Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Soccer-Sleeping
I had the opportunity to watch a lot of soccer over the weekend. Some U.S. mens “friendlies” and an MLS match. And, more than once, I think I fell asleep watching. I know, True American response. Still, it’s hard to admit. I want to be the ardant soccer supporter, but there I was, in my father-in-law’s recliner, totally “one-eyeing” it . . . and then NO-eyeing it. Michelle’s voice cut through the darkness, “Honey, you are totally sleeping.”
“No, I’m . . . I wasn’t. I was just resting my eyes.” *
Only a minute later did I realize that the score was different than I remembered. And if I could “rest my eyes” during all the hoopla the commentators make when someone scores a goal in soccer, I MUST have been asleep.
* My grandfather’s favorite cover for cat-napping.
Sports • Weekends • (2) Comments closed • Permalink
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Finale (or FINALLY!)
I’m happy that McPheever won American Idol. What’s that you say? No, see, although TayHick was crowned “American Idol,” he has to record whatever aural compost the AI producers can shovel together. And that makes him the loser. Plus, the kids aren’t gonna like him anyway.
Meanwhile, over on Lost (which I was determined to watch before going to bed so as not to stumble onto all the revelations this morning), we got thoroughly mind-fucked and now I can’t wait to read Newsweek and Entertainment Weekly so I can understand what we saw.
In other news, I had a (very) long lunch after dropping my mom off for a doctor’s appointment. To kill time before picking her up, I grabbed a mocha and went home to listen to my supersize MP3 player (read: the desktop computer in our bedroom) and worked on some poems. I made the executive decision to put the half-dozen poems I have “in progress” to bed. They’re either finished or done. We gotta keep that creative-writing ball on the move, kids. And seriously, I was in my twenties when I started some of those motherfuckers.
Boob Tube • Poetry • (1) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Crossroads
When it comes to summarizing an entertaining and/or eventful night, one should probably sit down to blog that shit when one’s still drunk. That’s why this blog is so boring. Even to me. I’m never capturing the moment. Unless I’m in the moment. Which I almost never am.
So, Michelle was gone for most of the weekend. And it really is purely coincidental that I spent a lot of the weekend making discoveries and assessments about my life. You were warned:
- In the realm of sports-bar trivia, I know an average amount about the career of Oliver Stone. But I might have something of an edge in music trivia, demonstrated the following night when I missed the entire first round of a game, swept into the lead while the competition (literally) sat out, and then held on for victory despite the final-round country-music question.
- Red Bull works. I’d never had one, but faced with four beers on top of a no-carb dinner, and another whistle stop remaining on my Saturday Night Tour of Liver Damage, I decided to give it a whirl. I’m sure it doesn’t hold a candle to the meth-jolt that is Chaser, but it did the job.
- I’ve been in talks about possibly playing some adult-recreation soccer later this year. Not sure how I’d work that in with my current band schedule (and Michelle’s), but we’ll see.
- I’m getting fairly obsessive about my untapped reservoir of poetic talent (a shallow reservoir, but a reservoir nonetheless). I’m almost to the point where I’m thinking of scheduling daily writing time. Maybe I need to bust out the exercises again. Because scribbling down three lines of obscurity after arriving home drunk at 1 a.m. isn’t filling my notebook with the Good Stuff.
Drinking • Weekends • (2) Comments closed • Permalink
Friday, May 19, 2006
Exasperate Me
I’ve been told by two of the people who see me the most that I sigh a lot. And if I’m completely honest with myself, I’d say that I do it a whole lot. Emphatically and loudly. With eye-rolling.
It’s Friday and this is the first lunch break I’ve had this week wherein I didn’t have to run an “errand,” so I’m eating at my desk. Which I enjoy for its solitude, and lack of necessary energy to leave the office. Most of my “errands” this week, however, have been somewhat related to me forgetting to bring my lunch to work. There’s irony in there somewhere, right? I’ve finished eating, I’m listening to the latest Arab Strap CD, and I’m desperately slamming out a long-overdue, mildly interesting, stream-of-consciousness post.*
So, I’ve been eating lunch at home (20 to 25 minutes roundtrip from work) this week, or at my mom’s. And I’ve been catching up on those DVR’d season/series finales. So far, West Wing had a nice poetic, full-circle feeling. Invasion, too, considering it might not be coming back. We had a DVR-related conflict Monday night because of President Dumbass’ address regarding his bowing to the GOP’s immigratred (you like that, don’t you?). I’d planned to DVR the finale of How I Met Your Mother, but noticed that CBS didn’t have time blocked off for the speech, so I called Michelle (later, on my way to band practice) to have her set up that show and the following hour of programming so I’d be sure to get it . . . whenever it started and ended. Well, looking at the queue later, Michelle saw that How I Met Your Mother was in there, and figured it was fine, so she deleted Two and a Half Men. As a result, I only saw the first 10 minutes of the HIMYM finale. Can anyone tell me what happened?**
Oh, and I stuck to my guns and did NOT watch the Grey’s Anatomy finale.
Michelle’s leaving very soon (as of me typing these words), and she’ll be gone until Sunday. Those Girls are getting so popular . . . in the Southeast, anyway. Anyway, I’d been trying to plan my weekend. Of course, I’ll be shepherding Mia to all the visits and playdates we have lined up. I’d figured Michelle’s parents would be keeping Mia and her cousin one night this weekend. Tonight, Pretty Girls Make Graves are playing here and I was half-interested in seeing them. The venue had been advertising Giant Sand was opening. But just the morning, I read that it was Giant DRAG. And I’m pissed. Because that would’ve made a difference when planning the weekend. But it’s okay, as I think I’m going to support my friend while he spins retro music at Tallahassee’s Premier Elitist Hipster Snob Bar tomorrow night instead. That’s where I’ll “end up,” anyway.
This evening, I’m taking Mia to meet Uncle Glory Hole for some bar food and trivia that will surely keep Mia out past her bedtime. In the morning: The Woodvillians!
* It turns out that the answer to the question, “Can I write a blog post in 27 minutes?” is “No.”
** Yes, I realize I’m a gaybo. Oh, and I Googled and found some details from that missed finale. Note to CBS: You might wanna consider rerunning that motherfucker, motherfuckers!
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
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Lonley . . . Oh so Lonley
I try and make a habit of checking my “junk email” folder fairly often in case another local reporter wants to get ahold of me for a story he’s doing on Tallahassee bloggers. Because, y’know, everyone likes a little heads up before they’re outed. Anyway, lately, I’ve been noticing the trend has been shifting from penile-enhancement to guilt-free sex with strangers. The newest of these reported that I could find a “fuck friend” (or, according to the subject line, an “online.ffuuck.frriend”). The message included a URL link (NSFW). With a misspelling. Of course, I deal in misspellings all the time here, but if you’re dealing in high-end spouse-swapping or pimping out wives whose husbands are over in Iraq fighting for FreedomTM, you shouldn’t have misspellings in your URL. Oh well, I guess I won’t be patronizing THAT site.
Oh, and in honor of Styro’s Hells-Satans-patented rumor-mongering “filthy, filthy mouth,” I’m going to start the rumor that all of us are moving to Atlanta. But if the Dems sweep the 2006 (and 2008) elections, maybe we’ll all move closer to D.C. Those of us who aren’t there already. But right now, it’s suburbs or bust!
(Shhhhh. Spread the word.)
Monday, May 08, 2006
Still Coming Down
So, after the Meetup last weekend, there was nowhere to go but down. No matter how much money I won at poker, how many times I beat the computer (Advanced setting) at Scrabble, or how many Australian-Outback snuff films I watched, this weekend was fated to be a letdown. But, in summary, I nearly doubled my money (coughcoughtendollars) playing poker, used my laptop for its current sole purpose (playing Scrabble), and watched Wolf Creek with some friends.
But things are starting to look up, methinks. This coming weekend, we’re off to the beach* for my office’s annual retreat.
. . .
Actually, that’s about it.
Okay, kidding. At lunch today, I went home to watch the end Big Love, which I DVR’d last night. There was a little time between the end of the previews for next week and the end of the recorded time, so I fast-forwarded until I struck gold. That’s right, a teaser for the new season of Deadwood, which starts next month. Seriously, my heart skipped a beat.
In other this-is-bound-to-get-me-excommunicated-from-the-Internets news, I went there.
Oh, AND also on the “creative writing” front, I submitted my first list to McSweeney’s a few weeks ago and recently received the inevitable rejection. So here’s the list:
Reasons My Friends and Coworkers Have Given for Not Coming to See My Band Play
I fell asleep.
I had to work late.
I had to get up early.
I’ll be out of town. I mean I WAS out of town.
I drank too much. And then fell asleep.
You’re depressing. Sorry.
We had a show someplace else that night. Your wife said we were pretty tight, too.
You’re in a band?
We went to another show. Hope you didn’t put us on the guest list.
I don’t really like your band.
---------------
* I hate the beach.
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
Monday, May 01, 2006
Over
The Meetup officially ended sometime yesterday. I’m sure there are still lingering hangovers (from both alcohol and Chaser abuse). Me? I’m fogged in due to my sleep schedule being ravaged, which I tried to cure with actually getting eight hours of sleep (something I almost never do), only to make things worse.
I’ll be posting more soon, as soon as we determine whether we made it back to Tallahassee with our camera.