Where I drink beer, smoke cigarettes, try to catch up on promised posts...and fail.
Creeeeeepy.
Despite it all...it's still a great song. The point, which I'm not sure I ever really got around to was this...the cause orientation of the Clash seemed to fly in the face of what Punk might have been.
What we should have talked about was Mick Jones utter failure as a dancer.
Pretty Vacant is the money...although, I've recently been disappointed to discover that the line which I thought brilliantly read..."I don't believe in illusion/'cause too much ain't for real"...is actually "too much is for real." Boo. Still, I'd rather hear EMI.
Anyway...you can decide whether we're caught up or not.
*The only sensible thing Tim Brando has ever said.
Roll Tide.
All you need to know about Georgia is their Fight Song is based on The Battle Hymn of the Republic.
And they wear silver britches.
These two played for the first time in 1895.
Bama picks up a first down then punts...touchback...so far nothing gained or lost.
Murray running for his life...that has to be part of the game plan for Georgia. We'll see how that works out.
3 and Out - Punt Dawgs.
Georgia does have a few players on that defense...but, if they can't stop Alabama from running the ball this thing won't last long.
Uh oh...Alabama turns the ball over.
Don't looked shocked Murray...we all saw it. Back 'em up.
First down Georgia.
Got 'im. Kick a field goal losers.
Ha ha...wide right. Still 0 - 0.
Short...see if they can flip the field. Crap. Alabama picks up the first down on a fake punt only to have it called back for a delay of game penalty.
Murray goes down again.
Then Gurly runs right by the defense. 1st down Georgia.
End of 1st Quarter - Georgia 0 - Alabama 0
Georgia fakes the punt...and pulls it off.
Touchdown Georgia...
Georgia 7 - Alabama 0
Georgia's fired up now...they just backed Alabama up about 15 yards. Coverage Sack.
There you go Bama...like a wet blanket. Punt you dirty dogs.
What a catch...what a flippin' catch.
That's runnin' down hill.
I don't like the these rules that baby the quarterback but....it's the rules. Roughing passer. First and goal Alabama.
This is some stout football...3rd and goal.
What a terrible throw...Alabama is screwing themselves to the wall. Two turnovers...and that hideous songs starts.
Answer to the Trivia question...Ingram, Newton and Weurfell.
Bama's moving the ball...slowly.
TOUCHDOWN LACEY...TOUCHDOWN AAALLLAAAABAMA!
Georgia 7 - Alabma 7
Are they gonna let these knuckleheads score before the end of the half?
Interception!!! And Murray got the sense knocked out of 'im.
Uncharacteristic for Bama...bad clock managment, like Miles bad but, Bama gets 3
Halftime.
Georgia 7 - Alabama 10.
"Vicious" is how Gary described the first half.
Can I just express my hatred for the commercial that begins with the statement..."all individuals are created equal...teams are not." How is that possible...gooblygoook. I can't stand it.
Georgia's back down the field.
Touchdown Gurly...that was too easy.
Georgia 14 - Alabama 10
If Bama can blast it through the tackles like that they may yet get this thing under control.
Or they could take sacks and lose 6 yards at a time.
Alabama gets ripped on a pass interference that was waved off...then Georgia blocks the field goal for a touchdown. Two special teams fails and two turnovers for Bama...horrendous clock managment...who is this.
Georgia 21 - Alabama 10
Alabama's tryin' to respond.
Bama RESPONDS...TOUCHDOWN! Alabama is going for two...GOT IT!!!
Georgia 21 - Alabama 18
Stoned! One more stop.
Outstanding...punt it dawgs.
OOOOPS...about 30 yards on that one...15 on the next. They are beatin' 'em down at the line. Alabama's almost as fired up as Martha.
The Tag on that truck reads LACEY.
Martha's calling out the plays...one yard to go.
End of 3...Alabama on the one inch line.
TOUCHDOWN ALABAMA...they are just running it down their throat now.
Georgia 21 - Alabama 25
Martha is talking all kinda trash about Saban being a real coach because of the two point conversion. Georgia needs a touchdown to pull ahead.
I think, like a lot of women...she hates timidity (especially in men) and there are a lot of scared coaches out there.
Uh Oh...that was a great catch.
Just like that Georgia's in the red zone...Murray hits King for about 50 yards.
Damn...Gurley in for the touchdown.
From Martha.."This is Stressful." Where's she been all year.
Georgia 28 - Alabama 25
Yeldon just carried three Dawgs across the first down line.
This is brutal football...and Alabama seems to be wearing down the Georgia defensive line.
That Jenkins is wide as dump trunk.
Bama punts and pins Georgia back behind their 10 yard line.
STONED at the line...punt Georgia punt.
How man Ogletrees are on this Georgia team?
Bama's kinda sputtering...they've got about 5 minutes here.
We all stepped out during a Georgia timeout and Bama scores on a bomb.
Georgia 28 - Alabama 32. That conversion is really telling at this point.
Get on now Dawg...punt the ball so you can lose. Ha ha losers.
All Alabama needs is a few first downs.
Alright y'all...Georgia gets one more shot at it. Right at one minute.
85 yards to cover and no timeouts for Georgia. Here we go.
Interception...now the review. I can't say...I know what I want it to be but...
Martha's catching the vapors over on the couch.
That ball hit the ground...no interception...that close. We await the official call.
No interception.
Georgia's at the 35 now...great catch, especially after the way he got popped.
So close Dawgs...so close. The game ended on the 3 yard line with Georgia unable to stop the clock.
Martha was pretty hilarious...she was down for Bama.
Up next revenge for 1966!
ROLL TIDE! BEAT THE IRISH!
It was a great football game...and this clip is worth a look if you have any interest in what great offense looks like.
You wouldn't believe the trouble a stupid little picture like this could cause...especially in the Midwest.
Let's get one thing straight at the start...I was not looking for trouble. I didn't care enough about the art class or school in general to be causing trouble. It was my senior year and I was getting enough hassle at home over my grades and coming home late. I wasn't some kinda rebel...I was bored.
When I say bored, I don't mean a kind of romantic teenage boredom...motivated by a restless intellect chaffing against the restraints of High School. No. I was just plain bored. I hated sitting in a room for six or seven hours a day when I could be chasing a golf ball...or girls.
*
I can only remember one place in school where I felt unfairly restrained...and that was on the football field. One afternoon, we were running scrimmages toward the end of practice. First team offense...second team on defense. I was playing corner and assigned to a wide-out. This kid was at least a foot taller than me. They kept trying to throw him screen passes and I kept busting up the play. I could see it in his eyes...every time his number was called. Worst poker face ever.
"Bartlam! We can't practice the play if you keep breaking it up!"
You don't have to know what a screen pass is or anything about football to understand just how absurd...how utterly absurd an approach to practice this is. So, I just stood around the rest of the afternoon thinking to myself..."no wonder you people suck at this game." With crap like that...culminating in an incident where I only just kept my Daddy from confronting one of these idiot coaches...I decided not to play anymore.** As the next summer ended I was courted by these clowns but, I'd had it with 'em. I spent the football season working so I could buy some new golf clubs.
"You'll always be able to play golf but, the days you can strap on pads and hit somebody are numbered."
"No not really...they sell that stuff at sporting goods stores. I could suit up and execute perfect cross-blocks on shoppers at the grocery store." No...I didn't say that...out loud.
I had kept my grades up enough to play football and golf. By my senior year, even golf couldn't keep me in the chair. Along with the artwork, I found an article about the golf team playing in the 1990 State Championship. I was in the picture but, listed as absent due to sickness. That was nice of coach Wyatt but, the truth is, I had failed geometry. I didn't know he'd done that until a week later when a friend's mother asked if I was feeling better. Ha.
I was even starting to lose my grip on the read and retain classes. I could still retain absolutely everything I read but it's hard to retain what you don't read. I've still got a note written by one of my English teachers in big red letters..."Erik. I'm at a loss with you. Not only was your paper late but, you quoted something you read on a McDonald's place mat."
I didn't care but, don't mistake my disinterest for ethos. This was no protest. I just didn't have any idea what I wanted to do with my life. It's not that I couldn't figure it out. I never contemplated the question. What? Like a career? Get real!
The least vague notion I had was of maybe going to Art School. I did OK in Art Class or, as you might guess by now, I had done OK in there. Things started to come undone in the first semester of my last year. We were turned loose to pursue our own projects. Mine was hanging out. It was so easy to do...there was a radio in there.
I don't remember the first time I got the construction paper and poster paint out but, I do know that I had no intention of turning these things in. I liked 'em. I still do...the one above, strikes me as especially cohesive and evocative. I don't know.
I was just goofing around...which is the first reason, the art teacher, Mr Duncan?, Doogan?, Deedlebell? hated them.*** I wasn't spending enough...meaning any...time on my assigned projects. That was a reasonable point. It was a class after all.
"Stop the nonsense and get back to work on your project...whatever that it is."
I fully intended to get back on my project once I figured out what it was...maybe another mountainous valley painted entirely with shades of purple. I could take a mulligan on the assignment involving our favorite colour..."reveal something about your character." Boooooring. Where's the construction paper...just while I think about it.
Coupla day's later Mr Dundard walks by, sees the slide there...and goes berserk. At first I'm thinking...it's his class...he told me to stop...I should've done a better job of hiding them...then he pissed me off.
"I'm not gonna have this pseudo-intellectual crap coming out of my class!"
Pseudo Intellectual? They're stick figures and bright colours! They offer nothing to the intellect. They're anti-intellectual you nob. I was pissed sideways by Mr Dolt's naming and assessing my motivations. Nevermind he was butchering them. It was his trespass and violation of the most precious piece of private property a person owns...that between their ears. This is what's going through my mind when he snatches up another Slide painting...this one on canvas board.
"These are my materials, my canvas board and I wont have it wasted." Then he ripped it in two. Ha Ha What? He was wired for sound y'all...was I about to get the horns? It was hilarious.
The thing you have to understand about Mr.Dellder...he painted trees.Trees that were meant to look like trees in the winter, summer, spring.....fall. Sometimes they were on hills. No matter the season or elevation there was always a small red bird perched on a limb.
Mr. Dabdag had studied Art on a Baseball Scholarship. The school's mascot was a Cardinal. The Art College at Ball State University is not Savanna College of Art and Design but, it's still an art school. You can image how well his trees were received by the cool kids in the Quad. How it stung when he saw the grades of those who were doing pieces that "anybody could do....you can't even tell what it is."
Maybe I had accidentally opened a few wounds. Whatever. They were doodles...good doodles...they were not a hill I intended to die on. I wasn't even turning them in for the love of cup cakes. I gathered up the survivors and shoved them in my bag.
That would've been the end of it if Mr.Dobbins had done a better job gettin' rid of the rent painting but, he'd had his catharsis. He was spent. He just tossed the pieces on the table and left. One of the other kids in the room, an anxious trouble maker, gathered up the pieces and left.
It wasn't until the next morning, headed to my locker, that I saw, in the otherwise empty trophy cabinet, my picture on display...in two pieces. Hah. It was funny and I appreciated it but, on the other hand, all I could see was hassle. Mr Duderdoo couldn't help himself from lashing out at the fruity art, and my buddy couldn't resist a cause. I'm sure he would rather have been running a pirate radio station but, you take what you can get in a small town. I didn't care what Mr Doodoo thought of the doodles and I had no interest in some kinda corny high school protest. If I'd just stopped doodling when was told to.
The three of us ended up in the Principals office to hash it out. How stupid is that?
I didn't go to Art School.
* The Teenage Martha...fine, fine, fiiiine as frog hair.
* * During a similar incident, where I had refused similarly stupid instructions..a coach said I was "dumb as horse." This from somebody in sans-a-belt shorts, who continuously tried to run bubble screens without the bubble.
*** It's amazing how my brain has a ridiculous capacity to remember things and how my mind, for reasons unknown, will scrub it clean in parts...I wish I could control it like a Super Power.
Even adamparsons might not be able to resist this one...there's a wiff of laser lights burning through dry ice smoke in it's epic sweep.
Because I live half my life in hotels I've developed routines that can be carried out in any room with a television and a wireless. Some stability of habit...like locking myself out of the room...is important.
Mostly I flip the channels looking for good-bad tv (not only do I love good-bad television..I like bad-bad television. Give me an hour of cars being repossessed or grainy footage of people trying to steal ATM machines...bliss). I smoke and read blogs.
My mind falls into the same meandering pattern it does on Friday afternoons in the office. An actor from an antacid commercial will appear as a victim on Law and Order...I'll wait for the credits and then google 'em. I'm on IMBD now...now Netflix where, of course, I can't find anything I'm looking for.
If there's no Ancient Aliens on t.v...no pop-up-video reruns of Jersey Shore...I'll throw the headphones on and wait for a distraction.
Last night's came when Wire popped up on the itunes...Heartbeat. A song that I hadn't heard for a long time until recently...a brilliant song and one of my favorite covers by Big Black.
Big Black to Steve Albini...Albini to the one of those records from the late eighties/early nineties that seemed to made specifically for me...Tweez by Slint.
Ron...the guitar bit that cuts through it like mechanical snake just floors me.
There's some language there in the beginning. I wonder if Albini is still in the habit of provoking outburst and recording conversations in the studio. For all his well earned credibility, that crap was mostly corny. The "touch my stuff" bit before Vamos on Surfer Rosa works...the "into field hockey players" does not. Here, when he genuinely seems to be begging for a new set of headphones is good. The "oh mans" seem phony to me.
Slint was actually an off shoot of a band that, in the distortion of a rear view mirror, developed legendary status...Squirrel Bait.
They were great...for a Husker Du tribute band.
I am a fan though (especially after what I made selling that first record a few years ago). One could do a lot worse than ripping off Husker Du.
The real reason Squirrel Bait has the cache that it does is because of the bands it spawned...Big Wheel, Slint, For Carnation, Tortoise, etc.
The picture that serves as a video for Good Morning Captain is the cover of the album Spiderland...the photograph was taken by Will Oldham.
The Brute Choir from Viva Last Blues.*
I think his cousin was in a band that pre-dated Squirrel Bait with some the members. At any rate he was from the same crowd in Louisville, Kentucky and members of Slint went on to play on Palace records.
We drove to Baton Rouge one Saturday afternoon and saw him play for about 45 minutes before they turned the lights on him. Closing time was 2:30 am and was strictly enforced that night. They got a cop off the street to make the announcement because everybody in the bar, including Oldham, was furious.
We had sat through 3 hours of local hacks, burnt up all our pocket money on the pool tables...we were all well oiled and now this? It was all worth it when Martha, the one that never colours outside the lines, got busted for snatching the set list. HA!
In a more direct line of sight is Tortoise. Slint split into two major projects...For Carnation and Tortoise.
Spiderland is sometimes referred to as the first Post-Rock record...well, here's Post-Rock at it's self-indulgent heights. At least Jim O'Rourke played the guitar.
I did go see 'em...at the karlstorbahnhof ...where, evidently they are still pushing the Post Rock.
Unfortunately for Tortoise....they had chosen Doo Rag as their opening act.
Tortoise didn't stand a chance and I don't remember anything those eggheads played that night.
The Sea and Cake was side project between members of Tortoise and a fella from Shrimpboat. To me they sounded like an airbrushed, honkier version of Thinking Fellers Union Local 282.
According to one website they only played about 15 shows in the 90's and I was at one of 'em...in an attic, in a building, in some German town I can't remember the name of. In fact, all I remember was buying a t-shirt with Bees on it and blacking out in the car on the way back.
Long before any of that (92 maybe) I saw Big Wheel (the other off shoot from Squirrel Bait) in a student union center at a college. What really stands out from that show is the opening act...a local band that did the greatest version of Sweet Child O Mine...evar! EVar!
It's a testament to the scope of Squirrel Bait that I've seen (what?) four acts that are direct heirs...and, with the exception of Will Oldham who is untouchable, three of those shows were just something to do. I owned their records and didn't go reluctantly but, I wouldn't have driven 300 miles round trip, like we did for Oldham, to see any of the others.
So, that was Wednesday night...because CSI was all reruns and because Kibber posted this Moon Duo clip back in June. I immediately downloaded it and have been beating it against my brain every since.
Having down loaded it...I wanted more fuzzy beats and more...eventually leading back to a couple of songs I had almost forgotten about...Cheree by Suicide and Heartbeat by Wire.
That's the first thing Martha sees every morning...Lucky Girl!
A couple of weeks ago, when I had the earache...my skin broke out. I cut myself shaving and it turned into a big strawberry...so, I put the razor down. I may be stuck with it now.
Martha seems to like it. It is covering half my face...maybe that's it.
One our readers...who would remain nameless except that I'm gonna name him RONNIE...was windin' me up about it at Church yesterday.
"Look H-K....now you can tell which one's the Daddy and which one's the Mommy."
Haha. It's only funny because...if you've seen Martha, you know that even a new born, maybe especially a new born, would have no trouble tellin' which one of us was the Mommy.
He'll pay.
Anyway we're headed to the beach next week and I assumed I'd have to shave it off. I didn't think they'd let me keep it at work and since I tan to a golden buttery brown...I wasn't gonna risk having the equivalent of a farmer's tan on my face.
As it turns out...there's no policy against facial hair at work.
"This Malkmus idiot is some kinda song writing genius" Gary Young.
The last post was meant to be about the Boy...it got outta hand and now I'm obsessing.
My compulsive issues with The Fall are well documented, and mercilessly ridiculed by some, in these pages. Of course, it's not just the brilliance of Mark E. Smith that causes these bouts...brilliant though he is...there's a crack in my mind and right now it's being filled with nonsense and racket. Pavement.*
I've also finally figured out how to edit videos...kinda.
Recorder Grot.
(NSWF)
A tore-up but steady rhythm...when the lyric starts, with a squeal, it's stretched beyond melody. Then almost at the point of white noise it breaks into an Arena-Rock solid riff...claps and all...before descending back into jibbberish and noise. A slice of genius...this one.
"I forget sometimes how much I like them."
Unlike most of my obsessions, Martha's on board with this one. Not so much the Drag City, recording project stuff but, the actual songs that came later. By the time Slanted and Enchanted was released they were an actual band...for better or worse.
Elevate Me Later.
The Reflex by Duran Duran was once hilariously described as "cocaine set to music."** The crescendo at the end (2:10-20) and the breezy way it glides back to earth is about as close to the sound of a toke as you're likely to find.***
"Swingin' nunchucks like you just don't care"....If you want to know what my early 20's sounded like...when the past never crossed my mind and I had no notion of the future. I just was...here it is.
Looking back on it...not such a great time...mostly I was drunk but, the music was good.
There was one last great album...probably the best of the lot.
"They all sounded like hits to me...but I was smokin' a lot of pot." Malkmus on Wowee Zowee
For about six months Wowee Zowee was considered their first misstep...then a round of on-second-thought reviews started. The album was a masterpiece but, by that time the damage was done. The egos here were obviously more fragile than they may have appeared. I think it's what killed 'em. There were two more records but they didn't sound much better than the contractual obligations that they were.
Alright maybe that'll get it outta my system...thanks for humoring me.
*My Bloody Valentine is another recurring problem of mine...don't be surprised if I spend a month in the future posting When You Sleep every other day.
**Kibber did that.
***As a responsible parent I do not partake..and besides, it is illegal. Still, I am amazed that one can legally soak their brain in pure corn liquor but, grass puts you at odds with the law.
The five day work week is often touted as one of labours great innovations. My response to that is who wants to work 40 hours a week? There's nothing liberating about being tied to a clock. Sometimes I work 50 hours a week...sometimes 30. Besides, who the hell makes any money working 40 hours a week...unless, of course, you can arbitrarily inflate your own wage.
Like most modern innovations the "weekend" is an empty promise...a fantasy. Liberties that are taken on Thursday aren't restored for the weekend. Petty annoyances don't take Saturday and Sunday off. People don't become better drivers at 5 on Friday...and you're far more likely to jump in the club pool with your iphone on a Sunday afternoon than you are on a Tuesday morning.
Nothin' 200 bucks can't fix.
All you need to know about Saturday is this...at one point, I had to get dressed. By my reckoning that's a huge fail.
Sunday was particularly irritating...the church was swarming with striped rags. There probably weren't that many surrounding Vicksburg during its destruction. I'm not saying there's no place for a kind of patriotism in the church but, what exactly are we supposed to be celebrating this July???? The destruction of Vicksburg, Friars Point, Meridian, Oxford, Greenwood, Jackson, etc...or maybe more recent events like the fruition of lincolnism and the final destruction of state sovereignty?
In a nave that is, de facto, C of E,..."My country tis of the...land of the pilgrims pride"...you mean the Church of England hating, smuggling, self-rightious pilgrims of new england?...Pound Sand. Despite the presence of people in Virginia for eons, despite the fact the, so called, Revolutionary War was financed through Charleston or that George Washington and Tom Jefferson were Southrons...these witch burners have convinced themselves that they invented the country. Of course, as it stands now...it is their invention and has been since 1865.
No rest at home either...there's an open house to get ready for. I've got 20 minutes of sweeping...roof, deck, drive...and 10 minutes worth of battery for the blower. All in 100 degree heat. I'm pretty sure the Boy saw me fling the blower arcross the yard. Sue me. I have a pathological hatred of mundane tasks...and surly tools.
The Boy was a big help....
"Pick up your toys Boy."
"No...I'm...Not..A...Boy...I'm...A...Bad...Robot" ...choppin the air with his hands as he's walkin' off into the kitchen. Passin' gas the whole time.
Martha was up to her elbows in toilets and had no patience for my dissertation on the inevitable dissapointment of machines...given the conflict between thier promise and what they can actually deliver. She didn't exactly tell me to shut up, but...I went ahead and got a broom, went back to my sweeping.
Eventually we get loaded up for the pool...where, of course, I dunked my phone.
No lounging in my pajamas lazily reading blogs and corrresponding with friends...no NCIS marathons or window shopping on Ebay or Abebooks...just a maddening kalidoscopic series of interlocking frustrations.
Thank goodness this weeks "holiday" falls on a Wed. I don't think I could've taken a third day off.
The Boy almost caused a scene when we walked into the hotel lobby and he saw that.
"Daddy...Daddy...Daddy...it's Bo Diddley. Bo Diddley Daddy...LOOK! LOOK! Daddy!"
Look at the Boy's face...that kid loves Bo Diddley. A while back, I gave him a box of my old Star Wars figures. The first thing he did was snatch out Lando..Billy Dee Williams.."Bo Diddley...it's Bo Diddley." That's right he's got a Bo Diddley action figure.
Bo Diddley was an action figure.
The lady behind the counter giggled the whole way through check in. I'd been telling him the whole way up that Memphis had g'itars.
There's an odd mistake in Pies and Prejudice by Stuart Manconi...he's describing some rowdy Northern street. I can't remember which one...but, he says it's like Bourbon without the guitar motif. Of course Bourbon St. has trumpets and saxophones everywhere. It's a jazz town. It's Beale St. that has g'itars on everything...everywhere. Not that big a deal but...
Then there was that muddly bit in the middle of the week.
Despite it all, I do enjoy getting to see my in-laws...even if L, my sister-in-law, did say to me, after a game of scrabble...
"Why don't you take that J to bed with you tonight...use it as a pillow...you don't seem to be able to do anything else with it."
I got yer number L...yer gonna pay for that one.
A BUNN coffee pot turned out to be a source of some amusement. It's a coffee maker that keeps a reservoir of hot water...there's no waiting. You pour in cold water...hot coffee comes out...not exactly a new fangled idea.
"Do you leave it on all the time?"
"Sure that's what keeps the water warm."
"Is that safe?"
"Of course not. That's why we bought it for you...hoping it would burn your house down.....No No No. I'm kidding. It's perfectly safe. Ours is on at home right now."
"Well...how much energy does it use?"
"I have absolutely noooo flipping idea."
"Well..."
It's a coffee pot...not a *&^**&^% jet pack. I'm sure it's back in the box by now.
We were back by Wednesday afternoon...
Thursday morning I was at the dentist.
You may be asking...as I was...at this point, where's the vacation?
It happened for a few hours on Friday afternoon at the golf club...
...with these two.
Then it was back on schedule. We're selling our house and Sunday afternoons mean Open House. We have to split. It works out 'cause...after all, we're lookin' for a house ourselves.
You'd think it would be a no brainer with a back yard like that. Sadly, the layout of the house is almost as chaotic as the yard is serene. A serenity that was broken when I turned my back on the Boy for two seconds. I heard a door burst open..
"Put that down and get away from the pond."
The Boy had picked up the Goose and I guess the realtor...who was watching through the window...nearly had a heart attack. So, Martha ran out to give us both a dirty look.
I think me and the Boy were kinda wearin' her out anyway. She loves her boys but....she would have loved us more if we'd been in another car.
We think we're hilarious...
Boy - "Excuse me."
Me - "Excuse you."
Boy- "No excuse me."
Me - "No excuse you."
or...
"Stop sayin what I'm sayin."
"Stop sayin what I'm sayin."
"Stop sayin what I'm sayin."
I think Martha's still wondering where the vacation was.
I don't think I've ever gone more than a week without posting but, it's been since last Monday that put anything up.
Of course, it's been plenty busy around here and I trust that everybody's been well entertained.
Let's get caught up.
Mostly I've been dealing with work. The semi-annual non-job related work issues.
I spend Monday morning and all of Friday in an office but, I don't work in an office. I work here...
and here...
and on good days here...
The people I work for do work in offices...and they go through occasional bouts of paranoia about what we, the outbound salesmen, are up to...out there spending all their money, carousing in places like...what Gloster??? Mound Bayou???
Stop hatin' man. There's nothin' keepin y'all in office.
It's especially irritating when you've been sent to a place by one person and then grilled as to why you were there by another. When these moments come, we take it...swap admonishments (this one tips too much, this one over-works the same area, the other spends too much on lodging) and then go back to handling our business.
Which mainly consists of driving between places like Jena and Jonesville, Louisiana...listening to the radio.
Really though, I love my job. I try to do a good job and I think I manage it but, seriously...Martha's hotter than a two dollar pistol and there's The Boy, imBlakei...
I'm not out here in St. Fancisville 'cause I'd rather not be at the house.
Speaking of being at the house...I took a minute this weekend to watch a movie..To Kill a King.
Two things...one, Tim Roth is the boss. Two, while I'm somewhat familiar with this period in British History...it's not in my wheelhouse but, I'll say this, every time I've ever seen any representation of Cromwell I've wanted to choke him...choke 'im right out.
I think it's the Puritan stuff...that's who the Yankees are. The English ones anyway. That's where they come from. Maybe that's it. That and I just find the presumptuousness of revolutions repulsive by nature...executing Kings! Who in the...anyway, that's probably the result of our history in The South. Which has been forced through, and is constantly being threatened with*, radical change for the last 150 years.
Speaking of...I stopped in Rosemont yesterday. The family home of Jeff Davis...a simple elegant homestead. Nothing pretentious or ostentatious. A home.
That's a post for another day...right now I'm just trying to get back to my own home.
I think that gets us back on track.
*There have been some calls for a third Reconstruction...an economic reconstruction. We're attracting industry by cheating. We don't have any unions and that isn't fair. The gov. recently used labor laws to stop Boeing moving a plant from Seattle to South Carolina...and we won't talk about Airbus.
In celebration of the return of Flimsy Cups' contributing philospher and resident lunatic...I give you something totally unrelated to Nat's homecoming....The Flaming Lips.
If you strip away the self importance of the late 60's, the pomposity of the early 70's, the anger of the late 70's and the paranoia of the 80's...you're left with left with loud guitars, soap suds and Christmas lights...The Flaming Lips.
(I love this video...it's fun...and the dark haird girl makes a very passible Martha at 20 years old...scratch passable. I've watched it a few more times now. If I had been across the room from her 20 years ago I would have thought it was Martha...same hair, same eyes, same complexion, same shape.)
Nirvana was packeged for the teenage angst dollar...good show they made of it too, sorta. Pavement spoke directly to the over educated, willfully univolved and bored with anger, middle class record collector.
The Flaming Lips were something else though. They seemed to be effortlessly channeling all that music from the past without any of the baggage.
What fun....what brilliance.
I don't know what they are now. I bought the Soft Bulletin when it came out and didn't really know what I was supposed to do with it...Grandiose, Sweeping...self aware and kinda boring really. But, who cares? They've made a mark for themselves and hopefully some money. They deserve every penny.
More idiocy from me with the blogger. I just started writting when somehow I clicked the publish tab.
I'm just gonna write it out in the open...editing and all...piece by piece. You'll have to stay tuned.
I woke up this morning around 4am to giggling..almost belly laughs. I knew it wasn't Martha. She makes a different noise when she's sleeping. It had to be the big man.
"Boy what are you laughin' at?"
Silence.
"Hey man."
Nothing. He was asleep...joker was laughin' in his sleep.
Just I was falling back out when he starts moanin.
"Daddy...my ear hurts get a qtip Daddy."
It seemed like a better idea than wakin his Momma up so, I got some qtips and gently poked around his ear.
"It's not workin Daddy." How could waving a qtip and muttering over an infection not have worked to kill it.
"Imma go to the doctor. Imma tell Dr. Storey."
"You'll get your chance son but, right now the best thing you can do is go back to sleep."
So I laid with him til he got comfortable enough to fall out...and then got up to make some coffee. His Momma was already in the kitchen. I don't know what time it was...dark. Every since the Boy came along our day begins and ends two or three hours earlier than it used to. It's been three years and the fog still hasn't lifted. It's a struggle to get going in the morning and a struggle to stay awake at night.
"The Boy's got an ear ache."
"I heard...I'll call the doctor's office when he gets up."
Having done my part. It was Christmas Eve and time for me to start thinking about Christmas shopping.
I'm strugglin' y'all. I've practically had the office to myself all day and nothin' to do but, I can't get it together. After spending the last three days mocking and laughing at all the sick people in my house...seems it's my turn.
I feel like I have a pine cone wedged under my left eye and against the bridge of my nose...I think I've gone deaf in my left ear. My mouth and throat feel like I've been sucking on a sandpaper lozenge.
Feel sorry for me y'all.
I think I'm just sick of looking at this thing...here's the abbreviated version.
The Boy woke up...Martha called the Dr.
"Come on in."
The Boy was disappointed that Dr. Storey wouldn't be there...maybe he wanted to ask her why he toots so much again.
"She's with her family...it's Christmas Eve. Dr. McSomething will do a good job."
The Sister comes to pick up my Daddy to take him Christmas shopping.
Martha and the Boy leave.
I take a shower and leave. I've barely gotten out of the drive when I get a text from Martha...
"Just an ear infection."
That was good news. Even though he seemed fine there's always a part of me that worries when he goes to the Doctor. I'm the one that was with him when he was running laps in halls and sweet talking nurses for suckers...just before the Dr. diagnosed him with the pneumonia.
Anyway...so that was off my mind. Just as I get the car parked in front of my first stop...the phone rings. It was the security company...
"We have a signal coming from your front door. Do you want us to send the police?"
CRAAAAAAAAAp!
My Daddy had set off the alarm...it gave the warning when he came in but, he can't hear nothing higher pitched than an 808 kick drum.
It was all very funny and involved a lot of back and forth between me and Martha, me and the security company, cops that took so long to show up we were able to cancel the call (we just pay for the services where we live...we don't receive them).
The highlight of that day's shopping was a text from the Sister...
"Medium to Large...she's STACKED!"
Martha and the Boy were too sick for church...so, we rode around looking at Christmas lights.
If Gerogia are Communist Jihadis, what does that make florida state? Well...they aren't quite as bad as penn state but, that's about as far as I'll go.
I spent the first 13 years of my life in Tallahassee...10 minutes from the campus of florida State. You won't find a bigger bunch of fair-weather, front running, losers on the planet.
We were at the game in 2007. When I say we...I mean me, Martha and, though we didn't know it at the time...the Boy. He's been a Gator since the womb.
We went through a bushel of raw oysters before the game...which might explain some of The Boy's wacky behavior. That's me shucking'... just before we headed to the stadium and I...allegedly...placed myself in the middle of brawl so I could take a swing at one of these f$u clowns.
I just haaaaaaaaaate f$u...that's all.
On your a*** b....!!
I can hear they've brought their 75 tubas with 'em.
Brantley...GO AWAY!!
I don't care about the personal foul...hit him again.
Gators 0 - dirt bags 7
Get Brantley out of there.
The defense is stout...maybe they can score.
First Down!
JOHN BRANTLY IS A MORON! GET HIM OUT!!!!!!!
Way to go John you jerk...0 - 14
Interception number three...can we please put this precious jack-ass on the bench??
You can't ask anything more of the defense...
Great...downed on the one. Now maybe brantly can get the pick six he's been trying for all night.
Thank goodness for these freshmen.
There you go.
There you don't go...this is pathetic.
As bad as the offense has looked the defense has been lights out. Brantly's the only reason the crimenoles have scored.
See you John...china doll.
That looks bad. Just an extremely dangerous game...at least he moved his arms.
The Boy is very concerned about the injury. After we told him an ambulance was taking the player away...he wanted to know if the poleese were going to show up. I told him the poleese were always on hand when f$u comes to town.
Another three and out...f$u has less than 40 yards of offense. But thanks to Brantly they have 14 points.
Defense moved 'em backwards again.
The defense is ferocious...offense is....not.
WIIIIDE LEFT...loser.
Usual cheap crap from the crimenoles.
If the defense doesn't score we're done for.
Did you see that...a first down.
Stuffed 'em again...too bad you don't get points for defense.
First down...
Hammond has to catch that.
Brisset is going to be a great quarterback but...for now he's still a freshman.
Gators 0 - f$u 21 without moving the ball at all.
We've got an SEC defense and a SCAC offense...only if they were a SCAC offense they'd be making smarter decisions.
12 plays of negative yards by the Gators.
There goes Rainey. The Boy is adamant that he needs to go to the hospital too.
The crimenoles still have less than 100 yards in the game. Geez
Gators stoned 'em. Backed 'em up 12 yards but, now what? The offense couldn't move the ball against Messer Park Pee Wee.
punt
It's something at least. Maybe they can get three and not get shut out for the first time since 88.
Looks like they might score exactly the same way f$u has...turnover and penalties.
What a catch...TOUCHDOWN.
Gators 7 - f$u 21.
Onside attempt...nope.
Body slam 'im again.
Especially if they're too stupid to leave it alone.
It's the culmination of the worship service, it's a sacrament, it's supper in the presence of God...God to "whom all desires are known and from whom no secrets are hid." It's the one opportunity in the week to focus on the eternal and stop fighting the mind...what's the point?
Well it only takes about half a second to realize why I keep my mind in a head lock most of the time.
I know some of you don't believe any of this but, just play along with me...what would you think about if you were in presence of God?
You probably wouldn't be worried about whether you had sat on something that morning. We sit in the back and usually most the congregation is seated again by the time we're up waiting to approach the alter...it's even worse, like yesterday when I'm an usher, and one of the last people to go up. Everybody is looking at your backside. Of course, they almost certainly are not but, this is the silly crap that goes through my mind sometimes..is there a giant piece of lent or string hanging off the back of my trousers or worse did I get powdered sugar all over the car seat when I stopped for donuts?
Worst of all...I sometimes have these stupid thoughts at the alter. Dumbest of all, and it's happens more often then I care to admit...I worry that if I don't get that wafer swallowed I'm going to back wash crumbs into the chalice!
I admitted this to Martha yesterday,
"...do you know what I mean?"
She looked at me like I had a peanut bush growing out the top of my head.
"I mean..you know...I worry about it sometimes...you know because I'm so so focused on...you know..."
"That is disgusting!"
Of course Martha never worries about such things. It would be impossible for her to do anything so uncouth even on accident...but, I guarantee she'll be peeking in that Cup before she drinks from it from here on out.
Not only am I an imbecile but, it's contagious. Sorry Martha.
Work was a little squirrely yesterday...I went from Slidell, La to Vancleave, Ms, Ocean Springs (I had an important call to make there)...
Gulfport...then back to Slidell, La to work with my favorite knucklehead in South Louisiana (he really is a knucklehead and he really is my favorite)..then back to Gulfport followed by a return trip to my room in Slidell.
Lot's of radio time though...I heard Ring My Bell by Anita Ward yesterday. Did you?
The Highlights...
And the greatest song that ever came over the FM...
I couldn't help but wonder, as I was beating on the steering wheel and breaking out in goosebumps...if Elvis had to deal with haters when he was becoming the King of Rock n Roll the way I'm having to as I become the King of Painting.
Who knows?
Alright, back on the road today and home to Martha and The Boy tonight.
This weekend she was telling me we needed something to balance out the cabinet that sits on the left side of the couch along a big wall in our living room.
I offered to do a painting...for free.
"It'd really have to be a big one honey."
"It's no problem Sugar...I'll just get a big canvas."
"Well...I really don't get your artwork."
Uh huh...don't get it? I've told her 5,000 times there's nothing to get.
"What...just look at it?"
Yeah...you just look at it. There's nothing to get.
So she knows that's a cop-out and a thinly veiled way of saying..."I hate that **** and it is not going on my living room wall."
Anyway...we had a great meal Saturday night and, for the first time in a very long time, we were able to enjoy just being the two of us. We didn't have to get the boy until noon the next day so we made plans for a leisurely breakfast at a place called Another Broken Egg.
It's a new restaurant in town. Its focus is breakfast, but not like Waffle House though...it's a restaurant with table cloths and all that. It's also a breakfast joint without any grits unless...and Allan will luuuv this....you want Grits and Blackberries as a breakfast appetizer. WT...?
They started on the Gulf Coast in North Florida but it was obviously designed for vacationing yankees. Corn Beef Hash??? If I've had it in an MRE...I'm not gonna pay for it.
Anyway, Martha got some Mexican eggs and I got three rubbery pancakes with enough butter to cover a postage stamp...barely.
That'll be forty dollars. FORTY DOLLARS!!! At today's exchange rate that's 24 pound 40 for our readers in the UK. Forty Bucks...24 quid...for a breakfasts withOUT GRITS!
Get &&*&*^%*^*&d!
Despite all that ( and despite the fact that we sat outside. I'm afraid I wasn't able to conceal my disappointment over that decision very well. It's not natural...sun glaring in your eyes, people sitting on top of you, not wanting to talk above a whisper, patio furniture...unless it's at the beach I'd rather be in the natural setting for a human being while eating...booth, dark, climate control, walled off from other eating humans...) we did manage to carry on the kinda meandering conversations we used to have over meals...before we were hired on as help for a two year old.
That's when the freckles came up. Martha's from good Scottish stock...lots of freckles and they reproduce like rabbits in April if you get a little sun on her. I love those freckles...who doesn't?
I wake up in a lot of hotel rooms always with the tv on and almost always with an infomercial playing...often for a cream that will hide a woman's freckles. Why on EARTH would a woman want to do something like that...same reason she wants to have the body of a 15 year old boy...because she doesn't care about attracting straight men...she just wants to make her female friends furious with envy. The best way to do that??? Become the ideal woman in form and skin tone as determined by gay fashion designers.
It would be a much different world if straight men ran the fashion and beauty industries. Yeah you might have to wear some blue eye-shadow, you'd probably be spending a lot more time in hot-pants, even your pajamas would be low cut but, the second that little pot belly started flattenin' out..."Better stock up on Twinkies"...."My bottom has lost that slight jiggle it had last summer. Better cut down on the exercise...have a honeybun."
Me and Martha slipped off this weekend...about 5 miles down the road...to celebrate our 13th anniversary.
Initially we made plans to go down to Natchez but then it looked like it might flood so...we decided to stay somewhere in Jackson. The main thing was to separate Martha from the temptation to do chores..didn't really matter where it was.
We dropped the boy off at The Sister's around 3 on Saturday and we were off...Freedom. We spent the first couple of hours lounging on the couch watching 88 Hours and talking about how we'd still be driving if we'd gone to Natchez.
Had a scrumptious meal that night at Mint. The world doesn't need a cokecola y'all...it needs some Duck Nachos from Mint.
To be continued...I was trying to save it and I hit the wrong *&((*&&* button.
The Sister says she's done checking my blog because she's been checking it all week and I haven't "done squat."
Excuuuse me. It's been a busy week. Those happen when you have an actual job.
It got started early too. Sunday night I had to deal with this...
Then I spent most of the week in glamorous southeast Mississippi. That's right Bassfield, Columbia, McComb, and Picayune...where I bought a King Cake from Paul's Pastry to share with The Sister and her's on Thursday night. She couldn't be bothered though...canceled on us.
And one of y'all should probably keep the ASPCA and Child Protective Services on speed dial.
First of all...Mary-Cathcart. This cat thinks it's the funniest thing ever in the history of animal domestication to get up on the counter. It's like a game to her. She leaps up and scrambles behind the coffee pot or the blender...juts her head out, gives it a few jerky bobs...like a snake lookin' to strike. We holler at her, she scrambles to hide, we drag her out, toss her on the floor. She runs around the kitchen island and jumps on the other counter.
Sunday night me and Allan caught her loungin' on a kitchen towel where the boys sippy cups and plates had been stacked to dry...had been. She just looked at us like..."what...WHAT?". I love that cat...she's my cat but, I'mma kill her if she don't learn some manners.
Then there's The Boy. A couple of weeks ago he got the pneumonia. When I took him to the doctor he was fine except for the 103 temp. Then they gave him the steriods. It was like living with a midget wrestler for a week...a villainous one.
Roid Rage!
That passed but in the short amount of time that he was sick and we were a little more lenient...he picked up some habits. Like throwing at the first sign he's not getting his way.
Yesterday evening we had a great time..we went to Lemuria, we walked around Mirror Lake and saw the baby ducks...all very pleasant. Then we went to a store that had toys, Thomas Trains, and a big plastic riding tractor.
I guess he thought we were dropping him off to live there because when it was time to go he screamed Nooooo and ran. He was one of those children last night...I dragged his screamin' behind out of there and when we got to the car it was on. I spanked his butt (settle down...I didn't beat him...but I could have :) I didn't even hit his bare legs ), put him in his car seat and then we (meaning I talked he listened) had a discussion about his behavior lately (again...no screaming or cursing...just no nonsense.."we're done playing these games).
It was the first time I was genuinely aggravated with him*...he's too aware and smart not to know what he's doing. First time I really had to act like a Daddy...remind him that I wasn't just one of his buddies. I was doin' pretty good too 'til I asked him how he thought he could be in charge "when he couldn't even reach the sink?" I was thinkin' about how he couldn't even wash his own hands...you know.
That was a fail...Martha immediately covered her mouth and began to vibrate in her seat...all in a desperate attempt not to break out into that donkey laugh of her's. It was futile...all the stern credibility that I had built up since we left the store disappeared as her haws and guffaws filled the car.
It was time to let it go anyway...he had listened and stopped cryin' when I told him to. We had a good evenin' from then on out and that's how the week wrapped up.
* Meaning him as a person...there's been plenty of aggravation raisin' his stanky, loud a****** to this point.
Q if you don't understand something you could always ask in a comment...you know actually participate LURKER. Maybe somebody else has similar questions.
I was almost killed by, and may yet die from embarrassment because of...one of these.
It happened in the parking lot at Hudson Salvage in Brandon...I'll never forget it. We had just left the store and were headed across the parking lot to the car when my right foot slid...more like a glide really...out from under me. It was so sudden and severe that Martha grabbed my arm.
I was the first to notice what had happened. I stared at the rubbery fleshy yellow lump in silence...not wanting to believe it while my mind started calculating the implications of what had happened.
Then I heard it...a guttural braying that was hard to place...like a pony and elephant having a heated argument..hahuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh heeeeh heeeh heeh...followed by gasping...huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh and sighing....aaahhhhhhhhhh...over and over. It sounded like the universe was laughing at me but it was just Martha...and when the sister found out....
It's a sound that's echoed in my head for 14 years.
"You slipped on a banana peel." That's their answer to everything.
As has been recently established by one of our loyal readers, I have the looks of a young Marlon Brando..."You slipped on a Banana Peel."
Style? I've got miles and miles. Martha's moseyin' around this morning in a pair of, admittedly flattering, sweatpants and short terry-cloth robe while I'm lounging in a red and white gingham oxford, a pair of perfectly faded jeans and loafers. Ralph Lauren told me he wanted to have my baby..."You slipped on a Banana Peel."
The two of them have a good degree from fine institutions. I have degrees from Superstar institutions...."You slipped on a Banana Peel."
I have a better record collection than both of 'em put together. They think James Chance was a game show host and neither one of 'em could name one Slint song or pick Mark E Smith out of lineup...."You slipped on a Banana Peel."
Etc.
Nothing I've done in life or may yet do can get out from under the shadow of that banana peel. This may end up being the only biographical tidbit that matters in the end.
