Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Aaaaaaaand NOW that Joke is Old
Do you ever step into an elevator and, for a split second, fear that you’re going to drop something through the space between the elevator and the landing? I think about that each and every time . . . usually fearing for my keys, which are usually safe in my pocket. Anyway, Thanksgiving weekend kicked off with me stepping off the elevator at my sister-in-law’s and dropping a stack of seven CDs (falling from a secured bag, no less) right on and in line with the opening between the elevator and the landing. So now I have six CDs. Sorry, Fiona Apple.*
The rest of our Thanksgiving trip was less eventful and much more-better. I finally got a guided tour of East Atlanta /
Duluth Decatur (“is greater”). It’s always nice and relaxing to get away from Tallahassee.
In other news, I’m gonna sidestep into Political Land and relate my latest nugget of Pre-Election Year water-cooler wisdom: If polls hold any ounce truth, we’re going to be choosing between a woman who can’t win and a guy no-one wants to win.
Democrats: Snatching Defeat from the Jaws of Victory ’08!
You’d think I’d have a blog for this kind of crap, right? Where did I put that thing?
* no, I’m not gay . . . for the thousandth time
Politics • Roadtripping • (0) Comments closed • Permalink
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Testing the Limits of SPF Technology
We’re back from our beach trip. If you know me at all, either in real life or this virtual one, you know I hate being at the beach. Well, we were at the beach for something like four days and four nights. And, lemme tell you, I never want to go to the beach again . . . unless it’s exactly like that. We stayed in an amazing house with a passel of blogger-ly types, ate great food, drank the perfect amounts of alcohol (except for that one night with the grape vodka and ziti), and kept my beach exposure to a minimum. I’m not joking; the house was right ON the beach (separated by a POOL, motherfuckers), so out of the 40-some-odd hours we were there, I touched sand for about one of them. One hour.
There was lots of SUN exposure though. Between the constant pool time Mia was demanding and the fact that the sun was full-ON every day, I was really pushing that SPF 50 Coppertone Baby stuff as far as I could. And I’m happy to report, that I didn’t burn anywhere.
The flipside to all of this is that, due to the omnipresent Guitar Hero playing, I never want to hear “Sweet Child o’ Mine” or “Girlfriend” or even “Message in a Bottle” ever again.
In a related note, my wife is, as I type this, pricing PS2/Guitar Hero combos on Ebay.
Also, in true Lunchbreak fashion, we didn’t take any pictures. At all. Didn’t even bring our camera. But other people did. Well, not OUR camera . . . you get the picture.
Roadtripping • Weekends • (6) Comments closed • Permalink
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
I know Thanksgiving was almost a week ago. Nothing much to report: We ate the standard fare, and I fell asleep in front of a football game in between servings of pie . . . end of story.
However, rather than spend Black Friday in the stores or (God forbid!) in a fucking MALL, we went to the beach. Sure, it’s almost winter (even in Florida), but I’d argue that’s the best time to go to the beach. Seriously, it was breezy and cool in the waning afternoon . . . I don’t think I’ve spent a more pleasant couple hours on the sand. Mia was playing and looking for shells. It was
great pretty good.
Yesterday, I officially finished off the leftovers from the weekend. Sunday I had a turkey-and-stuffing sandwich for lunch and leftover chicken from Thanksgiving night for dinner. Monday and yesterday, I brought lunchboxes to work . . . pizza boxes leftover from the beach. (I had to write “Scott’s lunch” on them, because unmarked pizza, cake, and/or pastries are usually fair game for pilferers.) Oh, and for dinner Monday, I had wings leftover from Saturday. We seem to have avoided any serious food-poisoning.
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Wednesday, November 22, 2006
When I Said, “I Picked Up Some Wine,” I Meant THIS
I realize that you weren’t there (for the most part), the Internets. I don’t wanna make you jealous, but . . . well, we were in Atlanta this past weekend. For a “very special pre-Thanksgiving” thing at C-dub’s. And we had the best turkey ever. I know, I’m so sorry for rubbing your proverbial face in it, the Internets.
I’m kinda pissed because as I was uploading some pictures to Flickr, I accidentally kicked a power switch and turned my computer off, losing some of the descriptive commentary on the photos. Just rest assured: When CW finished off a bottle of grape vodka, there were two unopened bottles waiting in the wings.
So, I’m over this “blogging-way-after-the-fact” nonsense. Tomorrow’s the for-real Thanksgiving™. Followed by an overnight trip to the beach. Are you psyched? Yeah, me neither.
Drinking • Roadtripping • (0) Comments closed • Permalink
Friday, November 17, 2006
Three Cheers for Tinted Windows! (Hang on . . . Lemme Get Up.)
Kneeling on the floorboard in the back of a Hyundai Santa Fe and trying to direct pee into an aluminum can is no small feat. Especially when there are bumps on the road you’re riding on. The interstate. On which you are navigating your wife to merge onto another interstate. If only you could navigate to a rest area. Which might require a map. (Quick FYI: There is apparently only ONE rest area between Columbus and Atlanta . . . at the guest center OFF the interstate. Which we passed 20 miles before I really had to pee.)
So, yeah. Things I learned today:
- My pee schedule is pretty well set . . . apparently. Travel that occurs during frequent pee episodes must revolve around such episodes. Or I might find myself peeing into an aluminum can in a car moving at 75 mph.
- My “nearing-urgently-full” bladder contains about 12 ounces . . . of “recycled” Sprite, in this case.
- Holding a warm aluminum can full of any fluid is unsettling. That it’s your own urine makes the situation no more comfortable.
- Somewhere between Pelham, Georgia, and Dalton, Georgia (perhaps near Sasser), there is a point at which the price of condoms sold in restroom vending machines drops 25%.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Day Four: Motivational
Y’see, I’d wanted to write about this thing that happened with my job, but we’re smarter than that (and, also, the situation came to an anticlimactic conclusion). And then I’d wanted to write about this book I finished
reading skimming and how the whole thing seems like a self-congratulatory, calculated publicity stab (no, it wasn’t OJ’s new book about how things COULD have gone had he actually killed his estranged wife and her friend). And then I’d wanted to write about our going to Atlanta this weekend—how it’s not a Meetup, really, but we’ll get to see a handful of our bloggy friends for a few hours drinks (okay, LOTS of drinks). And THEN I felt like I should mention that I’m, inexplicably, LOSING to Patricia in our Steelers vs. Cowboys bet on which team would do better this season (two words, ‘Boys: Start Bledsoe).
Mostly, though, I just felt I should write. Just write.
Drinking • Roadtripping • Sports • The Media • Weekends • (2) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Warning: World’s Largest Aquarium has a Strict No-Refund Policy
So I think I have a full-on cold now, but I still blame the Allergens of Atlanta. I almost never (knockonwood) have allergic reactions, but after a day in the smoggy and toxic Northern Georgia air, I was plagued with post-nasal dripping and then all manner of cold symptoms. Maybe it’s a cold, then. In September. I didn’t get a cold this bad all last winter, so perhaps we’re making up for something and/or my body’s getting the ol’ immune system ready for this winter. Which I kindof appreciate. Except that I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in several nights now. It’s at that stage now where I wake up feeling like total and utter shit and then gradually feel more human as the day goes on and then I slip into bed thinking that the worst is over . . . only to wake up feeling like shit all over again. This morning around 4:30 a.m., I was convinced I was gonna suffocate myself with stuffiness, or drown in my own phlegm. Like, suddenly, I’d been transformed into a guy with end-stage Cystic Fibrosis who was five years beyond his life expectancy, lungs filling up that much more quickly.
The four-day weekend jaunt to Atlanta was only slightly more adventurous than usual, as we took Mia to the World’s Largest Aquarium. This could’ve been a really neat thing, but when she wasn’t freaking out (for the second time in two weeks) at a 3-D movie, she was dragging us from exhibit to exhibit so quickly, we were done in an hour and a half. Which is about half as long as it’s supposed to take. Sure, lots of the exhibits are of the “oh-look-FISH . . . AGAIN” variety, but I could’ve watched the whale sharks for a while longer. And the sea lions. And the spooky, hovering piranha. But Mia’s all, “I wanna go somewhere else!” Or “I wanna slide down the whale, daddy!” Seriously, I think she had a lot more fun walking around thrift stores or playing at CW’s house during the first half of the Georgia Tech / Notre Dame game.
Roadtripping • Weekends • (5) Comments closed • Permalink
Friday, September 01, 2006
Belize? You’re Shitting Me.
I’m not a big fan of posting stories from my childhood, but I was reminded recently of this one time I tried to outsmart my mom when she was putting me to bed. I’d gotten in the habit of chewing gum before bed, and she’d always make me spit it out, telling me I’d choke. Well, this one time, when she came into my room, I took the gum out of my mouth . . . and put it in my bedshirt. She kissed me good night and left. And I promptly fell asleep. You know the rest.
In other news, it’s mini-Meetup time here in Atlanta, where we’re visiting Michelle’s sister. On the way up, we stopped and had lunch with Mark and his awesome and tall wife in Macon. And tomorrow, if the “fates” allow, we’re meeting CW and his wife for dinner. Hilarity will ensue. Likely before we show up.
This post was brought to you by Woodchuck Granny Smith Apple Cider.
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Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Aaaaaaaaand we’re BACK from our wild adventure at Wild Adventures. Actually, we’ve been back since Saturday afternoon. And it wasn’t all that wild. For instance, the days we were there, the park was open for 23 hours (combined). I think we spent a grand total of nine hours there. Did we get our money’s worth? Mia looks happy in the pictures we took, so I’ll go with a qualified “yes.”
There was a lot of half-joking about Wild Adventures being a “redneck Disney” before leaving for Valdosta, and I was somewhat afraid that it was gonna be a fixed-base version of the Fair. Luckily, it was more grand (and clean!) than the Fair. But without the kiddie-stimulation-overload of Disney. Which I think was good for Mia’s first “real” amusement park experience. And Michelle and I had some adult-ride time (separately), and you’d be hard pressed to find un-pussified rides like The Hangman at Disney. (Definitely one of the better coasters I’ve ridden. The old-school wooden Cheetah left me feeling more beaten up than the Red Sox in a five-game series with the Yankees. Won’t say it wasn’t thrilling, though. Just painful.)
Mia only cried one ride to an early conclusion . . . ironically a motion simulator that featured Spongebob Squarepants. She did whine about getting off another ride, but I think that was because it was beneath her. Yeah, no more riding alone in a giant bee or frog and going in circles. Her favorite ride: the motherfucking tilt-a-whirl. Jesus. On Day Two, she and I rode it while Michelle went to ride the Swamp Thing (weak!), and Mia went into hysterics when I had to pull her off because, unlike the day before, there was actually a line to get on the ride.* And when Michelle took her BACK to ride it (while I was riding the Swamp Thing), someone actually threw up on it before they could get on and it had to be shut down for “cleaning” (i.e., the hose).
Mia rode three of the nine coasters at the park, which brings me to an important issue. While there’s the selling point that Wild Adventure does, in fact, HAVE nine rollercoasters, it’s close to physically impossible for anyone to ride all of them in a single visit. Why? Because the smallest is for kids around 3 feet tall, and The Hangman has a minimum height limit of 52”. I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of “kids” who’d confidently stride off the biggest, scariest coaster in the park and then say they wanna wind down on the Fiesta Whatever-the-Fuck.
Still, I give this park a strong thumb sideways. While not being magical or transcendent, it had all the requisite charm. The sometimes sullen ride operators. The surprisingly edible food (even though we were, charmingly, gouged for it). And the really nice clown (Mia’s “fairy” friend), who went a little out of her way to make sure Mia had a nice birthday.
Roadtripping • Weekends • (1) Comments closed • Permalink
Friday, August 25, 2006
Monthly Newsletter: Month Forty-Nine?
You’re asleep in the next room here at the Hampton Inn & Suites in Valdosta, Georgia. We spent the day (well, four hours of it) at Wild Adventures to celebrate your birthday. Tomorrow, after we wake up, take in the complimentary “hot breakfast,” and repack our belongings, we’re gonna swing by Wild Adventures again for a hopefully longer session of fun before making the 90-minute drive back to Tallahassee. Sunday is the family “party” and the many presents.
You “officially” started preschool two weeks ago, and you’re already asking about kindergarten. Which kind-of worries us, as we’re really torn about the various schooling options that lie before us . . . the overly diverse magnet school (focus on the arts) we’re zone for, the “charter” school that may or may not be run by hippies, or the school your mommy’s office is zoned for (demographically resembling the city as a whole and a solid performer). I feel like a racist worrying about these kinds of issues, but your early homecare had excluded African-American children as a business decision*, and the subsequent preschool years have been overwhelmingly whitebread.
(ASIDE: I really tried, just now, to be fair in the battle of Pepsi vs. Coke as manifested in the third-floor vending area. Of course your mommy was gonna want Diet Coke, so that was a given. But I tried to get Sierra Mist instead of Sprite, and Aquafina over Dasani, and the fucking Pepsi machine would NOT take my dollar bills. The Coke machine sucked those things right in. So we’re drinking their horrible corporate water over Pepsi’s.)
Look, Mia, we really couldn’t ask for a better daughter. Is what I’m trying to say. Sadly, you’re cursed with imperfect parents . . . your mother, who won’t eat ketchup because it’s made from tomatoes but loves barbeque sauce (denying that it’s just spiced-up ketchup), and your father, who until a year ago thought that wasabi was, like guacamole, made from avocados, and just earlier this evening uttered the phrase, “I bet Tallahassee is gettin’ tore up by rain right now.”
Rise above, sweet Mia. Rise above.
Imitation/Flattery • Roadtripping • (6) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
The Beach Would’ve Owned “Something About Mary”
Y’know how, hypothetically, all your friends are hot for Cameron Diaz and want to have dirty sex with Cameron Diaz, but when you look at Cameron Diaz, all you see is her little-boy ass and her face-like-Ms.-Pacman? Well, the beach is my Cameron Diaz. And vice versa.
Seriously, I don’t like the sun or heat, I don’t like having to spend 15 minutes lathering up with SPF 45, I don’t like salt water, and I don’t like . . . beach culture. That said, if I were open to enjoying the beach, this past weekend would’ve been the ideal time. A full moon, unseasonably cool and windy afternoons, surprise fireworks courtesy of a wedding in a nearby hotel, good food. Of course, not everything can be so rosy, which is why God invented bulleted lists. And the beach. Observe:
- On our way down to
Cameron Diazthe beach, we started seeing signs and billboards about a PGA Tour event happening at the resort in which we were staying. Luckily, it was on the golf course furthest away from our building.
- So this was a work retreat/function. We’d brought Michelle’s in-laws with us because they love the beach. The first night, we were hanging out and playing Scrabble. After I kicked the holy crap out of my mother-in-law while my father-in-law was reaching out and touching some woman he’d gone to high school with 40 years earlier, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find two of my coworkers, one of whom thought she was supposed to be in our room. She kept saying she needed a drink and asked me for some ice. I took her cup in and filled it with ice. While I was verifying that she was indeed mistaken about her room (which was actually six floors above ours), she started mixing herself a rum in coke right there on our doorstep. (I immediately thought of Estella.)
- In between tours of (Mia) duty on the beach, there was some outlet-shopping. Apparently, in Destin, outlet-shopping is only a win-win situation if you have vagina. Every store, Michelle’s, all, “Wow, cool, Vans for $10 a pair on clearance.” Oh, there were clearance Vans for men, too . . . really ugly ones. In mutant sizes. This pattern was evident in every store. Women get “Buy 1 Get 1 for Half Price!” and men get “Sandals on Sale for $60.”
Michelle has some pictures at her Flickr page of the weekend’s festivities. Reportedly, next year, we’ll be bringing other people with us. I’ll do my best to keep my job for another year.
Roadtripping • Weekends • (3) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
The Meetup. The Bi-Mon-Sci-Fi-Con. The Embiggening. The Dorkfest. Oh My God, I Hate You!
No matter how we refer to this past weekend, all of those present will remember it for the rest of their blogging lives. Or at least until the next time. If they can remember it at all. (In-laws who may be reading should probably skip to the very end where there’s a link to several pictures of your beautiful daughters.)
Several bloggers are big on the cameras and picture-taking, so there is no shortage of photographic documentation of the event. Hell, I even got in on the action with the wife’s Digital Elph. Here are some things I took pictures of:
- There’s an obligatory photograph from the drive up. This particular shot is of Michelle . . . driving. I’d gotten the camera out as we were passing through Sasser, Georgia, in the hope of seeing a second sign to photograph . . . other than the first sign, which had prompted me to get out the camera. I also took a photograph of myself, which, not-so-coincidentally, is not linked here nor on my Flickr site.
- A group shot of bloggers milling about outside the Three Dollar Café. Julia was demonstrating her favorite booze-diving preparation. Ah, Chaser. Estella is playing with hers, I think. Maybe giving it a shake. Or perhaps it’s empty and she’s trying to find another. Which she will surely need. At 3 a.m. When she is still awake. And drinking.
- After the restaurant on Friday, we drove back to CW’s for some after-dinner cocktails. Which, for some people, lasted until a couple hours before breakfast. I snapped this picture as the Party Van was pulling up the driveway. Ah, Styro. Is that the Cocaine Werewolf face she’s making?
- On the evening of the Main Event, Julia staged an experiment using Mentos and Diet Coke. In the cul-de-sac.
Yeah, that’s about it for the pictures I did take. How about the pictures I didn’t take:
- I thought I’d taken some pictures at our Three Dollar Café dinner. Where we were seated on the outside patio at separate pairs of tables. I certainly didn’t take a picture of the wet celery that Styro threw at me. Nor did I shoot a picture of Mark throwing a hunk of bread back (and hitting someplace between Styro and Patricia).
- After dinner, at CW’s, we gathered in the basement to view the Amazing Race clip that, reportedly, is the reason that “any of us are friends.” The oft-watched clip was the genesis for Styro’s “Ohmygod . . . I HATE you” t-shirts. That I have in two colors. But did not photograph.
- There was a moment that I walked out onto the porch and into a discussion about Cleveland Steamers and Chilidogs and Hot Carls and Rusty Trombones. Even mentioning the Dirty Sanchez and Angry Dragon couldn’t take things to the next level. Still there were some nice bewildered looks that could have been photographed.
- Also on the porch, later, in perhaps the only semi-serious moment of the weekend, I sat in on a discussion of race relations with Mark and Styro. I think I tried contribute but I was stammering. Probably from the seriousness.
- The most anticipated (and, thus, underwhelming) event of the Meetup was Asshole / President. We spent an inordinate amount of time arguing about and changing the rules. There was a moment when Styro and I were going back and forth. She stared me down and said, “I will punch you in the fucking face.” I wish I had a picture of the look on her face when she said that.
- Moments later, she was doing the “You’ll never see these again” quote from some movie and she pulled up her shirt and flashed the table. I think Estella got the brunt of it.
- Downstairs, we discovered Michelle and K singing “I Want it That Way.” And then Styro and Estella took on some anal-themed classics like “Mickey” (“You take me by the heart when you fuck me in the ass”) and “Jack and Diane” (“Oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of the chilidog is gone”).
- Michelle spent a great deal of time playing Guitar Hero on the Playstation. Despite being (or, perhaps, because) able to play guitar, I sucked at this game very much. But Michelle was loving it. So much so that I almost had to drag her out of the house.
It was a very, very fun time. Many of the things I didn’t photograph, someone else did. There are tons of them here.
Drinking • Roadtripping • Weekends • (11) Comments closed • Permalink
Friday, April 28, 2006
We made it to Atlanta. I’d been convinced that something was going to come up, that Mia was going to get sick or something, and we wouldn’t be able to come. But we’re here.
We haven’t actually MET any of the other bloggers yet, but we’ve been texting one another like crazy. Probably a bit of foreshadowing that all the girls in the Party Van convened at a bar in the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. As I type, it’s almost 5:30 and we’ve heard reports that they only JUST got the van, so they’ll have an interesting slog through the Friday-night traffic as they inch their way to CW’s house in the northern outer ‘burbs.
Fortune has been smiling on us, though, because as we were coming into the area, we caught up with an ambulance with its sirens blaring. And followed it for about 25 miles into downtown Atlanta. As Michelle said, “We’re making the most of an unfortunate situation. Turning tragedy into something positive.”
-- In honor of my metrosexual attire for the evening, I need to spend the appropriate amount of time on the hair. Because I just got it cut a couple days ago, and I’m not sure how it’s gonna work out.
-- I have a new laptop. I bought it with my bonus check. Before you gasp, it’s an almost-entry-level model that I got a very substantial instant rebate* on. But now I’ll be able to live-blog the Meetup . . . if CW replaced his router.
-- My fly is open.
* When we got our Dell desktop a couple years ago, we had a $100 mail-in rebate that got fucked up somehow and I vowed to never rely on that kind of rebate as a “savings.” I think “instant” has a nicer ring anyway, don’t you?
Drinking • Roadtripping • Weekends • (0) Comments closed • Permalink
Friday, April 14, 2006
The Black Moss
I never posted about the Pirate Birthday Party from last weekend. Long story short, Ms. Jazz Hands was throwing a party for her 30th birthday at her family’s broke-ass beach shack. There was a pirate-treasure hunt, a bonfire, lots of eats, and the omnipresent, ever-flowing alcohol. Because the house was small and broken and full of lots of people and dogs and (most likely) bugs, Michelle thought we’d sleep in a tent. Which worked out nicely. I think.
Just click around. Snark away.
Today’s Good Friday. Or, as I’m calling it, the STEALTH HOLIDAY. See, I’d planned to take off today for another bout of selfish relaxation. And then I got the memo from Mia’s preschool that they’d be closed today. My sincere wish is that today is like a normal Saturday, tomorrow is like what today SHOULD have been, and Sunday . . . well, we’ll see when we get there.