So Monday I got to go to my first Wine Show as a member of the Local Liquor Store staff. I found out about it kind of last minute, so I had some juggling to do, but I worked it out.
Drove to Atlanta with the Boss's Wife and two other employees. I didn't really know the girl who was driving, but we had met before. On the way, we stopped for fast food (which I rarely eat due to my vegetarianism and my natural fear of fast food in general). I got ice cream and french fries, because I knew I was going to have a lot of alcohol to soak up. Our driver, Hannah, was playing today's hot country hits, eating a burger, and texting somebody on her cell phone, all the while tailgating the car in front of us and complaining about her hangover. We had yet to breach the loop.
We had to stop at a department store in downtown Atlanta on our way, because Hannah had seen a pair of shoes in the new issue of Vogue that she simply had to have. We entered through the perfume department, which is never a good idea. The store did not have Hannah's shoes, but the Boss's Wife found a pair, so all was not lost. Hannah seemed near to tears, and as soon as we got to the hotel, she started calling around to find the nearest store where she could buy her shoes. I cannot stress enough how distraught she was. It was embarrassing. So we met up with the other carload of employees, and after wandering around lost for a few minutes, made our way into the trade show.
I don't want to bore you with the details, but suffice to say that spitting in public was a new and terrifying experience, and at one point I spit just a little too hard into a bucket that was a little too full, and I got the backsplash of a hundred other spitters' wine on my face. It was mortifying. I tried a lot of wine, stayed sober, learned a lot, and am eager to do it again. I did have a scorching hangover at around midnight, which was confusing because I hadn't been drunk at any point. Ah, but the tannins. Lesson learned for next time: Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.
Tuesday I worked at the Importer of Smoking Accoutrements. It was a long and mostly uneventful day. Tuesday night the b.h. had band practice, so I went in to the Local Liquor Store to put in a couple hours doing computer work.
Wednesday I worked a full day the the ISA, came home for a couple hours, and went to my gig as a fill-in bartender at a Local Rock Club. The idea was that I would work and make extra money, miss J. Roddy but also help out my friend who manages the Rock Club, then go see J. Roddy in Atlanta on Thursday night. Well, it didn't work out that way. The bartending gig was fine, but my night kind of went really South afterward, resulting in little sleep and a very painful full day of work at the Local Liquor Store, which began at 9am. With my boss.
Thursday night I was asleep by eleven.
Friday I worked half a day at the ISA, then went the the LLS until midnight. After that I raced downtown to see the b.h. play a show at The Georgia Theater. It was great. I got there just in time. Got to see my friend MT for a minute, as well as a few other folks. Feel like I haven't seen him or anybody else for awhile, but I guess it hasn't been that long. Just that time passes weirdly when you're always at work. The good news is the bills are paid and I get to buy myself some new gym shoes tomorrow. Yay! New shoes!
So now I'm watching Square Pegs on a DVD from Netfl1x, waiting for the b.h. to get back from Augusta, where he played tonight. Also cleaned the bathroom and I'm catching up on some laundry. And drinking a Weyerbacher pumpkin ale, which I like okay but am not completely sold on. I think I'll stick to pie for my pumpkin intake. (Mmmmmm.... pie. Note to self: fried pie season is almost here. Must get back to Ellijay in early October).
So that's why i haven't been writing much. I still feel like a douche, though. Anyway, i hope you are all well. Will catch up on my blog reading tomorrow, I hope.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Friday, September 05, 2008
Uncle! Uncle Already!!
Mice(again).
Moths(again).
Car Trouble.
Computer trouble.
Oh, now the other computer is fucked up. Sweet.
Plumbing Issues.
And now... ants. Lots of them. In the kitchen.
I'm eager for this week to be over.
*Update The plumbing is fixed, that car is fixed. Still don't have the car back yet, but that's okay. Off to work at the Local Liquor Store now. Wish me luck.
Moths(again).
Car Trouble.
Computer trouble.
Oh, now the other computer is fucked up. Sweet.
Plumbing Issues.
And now... ants. Lots of them. In the kitchen.
I'm eager for this week to be over.
*Update The plumbing is fixed, that car is fixed. Still don't have the car back yet, but that's okay. Off to work at the Local Liquor Store now. Wish me luck.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Ah, Hypocrisy.
This is why I love John Stewart. And also why F0x N3ws needs to go away, or at least stop calling itself a news channel.
Incidentally, I called several people to complain about the garage. I hope nobody burns my house down.
Incidentally, I called several people to complain about the garage. I hope nobody burns my house down.
Some Good Ole' Boys Try To Fuck Me.
Tuesday I dropped the b.h at work, and made my way over to the ISA. I was having a fine day at work, and the b.h. got done early but had found a ride home, so I was planning on spending some extra hours in order to get out earlier later in the week.
I realized, at around four, that we hadn't yet heard from the mechanic about our car. I called the b.h. and asked him to call them.
The b.h. called back a minute later, saying that they hadn't found a fuel leak, but they had fixed the exhaust leak. Without calling me. I was puzzled and pissed. He said that the guys had told him to call back in twenty minutes to get the total for the work they had done. I waited an angry, slow twenty minutes, and called them.
"Wilson's Auto Shop."
"This is hey bartender. You have my Corolla. So where are we right now?"
"Oh, we put it back up and looked under it and we found the fuel leak. You've got a hole in your gas tank. We can order the part, but it won't be here before Thursday."
"And what else have you done?"
"We fixed the exhaust leak."
"And why did you do any work without calling me first?"
"Uh, well, I didn't think it was a big thing. It's just a little gasket. You don't have to pay for it-"
"And how much is the new gas tank going to cost?"
There is a pause, and some muffled talking.
"Four hundred and thirty-three dollars."
"Really. And how much do I owe you right now?"
"About a hundred dollars."
"How much of that was for the repair that I didn't ask you to make?"
"About fitty dollars."
"Really? For that "little part? That "no big deal"? Fifty dollars?"
"Well, for puttin' it on, yeah. We can take it off. You don't hafta-"
"Oh I'm not going to pay for it. Don't touch that fucking car. I'll be out there in a few minutes to pay you for the tow."
I called the b.h., and left the ISA immediately, trailing smoke from my ears. I also called my mechanic, the ever fabulous Gary over at Master's Garage on 441 North. We talked and he agreed that it didn't sound right. I told him I was having it towed over to his place.
I wondered to myself how it was possible that a mechanic could jack a car up to fix the exhaust and not see gas leaking from a hole in the gas tank. I also wondered how a car with a hole in the gas tank still had gas in it at all after sitting for two days at the garage. Funny...
When we got there, none of the mechanics would look at me. The guy I was paying for the tow had to, but he made as little eye contact as possible. The boss never turned around to look at me. I told the b.h. to go over and peek in the car and tell me how much gas was in it. It was full. I continued to play along for a minute.
"So assuming that I eventually have the money to fix the hole in my gas tank, how much is it going to cost?"
Silence. The fat guy who is writing up my receipt looks over at his boss, who will not acknowledge my presence and has not turned around the whole time, even though he is only two feet away from me.
"What'd he tell you?"
"Well he said four hundred thirty-three dollars, but that was just for the part. How much to actually put it in?"
Silence.
That's what I thought. I paid the asshole fifty dollars in cash and we left. We drove down the road and parked in a parking lot to wait for the tow truck driver from Triple A. Since the gas only leaks while it's running, we decided that we couldn't drive it but it would be safe for them to tow. The driver came out in less than an hour. He knew exactly where Masters Garage is, and grinned when I mentioned it. "I used to date Gary's daughter. One time he got in my car and had the whole steerin' wheel apart in like three minutes. He's the best."
Yes he is. And if only I had known that the car would stop leaking, I would have taken it to him in the first place. But I didn't want him to show up at work on Tuesday with twelve gallons of gas all over his lot because of me. And I figured since I dragged the towing guy out on a Sunday, the least I could do was give them some business at their garage. I was wrong. I will not make that mistake again.
So now Gary has it, and it should be ready in a few hours. But note to selves: Wilson's Auto Service is bullshit. DO NOT take your car there. And if you happen to get in an accident in Oconee County, do not let them tow it, or else tow it away from them as soon as possible. What a bunch of assholes.
I realized, at around four, that we hadn't yet heard from the mechanic about our car. I called the b.h. and asked him to call them.
The b.h. called back a minute later, saying that they hadn't found a fuel leak, but they had fixed the exhaust leak. Without calling me. I was puzzled and pissed. He said that the guys had told him to call back in twenty minutes to get the total for the work they had done. I waited an angry, slow twenty minutes, and called them.
"Wilson's Auto Shop."
"This is hey bartender. You have my Corolla. So where are we right now?"
"Oh, we put it back up and looked under it and we found the fuel leak. You've got a hole in your gas tank. We can order the part, but it won't be here before Thursday."
"And what else have you done?"
"We fixed the exhaust leak."
"And why did you do any work without calling me first?"
"Uh, well, I didn't think it was a big thing. It's just a little gasket. You don't have to pay for it-"
"And how much is the new gas tank going to cost?"
There is a pause, and some muffled talking.
"Four hundred and thirty-three dollars."
"Really. And how much do I owe you right now?"
"About a hundred dollars."
"How much of that was for the repair that I didn't ask you to make?"
"About fitty dollars."
"Really? For that "little part? That "no big deal"? Fifty dollars?"
"Well, for puttin' it on, yeah. We can take it off. You don't hafta-"
"Oh I'm not going to pay for it. Don't touch that fucking car. I'll be out there in a few minutes to pay you for the tow."
I called the b.h., and left the ISA immediately, trailing smoke from my ears. I also called my mechanic, the ever fabulous Gary over at Master's Garage on 441 North. We talked and he agreed that it didn't sound right. I told him I was having it towed over to his place.
I wondered to myself how it was possible that a mechanic could jack a car up to fix the exhaust and not see gas leaking from a hole in the gas tank. I also wondered how a car with a hole in the gas tank still had gas in it at all after sitting for two days at the garage. Funny...
When we got there, none of the mechanics would look at me. The guy I was paying for the tow had to, but he made as little eye contact as possible. The boss never turned around to look at me. I told the b.h. to go over and peek in the car and tell me how much gas was in it. It was full. I continued to play along for a minute.
"So assuming that I eventually have the money to fix the hole in my gas tank, how much is it going to cost?"
Silence. The fat guy who is writing up my receipt looks over at his boss, who will not acknowledge my presence and has not turned around the whole time, even though he is only two feet away from me.
"What'd he tell you?"
"Well he said four hundred thirty-three dollars, but that was just for the part. How much to actually put it in?"
Silence.
That's what I thought. I paid the asshole fifty dollars in cash and we left. We drove down the road and parked in a parking lot to wait for the tow truck driver from Triple A. Since the gas only leaks while it's running, we decided that we couldn't drive it but it would be safe for them to tow. The driver came out in less than an hour. He knew exactly where Masters Garage is, and grinned when I mentioned it. "I used to date Gary's daughter. One time he got in my car and had the whole steerin' wheel apart in like three minutes. He's the best."
Yes he is. And if only I had known that the car would stop leaking, I would have taken it to him in the first place. But I didn't want him to show up at work on Tuesday with twelve gallons of gas all over his lot because of me. And I figured since I dragged the towing guy out on a Sunday, the least I could do was give them some business at their garage. I was wrong. I will not make that mistake again.
So now Gary has it, and it should be ready in a few hours. But note to selves: Wilson's Auto Service is bullshit. DO NOT take your car there. And if you happen to get in an accident in Oconee County, do not let them tow it, or else tow it away from them as soon as possible. What a bunch of assholes.
A Recap of Last Week.
Wednesday- worked at my new job, an Importer of Smoking Accoutrements, and then at the Local Liquor Store on Wednesday night. Ditto for Thursday, and for friday. Saturday I was back at the LLS at nine in the morning, and then on to the bar at ten in the pm. On sunday, the b.h. and I went out running errands. We filled the gas tank, went to his folks' house to look in on their pets, and finally got to the grocery store after almost two weeks. When we came out of the grocery store, we noticed a very strong gasoline odor coming from our car. Then we noticed a stream of gasoline coming out from underneath it. So we crossed our fingers and drove a couple miles back to the house.
When I called triple a about towing, the woman on the phone said that they would not tow a car that was leaking fuel. "It's a fire hazard. You have to call the fire department and have them come and drain it."
There was no answer on the non-emergency fire department number, so i called the sherrif's department. They called the fire department, and the fire department sent out two guys (that were young enough to be my children) in a pickup truck. The guys said that there was nothing they could do, but that the idea that we couldn't get it towed in that condition was silly. "We use Wilson's," he said. "They tow all the time from accident sites and stuff. There's no reason they can't do it."
So we called Wilson's, even though it was Sunday and a holiday weekend, because I did not want our full tank of gas leaking into the ground water. When the guy came out, he was really nice and I told him what the problem was and he pulled the car right up onto the tow truck and hauled it away. "They won't get to it until Tuesday," he said.
"I know. You should siphon out that gas if you can. I hate for it to go to waste. Just tell them to give me a call when they get a look at it. And will you please have them look at x as well?"
"No problem."
He left, and I felt better. Next I spent an hour and a half with my good buddy MT, running around town picking up and switching out cars. The b.h.'s folks are out of town, so we were able to use their car for a few days.
Next we went (two and a half hours late) to Jenn's for a BBQ. I ate a ton (I dubbed her homemade mac and cheese "crack and chee"), drank a couple beers, and basically relaxed and had a good time. We came home pretty early and passed out.
Since Monday was a holiday, I had the day off. The b.h. worked despite the fact that it was his birthday, because service industry slaves don't have holidays. I did some running around and he got out early and we came home with the first disc of the second season of Dexter. All in all, it was pretty busy. So you can see why I haven't been here in awhile.
When I called triple a about towing, the woman on the phone said that they would not tow a car that was leaking fuel. "It's a fire hazard. You have to call the fire department and have them come and drain it."
There was no answer on the non-emergency fire department number, so i called the sherrif's department. They called the fire department, and the fire department sent out two guys (that were young enough to be my children) in a pickup truck. The guys said that there was nothing they could do, but that the idea that we couldn't get it towed in that condition was silly. "We use Wilson's," he said. "They tow all the time from accident sites and stuff. There's no reason they can't do it."
So we called Wilson's, even though it was Sunday and a holiday weekend, because I did not want our full tank of gas leaking into the ground water. When the guy came out, he was really nice and I told him what the problem was and he pulled the car right up onto the tow truck and hauled it away. "They won't get to it until Tuesday," he said.
"I know. You should siphon out that gas if you can. I hate for it to go to waste. Just tell them to give me a call when they get a look at it. And will you please have them look at x as well?"
"No problem."
He left, and I felt better. Next I spent an hour and a half with my good buddy MT, running around town picking up and switching out cars. The b.h.'s folks are out of town, so we were able to use their car for a few days.
Next we went (two and a half hours late) to Jenn's for a BBQ. I ate a ton (I dubbed her homemade mac and cheese "crack and chee"), drank a couple beers, and basically relaxed and had a good time. We came home pretty early and passed out.
Since Monday was a holiday, I had the day off. The b.h. worked despite the fact that it was his birthday, because service industry slaves don't have holidays. I did some running around and he got out early and we came home with the first disc of the second season of Dexter. All in all, it was pretty busy. So you can see why I haven't been here in awhile.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Customer of the Night #291
There is a wall of people at the bar. Girls are waving their money in our faces ("That only works for strippers," I explain gently. I'll get to you when I can."). Guys are standing on the foot rail and leaning all the way over to our side. People keep coming in. When I ask the girl what she wants, she rattles off three drinks, and then tells me the name on the tab.
"Just gimme a minute," I say as politely as I can. "I'll get the tab name after I get the drinks. There's only so much I can remember."
Only so much because I have not worked like this for months. Also because I have already put in eight hours at my other job today, and after walking the dogs and scarfing a sandwich, ran down here as fast as I could. That was three hours ago.
"Okay!" she says, in a way that suggests that she understands. And then she proceeds to repeat her order, while I'm already halfway through making it, and then she adds on another drink. I stop and look at her.
"Just wait a minute, okay? I can only remember so much. Now- that was a gin and tonic-"
"I know, I know baby girl. You guys are working so hard back there. Listen, I need a job."
"A gin and tonic, a vodka water with lime, and a Bud Li-"
"-A vodka water, a gin and tonic, and a Bud L1ght, and a bourbon and coke. With well. Who do I talk to about a job? I really want to work here. This place looks awesome. My name is K-"
At this point she reaches out her hand to shake mine. Mine is full of glasses filled with ice, waiting for drinks that I can't remember because she is exhausting and she is only one in a couple hundred and I am tired and I just. Can't Think.
"Listen. You are not helping. You are not helping me get your drinks, or their drinks - I gesture, with hands full of glasses full of ice, at the other people who are also waiting for this girl to just shut the fuck up and get on with it - and I am not going to remember your name, or your face, but I will remember how much you obviously don't get it. Call the owner on Monday about the job. And please stop talking until I make eye contact with you again. That's when I'm ready for you to tell me the name on your tab, okay?"
I say all of this with complete calm, a sense of humor, even. I am making a smile with my mouth. I am not angry, and I am not yelling. I do not feel a sense of anything but total and complete over-it-ness.
The girl is completely unfazed. I hand her the drinks, get the name on the tab, and I can still hear her talking to me as I take the next person's order.
The sad thing is she will probably get hired.
"Just gimme a minute," I say as politely as I can. "I'll get the tab name after I get the drinks. There's only so much I can remember."
Only so much because I have not worked like this for months. Also because I have already put in eight hours at my other job today, and after walking the dogs and scarfing a sandwich, ran down here as fast as I could. That was three hours ago.
"Okay!" she says, in a way that suggests that she understands. And then she proceeds to repeat her order, while I'm already halfway through making it, and then she adds on another drink. I stop and look at her.
"Just wait a minute, okay? I can only remember so much. Now- that was a gin and tonic-"
"I know, I know baby girl. You guys are working so hard back there. Listen, I need a job."
"A gin and tonic, a vodka water with lime, and a Bud Li-"
"-A vodka water, a gin and tonic, and a Bud L1ght, and a bourbon and coke. With well. Who do I talk to about a job? I really want to work here. This place looks awesome. My name is K-"
At this point she reaches out her hand to shake mine. Mine is full of glasses filled with ice, waiting for drinks that I can't remember because she is exhausting and she is only one in a couple hundred and I am tired and I just. Can't Think.
"Listen. You are not helping. You are not helping me get your drinks, or their drinks - I gesture, with hands full of glasses full of ice, at the other people who are also waiting for this girl to just shut the fuck up and get on with it - and I am not going to remember your name, or your face, but I will remember how much you obviously don't get it. Call the owner on Monday about the job. And please stop talking until I make eye contact with you again. That's when I'm ready for you to tell me the name on your tab, okay?"
I say all of this with complete calm, a sense of humor, even. I am making a smile with my mouth. I am not angry, and I am not yelling. I do not feel a sense of anything but total and complete over-it-ness.
The girl is completely unfazed. I hand her the drinks, get the name on the tab, and I can still hear her talking to me as I take the next person's order.
The sad thing is she will probably get hired.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Holy Shit.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Wired.
I'd love to tell you more about our trip, but we just got the first two discs of the final season of The Wire from Netflix, so i may not be back for awhile.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Reunited And It Feels So Good (by which I mean "A Lot Like Indigestion").
The b.h. and I spent a few days last week at his bi-annual B.H. Family Reunion. Every other year, the b.h.'s dad and dad's brothers (he has three) get the whole family together for a week. They take turns choosing a location, and then the group pays for lodging and we all pay for our own transportation, food, etc. Since the b.h. and I have been together, trips have included Branson, M1ssour1 (the "Redneck Riviera", a trip which the b.h. and I were regrettably unable to attend), St. Sim0n's Island, GA, (we were there for thirty six hours and drove five and a half each way), and The Adirondacks, in upstate New York (we missed that one due to financial distress brought on by a car trouble/emergency vet visit double-whammy). This year, the B.H. Clan converged on the mountains outside B00ne, North Car0lina, at a "Wilderness Cabin." You may have noticed that I used that phrase in quotes. I did that on purpose. If I had any idea how to find the key which would insert a trademark symbol into the sentence, I would have. But my technological prowess is simply lacking, so you will all be forced to use your imaginations (as I was when I was confronted with the "Wilderness Lodge" itself).
We were intending to leave on Sunday, but our dog-sitter was in Charlest0n at the Hold Steady show, so we waited to go on Monday. On Monday, I woke up and went to the hair salon. I had done much of the packing the night before and the b.h. would finish up while I was chatting with Shayne and trying to get the rest of the blasted red undertones out of my hair. The hair salon was fun and relaxed, and when I got back to the house I felt ready to face both the long drive and the twenty some people that would be waiting at the end of it.
When I returned home, I found that although everything was essentially ready, we had been asked to go to the b.h.'s parents' house before leaving town to check on the resident felines. "Didn't they just leave?" Yes, but the b.h.'s mom wasn't sure if she had left enough food out for them, and they had planned on somebody checking in on Wednesday, but now they weren't sure if the person could make it, etc. "Can't we just go over there when we get back on Wednesday?" No. The b.h. had got the feeling that his mom may have "forgotten something, but didn't want to admit it." Well, so be it then. We would simply be adding an extra forty minutes on to our five hour drive.
It turned out that the cats were fine- plenty of food, water, etc. When I talked to the b.h.'s mom later, she said that she just "had a bad feeling" that something had gotten skipped - an iron left on, a door left unlocked, or some such. A brilliant woman, she is, but like many of us, her brain is often full and she therefore has tendencies toward a certain kind of flightiness (one that Hey Bartender can *assure* you that she is *never* guilty of. Cough. Cough.).
Holy shit I just referred to myself in the third person. Oh well. I guess it was only a matter of time.
Anyway, the drive was pleasant enough. The b.h. and I were both tired, so we had to stop more often than we would have liked in order to obtain more caffeine and get our blood moving. One of the reasons why I prefer driving at night is that I get very sleepy when I'm in the sun. In the car, with the air-conditioning blowing, one half of my body was freezing, while the half in the sun felt like it was on fire. I wanted to curl up in the window and take a cat nap. Inadvisable, I have been told, while driving.
We had printed out directions using g00gle maps (M@pquest has done us wrong too many times), and all was well. The gas got cheaper the farther we went, which was a pleasant surprise. The b.h.'s mom called us when we were just outside Charlotte. We told her where we were and assured her that we had directions. When we pulled up the The Wilderness Lodge, the b.h.'s mom was waiting on the front porch for us. I got the feeling that she might have been there since we had hung up with her an hour and a half before. Once inside, I realized why. The main room of The Wilderness Lodge was one third kitchen, one third dining room, and one third living room. The living room had one couch and two chairs and a plasma screen TV on the wall that was bigger than any of them. Very rustic, it was. And there were twenty or so people, five under the age of ten, sharing that space.
We were intending to leave on Sunday, but our dog-sitter was in Charlest0n at the Hold Steady show, so we waited to go on Monday. On Monday, I woke up and went to the hair salon. I had done much of the packing the night before and the b.h. would finish up while I was chatting with Shayne and trying to get the rest of the blasted red undertones out of my hair. The hair salon was fun and relaxed, and when I got back to the house I felt ready to face both the long drive and the twenty some people that would be waiting at the end of it.
When I returned home, I found that although everything was essentially ready, we had been asked to go to the b.h.'s parents' house before leaving town to check on the resident felines. "Didn't they just leave?" Yes, but the b.h.'s mom wasn't sure if she had left enough food out for them, and they had planned on somebody checking in on Wednesday, but now they weren't sure if the person could make it, etc. "Can't we just go over there when we get back on Wednesday?" No. The b.h. had got the feeling that his mom may have "forgotten something, but didn't want to admit it." Well, so be it then. We would simply be adding an extra forty minutes on to our five hour drive.
It turned out that the cats were fine- plenty of food, water, etc. When I talked to the b.h.'s mom later, she said that she just "had a bad feeling" that something had gotten skipped - an iron left on, a door left unlocked, or some such. A brilliant woman, she is, but like many of us, her brain is often full and she therefore has tendencies toward a certain kind of flightiness (one that Hey Bartender can *assure* you that she is *never* guilty of. Cough. Cough.).
Holy shit I just referred to myself in the third person. Oh well. I guess it was only a matter of time.
Anyway, the drive was pleasant enough. The b.h. and I were both tired, so we had to stop more often than we would have liked in order to obtain more caffeine and get our blood moving. One of the reasons why I prefer driving at night is that I get very sleepy when I'm in the sun. In the car, with the air-conditioning blowing, one half of my body was freezing, while the half in the sun felt like it was on fire. I wanted to curl up in the window and take a cat nap. Inadvisable, I have been told, while driving.
We had printed out directions using g00gle maps (M@pquest has done us wrong too many times), and all was well. The gas got cheaper the farther we went, which was a pleasant surprise. The b.h.'s mom called us when we were just outside Charlotte. We told her where we were and assured her that we had directions. When we pulled up the The Wilderness Lodge, the b.h.'s mom was waiting on the front porch for us. I got the feeling that she might have been there since we had hung up with her an hour and a half before. Once inside, I realized why. The main room of The Wilderness Lodge was one third kitchen, one third dining room, and one third living room. The living room had one couch and two chairs and a plasma screen TV on the wall that was bigger than any of them. Very rustic, it was. And there were twenty or so people, five under the age of ten, sharing that space.
Interesting.
So I was at the bar on Thursday, and Ken, the guy who maintains the sodas, came in. He told me that the new mixes of both tonic and ginger ale would likely be in next week, and that they were now being made with cane syrup rather than corn syrup. Sweet(pun intended)! I have long been afraid of corn syrup (send your tinfoil hat designs to: Paranoid Bartender, P.O. Box 666, Crazyville USA), and lately I have been hoping that the rapidly increasing cost of corn might cause us to change back to good ole' sugar. I don't know how many of you actually read the ingredients on your food packaging, but corn syrup is in virtually everything, including some products that are labeled "natural" in the grocery store. There are a lot of differing opinions on whether or not corn syrup is any worse for you than sugar, but I am of the opinion that if we try not to process the ever-living shit out of everything and just eat, we'll all be better off. I may be wrong, but it just makes more sense to me. In any case, the news from Soda Guy Ken was a small yet meaningful bright spot on an otherwise kind of stressful week. Thanks, Ken!
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Music History.
Okay you guys. Get over to the Athens Music Family Tree and put some information in. I even put a link over there on the side bar to your right, in case you don't get to it today. It will be so much cooler with more information. C'mon. Please?
"Dreams They Seem to Cost Money...
But money costs some dreams."
I love The Hold Steady because they look like people I know, like people I hang out with. The lead singer sweats a lot and he looks like he probably has a lot of allergies. I love them because I was having a really, really shitty night until the moment they hit the stage. Because I didn't want to leave the house, or my bed, or the inside of my head, and then by the time the second song started I had forgotten all about it. I love them because they don't all dress the same way, and because they are unabashedly really fucking excited just to be there, and they dance like idiots and jump up and down and because they know that this whole thing is just a fluke and they fucking love it. I'm not saying they aren't insanely talented, because they are. But there are a lot of insanely talented musicians delivering pizzas and washing dishes all over the country (fuck, all over Athens) right now, and these guys got fucking lucky, and because of that we all did, too.
If you have any appreciation whatsoever of brilliant fucking lyrics, buy the record. Buy them all.
I love The Hold Steady because they look like people I know, like people I hang out with. The lead singer sweats a lot and he looks like he probably has a lot of allergies. I love them because I was having a really, really shitty night until the moment they hit the stage. Because I didn't want to leave the house, or my bed, or the inside of my head, and then by the time the second song started I had forgotten all about it. I love them because they don't all dress the same way, and because they are unabashedly really fucking excited just to be there, and they dance like idiots and jump up and down and because they know that this whole thing is just a fluke and they fucking love it. I'm not saying they aren't insanely talented, because they are. But there are a lot of insanely talented musicians delivering pizzas and washing dishes all over the country (fuck, all over Athens) right now, and these guys got fucking lucky, and because of that we all did, too.
If you have any appreciation whatsoever of brilliant fucking lyrics, buy the record. Buy them all.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Like The Corners of my Mind...
Many, many thanks to Jenn for posting this Centro-matic ditty. I was there. It was fabulous. One of the best covers I have ever seen at a show.
Sometimes I really NEED Wonkette.
Because snark can be cathartic:
DICK CHENEY’S UNIVERSALLY LOATHED CORPSE TO BE REANIMATED FOR ONE LAST HURRAH AT REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION: Whew! “Cheney plans to speak on the first night of the convention in St. Paul, Minn., the same Monday night that President Bush will speak. … There had been doubts about a speech by Cheney, who remains unpopular with Americans.” [AP]
DICK CHENEY’S UNIVERSALLY LOATHED CORPSE TO BE REANIMATED FOR ONE LAST HURRAH AT REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION: Whew! “Cheney plans to speak on the first night of the convention in St. Paul, Minn., the same Monday night that President Bush will speak. … There had been doubts about a speech by Cheney, who remains unpopular with Americans.” [AP]
Only to the Guy He's Fucking, I Guess.
So this woman comes in, and she chooses a very expensive bottle of scotch. Next she picks out a mid-grade bottle of chardonnay, and as she is wandering about, I ask if she needs any help. She proceeds to tell me that she is looking for "something nice for a fifty-seven-year-old." I ask a few questions, she gives me more information than I need. It's his birthday, she's already throwing him the dinner, she doesn't want to spend a lot, because she has already pt out x dollars, but she doesn't want him "to think I'm cheap". She definitely doesn't want to spend more than fifty dollars. Not even thirty-five. I am only finding this out because I am walking around with her, making suggestions, and asking questions. She is clearly not comfortable. I tell her not to worry about the price.
"As long as you aren't buying a three-dollar bottle of pink stuff, I don't think it matters. It's a gift, after all, and it's the thought that counts. What about some sparkling wine? That's always nice for a celebration." She seems to think this is a lovely idea. Is he a wine snob? Does he normally drink dry or sweet? White or red? She doesn't seem to know.
"I don't know if it matters," she says to me in an undertone, looking around to make sure no one else is listening, "but he's gay."
I gave her a bottle with a frog in a dress on the label.
"As long as you aren't buying a three-dollar bottle of pink stuff, I don't think it matters. It's a gift, after all, and it's the thought that counts. What about some sparkling wine? That's always nice for a celebration." She seems to think this is a lovely idea. Is he a wine snob? Does he normally drink dry or sweet? White or red? She doesn't seem to know.
"I don't know if it matters," she says to me in an undertone, looking around to make sure no one else is listening, "but he's gay."
I gave her a bottle with a frog in a dress on the label.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Shite Day, Shite Mood Copout.
It's funny because it's true:
"Watching the Hilton video, a few questions came to mind. First, why is that Paris Hilton’s fake ad includes more substantive talk about energy policy than John McCain’s real ad? Second, if writers helped Hilton with her script, and writers helped McCain with his script, why is it that Hilton seems to have a better grasp on policy details than McCain does? Shouldn’t that be, you know, the other way around? And third, why is it that a 27-year-old heiress/reality-show star can read a teleprompter better than the presumptive Republican presidential nominee?"
Via Sullivan.
"Watching the Hilton video, a few questions came to mind. First, why is that Paris Hilton’s fake ad includes more substantive talk about energy policy than John McCain’s real ad? Second, if writers helped Hilton with her script, and writers helped McCain with his script, why is it that Hilton seems to have a better grasp on policy details than McCain does? Shouldn’t that be, you know, the other way around? And third, why is it that a 27-year-old heiress/reality-show star can read a teleprompter better than the presumptive Republican presidential nominee?"
Via Sullivan.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Fun New Time Sucker.
Holy crap. I've just spent a good bit of time over at the Athens Music Family Tree. If you haven't seen it yet, go on over. But make sure you have plenty of time when you do, because it is chock full of interesting information. I can't wait to see what it looks like in a year. I've sent the link to several people who I hope will start contributing to it. It is a nice reminder of just how fucking cool the music scene is here, how many great shows I've been to, and in short, how lucky I am to have lived here for the past eight years.
I worked both jobs yesterday, which meant that I was mostly useless by the second half of my bar shift. Fortunately I had a lot of help from J and N. I still felt like a useless piece of crap, though. I have got to get my schedule sorted out.
Not feeling very talkative at the moment, come to think of it.
I worked both jobs yesterday, which meant that I was mostly useless by the second half of my bar shift. Fortunately I had a lot of help from J and N. I still felt like a useless piece of crap, though. I have got to get my schedule sorted out.
Not feeling very talkative at the moment, come to think of it.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)