inner tubing: The Big Lebowski - F_cking Short Version

inner tubing: The Big Lebowski - F_cking Short Version

Thanks, Jason.

Quote of the evening.

Last night, overheard on the patio:
"They were stupider than dirt!"


That's it. I have no response.

My job can sometimes be exceedingly difficult, even if it is just a matter of shutting my fucking trap.

Let the Games Begin

9pm, at work but not yet working. The Spike channel is on, featuring a competition for WWE (formerly WWF) "ring girls," in which scantily clad women in preposterously high heels run through an obsactle course to the delight of a 14 to 34 year-old adolescent male audience of thousands. They army crawled across the ring, they climbed a wall, they ran a lap, they jumped rope. It was terrifying. The winner was a Scary Spice lookalike who looked like she'd give any of the wrestlers a run for their money. AT some point during the second round, J walks in and goes
"What's this, the fucking Stripper Olympics?"
We all cracked up, and then started discussing the possibility of actually having stripper Olympics at the bar. It would, we reasoned, be profitable, and certainly not the cheesiest thing that's ever happened under our roof. Then I had a better idea: STRIPPER SPELLING B.

Civic Duty

Voted yesterday. Second time in this county, first time as a --wait for it-- Republican. You see, the Democrats that are running right now are so uninspiring that I can't bring myself to care which one of them loses the gubernatorial race to that jackass Sonny Perdue, but I was more than happy to register and vote against Ralph fucking Reed. Apparently the b.h. and I were not the only ones who felt this way, because good ole Ralph got his ass handed to him. And so did Brian Kemp, who is yuppie developer scum of the fist order, and who has the fucking audacity to be running for fucking Agriculture Commisioner. So yeah, I went to the church to vote, I checked the box next to "Republican," and I did my civic duty. It felt pretty good.

Finished Demonology, which was great in a totally depressing Raymond Carver-type way. My favorite by far was the one about the mix tape. I assume these are actual liner notes to actual mix tapes of an actual friend of Rick Moody's, and if I had the opportunity I would ask for a copy, as they are fantastic. Getting back on that Shakespeare bus, and the reading is going much faster now. I made the mistake of leaving it next to my bed, and since the book is almost as heavy as my eyelids by the time I climb in, I was making almost no progress at all. Anyway, I have moved it downstairs to the coffee table and now I'm tearing it up. And I also just found a book on the life of Elizabeth I (I think the title is something obscure like "The Life of Elizabeth I," or some such) at the Goodwill store, so I am up to my ears in British. It's all very interesting. Also started a Biography of the Mitford family on loan from my mother-in-law. It's called The Sisters. More on them later.

Up With The Sun.

Still up, that is. I finished Popcorn just after six a.m. Not my favorite book ever. Not a total waste of time, but mostly. If it had been a more difficult read I would surely have tossed it aside. In any case, it kept me awake long enough to see a very large and beautiful bird land on the dead tree outside the window. I couldn't get a picture of it because there wasn't enough light. Maybe next time. After it flew off I was too excited to go to sleep, so Wyatt and I wandered out to watch the sunrise. I did get this great shot of the dead tree (post bird) in the first light.

I finally dozed off around 7:45 or so, but not before I snapped ten or twenty pictures with our new (second hand) camera. With the hours we keep, it's rare that I even see our yard in the morning light. The results are fantastic.*





*The first shot is off the bedroom balcony. What you see through the tree is the pond, reflecting both the tree and the sky. The second shot is the dead tree I spoke of, the third shot is also the pond, with my basil plants in the foreground. Fourth shot is straight up sky.

Customer Of The Night

A guy with Greatest American Hero hair and a slight accent came up to order a Bud Light. He was sporting a mustard yellow t-shirt with Cunning Linguist written in fancy script across the chest. I remarked that I found it very amusing, and he said "Oh, it's even funnier than you know. My grandmother bought this shirt for me because I speak three languages and she thought it suited me." Grandma's native tongue? German.

Feels like Sunday...

Except that I have to work tonight, so it's a false sense of freedom from responsibility. Last night was okay, though it seemed unusually long, perhaps because I left the house at about 6pm to "run some errands" and after hitting the craft store for a blank lampshade (which I will be sure to design in an appropriately kitschy way to match my livingroom and replace the infamous Bacon Lamp that I am going to sell)I stopped at the bar to see our friends M & G and G & F. They were having their usual Friday happy hour gathering, and since I had not seen them since my sister's visit in May I wanted to catch up. Well, catching up turned into a much longer project than I had anticipated--because they're such fun and time flies and whatnot, and it soon became time for me to run home and get the b.h. to work. At which point I realized that I could just as easily work instead of the b.h. since he had worked and I hadn't on Thursday. Calls were made, socks were acquired (I had left the house without them since I thought I'd be back much sooner, but the Boss Man came to the rescue), and in no time I was hard at work.
Well, hardly working, really, at least for the first two and a half hours. Met a guy from England who is travelling the States this summer teaching football (soccer, not padded football) to kids. Great gig, huh? I wondered to myself how I might finagle a similar deal over there. Maybe there are young parents in the U.K. who'd like their children to learn valuable bartending skills? As Tony Soprano said, there are two businesses that are recession proof: "The entertainment industry, and our thing." God knows my ability to pour a proper Guiness has been a lot more useful than my degree in English Literature. I have often joked that they should have handed me that ever-useful piece of paper with a bottle opener wrapped inside. Oooh- I know! What about the art of cussing like an American? I am skilled in both Yankee-style (Northern) cussing ("Fuck that fucking jag-off," for example) and the slightly more genteel Southern version ("She's as crazy as a shithouse rat, bless her heart". If anyone can hook me up with this exchange student type of situation, please let me know.
Of course, host families would have to accept the b.h. as well. You can think of him as a teaching assistant. He is also skilled in the art of drink slinging, and he plays bass and guitar, and his cooking skills are without equal. In the good way. So yeah. Give us a holler. Also, you must love dogs. I know we're not allowed to bring them over due to some kind of rabies-related quarantine something-or-other, but we can't leave without them. We already have people suits and passports at the ready (we bought them after the 2004 election, but have yet to actually use them), and we've taught them to walk on two legs for several steps at a stretch.
I would love to post some garden photos, as I am tremendously proud of the progress out there, but our other computer is currently in the shop. Our friend S, whose knowledge of computers is astounding) is frankensteining it into a super machine, and this laptop isn't compatible with our camera card. Ah well. Soon enough.

Ouch.

Managed somehow to pinch a nerve in my neck while sound asleep yesterday. I started out asleep, anyway, but the actual pinch brought me screaming (not literally, thank gods) into consciousness. Luckily I have the best chiropractor on earth and I got fixed up just hours later. Took the night off last night to ice it up and recuperate. Since I could barely move, I pretty much layed around and watched videos. I can't think of anything that makes me more bored or depressed than watching hours and hours of television. Ugh.
Talked to my good friend A, who was sitting in the drive through of a fantastic Mexican restaurant that she had taken me to When the b.h. and I were in California a couple months ago. It was kind of fun, because I could hear the guy on the speaker, and the radios from the other cars, and I had a very vivid image of that spot in my head. I even remember the smell of the bush that borders the drive though lane on the passeneger side. And I remember thinking to myself that I love those bushes and I never remember what they're called. They grow all over here in Georgia. I think they're either gardenias or camellias-see? There I go again- but anyway, they smelled fantastic, and talking to her I felt like I was there. And when the French tourists backed into a parked car and the car's owner came flying out of the restaurant, screaming at the top of her lungs, I was glad to be at home on my couch.
I worked tonight. I am tired and not feeling creative enough to say more. Trying to post more often, though, so there you go.

Planning is hard.

Vacation. All I ever wanted. Having to get away. Etc., etc.
Plans are being modified due to paltry summertime income and utter lack of savings. Bottom line: Car rental is a huge effing ripoff, but you can't really get around it. *sigh*
Yeah, so woe is me. Or are we. Or whatever. Oh well, it's either have the money and don't have the time, or have the time and don't have the money. I'll take the time. We'll just skip whale watching, drive the smallest available car, and skip the Memorial to the Guy With The Crowbar In His Head. No biggie. As long as we get to visit The Ben and Jerry's Factory and the Cabot Creamery, I believe I will survive.

Mmmmmm... Sunday

Tonight I waited on a drag queen whose real name is Lance Lashley. I never did get her stage name, but I doubt very seriously that it is any more appropriate.
It took me all day to realize that I had a hangover. Apparently five drinks in five hours is more than my aging body can now manage. Ah well, what are you gonna do, right? So the night lasted FOREVER, which sucked. The money was okay, but only because the generosity of the gay community somehow managed to outweigh the obliviousness of the rednecks. Yes, that's right, I said rednecks. How the hell they found their way into such an event I do not know, but the image of the pudgy mullet man with the Freddy Mercury mustache and the fucking dog collar on is burned into my mind forever.
Of the two creepiest creeps in town, only one made an appearance tonight, despite the presence of the girls from Effie's Club Follies, our local burlesque troop. I won't say his name because with my luck he will stumble across this blog and I'll never hear the end of it. But trust me, he's gross. Leering and smarmy and alltogether unlikeable.
The b.h. is asleep on the couch, the dogs are both passed out on the floor, and Tombstone is on the tv. All's well that ends well, I suppose. Now I'm off to bed.

Any Minute Now...

The new Long Winters record is due out this month, but we have already been listening to it Here.
So glad the b.h. pays attention to this stuff, or I'd have had to wait until the 25th to hear it. This happens to be the same day the new Drams record comes out. We're pre-ordering in hopes that we will get them both before we leave on our vacation to upstate New York. The trip is actually part vacation and part family reunion (his, not mine). I have never spent any time in New England, so I am looking forward to it.

Weird Vibes...

Last night was sort of weird. It started out fairly busy. In addition to the three bands that were scheduled, we were hosting trapeze artists from Canopy Studio. Before you get any Flying Wallendas pictures in your head, let me explain that what these ladies do is closer to modern dance than circus performance. The trapezes(?) are hung from the ceiling in the middle of the club in front of the stage, and various spotlights are placed around. Music selections are played over our sound system by the sound guy while they perform, and it is generally both very cool and very hot. Last night I remarked to J that
"If you can't get laid after this show, you can't get laid." He agreed.
So there was a young lady in mid performance, and I was in mid pour with my back to the room, when I heard a sharp snap and then a very sickening clunk. Every hair on my body stood up, because I knew that the wooden trapeze bar had broken and the girl had fallen, probably very awkwardly and possibly on her head, at least five feet to the wooden floor. Fuck.
She wound up being okay, but she definitely fell on her head and it was pretty fucking scary for a minute. Coincidentally, we had a paramedic and an emergency room nurse on hand, so she was looked at right away and I heard she didn't have to stay at the hospital last night.
The fucking bathroom is fucked again, and this time it really was ankle deep in there. Our plumber had been working at it for hours (and that was just yesterday, never mind the other five times he has been here in the last two weeks) when he finally gave up and we had to close two of the three stalls. This was before we had any customers, mind you. Once we actually had business, and the bathroom started getting some use, stall number three was soon completely fucked as well, and my boss ended up ankle deep and plunging away in an attempt to alleviate the situation. It didn't work, and ultimately we had to completely close that restroom, which was less problematic for us than it might be for another business because we do have another bathroom on the second floor. The boss was remarkably calm under the circumstances. I was proud.
There were a whole bunch of biker women in town for the Women In The Wind conference. I had already encountered two of them on Thursday night, and I was not looking forward to deaqling with them again. It's not that I am homophobic, mind you. It's just that I find people who aggressively and relentlessly hit on me despite my utter lack of interest or response quite frustrating. Man or woman, no means no, and when I start giving the "I am being nice to you but you are making me incredibly uncomfortable and now I am starting to be embarrassed for you" signal it is definitely time to BACK OFF. Jesus!
The problem there was that while I had been off on friday night enjoying a fantastic Hayride set at the Caledonia (they covered both A Flock of Seagulls and Skid Row-incredible), my co-workers found themselves bartending for 80 or 100 of these ladies, and being strapped for cash (service industry work in the summer in a college town is rarely lucrative) decided to befriend them, get them completely loaded, and pretty much let them have their way. C was groped, pawed at, and given a cursory rectal exam through her pants, much to her amusement. The men were similarly abused by the straight ladies in the crowd. I was understanably trepidatious.
As it turned out, I was so busy that didn't really have to deal with much, but there was one woman who seemed particulary put out that I would not respond to her stalker-like gaze with more than "Do you need another beer?" (I learned early on not to say "What can I do for you?", "How can I help you?", or anything else that would encourage more than a yes or no answer.
Loswt my keys at the end of the night and wound up having to leave my car downtown and get a ride home. Went back and found them today, so no big deal, but it was a bit inconvenient. Ah well, let the weekend begin.