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September 29, 2006
-- When we were at that school meet 'n'
greet earlier in the week, Toney sneezed -- in a room full of Catholics.
And man, you should've heard it. It was just an avalanche, a freaking
tsunami, of God bless yous. In fact, it caught me off-guard and sorta
jolted me. I come from a place where people just shoot you a dirty look,
and purse their lips in a disapproving manner when you "make a
disturbance." I'm not too familiar with the Vatican-mandated sneeze
ordinance.
-- How come bacon and sausage are considered banjo meats? Know what I
mean? When those two products are advertised on television there's
always a down-home country feel to it. Usually checkered table cloths
are involved, also overalls, and banjoes playing in the background.
Other meats don't receive this treatment, it's only bacon and sausage.
How did this happen? I'm looking for an explanation.
-- I uninstalled AOL instant messenger this morning, because it was a
pain in and of my ass. There was so much garbage loading upon
start-up, that it took an eternity to get my computer running in the
morning. I could turn it on, go upstairs and have some toast and apple
butter, watch an episode of Spongebob, then come back and it
would almost be finished shucking and jiving.
There'd be page upon page of crapola like movie trailers, news articles
about the latest crackpot diet craze that won't make your ass any less
riffly than it is today, celebrity gossip, and all manner of
lowest-common-denominator bullshit. And for some reason it would come
over in this ....creeping ....crawling slow-as-crap feed. Serenity now!
So I removed it, and it asked me about five times: "Are you sure
you really want to do this?!" I kept saying yes, and it
begrudgingly exited my computer. Afterwards I ran Spybot and saw that
they'd left me a little going-away present: dozens and dozens of
tracking cookies, and adware. I cleaned all that stuff up, and maybe
it's all behind me now?
Yeah, I know. I'm fooling myself, right? AOL is like the Hotel
California. You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.
-- I think it's now time to break the seal on the 1975
World Series DVD
box set. It's very definitely fall outside, and bourbon season starts
this weekend, so I believe the appropriate moment has arrived; it's time
to go all the way with it. Some folks enjoy a good thirty year old
scotch, but there's something to be said for slow-aged baseball as well,
I think. Bench, Rose, Morgan, Perez, friggin' Yaz.... AND Carlton Fisk's
body-english homer in Game Six -- the greatest game ever played. Oh,
it's gonna be deep-dish childhood nostalgia. I'll probably have tears
streaming down my face the entire time. Can't wait!
-- The deadbolt lock on our front door
has been jamming, and sometimes it takes a long time to get it to open.
Earlier in the week the oldest Secret had to leave for school through
the back door, because I couldn't get the lock to let go. But guess
what? I fixed it. That's right, you read that correctly. I took it all
apart, sprayed some WD-40 up inside, put it back together, and now it
works like the deadbolt lock of kings. The shit is smooooth.
Because I am a man, a real man. I repair things. With tools.
-- My parents were here for a quick visit last weekend, and brought the
kids this
ridiculousness to add to their ever-expanding Halloween
decoration stash. It's a dancing skeleton/pirate hybrid sort of thing,
and is taller than I am. It's standing in our living room right now, and
dances to Rick James' "Super Freak," a couple of ZZ Top songs,
and "Slow Ride" by Foghat.
When the thing kicks off it commences to jerking and twitching like
Skippy Hicks in that Ford commercial. And the "singing"
reminds me of a guy I used to work with who had to have his jaw
reconstructed after being mugged by a gang of young toughs, and hit in
the face by a tube sock with a cue ball inside.
Simply excellent.
-- My Mom and Dad recently bought a minivan. It's a Dodge Caravan, and
is pretty darn nice. They do a lot of traveling, and wanted the extra
room, they said. Anyway, the doors on that thing automatically lock when
you reach 18 mph. Not 15 or 20, but 18. Why? And why don't they just
lock when you put it into gear, like on most vehicles? Can any of you
explain this to me? I'm baffled.
-- On Saturday all of us went to the Pumpkin Patch, to let the kids
engage in some good ol' fashioned sausage & bacon country fun. It
was a good time, as always. I don't know what it is about that place,
but I always enjoy myself there. Maybe it's because I associate it with
fall, my favorite time of year? I don't know. But we did it all: the pig
races, the pumpkin launch, the hay loft, and, of course, the corn maze.
The maze is the big attraction, and has the power to blow a man's mind.
It's massive, and a person can get lost inside for hours,
literally. Indeed, we've been trapped in those things for so long during
previous years, I started to get nervous. It's just one dead-end after
another.... everything looks the same.... and it'll drive you to the
brink of a breakdown and make you want to just go thrashing through the
walls of that fucker.
But not this year, thank you very much. We let the oldest Secret be the
guide, and it only took us 34 minutes. We entered through the entrance,
and exited through the exit, as well. Sometimes we end up going out
through the in door, but we did it correctly this year. It was good
clean fun, as they say.
Here
are a few pics I snapped during the day. Now pass them Jimmy Deans over
here, goddammit.
-- One of the Secrets told me a story yesterday about a kid in his class
who is driving him crazy. I guess he's one of these competitive little
shits who has to be first in line, and the best at everything. After he
finished with his tale, an old saying from grade school popped into my
head, from somewhere way beneath the scar-tissue and catastrophic
damage:
"Yeah, that kid thinks he's hot snot on a silver platter, but he's
really cold boogers on a paper plate."
Heh. I don't know where that came from, but it leads to the question of
the day. What are your favorite grade school put-downs? I'm sure you can
do better than the one I came up with. Use the comments link below to
tell us about it.
And you guys have a great weekend, y'hear?
I'll see ya on Monday. permalink
September 28,
2006
-- So, I was buying a sack of donuts
over the weekend, apple cider donuts to be precise (yum), and it cost
$3.18 with tax. I gave the acne-spangled high school girl behind the
counter a twenty, then began digging in my pocket for change. But she
didn't know I was digging, and went ahead and tapped 20.00 into the cash
register. Then I said, "Wait, I have a quarter!"
And you should've seen the panic that overtook her.
She had no idea how to proceed, and said so. She mumbled, "Oh man,
I won't be able to figure this out.' Then all the gears jammed, and it
was a case of suspended animation at the donut shop. She started looking
off into the distance like Putty.
I said, kind of low, so as not to embarrass her, "You owe me
$17.07." Her reaction? Yes, that's correct. She got pissed, and
slammed the money into my hand, and made a bunch of those teenage girl
faces we've all seen, like she can't believe, simply can't believe,
the stupidity she's forced to endure.
All I wanted was some damn donuts.
-- I ordered a copy of Phyllis Diller's autobiography
yesterday. I think it only came out last year, yet it cost me $2 plus
shipping through half dotcom -- in "new" condition. Kinda sad.
When I was a kid Phyllis Diller was some crazy woman who appeared on
game shows and Johnny Carson, and laughed real loud. I didn't know much
about her; she seemed to be one of those professional celebrities, like
Elizabeth Taylor.
But then I caught one of her stand-up routines on HBO, and the shit was
funny. I remember she launched into an extended jag of cruel one-liners
about a fat woman, that practically had me hyper-ventilating. Oh, my
Gabe Kaplan hair was undoubtedly on the move that night. I just
couldn't stop laughing.
I've been a fan ever since. In fact, shortly after that HBO special I
sat down and wrote a batch of my own fat jokes, and mailed them to her.
I'd done some research on her, and read that she bought jokes for $50
each. So I sent her a packet, and hoped for the best.
I can still remember one of them: She's so fat, when she changes her
clothes she has to pull the blinds down in four rooms!
Yeah, I never got a response. But I still like her, and I'm looking
forward to reading her story.
-- Speaking of funny, October is
supposed to be a big month for us Phil Hendrie phanatics. That's when his
website will no longer be owned by the MegaCorporation radio
syndication company, and reverts to Phil himself. And he's been
promising Big Things.
Like, for instance, an archive that's to include every show ever
broadcast during his California years, each in their entirety. That's
ten years of material, a mind-boggling amount of genius. Plus, and this
really has the geeks a-buzzing, he's been hinting at doing three hours
of brand new web-only material each week. For subscribers only, of
course.
Already there are full shows on the site, dating back to 2001. I listen
to one every day at work. I'd only been a full-blown nerd about Phil
Hendrie for the last two or three years before he retired. Prior to that
I listened casually, when I could, and there's tons of stuff from 2003
and earlier that I've never heard. The seven dollars I spend every month
for a Hendrie "backstage pass" is an investment that's paid
big dividends for me.
But I'm concerned.... I worry that once the site becomes Phil's
responsibility, it'll prove to be a pain in his ass. He said several
times that about 15,000 people subscribe. But that was back when his
show was on the air. You know that number has dwindled big-time by now.
I have a feeling it's only the hard-core, the true mental patients, who
are hanging on at this point. And the site must be very expensive to
maintain, what with all that streaming audio and everything.... I just
have a bad feeling.
So I need to know: how can I quickly and easily convert the streaming
shows into mp3 files, and start building a serious archive here at the
Compound? I have a nifty program called Total
Recorder that works really well, but it has to be done in real time;
the entire show has to play, and it "records" it. Is there a
way I can do it quickly, without having to let the shows play out? That
would take forever, and I'm a very busy man, what with all the Funyuns
and whatnot.
Right now they offer Real Audio and Microsoft Media streaming only.
Supposedly they're going to add mp3s, but they'll have to strip out all
the music, and I hate that. I'd like to make my own mp3 files from the
streaming audio. Can any of you help me with this?
Someday, before everything goes away, I need to have all that stuff on
my own external hard drive, all safe and sound. Talking Points
appreciates your assistance in this matter.
-- Sheryl is the official winner of the Guess How Many E-mails Jeff Will
Have contest, from earlier in the week. She said 729, and I had 691. And
for the record, I never invoked the Bob Barker rule, so it doesn't
matter that she went over. She was the closest, and she gets the prize.
Sheryl, if you're still out there, send me a note to jeff(at)thewvsr.com.
My people will get with your people, and we'll get this all hammered
out. Thanks to everyone for playing.
-- One more follow-up, before I throw in the towel on this bitch.... I
watched Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo last night, and the verdict is
in: still funny. The Tourette's segment is a personal favorite (scrotum!),
but the whole thing is full of inventive low-brow stupidity. And if you
think that's easy to pull-off, smart guy, just try it sometime....
Is the second movie any good? I'm very skeptical. Lightning never
strikes twice, as they say. Any opinions?
-- And I don't really have a question of the day. So I'll just ask you
about a subject I've had scribbled in my notebook for months, and
haven't done anything with: drive-in movies. Do you have any interesting
stories to tell about them? I do, but don't have the time or energy to
get into it today. Shockingly enough, alcohol plays a big part in most
of my stories. Plus a little vandalism, and a carload of teenage boys
hollering at the top of their lungs, "TITS!! LOOK AT THOSE
TITS!!!"
What about you? Why not tell us about it in the comments, huh?
And I'll be back tomorrow. permalink
September 27,
2006
-- Check out the "high
temperatures" they're predicting for us this weekend. Yes,
my friends, Bourbon Season is officially upon us. Last night I was
standing outside, letting Andy sling some urine before bedtime, and it
was an autumnal wonderland out there. The air was crisp and clean,
leaves were blowing around, it smelled like a hundred fireplaces were
fireplacing.... I love it.
And just to make sure I didn't miss the point, the booze gods delivered
to me a check from the National Lampoon yesterday. Could the timing just
be a coincidence? No, I didn't think so either. It is clearly funds with
which to purchase Maker's Mark handmade whisky; they should've just
typed it on the memo line. And it was dropped from the sky at just
the right time.
Thanks to the folks at the Lampoon, the Wal-Mart Game (the gift that
keeps on giving), and the distilled spirits fairies, we will be pouring
us a nice solid foundation on Friday, the kind upon which many a
successful Bourbon Seasons have been built. Cheers!
-- Today I should be receiving, from Netflix, a rental copy of Deuce
Bigalow: Male Gigolo. I've had that movie in my queue since I signed
up with them; in fact, it might be the very first thing I added. But
I've never allowed them to actually send it to me, until now.
You see, a couple of years ago Sunshine and Mumbles were visiting, and
she found the flick on cable somewhere. I think it was back when we had
Starz for free. I walked in and saw what she watching and I think I
audibly groaned, then mumbled to myself, "This woman will watch any
retard-o-rama that comes down the pike. What's next Juwanna Man?"
Then I flopped down to be semi-social, and to my amazement.... found
myself laughing my ass off. It was hilarious! And just thinking
about certain scenes right now ("ball hair!"), I'm laughing
all over again.
My concern, of course, is that it won't be anywhere near as funny the
second time around. Sometimes a person is loopy, or shit is misfiring in
their brain or whatever, and really stupid crap turns into comedy gold.
Am I going to be disappointed? Will the spell be broken? Or is it really
an underrated classic of the low-brow genre? Our genre?
-- Speaking of queues.... For the past
year or so I've been a satisfied customer of yourmusic.
It's basically a repackaged BMG Music Club, simplified and modeled
loosely around Netflix. CDs cost $5.99 each, with free shipping, and the
only requirement is that you buy at least one per month. You build a
queue, like with Netflix, and they automatically send you whatever's at
the top of your list on your anniversary date, and bill your credit
card. In between those dates, you can order additional discs to your
heart's content.
And they cost $5.99 each, with no shipping and no strings attached! Did
you get that part? Sweet Maria. For a junkie such as myself, it's an
offer that can't be refused. Sure, it takes them a long time to get new
releases, and some things never become available at all, but it's
an excellent way to fill in holes in your collection.
So anyway, a couple of weeks ago I bought the Byrds box set from them
(four discs: 4 x $5.99), and I've been playing that thing almost in an
endless loop. Except for Sweetheart of the Rodeo and whatever
songs they play on the radio, I didn't know much about the Byrds. I
think I was prejudiced against them because that hippie walrus David
Crosby was involved. But man, that's some good stuff. And 80% of it's
new to me, so it's a virtual treasure chest in the bunker.
I'm sorry, I'm getting a little emotional here.... If you're interested
in joining yourmusic, mention my name. Maybe they'll give me something
free?
-- Yesterday a guy stuck his head in my office at work and said, very
seriously, "Unless you have a strong stomach, I'd steer clear of
the men's room for a while." It was said in the tone of someone
warning a person about traffic on the interstate, or an impending snow
storm. Simply informational in nature.
And clearly, he couldn't understand why I was laughing so hard as he
walked away.
-- This
is a blog where "ridiculous infomercials" are reviewed, and I
think it's pretty darn funny. Check it out. And definitely don't miss
the two short video clips linked at the bottom of the main page. Heh.
-- And I know this update is all over the map today, but that's the way
it goes sometimes. I'll leave you now with the question of the day.
Last night Toney and I watched the second episode of Studio 60 on the
Sunset Strip. I think that's what it's called.... It's turning out
to be pretty good and it looks like we might have a new TV show to
watch. Praise the Lord.
It's made by the same people who did The West Wing, a show I
never watched on principle. The reason? Smugness. That's reason number
one. The whole thing felt smug and earnest to me. Plus, there was that
little sawed-off Sheen character, who has a political axe to grind in
real life; always with the I'm-smarter-than-you gotcha! comments.
I didn't watch that show, almost as a statement.
Another one I've never watched is Desperate Housewives. I was
soured on that from the beginning, because it seemed to be the must-see
program among people at work who don't have a hip bone in their bodies.
Maybe a hipbone, buried under all the beef somewhere, but not a hip
bone. Plus those women from the show are exceedingly obnoxious in
interviews, and seem very full of themselves. They were has-beens before
this happened, and the moment the show goes off the air.... it'll be a
return to the Whatever Became Of? hall of former fame all over again.
And instead of being thankful for the opportunity? They all act like
they're doing the entertainment industry a favor. They can all blow it
out their ass, collectively.
So, my question is: what TV shows (or movies for that matter) have you
avoided on principle? ....Something you might very well enjoy, but
simply can't bring yourself to watch, because of some personal
deep-seated bias? I'm not really talking about a comedian that you don't
find funny, or anything like that. I'm more interested in unrelated
prejudices. Know what I mean?
Tell us about it in the comments.
And I'll see ya tomorrow. permalink
September 26,
2006
-- Toney and I attended a
parent/teacher thing last night at the oldest Secret's new school. It
wasn't really a conference, it was more of a meet and greet, and an
opportunity for parents to see the school and the kids' classrooms and
all that good stuff. Perhaps I'm operating from a point of arrested
development (anything's possible), but just being there, in a public
school setting, made me feel uneasy. Just like it was 1979 all over
again.
There's a schooly smell that gets you the second you pass through
the door. All schools smell exactly the same, and it has the power to
transport you back through time. As soon as we started down the
construction paper-decorated hallways to "our" classroom, my
nostrils filled with the funk of old books and industrial disinfectants,
and I could almost hear Mrs. Wagner hollering at me: "Jeff Kay,
what are you on?!"
All the other dads (well, most of them anyway...) looked the part. There
was a lot of neatly tucked polo shirts and conference room-confidence. I
was wearing jeans and a battered pair of Van's skate shoes, and wanted
to hide behind a partition. Toney, of course, jumped right into it with
both feet and had made a couple of new friends within minutes. I found a
chair way over by the side wall, and acted like I was engrossed, deeply
engrossed, in a hand-out about the U.S. Bill of Rights.
After what seemed like forty or seventy minutes, "our" teacher
came in. She looked like Marshall Crenshaw, despite the fact that she
was, you know, a woman. She seemed nice though, and I liked her teaching
philosophies, as they were explained to us. This was no hand-wringing,
wishy-washy, I'm alright you're alright, blissed-out wind chime hippie
chick. And that's always a good thing.
I only wish she would've performed "Someday, Someway" for us.
That was the only disappointment.
Following a brief stop in math class (where the utterance of certain
ancient words made my sphincter turn to granite, just like Pavlov's
ass), we were escorted to the other side of the building to tour the
rooms that house what used to be called electives back in my day.
You know, like music and art and gym, and that sort of thing. Now
they're apparently called specials. I don't know what that's all
about. But it was clearly important to the school administrators that we
see these rooms; they were practically holding our hands and guiding us
there.
Yes, it was our tax dollars at work.
They have the finest computer lab known to man, home ec facilities that
look like the kitchen at a four-star restaurant, and an art room that
feels like a massive NYC painter's loft. Very impressive indeed.
And then I found myself looking around and imagining all the fun my
friends and I could have in such a place. There was so much to get into,
such an abundance of hell-raising accessories. It would've been paradise
to us, and I could feel the beginnings of a wistful tear forming in the
corner of my left eye.
In the home ec room, for instance, I walked past a bank of washers and
dryers, a scene straight out of any mid-sized coin laundry. Can you
imagine all the great stuff that could be "washed" and
"dried" in those things?! The mind boggles at the
possibilities.
At my high school there was only one washer and one dryer, but we made
the most of what we had. My friend Bill and I slipped into the home ec
room one day during lunch and filled the dryer with several handfuls of
silverware, a couple of big metal platters and a cookie sheet or two,
then turned it on and left. As we ran out the door there was a racket so
impressive I still consider it one of our finest
"achievements." Man, the adults came running from every
direction! It was excellent.
There was also a hospital bed in that room, and we'd routinely crank it
up so high the mattress would almost touch the fluorescent lights in the
ceiling. Underneath you could see the works all hyper-extended and
stretched out, and it made the teacher completely lose her shit. For
some reason she was extremely sensitive about that bed being cranked up,
so we did it about once a week.
But the tools at our disposal was nothing compared to what they
have today. Sweet sainted mother of Bobby Buntrock. I briefly considered
"drying" a few items last night, just for old time's sake, but
then I looked around and saw all the polo shirts and remembered that I'm
forty-three. Dammit!
At least I still feel ill at ease, though. Walking those halls and
smelling those smells instantly put me on the defensive again, and
that's a good sign, I think. Because the day I feel comfortable in a
public school is the day I'll know for certain that the fire has
completely gone out. Then there will be but one thing left to do: go buy
a book of Sudoku puzzles, and just say fuck it.
Ya know?
-- A couple of things before I go.... I had 691 emails when I got to
work yesterday. I deleted roughly half without opening them, and worked all
day long to plunder the rest into submission. When I left the office
last night I had three messages in my inbox, and order had been
restored. As best as I can tell, Sheryl is the winner of our little
contest; she guessed 729. Once that's been confirmed, a special Surf
Report-approved CD will be in the mail to her. Congratulations! And pass
the beer nuts.
Finally, an item from the Stealing Clive Bull's Topics desk. Clive asked
his callers yesterday what celebrity his radio station would be, if it
were a person. So, let's do the same with TheWVSR. What famous person
would our little house of ridiculousness be if it were human? Use the
comments link below to participate in this rather questionable exercise.
And I'll see ya tomorrow. permalink
September 25,
2006
-- As I was saying.... My week of
vacation went well. I generally come out of these things beating myself
up and wanting to throw my head beneath a bus wheel, for blowing yet
another golden opportunity. But not so this time. I got a lot
accomplished during my five days away from work and the website, and
don't feel guilty at all. Go figure.
My plan was to finish at least a first draft of one of my
extracurricular writing projects, and while I didn't get all the way
there, I got almost all the way there. And based on my history,
and being completely honest with myself, I recognize it as the miracle
it is. On Friday afternoon, when I finally threw in the towel and looked
back at everything I'd finished during the week, I was amazed. I'd
fucking done it.
Toney even admitted she was surprised I
didn't find some excuse along the way to abandon my writing plans, and
just lay around watching Jimmy Stewart movies all week, and
power-farting through the upholstery. She didn't come right out and say
it like that, of course, but it's what she meant. And I knew exactly the
way she felt.
Every day I got up at my normal time, as if I were going to the office.
I was fully shitted, showered, and shaved and in front of the computer
before the Secrets left for school, and Toney went to work. And, except
for a brief lunch break, I worked continuously until they got home.
It was great, the kind of thing that
makes a man think dangerous thoughts. Like, how absolutely kick-ass
would it be if I could do this for a living? But, of course, there were
no monetary pressures last week, nothing at risk, so it's not really an
accurate portrayal. If I knew my family might not eat unless I'm able to
crank out twenty more halfway-decent paragraphs tonight, I have a
feeling the fun would go right out of it. Ya know?
But it's a nice little fantasy to cling to, reality be damned.
A weird thing though... Near the end of Day Two I started feeling like I
was becoming disconnected. I'd been locked inside this room for a couple
of days by then, with little contact to the outside world. Oh, I checked
Drudge a couple of times per day, just to make sure we weren't in a
nuclear war or anything, but for the most part there was no internet,
newspaper, telephone, radio, or TV. It began to take its toll.
That evening I took the youngest Secret
to his soccer practice, and hung out to watch. Everything felt strange,
like I was visiting a place where I didn't truly belong. Dads were
standing around in their pressed slacks, talking about work stuff. I
hadn't been at work for four days, and wouldn't be there again for
another six. And, to my amazement, I realized I hadn't even been
thinking about it. I'd been so busy, so into something else, I was
having a hard time relating to the crapola that generally dominates a
person's life. Already.
By Day Four I noticed I was also starting to develop hard and fast
eating-based routines, like an old man who goes into retirement and
almost immediately turns nutty. I had a really good lunch at Taco Bell
on Monday, and unconsciously began structuring the following days around
that one magic meal.
It was the #5 combo, in case you're interested: Nachos Bell Grande, a
taco supreme, and a large Mountain Dew Baja Blast. It costs $5.71 with
tax, which breaks the five
dollar rule. But screw it, everything was out the window last
week.
I had to leave the house at exactly 12:30 for my #5, this became very
important to me. And I attempted to eat at the same table every day as
well. If somebody was already sitting in my regular spot, I'd endeavor
to at least be facing in the "correct" direction. One day I
was delayed and wasn't able to go to lunch until almost 1 o'clock, and
was highly agitated from that point on.
Imagine my alarm when I realized what was happening to me. I was one
step away from jigsaw puzzles and/or Civil War figurines! I can't say
I'm happy to be going back to work today, but for the sake of my mental
health.... I believe it's time.
Here's
a sneak peek at last week's extracurricular writing project, especially
for the readers of The West Virginia Surf Report. Thanks for your
patience, and for returning here today.
-- My parents are at the Compound visiting, so my first day back is
gonna be kind of lame, I'm sorry to say. I'm surprised my mother hasn't
been in here already, looking over my shoulder and busting out with a
full interrogation. I'll get back into it tomorrow, I promise.
In the meantime, here are few random items for ya....
This
is a soon-to-be-released National Lampoon book that reportedly features The
Wal-Mart Game. The check is in the mail, they say. Maybe it'll
arrive this morning? Hello?
Lucas, a Surf Reporter with more seniority than almost anyone, sends
along this beer-themed haiku:
yuengling
golden elixir
from our oldest brewery
best served for breakfast
Thanks man!
And I, like all of you, regularly receive forwarded "comedy"
emails all day long, every day of the week. I'm fairly confident I've
seen them all by now, and have a mighty itchy delete finger. But
somebody sent me a collection of least popular children's books
last week that actually made me chuckle. It seems like I might have seen
it before, but it's pretty good, nonetheless. Check 'em out, here.
Finally, the question of the day.... How many emails do you think I'll
have at work when I get there this morning? I was out all last week. I
turned on my "office assistant" which is an auto-responder
that hints around to not, for the love of God, send me any unnecessary
messages during the week. But I'm not sure how much good that
does....
The person closest to the correct number will win an honest to goodness
Surf Report-certified compact disc, procured via the massive network of
liars and backstabbers.
So get your guesses in, boys and girls! Only one per person, please. I
mean, seriously.
And I'll be back tomorrow with a coherent update.
See ya then. permalink
September 15, 2006
-- Unless something unexpected happens,
this will be my last update for a while. Until September 25, to be
exact. I'm planning (plotting) to take next week off from work, and the
website too. We're right on the cusp of shit turning crazy at the job,
and this will probably be my last chance for downtime until January. So
I'm taking it.
During the week I want to get some sleep, as well as bust my ass during
the daytime and finish writing a little booklet, a zine type of thing,
that I've been tinkering around with for months. Under normal
circumstances there's no time for extracurriculars, and I really have to
get it finished or I'll very likely lose my mind. I'm in a situation now
where I'm all fired-up about the project, but can't work on it. And
that's a bad combination.
I hate the thought of TheWVSR growing cobwebs for a week, but I'm sure
we'll all make it through. I will update the Further Evidence
link every day, and leave the webcam on, but there probably won't be any
written dispatches from the puke-green subterranean walk-in closet that
is the Surf Report bunker, until Monday 9/25.
Just thought you should know.
-- To complicate matters, a California big-shot is in town, and I need
to get to work early today. I thought I was going to get out of the
traditional Power Dinner last night, but the e-mail came at four
o'clock. I had been summoned.
We went to an Italian place that was new to me, and had an over-the-top
expense-account meal with all the trimmings, and showed our visitor some
hospitality. It wasn't too bad, I guess, but my personality goes counter
to such things.
I love going out with friends and family, but career-related networking
and ass-snorkeling and playing the game are not exactly my cup of
tea. I'm not good at it, it makes me feel like a phony, and I do what I
can to avoid such situations.
Last night I took a seat way down at the end of the table, away from the
main attraction, and just tried to blend in with the ferns and whatnot.
With any luck I could just sit in silence, adjust my facial expressions
to correspond with conversation, and be home by nine.
I saw that most of the
pasta dishes seemed to involve seafood of some sort. And since I'm not a
big fan of the crustaceans, I ordered an outsize steak. It was good, and
should've been at those prices. I also had some calamari before
dinner, which seemed to get bigger the longer I chewed. Again: not a fan
of the sea creatures. I kept thinking of Squidward.
The waitress was good at keeping the Yuenglings coming, and the ordeal
wasn't overly painful. It was one of those things that's far worse
during the worrying stage, than in reality. And the guy who likes to
make pathetic WV jokes wasn't even there, so I didn't even have to
listen to any of that crapola. So Jeff, did you have a one-hole or
two-hole outhouse growing up? Hardy-fucking-har; I'm simply
buckled-over in laughter.
So anyway, the California guy is still here and plans to spend the
morning with us. I guess I'd better be there. Right?
-- It sounds like the New York Yankees are on the verge of moving their
AAA farm team to Scranton. Unbelievable. They've been in Columbus as
long as I can remember: the Columbus Clippers. But there have been
negotiations going on, and the Yankees announced yesterday that they're
leaving Ohio. And on Monday there's supposed to be a local announcement
of some sort.
Pretty cool.
The Phillies top farm team was located here for many years, but they
left in a huff over a disagreement about the remodeling of the
clubhouses, or some such thing. What a grand gang of douches.
I was reading about all this earlier today, and found out that the
departing team, the Phillies team, is the direct descendant of the old Charleston
Charlies, which used to play in Charleston, WV when I was growing up
there. After they left Charleston, in 1984, they went to Maine, and then
to Scranton. Am I following them around, or are they following me? I
just don't know.
But I'm excited that AAA ball will still be played here, because I was
highly skeptical. I've watched these things play out before.... I was
fully expecting a team from the Women's Fast-Pitch Softball League to
take the Red Barons' place. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
-- I've probably mentioned the fact that Paul Westerberg, another of my
spiritual advisors, did the music for an upcoming animated film, called Open
Season. Seems kinda weird, but I guess they gave him a wheelbarrow
full of cash, and I'm glad to hear it. The man deserves to be paid.
Here's
an article about it, and it says there's even talk of a possible Academy
Award nomination. Holy shitballs, Batman! Paul at the Oscars?! I
think my brain would finally, and completely, say fuck it, and just shut
down.
Here's
one of the new songs from the soundtrack. Sounds good! Love you in the
fall? Is he singing about bourbon?!
-- I really need to go.... But before I do, check out this
greatness. It tells you what talk radio shows are on the air
right now, and provides handy-dandy links to their live streams. And
it's not just American shows either. A few days ago they had Clive Bull
listed. And last night it helped me find a station in California that
was playing old Phil Hendrie shows. Very cool. I've got that baby
bookmarked both at home and at work.
-- And I'm gonna turn this thing over to our good friend Buck
now, and wish you guys a great weekend.
So have a great weekend, and I'll see ya soon. permalink
September 14, 2006
-- Steve told me about this weeks ago,
and I failed to pass it along. He said he was driving home, from
somewhere north of here (I can't keep track of all his excursions), and
came upon something unusual.
He was on a well-traveled stretch of road, not an interstate but one of
those blue highways that reportedly take you the through
"real America." And suddenly there were people everywhere.
He said that folks were lined up on both sides of the road, some
standing and some sitting in lawn chairs. The crowds grew larger as he
continued driving, and he wondered if a parade was scheduled to come
through. But it sure was a strange time of day for a parade....
He noticed that some people had gas grills with them, and were cooking
up burgers and hotdogs. Everyone was smiling, and a few were passing
footballs and throwing Frisbees around. And this went on for miles.
The shit?
The curiosity eventually got the better of him, and he pulled over to
investigate. And it turned out to be an annual event, something the
locals look forward to all year: the NASCAR trailers were coming
through!
No joke. There was a race in New York somewhere that weekend, and the
trailers that transport the cars always use that stretch of road on
their way back home, and this has triggered an unofficial holiday. Folks
turn out by the hundreds to watch.... the trailers go by.
And as Steve stood there, they started rolling through! A big cheer went
up, and everyone started making that pumping motion with their right
arms, urging the drivers to blow their air horns.
Most answered this request, and it made the crowd cheer even louder. And
after it was all over, at least for that particular group of trailers,
grown men were seen hugging and high-fiving each other, with just a
hint of tears in their eyes.
Man, I wish I could've been there with him.
-- Remember that fancy-pants new Amazon
store I told you about last week? Well, it turned out to be kinda lame.
When they "invited" me to take part in the beta test, I was
excited. I thought they were offering up some templates with which I
could quickly build a mini-Amazon, stocked only with items that have
received the Surf Report seal of approval, and which I could embed into
TheWVSR.
But it was much less than that. Check it out here.
Basically they allow you to highlight nine products (nine!), and
everything else is just regular old Amazon searches. I thought I'd be
able to build a CD store, a DVD store, etc. Yes, it's a classic case of
good idea, poor execution....
I haven't given them my feedback yet, but lots of other folks have. I
checked out the discussion board for Amazon associates yesterday, and
people are not happy. Oh, they're bitching. Maybe Amazon will listen? I
just don't know.
In any case, please continue to use our links when you're doing your
online shopping. It'll cost you nothing extra, and we'll get a tiny
sliver of whatever you spend. It's an easy and painless way to support
our ridiculous endeavors here. And, for what it's worth, I appreciate
it.
-- Somebody linked to this
yesterday in the comments, and I thought it was excellent. It's a song,
supposedly leaked from a not-yet-released Weird Al CD, called "Ridin'
Dirty (White & Nerdy)." Here's
some info on it, and these
are the lyrics. Good stuff.
-- And speaking of music, I recently watched a
documentary about the Minutemen. It's a good flick, and you
should check it out if you're so inclined.
To be quite truthful about it though, I never was a huge fan of the
band. Oh, I had my copy of Double
Nickels On The Dime, as required by the hipster handbook,
section seven item six, but I never really warmed to it. There seemed to
be too much going on at once, too much jumping around; I'd always feel
like screaming, "FOCUS, goddammit!!" It was like punk rock for
people who were good at math. Or something.
But I liked the idea of the Minutemen, and I always respected D.
Boon and Mike Watt. They were suburban kids just bursting with ideas and
passion, and they created something that will outlast us all. So, that's
pretty cool, and I hoist an adult beverage in their honor.
Plus.... I saw them in concert exactly two weeks before D. Boon was
killed. They opened for REM in Winston-Salem, literally days after I
moved out of my parents' house, and into the WV version of the Land of
Opportunity: North Carolina. I didn't know anyone in my new hometown, so
I went to the show alone. It was at a high school auditorium (no shit),
and the tickets were printed on construction paper.
Through the magic of the internet, I found the exact date of the show
and REM's playlist:
8 December 1985 - Reynolds Auditorium, Reynolds High School,
Winston-Salem, NC
support: The Minutemen
set: Feeling Gravitys Pull / Harborcoat / Crazy / Maps And Legends /
Shaking Through / Driver 8 / Good Advices / Sitting Still / So. Central
Rain / Swan Swan H / Can't Get There From Here / Seven Chinese Brothers
/ Auctioneer (Another Engine) / Old Man Kensey / Pretty Persuasion /
Life And How To Live It encore 1: Gardening At Night / 9-9 /
Windout / The Counting Song / Second Guessing / (Don't Go Back To)
Rockville encore 2: Tired Of Singing Trouble / Little America /
See No Evil
notes: Mike Watt guests on See No Evil
I remember being back at home in Dunbar for Christmas, and a news report
came on MTV that said D. Boon had been killed in an auto accident in
Arizona. The bottom almost fell out of my ass. I'd just seen him, all
fat and jumping around, a few days before!
So that leads us to the question of the day.... What dead people have
you seen in concert? Presumably these would be shows that happened before
the person died, but whatever. I also saw Kurt Cobain and that's about
all I can come up with, right off the top of my tiny Duke
head.
What about you?
Knock yourselves out, and I'll see ya tomorrow. permalink
September 13,
2006
-- There's a high-pitched tone inside
the bunker this morning, and I can't find the source. It's not very loud
but I can hear it, and it's making me crazy. It's definitely not my
computer or the stereo, I think it might be the fridge in the corner.
Do refrigerators ever emit a brain stem-piercing hearing-test noise? And
if so, what does it mean?! I guess I could unplug the thing and confirm
if it's the culprit or not, but the plug is way behind a table and I'd
have to hoist myself off this chair and move stuff around....
Screw it. I'll just live with it, until it catches fire.
-- My eyes have been goopy and runny for almost a week now. I look like
a person who was forced into a crackpot experiment by a mad scientist,
and am now part man/part basset hound. On Saturday I went to one of the
Secrets' soccer games (matches?), and had tears streaming down my face
the entire time. I'm certain the other parents thought, holy shit, that
guy's a tad too passionate about all this.
And it's not just me. Everyone around me, at home and at work, is
sneezing and clearing their throats and making irritating grunting
noises like goddamn woodland creatures.
What the hell, man? Toney says it's ragweed, but that doesn't seem right
to me. Hay fever in September? I can't recall that ever happening
before. No, I think I picked up some sort of eye-eating virus at the
doctor's office last week, and everyone else is just being a pain in the
ass.
Any ideas?
-- On Sunday I removed three of our window air conditioners (Soviet
humboxes), and dragged them to the basement. I was going to do all four,
but ran out enthusiasm. The one remaining is in the living room, and is
the big 'un; it's all bolted in, and you have to pull the works out of
the case, and all manner of crapola.
So I looked at that last one, scratched my chin, and decided I'd better
pace myself and do it at a later date. To quote one of my spiritual
advisors, Stan Ridgway, I'll do it tomorrow, that seems like a pretty
good idea today.
Besides, it was cocktail hour.
Yep, it's already getting to be fall up
here, and I'm loving it. I even went out and bought a brand new Scrote-watching
blanket for the new season. In fact, I bought Toney one too, and we'll
be at the absolute zenith of Scrote-watching comfort this year. Mine has
orange and blue stripes, and hers is red and yellow. Oh, we're ready.
And in just a few weeks, Bourbon Season '06 will kick off. The official
start of the season is Halloween night, of course, but there's no harm
in cheating a little, and getting the festivities underway a few days
early. Right? Nobody likes a bourbon season zealot.
We'll start with the traditional First Bottle, always Maker's Mark,
during the early days of October. Then we'll make a vow to drink only
Maker's Mark this year, before realizing that the shit is expensive, and
opting for Early Times in the big plastic jug with easy-to-carry grip,
for the second go-'round.
You see, there's an accepted rhythm to these kinds of things. And I
can't wait to get back into it.
-- And speaking of adult beverages, I went out and bought a six-pack of
Magic Hat #9 on Sunday, on the recommendation of several Surf Reporters.
It cost me $10.75, which may have prejudiced me against it, but I wasn't
blown away. Toney liked it more than I did, but I found it too fruity.
And I don't mean that it'll make a straight man prefer the company of
gentlemen, I mean it tasted like fruit.
Dammit, when I'm forking over that kind of money for beer, I want hops,
not apricots.
But it was far from horrible, and I'm glad that I finally sampled it.
Now there are only seven million more microbrews to go!
-- Since we're on the subject, check this out. A reader named Brandon
sent me the following note a few days ago:
Jeff, On a recent road trip through Yuengling country I brought a few
cases back to Tennessee like I was truckin' Coors East of Texas. We
can't buy Yuengling here. One of these cases made a birthday present for
a good friend, a fellow Yuengling lover from Galax, Virginia, now living
here. The gift caught him by surprise and he's written a song all about
how much he loves the beer. It seemed WVSR appropriate.
You can hear the song here,
an ode to the golden elixir, and it's darn good. ...I'm sorry, I'm
getting a little emotional.
-- And finally, here
are three new Smoking Fish sightings, all captured by Blitz Krieg. I'm
fairly certain that we've never had an underwater sighting before, so
that's pretty cool. Keep your eyes open, folks, and send us your pics.
Our logo, man, he gets around.
I couldn't come up with a question of the day. I thought about asking if
you've ever called into a talk radio show, but I have a feeling that
wouldn't generate much heat. So, you're on your own today.
...Hey, what do you want from a man with basset hound eyes??
See ya tomorrow. permalink
September 12,
2006
-- I went through a period, back in the
early days of this ridiculousness, when I'd log onto TheWVSR in the
morning and react to current events, or interesting little tidbits in
the news. I approached it from a "humorous" point of view, and
tried to inject some low-rent social satire into the mix. But it didn't
take long to realize that I was one of about ten billion other
people doing the exact same thing. And, what's worse, roughly eight
billion of those other people were doing a better job of it.
So screw it, I made adjustments. Adapt or die. And today if there's some
hot topic at the office, something everyone's buzzing about around the
ol' water cooler, there's a good chance I won't be talking about it
here. Instead, I'll be discussing boxes of salt, and how long it takes
to empty one during normal household use -- or some such thing. Because
that's what I'm best at, what I enjoy the most, and what hopefully makes
an occasional visit to our humble domain worthwhile.
I also try not to link to "wacky" news articles with a
twelve-hour shelf life, or to YouTube videos that will be as stale as
bottom-layer hamper underwear by the time you click on it. In short, I
attempt to make TheWVSR somewhat unique. It might not be good, mind you,
but I like to think that it's kinda different.
And while we're not setting any world records here, traffic to the site
indicates that we might be doing something right. When I started
it was just me, my brother, and about five guys I went to high school
with. Now at least twice as many people visit on a given day. At least!
Anyway.... I tell you all this because I'm about to break one of my own
rules, and talk about the death of the Crocodile Hunter. Please know
that this is NOT a return to the old way, and I hope you'll at least
give me some points for waiting until the world moved onto the Next Big
Thing (9/11). I didn't just jump right in there and start making
tasteless jokes about it, then add, with a big douchey wink, "Oh,
I'm sorry, is it too soon?"
You know, like ten billion other people.
-- When Toney told me that Steve Irwin had been killed, one morning last
week, my first reaction was, "Who the fuck's Steve Irwin?"
Then when it all became clear to me, I thought, "Oh man, he has
little kids."
It didn't surprise me that the dude
died of something other than natural causes. I mean, seriously. He teased
alligators with pork shanks for a living. No, the news itself didn't
shock me. It's just the fact that he had young children that made me
think about it for more than five minutes. And that's pretty weird,
considering my history.
Before I had kids, I wasn't very tolerant of them. I know you're not
supposed to admit such a thing, but it's true. When I'd go to a
restaurant and some wailing brat would kick-off like a siren, it was all
I could do to maintain my composure. Sometimes I'd roll my eyes and sigh
theatrically if someone with a crumb-cruncher was even seated
near us, anticipating the cacophony that was sure to come.
I was the classic asshole.
One of my recurring "jokes" (there were lots of them) was to
suggest that eateries provide not only a no-smoking section, but also a
no-lip smacking section, AND a no-kids area. On the rare occasion that
I'd encounter the lip-smacking children of smoking parents, it would
almost be enough to send me straight to the wacky shack.
When Susan Smith, the dumbass wood-hick in South Carolina who strapped
her two young sons into the back of a Mazda Protégé, then rolled the
vehicle into a lake so she could impress a big shot at the rendering
plant where she worked (or whatever), I made another recurring
"joke." I said, over and over again, that I just couldn't
understand how a person could do such a thing. Then I'd add, with a big
douchey wink, "That Mazda probably had less than 20,000 miles on
it."
Then the Secrets came along, and I suddenly found myself on the
receiving-end of people like myself. I remember taking a cross-country
flight with our oldest boy, just the two of us, and people were openly
hostile. He was a toddler at the time, and had trouble sitting still.
Compared with other kids his age he was well-behaved (honestly true),
but he wasn't just sitting there like Putty on Seinfeld.
And people shot me dirty looks and exhaled loudly and made big
exaggerated motions to show that they were turning up the volume on
their headsets -- all the way from LAX to Yeager Field in Charleston. I
was shocked that people could be so rude and unsympathetic.
Why did they have to be such assholes?
Once, when the youngest Secret was still a baby, we were at a restaurant
with another couple. They didn't have any kids at the time, and were
thus experts on child-rearing. During the meal our son dropped some
macaroni on the floor near his high chair, and the golden couple were aghast
at the "terrible mess" he'd created. In fact, it bothered them
so much, they snuck away and apologized to the waitress when they
thought we weren't looking. Man, it pisses me off all over again, just
thinking about it....
Years later, we were out with the same people, and the tables were
turned. THEY had a small child this time, and he acted like the ape-boy
Donny from The Wild Thornberries. He shrieked and hollered
through the entire meal, stood on his chair, flung food, and wandered
around the dining room with impunity. At one point he actually walked up
to a stranger's table, picked up a dinner roll, took a bite of it, and
put it back.
And when people had the audacity to act irritated…. Well, they were
waaaaaay out of line, and probably Republican to boot. Needless to say,
I reminded them of the earlier incident, and they proclaimed it a
figment of my imagination. Not only had it never happened, but they'd
never even been to the restaurant in question. Grrrr....
Anyway, I don't view children as the enemy anymore, as creatures put on
this Earth to ruin yet another of Jeff Kay's meals. My instant
reaction to the Steve Irwin news makes that clear enough. Kids are
innocents, and I feel protective and give them plenty of leeway now. In
fact, I like to see the younglings having fun and being silly, just
being kids. It makes me happy, even if it generates a lot of racket.
I guess you live your life and gain new perspectives? Pass the beer
nuts.
But.... that doesn't mean I'm any less irritated at restaurants or on
airplanes these days. No, I've just shifted the blame. Because in lots
of cases, more and more it seems, it's NOT just kids being kids. It's
parents who don't set limits, who don't enforce rules, and who expect
the rest of the world to adapt to their wild-ass circus when it rolls
into town. Discipline Deficit Disorder (DDD) is my newly-adjusted pet
peeve, and I'm blaming the adults!
Nowadays restaurants should offer a no-smoking section, a no-lip
smacking section, and a wishy-washy parent pavilion, where kids can set
the goddamn place on fire but go home with their self-esteem intact. Now
Donny, let me explain why it makes Mommy sad that you killed our
waitress....
Heh. Perhaps I haven't matured as much as I like to give myself
credit for?
Whatever. As it turns out, this wasn't really about the Crocodile Hunter
at all, was it? In fact, I'm not even sure what it was.... But
all that apologizing and hand-wringing wasn't necessary, huh?
-- Oh well, let's not let it go to waste. Here's some half-baked
"social satire" inspired by the news of Steve Irwin's death, a
statement from our dog Andy:
"Since September 4th, many Animal-Americans have been subjected to
searches at Petcos and other locations based upon their four-footedness
and snoutly origin, without any credible information linking individuals
to criminal conduct. Animal profiling is fundamentally un-American and
must be made illegal. I beg of you not to be swayed by raw emotions on
this sad occasion, and to view the actions of a single misguided
militant stingray as it is.... Hey wait! Do I smell cheese?"
Yeah, see why I moved away from that sort of thing?
-- And since we're on a roll of sorts, breaking rules all willy-nilly,
here's our question of the day: where were you, and what were you doing,
when you first heard about the 9/11 attacks?
I was at my desk in Scranton, and some guy with high-pockets came
busting in and said a plane had just crashed into the World Trade
Center. I assumed it was an accident, and casually began reading about
it on the Web.
Then the second plane hit, and all the news sites were no longer
accessible; the entire Internet was on the verge of shitting the bed. We
had to go out in the hall and listen to news reports over the loud
speakers, like it was 1941. It was surreal; nobody could believe what
they were hearing.
By early afternoon my employer told us all to just go home and be with
our families. We watched TV for hours, then I decided to take Andy for a
walk. We'd just "adopted" him two days before, and he was
still a novelty. And while we walked I noticed that there were no sounds
outside; the whole world was quiet. Even the birds in the trees seemed
to be shocked into silence.
What about you? Where were you, and what were you doing? Use the
comments link below to tell us about it.
And I'll see ya tomorrow. permalink
September 8,
2006
-- I took a vacation day yesterday (you
know, since I have fifty of them), and got a lot done. After finishing
up with the daily bunker broadcast I went to my eye appointment, where,
I'm happy to report, I wasn't asked to close the door behind me. The
only downside? More eye doctor casualness.
The doc greeted me with, "Hey, man!"
Am I the only one that feels uneasy about this sort of thing? Shouldn't
medical practitioners be older gentlemen, with white moustaches? Or, at
the very least, carry an air of authority? All of my opticians from the
last ten years or so have looked and acted like guys I went to high
school with. And if that won't scare the shit out of a person, I don't
know what will.
After my appointment, and after ordering a fresh pair of NASA contact
lenses, I made a beeline for Waffle House. There, I got myself perched
on a stool at the "high bar," ordered scrambled eggs, sausage,
hash browns with cheese, and sweet tea. (Never order coffee at
Waffle House, trust me.) My waitress nodded, backed up a few steps,
stood at attention behind a strip of tape on the floor, and hollered out
my order to the cooks. Except she didn't say it the way I'd said it;
among other things, she instructed them to "drop a ring." I
didn't like the sound of that, but tried not to think about it.
Then it was time for a haircut. The Jiffy Pop situation upstairs was
once again tall and unwieldy, so I shuffled out of Waffle House and
drove to a "men's hair salon" not far from our house. They
have a lot of sports memorabilia in there, and other "manly"
touches. One time I wasn't paying attention and almost knocked my front
teeth out by walking into a Penn State football helmet bolted to the
wall. Other than that, though, it's a pretty good place to go for a
quick sheep-shearing session.
But, dammit, SHE was working again.
I've thought about it, and can't really come up with a clear and concise
explanation, but I can't stand one of the women that works there.
She has hair straight out of Charlie's Angels, and wears
high-heels all the time. There's not a drop, not a single drop, of
hipness about her, and that gives me the heebie-jeebies. Yet, she's not
some Jane Hathaway librarian-type, either; hell, I'd welcome that. This
is a more difficult thing to get my arms around....
I'd bet good money that she has Celine
Dion CDs in her car, watches Desperate Housewives and Grey's
Anatomy, and reads a lot of self-help books. She never colors
outside the lines, and does everything expected of her, in the order
dictated. She almost certainly goes to dance clubs on Saturday nights,
but not because she enjoys it. She goes because she's in her
mid-twenties, and that's what she's supposed to do.
Know what I mean?
I went out with a girl like this once, in Atlanta, and it wasn't a
pleasant experience. She had no sense of humor that I could relate to,
wanted to talk about all the horrible problems she'd had with other guys
(yeah, no shit?), and tried to have her way with me on our first date by
walking into the room naked, and purring in some sort of hilarious
"seductive" voice, "Tonight I want to explore your
body."
I mean, how can a person be expected to keep a straight face in a
situation like that? It wasn't my fault that I busted out laughing. Man,
some people can be so sensitive....
Anyway, this heebie-jeebie chick cut my hair and I sat there and tried
to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. By the time it was over
I'd come up with the above-mentioned reasons for disliking her, but I
have a feeling there are plenty more. And it drives me crazy. I like to
get to the bottom of my strong reactions to people and situations, but
this one is complex and challenging.
Perhaps I'm expending too much energy on it?
After the haircut I went home and mowed the grass. Then I did the weed-wacking,
raking, blowing, etc., and brought everything back up to code. Hopefully
that'll make the Michael McDonald fans next door happy....
There was even enough time left to finish the last few pages of a
Bentley Little novel, with good ol' Black Lips Houlihan curled up beside
me, before Toney and the Secrets got home. And after dinner I took the
younger Secret to his soccer practice, and watched (away from the other
parents, of course) -- something I'm never able to do, because I'm
always at work.
It was a day of high-achievement! And I celebrated with beer.
-- All that stuff you just read was supposed to be three or four
paragraphs, then I was going to move on to other things. But I got a
little carried away.... Oh well, there's always next time, right? I'll
leave you now with a few bits of coolness sent in by your fellow Surf
Reporters.
Here's
a breathtakingly beautiful Smoking Fish sighting, captured for the ages
by Kyle. And Scott was in the actual town of Deadwood this past weekend,
and snapped this
picture for us. Heh. That would be perfect for a wedding
engagement portrait, wouldn't it? And finally, Buck wants y'all to see
the trailer for the upcoming West Virginia-based film, We Are
Marshall. He said it gave even him, a self-described "cynical
insensitive bastard," goose bumps. Here's
your link.
And finally, the question of the day.... Since I told you about mine,
what was the worst date you ever went on? Use the comments link to tell
us about it.
Have a great weekend, folks. I'll see ya on Monday. permalink
September 7,
2006
-- I have an eye doctor appointment
this morning, so I'm working under an actual deadline today. We'll see
how it goes....
This may come as a shock to some of you, but I'm not a big fan of the
medical examinations. I'm always convinced, fully convinced, that
they'll find something horrible, and I'll be asked into the doctor's
business office and told to close the door behind me. I've learned that
nothing good ever comes once you're told to close the door behind you.
One of these days I just know the guy is going to say, "Mr. Kay,
it's your eyes. They're going to have to come out." Or I'll be
handed an informational pamphlet on seeing
eye horses, or whatever. I've been this way all my life. I'm faced
with something out of the ordinary, and my brain automatically starts
trolling for the worst possible outcome.
And it doesn't have to work too hard when it comes to doctors.... Oh,
I've seen my share of made-for-TV movies. Shit!
But I'm sure everything will be fine, right? I need a new pair of
contacts, and that's all there is to it. He'll do the exam, order the
things from the NASA labs or wherever they get my crazy corrective
lenses, and I'll be at Waffle House by noon, enjoying a big bowl of
Bert's Chili. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.
In any case, the local guy is nowhere near as fun as my Cursing Eye
Doctor in California. Out there he'd lower the big apparatus to my face,
and start flipping various lenses into place. Then he'd start asking me
what I thought: "Is this any better? How's this? Shitty? And this
one? Shitty or better? Is this one shittier than the last one, or
better? Shitty? Better? Shitty? Better?"
Now THAT was an eye doctor who spoke my language.
-- Speaking of doctors, a guy at work told me an excellent story
yesterday that I'm compelled to share with you. Because, you see, it
involves the nutsack.
He said that yesterday morning he was toweling off after stepping out of
the shower, and noticed that he was smearing blood all over himself. The
hell?? He had it all over his chest, down both legs, and up both arms.
Following a frantic examination, he realized that his scrotum was
dripping blood!
This understandably freaked him out. He
put pressure on his sac (not too much!), and eventually got the bleeding
to stop. But he thought he'd better go see his doctor about it. Because,
once again, his scrotum was dripping blood!
When he arrived at the doctor's office he was informed that his regular
doctor was not there, and wouldn't be there until next week. If it
couldn't wait, he'd have to see the doctor's partner -- a woman. He
groaned, but told the receptionist he'd better see her today; he didn't
think it could wait.
Sweating bullets, he told the doc his story. She chuckled, and said it's
probably nothing to worry about. She showed him an entry in a medical
book that described his situation almost perfectly, and she assured him
that it was no big deal.
But just to be sure.... she'd have to take a look. And, this is the best
part. She told him that her insurance required that a third person be in
the room during the exam, and nobody else was there except the
receptionist -- a woman in her sixties that he knows from church!
He gulped and said OK, then added, "If you decide to start bringing
in people from the waiting room or off the street, I want to charge
admission."
It was something along the lines of a busted blood blister, which is
what the doctor suspected. She gave him the option of doing nothing, or
having it "repaired." He went with the latter, fearing that
his "balls would explode" in a business meeting, and he'd
suddenly be wearing a pair of khaki Dockers with a big sagging bloody
crotch.
It was a great story, and the way he told it was perfect. I wish I had
it on tape, so I could break it out on long car trips, or whatever. The
dude had me buckled over in laughter.
Has anything like this ever happened to you? If so, we need to know
about it, right away. Use the comments link below, posthaste. Chop chop!
-- And I think that'll just about do it for today, boys and girls. I
have a date with destiny this morning, and need to be strong.
I'll leave you with a picture from yesterday's Charleston Gazette,
of a man near and dear the heart of anyone who grew up in West Virginia
during the 1970s: Mr.
Cartoon! He's still around, at the age of 82, and is reportedly
being inducted into the West Virginia Broadcasting Hall of Fame.
Damn right! Why wasn't he there already? Was he black-balled by a bitter
and jealous Beeper? I demand an investigation!!
And finally, I have three extra-cool Smoking Fish sightings to share
with you. Check
'em out. Are those great, or what? Thanks, folks!
The rest of you guys keep your eyes open out there, and your cameras
ready. Because our logo, man, he gets around.
See ya tomorrow, I hope. permalink
September 6,
2006
-- On Monday one of the Secrets asked
if we could drive down to Jim Thorpe, PA, and visit the old haunted
prison there. Toney and the kids had been there once before, with
Sunshine and Mumbles, but I'd never been inside for a tour. And because
of the supposed coolness that transpired that day, the Secrets had
adopted it as a personal project to get me there.
On their first visit, you see, Mumbles was supposedly alone inside one
of the women's cells, videotaping with his trusty camcorder. And when
they played that part of the tape back, they could clearly hear a
woman's voice (all cigarette and whiskey-ravaged) holler, "Get
out of here!" I've seen it countless times, and Mumbles swears
he was completely alone at the time. Spooky, man.
Needless to say, this has captured the imagination of the younglings,
and they want to go back to the jail on a fairly consistent basis. We
had no plans for the day, and it wasn't a bad idea, so why the hell not?
We told 'em we'd do it, and there was much celebrating.
The jail, more like a small prison, was built in 1871, and was the site
where seven men, accused of being murderous members of the notorious
"Molly Maguires," were hung. All professed their innocence to
the end, and there's plenty of evidence to suggest that none were guilty
of the crimes they were accused of committing.
Here's
some info on the jail, and here's
a little historical background on the curious town of Jim Thorpe itself.
Jim Thorpe, the man, never set foot in the place, if you can dig it.
....At least not while he was alive.
So we headed down the turnpike, promptly missed our exit and had to
drive way the fuck out of our way to get turned around. Exits are
few and far between on that stretch of pay-as-you-go road, and I was
running my hands through my hair, trying to maintain. Finally, long
after we should've been there, we were there.
It's a cool little town. It's in the mountains, seemingly in the middle
of nowhere, and feels like a Swiss village or somesuch. Downtown is now
dominated by antique shops, and that sort of thing. But it's fun to walk
around, check out the old buildings, and try to imagine the place in its
heyday. Here
are a few pics I took on a previous visit to Jim Thorpe.
The prison isn't far from downtown,
just up the main street a few blocks. It's scary-looking, as most
nineteenth-century lock-ups are -- not the kind of place any sane person
would aspire to take up residence. Sweet Gothic Maria. I felt a little
uneasy just parking near it.
The next tour would kick-off in ten minutes they told us, and the four
of us could be a part of it for the nominal fee of sixteen dollars.
Grrrr.... Yuengling charges nothing for their tours, and there's beer
and ridiculousness at the end. But whatever.
After we had our tickets we were ushered into a small room, where other
members of our tour group were already assembled. There was a TV inside,
playing The Molly Maguires, an old Sean Connery movie about the
whole sordid affair. The scene that was playing on the screen was
clearly filmed on the streets of Jim Thorpe. Pretty cool. I made a
mental note to see if Netflix stocks the DVD. They
do, and it'll arrive here at the Compound on Friday.
Here's
a sign that was propped up on the mantel of the fireplace.
The tour guide was, oh, I don't know, twelve years old? That might be a
slight exaggeration, but I'd be willing to bet that she's still in high
school. She was OK, though. I had a little trouble understanding her,
but it was everybody there, not just her. The locals talk really
fast, and clip off the ends of their words, leaving me scratching my
tiny Duke
head in confusion much of the time.
She showed us the warden's quarters, where his entire family, often
including little kids, cohabitated with killers and thieves. We saw the
main cell block, where the Molly Maguires hangings took place, complete
with a re-creation of the gallows. She took us to the exercise yard (chic!),
and down below the prison to check out the solitary confinement cells.
And that was the coolest part. It was like something out of Edgar Allen
Poe -- creepy as all hell. She told us that psychics claim the
"dungeon" is a hotspot for spirits and still-pissed ghosts.
There are hundreds of stories, she said, of strange encounters down
there. Many tourists have supposedly snapped photos inside the cells,
returned home, and found more people in the pictures than there
should've been. All sorts of stuff like that.... people being shoved,
anguished cries from abandoned cells, etc. And when you're standing in
the middle of it all, your skepticism starts to melt away.
Here's
one of the pics I snapped in the dungeon. Do you think the spirits know
what scares us the most, and customize their apparitions to fit the
individual? Shit!
The final stop on the tour was a visit to cell 17, in the main cell
block, to see The Handprint. One of the Molly Maguires supposedly placed
his grimy hand on the wall, as he was being led to the gallows, and
proclaimed that the print would remain forever, to shame the county for
hanging an innocent man. Over the years they've painted over it, washed
it with every cleaner known to man, and even knocked the original wall
down.
Yet the handprint always comes back....
This
is a good summation of the legend. And here
are a couple of pics that I snapped -- before I read the sign that told
me pictures aren't allowed. Not that it would've made any difference, of
course....
It was a fun day, well worth the sixteen bucks and no beer. If you're in
the area, be sure to check it out. It's an off-the-beaten-path classic,
and receives the Surf Report seal
of approval.
-- And on that note, I'm gonna turn it over to Buck
now, and hit the dusty trail.
Have a great day, folks. See ya tomorrow. permalink
September 5,
2006
-- How was the weekend? Ours was good,
thanks for asking. It was damp, overcast, and cool here, and that's
perfect for mushrooms and me. 'Cause man, I love this kind of weather;
gray and dreary makes me happy deep-down. If I didn't think the
Half-Shirts were monitoring our every move, I would've stripped down to
a pair of fire engine-red micro-briefs and gloom-bathed on the back
deck.
Anyway.... What follows are a few bite-sized "highlights" of
the big three-day holiday weekend here at the Surf Report Compound.
Please note: bite-sized means I'm running late again, and fully
intend to half-ass it. Thank you for your attention to this matter.
-- On Saturday the remnants of Ernesto (did it ever actually make it to
hurricane status?) passed through, and it rained most of the day. We
considered taking in an afternoon movie, Ricky
Bobby to be exact, but ruled it out because we already had an
expensive anniversary dinner planned for Sunday. And what are we, Ted
Turner here? I mean, seriously.
We ended up at the Chinese buffet again, where the Secrets each ate
their own body weight in orange chicken, and I, the pain in the ass,
ordered off the menu. The buffet is fine, but they don't label the
selections and I'm always afraid they'll be saturated, simply saturated,
in garlic. Therefore, I end up eating the same thing over and over
again, and it gets old. So screw it, I just went with the #2 lunch
special: cashew chicken.
And needless to say, I was reminded of my old boss in Atlanta who made
the same joke every time we had Chinese for lunch: "It doesn't
matter what you order, it's all gonna end up as #2 eventually." For
six full years I heard him say that, and it'll probably be one of the
last things to go once the Alzheimer's kicks in.
After visiting a few stores, we returned home and I watched a show about
cluster-bombs way up on one of the three-digit cable channels. That made
me happy, and after it was over I told Toney I was going out to buy a
Powerball ticket, and stop at the dive bar for a couple of beers. That
last part didn't seem to go over very well, the normal reaction, and I
promised to be quick.
For the first time ever, the big
mannish fat girl wasn't holding court at the end of the bar. She'd
always been there on previous visits, and I felt myself spinning
complicated explanations for her absence in my mind, and hoping she was
OK.
There was a Penn State football game on the TV, and every head was
ratcheted in that direction. I don't know a thing about it, and couldn't
give a candy-coated crap. But I watched too, powerless to do otherwise,
while nursing a sweaty pint of the golden elixir.
It was an uneventful outing. The only thing that came out of it was a
possible new addition to the Rules of Thumb list: men with moustaches
drink piss beer. It's true, you know. And I was sad to see that they're
apparently doing renovations of some sort. Highly concerning.... If they
bring in a single fern, or mop the floor, or anything crazy like that,
it's all over. I've seen it happen time and time again.
-- On Sunday we went to the Italian Festival in Scranton, and it was
fun. I think we've been every year that we've lived here, and food is
the reason we keep going back. Last year we made the mistake of not
being very hungry when we arrived, but timed it perfectly in 2006.
I ate some sort of strange (and supposedly "not to be missed")
sandwich called porketta, which turned out to be a pile of gray,
peppery pork on a hamburger bun. It was only OK, I thought, and couldn't
really understand the massive line of people trying to get at those
things. Man, they were in a full-on porketta frenzy! More power to 'em,
I guess.
Then it was two massive slices of pizza, a full 45-degree angle on my
greasy paper plate, prepared by the good folks at one of the oldest
Italian restaurants in town. Yum. A giant tumbler of fresh-squeezed
lemonade came next, and before we finally threw in the towel: cannoli. I
always walk away from those festivals gorged to the point of
hallucination, yet kicking myself I wasn't able to "sample"
more things.
And so it goes.
I took some pics, but they looked a lot like last year's. So I'll just
link to those
again, screw it. Here's
one new one, a couple in front of me at the pizza stand. And
anyone who attended Dunbar Junior High School will understand why I
didn't patronize this
particular stand. No thank you! Heh.
That night, many hours later, we went to a fancier restaurant than we're
accustomed to visiting, and had our anniversary dinner. Since it was a
special occasion, we had 'em roll out the appetizers and the whole nine
yards, and Toney and I indulged in vodka martinis. I'm not really a
liquor kinda guy, but it just felt right under the circumstances.
For dinner I went with the Flintstones-sized prime rib, and Toney opted
for some sort of fish in garlic butter. I just don't know....
But it was good. And I didn't even gasp too loudly when they brought me
the bill. Maybe that's why people insist on having a stiff before-dinner
cocktail in those kinds of places? It takes the sting out of the payment
booklet they bring you when you're done. Sweet sainted mother of Helga
Pataki!
-- And I'm all out of time here. I'll have to tell you about Monday on
Wednesday, and our tour of a spooky-as-crap nineteenth century prison.
Very cool!
In the meantime, what did you guys do over the weekend? Use the comments
link to tell us, won't you?
Also, did you see anything interesting on the Jerry Lewis Telethon by
any chance? I tried to watch some of it, for curiosity's sake, but
quickly became bored and found a special on flamethrowers instead, way
up in the 170s. Did I miss anything?
And is it very obvious that I sprinted through this bitch? If so, it's
our little secret, OK? I appreciate your discretion.
See ya tomorrow. permalink
September 1,
2006
-- I watched Inside
Man last night, and had a great time. It's directed by Spike Lee
and, needless to say, when I learned that I groaned. Heeere we
go, I thought, more high horse axe-grinding: an automatic reaction,
organic in nature. But it turned out to be a straight-up crime movie
filled with interesting characters, and one of the more enjoyable flicks
I've seen in a while.
Check it out, if you're so |
The State of My
Fat Ass September
2006
