Peaceful.

The girls have settled in nicely. They are very well-mannered and quite the little snugglers. The boys are still not exactly happy, but they seem to be getting used to having guests.
Last night we saw Southern Bitch and Centro-Matic at the bowling alley. It was a fabulous show. It is always difficult for me to go out on a Sunday, but I'm glad I did. Watching them play always makes me want to write.
We went over to A's house beforehand for dinner. He made Philly Cheese Steak sandwiches (mine was cheese fake- made with portabella mushrooms instead)and homemade banana pudding ice cream. It was unbelievable.
Today I slept for most of the day, or dozed on the couch under the dogs watching TV. Dexter just came out on DVD. It's about a serial killer that hunts serial killers. So far I love it.
I guess this is going to be a short and rather boring post. Sorry for that. I just haven't done much today.

P.S.

I also posted a link today to a blog called The Panopticon. Read that after the Army of Dude. You'll need it.

Doing What We Can.

Yesterday the b.h. and I went to pay rent for our friend who is still in jail. We also picked up his two dogs, who have been cared for by a guy who was nice enough to give a shit despite not being a dog person. They are both small, female beagles. When we got them here I immediately bathed them both. We moved the bed out of the guest bedroom, rolled out a big plastic tarp on the floor, and covered it with an oriental rug that I am not terribly attached to. We got them a new dog bed and a couple of rawhides. We all spent the evening watching TV, and then when we left we put the girls in the guest bedroom by themselves while we went to work. Our boys are not thrilled. It hasn't been easy so far, but we're working on it. The girls are house trained, but they are very small and so have very small bladders, and we often have to leave for six or eight hours at a stretch. So it isn't perfect, but we're trying.

I came across a blog today that I had never seen before. It's called Army of Dude, and I have linked to it over there on your left. You should read it. It is incredibly well written, especially considering the fact that the author is only twenty two. It is a heavy dose of unpleasant reality, but I am reading it because I feel like I owe him and the rest of the people in his position at least that much.

Centro-matic is playing a show at the local bowling alley tonight. We wanted to go see them last night in Macon, but it didn't work out. So we're taking the girls on a field trip to our friend A's house for dinner and a fenced yard, then we're gonna go rock out for awhile. I'm really looking forward to it.

In other news, I am reading a biography of J.D. Salinger. So far I love it. I still haven't gotten the b.h. a birthday present. I have another week or so. Hmm.

Back to Jail.

This time I took the b.h. We brought our friend some books. As he is only allowed religious and/or educational material, I took a bag of whatever I thought would pass and let the guy behind the desk decide. It turns out that The D'Oh! of the Simpsons does in fact count as religious. Fabulous. I also brought him Eats, Shoots, & Leaves and a couple books on writing. Turns out he's going to be there another month and a half, so he will have plenty of time to read. He will alsp apparently have quite a bit of company. Twenty five UGA freshmen were arrested for underage drinking between Monday and Wednesday last week, and nine more this Monday. I guess the cops are really trying to show that they're serious this year.
I personally think the whole drinking age thing is ridiculous. When you think about the fact that these kids are old enough, at eighteen, to go to fucking war and we don't trust them with beer? It just seems silly. Not to mention the fact that they are going to drink anyway, and that drinking in a bar downtown is much safer than say, at a frat party, or in some random apartment. I'm not saying this because I want more eighteen-year-old customers, mind you. I actually hate those. They don't know what they want or how to tip and they make a mess and start fights. But at least at a bar there is somebody monitoring their level of intoxication. When i think somebody has had too much, I put a full pint of water in front of them and tell them when they finish it they can have another drink. They never do. I am polite but firm, and manage to disarm even the most ornery frat boys- or at least their friends. That's the other thing. When I can see that somebody is headed for trouble, I locate their friends and tell them to keep an eye on the situation. This can happen on their first round of drinks. Sometimes there are just people (guys, mostly) who I can tell are going to be a problem. They're looking for a fight, or too wound up for one reason or another, and I will bring them down a notch. And I consider it part of my job. It's the same with girls who are obviously drunk and suddenly find an overly friendly guy on them. I ask them if they're okay, if they need a cab, etc. I ask their friends if they know the guy and if he is okay. I don't want somebody leaving my bar and getting date-raped. I'm not saying it never happens. I'm saying that responsible bartenders (there are a lot of us, believe it or not) try to look out for people. This isn't going to happen at somebody's house.
While we're on the subject, I am also pretty frustrated at the current proposed legislation here in town regarding bars. They want door guys to get licensed. They want to fingerprint the guys who get five bucks an hour to check IDs and clean up puke. Why? Because according to our police commissioner, national statistics show that a high percentage of guys who work security in clubs are sex offenders. Well that's very interesting sir, but in this town (and every college town, for that matter) the problem seems a lot worse in the fraternity houses, and I don't see anybody proposing we fingerprint those assholes during Rush Week. I guess that's because those kids' daddies can afford legal counsel? There is no proposed license for waiters or people who work in liquor or convenience stores, by the way, even though those places get busted for serving underage kids about ten times as often.
Anyway, enough of that.
The b.h. made awesome salsa today, using up about half of the cherry tomatoes we've picked in the last two days. It has poured rain - I mean biblical, scary, buckets of rain - for about an hour both yesterday and today. I am of course thrilled, as it is good news for the garden and the drought situation. Some of our neighbors are obviously less thrilled, though. I was driving to the store today and passed a house down the road that had a very large tree lying against it. It didn't look like it had been struck by lightning, either. I think the wind just snapped it like a twig. Yikes. I eyed our two trees a bit fearfully during today's storm after seeing that.
In other news, the Condos From Hell seem to be nearing completion. They now have windows, and obviously air-conditioning, because those windows have been closed every day all day despite the temperature, and there are a lot of people working over there. No landscape or anything yet, but I will be surprised if we don't have new neighbors by October. I'll try to post some pictures soon. They're really just stupid looking. I mean, there's nothing wrong with them structurally, but they are selling for half a million dollars, and that is just ridiculous. At that price, in this area, they are basically the equivalent of a big nut house. Can't wait to see who moves in.
Okay, Ian McShane awaits. I'm off.

Fat and Sassy.

I just finished eating a broiled peach with goat cheese, drizzled with a balsamic reduction. Man I'm glad the b.h. likes to cook. We also made a fruit salad with mint leaves and vanilla. For dinner we had home fries and some kind of egg and broccoli and other stuff mix. It was great, but honestly the peach just blew me away. I may be ruined for regular food forever.
Today I finally caught up on the laundry- all of it, which is no small feat. I also vacuumed (that never looks like a real word to me, I do not know why) upstairs, and put together three bags of stuff for a goodwill dropoff. Waited until after the sun went down to go out and water the veggies. Picked a whole bunch, too. We're going to have to make some salsa or something this week, because we can't possibly eat all of our tomatoes. Unfortunately something wormy is getting to the cucumbers before I can, so we haven't had any of those this week. I'm working on that, though.
Slept for more than eight hours two days in a row. I feel much better. The weekend took a lot out of me. Tomorrow it's back to the grind. Tonight though, it's Twin Peaks (we're re-watching season one) and Boston Legal.

Gardening At Night.

Or at least at dusk. It's the best I have been able to do. Every week I check the weather forecast - usually the ten-day - and every week it says that it will rain in the coming week. I can't remember the last time it actually did, though I think it's been more than two months. Today it is 91 degrees outside. That's ten degrees better than it has been for a week. My tomatoes don't seem enthused. The peppers are doing pretty well, though.Here's a photo of the biggest pepper I have ever grown:



You'd be surprised how difficult it is to photograph a vegetable close up. Or maybe you wouldn't. I certainly was. Anyway, you can at least get an idea of the size and color of this lovely. The b.h. is having it stuffed- er, stuffing it, that tis. With rice and cheese and such. I can't wait.

Here are a couple more veg photos:



The small yellow pear-shaped tomatoes are fantastic. I forgot what they are called, because of the labeling debacle during my seed starting phase, but I'm sure i still have some seeds, so I will continue to grow them next season. The small purple peppers in the bottom left corner are actually purple cayennes, and they are quite tasty and hot. The moles nedd roasting before they have much flavor.



I should have taken one of the Armenian cucumber that was literally as long as my leg. I failed to capture it on film, but use your imagination. I am about five and a half feet tall. It was ridiculous. And now it is pickled, and very tasty.

Here are a couple shots of this year's mantis model:



He sprang out of nowhere to get a drink just as soon as I watered the other evening. He seemed a bit annoyed but undeterred by my presence.



If only I could keep a hundred of these guys around. We start with a bunch every year, but we only seem to keep one. And about a thousand grasshoppers per square yard. They suck. I am really happy that I decided to put in a real garden (as opposed to a container garden) this year because the weather has been hell and the container plants are not well. Turns out it was worth all the work after all. This week I will be visiting Jamie and going over seed catalogs for next year. I can't wait.

How To Go To Jail.

Jeez! Has it been a whole week already? Well, I'm still here. Exhausted, but fine. We had a pretty rough week, work-wise. We're a bit short-handed at the moment.

One of our friends has managed to land himself in jail for a bit. Drinking, driving, you know- at the same time. Which is never a good idea, but it happens all the time. Not that I am making excuses for him, mind you, I just hate to see him in there. Luckily K, who is old hat at visiting friends with DUIs came along with me. It was a sobering experience.
When we first came in to the visiting area, we went through a metal detector and got in line to check in. Checking in involves telling the cop behind the counter who you're there to see. He gives you a sheet of paper to fill out with your name (which I am certain they run immediately through a computer to make sure you don't have a warrant out) and the name of the inmate you are visiting. Then you wait in another line to hand in the sheet. Asking questions of the guy behind counter one is not prohibited, necessarily, but it is not advised. He doesn't really seem to want to talk to you. This is likely because he is afraid that the Woman Behind Counter Two will hear him being nice and kill him later. The Woman Behind Counter Two will not look at you when she asks for your sheet. She will not answer any questions you might have in a way that is understandable to a person who has never been here before. In short, you will be treated like a criminal just for showing up. Guilt by association, I guess.
The waiting room is a typically institutional fluorescent nightmare, similar to a hospital waiting room but with cops. The chairs are plastic and uncomfortable, and arranged in rows in such a way that you almost have to disturb the person in the row in front of you in order to sit down. The other people that are waiting have obviously done this before. They are an array of depressing stereotypes. I wonder how K and I fit. Which one are we? You can't have anything on your person, obviously, except identification. Somehow we managed to avoid being frisked. This surprised me. When the Woman Behind Counter Two shouts the name of our inmate unnecessarily loudly (there are only eight people in this thirty by thirty by thirty foot waiting area), we stand up and head for a door that is a few feet away in the corner. Counter Two lady tells us loudly from across the room that we are to leave our belongings in a locker in the corner. "They don't lock," she says helpfully. "Put your things in a locker and close the door." I am very glad that K told me ahead of time not to bring anything. I drop my keys inside a random, beat up gray metal boxes and proceed to the door. I can see through a giant window in the waiting room into the room we are about to enter. It has a bank of small booths with phones and more plastic chairs, situated opposite another bank of booths and phones and plastic chairs, separated by plexiglass. Our friend is being escorted to a booth on his side. We go in and sit down. I pick up the phone, promising my inner germophobe that we will take a very hot shower with bleach and lye and ammonia when we get home, and speak to my friend. I have difficulty maintaining eye contact, as I am not used to speaking on the phone to somebody when I am looking directly at them. I ask what his situation is. We talk about books. I can't bring him any unless they are of a religious or educational nature. I will try to do this ASAP. He has been reading a prison copy of Chaucer. Unfortunately many pages are missing and the ones still in the book are crumbling in his hands. We make small talk. We discuss details of things that need to be taken care of until his release.
K gets on the phone and is hilarious and informed, having spent a day here herself once. There is talk of chipped beef and "The Fish Sandwich." She can't remember which is served on which day. I envy her ability to be both compassionate and comical at the same time. I am very glad that she came. Overall, our friend looks well, despite the circumstances. And he is a pragmatist, so I know he will be okay. He knows he fucked up.
When our fifteen minutes is up, the Woman Behind Counter Two opens the door, and shouts (again, despite the fact that we are only two feet in front of her and the only people in the room). Again she doesn't look at us, but shouts sort of in our general direction and slightly over our heads. I guess the only way to do her job without wanting to shoot yourself and/or everyone else is to avoid thinking about it too much. As much as I am glad that I am not my friend, I am really, really glad I am not her. At least he'll be out soon.

Apologies.

I am sorry for being so lame lately. I haven't had time or energy, and I feel like my blog has been suffering. The good news is that I work my final shift at the Popular Restaurant tomorrow, after which I will return to having some semblance of a life. I hope to get back to some important things that I have been missing. Namely, time with some of my friends that I see only rarely anyway, and haven't seen at all recently. I saw J for a split second yesterday (or was it two days ago now?) on my way to the Popular Restaurant, and I SWORE her voice sounded different. Sick? No. You sure? Not a sore throat or anything? No. Oh. Well then, I guess maybe I should be calling you once in awhile, because I have obviously forgotten the sound of your voice. Yow. I am sorry. Then I ran out the door and went to an incredibly miserable shift at an unbelievably disorganized place of business that somehow remains very busy and popular despite what can only be shitty service because it is not set up for the volume that it handles.
Anyway, no more of that.
The garden is going well. Tomorrow the b.h. plans to make pickles and gazpacho while I am at work. Our bell peppers are humongous. I will have to get some pictures.
Oh- by the way, Steven Colbert's Americone Dream is fantastic. It's a new Ben and Jerry's flavor. Go get some.
And now, I must return to Boston Legal. Good night.

Sometimes We Do Win.

So I quit my job at the Popular Restaurant. Three weeks. I can't remember the last time I ditched a job that quickly. It was just too big a clusterfuck. Ah well. I made a few extra bucks and I think I have a plan for a cool birthday gift for the b.h.

Wasting Time.

I am in between work and other work right now, sitting in front of a fan and basically killing time. I realized that I have been spending far too much time like this lately. I think the weather has a lot to do with it. If I am not on allergy medication, I walk around with a splitting headache, eyes leaking a very attractive sticky ooze, blowing my nose every three or four minutes. When I take the medication, I am basically completely useless. My headache is gone, but so is my head. I walk around in fog, unable to focus on anything or anyone, essentially asleep at the wheel. If I take medication and I am at home, then the sleep is literal. All of this leads to a lot of lost time for me, and I am getting frustrated. I want it back, dammit. Right now I should be out walking around, or sipping an iced coffee at a sidewalk cafe and reading a book. No can do. It's over a hundred degrees again. I'm quite certain that there are good reasons why i left the North, but right now they are very hard to remember. Must be the medication.

One Oh Five

Can't blog... too... hot...
Currently 96. "Feels like" 105. Really.

Getaway.

Doggie Camping kicked ass. Our cabin was like something straight out of an Ikea catalog- clean and simple, small but very efficient. There was a futon for us and one for the dogs (theirs looked cushier and I was jealous), a table and two chairs, a small fridge, coffee maker, and toaster, and a bathroom (no shower, but just down the road a piece was a block of showers that were private and very, very clean). There was also a nice little deck with a barbecue grill and patio furniture. It was perfect, and very reasonably priced. There were several off-leash areas, hiking trails, and a little pond for swimming. They even had a separate doggie bath house. We all had a great time.

This is a shot of the main office:



And this is Lucy, the hostess at 4Paws:





The town nearest camp was the rather unpronouncable Rutherfordton. It featured one ice cream shoppe and the creepiest house ever.





I can't put my finger on what it was exactly, but even on an incredibly beautiful, bright sunny day, it had Grisly Murder written all over it. I thought the single dead tree in the yard was a nice touch. If anybody needs a location for a horror movie, I'd give this place a shot.

After we checked out on Tuesday, we went to Chimney Rock State Park. We hiked on the mountain for a good bit, eager to get to the waterfall at the end of the trail. When we got there, we saw that we were preceded by about thirty kids from some day camp or other. It was a nightmare. Wyatt hated it almost as much as I did. We couldn't even get near the water, and we had hiked a mile and weren't carrying any. It was hot.
Kilgore didn't seem phased at all.



We trotted back to the car in a hurry, watered ourselves and the boys, and headed back home. We were all pretty tired, but very glad that we had gone.