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Monday, July 31, 2006

Dirty, Dirty, Dirty Birds!

I was able to make it out to a theatre this afternoon to catch a matinee showing of Clerks II, which I'd wanted to see for a few weeks now. Since my compatriot and fellow blog-whore Corinthian beat me to reviewing it for the Big Suck Loser site, you can probably check out a review of it that I plan to send to Reese for her 2 Minute Movie Reviews site sometime this evening. Suffice to say that I loved the film, and that everything I'd read about it from the fans is a hundred percent true, it's a grossly vulgar movie with a lot of heart.

And discussions of 'ass to mouth' sex, which all lead me to believe I've definitely gone off the market at the right time, if that's about to become the norm. I'm waiting for it to be the cover-story on the newest Cosmo.

I watched a bit of The Skeleton Key tonight, which I'd seen before and happened to run across on cable, but settled for another voodoo opus entitled Venom, which was floating around the old TiVo this past week. The results of my choice were rather underwhelming, and can be viewed directly at the Big Suck Loser site.

The iPod bulgeth with new stuff, as is the custom when I don't get to listen to anything for a few days, so I'm really hoping to be left to my own devices tomorrow, as that always gives me a chance to get caught up fairly quickly. On the other hand, getting bugged by co-workers every few minutes makes for decent bitching and moaning here, so it's a bit of a trade off, we'll see what the day brings.

Be seeing you.

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Sunday, July 30, 2006

Dallas Wrap-Up

Not that this trip was as involved as previous ones we've taken that have basically required a full post to get completely caught up on details and crap, this is just a brief overview of things that I may have missed during the past couple of days.

*It is quite possibly illegal to cover the bed of your pickup if you are hauling something in it in the state of Texas.--Every single truck we drove behind this weekend seemed to have no end of trash, lumber and general debris floating around in its bed, waiting to fly at our windshield at the slightest bump or provacation. I don't want to have to relive some sort of Final Destination out-takes because these fools aren't willing to manage their trash a bit better.

*Valets are a difficult people to deal with if: A) You don't want their help or B) You just want to leave a car for a brief moment.--I have to be honest, I feel kind of weird not handling my own luggage anyway, but I actually got a little testy with the guy who actually tried to wrest the dog carrier from my hand as we were leaving the hotel.

"Here, I've got that sir!" *starts yanking at it, with me obviously not letting go*

"That's my DOG, I've got it, thank you."

The fiasco yesterday with Corinthian trying to simply park for five minutes while he picked me up and nearly being ejected from his own car, in their attempt to be speedy and helpful, Jesus, I actually asked K this morning, as we waited for our car "Is it just me, or does this look more like a clusterfuck than a smoothly run operation?"

"It's not just you."

*Silverware wasn't invented in the olden days, but apparently black Nike cross-trainers were.--The Medieval Times experience was amusing, if only for the series of weird inconsistencies in the running of things, where someone in the row behind us was vaguely mocked when they asked for a silverware by being told "It hasn't been invented yet, sorry.." which makes a dick like me wanna turn and ask about the Sweet-n-Low and Pepsi we'd just had placed in front of us.

I mean, I'm no fucking historian, but...

*Bella, our Yorkie, is not quite suited to sharing a hotel floor with other occupants.--The dog, who traveled better than one might have thought she would, save for the barfing (which she didn't do on the way home, to our proud astonishment) wasn't prepared to have all manner of people wandering the halls and slamming doors and just generally being guests of a hotel, not her watch, Goddammit, and she barked her little ass off every single time she heard a noise. This also included shit I had no clue about, so I figure she heard people breaking wind two rooms over or something, because she went apeshit more than a few times that I heard nothing at all, save for my own breathing in the room.

Glad to be home, we made it in safe and sound, and I was very pleasantly surprised to find the CD's I ordered around 12:30 AM on Wednesday night/Thursday morning already waiting for me, the Interpunk website rocks with their shipping. This far, I've sampled The Spookshow, who have a cool female singer called Miss Behave, and an album featuring the catchy little number A Bloody Knife On Your Bloody Body. Good stuff, I'm now listening to a horrorpunk compilation called The Horror Of It All Vol. 2, which features Creepersin, Calabrese among around 30 other artists.

Really, really loving this whole genre of music, but I'm curious how many albums I'll need to have before it starts to sound a bit derivitive or incestious. That seems to be the norm for any particular musical style I've ever gotten into, though, after a certian point it all starts to blend and it's time to move on, hence my peculiar musical migration flow-chart since I've been old enough to buy music for myself reading as follows: 80's Hair Metal, then Classic Rock, then Grunge, then Industrial and the whole Nu-Metal Rap/Rawk thing, with a hint of Rap itself here and there, then Techno, then Old-School Swing music, then a Punk/Ska phase, then more laid back Trip-Hop stuff, then a return to the Old-School Country, and now finally into the world of Horrorpunk and Psychobilly.

Next: Polkas, I guess...I feel as though I've exhausted most other avenues.

Be seeing you, possibly in a record store.

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Saturday, July 29, 2006

Shopping Until One Drops

Allright, well not that much, but we did a little shopping today, after we had lunch with Morris and decided to go and run around.

Woke up rather late this morning, after a late night of blogging, and we made plans to have an early lunch at a Mexican place that we later heard was recently noted to have cockroaches milling about on the walls during the midday meal.

Had the debriefing about last night with K, tried to mention all the funny bits, but I'm certian I left a lot of stuff out. Lunch was roach free, and since we found ourselves with a lot of free time, we made our way to the Knox-Henderson shopping area which held no special interest today for some reason. We eventually went to the Northpark Mall and wandered Neiman's and the other over-priced shops contained therein, and finally called it a day around 4 in the afternoon. We headed back to the hotel for a bit of rest, and to make sure that the dog hadn't flipped out and chewed up everything in sight. K chilled with the television for a bit while I checked e-mail and then we switched places for awhile and I read a bit of one of my recently purchased treasures, Famous Monster Movie Art Of Basil Gogos, which I ran across at the comic store yesterday.

We'd made plans to go and have dinner this evening with Corinthian and Ellen Aim, as well as Morris and his new boyfriend Joe, at a fairly hidden place in downtown Dallas called Dakota's Steakhouse, which is actually located underground, and has only an elevator visible above-ground, and features a fountianed, well landscaped courtyard that offers a wonderful open-air environment for those so inclined. We had a table indoors, as it's quite hot and humid, and enjoyed a fabulous meal. It was during this meal that we found out about the little many legged visitor at the day's earlier restaurant, courtesy of Joe, who'd spotted it a few weeks ago. Since I saw nothing, I figure no harm, no foul, but it is a weird thing to hear after the fact.

After the meal, we wanted to try and have a drink at the bar in our hotel, which was apperently on the minds of everyone else in the fucking city, and after sitting in a line to get into the parking lot for the hotel, we said screw it, and went to a much quieter location, a different hotel bar, which was cool, though plagued by a loud piano chanteuse singing everything from "You're So Vain" to fucking "Dream On" by Aerosmith, which made we wanna go and try to con her into singing "Free Bird", since we're doing the classic rock theme.

Note to self, don't try to stay at a trendy hotel next time we're in Dallas, because for every cool space-age design element that I've thought was nifty, there's been a million things that I thought were kinda cheesy, and I can always do without the trendy fuckers dying to fight their way into the Ghost Bar or whatever the hell it was called on the upper floors.

We leave tomorrow for home, and may possibly be checking out a house which Corinthian and Ellen Aim are looking to buy, but aside from that, I personally am ready to be in my own bed as soon as we can. The pup is a weird complication as we head back, since we really don't think she tarvels all that well without a bit of barfing, so we're not that keen on stopping for lunch and shopping and hanging with friends, more content to simply head back and show this city my ass.

Be seeing you.

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Friday, July 28, 2006

Medievil Shite

Drove to Dallas this morning, stopping only in Fort Worth to get gas and let the dog throw up. We've established that she can hold it for however long she has to, but loses it as soon as the car comes to a full and complete stop.

We're staying at the W Hotel in Dallas, which is quite fabulous, and Corinthian was so kind as to swing by and pick me up so we could go and run around this afternoon whilst K availed herself of the various spa options offered to her by the facility.

Corinthian almost had a scuffle with the valets who refused to let him just wait in his car while I rode the elevator down to meet him, they wanted to park that car, come hell or high water. I've never known anyone who's almost been car-jacked by a valet before, so it adds to my repertoire of anecdotes quite nicely. We narrowly escaped without a valet slip.

After an afternoon of shopping and the like, we got together with his two Dallas buddies and his brother, and headed out to the site of tonight's festivities: Medieval Times. This is part of a chain of themed restaurants that offer faux-authentic dining while giving you the full on jousting show and entertainment. You've seen bits about it in films like The Cable Guy and Garden State, which was stuck in my head because the one guy in that movie has a knight his own age sleeping with his mother and is terribly embarrassed about it.

Checking out the restaurant's website a few days ago, I was rather amused to see disclaimers about the fact that the show employs various smoke machines and stroboscopic effects, so come prepared. I'm just joking with Creepy about it, because that sounds amazingly 'authentic', and he assured me that in the olden days that was how they slew the dragons, by disorienting them with strobe lights before moving in for the kill. Who knew?

I have to admit to reservations about the evening, as we all know that I don't have a lot of interest in the average tourist trappy type of attraction, but I did really enjoy the evening, as cheesy as it was. The entire thing had a feel of pro-wrestling meets renaissance faire, hammy at times and overly done, but was interesting for a variety of reasons, including the middle-aged woman who kept trying to draw the attention of one of the knights, who ignored her to the point of Corinthian mock-yelling "He's not interested in you, sit down, dammit!"

We had a drink afterwards, met with Corinthian's lady, Ellen Aim, and then went to drop everyone back off at their respective cars, and get my happy ass back to the hotel at around 2:00 AM.

K fast asleep, The Shining on the television, not sure if it's a good idea to watch that while staying in a strange hotel, and then the dog goes apeshit, being the light sleeper that she is, so it's not as if I can even sneak in quietly after the Not Bachelor party.

Tired, sleep now.

Be seeing you.

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Thursday, July 27, 2006

Holding Out For Friday

I spoke with Creepy this morning on my morning commute, all five minutes of it (it's a really small fucking town) and we got into an interesting conversation about K and I's planned trip to Dallas, for Corinthian's Not Bachelor party this weekend. Due to the circumstances of things, and my not knowing as of this writing if Corinthian is indeed aware of what tomorrow night brings, I will refrain from commentary on said festivities until tomorrow night's post. I have to say, however, I do feel as though I have a few interesting bits of material, some freely stolen from Creepy, because he's a funny motherfucker.

Wrote another review this evening for the Michael Haneke film Cache for the Big Suck Loser site, if you are into that sort of thing. If you're not, don't feel bad, very few are, and those that are seem somewhat into it at first, then soon grow to regret it and eventually come to resent the review itself, and finally it all has a tendancy to end kinda violently.

Talking of Oldie Hawn in the previous post got me to thinking, in that I hold several grudges against this woman, in that I find her to be the worst possible advertisement for the Christian faith since Robert Tilton or any of the televangelist scandals of the mid-eighties.

I have three examples, and they may all possibly be considered derogatory towards religion in general, so I would highly suggest anyone of a more sensitive nature, please take notice of the fact that you are halfway through a post on a site called Dear Bastards and realize that you are probably on thin ice with God already.

Exhibit A: This woman actually believes that she was once, and I quote: "Praying wrong. I wanted an uncle to stop drinking so bad that I prayed for God to make him sick of liquor, and he drank so much he was blinded temporarily." I happen to be of the mind that the God I worship (albeit haphazardly) isn't the type of diety who would be so petty as to try and weasel out of a prayer on a technicality. My God doesn't have misunderstandings based on vague language used in communication with him. He doesn't operate like a slick corporate tax lawyer looking for a way to screw us for not using precise wording. I like the fact that I can make an offhand declaration like, "I wish my parents could've met my wife!" without having to fend off their fucking zombies from my doorstep like some kinda Romero nightmare!

My God doesn't operate like some kinda spooky monkey's paw Haitian voodoo type of shit, he works in mysterious ways that don't involve tripping us up in slips of the tongue just for the fuck of it.

Exhibit B: This woman believes that she has spoken in tongues, and will argue openly, vehemently even, with anyone who expresses dismay or disbelief at such a notion. I have no opinion on this one either way, as I've never fallen to the floor, and spoken in ancient Aramaic, but I'm up for the idea that it's possible.

However.

This woman refuses to acknowledge the very idea that this might seem far-fetched to the uninitiated, as if the word of a middle-aged, rurally raised blue-collar laborer is the be-all end-all of all matters relating to faith. I'll accept your quiant rituals as something that you obvoiusly believe in, my hillbilly friend, if you'll try and accept the idea that tolerance of other faiths and or skepticism isn't an open attack on you.

Exhibit C: And speaking of tolerance (something Jesus was keen on, from what I've heard) this is a woman who openly mocked a person of the Hindu faith, as we were putting finishing touches on an om symbol for his funeral, an image we'd printed out information about, since we, as Christians, didn't have a lot of information about the significance of the symbol. As I read aloud from the sheet of paper, describing its use within their religion, this bitch walks by, and announces to anyone listening that "Meanwhile, this guy's burning in hell."

I said "Of course he is, he was worshipping the wrong imaginary God, wasn't he? At least in your eyes...God forbid we accept the idea of the possibility of any other religion, right? All I'm saying is, what if we're wrong?" She had something else to add, which I simply walked away from, because this is Texas, and we're really keen on putting people in jail, especially if it's a guy who just puts his fist through a small woman half his size and 15 years his senior, and I had a feeling I'd really wanna hit her if I listened to whatever ignorant-ass hillbilly shit was going to fall out of her mouth next.

All of these items have happened over the course of a year and a half, rather than the space of one week (which could be implied by the writing here), so I've not yet had to kill her out of a sense of civic duty, but I'm constantly amazed at the unflagging sense of self-righteousness and ignorance that seem to go hand in hand when you talk about religion with people in the workplace.

This woman probably fancies herself as highly enlightened because she's somewhat comfortable with the idea of mixed-race couples.

I know why Jesus wept, motherfucker.

Be seeing you.

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Wednesday, July 26, 2006

A Return To Form (Or: A Particularly Venomous Post About The Workplace)

As any of the vast audience (14 people, tops) who read this shit regularly might know, I'm in the floral biz, and today I'd like to take a moment to beef about the person currently holding one of the crucial positions in said business. This woman has the job I started in this business with, that of flower processor, which entails stripping the fresh flowers of foliage and prepping them for use by designers, cleaning out the cooler that these flowers live in, and general cleaning and shit-work. I did this job for a little over a year and a half, as well as learning a bit about design before they let me start designing full-time. I daresay I did the job well, and that it's a fairly physical position, compared to the rest of the shop.

The person currently holding this position, who happens to be an old acquaintance of a few members of management, is about 15 years my senior, and slight of build, which is in no way helped by the fact that she carries herself like a fucking geriatric, and has done the job so slowly that we've taken to hiring a series of young guys to help take up the slack, since Oldie Hawn, as I've come to refer to her, simply can't do the one-man job by herself. I totally blame my boss for fucking us thus, but I do have issues with Oldie Hawn herself, in that she has zero tolerance for the helper not being on task, but has no problem (obviously) with she herself standing around bullshitting for any amount of time about her circus-ugly daughter's upcoming wedding.

That's right, her astoundingly ugly offspring will be wed soon, I assume this means someone practices Santeria, or has lost some sort of major bet that we're not privy to.

As with any of my work-related beefs, I'm not saying that I begrudge her the milking of the time-clock while she shoots the shit, my point is, don't yell at the kid when he stops to ask how someone's weekend was, okay?

One standard will do just fucking fine, and there are no 'A" students in this particular classroom, stop trying to bluff a curve, dammit. And if you accept a job, please be able to do that fucking job, I'm not trying to be a surgeon, quite frankly because I'd hate for them to have to hire an assistant for me to take up the slack when I couldn't do the job.

Any Fucking Way......

Work was, based on the above ramblings, obviously shit today, based on nothing other than my own negative attitude, I think I need to try to get a grip and realize that it's not even vaguely important, and that none of it really effects me, in any real way, shape or form.

Nothing can stop me now, cause I don't care anymore.

Did my usual 'earphones as garlic to vampire employees' fairly well today, and am pretty well caught up on all my weekly listening, which works out well, considering I'm off for the weekend and won't be listening to anything. We are going to Dallas for my buddy Corinthian's G-Rated Bachelor party, which is being thrown by his brother, and will include their father in attendance, so I somehow don't foresee titties on our future. I mean, the brother is one of those folks who has a "...And God Bless" conclusion to his answering machine message, which I personally could never do, not because of any particular religious phobia, but what if the IRS calls, y'know? Fuck them, that's only going to be bad news, and I certianly don't want God helping them fuck me over at the audit.

The old Sitemeter tells me that I've gotten a lot of Australian action in the past few days, which I attribute to the plugging of the Yunyu video and site, as well as the usual (Cool) Shite mentions, it's an interesting chain of links that leads us around the web, my friends.

Ordered a few cd's in the old horror punk vein this evening, since I have basically had the same stuff on repeat in the car since I bought it, I figure it's time for some fresh meat, so to speak. A couple of compilation discs (which have always been good to me) and that new disc from The Other, along with a few other items, just for shits and giggles.

Be seeing you.

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Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Making Friends And Influencing People

Or as near to it as I'll probably ever get.

I received an e-mail this evening from David Kelly, one of the guys involved in the Filmrot Podcast, as well as a gaming site called Eclectic Gamer, who wanted to say that he appreciated the lil' plugs I've given their work recently. I do really enjoy their site and show a lot, check it out if you have any curiousity about upcoming genre material, and David, thanks for stopping by.

I'm still getting my geek on, so if you don't give a shit about anything as goofy and nerdy as comic books, you may want to skip a paragraph or so. Buckaroo Banzai, alias my friend Chris, left town recently for a more permanant move to Nacogdoches, leaving me a set of the Marvel Zombies series that I'd been curious to read, and my verdict is thus: Interesting idea, but it felt as though it could've easily been trimmed to a 100 page graphic novel, rather than a 5 part mini-series. The set of books that introduced the idea, however, written by Mark Millar in the 'Crossover' story arc in the Ultimate Fantastic Four, was actually rather well done, though I had to feel like the whole alternate worlds idea was done a few years back, also by Millar and Warren Ellis in the Wildstorm books.

End of the dorkiest part of our post.

Gave a listen to the newest Psychobilly Deluxe and Hellbilly Nightmare podcasts, which are always a lot of fun. Honestly, the Psychobilly show usually has more stuff that I'm either vaguely familiar with, or that I'm more likely to seek out, but the Hellbilly show tends to kinda force a wider variety of stuff on me. I don't know if I'll ever really get back into the metal type stuff (Sorry, Creepy), but damn if these two shows aren't cool as shit, giving a nice sampling of a musical genre that will never be on mainstream radio. I don't really know what the musical tastes of my average reader here tend to be, (Except that you all seem to rightfully hate John Mayer and his ilk) but it's an amusing trip for the open-minded, check them out.

Something else I ran across while getting caught up on the Rue Morgue Radio shows was a track called The Greatest Show Unearthed, by a band called Creature Feature, who sound a lot like the theme from the old Beetlejuice cartoon from my childhood. They, like everyone else in the free world, have a Myspace page, which offers a few sounds for you to sample.

I was also surprised to notice that The Other has a new album out, which I had no fucking idea about. I guess it's off to Interpunk I go.

Not a lot here but links to more interesting stuff today, my life was boring as hell.

Be seeing you.

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Monday, July 24, 2006

Stretching The Concept Of 'Work' Paper-Thin

Absolutely nothing happening at the job today, which works out in at least one way, when you consider that I'm actually able to listen to an entire show on the without being disturbed by one of these damned co-workers, usually with a question that anyone else could answer. God as my witness, there's been days where I've had the entire morning eat up a single weekly episode of (Cool) Shite On The Tube Podcast, which usually runs a couple hours at most, which means the damned thing has been paused so many times that the player has lost half its charge by noon.

Spent the entire day looking for busy-work, helping to sort and price freight, re-stocking the vases, etc., just anything to keep somewhat busy and keep the others from turning on me and wanting conversation.

Completely gave up on this idea around 4:30, told them I was going home unless they needed me for something specific, and made my way to the house.

Listened today to the last couple (Cool) Shite episodes, (yeah, I know, I pimp the Aussies almost daily, but they make me laugh, and they put out a daily show. Sue me.) as well as the newest Night Of The Living Podcast, which covered a history of the Friday The 13th films. I also want to specifically mention one of the links from the (Cool) Shite Movie Show today, which is for a musical artist named Yunyu, whose video can be seen on her site, and is way cool. It and the music itself reminds me a lot of Bjork, with a little bit of the lilting vocals of Shakira thrown in for good measure. Dark images, kinda haunted vocals, great stuff, thanks for the tip, Shiters.

I've also found that one of the hazards of being a member of a forum and then dropping off from your involvement in said forum is that you miss out on a lot of shit, like when their RSS feed completely changes. Something I learned recently was that the Rue Morgue Radio feed had changed around a month or more ago, and I hadn't realized, just assumed that there was a problem and I needed to simply wait things out until they worked out the bugs, which then snowballed into me not even remembering that I was missing the damned show. I've been slowly getting caught up over the past few weeks, downloading a couple shows at a time to fill the time at the shop.

Posted a new review over at Big Suck Loser, check it out.

Blah, nothing else to really add this evening.

Be seeing you.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Domesticity Is Boring As Hell

Nothing what-so-fucking-ever happened today, save for me learning that if I had a goat ass, someone would be constantly fucking me in it.

Witness: I was cleaning, picking up the living room this afternoon, and went into the small closet behind the television that serves as a home for all the DVD's, to file away some of the recently watched shit that has begun to accumulate on the coffeetable and on top of the television. As I stepped into the closet, I noticed that the carpet felt odd to the touch, vaguely cold even, and upon closer inspection it became apparent that the fucking carpet was wet. Since K has had a slab leak in this house once before, in the garage, we figured that was the culprit, yet again. I was somewhat relieved later in the evening, when I noticed a leak in the kitchen, under the sink, which would explain the water in the closet, situated immediately behind the sink area. So we won't be having to tear out carpet, hopefully, perhaps just have that carpet cleaned and the pipe under the sink replaced.

I'm crossing my fingers that this will be relatively hassle-free.

That aside, nothing much else happened today, had lunch with the wifey, piddled around the house, etc, watched Dark Habits, which I think I'll be reviewing for the Big Suck Loser, and watched a couple TiVo'd episodes of the Coupling show, courtesy of BBCAmerica.

The internet brought me this entertainment, which I ran across on the Filmrot website, which again elicits pangs of nostalgia and wistful thoughts of days gone by: The new T.M.N.T. trailer, featuring the turtles in CGI, looking a helluva lot like the old Mirage series I remember from back in the day, waaay before the cutesy animated series. My only curiousity is that I haven't been aware of any kind of popularity for these characters since their heyday in the early to mid nineties, and thought they'd gone the way of the other children's fad items. I personally hadn't been any kind of fan since the black and white comic days of the mid to late eighties, so granted, I'm no kind of expert.

Found myself spending a weird amount of time on You Tube this evening, searching a lot of different oddball stuff, which was a lot of fun.

And linking of Hank III, there's a rumor floating around the shop (of all fucking places, since I recently turned the processor kid onto him) that Hank III will be playing somewhere locally, which would be cool to try and catch, and it may very well happen, considering that I know he's played in Odessa in the past.

Be seeing you (possibly in the pit).

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Saturday, July 22, 2006

Everyone Hates John Mayer (Or So It Would Seem)

I shudder to think how many shitty antagonistic comments I'll generate over time as the zillions of his fans sit around working their way through all the Google listings for his name, eventually working their way down the list to that 23,456th entry, here on Dear Bastards, only to find not a shrine to his breathy, Dave Matthews-esque pussy rock, but a bitter series of middle fingers aimed in his general direction. I also have to go on the record right now as being a detractor of the Dave Matthews fellow as well, I find his appeal equally baffling. Let me also say that I'm well aware that my tastes and those of the general populace are seperated by a wall rivalling that which divided Berlin, and with quite possibly more guards and sniper nests than you can shake a stick at, so save any comments about my lack of taste for someone that you could possibly reach, as I'm dead to the world of pop music.

Go ahead and play it, I can't even feel it anymore.

I used to work in a Hastings during the mid to late nineties, and my senses have been severely dulled by repeated in-store plays of everything from Shania Twain, Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilera to the soulful sounds of such timeless classics as Juvenile, N-Sync and the Goddamned Spice Girls. With a sensory gang-rape of that magnitude, I think I do well to even allow music in my life anymore, much less trust anything that the average top 40 radio station gives me to listen to.

And since virtually everyone in my circle of bitterness here (I refuse to call it a blogroll, or what the fuck ever the term is, too close to bog-roll, which means it's only fit to wipe yer ass with) seemingly chimed in to express hatred of the Mayer, I really do wanna know who the hell bought all those damned albums.

Today's entertainment at the job involved the sad story of a gentleman who'd apparently spent the day on the golf course, suddenly realizing at 15 minutes 'til we closed, that his wife of 50+years and he were to celebrate a wedding anniversary tomorrow, and that he desperately needed flowers. His request of a dozen roses was flatly denied, as we only had 10 red roses in the entire store, so he gladly settled for this handful of roses rather than go home empty handed. I certianly hope that I plan for my own anniversaries better than this fool, particularly after I have that many of them under my belt. Shit, by that time I should have it down to a science, right?

I found out today, via the DVD Weekly Podcast, that one of the last animated series that I followed with any regularity, Animaniacs, is to be released on DVD next Tuesday, which is pretty cool, what with the oddball nostalgia craze I seem to be on as of late.

Watched Just Friends this evening, which I'd blind bought awhile back, since I apparently have a man-crush on Ryan Reynolds. Don't know if I'll bother doing any kind of in-depth review or whatever for the Big Suck Loser site, but suffice to say, it was a pretty funny film, Reynolds as ever reminding me a great deal of Chevy Chase with his body language, facial tics and his delivery of certian enunciations. I was kind of surprised to realize that this fairly sweet and fun (though occasionally wince-inducing) film was brought to us by Roger Kumble, the man who gave us the deliciously wicked Cruel Intentions. Worth a watch, if you need a laugh.

Be seeing you.

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Friday, July 21, 2006

Unexpected Antagonism

It's becoming apparent that my Realplayer thinks I have extremely shitty taste. Every day at lunch, since we live in a pretty small town, I've got the option of simply going home for lunch, since it's no more than a five minute drive form the shop. I usually check e-mail, see what kind of hijinx the dog's been up to, and charge the iPod a bit. Whilst engaged in this activity, the Realplayer periodically pops up (as it launches when I sign in, even though I rarely actually use it) with a small window about various entertainment related crap. This would be fine if it were ever of any interest to me, but it's usually promoting something that I actively hate.

"New John Mayer Single!"

"What? Fuck you. Pass."

"Listen to the new Young Jeezy single now!"

"What language is this thing in? Please stop."

"Rocky Returns!"

"Leave me alone, Gawd-dammit, I'm trying to think of a clever comment to leave for a total stranger! I don't have time to be studying a sixty-year-old man in a boxing ring, even out of morbid curiousity."

Aaaand, scene.

My life, ladies and gentlemen, gets stranger by the day.

The chickens, after I spent a long day at work, seemed agitated as I went out to feed them, and one of the roosters made a half-assed attempt at attacking me as I squatted in the doorway to their cage, sidling along in that hostile rooster manner I remember seeing when I was a child. Being on their level, it actually surprised me and I grabbed the stupid bird by the neck out of reflex, then lifted him with both hands and held him still and tight, catching myself asking my blankly-staring poultry antagonist "What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you fucking crazy?!?"

Then it dawned on me that I might be a little bent myself, as I was threatening a chicken with a certian amount of seriousness.

Checked out another of the Filmrot Podcasts, as well as the daily (Cool) Shite Movie Show, the last couple of Indie Spinner Rack shows, and the newest Reel Horror Podcast, all great stuff, I'm really liking the Filmrot show, it's nice to find something run by fairly like-minded film nerds that covers most of the stuff you like outside of the oddball genre stuff covered by my usual suspects.

Listening to a couple of newly acquired Lewis Black CD's as I type this, so if I fall into random tourette's syndrome-y bouts of profanity....well, no one would probably notice any difference what-so-fucking-ever, would you?

Dinner this evening with my lovely bride and Davey, who finally got our pal Chris on his way at 6:30 in the AM on Thursday morning, successfully moved out of the West Texas area.

All the best, Chris.

We dined at The Olive Garden, which proved to be the usual fast-food faux-elegant dining experience we've come to expect. I asked for Guinness, and was told that they only had Shiner Bock as their offered dark beer, so I passed and ordered a Diet Coke. When the waitress brought K's Coke, she didn't bring my Diet one, so I sat back and waited to see what the waitress had decided I wanted to drink this evening. It turned out to be a somewhat predictable roll of the beverage dice, since she merely brought me a Shiner anyway. Midway through the meal, when asking if we were doing okay, she immediately added that she'd bring me another beer, as I guess I look like a raging alcoholic to the uninitiated, rather than just a puzzled man drinking a beer he didn't particularly want while wondering where the fuck his Diet Coke was.

Be seeing you.

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Thursday, July 20, 2006

The Nagging Albatross Of Responsibility

Brief overview of an otherwise lackluster day:

Slow in the morning and I had a woman's doorway that I was about a month late to be decorating for summer, so I was able to talk my way out of the store for about an hour, during which I valiantly battled both wasps and mosquitos that had decided to settle in the grapevine garland that surrounds the doorway of the home in question.

Ran to Odessa to the sister store to pick up a small hutch for display at our store, and then took lunch, and spent the rest of the day piddling around with shit, since all of our management has left for a floral convention in San Antonio until early next week. My boss is so deluded that she seriously asked me if I felt comfortable being left in charge, which is amusing, considering that I'm the least motivated employee that she has, and can be outright hostile to her at times. I said, no, I'm not in charge of anything, but I'd see to it that between myself and one of the other girls that she trusts we'd keep things going.

I'm also the key-holder on Saturday, which, again, is comedic on many different levels, considering my motivation in the store is to get by with as little responsibility as possible.

The iPod soothed my trembling ear-bulbs today with new stuff from (Cool) Shite, FilmRot, and the latest Mondo Movie Podcast. The (Cool) Shite guys had a news bit about the recent screening of Kevin Smith's Clerks II, during which Joel Siegel walked out, causing quite a scene, and the whole thing's been covered on The Movie Blog, so go check it out. Personally, I'm quite disappointed in Smith for retreating into his familiar territory of dick and fart jokes, but I'm willing to give the movie a chance, just for old times sake.

I was able to squeeze in a couple of completely pointless movies this evening, so if you boogie on over to Big Suck Loser, you can check out my thoughts on the South Park creator's foray into puppet theatre, Team America: World Police, and Marc Forster's Everything Put Together, if you're into that kind of thing, and why are you still reading my crappy writing if you're not?

Be seeing you.

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Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Nostalgia, And The Weird Role It Plays In My Life

Having spent the last few days doing nothing much save for hanging around with friends as I was accustomed to doing in my late teens and early twenties, I've been filled recently with a weird mixture of nostalgia and the nagging feeling that my current life has been put in a strange holding pattern while I have a 'boys night/week/whatever'.

The odd thing about this is, that regardless of the happiness and fun this time brings me, I find an undefinable note of loss in it, since things will never be as they were in that by-gone era of my youth. This being true most specifically because one of us is moving away, but true also because that simpler time in my life doesn't exist any more. The interesting thing to notice about it all is that while one of our threesome still seems to have the same relatively carefree approach to life, I remain somewhere in the middle of the road with my happiness barometer, my recent nuptials admittedly aside, and our friend David is still towards the end of the spectrum, dwelling (understandably, due to his personal stuff that's no one's business but his) on the more negative side of his experience.

The escapism of youth, which saw things changed in our lives with simple purchases of nerdy shit like comic books and the like, has gone the way of the Dodo, and been replaced with an allegedly more mature behavior and responsibilities.

I don't truly think I'll ever outgrow anything of the sort, though it is nice to have illusions of maturity, but I do still find myself jonesing for the odd superhero book, or the cheeseball escapist stuff that now passes for it since I've been around Chris, who still has fun with it, since his enthusiasm is somewhat contagious.

I honestly don't know where I'm going with this, save to say that I'm preparing to read a set of borrowed issues of the recent Marvel Zombies series of comics, lent to me by Chris, and that I could even see myself buying a few graphic novels on Amazon sometime in the near future, probably to no particular excitement, but it just feels like what I want to do right here, right now.

Oh well, be seeing you, possibly in the funny papers.

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Tuesday, July 18, 2006

I'd Give My Life To Be Dead

Our post title today taken from the Rupert Everett film Cemetery Man, directed by Michele Soavi, which I watched with friends this evening, another movie that they'd not seen, so it's been nice to show them a few movies that I think are worthwhile. I'd wager that this one will end up reviewed over at Big Suck Loser, just because we can, and because I've been thinking upon tonight's viewing that the film bears some comparison to Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho, which we discussed yesterday. IN both films, the characters are confronted at some point by the fact that what they've been doing may very well be a hallucination on their part, although Cemetery Man definitely has many more surreal moments that lead one to believe that anything can happen, while American Psycho is fairly grounded in some amount of reality.

Helped Chris move some of his stuff this afternoon, until the cat hair in his soon-to-be former apartment drove me out, as I felt my sinuses revolting in horror as tiny tumbleweeds of cat hair blew past my ankles.

Found out this afternoon that K has volunteered for some kind of charity event that involves her filling seats and then serving dinner to a table full of people, the event which is to be television themed. Her initial idea was an old-school TV Land style theme of something like Gilligan's Island, while I think she should use crime scene tape and let me throw some blood and semen on the table and call it a C.S.I. theme. She has this crazy idea that no one would want to eat their salad if the plate were sitting in a puddle of my jizz.

I say, let's run it up the flag pole and see who doesn't puke in their soup.

But I've been wrong before.

Be seeing you.

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Monday, July 17, 2006

For My Listening Enjoyment

Back to work today, which was something of a new experience considering that we almost had a full crew working today, as most everybody has finally gotten the whole vacation thing out of their systems. One of our women just got back from visiting her son and touring a couple wineries in California, the other spent the last week re-painting her house here in town, so I submit to you that some of us florists know how to spend our vacations wisely, and others of us should maybe take a brief refresher course in 'fun', where one to be offered at the local community college.

With more people around the shop, it makes tuning it all out easier, since they more people there are, the better chance there is that they'll talk amongst themselves, rather than bothering me, so the iPod and I got to spend a nice amount of quality time together.

The latest (Cool) Shite On The Tube episode was fun, as they reviewed American Psycho, which is one of my favorite books and movies, so it was interesting to hear their thoughts on the film, which can be interpreted two ways, that the crazy shit happening is simply ignored by the self-obsessed yuppies of the mid-eighties, or that it's all in Patrick Bateman's head, and he's hallucinating all his dark fantasies. I personally tend to lean towards an 80/20 split between the former and the latter, in that most of what happens seems as though it's easier for people to just pretend it's not happening than to try and do something about it.

I also grabbed a few new podcasts for today, specifically the latest episode of The Pulsing Cinema (#43), which I recall seeing mentioned on the Mondo Movie forums awhile back, and a couple episodes of The Rotcast, which is brought to us by the guys who run the Film Rotation blog, which has frequent movie news and gossip.

The Pulsing Cinema thing was kind of interesting, in that most of the show was spent addressing an apparent feud with some site/podcast called Deadpit Radio, who had recently reviewed a short film that he'd done and had basically ran it down, and when addressed about it on their forums, they'd gotten hostile about it. To walk in on the middle of this confrontation was a weird way to become acquainted with someone's show, but I think I'll grab a few more episodes before I decide one way or the other, though the actual movie review this time around was Carpenter's Dark Star, so that was interesting to hear about, and who knows, this weird podcast war may be something fun to watch develop.

The Rotcast was basically in the vein of The C.H.U.D. Show or the daily (Cool) Shite episodes, in that it covers news items and the general opinions of the show hosts about said news, which is usually pretty enjoyable for a movie nerd like myself. Give it a listen, I believe thay said there was a twice weekly schedule as of this writing, so they have a reasonable amount of time to gather news and write reviews, and while you're at it visit their blog at Film Rotation.

That's all the boredom that's fit to waste your time.

Be seeing you.

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Sunday, July 16, 2006

My Day Of Rest

I was happy to spend the day with my friends, just hanging around the house and watching movies as we had done in the days of yore.

K got her mother settled back at home this morning and spent the afternoon hanging out over there, so with free reign of the house and a day off (finally!), I was quite happy to just relax and check out a few movies. I had occasion to break out the film Audition by Takashi Miike, which neither of my buddies had seen, so that was nice to watch with a fresh audience, and David had bought the recently released Jesus Is Magic, starring Sarah Silverman, who is one fine-lookin' Jew, and I have to freely admit to cringing more during this program than during anything in recent memory, which is saying a lot, as I don't particularly have any sacred cows. I see a review of the film in the future of Big Suck Loser, just so Creepy and Corinthian don't start telling me I'm not pulling my weight, editorially speaking.

Talking of Sarah Silverman, props to Electronic Cerebrectomy for a recent post that featured a You Tube clip from the film and put it in my head a few days before I actually got to see it.

Still kind of tired from the past week, I'm cutting this short, check out the new review over at BSL and I've recently downloaded a few new podcasts, which I'll probably be talking about tomorrow.

Be seeing you.

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Saturday, July 15, 2006

Now That It's Midnight, I Wonder How The Vandalized Church Went?

It just occurred to me, considering the assistant manager was supposedly going to glue the chipped piece back onto the wall behind the church altar when she went to take down all the bullshit we hung from the wall this evening after the wedding.

I wonder how well that went, or if she decided to let my haphazard paint-job ride and hope no one notices?

Have you ever had one of those days when you sweat so much it feels like your underwear is around your ankles and you smell like a sack of raw fucking onions? That was the kinda day we had today, setting up this wedding, and then the reception at the museum. Everything was okay at the church, which was surprising, considering we'd elected to sit flowers on a board seven feet long, barely balanced on a narrow ledge 12 or 14 feet above the church altar, which kept threatening for awhile to simply give up the ghost and fall the fuck forward and crush the little tiny bride to death.

I'm writing this at 12:21 AM on Sunday morning, regardless of the early Saturday morning posting date. Kind of chasing a buzz as I type, K and I went to dinner this evening to celebrate my hairdresser's birthday, as she's quite special to us, as is her girlfriend, as she introduced K and I and set this whole thing called my married life in motion lo those two years and a few months ago. We had a nice Italian dinner, K and I drank a bottle of wine, okay, K had a glass and I had the remainder of a bottle of wine, after my miserable day, and then we went over to one of the couple's house and had a few drinks, okay I had a few drinks, and we visited for a couple hours with a few new people, which was kind of interesting as we were the only straight couple there, along with three lesbian couples and the odd lesbian and gay man here or there.

I left all that rainbow pride behind to go back to the shop and gather with my fellow employees and their respective family members that they'd drug into the project to go and take down the decorations at the reception site. I've never tried to drag K into one of these fiascos, since I don't think that she should suffer because I never went to college and don't have a job that allows me to do better things with my time than this horse-shit.

We drug everything back to the store in around an hour, and now I'm here, typing this crap, kinda wired, chasing that elusive buzz that I managed to lose whilst throwing our crap into a van with little to no regard for the items involved.

Be seeing you.

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Friday, July 14, 2006

Please God, Make The Sucking Stop

This post will show to have been written at some time in the AM on Friday morning, but I'm actually sitting here at 12:20 AM on Saturday morning writing this, as I had to get my lil' window open to keep up my self appointed daily regimen. Each keystroke a stubborn act of will and spite towards a miserable fucking workday that ran from 8:30 this morning until midnight this evening, I have to be brief before the 3rd wind I'm going on wears off.

Work basically sucked, end of story, please, dear God, make the sucking stop. Even making it suck incrementally less would be acceptable at this point.

Setting up one of the two weddings we have this weekend, we chipped a fairly sizeable piece of what turned out to be plaster, rather than what we thought was wood, behind the church altar. My boss then authorizes me to take spray paint over to the church and attempt to hide our shame by covering up the exposed white edge of the chipped area. Let me repeat that in a slightly more melodramatic vein: My boss authorized me to vandalize a church with spray paint, after a fashion. I ended up using a housepaint and dabbing it into place with a small bit of napkin, we'll see what goes down when someone notices that the colors don't quite match up.

Fought my way out of the store for lunch with friends, as one of them I've not seen since the wedding, and he's in town to put affairs in order so he can finish a move to South Texas, so who knows when I'll get to see him again.

Listened to the latest episode of P-Rickey's Hellbilly Nightmare Podcast, which was cool as always, with some stuff from the 12 Step Rebels, and some folks I'd never heard of called Rufus And Ransom .

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Thursday, July 13, 2006

Reel Horror Shout-Out And Why I'm Probably Going To Hell

Possibly a banner week for the lil' blog that could, I was again surprised to hear a plug for my stuff on the most recent Reel Horror Podcast. The activity on the little Site Meter hit counter has been registering the odd hit now and again from Los Angeles, I'd have never assumed it was possibly someone whose show I listen to each week. Mike 'The Show' Carbone, one of the two guys that does the show has apparently noticed the various links to their stuff, so thanks for the kind words, Mike, and I'll continue to pimp you guys out to anyone who drops by, as the two of you bickering is always quite entertaining, and the horror content is pretty cool too.

Congrats on the Tony Todd interview, he seemed really down to earth.

Wow, twice in one week with the plugs, this is pretty interesting to me to have struck up something of a rapport with a few like-minded people just from the writing here. Nice to know that there's someone out there noticing this besides the handful of folks I'm accustomed to corresponding with. Also nice to be making friends in the Podcasting world, as it is one of the things that does fill up a lot of my boring work hours.

In other news, I'm probably going to hell because I actually used the Mother-In-Law being in the hospital to get out of work this evening because the boss-ladies were making noise about how late we were gonna be there, and I made it clear that while I would stay with them tomorrow night, I had to go see Karolyn this evening. Obviously, I'm writing this for you nice folks right now, so the hospital thing wasn't ever even an option, as K was taking her Grandmother up there and let me off the hook earlier in the afternoon.

I'm on a slippery slope if lying about visiting relatives in the hospital is an option to get out of work, as I'm certian they'll catch on in a few months: "Just how many dying mothers do you have, exactly?"

Not a lot actually going on today, just boring work stuff and a few of the recent (Cool) Shite Daily Movie Podcasts to get me caught up on the listening. I'm pretty glad we're going to be staying in town for the time being, as I can get caught up on my listening pleasure.

Enough for tonight, and tomorrow will be a late one, so don't expect too much except for a bit of bitching.

Be seeing you.

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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Cinemaslave Shout-Outs And Links To Stuff You May Already Know About

While tuning out the world this morning at work, I was pleasantly surprised to hear that Mister Cinemaslave himself, Joe Barlow actually gave a little shout out about the Dear Bastards on this past week's show, #52, as he had read some correspondence I'd sent him. If anyone does turn up here because of it, I'm curious how they'll react considering he'd mentioned the blog as being 'movie related' and most of the content of late has centered around boring shit like my personal life, but oh well, perhaps the bitterness will fish them in anyways.

Cheers, Joe, congrats on a full year of Cinemaslave, and your newly re-vamped website. Check it out, kids!

If you are interested in something more movie related that I've been involved with, click on over to Big Suck Loser, where my good friend Creepy and I have recently been joined by our the lovely and talented Corinthian, all around great guy and soon to be husband of Ellen Aim, author of the Wine When Drunk From A Mug site. In addition to adding his two squirts to our already frothy mixture of pop culture reviews, Corinthian has also began, nay, been driven by peer pressure to start a blog of his own, Five Part Trilogy, which is also worth your time just to try and discern where the sincerity ends and the sarcasm starts to seep in around the edges.

Corinthian also marks the fourth of my personal friends that have been lured into the blogging arena, to my knowledge, at least since I started dicking around with mine. If I get up to ten, I believe I qualify for a free football phone.

When I get my gift, does any one out there want a free football phone? Because I don't give a shit about sports.

Over at the BSL site you can also find a review I did for a little serial killer thriller called Suspect Zero, which I happened to catch on cable this fine evening.

Work was work, and we actually have fresh meat on the cell-block, as it were, in that we hired a new girl with some actual amount of floral experience who started work today. The front-end people, on the other hand, had a new woman start yesterday, who apparently quit and didn't bother to show up this morning. This has been the only job I've had, including a variety of retail, that has had several people who only work for a few days and then don't come back, out of boredom, animosity, or for no apparent reason at all. Hell, a few years ago, we had a guy who came in, worked until noon, and then never came back from lunch, and later sent his niece in to pick up his meager check and a jacket that he'd left behind in his hell-bent determination to make our shop nothing more than a bad memory to him.

Going by these stories, our shop must really suck.

Visited the Mother-In-Law after work, she's progressing nicely with the rehab, and they seem to be making noise about her possibly being able to go home as early as this coming Sunday.

Be seeing you.

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Tuesday, July 11, 2006

For Any Curious Parties

Okay, so as I wasted part of the afternoon fucking about on Podcast Alley, voting for all my little weekly aural treats like a good nerd, I happened to recall a bit on one of them about the 2006 Podcast Awards, which made me wonder if it was just a hokey put-on, or a legitimate contest. I small bit of the old Googlin’ later, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that they do indeed exist, and that you must all go to this website, and vote for all the voices that fill my head during my working hours, and a few of your own favorites as well, if you want.

Vote early, vote often.

K’s mother will be moved this evening to the rehab unit, as they apparently have some sort of marathon they want her to be able to participate in before November. I thought she’d be down much longer than this, but if they want to get the ball rolling and get her back to normal that much faster, more power to them.

We had to grab food for the chickens, yes, that’s right, for you newer folks (both of you, my readership grows by crawls and stumbles rather than leaps and bounds), we have five, count ‘em, five chickens living in the back yard, three roosters and two hens, an Easter gift from a friend gone terribly awry. The birds safely survived our week-long absence and had been perilously close to running out of food since Sunday, so they made out like bandits today. We purchased both a new, larger feeder and water holder, so they will be well taken care of for up to a day at a time, I’d imagine, possibly longer. The only problem with this is that for the first hour or so, they seemed very stand-offish of the two large new interlopers in their pen, and once you’ve had a chicken look at you with a dubious expression, it does something to your soul. An animal with a brain the size of my pinkie nail giving me a “what the fuck?” look has a tendency to bring down your afternoon. They eventually braved the new feeders and seem quite content, but I’ll bear the scars of their withering gaze, watching and judging me, for the rest of my life.

Damned yard birds.

And for any interested people out there, the photos taken this past June 3rd at our wedding are finally available online, from the fabulously talented Jay Conlon, so if you want to see some of the wedding hijinx, which include some of the only flattering photos I've ever taken, and a special appearance by The Reverend Horton Heat, look no further.

http://jconlon.photographique.com/gallery/

Select the photo set titled with our names 'K and B' ( you figure it out, name-wise, I have faith in you. ) then enter the password 'kbb' when prompted. Enjoy the pictures, and let me know how cute we looked. And yes, we are a pretty motley bunch, so if you don't have anything nice to say, feel free to keep it to yourself.

Be seeing you.

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Monday, July 10, 2006

The Grind, And How To Best Return To It

I chose to do it by showing up about fifteen minutes late this morning, and began a day that I didn't really feel especially motivated to even show up for with a brief altercation with the boss.

No, "Hey, welcome back, how was the cruise?"

Just this exchange:

Random co-worker: "Hey there, watcha doin?"

Me: "Nothing at all right now."

Boss: "I can see that."

Me: "Is that a dig?"

Boss: "Excuse me?"

Me: "Is that a dig?"

Boss: "Y'know what? Don't jack with me this morning, I'm not in the mood."

Me: "K...whatever."

I returned to the desk, did a few orders, mulling over the fact that we have a mother-in-law in the hospital, something I know the boss had picked up through the grapevine, and the rest of that side of the family trembling with worry over any number of 'what-if' type of shit, and do I really want to be doing this job just to get shitty attitude the first rattle out of the box?

And I grant you, I'm a shitty employee, with a shitty attitude, but they made me this way, I promise. I really tried to make an effort and give them a 100% for the first year and a half of this job, until I had what friends of Bill W. refer to as a moment of clarity and realized that if I give these people a 100%, and that bitch over there at that desk gives 37%, we still each get paid the same, so why am I breaking my balls to over-achieve?

Once you stop caring about it, this job becomes extraordinarily easier, as it is now just fodder for this daily list of grievances.

Oh, and the boss came by later and apologized for snapping at me, I replied that she seemed like she was having a stressful morning, and didn't bother to reciprocate the apology, prick that I am.

The mother-in-law seems to be doing fine, and is scheduled for 8 days of rehab starting sometime next week, so things are definitely looking good there.

I've been looking over the stats from the Site Meter website that piled up during the past week of limited internet activity, and was quite frankly stunned to find that I had a few people directed to the site because I had referenced a Washington Post article about a video game based around the Columbine High School shootings. I doubt that something called Dear Bastards is the best place for your average Washington Post reader to be sent to for any reason.

Be seeing you.

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Sunday, July 09, 2006

Cruise Wrap Up

Continuing with my trend of a brief overview of the week's journey when I've been traveling, I'd like to take a few minutes to bring attention to some of the little tidbits of the week that I've possibly overlooked, or just drive home some of the boring shit I've already spoken about in vivid, numbing detail earlier in the week.

* There are greater things to fear in the sea than the wildlife: While frolicking like loons on the beach near the little Bob Marley hole in the wall bar, we had to take extreme evasive maneuvers to avoid the feminine hygiene product that narrowly missed each and every one of us, as we exclaimed in near unison "Is that a fucking tampon?!?"

* Having towel creatures waiting for you in your room is a double-edged sword: Once you get back to the room, it's entirely up to you to figure out what the hell's supposed to be on your bed. I didn't mention last night's creation, because frankly, I don't know what the hell it was, either a snake, weirdly coiled, or a scorpion, or possibly a vagina with an enormous clitoral hood, and I was afraid to track Dwight down and just ask, because what if he said "It's a poosey, mahn" in his cool islands accent? What is the proper response to that one?

* K's Grandmother is quite possibly off her nut: On the flight out this morning, Grandmother turned to Terry and commented "I just don't know what we'd have done without that coffee-maker." As if the trip was a rolicking success, made possible only by the ability to have coffee on demand in a suite on a cruise ship, room service and their petty efforts to serve us being met only with a middle finger, firmly extended. Fuck you and your room service coffee. Perhaps pouring some of the magical 'coffee' elixir over your daughter's hip would've saved us a lot of hassle with the medical airlift. Sheesh.

* Terry is way more optimistic than I am when it comes to the responses of women who work for tips: I for one haven't got a lot of faith in the sincerity of people who I'm paying for their company/service/whatever. He made a business of being 'in love' with anyone in a uniform with a cute ass on the ship. I don't have the same deluded self-confidence that would allow me to believe that these people give two shits about me.

We got out of Galveston with little to no incident this morning at the crack of dawn, the patient of course not ready when the ambulance guys came to fetch her from the room.

"You're early, and I'm not dressed." she told them, bold as brass and as crazy as you please.

They eventually got on their way, K traveling with her to oversee everything, leaving Morris and I to wrangle Terry and Grandmother on their way back to Midland. Terry apparently closed down the fucking casino on the boat last evening, with no attention paid whatsoever to the fact that we were to disembark at 7 or 8 in the morning, so he was fairly dazed and confused by all of it, and promptly fell asleep once in the plane. Morris and I deposited them at Grandmother's house, dumped off everyone's luggage to their respective homes, and finally met K and the Mother-In-Law at the hospital, where the emergency room employees were on strict standby, scratching their asses with excitement, unable to even tell us which room she was in.

But really, thank God we got her home, rather than in a hospital in Mexico.

I guess.

K stood by to guard her now heavily medicated mother while Morris and I split for lunch, and then made a pass by the hospital in the afternoon as I drove Morris to the airport to catch his flight back to Dallas. I picked up Miss Bella at Anastasia Beaverhouszen's home, and got her and the husband caught up on all the various hijinx of the week. K finally got the word that they would be doing a hip replacement surgery this evening, and let me know when they started. By nine in the evening, she was in a room, eating a meal and recovering fine. Now the coming bit of rehab is going to be the real ass-kicker, but I'm happy that she's out from under the knife with no complications. I spent the evening with Daveyyojimbo, and got caught up on the past week, which was really nice to relax at the home and not have to wonder about what the weather might be doing that would effect how my bed will be rolling this evening.

Tired, have to charge the iPod for tomorrow's workday, as I don't have any zeal left for those people, and it's Monday, for God's sake.

Be seeing you.

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Saturday, July 08, 2006

Cruise Day Seven

Today we are at sea, in the middle of the Gulf Of Mexico, as we go barrel-assing our way back to Galveston to be deposited on the dock a little after 7 AM tomorrow morning.

Terry has spent most of the day plastered, apparently, as 'the kids' (as it were) spent the afternoon fighting the ship folk about how we are going to be getting Mother off the ship with the least hassle and back to Midland safely, rather than bouncing around in the small private plane we came in on. After something of a battle, we've finally secured a medically equipped plane that K and Mother can take, with the four of us following in the private plane and arriving shortly after them, which will allow me the opportunity to drop off Grandmother and
Terry, take care of the luggage, and finally get Morris on his flight back to Dallas at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Then I go to meet them at the hospital, as we've also secured ambulance transport to and from the respective airports involved, so that's one less hassle to worry about.

Talking of hassles, Terry has apparently been buying perfume for his favorite blackjack dealers, a gesture I'd personally equate with buying a stripper flowers after she dry-humped me during a lap-dance, but he's a grown man, so it's his wasted cash, well, actually, come to speak of it, it's actually on the Mother-In-Law's nickel, as this trip was booked in her name.

I hope she can feel good about the joy she's inadvertantly brought these total strangers.

Morris tanned most of the day, until it came a brief rainshower, K had a massage and a spa treatment, and I myself spent most of the day in bed, sipping a beer and finally finishing that damned Ben Elton novel, which was funny and bleak at the same time. I'd highly recommend Stark, and see myself checking out other stuff by the author in the future, when I'm not wasting my time with this blogging crap. Given the expense of the precious internet
time on this damned ship, I've exchanged virtually no personal correspondence this week, but I would like to congratulate my brother from another mother, Creepy, and his lovely wife, on the mid-week birth of their first child together, a lovely baby girl named Isabell Marie.

I love you guys, all the best for you and the little one.

We dock in the AM, and I've got packing to do, as our bags have to be outside the suite before midnight to be loaded away for the evening, so I'm going to be cutting this a bit shorter, as I have other fish to fry tonight.

I'm sure the six or eight people reading will forgive me.

Be seeing you.

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Friday, July 07, 2006

Cruise Day Six

Royal Carribean's Rhapsody Of The Seas arrived early this morning in Cozumel, Mexico. I opened the blinds and found this port even less inviting than the last, though after speaking to Morris, was assured that it usually doesn't look this way, that we are fairly south on the port spectrum, and that the area was hit by a hurricane in the not too distant past, which goes a long way towards explaining the bombed out look of things. I was a little taken aback by the construction and general bleak appearance of the area. All things considered, I have to say that Key West has certianly been the most inviting of our destinations, by far.

I had a little bit to eat this morning while K slept in a bit, Special K and lukewarm milk, and about half a pot of coffee, leaving me a little jittery and vaguely troubled by the stomach's grumblings. I believed Senor Toad's shitty food to have run its course, but I was still a little gun-shy, considering the day was to be spent on shore, and I had no desire to spend it in a dicey public toilet in Mexico, call me prejudiced if you want, I've heard nothing but bad things about the water in Mexico, and I've never heard a good public toilet story about any goddamned place in the world.

Once ashore, we secured a Jeep, which Morris would drive, and one that Terry and Mother and Grandmother could take and we made our way out. The three of us set off towards Bob Marley's beach bar, which is on the sea side of the island, and I was dazed at the remnants of so many upturned trees and debris strewn to the side of the roads. I wasn't prepared for the destruction that had so obviously ripped through paradise. Dead trees stretched skeletal fingers to the sky, as others showed tentative sprouts of life, green buds popping up here and there. Weird trashpiles of random discarded items were visible through the near jungle-ish overgrowth. We saw an enormous iguana strolling across the road, bold as he could be, since we were fucking up his weekend by driving through.

We made our way to the beach and had a couple beers, and I actually braved the water a bit, a ballsy move for me, as I don't have the slightest idea how to swim, so I contented myself to sit in the surf. K and Morris a bit more adventurous, they went out a bit further, until K got a little knocked over and she retreated further up the beach with me. When we decided to move on, Morris and I discovered that our cheap Old Navy swim-trunks had filled at the bottom with sand, so we went into the surf to try to shake it out, mostly in vain. As the waves battered us a bit, Morris, standing deeper in the water, shouted "Don't worry, Puffins, I gotcha covered!", vowing not to let me be drug out to sea. K has been referring to me as 'Puffin' for the better part of a year, after the Playboy Bunnies on the Girls Next Door's pet name for Hugh Hefner. I've been quite amused that Morris has adopted it for me as well. I finally gave the fuck up and asked the guy serving us drinks if he'd use a knife to slit a hole in the bottom of the stupid shorts, which he did and we finally got on our way.

We stopped on the way back for food and a few more drinks at Paradise Beach, which had great appetizers of guacamole, salsa, and ceviche, which I'd never had before, a mixture of shrimp, conch, and octopus served cold with lime that marinates and cooks the seafood with its acidic nature, I believe. I eventually ordered a cheeseburger, Jimmy Buffet 'Cheeseburger In Paradise' irony be damned, and then we headed back up the other direction of the coast, checking out all the different shopping options, before dropping the rental back off and heading back to the ship.

Back in K's Mother's suite, we find out that they apparently rented their Jeep, drove to the little shopping market areas, where Terry dropped off the gals to wait for him while he found a parking spot. Grandmother ran into a clay pot, and turned it over, and her attempt to keep Grandmother from going down ended up breaking the mother-in-law's hip in the process, as she herself went down instead. Several Mexican guys were dispatched to find Terry, as Mother and Grandmother waited in a jewelry store, during which time one of the guys also ran to his home to grab her a pain medication. One of the other fellows went with Terry to retrieve the Jeep, saying that he'd show him the easiest way back, and then tried to sell him cocaine, marijuana and pussy once they were alone, as if he didn't have bigger fish to fry at the time. During her wait in the jewelry store, Mother, a tourist and fashionista until the bitter end, bought a bracelet for K.

That, my friends, is fucking dedication.

Rather than braving hospitals in Mexico, my crazy-ass mother-in-law was brought back to the ship, where she was brought aboard in a wheelchair, and x-rayed in the infirmary, which confirmed the break she pretty much knew was there. When we returned, we learned of all this, and the fact that she's elected to make the sea journey back to Galveston, and then be flown back to Midland, to be either cast, or pinned, if necessary, by a doctor she knows and trusts. So now we're getting used to the idea of this and the actual logistics of moving a woman with a broken hip on and off a private plane, or trying to get ahold of an actual medical plane that can meet us in Galveston.

Tonight's creation by Dwight, our suite steward and towel-artisan, was a person(!), constructed out of a series of towels for legs, a life-jacket wrapped around a throw pillow for a body, and a towel sprouting out of the neck of the vest for a head, sitting up, watching the television that was left on, as the fellow was holding the remote on his lap.

And now the boat's bucking like a Goddamned bronco, so it's going to be a rough couple of days until we get back home.

Be seeing you.

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Thursday, July 06, 2006

Cruise Day Five

Tonight's animal in the room was a monkey, hanging by his arms from the clips on a coathanger, tucked in the nook of the vanity mirror, which was cute as shit.

We awoke this morning and opened the curtians to reveal the bay near Georgetown, which was covered in fog, and the window itself misted with sea spray and drizzle, collecting and rolling down the glass. We sailed into a storm early this morning, and the area has been pissing down rain for a couple of days, the beach-going idea was pretty much scrapped, and we went ashore in the little ferry-boat with little enthusiasm. This particular port of call is set up much differently than Key West, at least at the dock we arrived at, so there was a lot less to do, as far as obviously available shopping. Most of what we ran across was some of the 600 or so banks that are located in the Caymans, and a shitload of duty-free trinket shops.

Defeated, we made our way into one of those tourist-trappy family restaurant places called Senor Frog's, which was loud as shit and cheesy as hell, for God's sake, their DJ played that fucking "Who Let The Dog's Out?" song, which I'm fairly certian was officially played out sometime in 2004, at the very latest. I think we, as a culture, had a meeting and declared it such.

After a few appetizers, we took a taxi to Seven Mile Beach, which according to our driver is in actuality only five and a half miles long, where we hung out for an hour and a half or so. When dropping us off, the driver told us to drink a beer for him, his brand being "warm Guinness", which I dutifully ordered, and watched helplessly as it did indeed get warm before I was able to finish it. The overcast sky cleared a bit for us and we did get to enjoy a bit of the sun for our brief visit to the Caymans, Morris and Terry frolicked in the water a bit, but only after Terry and I took a long walk on the beach together.

We also drank beers that made the boat's pricing look like a discount liquor-mart. A pina colada, a Corona and a Guinness for just under $20? Fuck me.

The Jamaican Rasta taxi fellow who ran us back refused to turn off his loud hymns that were playing over the sound system in his mini-bus, which was kind of amusing.

Once back on the boat, we checked in on Mother and Grandmother, and then took a short nap before getting ready for dinner, which was very good this evening, and then retired to the room to chill out and let me do my writing while Morris and K watch television for a bit.

Senor Toad's wild ride is making my ass a bit sick, I think the cheesy appetizer lunch we had might've been a mistake, but the damage is done, I don't think I've felt really ill at all during the entire trip, not a hint of sea-sickness and now this evening I've felt really blah thanks to some crappy nachos.

Fuck that frog.

Be seeing you.

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Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Cruise Day Four

Another day at sea, which will deposit us tomorrow in the AM at Georgetown, Grand Caymans.

K has had a rather naughty cruising experience in that she's seen a girl's pubes the first day out, then a guy's yesterday in Key West, and this afternoon at the pool she and Morris had a woman lying on her stomach suddenly spread her legs and leave them such, causing my bride to eventually lean forward and tell her "Ma'am, we can see your beaver."

The woman eventually closed her legs.

Maybe she was trying to tan it, I offered later. You never know.

Lunch today in the seated dining room, which refused to allow Morris to eat in a tank-top, yet seated a middle-aged woman in cut-off sleeves with that strange series of rolls to her arm that looks a lot like a drape treatment that's been tied to the side. We also had to share a table with about six other people, which is pretty annoying considering we have no particular interest in actually making fucking friends, and just wanted to eat and talk amongst ourselves, which the people on this ship are hell-bent on not letting happen. What they don't understand is that a certian group of people don't have a lot of interest in meeting people, and just went on this damned boat to get away from friends and phones, not to make new ones.

In this interest, I went to the pool area, which was lousy with people drinking and listening to some fool directing some kind of contest, and strumming on a guitar (everyone on this fucking boat has a musical instrument of some kind, apparently), so I went straight to the bar, grabbed a bucket of Guinness and went back to the room and my balcony, chilled out drinking a few and reading some more of my book until K and Morris came back in from the pool, and had a mid-afternoon snack via room-service with me, before we all got dressed and drug everyone downstairs for dinner.

Once this is succesfully posted, I see a trip by the bar again, and in for the night, I'm going to finish the Elton book this week, come hell or high water.

Tomorrow has a planned trip to the beach for parasailing, which I'm not necessarily keen on, but figure what the hell.

In closing, something I keep forgetting to mention is that the cleaning people keep shaping the extra towels they leave each night into a different animal, which has so far been an elephant, a turtle yesterday, and tonight there was a bunny sitting on the bed. It's a strange sense of excitement that grips you after the evening meal when you slide the card in the door and wonder what the hell member of the animal kingdom will be waiting for you on your
bed, crouching over the mints.

Be seeing you.

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Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Cruise Day Three

I decided to make a few quick notes ahead of our arrival in Key West, just because I'm unsure about our plans and the logistics of getting this stuff written and posted this evening with our planned time ashore in Florida.

Last night was nice, drank a few beers with Morris on the balcony while my lovely bride celebrated our one month anniversary by hitting the bed early, as is our custom back home. My little sloth slept her night away, Morris and I enjoyed a few beers, then went downstairs to check on the Mother In Law in the Casino, watched her get on a winning streak, and I finally decided to call it a night around midnight, went back to the room, drank a final beer and read a bit in my book before crashing out.

I'm beginning to think that the Ben Elton book, clocking in at near 500 pages, might have been the wrong book to tackle on this trip. I originally bought it in the train station in London on the honeymoon, ostensibly to be read on the 9 hour plane ride back to the States, but I ended up watching a film instead, so I had this barely begun novel bumping around the house waiting for my attentions,and figured now was a good a time as any. Little did I know that Elton's prose would end up reminding me a bit of Douglas Adams, in that it's a bit dense, but very rewarding, if you pay attention to it. I've been feeling a bit ADD on this trip, and thinking I should've perhaps tackled one of the David Sedaris short story collections, or the self-contained Andrew Vachss novel instead.

The sea is so amazing to look at, I have to marvel at the sheer enormity of it all. I'm humbled and amazed by it, even passing obvious signs of man's existance as we left the harbor Sunday, I can't imagine how sailors felt as they hopped on a crude wooden boat, and simply set off, not knowing what to expect nor what they would find. Sitting on this balcony watching the fishing boats and such slowly come into view as we enter the harbor areas is quite amazing, the color of the water changing as we get closer to land, the reefs becoming apparent.

Key west turned out to be a lot of fun, as I finish this post about seven hours later. We went into town, and Mother decided she would rent a little golf-cart-ish, doorless little covered thing for us to tool around in, as the silly island is only 3 miles long, but more than enough for Grandmother to be hoofing it. This plan immediately went to shit because they only had a four-seater rather than a six seater, and there was no way in hell K, Morris and myself wanted to wait around for the shuttle idea that her mom wanted to happen, so we left the three older members of our party to the cart and went off walking on our own, but only after encountering wild chickens running around in the bushes outside the little market that they rented the cart in. Add into this the fact that the Grandmother was really interested in eating supper, right damned now, when we stepped off the ship, at 3:30 in the afternoon, and there's no way it could've really worked.

Left to our own devices, Morris and I soon found a bar and had a few drinks, while K sipped her soda, and we had a really nice time people-watching and just whiling away the time on Duval Street, which is the main thoroughfare in Key West. After a nice buzz, we walked many blocks down the street, kinda vaguely scanning for a gay bar for Morris to check out, as he was quite interested in checking in on Key West's homosexual culture, and neither K nor I really care where we have a drink as long as no one's being a dickhead to us. Alas, we never found anything interesting, so we made our way to an outdoor cafe and ordered a meal, I deciding to try a Mojito, which is rum and lime with mint, which I'd heard was very refreshing and so on, which turned out to taste a lot like cough syrup to me, probably due to the mint. I gave that shit to Morris and switched back to Guinness, which has always served me well. The rest of our party was buzzing down the main drag and saw us, so they joined us for dessert, and then Terry ran the ladies back to the ship, and returned to take us to see the Southernmost point of the US.

On the Terry-Tour, as we came to call it, this is where things got really bizarre, because Terry was dead set on honking at any un-escorted young thing he thought was hot (darlins' as K has come to call them, coining his own pet name for women in general), which was a lot of them, and then you have any number of people on scooters, and in other little carts like ours bleating in response, and I began to wonder when the cops would eventually tire of all this shit and just pull us over. We did finally see all the gay folk finally coming out for the night-life as we made our way down Duval, and even a trio of drag-queens taller than me. Terry had also spent most of the evening speeding around while Mother and Grandmother did a little shopping, so he ran us by a few local landmarks, some relating to Hemingway, which makes me feel as if I'm inadvertantly becoming something of a fan of his, having recently visited so many of his stomping grounds. I may have to read his books one day. The cart we had was missing a head-light, and had expired tags, which the attendant assured Terry was okay, since you could get away with breaking two laws in Key West, but no more, which I guess is good to know. On the main drag, with a car honking behind us that sounded suspiciously like a duck call, our little cart croaked out on us, and was barely able to limp it's ass around a corner off the main strip. We call their number telling them that car 51 is down, only to then have it start right back up after a few minutes, but the guy wanted to come and pick it up anyways, so we just followed him back to their lot, and then caught a ride back in a different cart, this one that barely had headlights at all, they kept going out because of a loose wire, and the cart that I mentioned earlier, the duck-call honking cart? They were dropping it off as we got back with ours, and the horn was due to low battery, as well as their lights that didn't work at all.

Basically, I'm lucky to be writing this tonight after the series of death-traps I've been riding around in this evening.

Terry also had people trying to ask him for a ride to Alphonse's(?) when he dropped the gals off at the ship, so I really think he'd be a good candidate for a tour company if he should ever decide to retire and move somewhere.

A great day, I'm off to grab a few more Guinness and call it a night.

Be seeing you.

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