So, on the same day I ordered both Billy Joel, The Stranger, and In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel.  And how’s that for diversity?

At eMusic I also picked up the Bon Iver album, and the new solo record by Glenn Mercer, from the late, great Feelies.  Oh yeah.

We had homemade beef stew for dinner, enjoyed a little bourbon afterwards, then drank a few Sierra Nevadas while polishing off the last two episodes of Mad Men season one.  And here’s my in-depth review of that show:  good, not great.  Am I wrong about it?

Saturday

No way I was staying inside for a third day, it was simply out of the question.  The Secrets were lobbying for Chinese food for lunch, and Toney tried to resist.  But it sounded mighty good to me too, so she threw up her hands in defeat.

“This has got to stop,” she said.

“After this meal,” I assured her.

So we had, as my Dad derisively calls it, fish heads and rice, then went to Border’s, finally.  There I bought The Academy, the new one by Bentley Little, a copy of The Black Dahlia for $2.99 off the bargain table, and a book about the Beatles for the Secrets.

Somebody in the comments recommended The Return, and I was thinking about buying it as well.  But the only copy they had on their shelves looked like someone had swallowed it whole, then shit it out.  So, I opted to hold off.

I also noticed an expensive coffee table book about the Clash, and could actually feel Joe Strummer spinning in his grave.  And they had an interesting book of posters reproduced from old issues of Mad magazine.  But I flipped through it, and saw nothing I can’t live without.

Whatever.

Sunday would be my birthday, and also the kick-off of another work week.  So, Toney suggested we return to the bar at Cooper’s on Saturday, for a couple of celebratory snob-beers.  Needless to say, I agreed without hesitation.

So, on our way home we stopped at Blockbuster (I hadn’t been inside that place in a year), and told the boys to pick a movie to watch while we were out.  They went with Drillbit Taylor (who the hell knows?), and Toney and I left for our allotted two beers each.

And here’s the current lineup of drafts at Cooper’s.  I started with a Victory Hop Devil on the hand-pump, then a Corsendock Abbey Pale Ale.  The latter was served to me in something along the lines of a martini glass, and wasn’t nearly as tasty as the former.

We checked on the boys a couple of times, and they were doing fine, so I suggested we stop at another bar near our house, for “one more.”  There I had a Guinness, and Toney chose a Sierra Nevada.

It was fun.  For years Toney and I couldn’t go places alone, unless someone trustworthy was visiting and could watch the kids.  Only recently have we been able to sneak away on Saturdays, and it’s almost like the Atlanta years, concentrated down to one-hour clumps.

After dinner we played Nickelodeon Scene It with the Secrets, and I know way too much about that stuff.  I’m no expert, but am pretty damn close.  It’s been seeping into my brain, almost non-stop, for almost thirteen years now.  Oh, I know me some Nickelodeon.

And after everyone called it a night, I stayed up and watched 24: Redemption off the DVR.  Again:  good, not great.  Any opinions on that one?  I liked that they took the action out of L.A., and it had its moments.  But not enough of ’em, I think.  Agree, or disagree?

Sunday‘s not really worth documenting, because nothing happened, then I went to work.  I turned 46 that day, which concerns me.  Forty-six!?  How did it happen so quickly?  Holy shit on a handrail!!  And just as every one of my teachers told my mother, I’m still tragically immature and not living up to my potential.

But there’s something to be said for consistency, right?

Yep, that was the weekend, in two scoops.  Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the best $10 I’ve spent lately, my pending return to the classroom, and a conversation with the T-Shirt Lady.

And this time I won’t make any 3 am promises, that can so easily be derailed (as Phil Hendrie might put it) by skull-hammering doucheness.

See ya tomorrow, my friends.

Surf Report shirts available momentarily!

The hyper-extended holiday weekend was very fine indeed.  Thanks for asking.  It actually felt like four and a half days away from work, without being dull or excruciating.  And that’s a difficult thing to achieve, I’ve learned.  It either flies by in a whirlwind of chaos, or bogs down in painful douchebaggery.

But this one was just right.  I’m actually somewhat rested this morning, and my complain-o-meter has leveled off at GUARDED, which is lower than normal.  So, I must declare the weekend a success.

Here’s a brief run-down of events, in case you’re interested…

Wednesday

I was in the best of moods, because we were at the front edge of several days off in a row.  And is there a better feeling?  I submit that there is not.

In the morning I wrote the Surf Report update (which may have contained a version of the previous paragraph), and took the younglings out to lunch in the afternoon.

I told them to pick a place, and they went with TGI Friday’s.  And I said, “OK, Burger King it is!”  I mean, what am I, Ted Turner here?  Both of ’em would’ve ordered the Fred Flintstone rack of ribs, along with a fifty dollar check at the end of the meal.

Toney got home around four o’clock, and we were going to go to Ret Lopster for dinner (with the help of a gift certificate), before she and the older Secret went to swimming practice.  Toney’s involved with the team and had “deck duty” that night, so we had to be finished by six.

But it was not to be.  The traffic was almost biblical, the Red Lobster parking lot was completely maxed-out (I thought the economy was in the shitter?!), and people were waiting outside to get in.  So, that was out.

We decided to go to Five Guys instead, but Toney wanted to stop at Wegmans first.  I went in with her, to peruse their kick-ass microbrew selection, and ended up buying a six-pack of Rogue Dead Guy Ale.

While we were in the store the older Secret received a call from one of his hooligan friends, asking if he wanted to go to a movie with a bunch of other hooligans.  He couldn’t go, because of swimming, and sulked about it through dinner.

When Toney got home from the pool, we broke into the Dead Guys, and they were worth every cent I paid for them.  And I’d paid a lot of cents.  Sweet Maria!

Thursday

On Thanksgiving none of us left the house, literally.  In fact, I don’t think I even took off my fat pants.  It was fantastic!

The Macy’s parade was on TV while I slurped Five O’Clock coffee from an enormous Warner Bros. Studio mug, and worked my way through a pile of Black Friday newspaper ads.

Did any of you see the Special Needs Color Guard perform during the parade, by any chance?  Um, just wondering.

I found almost literally nothing I wanted to buy in the ads.  Sure, I was mildly interested in one of these, but finally decided against it.  I think it was in the Macy’s ad, but I’m not sure.

In the afternoon I brought the laptop upstairs to the dining room, and loaded dozens and dozens of CDs onto the Big iPod.  Including my sizable Robyn Hitchcock collection, which is, you know, sizable.

Toney talked to Sunshine before dinner, and she went off on another of her crackpot rants.  She now believes Obama is planning to cut off all medicine to old people, and the ones who don’t die as a result will be rounded up and held in concentration camps.

You think I’m joking?  Oh, you’d be mistaken on that count.

Toney prepared a big holiday spread, including a boneless turkey breast (no ribcage or “cavity” this year), and two pies to choose from.  She made pumpkin (for everybody but me), and blueberry (for me).

I’m a longtime fan of blueberry pie, as well as lemon meringue.  What are your favorites?  And which ones can’t you stand?  In that category for me is pumpkin (never could get into it), and sweet-ass pecan pie (blecch).

And I’m not going to get this one done, dammit.  I’ll post the second half at 3 am.  How’s that?

So, in addition to the pie question, I’d like to know if you bought anything on Friday, as a result of the massive newspaper ad carpet-bombing attack?  I bought nothing, and didn’t see anything that even mildly piqued my interest.  It’s bizarre (something usually sucks me in), but true.

Also, did anything exciting happen on Thanksgiving, during your family get-togethers?  We’d like to know about that, as well.  Use the handy comments link.

And that’s all I can do; this day’s running away from me.

So, until the middle of the night…

Now playing in the bunker.

I was rooting through the kitchen pantry a few minutes ago, looking for something (anything!) to eat, and came across this little gem.  Gee, wonder who left it behind?  I’m baffled, baffled I tell ya!

Where would a person even buy such an item?  Mail order?  At the bulk raisin hemp sack store?  Off sea-of-hair dotcom?  I simply don’t know.

Curious, Toney prepared this so-called Peace Pasta, and proclaimed it “not bad.”  She tried to talk me into trying a spoonful, but I refused.  For one thing, there was a distinct hint of garlic in the air.  Plus… I wouldn’t be able to face myself in the mirror.  There’s a peace-sign flashing bunny on the box, for god’s sake!

No, I think I’d much prefer Pandemonium Shells, Anarchy Manicotti, or a big serving of Mayhem Macaroni.  Ya know?

Do you have anything unusual in your food cabinet, buried way back in the back?  Why not take a look, and report back to us?  Because it’s very important that we know.

Surf Report shirts available momentarily!

We’re not going to West Virginia for Thanksgiving.  The weather isn’t cooperating, traffic would be horrendous, and the whole thing just seems like a cluster-copulation in the making.  So, when my mother called yesterday, requesting a final decision, I gave her the bad news.

Toney’s been checking the weather obsessively.  And every time she’s shown me the forecasted map of the U.S., during our proposed drive-time, it’s looked like someone stuck a big maxi-pad over everything between Scranton, PA and Charleston, WV.  The maxi-pad of foul weather.  With wings

So, funk dat.  I feel kinda guilty about pooftering-out on it, but am also looking forward to several days of no work, and no obligations.  Oh yeah.

I took today off, and am now at the front edge of a big super-sized holiday weekend.  And is there a better good mood-generator than that?  I submit that there is not.

Yesterday I linked to a really good music sale at Amazon, and last night spent some quality time with it.  And here’s my list of 2 for $10 CDs I’m thinking about buying:

The Clash, London Calling (a remastered upgrade of The Greatest Album Ever Recorded)

The first two Boston albums (good for days when I want to go careening down country roads with a warm 8-pack of Falls City beer on the floorboard)

Donovan, Greatest Hits (what of it?)

Billy Joel, The Stranger (I thought it was the shit when I was in Junior High, and am hoping it won’t take me back to those painful, painful days)

Elton John, Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only The Piano Player (I’m in the process of buying all the 70s Elton CDs, and this is the only one in the sale I don’t already have)

The Clash, Combat Rock (I’ve never owned it on CD)

Cheap Trick at Budokan (I burned myself out on it during the days of wine and vinyl, and never felt a powerful urge to upgrade to compact disc)

Donnie Iris, 20th Century Masters (love is like a rock, dammit)

New York Dolls (the fact that I’ve made it to such an advanced, decrepit age without buying this one on CD is fairly amazing, but there ya go)

Wall of Voodoo, Call of the West (I have a soft spot in my beleaguered heart for Stan Ridgway, and was forced to defend him back in the day, when smart-asses called his band Wall of Doodoo)

That’s eleven CDs, and I probably won’t get them all.  But you never know.  After a few highballs this evening I might pull the trigger on it.  We’ll see how it goes.

Did you see anything that interested you?  I think it’s a damn good deal, especially if you get enough of ’em to qualify for free shipping.

Upon closer inspection, I already had all the Tom Waits CDs they’re offering, and the 60’s Dylan, as well.  But they’re classics.  Classics, I tell ya.

And since I’m going on and on with music procurement talk, someone suggested in the comments that I check out a download service called eMusic.  So I did, and I’m going to give them a shot.

It’s all indie stuff, no major labels, and for $11.99 I’ll get to choose 80 songs during the first month.  Eighty!

And they’ve got loads of greatness to choose from.  Like Arcade Fire, Spoon, early Dinosaur Jr., Guided by Voices, Sloan, The Fall, Flat Duo Jets, the Bottle Rockets, etc. etc.  And they even have one of my favorite 1977 punk albums, by the Adverts.

I’m not too thrilled about spending $11.99 per month, so I don’t know how long I’ll stick with them.  But I might end up loving ’em, and finding it difficult to cut the cord.  In fact, that’s probably the way it’ll go…

Oh, and can you tell I’m flush with birfday money?  It’s true, my parents sent me a check, and it’s all going into music this year.  Music, and a couple Bentley Little books.

Yes, I know I’m in my early sixties (or whatever), but I still love the birthday check.  I can spend it on anything I want, and just be completely selfish and Veruca Salt with it.  The birthday check is something I look forward to, and am not ashamed to admit it.

Somehow this one ended up being mostly about music (sorry Buck), so I’ll leave you with a music-related Question.

Who do you think are the most pretentious artists of all time?  A few people jump immediately to my mind, and for some reason most are women.  Like Tori Amos, and Patti Smith, and Stevie “I’m so mysterious with my shitload of scarves” Nicks.  But, of course, there’s also Sting.  He’s the crown prince of pretentiousness, right?

Help me out with it, won’t you?  Use the comments link below.

And I hope y’all have a great Thanksgiving.  I don’t know when I’ll update again, but I still owe the VIPs a super-secret dispatch.  So, be on the lookout for that one, at the very least.

See ya ’round.

New Surf Report shirts available soon!

Toney and I used to work with a creepy little booger-eater in Atlanta, who is the main character in two stories we repeat on a semi-regular basis.  And for years neither of us could remember his name.

He worked in the same building as we did, for a long time, but nobody ever had much to do with him.  In fact, I don’t think I ever said a word to that beady-eyed weirdo.

He had curly Art Garfunkel hair, and the beginnings of an Art Garfunkel hairline, to go along with it.  And he walked around making you think, “Yeah, there’s more going on there than meets the eye.  That sumbitch probably has a squirrel circus happening inside his head.”

The two stories are good ones…

Across from where we worked was a small sandwich shop.  It was on the other side of Fulton Industrial Boulevard, which is a high-traffic road.  Tractor trailers would constantly be zipping up and down, and crossing that street on foot was something along the lines of the opening scene in Saving Private Ryan.

But people did it anyway, including myself.  I’d go out there and wait for an opening, say a quick prayer, take off running across two lanes, and do the same thing from the median.  On more than one occasion I felt a four foot-tall mirror whiz past my head at 70 mph, and vowed never to do it again.  And I wouldn’t… until the next time.

One day that ferret-faced freak drove over there, got his lunch, forgot he’d driven, and walked back to the office.

And when he got off work at 4:30, he thought his car had been stolen.  He called the police, and was reportedly beside himself with anxiety.  I heard he was pacing around, muttering gibberish, and on the verge of a full-breakdown.  When somebody tried to console him, he lashed-out like a crazy person.

The cops promised to find his car, but one of our co-workers found it first: the next day, when he went for a hotdog.  The thing was still parked where he’d left it, at the samlich shop.  Heh.

And, as you might expect (especially in Georgia), the dude was mocked unmercifully, for weeks on end.

Another time, a couple years later, somebody opened one of the stall doors in the men’s room, and the budding Garfunkel was in there–

You know, I’m kind of bored with all the standard terms, and don’t really want to use them again.  So I’m going to try to come up with a few new ones, if you don’t mind.  He was in there pummeling the pipe, waxing the cucumber, punishing the prisoner, varnishing the spindle, looking for Cheers with the universal remote…

The person who caught him in the act immediately reported the news to everyone he came in contact with, and they responded in kind.  I think all this happened before email, but electronics couldn’t have helped spread the word any faster.

Within minutes everyone in the building knew about it, including a couple of truck drivers out on C Dock, and the guy making a Chinese food delivery to the folks in advertising.

I think that finally did him in.  I can’t remember for sure, but it seems like it was the final nail in that poor bastard’s coffin.  He’d made it through the “stolen” car episode, but this was simply too much to withstand.

Well, to be more precise, I think it was the weak defense he offered, that really sealed the deal…  He told everyone he wasn’t doing what they thought (shining the candlestick, giving the dog a pill), but was, in fact, “relaxing.”

This explanation was so nonsensical and confusing, it only made matters worse.  I can still hear the peals of laughter, and have no doubt he can, as well.  Wherever he is.

And I’d be willing to bet real money there are pockets of the Atlanta metro area where men still yell at each other inside bathrooms: “Hey, what are you doing in there, relaxing?”

Anyway, it’s probably been ten years since Toney or I could come up with his name.  And last night, for reasons unknown, it suddenly popped into my head.  I wasn’t even thinking about him, his name and face just materialized in my mind.

It was Richard B.  I don’t want to tell you his full last name, for obvious reasons.  But it appeared, clear as could be, with no prompting whatsoever.

Do you think he died at that very moment, or something?  Is it possible everybody who made fun of the guy thought of him at the exact same time?  Yeah, probably not…

I’ll leave you now with several semi-related Questions.

Have you ever worked with a person who did something so humiliating they ended up leaving the company because of it?  This can include Christmas parties, needless to say.

Also, have you ever caught somebody, you know, polishing the silver?  I don’t think I have anything to offer on this one; I’m drawing a blank (not a euphemism).  What about you?  Tell us about it in the comments.

And finally, can you help me come up with some new phrases for that activity?  The same ones are used over and over again, and it’s time for a refresh.  Even the ones that are supposedly wacky and out-there have been heard by everyone, roughly ten thousand times.  So help me out, won’t you?  Original creations only, please.

Now I’m going to link to the t-shirt order page, once again.  Right here.  The shirts themselves should be in my Costanza-hands in about a week, and the mail shortly thereafter.  So, order away!  ‘Tis the season for pissed-off, leaping catfish!!

And since I’m whorin’ myself… please remember to enter the Amazon site through one of our links, if you’re planning to do some holiday shopping there.  It’s a painless way to support the Surf Report.

And if you’re a music nut, like me, here’s a nice place to start.  The 2 CDs for $10 deal is especially good; I’m gonna hit that one myself.  It’s not just a load of crapola, as you might expect.

See you guys tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker.