Archive for August, 2005

Weekend Fun!

August 27, 2005

The dog and I just endured a hellish trip to North Georgia for the
weekend.  It took about an hour longer than it normally
does.  Thanks, driving rain and non-driving Tennesseans!

For no particularly good reason, let’s have an oxymoron contest.  I’ll start:

Celebrity Justice
Objective Journalism
and the all time favorite,
Enterprise, Alabama

Now its your turn…(please remember the rules at all times,
your oxymoron can be offensive to women, minorities, the elderly,
albinos, the infirm, Christians, non-Christians, the morbidly obese,
the uneducated, the overeducated, foreigners and hillbillys;  what
it can’t be is lame or cliched).

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Groovy.

August 25, 2005

Last night I made the geek pilgrimage to see Bruce Campbell
signing his new book.  Normally this isn’t something that I
do.  The only fan-boy events I’ve been to in my life is to see Kinky Friedman
a couple of years ago at Tower Books, and once I waited in line to get
a really tall actor in Darth Vader costume to sign my poster in a mall
somwhere in Orange County, CA, circa 1977.  As an eleven year old,
it hadn’t occurred to me that it wasn’t the real Darth Vader.  Even so, that poster today would be worth a mint on eBay

Once I got there and purchased said book, the Barnes and Noble-trons
gave me a sticker/card informing me I was #247 in line.  That’s a
number that is just intrinsically funny for some reason.  But not
funny when they are calling numbers 100-130 to get in the staging area
line.

Normally I would make fun of the other attendees and all the Evil Dead
paraphanalia they lugged in to get signed, despite the stated policy of
only ONE piece of memorabilia would be signed other than the
book.  Most of the other folks tried too hard to make witty
banter.  There must be a weird dynamic at these events.  The
attendees want to impress their hero and usually fail miserably. 
The featured celebrity must make nice and realize that for every
fish-eyed loser that shuffles through the line with his copy of Army of
Darkness on Laser Disc
and clutching a copy of the new book, that represents currency making
its way to said celebrity’s bank account.  From what I saw, Bruce
made nice with even the most obsessed of fans.

Our conversation went like this:
He:  Hey, how do you spend your time (this after trying to get
some idea of the career prospects of the pasty dope in front of me)?
Me:  I’m a demolition contractor.
He:  Oh, that sounds cool.  So you blow stuff up, right?
Me:  Well.. we do…er…sort of…uh…but…the liability insurance is really high for that.
He:  Yeah really?  Like blowing up stadiums and stuff.  What do those cost to blow up?
Me:  Uh, we don’t actually do any uh, blowing up, mostly that is
uh, handled by another uh, firm.  The liability insurance they
carry is, uh, like $20 million.
He:  Wow!  Really?  That’s nuts.  My brother would love that stuff.  Next.
Me:  Uh, hey, nice meeting you.  Thanks.
He:  Next.

Nothing like an awkward exchange to make you feel superior and cool.

Have You Been Touched By His Noodly Appendage?

August 22, 2005

Any belief system that links the decline in pirates to the global warming,  promises a stripper factory and a beer volcano in heaven, is vastly superior to any of the other major world religions.  
cross







Don’t believe it?  Well here is some cold hard irrefutable science to back it up:
pirates















Does your bible have charts and graphs?  I didn’t think so.


I am so hungry for some pasta right about now.

Positively 5th Avenue

August 19, 2005

You probably don’t need me to tell you that work generally sucks. 
God Bless the Free Market System.  But sometimes you wind up
eating a lot of shit in order to make that Almighty Dollar. 
Currently I’m a prisoner of my own failures down at the current job
site.

The general contractor in charge of this job has demanded that I not be
allowed to leave the site for pretty much any reason.  Why does
this sort of indentured servitude still exist?  Ask someone
else.  All I know is that for anything to get done in a reasonable
amount of time without needless destruction and fifteen OSHA violations
going on, I have to be there AT ALL TIMES. 

Which really cramps my online smartassery.

So as posted before,
Fifth Avenue is full of bums and winos.  The standard model
panhandlers are in great abundance.  Their numbers are growing
here
possibly due to the whims
of the Atlanta city government.  Who knew that the winos were so
up on their current events?  Take the Underground Railroad out of
the anti-bum City of Atlanta and come to Nashville, your cardboard box
away from home!  Across the street from the downtown
library is a park chock full o’winos.  Something tells me that no
one packs a lunch from home, hoping to sit in the park and enjoy a
lunch unmolested by sterno-breathing hard luck cases.

Another thing about the bum population, they all seem to be wearing shirts featuring this
guy.  I quizzed him mere hours ago about how the homeless wound up
with all of his shirts.  He had no plausible answer.  He may
want to call for an audit of his management and how they handle his
merchandising.  All in all,  he’s a nice guy whose image has been
co-opted by the non-participating members of our society.

The other day a possible crackhead came up to me to sell me a gold
chain.   He failed to mention it was gold plated, and not
really gold.  I told him I wasn’t interested.  My exact quote
was something along the lines of “Sorry brother, I’m not buying a gold
chain today.”  His response was a confrontational “You got some
nerve, BROTHA.    Who you callin’ BROTHA?  So long
BROTHA!”  Evidently the crackheads don’t like it when you try to
break down the racial barriers that divide the American people.

Then of course there is the Guy Who Doesn’t Bathe Ever.  This loser looks just like John Walker Lindh
before he got caught in Afghanistan, but smells like he’s been hosing
sheep for the last ten years.  Not only did I get stuck in an
elevator at the library with this ambulatory wretch, he also was
walking down the street today wearing a pair of sweatpants hanging
below the asscrack.  Pick either the stinking or the ass-showing if you are trying to offend
me, pal.  Just don’t do both.  Nobody is so poor they can’t
hike their fucking pants up.

Oh, The Pain…

August 9, 2005

…Or How Peter Jennings Died For My Sins

Ol’ Pete Jennings is dead and I don’t feel too good myself.   Last night on the Countdown,
Keith Olbermann gave an extremely touching sendoff to the late ABC
anchorman.  Then at the end of the show, he launched into a
unusually self- revealing rant
about the dangers of tobacco.  Normally I snicker at such petty
attempts to influence me to live a healthier lifestyle.  But this
one was pretty poignant.  Keith revealed that he had a tumor
removed from his mouth last week and had been throwing up blood in the
aftermath.  His point was abundantly clear.  You don’t want
to be sitting around waiting to find out you have cancer, throwing up
blood, and quit smoking all the same week.

I can dig it Keith!  This actually has a minor bit of relevance to
my own situation right now.  Except for the Big C and throwing up
blood part.  To set up the story, let me just say I’ve been
watching too much Food Network programming.   I want to cook some cool stuff, but I resent the ubiquitous presence of Emeril in my life.  So I have been watching the evil leprechaun Bobby Flay’s
numerous programs.  He has like six damn shows on that
network.  Plus, he is concentrated evil.  So I downloads me
some rec-i-pies off the durn internet with which he has shown that
anybody with an opposable thumb can recreate.   Cut to Sunday
evening as I’m firing up the grill to make some sort of wings with too
many ingredients.  As I walk up the steps to the back porch I trip
and come crashing down onto the bricks trying to hold the up empty
plate and tongs from ruin.  Apparently when I collided with the
immovable object (porch), my right leg was full extended, and upon
impact my foot remained still.  Thus, my calf muscle snapped like
an over-tuned guitar string.  BOING!!!  After trying to heal
it through alternative, holistic, non-Western means (elevate the leg,
watch TV, drink liquor), I finally went to see some actual medical
personnel for this deal.  Apparently my non-traditional treatment
is perfectly acceptable as long as it is accompanied by
anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and a $30 co-pay.  Most
Excellent!  An unfortunate side effect of this treatment is being
bored to tears.  So I’m smoking a lot more.  Smoking for
boredom’s sake.  Then KO comes on TV to talk about Peter Jennings
taking the night train to the Big Adios.  The moment of clarity
comes.  I have to stop smoking immediately. 

The upshot is no, this isn’t as bad as having cancer and trying
to quit smoking.  But let’s add to the mix, the smoking, the torn
tendon in the calf, and busting up with my live-in girlfriend of two
years (as much as I’d like to blame Bobby Flay for that, I would like
to blame Contessa Brewer for it more) all at the same time.  I am going to be a cranky, cane-waving bastard for the foreseeable future. 

So no smokes, no walking without a cane, and no girlfriend.  It could be worse I could be one of these guys.

Mixed Messages

August 1, 2005

One of the great pleasures of driving around town unseatbelted is
seeing the plethora of church message boards extolling or condemning
one thing or the other.  The fine folks at Church Sign Generator posts some of the best from around the country.

My personal favorite is one I saw in Hendersonville about ten years
ago.  I went back and took a picture of it for photographic
evidence.

It read:
A loose tongue often gets its owner into a tight place.

Amen, Brother.

Poetry For the Masses

August 1, 2005

The Haiku of The Watson’s Girl.

Pool covers half off
It’s hot and you need a pool
Check out my big rack