I’m not very happy

Yeah, I know… I can pull up a calendar on my computer screen, or on my phone, etc.  “What is this, 1958?” and all that stuff.  But I’m in the habit of turning my head to the right, on a regular basis, and consulting my wall calendar.  What of it?

I think I’m going to have to ditch this Coke bullshit.  My whole calendar world has been thrown into a state of crisis…  This might sound crazy to you, but this will very likely turn into a full-blown night-and-day obsession until I find an acceptable replacement.  Oh, I’ve been here before…

Are you happy with your 2012 calendar choice?  Do you put any thought into it, or just tack up whatever crap your State Farm guy sends you?  I agonize over it, every year, and totally screwed it up this time.  I should be a pro by now!  Grrr…

I’m working a lot of weird hours, so the site updates are probably going to be sporadic for a while.  I apologize, but it’s — as they say — beyond my control.  In fact, a lot of things are beyond my control at this point.  It’s triggering the good ol’ anxiety dream where I have to take some kind of super-important test in college, and haven’t been to class in weeks.  I’ve been having that dream for thirty years.

I used to dream about being able to move around by floating, just an inch or two off the ground.  But apparently that one’s been burned-out by real life.  I haven’t dream-floated in a decade.  I miss it.

So, anyway…  I’ll do my best here, but it’s a challenge.  Thursday, for instance, is almost certainly going to be another update-free day.  Sorry.  But I’m confident sanity will soon return.  No evidence of that, mind you… just confidence.

I mentioned this on Twitter yesterday:  what’s the story with half the world suddenly taking bee pollen capsules?  I’ve never heard of such a thing, until two months ago.  And now it seems like everybody’s ingesting the pollen.

What do you guys know about this?  I could do some research, but don’t need a freakin’ totem pole of medical data.  Can someone just give me a simple summary of the supposed benefits of bee pollen?  I always ask, but get contradictory answers.  I think they’re hiding something…  Can you folks help me out?

I always hear George Noory talking about herbal supplements, and it sounds interesting.  But I’m convinced they’re dangerous, and would cause my aorta to detach or turn to dust.  Is that irrational?

Last night someone told me my ears are purple.  What the??  I checked it out in the mirror, and they don’t look purple to me.  They’re just, you know, regular ear-colored.  But now I’m paranoid…  Is there some kind of blood-flow problem?  Is it a sign of impending aortal detachment?  At the very least… have I become some kind of walking, talking purple-eared freak??

I don’t care for any of it.  I think she was just messing with me.  At least I hope so.  Good god, between the calendar and this fresh weirdness… I’m a mess.

And I need to call it a day, my friends.  I’m expected to attend a meeting forty miles from here, in about an hour, so I’d better stop right here.  If you have anything to say about bee pollen, herbal supplements, anxiety dreams, purple ears, or 2012 calendars, please use the comments section below.

Have a great day!  See ya soon.

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While I was in the shower

Ha.  I’m joking, of course…  Just in case Big Brother is watching.

I hope you guys had a great weekend.  Mine was disjointed, but not bad at all.  I worked on Friday, but they didn’t need me on Saturday.  So, I got a little downtime, which was nice.  I’m a big fan of the downtime, even though I always fill it with chaos.

On Sunday I decided I needed to change my Twitter profile picture, and went to Fiverr and hired two people to do something creative with a photo of my tiny Duke head.  And I don’t want to criticize anyone… but the first one was pretty close to awful.  It makes me look like a zombie, on the prowl for brains.

But I really like the second one, and it’s live at Twitter now.  It cost me five bucks (OK, ten — counting the rejected photo), which is a heck of a deal.  I’ve done a lot of business at fiverr.com.  There are some fun, and useful things there.  Including this.

On Saturday night Toney and I watched The Descendants.  I had no idea what to expect, but ended up enjoying it.  The premise is fairly depressing, but the film itself was no bummer.  At least I didn’t think so.  Have you seen it?  What did you think?

And on Saturday afternoon we bought two pizzas from a new shop in town.  Opening a pizza joint in the Upper Perogie Belt is a risky endeavor, since the place is already lousy with pizza joints.  Indeed, this particular location has seen multiple shops open and close over the past few years.  Probably taking a few folks’ life savings with it…

But I think the new one is going to make it.  ‘Cause their pizza is damn good, and also cheap.  Between 11 and 2, every day of the week, large cheese pies are just five bucks each (they should advertise on Fiverr!).  Toppings are a dollar each, and the whole fambly had a good lunch for eleven bucks.

And that’s the recipe for success, at this point in our history.  Cheap, but good.  Either of those things are OK by themselves, but they work best together.  Ya know?

The only downside?  When I called in the order, the guy who answered the phone was snorting and snorkeling snot the whole time.  That doesn’t give me a warm and fuzzy feeling…  Is this the dude who will be making my pizza?  Ol’ Mucus Fingers?? But, so far, so good.  It’s been two days and I haven’t come down with a cold yet.  Maybe the heat of the pizza oven neutralizes snot spores? <Full-body shiver>

What’s your favorite “cheap, but good” restaurant?  When we lived in Atlanta we were surrounded by them:  Fellini’s Pizza, Tortilla’s, EATS…  Atlanta, in those days anyway, was the cheap, but good capital of the world.  Do you frequent any such places?  Please tell us about it in the comments.

And I wrote this update in roughly twenty minutes.  I’ll do better tomorrow, I promise.  But, at least we got that No Politics thing off the top of the page.  I’m very proud of that accomplishment.

Have a great day!

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Now that we’re

“I was in a diner last week, Sherry’s Diner, in Raw Sewage, Arkansas, when a mother of Siamese twin war veterans approached me in tears…”

I love when they tell us about these conversations, and it’s even better when they bring the people onstage with them, like Carrot Top and his trunk of “funny.”  Someday, if I’m lucky, I’ll also be able to play the part of fully-exploited political prop.  Look at this man!  No, look!  Don’t turn away!!

And it’s fun to watch the candidates drip-feed their talking points to the media, then hear people at work or the grocery store, or whatever, repeating them — as if they’re saying something really original and profound.

It’s also enjoyable when people get into huge political arguments, using pre-programmed slogans and opposition propaganda.  “99%!… socialism!… fair share!…”

Years ago I had a forum attached to this website, and people would go there and start political flame wars all the time.  They repeated the same buzzwords and well-rehearsed arguments, over and over again.  I got tired of it, so I went in and set up a bunch of rules that would cause the forum to automatically change certain phrases, to new phrases that I chose.

There were a bunch of them, but the one that worked the best was “Halliburton.”  Whenever someone typed that word and posted it, “I have a tiny penis” would appear in its place.  Comedy ensued.  I kept adding these kinds of rules, until it was almost impossible to maintain a political argument there.  So much fun…

But I’m going to make a pledge to you now:  there will be no political commentary at TheWVSR in 2012.  Not by me, anyway.  It’s not that I don’t think it’s important, or that I’m uninformed (you might be surprised).  It’s just that the world is already lousy with armchair political scientists, and I can’t see the need for another one.

If you desire a political blog, it’s certainly not hard to find…  But the West Virginia Surf Report will serve as a sanctuary during this election year.  When it all starts to weigh you down, you can come here and join a conversation about vomiting, Elvis Costello, fast food, juvenile delinquency, House Hunters, fat people falling off toilets, etc.

And so, I hereby proclaim this website a Politics-Free Zone.  At least through the election…  I don’t want to be in the business of censoring anyone, but please also try to hold back on the political snark in the comments.  I’d rather not install a rule that turns “Obamacare” into “I sniff the buttholes day and night,” and that sort of thing.  But I will, if necessary.

Thank you for your attention to this important matter.  And pass the beer nuts.

This past week was tough on me at work.  I struggled to make it through four days, after recently sailing through eleven with little trouble.  I COULDN’T WAIT for the weekend, and today it finally arrived.  Ahhh… sweet relief.

But I was sitting in Moe’s a little while ago, polishing off a cannonball of chicken and rice, when my phone rang.  It was my boss’s boss, and she asked if I was available for a special project on Friday and Saturday.  So, there you go…  My Loverboy dreams are dashed, once again.

Yeah, I know.  I could’ve said no, but that’s not the way I roll.  Plus, we can always use the extra money.  I’m trying to write a book and keep getting knocked off course, which is frustrating.  But whatever.  The Bat Phone rang, so I need to do my duty and serve Gotham.  Or something.

Speaking of work, someone brought in a giant bucket of Atomic Fireballs last night, and put it in the middle of our department.  There was a sign taped to it that said, “Our team is red hot! Help yourself to some red hot candy.”

After mumbling “oh, brother,” I decided to take them up on their offer, and unsheathed a fireball into my mouth.  I used to like them as a kid, so I went to work on one of those jawbreakers like it was 1974.

And within two minutes I was near-tears.  It was unbelievably hot, and just kept on going.  I seemed to remember layers of relief, but this thing was unrelenting and felt like it was burning a hole through my face.

“Holy fuck!” I hollered, and everybody laughed.  But I wasn’t trying to be funny.  It was like a hunk of plutonium in my mouth.  I kept gripping it between my front teeth, so it wasn’t touching any skin.  But even then… I could feel heat radiating off the thing.  I wanted to spit it into a trash can, but refused to be defeated.  Eventually it disappeared, leaving strips of dangling skin in its wake.

I used to like those things?!  Wonder if I would’ve also enjoyed an hour or two on “the rack” at the Tower of London?  Good god.

Have you had any recent encounters with the full-sized Atomic Fireballs?  The ones that are slightly smaller than a golf ball?  Please tell us about it.  Also, have you ever revisited a food that you remember liking, and was shocked at how bad it was?  That might be a long-shot, but it’s all I got.

I need to call it a day, my friends.  All four of us are going out to dinner tonight, which is super-rare.  So, I’ll see ya next time – whenever that happens to be.  My inner-Loverboy is weeping softly into his red leather pants…

Have a great day!

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My first grade teacher

She was a nice person, as kind and gentle as teachers of young kids are supposed to be.  And she was apparently very good at her job, too.  She won many awards and taught at the same school for 45 years(!).  She was a legendary figure by the time I met her, and I’m glad to have been one of the hundreds and hundreds of Dunbar kids who passed through her classroom.

Ten or twelve years ago Toney and I were in the Dunbar Library, using their computers, when I heard someone say, “Well, hello Jeff.  How have you been?”  I looked up, and it was her!  My teacher… from first grade.  And she’d called me by my name.  How is it even possible?  It blew my mind, fully and completely.

We talked for a few minutes, and she couldn’t have been nicer.  I introduced her to Toney, and she jokingly warned my wife about me.  And while all this was going on, I kept thinking, “How in the hell did she remember my name??”  It still amazes me.

So, today I thought I’d briefly tell you about some of the things I remember about first grade.  It was a long time ago, and it’s kinda foggy.  But I do have a few memories…

If you were facing the front of the class, I sat in the row all the way to the right.  Behind me was a girl named Arlene, and the two of us talked constantly.  And I got into trouble because of it.  Arlene didn’t, but I did.  Even though she was doing at least half the talking…

One day Arlene kept leaning forward and whispering the word “underwear,” so that only I could hear.  I found this to be hilarious, and couldn’t stop laughing.  The teacher kept telling me to knock it off, but ten minutes later I’d hear someone whisper, “…underwear,” and it would start all over again.

I had to stay after school and tell the teacher what was going on.  I tried to explain, but it sounded ridiculous as the words were coming out of my mouth.

“So, the word underwear is what made you laugh, all day long?  Underwear?” she replied.

“Uh huh,” I admitted, trying not to laugh again, after hearing the word two more times.

“You can go,” she said.

I also remember sitting in her classroom as a flatbed truck drove past the window, with a ton of playground equipment loaded on the back.  There was a fully assembled slide on the truck, and the sun was reflecting off the metal, and blinding me.

And I recall sitting in a corner of the class, just a few of us at a time, learning to read.  Each letter of the alphabet was tacked above the blackboard, and we went over them — one by one — until we reached Z.  I was excited when we got to the end, and announced to my mother, later in the day, that I could read now.  But she seemed skeptical.

Also, there was a kid in the class named Jeff W.  He was one of those people who was around during elementary school, then disappeared.  I have no idea what became of him, and don’t really care.

But I remember him emerging from the bathroom, with his pants around his ankles.  He shuffled into the classroom, and said, “Teacher, will you wipe me?”  There was a tsunami of laughter, and the poor bastard waddled back into the bathroom, with a look of sheer terror on his face.

During that year the teacher was also showing us how dangerous the doors could be, and warning us not to slam them and get our fingers mashed.  She held up a pencil and closed the door on it, to illustrate what would happen.  The pencil snapped in half, and we all got the idea.

Except Jeff W., that is.  Within one to three minutes, he somehow managed to slam his hand in the exact same door, and his fingers were pointing in multiple directions.  We couldn’t stop laughing.  Wotta first grade douche.

During that year our teacher disappeared for a month or two, and returned with skin grafts on her face.  They talked with us, at length, trying to prepare us for this, but it was still pretty shocking at first.  I still don’t know what happened, but suspect it had something to do with cancer.  It was not pretty, but it didn’t take us long to adjust.  She was still just as smart and kind and gentle as she’d always been.

And that’s gonna do it for me, boys and girls.  Do you remember anything about first grade?  If so, please tell us about it.  Use the comments link below.

And I’ll see you again tomorrow.

Have a great day!

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I hope

On Saturday morning there was quite a bit of snow outside, but we made the kids shovel the sidewalk and driveway.  Therefore, it was completely painless for Toney and me.  Yes, I think the boys could see their futures flashing before their eyes…  It certainly won’t be their final shovel-session.

I also watched Tucker & Dale vs. Evil on Netflix Instant, which I loved.  Thanks to the person who suggested it in the comments!  And I got some much-needed sleep, yet was somehow able to mark 13 items off my big 17 item to-do list.

It was pretty close to perfect: the kind of weekend you hope for and rarely get.  I hated to see it end, but believe I’m only working my normal four days this week, which will be a slam-dunk.  It’ll be over in the wink of a sphincter.

On Friday I bought a case of Yuengling, and picked up a local freebie entertainment newspaper on my way out the door.  When I got home I flipped through it, and checked out the concert listings.  I only go to one or two shows per year at this point, but still look to see who’s coming, out of habit.

I was surprised to see that The Amazing Kreskin(!) will be making an appearance in Scranton.  He was on TV when I was a kid, and seemed old then.  What is he now, 103??  Tickets are $15 general admission, or $35 for the show and a meet-and-greet afterward.  I wouldn’t mind going, if you want to know the truth.

There will also be a craft beer festival at the Scranton Cultural Center, in mid-April.  Over 50 breweries will be represented.  Toney and I will probably end up going to that shindig.  ‘Cause we love that kind of “culture.”

But as far as music goes… nothing.  Oh well.  Who cares?  I’d probably just wimp-out anyway, like I did a few weeks ago when Steve Earle played here.  Earle, of course, is my favorite communist country & western singer, and I vowed to go to his show.  But did I?  No I did not.  I’ve become a true blue ball-baby bitch, when it comes to live music.

And to make me feel a little better about it, I’ve decided to briefly tell you about a few especially annoying people I’ve encountered at rock shows in the past.  Of course I’ve been to hundreds of them, and this list isn’t very long.  But let’s not dwell on that part of it, shall we?

I’m sure I’m forgetting some great tales, but here are the stories that jump immediately to my mind.  After I’m finished, please feel free to keep the ball rolling in the comments.

When I was in early high school, I went to the Huntington Civic Center to see Foreigner, Wet Willie, and Nantucket.  Well, I actually went to see Foreigner… those other bands just happened to be playing as well.

In front of me were two guys snorting cocaine (I presume) off a tiny spoon that one of them had around his neck on a chain.  This freaked me out, because I’d never seen anyone actually snorkel drugs up their nose like that.  It made me feel creepy.

And the guy who wasn’t sporting the spoon had a giant zit on the back of his neck.  It was the size of a nickel, with a big pus eye in the middle of it.  The dude was all cranked up and constantly in motion.  And that staring pimple almost hypnotized me; I hated it, but couldn’t look away.

The whole ordeal made me want to go home, pause briefly in the doorway, and hug my parents.

When Steve and I went to see Steely Dan at The Omni in Atlanta, an old black man was dancing around in front of us, holding his trench coat as wide open as possible and blocking the view of dozens of people behind him.  Including us.

People started hollering:  “Sit down!  We can’t see back here!!”

And the old guy turned and yelled, “No, you stand up!  You conservative punks!!”

WTF?  It got fairly heated, and the old coat-dancer would NOT back down. He announced that he was a longtime fan of Donald Fagen(?!), and was going to have a good time.  So, fuck all y’all.

Eventually an usher made the guy sit down or move, I can’t remember.  But the ridiculousness didn’t last long.  I thought “conservative punks” was an odd thing to say, and was also surprised to learn of his allegiance to just one specific member of the band.

At a Paul Westerberg show, at the Cotton Club in Atlanta, some guy kept slamming and knocking into people, and punches were almost thrown.

I’ve been to lots and lots of shows, and know the protocol.  There’s a mosh pit, in front of the stage, for certain acts.  But further back is supposed to be reserved for regular people who just want to see the band. This guy was far outside the mosh area, but was bouncing around and nearly knocking people to the floor.  He was acting like he was at a Sex Pistols show in 1977.

He bumped into me a few times, and I let it go.  But eventually I snapped.  I shoved him hard, and told him to get off me.  He regained his footing and charged at me, but I was furious and came at him, as well.  And he backed-down.  When he realized I was pissed and ready to fight, he lost his nerve.  Of course he probably would’ve kicked my ass… but luckily it didn’t go that far.  The guy just rammed his way through the crowd, and was gone.

A few of the other people nearby thanked me, and patted me on the back.  The dude was a blue-ribbon asshole, and I’d somehow vanquished him.  It was good stuff.

And finally, at a big-time arena show in Greensboro…  It was either AC/DC or ZZ Top, but it doesn’t really matter.  Everybody was drunk, there were millions of hicks in the house, and many of them were cranking off rebel yells and the like.

Between the opening act and the headliner I was horrified to realize I needed to take a leak.  And it probably wasn’t holdable.

So, I went to the men’s room and it was complete pandemonium, as I knew it would be.  Everybody was yelling and shoving, and pissing into anything even vaguely bowl-like.  And that included three or four guys per sink, a couple at each trash can, and one dude standing in the middle of the room, wiener-out, urinating straight into the floor drain between his feet.

It was a sea of penises, and the roar was not unlike Niagara Falls.  Guys were peeing and hollering “WHOOOOO!!” like they were riding a roller coaster, and a few had their shirts off and whipping them above their heads.  While pissing.  I was kinda worried about my safety.

But I made it.  I was a snob and waited for an actual fancy-pants toilet.  And I got out of there without receiving a stripe of urine across my back, or anything like that.  But it was definitely touch and go for a few minutes.

Now it’s your turn.  Please use the comments section to tell us your stories about annoying people at rock concerts.

And I’ll see you guys again tomorrow.

Have a great day!

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