Of Mice and Moths.

I have just finished completely cleaning and wiping out, for the second time in a year, my Very Large Bookcase Thing. I got the VLBT in Chicago at Salvage One in about 1998, and it is my favorite piece of furniture, despite being impossibly heavy, difficult to move, and a veritable playground for mice.
The VLBT was taken out of a building in Evanston prior to that buliding's demolition. It had been built in to the kitchen in an apartment, and most likely used for dishes and food and other kitchen cupboard-like items.
In my house the VLBT has always housed books, CDs, magazines, and various memorabilia* which doesn't have a proper place anywhere else. It holds a lot of stuff. So you can imagine my dismay whenever I discover that we have once again been adopted by a mouse, and I must once again go through each cabinet and drawer, sorting out which of these I can salvage (Ron Jeremy autographed photo, X-Men Playing cards, most of the CDs, all of the books, a disposable lighter bearing the WILCO gas station logo), and which have to go (various old music magazines, a polaroid camera which seems to have been doused in mouse urine, our only non-cordless phone**).
Today was one of those days. In a way, it helps me to be less attached to material things and less of a pack rat, which I suppose is good, but mostly it is just a pain in the ass--and it is pretty gross.
It doesn't help that we have also had a fairly major moth problem intermittently for the last couple of months. I have thrown out more tea, flour, rice, pasta, dried fruit, bread, cookies, and crackers than I care to think about. I have spread bay leaves and lavender about the cupboards to try and repel them naturally. I am not willing to "bomb" the house with any kind of chemicals because a) that shit is toxic, and b) I would have to wipe down and launder and steam clean every surface and item of clothing in the house, and I would still not feel that the dogs were safe. Dogs will eat anything, and with my luck they would find the one corner I didn't get to, or the sock under the couch in the corner that didn't get washed, and they will eat it and get sick and I will never forgive myself. Rational thoughts? No. Real thoughts? Yes.
Anyway, I did finally find moth traps at the (big box excuse for a) hardware store. Also very gross, but so far very effective. Next on the list is a no-kill mouse trap. Maybe I'll fill it with CDs and magazines instead of peanut butter.





*An autographed picture of Ron Jeremy, for example, and an activity book entitled "My First Presidentiary, by George W. Bush", as well as a paper doll book of Bill clinton and His Family.
**It's good to have one of these around in case of a power outage. Hard to call the power company when the phone doesn't work.

Finally.

It has taken me three years, two houses, and countless packets of seeds and bags of soil, but I have, at long last, managed to grow my very own Moon Flowers. Only wish I knew how to post their lovely scent...



In other "finally" news, it is finally Sunday, which means my weekend can finally begin. I always forget how much football season annoys me until it actually starts. At this point it has been quite tame. Next month is when the real games (and the real hell,) start.

Somebody's Gotta Do It.

And I know that AJ probably won't brag himself, so I'll just tell you: He got signed by CAA.

Way to go, buddy. I didn't even know they represented porn stars.

It Wasn't All Bad.

Lest I leave anyone with the wrong impression, I must state for the record that the weekend was not all about the end of Lunch Paper. Tasty World celebrated it's Ninth Anniversary on Friday night, with the always awesome Grand Buffet headlining a spectacular show. Those guys are always a treat, and this time there were finally some people there to see them. Some of them even started throwing money at the end of the show so they'd play another song. One of those people might have been me, but I can't be sure because I was very busy losing my mind. If I ever find myself sitting on a large enough sum of money, I will buy a camera, take two weeks off, and get in the van with those two. Also, I saw Modern Skirts kicking much ass for the second time this week. I really hope there is a new record on the horizon because I am about to wear out the one I have. Well done everybody. And congrats to Murphy on staying alive for so long against nearly impossible odds.

So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish.

Or beer. And stuff.
Yep, the venerable Lunch Paper has closed its doors forever. The b.h. and I went down there today to help take down the sign and scrape the window stickers down and whatnot. It was kind of depressing, in a way, but it also means a new start for Monty, so that's good.



I met a lot of good people at that place, many of whom are gone and a few that I still see all the time. It was one of the first places I ever felt at home here in Athens.
R.I.P., L.P.

It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And Now I Really, Really Feel Fine)

So there was an R.E.M. tribute show last night at the 40 Watt. It was a benefit for some local charities, and there were sevral bands playing that the b.h. and I were excited about seeing. These included Five Eight and Modern Skirts among others, and since the Skirts are getting so popular these days and Patterson Hood is almost as good as Dave Schools at dragging out a million frat boys every time he plays, we thought we would go ahead and get our tickets in advance. That turned out to be a good decision, because the show sold out and R.E.M. actually played. I have seen Michael Stipe and Mike Mills around town several times since I moved here, and I have also seen a couple of impromptu performances, but never with the whole band. They got up and did a couple songs, and then took turns popping up onstage with the other bands. I am still a bit too giddy to properly convey the spirit of the evening, but suffice to say (for now) that everyone was fantastic.

One highlight that springs to mind is the version of "Driver 8" performed by Five-Eight that was about the West Coast tour they did with R.E.M. The last line was something like "Five Eight take a break we're taking Now It's Overhead to Europe." I know this is not translating well, but it was hilarious. And the last song they did (they headlined) was "It's The End Of The Wolrd..." Many of the band members that had played, including R.E.M., got up onstage with them and totally rocked it out. People went insane. (Present company very included.) I found myself screaming out the lyric, jumping around and losing my mind. When it ended, I discovered that I was actually propped up on an amplifier, one leg dangling several feet above the floor and the other wrapped around the bannister on the stairs that lead to the stage. My voice was horse, my head was spinning, and I couldn't remember having been that excited for a long time.
The thing is, right now it does sometimes feel like the end of the world, and as much as I wish I were able to just stick my head in the sand and say fuck it, that is simply not in my nature. Between war and crime and poverty and the environment and our fucking joke of a government, there are days when I wonder why people even bother to try and do the right thing ever. But then there are moments when everything else is gone and all I feel is unbridled joy and the pleasure of simply being alive. Many thanks to everybody who made that possible, and so sorry to those of you who missed it. I was with you all in spirit.

Planes, Trains, Automobiles, and Hitler's World HQ

So Lincoln was really cool. It reminded me of Champaign-Urbana in all the rtight ways. I met all of the b.h.'s friends, who made me feel welcome right away, and heard all the stories that old friends tell when they get together. It was great fun and I only hope that the b.h. likes my friends from home half as well as I like his (especially since we see my friends so often). In addition to the people, I got to see the Capitol Building (below), a very large phallic structure with a statue of a man on top who is -wait for it- sowing seed. He is in fact called "The Sower". I don't know if you can see him in this photo or not, but he's there.



Apparently, this building so impressed Hitler that he decided that it would be his world headquarters after he conquered the United States. We managed to get in about fifteen minutes before it closed on Thursday, and a woman who was perhaps the nicest State Employee I have ever encountered insisted (after she discovered that we were from out of town)that she get us up to the 14th floor observatory before we left. The building was really, really, beautiful, and after taking the tour I could see why Hitler was so enamoured of it. Again, I doubt the photos will do it justice but I am posting them anyway because they make my blog more interesting to look at.




After we left here, we drove around in search of the neighborhood with the black squirrels, which we never found, and then met the gang over at Yia Yia's for another round of pizza. The b.h. got his with white sauce, potatoes and capers. I got mine with broccoli, white sauce, jalapenos, garlic, and potatoes. It was fabulous. That place is great and I can't wait to go back.

We left around 7pm, rolled into Chicago around 4am, windows down and slapping myself in the face to stay awake for the last twenty miles. Got up around eight thirty, left my sister's house at 9, and took the el to the airport.



Got there in plenty of time, but still decided not to check bags after the last nightmare. Turns out that the security people in Chicago actually give a shit about their jobs, so despite the fact that I had thrown out the matches and the lighter, they wound up going through all of our bags. I was told to get rid of my nasal spray and my eye drops. I put them in the "discard" bin, and the other security woman picked them up and told me I could keep them
"This is prescription, right?" she asked, inspecting the nasal spray.
"Yes m'am."
"You can keep that. And these (eye drops) are less than four ounces. You can keep those, too."

I was baffled, but relieved. Turns out, though, that I could not keep the Burt's Bees tinted facial moisturizer, or the Oil of Olay, or what was left of my very empty (thank gods) Aveda hair product. Bumble and Bumle conditioner that was also almost empty? Oh, that you can have. And toothpaste, despite the fact that the first woman (who nixed the nasal sparay) was screaming at all of us to get rid of it. Spray on sun screen had to go, as did the roll-on deodorant. And a (probably very expensive) small bottle of herbal dog shampoo that I had forgotten my sister gave to me. So the moral of the airport story, I guess, is that allthough we are obviously no safer, we are more wasteful than ever. Fantastic. I hope to never get in another plane again.



I fell asleep in the plane (antihistamines-woo hoo!) and slepty most of the way back to Atlanta. The downside of this is that I never realized that I dropped the book that I was attempting yet again to read, one that my good friend Jamie had loaned me, and that I had yet to get past the first ten pages of due to extreme exhaustion.
When we got off the plane, we took a MARTA train through ATL to our friend Dave's neighborhood. The train styopped at the station before his and a very, very sketchy looking guy came through the car, looking nervously around and eyeing everybody up and down. The train stayed still for much longer than it should have. It felt like it was having trouble powerin g up or something. There were a few announcements about how we would be moving on in "just a minute here." I was contemplating jumping off the train and calling Dave when the doors started to close. There was an announcement that "Any police in the train should report to (muffled words)." The sketchy guy stuck his head through the doors as they started to close, causing them to open again. I was on the verge of screaming and physically attacking him when the train finally started to move.

I don't think I have ever been so happy to see Dave. The b.h. got into the front seat after stowing our bags in the back, and I was sprawled across the back seat asleep before the car started moving.

Woke up about ten miles from our house. Got home, scratched dogs, changed clothes, and went downtown to meet b.h.'s parents for a belated birthday dinner. Note: twelve dollar pasta dishes are no more impressive than five dollar pasta dishes, but the beer waqs cold and fabulous and the coffee was pressed to order. I had two of each (beer and coffee, not overpriced pasta dishes) and headed to work. Got home in the 4am range and slept for about eleven hours. The end.

P.S. I got another copy of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell on Sunday, and am well over a hundred pages in. Harry Potter for adults-yay!

Time Flies (& Flight Times).

Closed the bar Monday night.
Woke up at 7am on Tuesday.
Left for thye airport at 7:30.
Got to the airport in PLENTY of time, so stood in line (incredibly long, as everyone now has to check bags) to check bags.
Got to the freont of the line to find that "You have to check your bags at least 45 minutes before your flight." Our flight was in thirty minutes. We gathered that the woman behind the counter didn't really give a rat's ass that we had in fact gotten to the aiport well over an hour before our flight. Though we had been there in what should have been plenty of time, the "Terror Alert Level" (TAL) is now orange, and no liquids are allowed in carry on luggage, including toothpaste, shampoo, and other things that every hygienic and not wealthy person on earth has to pack for a trip. So we flew standby, along with at least twelve other people who were obviously so silly as to expect that being there when you are told to be there would be good enough.
We sat separately in the plane, the b.h. and I, but were lucky just to have gotten on. I was happy that by checking bags I was able to bring the kudzu blossom jelly that I had made at Jamie's house on Monday. None of my Southern friends had heard of it, so I figured it would be a real treat for my Yankee family.
I had forgotten to get some antihistamines out of the bag that was now sitting with the b.h. several rows behind me (and also in a middle seat, so I wasn't keen on trying to retrieve anything from him). My teeth felt like they would rip out of my head for the last thirty minutes of the flight.
The b.h. made an interesting discovery mid-flight while rummaging around for the headphones in our carry-on, which had not been opened or even glanced at in security. I had, in my exhaustion while packing the night before, left in the bag a disposable lighter, spray on sunscreen, liquid roll-on deodorant, and multiple cosmetic type items that were less than solid, as well as a pack of matches. Coupled with the no less than six electronic items for which there are various wires and power supplies, one might have thought that security would have at least looked a little sideways at these items. Not in Atlanta, apparently. Incidentally, one might also wonder why the hell I didn't pack two separate carry on bags, as the one we had was clearly jam-packed and uncomfortably heavy. I can only say that I was really, really tired, and perhaps not making a lot of sense.
As we sat at the gate waiting to get on the next available flight, there were constant announcements over the loudspeakers that "The Department of Homeland Security would like to remind us that the terror threat level is now at orange, and that any and all people should be viewed with suspicion and possibly killed, or at least turned over to the authorities." Or something like that. We were also intermittantly treated to loud, repetitive,Brazil-like alarms going off at various doors leading to the tarmac, doors that no one was even close to, alarms which were mostly ignored by the airport staff. One might think, if one were a cynic, that these people were trying to frighten us.
More later- I need more coffee.

Wow. New discovery, from A Cook's Guide To Chicago: Cardamom coffee. Just crush two green cardamom pods up, mix in with ground coffee beans, and brew. Good stuff.

So where was I? Oh yeah, at the blessed airport. Waited about three days for baggage at Midway Airport, then called my mom who picked us up and brought us to lunch. Stopped at three different Dry Cleaners by my sister's house, where i learned that "Same Day Service" is only available if you drop your clothes off before 9am, no matter how much money you offer them. One guy looked at me like I was a total assshole, even after I explained that I had just gotten off a plane and that I was leaving for a funeral the next morning at six. Seriously- you'd have thought I was asking for his first born son.
See, the b.h. and I aren't really the type of people who like to play dress up, so not only are our options limited, but they are also worn very infrequently. Since our house has but two window air conditioning units (rather than central air, which is more, um, centralized), and since it is hotter (and much more humid) than hades here in the summer, our funeral-appropriate clothing, having spent at least ten consecutive months in the closet, was less than fresh. The good news is that *Dryel* sheets work perfectly well with a quick tumble on the warm cycle, and they cost about twenty dollars less than a dry cleaner. Also, my sister is quite skilled in ironing and managed to rescue the b.h.'s shirt from me before I left any permanant marks.
So we waited at my sister's house for my dad to get home from work, all the while enjoying Goose Island's lovely Summer Ale and coming down from the sleep deprived airport nightmare. When my dad arrived, we all adjourned to a local pub (where they make their own veggie burger patties, and where if you ask very nicely, they will add swiss cheese and vidalia onions to said patties-yum!) and continued to unwind.
Got to bed early, got up around five-thirty, and were on the road by six am.
I had forgotten just how gorgeous Iowa is. No, I am not kidding. Anyone who has had the pleasure of driving back and forth through central Illinois a million times has a real appreciation for landscape, and this was amazing. I'm not sure what kind of justice th photos will do it, but it's worth a shot I guess. Check it out:





Yep- sure is lovely, right? Well, it gets even better. We stopped in Iowa City around 10, and were lucky enough to stumble into a coffee shop that brewed gourmet coffee by the cup. Awesome. Twenty ounces and a quick breakfast later, we were back on the road. We had to skip the World's Largest Truckstop for lack of time, but we did stop for gas here:



I couldn't believe this place. Bummer was they didn't have any lighters, matches, baseball caps, t-shirts, or anything else with their logo on it.

So we hauled ass through to Lincoln, and went straight to Yia Yia's for a slice of pizza and a much needed beer. I had heard so much about this place from the b.h. that I almost expected to be let down, but I wasn't. The stoners in the kitchen screwed up our order the first time around, and the second time it was half right and all the way delicious. I have never been in a bar with more varieties of bottled beer. I could have stayed there forever, but I was too tired to have more than one.

Regrets.

I just finished watching Westway to the World- the documentary about The Clash- again. It is a really fantastic movie, but the end is really sad. It's clear that both Joe Strummer and Mick Jones had a huge mutual respect, and that they wished things had gone differently, etc. I had heard rumors for years about a possible reunion, but I learned not to get my hopes up. I was eleven when they played their last show together here in the States. What I wouldn't have given to see them live. I remember the day Joe Strummer died. It felt awful then, and watching the movie makes it even worse. The world (and especially my world) needs bands like The Clash now more than ever. Punk rock has become a cartoon. But then, so has politics. The unfunniest, Nancy-esque (allthough Family Circus may have been worse) comic strip of all time. I'm still pissed that they never made up.

We got a phone call the other day from one of the b.h.'s old friends. It seems an old friend has killed herself. They hadn't talked in awhile. That didn't make it easier. It may have made it harder.

Tomorrow we leave on a flight to Chicago, after which we will drive eight and a half hours to attend the funeral of a woman I have never met, who he hasn't seen in years, but who knew the b.h. for longer than I did. We will be there for about twenty four hours, then we will drive back to Chicago and fly back home. I have to work that night. Things will have to go on.

Also, RIP Steve Irwin. At least you died doing what you were supposed to do.

Customer of the Night, part 73

Friday night, a Paris Hilton lookalike (wannabe?) who had a purse that cost more than my rent ran up a hundred and thirteen dollar tab and tipped us ten bucks. Stupid cunt. She was obviously wealthy, and she was from Texas. The credit card was her dad's.(duh)

Comedy, Errors.

Yesterday I got to work to discover that the ice machine was full of water. Under normal circumstances, this would be problematic, as people tend to like their drinks cold. This particular week, it was a veritable catastrophe, as we were expecting 85,000 extras on our set. That's right folks, football season is upon us again, and I for one could not be more excited.
Actually, i have a love/hate relationship with football season. I love the money, but I find the people for the most part pretty horrifying. Anyway, after multiple phone calls and a bad diagnosis from the ice machine repairman, it was decided that I would drive to Atlanta to pick up the part we needed, so as not to have to wait an extra day for them to overnight it, which they told me would not happen until Thursday, which would mean that the part would arrive on Friday, rendering the machine totally useless until Saturday. (Please keep in mind that Atlanta is about seventy miles away, and the company that was fixing the machine is auite large, and under normal circumstances one would expect that a company like that would be able to get the part here without inconveniencing me to this degree.) Then Carlie, the lovely assistant on the phone at the ice machine fixing company, had the gaul to lay into me about it!

"I just want you to know that we don't DO this, " she said, scolding me. "I mean, I know everybody is freaking out because its the first game day weekend and everything, but we DO NOT DO THIS."
"Really? That's a coincidence, because I DON'T EITHER, you stupid bitch" I wanted to say.
"Well, I understand that, but this is really important and I really appreciate this" I said instead.

So basically, I spent five hours in my car today, driving through torrential, Biblical rain (I saw three wrecks- one in Athens and two within a mile of each other in ATL). Add to this that the guy on the phone in Atlanta gave me the wrong directions, and that when I called back to get redirected, it was raining so hard that I couldn't hear the woman on teh other end of my cell phone.
And when I stopped at a gas station to get a soda on the way home, not only did they not have regular Coke in cans (I can't fit those giant bottles in my cup holder, and besides, who the hell needs that many ounces of liquid at once?), but the cheddar cheese cracker Combos that I bought wound up being stale, due to a hole in the bag, which I did not discover until I had already gotten back on the road and put some in my mouth. They tasted like dust, and as I spit them into a napkin, scraping the remnants from my tongue and gagging uncontrollably, washing it down with a (not) tasty Coca Cola Zero. Seriously.

Nameless Post.

I went out with K on friday might. Started with a cup of coffee at the restaurant where she works, and she read from the journal of her hellacious (and hilarious) trip to Mexico. Next we moved on to the 40 Watt to see Maserati. Outside in line, I overheard some balding, twatty-looking jackass remark that
"If this was Atlanta we could smoke inside." To which I responded
"Yeah, and you could pay twice as much for your drinks, too." Jackass.

I know that the smoking ban is a pain in the ass, but there's just something about fucking Atlanta people and their attitude that kills me. With a few exceptions, I think the whole of Atlanta is mostly shit. It is not a city so much as a sprawling mass of suburbs-- strip mall after strip mall after subdivision, with a million different winding roads going nowhere. I could go on and on about my dislike for Atlanta, but instead I would like to talk about Maserati.
They were fabulous. The drummer is possessed. He's like a machine. It's bizarre and awesome and I didn't want the show to end. I only wish their records were as interesting to me. Somehow, it just doesn't translate. Anyway, we moved on to the Manhattan when they were done, and had a few beers (which are not officially permitted in my diet at this point but which were also light*, so I didn't feel quite as bad as I probably should have.
Saturday was okay. Went writing with my friend A in the afternoon. Survived the Loudest Barrista In History again for over an hour before retreating back to the house to eat. Work was fine. The Dictatortots played a great show opening for some band that has apparently backed Outkast before. They were good for what they do, I suppose, but what they do is not really my thing. We were prepared for the shit to hit the fan, because apparently some people were iunder the impression that Outkast was actually playing (as if--I know, but people are not smart). Well, it never hit. Everything was fine, and my week ended fairly quietly. Perfect.




*Thanks to the fine folks at Amstel, for making light beer that tastes like something. Now, if I only could get Sierra Nevada to do the same...

Robbed.

Smelly P was there first thing again today. That's the second time in a week. Fuuuuuuuck. I had taken some heavy-duty cold medicine last night in an attempt to sleep despite the inability to breathe through my nose. The funny thing about this particular medicine ("The nighttime sneezing, sniffling, coughing, aching, stuffy head fever so you can rest medicine") is that it usually knocks me out cold, and I sleep almost too well, with all kinds of trippy, lucid dreams and whatnot. Every once in a while, though, it just makes me wired. It was that kind of night. I might as well have drunk an entire pot of coffee at 5am as taken that crap. So I tossed and turned, sweated and flailed, and "woke up" (though I hesistate to use that phrase as it implies actual sleep) feeling even more foul. And I drove to work in a haze. And a delivery that we desperately needed never came.
On top of that, we got a tip jar ripped off tonight. I knew exactly who did it, but without my Nancy Drew Fingerprinting Kit there was no way to prove it, and I trust the local police to be about as helpful in such matters as they are about everything else (which is to say, fuck it up completely and find a way to both make it my fault and write me a ticket). So yeah, I'm not very perky right now.

Scene

INTERIOR A nightclub, on a busy Saturday night.POV is the bartender's. There is a DJ on a stage in the background. Dance music pumps loudly. Colored lights spin, many people are drinking and dancing and sweating and generally having a good time.

CUSTOMER

A thirtyish man, reaches across the bar, grasps a Bud Light, using his other hand to pay the BARTENDER three US dollars.

BARTENDER

"Thanks."

The camera pans up, and over the shoulder of the CUSTOMER.

On the dance floor, a space has cleared around one particular couple. The WOMAN, who is young and very attractive in a not un-Salma Hayek way, is bent at the waist, grinding her ass in what she surely percieves as a seductive and possibly romantic way, against a YOUNG MAN who in return grinds his hips into her with much gusto. Unbeknownst to the woman, he also happens to be having a very animated conversation on a cell phone.

Cross.

P emits an odor that seems to have not only shape, but possibly personality, or maybe even free will. His voice is loud and nasal(that observation coming from a bona fide loud Yankee, mind you), and it carries. Despite the air conditioning, and the ice machine, and various fans, as well as the television and the hundred plus feet that separate us, it carries, and it touches a nerve somewhere deep within my spine.
P helps out at work, doing odd jobs that I can't or won't or don't have time to do. I'm actually glad to have him around--I just don't want to talk to him before I've had a cup of coffee. Sometimes I have to.
I woke up late for work. The b.h. was awake but apparently not paying attention to the time. I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and put enough water on my hair to flatten it out a bit (prior to this I appear much like the "Mr. Heatmiser" from Rudolph's Shiny New Year). I don't think my eyes were even open all the way when I pulled out of the driveway. The upside of going to work in this condition is that I am not conscious enough to feel the weather, get pissed at other drivers, or think about how much shit I have to do when I get there.
The downside is that rather than having some time to mentally prepare for all of these inevitabilities, when this happens I usually find myself getting hit with all of them at once, starting when I have to find somewhere to park. After circling the block about seven times, which takes forever because it is the lunch hour and there are many, many pedestrians, (Note: No speeches about how much gas I wasted or riding my bike or taking the bus--if it were possible for me to do this differently, I would. It isn't. Save your breath.) I finally managed to find a parallel spot to squeeze into. It is on an incline and my boss's car is behind it. Fortunately, my boss is even less observant than I am about his car and will probably never notice the mark I left on the bumper.
So I got to the front door and it was already unlocked. And when I opened it, I saw the bike leaning against the pool table a split second before the smell hit me.
"Hey, P." I grumbled, and headed straight for the coffee maker.
"A fucking cop slashed my tent last night, man."
"Wow. That sucks." I have no idea what the hell he is talking about, but this is nothing new.
"Yeah, I helped out down at (another bar) last night, and it was just starting to rain when I left. By the time I got back to my tent by the tracks, it was a fucking deluge, and my fucking tent was fucking slashed. It had to be a cop, because if it was a homeless guy they just woulda took it, ya know? I hate fucking cops. I had to sleep down by (yet another bar)."
I used to feel bad about this type of thing, until I realized that P can afford to have a home (or at least he could if he chose a roof over say, drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes), he just chooses not to. He moves with the weather, and unfortunately, we get him in the smeller (er, summer).
It strikes me that this is my cross to bear, as others bear the "water cooler small talk" one. Ah well, at least I don't have to wear panty hose.

Plumbing.

I got to work early. The band was a favorite, it's members good friends of ours. There were a number of people already there, drinking and smoking and eagerly awaiting a good rock show. I knew everyone. Waiters, bartenders, bar managers, bar and liquor store owners. Service industry veterans. So you can imagine my surprise when, upon entering the stall in the ladies room , I discovered that somebody had dropped a small pair of scissors and a large nail clipper into the toilet. And left them there. Surely they just hadn't noticed? The plumbing being questionable at my place of employment on a good day, I knew that these items would mean certain doom within the hour. I had no gloves. I had no tool or device with which I could fish the items, McGuyver-like, out of the toilet. I had to pee.
I took a deep breath and plunged my bare hand into the toilet, grasped the items and threw them into the trashcan.
I boiled and scrubbed my hand with a lot of soap.
I hadn't even clocked in yet.
I definitely picked the wrong week to go on the wagon.

Recap.

I drank my Sunday beer on Friday night again. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, Sunday Beer is what a person who lives in the Bible Belt has to consider on Saturday, due to what are known as Blue Laws. Blue being from the Latin root Blu, which loosely translates to "We're not separating church from state and if you don't like it fuck you." Here in Georgia, beer and liquor may not be sold on Sunday. Not in bars or liquor stores or grocery stores, anyway. We are welcome to get as drunk as we like in restaurants, or in bowling alleys that sell crap second-hand sandwiches and nachos. (But not in the Jesus Bowl--we can't even cuss in there).
Anyway, it was just as well this week, because I had plenty to drink on Friday and Saturday.
Friday night was a benefit for AIDS Athens featuring drag queens, drag kings, and belly dancers. Pretty much business as usual, with a side of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and Cold Stoli Orange. Good times, until I had to wake up on Saturday. Actually, I think it was probably the million cigarettes I smoked that did me in, but I can't be sure.


Whatever the cause, my hangover did not stop me from going out on Saturday with Jamie and our friend R. We had lunch at Siri Thai (Thai iced tea is one of my most recent and best beverage discoveries), then headed over to the Manhattan for a couple of drinks. (Truth be told, I had three, and they each had one. So I guess that evens out, right?) Good food, good conversation. Good times.
Sunday we had a work meeting. Pretty straightforward. Lots of coffee. Yaddah Yaddah.
Today I have done almost nothing. Have been reading everyone else's blogs and several books and magazines. Day one of the diet and I have not broken down or killed anyone yet. 13 to go.

Progress.

As in, "Things are getting progressively worse."
The b.h. and I went and voted in the Republican runoff on Tuesday, and despite the fact that Lyin' Brian Kemp, developer extraordinaire, lost the bid for Agriculture Commissioner, I don't forsee the over-development situation getting better any time soon. Just a couple weeks ago, the b.h. and I were pulling out of the driveway when we noticed that the hilarious sign* advertising "Luxury Condominiums--from $455,000" was now sitting in the middle of a field surrounded by suspicious-looking orange tape.
"Oh well, not to worry," we thought very wrong-headedly.
So just three days ago, we pulled to the end of the driveway and saw this:



Yes, it has begun. And now not only will our relative quiet be shattered, but the rows and rows of trees and vegetation will be replaced with rows of cars and stacks of expensive bricks. Oh yeah, and the people. Boy do I love more goddamn rich people.
Speaking of which, can anybody tell me what's wrong with this Volvo? I can't quite put my finger on it...





*The sign is hilarious because, we thought, no one in their right mind would ever consider paying that much for a glorified apartment in this part of the country, especially not in this fucking county. There are many cheaper places, for example, in posh neighborhoods in Chicago.

Home Again

The drive back was fairly easy.I managed to nick over to Allerton Park while we were going through central Illinois on the way home. I hadn't been there in at least eight years, and I always threaten to show it to the b.h. but somehow never get to it. I seem to be having trouble uploading photos right now, so I'll have to try again later. Damn you, Blogger!* Anyway, I spent a lot of time out there during my college years, often alone and writing and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Never did figure it out, mind you, but it was a beautiful place to try.





The one thing that tends to be diffficult on these long hauls is finding anything to eat. Being a vegetarian, there is almost no fast food that I can eat, unless I want french fries (which would probably be cooked with some animal product anyway) and soda to sustain me for twelve hours. In light of that problem, the b.h. and I usually pack plenty of snacks and whatnot in a cooler. Not so this time.
This time, we stopped in Southern Illinois on a Sunday night at almost 9pm. Remarkably, there were a number of places still open. Unremarkably, all of them were fast food chains. We sucked it up and went to a Subway. Normally, I would rather eat french fries and a coke for dinner than what passes for a vegetarian sandwich at Subway (Two very small slices of cheese, split in half, stuck to a piece of bread that, when all the air is squashed from it, would fit into a thimble, covered in rusty shredded lettuce with a couple very pale and very thinly sliced tomatoes and slathered with mayonaise). Having just stepped on a scale before leaving my parent's house, however, I decided that some vegetables, regarless of quality or lack thereof, were in order. So we waltz in, and the girl behind the counter is very obviously cleaning and closing, and being service industry people, we ask politely "Are you closed?" And being a remarkably responsible and awesome person, she replied in the negative. We not only got sandwiches without nasty looks or complaints or shitty attituide of any sort, we got good sandwiches. It was stunning. She must have just finished prepping for the next day, because all of the vegetables were fresh and crispy and tasted like- wait for it- vegetables. It was amazing. So if you're listening, guys in suits at Subway central, the night shift girls at your store in Benton, Illinois just won you back a potential customer. Seriously. I'm not gonna start getting lunch there everyday or anything (that would be insane considering the number of independently owned and very tasty restaurants we have to choose from here in town), but hey- now we know where to stop when we drive up at Christmas.

So now we're home. Nothing's changed, really. Except of course, that I officially weigh more than I have ever weighed before in my entire life. I usually pride myself on not paying attention (or at least giving a shit) about that sort of thing, but after a total lack of any physical activity over the last six months (I used to take martial arts, and I fully intend to do so again SOON, as soon as my ass is small enough to get back into my uniform) and having had pizza at least four times in the eight days I was home, I was silly enough to step on the scale ("devil box") at my parent's house. So now that I am back at home, I am scarfing up every beer and sweet thing in the fridge and cupboards, and officially getting on the wagon just as soon as it is all gone. (At the current rate, I imagine that should be about twelve or thirteen hours from now.)
You see, if I don't get rid of all that stuff first, it will only sit there and mock me. I know myself well enough to know that my self control only goes so far, and that the power of Lindt dark chocolate is not to be underestimated. So here I sit, Tupper's Hop Pocket Ale in one hand, genuine Italian bakery cannoli in the other, watching Bridget Jones (cliche', anyone?)and being alone for the first time in TEN DAYS.
That's the thing about vacation. You always run the risk of being twice as exhausted and insane when you get back.

*Obviously I was able to remedy the problem. Below is a picture of me attempting to cartwheel across the Fu Dog Garden. This is not nearly enough to express my joy at finally returning to Alelerton. Above is an actual Fu Dog.

Rock Saves Lives.

After the Art Institute we walked over to Millenium Park (pics to follow when located). Interesting. Touristy, but interesting. It seems that the city has finally figured out that providing evening entertainment to tourists will keep them spending money.
Went for a drink with T and R after. R was leaving on a 6am flight to attend a shotgun wedding for an old friend in Virginia. Given the temperature in Chicago at the time, I can only image what kind of pain he was in for. Plus, it's VIRGINIA.
Friday we headed out to the P's house in the burbs again. Ate pizza (our third of the week, which I will discuss later) again, which was incredibly enjoyable, and hung out with my family, which was also awfully fun.
Saturday we went to dinner at a fabulous tapas restaurant in the city, then popped over to T's house for beers before going to see The Drams at Subterrrenean. Though family time is good, it can also be quite stressful, as I am sure anyone can relate to. We're a bunch of loud, boisterous storytellers, and though I wouldn't have it any other way, it can be pretty exhausting sometimes. It was good to get to T's for a pre-show break. Smoked, drank, hung out with T (male- one of my closest friends at home) and T (female, other close friend at home) and her husband D (also a very close friend). I have known all of these people for twenty or more years. T (female) and I are friends since first grade. It is always incredibly comfortable and fun to be around them, and the b.h. fits right in. We never run out of things to say and I always wish after being with them that they would all (along with R and my friend A in California) just break down and move to fucking Athens.
In short (too late!), it was fantastic. And that was only the beginning. T and D headed home at around midnight, dropping us off in front of the club on the way. We were just in time, and only had to wait a few minutes for the rock to start.
The Drams, in case any of you are so unfortunate as to be unaware, are three former members of Slobberbone plus two guys who, coincidentally, also fucking rock. Brent Best is a fucking genius (I am a lyrics girl, so I am completely biased). Got the new album, took a bunch of pictures (see above), left feeling completely satisfied and very much looking forward to their shows in Athens and Atlanta next week.

Artsy-fartsy.

Well, not so much fartsy, really. But we saw a whole lot of art today. The Art Institute has free admission on Thursday and Friday evenings from 5 to 9pm. Since we rarely go anywhere before two in the afternoon anyway, this seemed like a reasonable time for the b.h. and I to check it out.
We have been there before, and though neither of us is all that terribly into art, we always enjoy it. Being in the presence of original works is quite overwhelming, really. Since I have seen so many photos and posters of so many Monets, Renoirs, and Van Goghs, it is both very surreal and very humbling to stand inches away from them and to be able to see every brush stroke.
Strange thoughts come to mind. Why, for example, did Van Gogh decide to use green in his beard when he painted that self portrait? And did he know The Drinkers?

Favorite discovery of this visit: The Picture of Dorian Gray. Will be posting more photos when I locate disc that they are downloaded to.

Burning.

Just for the record, anybody who thinks it is always hotter in the South is dead wrong. Same for those who thought it couldn't snow in San Diego. No, all sorts of weather is possible (dare I say probable?) just as long as the b.h. and I are on FUCKING VACATION. The heat index in Chicago today was like a hundred and seven. Right now it is almost midnight and weather.com informs me that though it is currenty a mere eighty-four degrees outside, it feels like ninety-one. Athens, Georgia? Seventy-seven. And it feels like seventy-seven. Fuckers.

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.

The Livin' Is Easy.

I have woken up, for the second day in a row, with the door to the balcony wide open. And remarkably, I am not sweating like a--like a big sweaty animal that sweats a lot. I suppose this means that it is less than ninety degrees again, though I have not actually consulted a thermometer.
We took the dogs to the river the other day. As you can see from the photos, Kilgore is a swimmer, while Wyatt has a decidedly unswimmer-like build.


He weighs about 45 lbs., but his legs are so short that his belly nearly scrapes the ground while he walks, so rather than get in the water, he crouches, catlike, until KG gets out, and then pounces on him as he comes up the bank. All in all, it is good fun for everyone.




I could not help but notice, as we walked into the park from the parking lot, that the city of Athens has taken a stance against outdoor smoking in the park. You should also know that there are BBQ grills dispersed throughout the park, so the issue is not, obviously, fire hazard. It's nice to know that I can bring a bag of smelly, chemical-soaked charcoal, set it aflame, and pollute the whole park with charring meat fumes, but that should a person attempt to light a cigarrette, the authorities will be alerted and said person issued a fine.

The practice of men and boys hooking up with married and/or closeted gay men and buggering them in the woods also remains unchecked, by the way. I am glad they've got their priorities in order.

Not Even Side By Side...

I finally tried it, and I still can't decide. Bryers cookies and cream ice cream, or Bryers mint chocolate chip ice cream? I don't know. Perhaps a spoon of the coffee flavor will help...
Nope. Now it's a three way tie. It's really good to be a grown up.

Cool!

I mean that literally, of course. Not only did it finally rain, but it is only about 87 degrees today. Often rain in the middle of summer is merely wet, making this already very damp place even more damp and, somehow, hotter. But not today. Today I stood outside on the deck feeding the turtles* without shoes on and I didn't burn my feet. This calls for a field trip.


*Turtles bob for apples in reverse, by the way. The apple bits float on top of the water, and the turtles pop their heads up and grab them very quickly before scooting away underwater. It is very cute.

Athfest, Part Two

We stopped over at Tasty World, but we had just misssed Betsy Franck and the Bareknuckle Band, so after catching a couple songs by The Dictatortots at The Roadhouse, we hit the 40 Watt in time to see the best We Vs. The Shark set ever. They were on fire. If I ever decide to be a lesbian, Sam will be at the top of my stalking list. I don't think the b.h. would even mind, really.
Caught one and a half Lona songs, but my boss, ever the optimist, insisted that I be there "just in case," so I went there. I was not needed. I am not bitter. Promise *crossing fingers behind back*.
Saturday we loafed about the house all day and then got downtown in time for some excellent Indian food at the Bombay Cafe' and then to see Don Chambers and Goat(see above). That was the best set of the weekend for me--period. I hope to god the rest of the world discovers this band, so they don't die in Athens-induced oblivion like so many other fantastic bands I have seen.
Hats off also to the fabulous Lake City, who played as well as I've ever seen them play. Move along with that recording now, won't you boys? A girl can't live on second hand board mixes forever. Heros Severum played their last show ever on Saturday. I always forget how much they rock until I see them. Ah well, at least I've got a record.

In Which Your Faithful Narrator Discovers How To Link...

Our friend T is in town, taking a break from the daily grind in Chicago, USA. This is not the same T that visited us last week (two weeks ago?)--he of the inability to convey schedules or even make a bloody phone call to tell us he's here--no, this is another T, he of the motorcycle which has been driven many miles in all directions. We are very happy to have him. I have in fact, been trying to convince this T to move here since I moved here myself. I believe he seriously considers it every time he visits. You see, Athens is a virtual mecca not only of fabulous music, but also of beautiful women, often scantily clad (especially in the current 100-plus degree weather, which is typical for this time of year, but no less painful each time it comes around), and often sporting guitars (twice as attractive as high-heeled shoes and scantily-cladness any day). This weekend is brimming with both types, and T is brimming with enthusiasm. God, I miss having him around.
So last night was the first official night of AthFest. We got some dinner at The Grit, which is a local vegetarian restaurant, because T and I are both vegtarian and both grew up on the South side of Chicago, a distincly non-vegetarian part of the universe (Remember The Jungle?). Even now, I find it difficult to explain to folks there that chicken is, in fact, meat.
After dinner we watched Five Eight(fabulous!!), and then a new band called Fabulous Bird (less fabulous, but pretty damned good). The sky started to look ominous at that point. The interesting (or perhaps completely typical) thing about that is that we havent had any fucking rain here in weeks.
So we need rain, but maybe the middle of our outdoor music festival isn't exactly the place for it. We return to the main stage area. awaiting The Fountains, who have moved to various points North but have returned to our fair city to reunite and give us all a bit of Woody Guthrie, right in the kisser. There is a certain poetry to the fact that it started pouring rain just as they started to play. The technical guys started running around covering everything with tarps, and several people ran for cover, but The Fountains continued to play, and their fans continued to watch, all the while getting soaked. We (the b.h., J, T and I) were able to seek shelter under the awning at Flicker (a great little bar), which provided us not only with a good view of the stage, but also a legal place to stand around and drink while watching.
The b.h. bolted for work in the middle of the shower, and the rest of us went inside between bands for a bevvy. We accidentally missed The Summer Hymns because we were all caught up in conversation, but were back outdoors in time for Modern Skirts. They are the Band Most likely To in Athens right now, and they showed everyone why last night. Fucking brilliant. We stood in the rain (we'd had drinks by then, remember) and watched their whole set. The funniest thing about this set is that many of the Skirts' fans are of the blockheaded fratty type. If watching sorority girl walking on ridiculous platform heels is amusing in dry weather, it is downright side splitting in the rain.
Imagine, if you will, a young girl in a skirt the size of a postage stamp, in a shirt that she has no breasts with which to support (I'm sure that phrase is grammatically irresponsible, but hey-I'm on a roll), and shoes that only a drag queen or a stripper can reasonably navigate. She has spent hours picking this outfit, one of several hundred that her daddy bought her, varying only slightly in color and style from everything else she owns and will discard within months, and more hours on her hair, which at this point resembles a sticky bird's nest, and her makeup, which is now running down her pouty little face (because it is verboten to either carry an umbrella or wear any sort of rain gear--not slutty enough). So this girl is storming down the street, probably angry that it had the audacity to rain tonight, or perhaps that she has been left behind by her "friends." She is pissed, and she is walking as quickly as she can, despite the fact that with each step her heels slip from the back of her hideous and incredibly tall shoes. I stand and smirk, silently hoping that she will wipe out (make no mistake, I am a terrible cunt sometimes), and remembering a phrase I'd read earlier in the day: "There is no better sight in life than that of a crestfallen twat."
Well said, jb, and twats come in many forms. No "football" here for two more months, though. Thank the gods.

Fucking BRILLIANT

Thanks, Bunny

Bush Sings U2

Now THERE'S One I haven't Heard Yet...

Kid: "Can I get a Miller Lite?"
Me: "Yeah, can I see your ID?"
Kid: "What?"
Me: "Your ID. Can I see it?" I am holding my right hand up as if I am holding the card in it--the universal bar sign for "i-den-ti-fi-ca-tion."
Kid: "I can't hear you."
Oh well, I guess I'll just go ahead and get you a drink then, huh?
There are very few people in the bar. It is not loud.
Me: "You don't have a stamp on your hand, which means you obviously didn't come through the front door, so I need to see your ID."
Kid: "Oh, I need a stamp? From the door? I came in with the band so I didn't know.
The band is not famous. They have no pull, and dropping their name or suggesting that you are somehow connected to them is meaningless. If this boy had ever been in a bar before he might know that.
Me: "Okay, then. You don't need a stamp, you just need to show me your ID."
He walks off, vaguely looking like he is going toward the stamp guy at the front door. He does not return. I see him with a beer in his hand about fifteen minutes later. I do not care. Props to him for feigning deafness. I wonder if that has worked for him somewhere before.

Blast!

So I guess summer is finally arriving. I know this because I actually burned the fuck out of my hand when I went to put my seatbelt on today. Work has been painfully boring, but I have high hopes for the Electric Eel Shock show tomorrow night. Nothing like a naked Japanese band to light up your friday night.
Our friend T was in town for a couple days, and he regifted us a very large coffee mug full of biscotti made by a bakery owned by a family friend of his in Ohio. It rocks. In fact, I'm going to have to go chase one down before I continue. (Makes to get up)...Crap! Wyatt just decided to rest his head on my foot. Now I don't have the heart to make him move and I'm trapped, biscotti-less and sweaty of foot, lashed to my computer until he decides to get up and bark at something.
Oh well, more of my week then. T, as he is wont to do, popped in without telling us when he would be arriving. As a traveling musician, he is used to being on his own schedule and is almost comically incapable of conveying it to anyone. Three weeks ago, I e-mailed him to ask if he was planning on staying with us on the night of his show here. The reason I asked was twofold: One, we needed to know whether or not we should schedule the night off from work so we could all hang out. Two, we needed to know whether we were going to have to allow another human being access to our house, which would first require a thorough cleaning, which would require at least two full days of effort. So yeah- simple e-mail. "Are you staying in town that night or going to your brother's house?"
The reply came several days later. It was a couple paragraphs long and carbon copied to a woman at his record label. "Okay to get cds sent to your house? What's your new address?" and that type of thing. Nothing about staying.
My reply to both T and the woman at the label was of course yes, followed by the address and another question regarding his plans for that night.
A week went by.
The b.h. asked if I had heard from T. I explained the situation. We cleaned up the guest room and knocked out some of the laundry that had been piling up. I sent another message to T: "I know you are busy, and I was just wondering... no pressure, just let us know if you think you might."
Another week went by.
I finally got a message, three days before the show, stating that he might in fact be in town the day before the show, and could he crash at our house? It was as if this was occurring to him for the first time.
"Of course," I told him in my reply, you're welcome to stay whenever. Give me a call and let me know when you will be here." I began by cleaning the bathroom about four minutes after hitting the send button. The b.h. cleaned the kitchen and we split vaccuum duty. I did the laundry while he mowed the lawn. The house looked splendid.
I had still not heard back from T, but the day he was scheduled to arrive we mostly just layed around watching movies. It got to be time for us to go to work. I e-mailed T to make sure he had our cell number. We went downtown. It got late. I finally called him around 11pm, just to see where he was and if he was still coming. I left a message. He called back fifteen minutes later. He was. In fact, he was only a few blocks away at that time, sitting in a restaurant. He came over.
He stayed two nights. His show was great. We hung around a bit. The cds never came from the label. He left.
I was a little busy so I hadn't checked my e-mail while he was here. When I did, There was a message from him that was a reply to my last message. "I'm here in town. Checking e-mail at the library." That was pretty much it. No call at that time, though, and I have to wonder when he would have called had I not called him. Ah well, at least I am used to it.
The cds arrived via UPS three hours after he pulled out of town.

Coffee, Cream, and A Large Box of Tissues

Domestic bliss, it is. Perhaps it is merely the "honeymoon phase" I have oft heard described derisively by my now-divorced friends, but this is so far a very successful recipe. It is allergy season, you see, so all of us (dogs included) have unusually high nasal activity. This usually peaks around 10am. More often than not at this hour i will have only been asleep for four or so hours, in which case I usually get up, let the dogs out, blow my nose five or swix times, and then drift off again. Today, however, I feel quite refreshed, having gotten to bed early, and so I am up. I even made the coffee. It's pretty good. The garden looks lovely, and since the sun isn't already scorching, I actually got to spend some time in it. And now, in a sudden fit of carpe diem madness, here I am at the computer. The b.h. is in the other room on the other computer, feeding his news addiction.We are exchanging sniffles and snorts from room to room. The dogs have returned to their natural state (passed out), the kleenex are piling up, and all feels right with the universe.

T.G.I.F.

Yes, it's friday, and I just finished feeding the turtles. Now I am going to loaf for at least the next four or five hours. At some point I will surely require pants, but I haven't gotten there yet. The tomato plants are tall enough that I can go out to the deck in boxers to feed the turtles without offending (or more likely blinding) passing traffic.
The tomatoes, incidentally, look terrific. And I just spotted a very cute and very tiny praying mantis on my lemon basil. Sweet. That should cut down on the pests. I have high hopes for my moonflowers. One of the first batch actually bloomed and is growing nicely up the back of the house. I had to do a re-plant after my box o' seedlings got flooded, but I planted directly into flower boxes, so at least I know that won't happen again.
I am barely able to read Fast Food nation, because it is so bloody infuriating and depressing. Not that I didn't already know most of it, but you know. It's a lot like that Wal-Mart documentary The High Cost of Low Prices. Just a confirmation of a lot of bad stuff you already knew.
That's why I picked up Terry Pratchett. He always makes me laugh.

Steven Colbert Tried to Warn Me...

So Monday night I'm at home alone. The weather is fantastic, so I have both the front door and the back door propped open, and a cool breeze rustling through the makeshift screen door. I'm sitting here at the computer when the smaller of my two dogs (Wyatt) starts barking frantically in the yard. Now, anybody who is a dog owner knows the difference between a playful or possibly alert bark and a "Heywhatthefuckisthatthingrightthere- ohmygoditscomingtowardusrightnow!" bark. This was most definitely the latter. I jumped up and ran to the door, calling him to come in. Wyatt, you see, thinks he is very ferocious because he has a big dog (German Shepherd) body. the problem is that this body rests on little dog (corgi) legs, which at four inches or so long, means his belly practically drags the ground and he doesn't move very fast. Anyway, Kilgore (who is seventy pounds and has normal legs and is therefore more of a "protector," as it were) runs right past me and goes to investigate. I can hear something out there, and it isn't rustling around so much as it is stomping around, in the very tall grass at the back of the property where I cannot see it, but it does sound vaguely like it might be coming my way.
My first thought is that somebody is out there, and I'm home alone, and I don't have a gun, so i had best get everybody indoors. This is not easy, because again, Wyatt is hell bent on protecting the yard. I try to call the b.h. at work and see how soon he will be here. I consider just getting in the car (it's five feet from the door) with the dogs and getting the hell out of here. I can't reach the b.h., so i don't know if he is on the way or not. i also can't reach J, who is giving the b.h. a ride home. Crap. So I get the dogs in, lock the doors, and turn off the inside lights. I layed in the living room and watched a movie, never hearing another thing, with the dogs posted at the door. Okay, false alarm.
So the b.h. gets home, and I tell him my story, and I laugh at myself a little for being so paranoid. Then the b.h. gets up this morning and finds this in the paper:

Bear making tracks in Clarke, Oconee, callers say
Single male, probably lonely
By Josh White | Banner-Herald Intern | Story updated at 12:46 AM on Wednesday, June 7, 2006

West Athens may have a new resident. He's hairy, stays up late and may root through garbage.
Sources, however, say he might be passing through.
Several callers from western Athens-Clarke and northern Oconee counties reported seeing a black bear during the past week, according to Alex Coley, a wildlife biologist with the state Department of Natural Resources' Region 3, a 20-county area that includes Athens, Atlanta and Augusta.
"There have been no problems," Coley said of the bear. He - likely a male, anyway - has not become a nuisance, and the DNR has not dispatched employees to capture the bear, because so far he has minded his business.
Athens-Clarke Animal Control is not equipped to handle bear capture, said Superintendent Patrick Rives, and therefore relies on the DNR to handle such reports.
"We (the DNR) do not go out and try to catch the bear unless it becomes a real nuisance," Coley said.
The bear also is in a localized region in western Clarke County, and is not traveling across a wide area, Coley added.
Melissa Cummings, the regional public affairs coordinator for the DNR, also confirmed the reports of the bear.
"We certainly don't have the resources or personnel to chase after every sighting," Cummings said, adding that the DNR responds to animal sightings only if the animal poses a risk to humans or becomes trapped.
The DNR's most common means of wild animal capture are traps or tranquilizer guns, Cummings said
The most recent sighting came Monday evening on Mars Hill Road, where eyewitness claimed that the bear ran across the road. People also have spotted the bear behind Sam's Club on Atlanta Highway, said Coley.
"In most cases, these guys will keep moving along and get as far away from people as they can," Cummings said. Coley hopes the bear will find his way back to suitable territory away from people.
Having black bears move through populated areas, Cummings said, is typical of this time of year, when the bear population is moving more than usual.
This is mating season, which often causes increased aggression in older males to forcibly send away younger males. Most displaced bears are 1- to 3-year-old male bears.
The black bear population has increased during the last decades as well, and most of the good habitats are saturated with bears, Coley said.
"All the good places to live in the mountains are gone," Coley said.
Mating season will end in July however, and Coley predicts that bear sightings in populated Georgia regions will taper off.
The DNR is currently tracking the Athens-area bear through eyewitness reports, as well as one reportedly seen in Duluth, Coley said.
There have been very few black bear attacks in Georgia - and no fatalities - and only two documented fatal encounters in the Southeast, according to DNR data.
_________________________________________________________________

Okay, so add BLACK BEAR to the growing list of wildlife here at Chateau AGOI. Yikes. False alarm, indeed. Needless to say, i will be making a trip to the dog bakery today.

Boom!

It seems like everybody I know has or is having a baby. Which is fine, so long as I don't have to. Just went to visit our friends in the hospital yesterday, and the whole thing is just too surreal for words. They are thrilled, of course, and we are thrilled for them. But I can think of about a thousand other painful things I would rather do.
"Do you want to hold her?"
Um, no.
Luckily they are the sort of people who understand.

And Justice For... ?

WM3.org - News and Events

If you don't know anything about this, please take the time and read it. See the movies, see them again, tell other people to see them. Donate your time or money to help these guys out. Because, especially now, it could be any of us. Really.

Summer finally arrives...

...and I retreat indoors. This is the official "adjustment" period for me, when I remember that I live in the South and why I have air conditioning. I will be fine in a couple weeks, I'm sure. But right now, I am hiding indoors with a big glass of iced tea and lemonade (that's an Arnold Palmer, right?) and many, many books. I finished Deadeye Dick by Kurt Vonnegut in a mere day and a half, and have now moved on to Fast Food Nation, which is making me incredibly angry, as well as The Radical Center, which is both helping me cope and giving me a little hope. I recommend this book to anybody who actually cares and pays attention to politics at all, because it is not about bashing either party. Instead, it actually talks about the shortcomings of both our political parties, and also has ideas about how we can and must change the way we do things. That's right folks: Actual Ideas. Not just bitching and finger pointing. It rocks. See the current proposed health care initiative in Massachusets for a good example. It is straight out of this book. Still reading the Shakespeare book, but it is slow going.
On a musical front, I am back to playing both An Epic at Best and Modern Skirts ad nauseum. I'm starting to think the b.h. might kill me soon if I don't knock it off.
Just found out my friend T is probably going to visit for AthFest. Could not be more thrilled if I tried. There is just something about old friends...
Anyway, the sun is setting so I can finally creep outdoors and water my very abundant tomato and pepper plants. A glorious day to all.