Business.

As in J. Roddy Walston and the. They fucking rocked again. I only wish they had more CDs for us to buy. Everything was running late that night, so they didn't play as long as we would have liked, but they tore through most of the songs I know and were completely pro and cool about the scheduling fuckups. They also crashed with the b.h. and me that night. It was great to be able to talk a little in a non-show setting. All of the guys are funny and smart and generally seem like folks we would hang out with if we lived in the same place.

The beagles have escaped several times. The first time I hadn't shut the door all the way when I came back in from walking them, and Wyatt charged through it while I was in another room, so by the time I even realized the door was open the girls were long gone. Hope (who we have re-named Hamhock, because it amuses us) was only several yards from the door, snuffling through the tall grass next to the house. Ella (Sniglet) on the other hand, was already too far into the thicket on the other side of the driveway for us to even see her. I might add that it was the middle of the night and both the b.h. and I had already showered and were ready for bed. We wound up spending about fifteen minutes locating her and trying to coax her out, and eventually I tackled her when she got out into the parking lot in the office complex out back.
The next time they escaped was the night the band was here. This time I was actually in the shower. I stepped out and heard a loud baying coming from out in the yard. The next thing I heard was the b.h.'s voice through the bathroom window- "Honey, I need your help. The beagles got out." His voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of the dogs in the distance. It was about four a.m., and one of the band guys had gone out for a cigarette, and the girls slipped through the door and took off. I immediately threw on a t-shirt, jeans, and shoes, and ran out into the dark yard, figuring that the b.h. would have the flashlight on him. I was blindly making my way back toward the woods, and I could hear the b.h. cursing loudly above the sound of the dogs and a lot of crunching. It seems that the woods are now overgrown with briars - big, nasty, sharp ones - and although this posed no problem for the dogs the b.h. was getting torn to bits. He also didn't have the flashlight, but was using our cell phone to light his way. I was plodding along behind him, simulating a blind and drunk game of Marco, Polo. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't funny at the time, either, though now I'm cracking up at the thought.
Hamhock got out again the day before yesterday. I was out running errands and the b.h. had the girls ties up outside. He was in the kitchen with the door open so he could keep an eye on them. We still don't know how she did it, because when he found her wading in the shallow end of the pond, her collar was completely intact, as was the leash she had magically left tied to the garden post. It was a panicky half hour, but everybody came out okay.
Our friend has been moved to a jail downstate, so we haven't been able to see him. Our local county jail has become over crowded after three consecutive home football games, so they had to move some people off, and since he isn't getting out for another couple of weeks, they chose him. This is all very inconvenient, because we have no way of contacting him, and he can't call us collect unless we start ANOTHER account with this other jail. We already have money in an account with the local jail, and it doesn't transfer, so we have to go through the process again, and we have no idea when they will send him back, so it may be completely pointless. They won't tell him when he's moving, and they didn't give him any warning before he left, so he couldn't call and let us know. I do hope he's doing okay. The worst part of this is imagining what it must be like for people who don't have any money or any transportation. What does a poor mother do when they transfer her son to another county three hundred miles away? This is a big enough obstacle for people like us, and we can afford it. I realize that most people are in jail because they have done something wrong, but I don't see why inmates' families and friends get treated like criminals themselves (guilt by association anyone?) and inconvenienced to this degree. Ah well, I guess I'll just try to stay out of jail so I don't have to worry about it.
The iPod is a Godsend. We have almost five thousand songs loaded up already. So many things I haven't heard in ages, now brought back to life in a convenient new package. This will also help us get rid of about ten boxes of CDs that we no longer have any use for. Yay! One step closer to organization.
I discovered a podcast called Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Tips. I adore it, though it regularly reminds me that I know almost nothing about the rules of grammar. (Not really, but it does make me feel a bit ignorant).
This week was musically fabulous. Got to see The Dumps and Baroness upstairs at Tasty World on Thursday, as well as Peelander Z and two other Japanese bands on Friday night. What fun. Still can't wait for Okkervil River at the 40 Watt on October 3rd, and The Hold Steady on the 25th. Yes, Rocktober is going to live up to its name this year, I believe. It's a beautiful thing.
On the reading front, I finished the J.D. Salinger biography, which made me go back and re-visit Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction. He really is a weird guy. But I dig his stories. I have just started The Idiot's Guide to the Middle East conflict. I bought it a couple years ago and haven't gotten around to it. It was written before the U.S. invasion of Iraq, but what I really want to understand is the history of why everything is so screwed up over there, so I don't mind. I have also torn through about fifteen back issues of The New Yorker that my boss passed on to me, as well as a few copies of The Believer, Esquire, and Vanity Fair. Not a whole lot of book reading, though. Too busy. I did see a new Terry Pratchett on my way through the book store the other day. Guess I'd better go put that on my wish list before I forget.
Man, this is a long post. I'm going to read somebody else's blog and quit blathering now.

Oh Yeah...

I forgot to mention that the reason why I titled that last post the way I did is because despite having some silly shit happen, I ham not in jail, I didn't have to call an ambulance on Saturday the way that K did, after somebody overdosed and nearly died where she works, and unlike my boss, I do not own the place where everything is coming apart at the seams. He also had an incident with his toddler and the Emergency Room in the middle of our plumbing crisis, which really puts my whole "Wah- we don't have internet service at home!" to shame.
In general, things are pretty bloody good. And now that we have an Ipod (that's right- his gift is OUR gift), we are unearthing a whole slew of CDs I haven't heard in ages, and cleaning out a couple hundred that we no longer need. Yay! Organization is good!
Our friend A came over today and helped me take the old air conditioning unit (among a lot of other junk) to the dump. We also rented a steam cleaner for the carpet, and I finally got around to dusting our many (many, many- way too many) knick knacks. I have even gone as far as donating some to Goodwill. We brought a whole trunk load there today, and we have another load to bring tomorrow. I don't know where I got my pack rat tendencies, but I am slowly taming them.
Also, please note: Four dogs shed more than twice as much as two dogs. I don't care what anybody says. I know I'm not good at math, and the girls are half as big (if that) as our boys, but they are little fur factories. It's crazy.

Perspective.

Greetings from SEC Conference Hell. We have now survived two home games and I would really like it to be over. Here is a short list of things that have happened since I was last here:

1. Our phone line got cut again.
2. They fixed the phone line and then the internet went out.
3. They told us the internet connection would be fixed in two days.
4. The b.h. had a birthday, and I gave him a super-fly new Ipod. 80 gigs of lusciousness.
5. Three days went by and no internet. They told us that our modem was broken and we would have to order a new one. If we signed a contract with them, they would replace t for free. We signed. They put it in the mail.
6. Went back to see our friend again at the jail. Found out that his car is still in impound, and it costs per day for storage.
7. Went to Guy at Counter Number One (remember him? We like him.) at the jail and found out how to get information on the car.
8. Called the tow guy. Got Friend to sign paper giving me rights to car. Went (with K, thank god) to get car.
9. Paid friend's rent, went to his apartment, got fleas on us.
10. UPS can't find our house. We have to go pick modem up. We do. It doesn't work.
11. First game day. Girl who looks like (very attractive) stripper grinds against guy at the bar around midnight. He looks a little embarrassed, but doesn't complain. I advise him to get home while the getting is good. He laughs and tips me well.
12. We have yet another moth infestation. I still don't want to fog the house, because we have four dogs to think of.
13. Our air conditioner breaks. Daytime temperatures are still averaging in the mid-to-upper nineties.
14. Game day, part two. Mostly uneventful, but for the raw sewage that was coming up through the floor behind the bar. Luckily, I wasn't at work yet.
15. The b.h. spends another two hours on the phone with a computer tech in India, and finally our internet is working.
16. Somebody knocked our mailbox off. I don't know if it was on purpose or not, but it was rather a bummer. I had to go to fucking W@l-Mart tonight, because it was the only place open after it happened. Booooo.

Also of note, we have started watching the Showtime show called Dexter. A serial killer who stalks serial killers. Interesting and well executed (no pun intended). Starring the guy who played the gay brother on Six F33t Under. Love him.
Got to see A.J. for a minute. He was in town for a few days. It was nice to see him, but as always, I didn't really have much time to hang out. Saw the Dictatortots on Thursday night. That was pretty cool. J. Roddy Walston & the Business are playing this Friday night. Really looking forward to that. ANyway, i have lots of other people's blogs to catch up on now. Hopefully I will have the energy and inspiration to write about some of this stuff more in depth.
Oh yes- Happy belated Birthday, Z! Your CD is on the way this week. Promise.

Peaceful.

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

P.S.

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

Doing What We Can.

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

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

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

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

Back to Jail.

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

Fat and Sassy.

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

Gardening At Night.

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



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

Here are a couple more veg photos:



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



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

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



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



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

How To Go To Jail.

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

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

Apologies.

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

Sometimes We Do Win.

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

Wasting Time.

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

One Oh Five

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

Getaway.

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

This is a shot of the main office:



And this is Lucy, the hostess at 4Paws:





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





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

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



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

Roundup.

I am in an unusual situation currently, in that I am at work early and I have my computer. That is a good thing, because we're leaving for Dog Camp tomorrow, and I may not be ready to post for a few more days.
The week has been good. I am pulling giant cucumbers from the garden daily, and passing them out to friends and co-workers. Scared the hell out of a couple people who thought they had encountered a giant snake in the cooler (yeah, I don't know either). Saw The Mooney Suzuki on Thursday night. Wow. That was a rock show. Afterward, they took about nine years to load out, and when we were finally able to leave, we heard a cell phone ringing somewhere in the dark bar. As we scrambled around trying to find it, it stopped ringing. I pushed open the back door to see if the band was still around. They were. Was that their phone? It was. Call it again. Okay.
So we get back inside, and when we are finally able to locate the phone, it is attached to one very passed out and very confused bass player. It's a good thing they called when they did, Five more minutes and he would have been there until he woke up on his own, and something tells me they wouldn't have made it to Florida on time.

We pre-ordered the new Okkervil River CD online, which allowed us to download it immediately. It's pretty fucking awesome. Looking forward to hearing it in the car tomorrow, actually. Other than that, I have nothing important to say. Desperately need a couple days off, and will hopefully have fun stories and good pictures to share.

He's Always One-Upping Me.

We were out to dinner with the b.h.'s mom, and while enjoying a bite of bruschetta, the b.h. dropped a bit of olive tapanade in his lap.
"Tapacrotch?" I asked. "Or should it be "Crotchanade?"
"I don't understand why you don't have a career in marketing," he replied casually, shoveling the last bit into his mouth and brushing off his pants.

The Popular Restaurant is okay so far. Lots to learn and quite exhausting, but I always enjoy learning new things, especially when those things involve food and wine.

I finished the new H@rry P0tter book. It was great. No spoilers or anything, just in case any of you care, but I will say that Ms. Rowling has done an excellent job of wrapping things up. I also recently read The Nasty Bits, by Anthony Bourdain. It was mostly hilarious. I skipped the first piece entirely after watching the b.h., an unafraid eater of all meats, turn green just from reading it. I am about halfway through A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, which I somehow got through my entire academic career without reading. I'm enjoying it. Also a good ways into The Mulching of America by Harry Crews, but as it is not exactly uplifting I have only been reading sporadically.

Not much more to tell. Just got back from a long walk with the boys and we're all lying about panting in front of the fan.

Happy Harry Potter Day, Everybody.

I am very generously allowing the b.h. to monopolize the copy that arrived this morning via Am@zon, so I have time for a quick weekly roundup. (He's going to band practice later, so I will be catching up then).
This week I stared a new job at a Popular Restaurant. It is interesting because I am learning new things about food and wine and whatnot, but it is also incredibly frustrating because I have no idea what I am doing and the setup is not convenient. Ah well, we'll see how it goes.
My cucumbers are coming along nicely. So many, in fact, that I may be able to go back to the Farmer's Market soon. The Armenian Cuckes are especially impressive. None have fully matured yet, but it seems that we will have an abundance here pretty soon. The tomatoes seem to be in a holding pattern- they're here, but they aren't ripening very quickly. The few that have have already split by the time I found them. Last night I weeded, picked a few pickling cukes, and watered after walking the dogs at dusk. After they ate, I let the dogs out one last time before leaving for work. A few minutes later, I got that weird, spider-sense, somethings-wrong-but-I-can't-quite-put-my-finger-on-it feeling. I ran to the door to call them back in, and KG came bounding into the kitchen, all wet and smiling and reeking of Tomato Plant. I guess I should have known that the three foot garden fence wouldn't be much of a deterrent for him. Bastard. No visible damage, though, so he gets to live another day. He's lucky he's so cute.

A Change in Plans

Okay, I didn't catch up on my blogging while I was off. But we did see the new H@rry P0tter flick. It was great- big, dark, and way cooler than it was in my head.
We're postponing the California trip. Too much on our plates at the moment. Instead we're going to hit the mountains in North Carolina for a dog friendly vacation. The campground has air-conditioned cabins. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it is too bloody hot (and I am a delicate flower) this time of year to sleep outside. So get this- the place is totally equipped for dogs - fenced in off leash areas, an agility course, a pond for swimming - and on their website, they discourage children. In a friendly way, of course, but they do. Very cool. Those of us who have dogs instead of kids need a place to go, too, and now we have one.
I also got a new job. Or rather, a second job. Bartending, but somewhere else. Looking forward to it.
That's all for now. Watching season two of Extras on DVD, and it has to go back tonight.
TTFN.

I wear a seven, and you're out of order...

'Cause I can tell from here you're a seven and a quarter.*

Yep, it's time to break out the tinfoil hats,** folks. I just finished watching B0bby, the movie about the other people in the Ambassador Hotel who were shot when Robert Kennedy was. I probably should have Netflixed it, because I wasn't really ready for it, but it had to go back tonight so we did anyway. It was fantastic. And despite knowing exactly how it was going to end, I still found myself completely devastated by the ending. It was gut wrenching. I can't help but wonder what the world might be like right now if that had never happened. The state of things at the moment is weighing heavily on me, and the weight was compounded by a bout of insomnia (slept too late yesterday) during which I read way too much news and political nonsense. Sigh. Where are we going?
On a lighter note, I discovered a new blog that I found highly amusing. It's called Clublife, and the link is over there on your left. I have also been catching up on A Free Man In Preston (also see left), whose posts about his trip to Northern California are very entertaining (such a brilliant photographer!) and may prove highly useful if the b.h. and I manage to get our shit together enough to take a trip out there at the end of the month.
Ooh, and I discovered yet another British show to love. I know this will come as a complete shock to some of you, but until two days ago, I had never seen an episode of Doctor Who. I have been aware of its existence for ages, but have somehow never gotten around to it. And now, lo and behold, Christopher Eccleston as the good Doctor. Neat. And an actress that looks like she actually consumes food as his co-star. Wow.
In the books department, I have been tearing up a bunch of Roald Dahl, thanks to both a gift(back on my birthday-or was it Christmas?) and a recent loan from my good friend K, who reads at least twice as much as I do. I also started Harry Crews' The mulching of America, but as it is less than uplifting, my progress is slow.
Saw Black Snake Moan on video last week. Fucking fantastic. And it was even written and directed by the same guy! That is almost always a sure sign of indie movie disaster for me. Christina Ricci is way more talented than I ever realized, and it was beautifully shot and did not go where I automatically thought it was going to go, which was a very special treat. See this movie. All four of you.
Got to see a preview of the new Transf0rmers movie as well. It was incredibly well done as far as the whole car-to-robot transformation. There was the expected amount of cheese, and some nearly hilarious, Top Gun-esque moments of sheer military recruitment obviousness, as well as seeming at times to be a very expensive car commercial (Hey Ch3vy, why not just build a C@maro that runs well? Ever thought of that?), but overall it was very entertaining. And that Shia Leb0uf dude is really fucking good, even if his co-star was the oldest looking high-schooler since Beverly Hills 90210. So see that one, too. And see it on the big screen, because g0d damn, there are big ass robots and car chases and stuff.
Maybe next week we'll get to see H@rry P0tter.
Other than that, I have mostly been working and attempting to weed the garden. Have almost completely given up on watering the flowers because we are now in a LEVEL THREE DROUGHT, but the tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers are really booming. I gave several plants away to my friends K and B today, because I actually managed to grow way more from seed than I had room to plant. We are off for the next couple of days, so hopefully I'll get the yard back in order and oh, I don't know... vaccuum? It looks like a bomb went off in here. A dog hair bomb. I also intend to finish the St. Louis story. I have more photos and some hilarious moments to share. At this point, however, I am off to get another beer and turn off my brain.



*Anybody who can tell me where that quote came from will get the remnants of a six pack of extremely cheap powdered mini-donuts, absolutely free, by mail.
**That's a clue

Not Exactly A Mensa Convention.

It's been a long weekend. Hell, it's been a long six weeks. Friday night we had a band that thinks they're more important than they are. They have played before and bitched about money after not bringing almost anyone to the show (can you say "pro-duc-tion", you dipshit?). Fortunately, I think this weekend was probably the nail in their coffin. They brought their own "security." The genius in question stopped us on our way into work by standing in front of the door and giving us an expectant "How you doin' tonight?" When one of our co-workers leaned over and said "They work here" as I walked past him, he said "Are they working tonight?" He was quickly set straight on the policy of not charging employees to get in, and then an hour later he told one of our door guys
"Man, I'm antsy as hell! I just wanna kick somebody's ass!"
Ugh. This is why we hire Door Guys and not Bouncers. Sure, you should be able to handle yourself if somebody takes a swing at you. But that's a lot less likely to happen if you aren't a meathead douchebag with something to prove. The best part? After he stood there for an hour and a half and nobody showed up, he bailed and our guys had to do his job. Idiot.

St. Louis, Part Four.

We slept in on Thursday, and then decided to visit the Arch. As a claustrophobe, I have mixed feelings about the Arch, but it seemed like something we had to do. Neither the b.h. nor K had been before, and besides, I kind of enjoy controlled fear every now and then. So we went.
The elevator is tiny. When you get in (with four other people), you have to sit down and kind of lean forward. This photo doesn't really say much, but that doorway is less than five feet high, I think.



Coincidentally, they put us in a pod (that's what it felt like) with two other guys who were from Georgia. While we waited for the elevator, one of them was expressing some doubts about the size of the pod.
"It's not that bad," I reassured him. I'm claustrophobic and I've been here before."
He seemed reassured, until the door opened and we all squeezed in. Actually, it was the closing of the pod that caused him some alarm.
"Not that bad?!" he said. ("My ass!!" was implied in his tone, but remained unspoken out of either Southern Gentility or fear of looking wimpy.) It took a few minutes to get to the top. It was a beautiful and sunny day, so I got lots of cool pictures.
Here's a shot of East St. Louis, on the Illinois side of the river. Some of you may remember it from the movie National Lampoon's Vacation starring Chevy Chase. My understanding is that it is just as charming today, which is why this is as close as we got.



By the way, Wilco fans, that boat is the Casino Queen made famous by the song of the same name on the album A.M..

This is the view straight down. I had to kind of crawl up into the window to get it. Those specks are people.





We were starving when we left the Arch, so we headed to the club for lunch. K was enamored of our waiter, while I was busy raving about the root beer. It was a local brew, and the club was across the street from the company, so it was fresh and fabulous. Best of all, it was made with sugar instead of corn syrup (which I have only recently discovered is in fact, evil). I got a veggie burger and fries, and we ordered onion rings and fried cheese balls for an appetizer. I don't normally eat like that, but hey- we were on vacation. Everything was unbelievably good. We vowed to have another meal there.
When we finished eating, we headed to a record store across town to see Blue Mountain, who had not played a show in six years.

Suddenly Feeling A Little More Patriotic...

Thanks to Keith Olbermann.

I am thankful to live in a place where you can still publicly say things like this. Not that the President is listening or anything.

Anyway, sorry for getting all political on you. Happy 4th, y'all.

Wild wildlife.

Courtesy of Andrew Sullivan:

How Italian police discovered a secret mountain-top marijuana plantation:

Locals in Trento began telling tales of the abnormally high-spirited animals, while forest rangers began to wonder why the normally shy and straight-laced cervine population was letting it all hang out by day and "making great leaps on the mountainside"...

Despite the seemingly damning nature of the prosecution's case, defence lawyers say the charges may yet be dropped since the deer had eaten most of the evidence.

And several hundred packets of Snackwells.

St. Louis, Part Three (We Finally Reach St. Louis)

So after two hours of thrift shopping, we headed back to the interstate and on to the city. Our hotel was next to the airport, and even though it was what should have been rush hour, we had a smooth ride all the way. The directions, via Mapquest, required something like six right turns at the end. We called ahead to the hotel to confirm the directions and got a non-native English speaker on the already spotty cell phone.
"It's a left at Linder," the b.h. said, hanging up.
Several exits passed.
"You mean "Lindbergh?"
"Maybe."
We all laugh.
We exit at Lindbergh, get completely turned around IN the airport in a matter of seconds. We're all punchy and a little tired. From the Park and Ride lot, we see the highway. On the highway there is a sign:
"Linder Street, 2 miles"
We laugh more. Though we are within spitting distance, we crawl through several lights before finding the entrance ramp. We exit at Linder and turn right.
"Now you're going to make a right on Peeley."
"Do you think it might be Seeley?"
"Maybe."

When we finally reached the hotel, we were all famished and wanted to eat right away. One of the reasons I was sold on this particular hotel was the Indian restaurant ("Voted the Best in ST. Louis!") on the eleventh floor. We ordered like it was our last meal. Everything was fantastic. Since the b.h. likes to cook and is very good at it, I often find myself disappointed at restaurants. Not this one. We ate a LOT of food. They served a fantastic spiced tea (chai-like, I suppose, but not exactly chai) that was really amazing. Just when I thought I couldn't eat more, they brought us complimentary Mango Pudding. It was awesome- not too sweet and just a taste. I thought I might die.
After we ate, we waddled back to our room for a nap.
Now with two beds,the sleeping was even better. We got ready about an hour later, and got on the internet to get directions to the club.
The highway was dark and under construction, so the ride was a little hairy. We had to stop and get cash and batteries for the camera, and ended up in a scene straight out of Larry David at the grocery store: thirty people in line, two checkers, and one poor old guy who just wanted some chocolate milk. Of course, there wasn't a price on the chocolate milk, so while we were all waiting (mostly) patiently for the woman with the bad perm and the fake nails to ring us up in express, we were treated to a verbal lobby between the stock guy and the other cashier over the loudspeaker about where the chocolate milk was and whether or not it was in fact still on sale. Fascinating stuff.
When we finally got out of there, we raced over to the Schlafly Brewery, only to find that the show that evening was at the Schlafly Tap Room. And the guy behind the counter at the Brewery didn't know what Twangf3st was and couldn't tell us how to get to the Brewery. When he finally found somebody who knew, they gave us the wrong name of the exit. The good news is that ST. Louis, like so many Midwestern cities, is built on a grid and is easily navigated by simple logic (unlike say, Atlanta, which was obviously designed with the help of hallucinogens).
We got there during the first band, whose name I do not remember, since I only saw a couple of songs. I of course needed a beer immediately, because no matter how zen I try to be, getting lost in a strange city and driving around fearing that you are missing a band you drove nine hours to see is a bit stressful. I turned to the bar, which was about eight feet long and manned by two guys. There were twelve thousand people waiting for beer.
The beer was excellent. Centro-matic was present. We said hello and chatted with them a bit. I ran into a couple from Rotterdam, whom I have now met three separate times in three different cities (in three different rock clubs) over the past five years. C and C are obviously as insane about music and the b.h. and me. The show was transcendent.

St. Louis, Part Two. (We're still not in St. Louis)

Okay, so we get up on wednesday morning in Paducah, and we proceed northward. We have eight hours before there are any TwangFest events, so K and I decide to stop along the way and go junking. About an hour into the drive, K realizes that she has left her pillow at the M0tel 6, which wouldn't be a big deal were it not for the brand new pillowcase which her friend had embroidered for her (including her intital and crossed pink six shooters-it's really remarkably cool), in which said pillow was encased. She called the Motel, they agreed to hold it until Friday so we could pick it up on our way home, and we kept going.
In Carbondale, Illinois, we found a Goodwill and a thrift shop run by the local radio station right across the street from each other. I scored a really cool yellow leather belt with a buckle that has a red and yellow image of Twiggy(?) on it. I think it's her, anyway. It looks very Warhol. In any case, it was a dollar and it actually FITS ME. This never happens. At the store across the street, K got a really cool 50's bathing suit for fifty cents, and I found the motherload of vintage dishes. The b.h. had about had it with our shopping frenzy at this point, but we had met the proprieter of said thrift shop and he urged us to visit his other shop down the street. And he had been so nice, and had given us such good deals... so we went. And the other place was even better. I wish I could remember the name of it so I could post it here, but no such luck. If you're ever in carbondale, though. The shop next to the vegetarian restaurant. Ask for Tom.
Ugh. It's like five in the morning. I gotta crash. More later.

Athfest.

Wow. I am so tired I can barely type. This was a long and trying weekend, as well as an incredibly rocking one. While I was not able to navigate the schedule as freely as I did last year, I was still able to see a lot of excellent rock and roll. First, my customer of the weeken d story:
Friday night, 1:50 am (ten minutes before close, for those of you unfamiliar with the college town rigamarole).
Creepy dude: Can I get a Red Stripe?
Me: Of course.
CD: Are there other places that are open later here?
ME: Nope. College town, man. Everything pretty much shuts down at two.
CD: That's how it is in my town, too.

Silence as I wipe down coolers and collect fruit trays.

CD: So when are you and I going to Amsterdam?
ME: Probably never, since my husband generally frowns upon me going to foreign countries with strange men.
CD: Oh, that's not what I meant. We're just friends.
ME: Really?
I walk off and start re-stcoking beer coolers. Five minutes later, I walk by him with a couple cases of beer.
CD: The Grill is open.
ME: That's true. And they have food. So there you go.
I walk off and hide. He leaves.

Saturday Night.
The B.H. sees Creepy Dude enter bar, makes his way quickly over to him.
B.H.: Can I help you?
CD: (Points at me.)
B.H.: What do you need?
CD: (Points at me again).
B.H.: What do you need?
CD: It just feels better when it comes from her.
B.H.: I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but that's my wife.
CD: I'll have a Red Stripe.

Drama.

So now my mostly anonymous, just for fun and writing practice Pretentious Internet Journal is becoming a forum for something else. Who knew that a post I made almost a month ago was going to cause a stir? Not me. And the funny thing is, the people I know who read this blog (all four of them) had no idea about whom I was speaking. There are so many burners. And now somebody I didn't even know was a reader of the blog (shout out, yo) is complaining about a post I made. See, the whole point of this thing was just to write and express myself- good times and bad and whatnot. And now it seems that I have caused quite a stir. Sorry, dude.

The City of Big Arches.

So our trip to ST. Louis was fantastic. We left on Tuesday at around 7pm, caught almost no traffic lights on 316 to Atlanta (you can't appreciate the miracle if you haven't driven that road), and no traffic in Atlanta. Stopped in Chatanooga (I know I've likely misspelled that, but am simply too lazy at present to care) for pizza and the best cup of coffee from here to Chicago (possibly further, but I haven't checked) at a shop called Greyfriar, and drove all the way to Paducah before stopping at a M0tel Six for the night. The drive was beautiful and fun, and having our friend K in the car made it a little more interesting. We only went to the M6 because it was cheap and we really just wanted a shower and a bed. Little did we know that we would be sleeping in the only available room in the apparently booming metroplis of Paducah, and that said room would only have one bed.
"Do you want smoking or non?" asked the young girl with the fake nails and the round face behind the bullet-proof glass in the lobby.
"Doesn't matter," I replied.
She punched keys on her computer.
"We have one room left. It's a king non-smoking."
"Let me check on that. I'll be right back." I ran to the car, explaining the situation to my traveling companions. We were all tired, we are all fairly small, and we mostly don't care much about stuff like, oh, sleeping three to a bed. It was the cheapest hotel at the exit, and we would have to check out in eight hours. But I had to ask.
"That'll be fine," I told the girl.
"How many adults?" she asked, as she punched still more keys on her keyboard.
"Three."
She cocked her head sideways and raised an eyebrow. She had surely heard of such things before, what with Kentucky being wired for cable for at least a couple years now.
"We really don't care," I said weakly. "One of us can sleep on the floor. We've been driving all day."
She didn't seem convinced, but she gave us the two person rate anyway (a three dollar savings, thank you very much).
More Later...

Please be patient.

Our phone line got ripped out (for a second time) by the construction (c*cksuckers), so I have been unable to post. I find it very difficult to write downtown, which is where I have to go now to get a connection. I'll be back ASAP. In the meantime, I am managing to keep up with some of you (because I don't have a problem reading downtown.)
*sigh*

Weird Vibe.

The first thing I had to "deal with" this evening was a young lady who tried to put a drink on a tab that did not exist. When my coworker (a guy) asked her to clarify, she started smiling coyly at him, telling him he was "hot" and generally making a total dipshit of herself. She had of course already consumed the drink in question. I pressed her for her ID, she claimed it was outside, and then tried making for the door so she could "go get it." Long story short, I followed her out, called her out on the sidewalk as a thief (in front of a whole bunch of people), took money from her friend for the drink, and told her that I could have her arrested, and that I never wanted to see her again. I hate that shit, and I feel weird when put in that position, but am glad that I actually called her out instead of shaking my head in disgust and letting it go, as I have done in the past.
A bit later, I walked outside to find a loud verbal exchange between a different co-worker (who was not working) and a customer. I stepped in and sent everybody away, blah blah blah. More B.S. I can't wait for vacation.

Quandary.

So I have this friend. This friend is always asking me to borrow CDs in order to burn them. The friend is admittedly not well off, but always seems to have enough money to buy a cd from f*@!ing Be@st Buy- the latest by Amy Win3house or some other artist that doesn't need this friend's money. But the friend never, EVER buys CDs from local bands, or from touring bands that need to buy gas. And this friend never pays to get into shows, either.
So what do I say? Mostly because I am a big fat wuss and I don't enjoy confrontation, I have passed on some of my favorite CDs to this person, and this person has burned them, and then they proceed to tell the band how great they are, and what a big fan the person is, the next time they play in town. It makes me a little mad. It makes me a lot mad, actually, but I don't quite know how to say no. It would be different if the person had never heard the band, and I was trying to convince them to listen. Then no problem. I have had this experience several times, and when I like the band (as in the case of the ever fabulous Okkervil River) I usually end up giving them a lot of money. In fact, with Okkervil, I (we, actually, since the b.h. is a huge fan as well)have purchased two shirts, all of their CDs, and a couple of their records on vinyl. In addition, I have traveled to see them and paid to get in to several shows. I also burned a copy of their disc for other people who I thought would like them, and AJ not only bought shirts and CDs, but he's trying to put one of their songs in his movie, which would be a huge boon for everybody. So burning is not always a bad thing. But this particular person does not get it. I read a really great piece last year by a music writer (was that your friend Carl, J?)about how buying music and going to shows is a music fan's way of patronizing the arts. I think I even blogged a link to the piece because I thought it was so important.
Now I feel that it is time to put my money where my mouth is. So the new rule? You can't burn anything I own by a band that isn't riding in a fucking tour bus and mugging on MTV. And I really don't own any of that anyway, so you're S.O.L. Unless, of course, I am proselytizing. In which case, burn away.

Still here!

(No thanks to Michael Chabon.) So in the interest of trying to continue my catchup, here are a few more items:
Two weeks ago, a bird flew into the house. (In continuing my tradition of talking about pictures I can't show you, I will tell you that we have several. And he was cute.) He came right in the kitchen door, which was very easy because I have yet to fix the screen that came off just before the Bird Incident. Luckily for the bird, the dogs were outside. And lucky for us, he flew upstairs into our bedroom, which has a balcony door. So we shut the door to the rest of the house and proceeded to hop up and down alternately on the bed, the dresser, and a lovely antique trunk (which I will also not be posting photos of), waving our arms and trying to gently get him out to freedom. This went on for some time. Remarkably, he managed not to poop on the bed, the furniture, or either of us. He kept landing up high and almost getting out the door, perching just above the frame or hanging jauntily from the portable screen, as if mocking us. The only thing better than photos of said bird would be video of myself and the b.h. trying to shoo him outside. Alas, you have neither, which makes this story a lot less interesting.
On the garden front, my peppers are taking for-fucking-ever to get going. This is intensely frustrating as I have spent much time and energy (and money, which I don't even want to think about at the moment) growing the little buggers from seed, dragging them in and out of the house to protect them from the elements, finally forming actual beds with actual soil, planting them in nutrient rich soil, only to find them crawling along. Ugh. This is largely due to the insane drought our state is currently experiencing, (which is also fueling the now famous wildfires, which span both Georgia and Florida, and are damaging my lungs on a daily basis), as the plants are not fond ( I only recently learned) of our incredibly chlorinated tap water. So short of buying an expensive filtration sysytem for the garden spigot, i am relegated to watering, mulching, and feeding (the organic fertilizer I bought smells like a corpse. Come to think of it, there's probably a reason for that...)the little buggers, all I can do is hope that the rain eventually comes, and that when it does it doesn't wash them away. Mostly this is frustrating me because it is preventing me from participating in the Farmer's Market, and I really, really want to be involved.
On a better note, the rock has continued to roll here in our fair city. The fabulous Fleshtones graced the stage at tasty World last week. I had missed them the last time around, and when I asked Murphy (the owner of said establishment) why the lead singer looked so familiar, he said, "Well, he did host 120 Minutes for a long time." No shit? Wow! So the show that was arguably the most responsible for broadening my musical horizons and making me the woman I am today was hosted by that guy? Awesome. They were really great- lively and loud, and dancing on the bar (in the good way, not in the Will-fucking-Hogue, pretend spontineity way (Have I mentioned how much that guy sucks? Well he does. Stay away.) So yeah. I look forward to their return.
The real surprise came the next night. J. Roddy Walston and the Business opened a show and completely blew me away. I was ecstatic. They were so good that my friend K, who is a sound guy (which means he's more jaded about bands than I am), even liked it. I bought a shirt and a CD, and I have not stopped talking about them since. Wow. In my job, that's the best thing you can hope for, really. Having a band you have never heard of or heard anything about just come in and kick your ass is about the best feeling there is. I can't wait until they come back.
I had another interview with the National Coffee Chain. Lots of people have been aghast when i mentioned seeking employment there, but I have to say that insurance is sounding pretty attractive to me right now. I haven't seen a doctor (aside from the the ones at the Emergency Room) in eight years, and I think the dentist has been nine. And I probably need glasses at this point, too. So yeah, I can froth milk for full coverage. The guy that I had the second interview with was particularly cool. He has visions of community involvement for the NCC, geared mostly toward local and organic food and education, which are two things that I (obviously) care deeply about. He is looking for somebody to help him institute(word choice?) some programs. And sling coffee. Cross your fingers kids. Momma needs a new pair of glasses.
I still haven't decided whether or not I want to apply to the Organic F@rming Certificate program. It's not that I don't feel like it would be useful. It's just that i can't decide if it is $5,000 useful. We'll see.
Okay, so that's it for now. A.J. is in town, so I suspect that this may be my last chance to sit on my ass and read for awhile.

Back.

Okay, so I have been gone a long, long time. The reasons are many, including but not limited to a death in the b.h.'s family, a visit from some of my family, computer glitches, and the sheer overwhelming amount of shit I have done. I can't even begin to begin. But here goes:

Dog Hair Cuts. They are adorable, if somewhat less fuzzy. I would love to post some photos, but I can't seem to get my camera and my computer on speaking terms. Suffice to say that Wyatt has gone from mini German Shepherd to fat opossum in no time flat.

The school year has finally ended at UGA, which brings our business down a considerable percentage, making my job less intense and less lucrative in the process. I have been filling my time so far, but not so much the bank account. More on that later.

Rural Mississippi. As depressing as you imagine it, and even hotter. Met the rest of the b.h.'s family. It went well. At least as well as you could hope for under the circumstances.

The Beauvilles. A really excellent rock band that played in town recently, redeeming the state of Florida very slightly in my mind. Check them out.

The Drams. A highlight in an otherwise fairly dark month- got to have dinner with them at our friend J's house, so got to have real conversation as opposed to the kind that we usually get, shouted over the bar between bands. I love those guys more than I can possibly say. You might, too. We also drove to Macon to see them play the next night and it was amazing. The set was like two hours long, and Macon was true to form in that the audience was incredibly enthusiastic despite having never heard the band before. It was great fun. My friend K stayed here with the boys so we could spend the night and take our time getting back. I picked up a lovely cement bust of Elvis along the way. I will also post a photo of that when I get my camera and my computer to reconcile. Oooh- and I managed to get a decent recording of The Drams covering Blue Eyes, a traditional song that is one of my favorites. There is more to tell, but right now I am knee deep in a Michael Chabon novel that I picked up on the bargain shelf at B & N yesterday. More later, promise.

Are You Local?

It turns out that my new favorite laundry soap is. Well, local-ish, anyway. It is made in North Carolina, it comes in what amounts to a small brown paper bag, is certified biodegradable, non-toxic, and hypo-allergenic. It doesn't smell like anything, and you only need a tablespoon to wash a whole load of clothes. Yay! It's called Charlies Soap. The label says it "Cleans everything from silk frillies to shop rags."
So yeah- I had a good day at Earthf@re today. They also have a sale on body care products, so I got more cardamom mint foot lotion (drool), and some Tom's fennel toothpaste. Cut some flowers from the garden, weeded, put up a new fence (Kilgore's ability to leap fences continues to astound and frustrate me), and consoled a heartsick friend for about two hours on the phone. Now it's time to turn off the brain, open a beer, and watch a dvd.
Happy Sunday, y'all.

Sigh.

I came home and posted after work last night. I don't remember everything I said, but it was a fairly lengthy, definitely snarky, and potentially funny account of last evening's frat-tivities. I don't know how or why, but it got lost. I know I was not drunk (not for lack of desire to drink away the pain, but for lack of time in which to consume the quantity of alcohol that would be required to do so. Plus, I am the designated driver.), but I somehow obviously managed not to hit either the 'save' or 'publish' button. Ah well, such is life. I'm sure it's funnier in my head anyway. Suffice to say that I told a guy that i was going to "Come over the bar and hurt (him)", and then truned and sweetly asked somebody's dad "What can I get for you, darlin'?"
We watched a documentary yesterday called This Film Is Not Yet Rated. It is reviewed and critiqued very well over at hyperbolically challenged, the link to which is to your left. I will just say that it was interesting and informative, and made me wish for the umpteenth time that I lived somewhere else.

Mayday.

That's Mayday, as in S.O.S., not rites of Spring and whatnot. I have been at a creative low ebb. I (gasp) don't feel as if I have anything to say. I have been a bad, bad blogger. I don't mean to be both sporadic and boring, but honestly I just can't think of anything interesting to talk about at the moment. I did finally get the garden mulch, but one truckload turned out to be less than I thought it would be, so I have to get another truckload before I can plant. I did manage to get some fennell in the ground. It has to have its own bed because it doesn't play well with others. Cross your fingers for me that it takes. I absolutely love the stuff.

We did get to see Spider Man 3 the other night. Can't get into too much detail, as I never know who might be lurking online, but we have a friend who works at a local theater and occasionally will preview something at 3am. We liked it a lot. But then, I'm pretty easy when it comes to super hero flicks. Venom looked cool and scary, the Sand Man CGI was absolutely killer. I have seen some shitty reviews of this movie. Somebody said it was "over the top"(?). I personally find that hilarious, because in my humble opinion, it's what these movies are about.

Somewhere in the middle of that movie I started feeling pretty gross, and by the end I had a full-fledged cold, which I am still nursing. So too tired to think of more fun stuff to say. Many thanks to Z for giving me both reading material and eye candy whilst I cough and weeze and consume much tea.

More reasons to love the British...

Why are people here so shocked by this word? It's so appropriate.

Running The World



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Yawn, stretch.

It is now thirty-six hours since I have last slung a drink. I feel like I may recover from the weekend eventually, but here's hoping that at least I won't have a repeat anytime soon. Twenty-five cent drinks can't get over the bar fast enough. That was Thursday night. Animals in suburban camoflauge (kakhis and polo shirts and those shirts that make all the college girls look knocked up).
Friday was fine, I guess, but I was too tired from Thursday to really enjoy it. Saturday I was apparently so rude to a girl (I took away a beer that she brought in to the bar - a beer we don't serve) that she decided to write about it on her credit card slip. Bitch tipped us less than ten percent anyway, and had the nerve to designate it specifically to J in her note because I was so awful. Oooooh, thanks. We'll make sure he doesn't spend all of that in one place.
Other than that I spent a bunch of time in the yard again. Still don't have the veggies in the ground, but I'm hoping to deal with that this week.
Looks like the b.h. and I might head up to TwangFest in St. Louis in June. Blue Mountain is supposed to reunite for a show there, and even if they don't I want to see Centro-matic and Tim Easton. That weekend happens to be T's birthday, too, if I'm not mistaken. He's going to meet us there.
I am looking into the Organic Farming prograqm that they're starting at UGA this year. Not sure if I need to be a full-time UGA student in order to participate, or if there is a non-student program. Either way I'm interested. Seems like a logical step.
I know this is another boring post, but honestly, the weather is too nice for me to hang out and be clever indoors.

Heh Heh Heh.

Either this thing is skewed, or the b.h. is totally gay. I cut and pasted several random entries into this thing and I came up solidly male every time. Maybe this is why I hate "chick-lit" so much.

http://bookblog.net/gender/analysis.php

Hubbub.

So I'm standing in the walk-in cooler, sending A.J. a text message about the lovely crowd of mouth-breathing frat kids who are drinking 25 cent well drinks. I do this because I know he will find the humor in it, and because I miss him and I want him to know that we are thinking of him (and his lovely wife, who I never see). Suddenly, I hear a loud crash and the light inside the cooler goes out. It seems that the cheap liquor has finally done its work, and there is a bit of a brawl outside the door. After groping my way to the door, I managed to shove it open and grabbed the first guy I saw (happened to be D, one of my favorite co-workers). Then I grabbed the next guy I saw around the waist, dragging him from a pile of sweaty, meaty drunks and shouting "Whoa! Whoa!" to very little effect. Thankfully, we had a crack door staff tonight, with our old door guy T making a brief return and D back from a "professional bike tour" (I can't write that without quotes because it's just too silly), as well as the best of our current lineup. So they got it taken care of right away. Nobody had any idea what started the whole thing (except those of us who knew how much liquor had gone across the bar), but it didn't slow things down for long.
I am completely losing my train of thought right now. Guess I should try to eat and sleep. More later, I suppose.

Fancy.

See? I can find endless ways to avoid actual posting! Had a lot of trouble putting up a pic- couldn't get one to fit where I wanted it, so I skipped it. DO check out the video to the left, though. The band is The Glands, who are possibly the best thing ever to come out of Athens, and it was made by my friend J, who is a bit of a genius.

Copout.

I just want to say that I am feeling quite guilty about my utter lack of posting. I blame A.J. because he was in town and therefore I went out every night. It was fun. I also got a lot of gardening done. There will be photos. Jamie's first farmer's market finally happened last Wednesday, too. I was there. I think I accidentally erased the only photo I took of it. Crap. Well, there's another one tomorrow, so we'll see. And I promise I will get around to updating and uploading and whatnot. Eventually.

Baggage.

After reading both the new issue of Vanity Fair (the annual green issue) and the new Wired, as well as a couple of back issues of Dwell, all of which touched on the environment and how we're mucking it up right now, i was pleased to find that our best local grocery store has finally come out with reusable shopping bags.
I realize that there was never a law against bringing your own bags to the store, but these are specifically made for groceries, and I now have absolutely no excuse* for using plastic bags. In our defense, the b.h. and I do manage to recycle most of our grocery bags anyway- we use them to line our bathroom and bedroom trash cans, and for dog walking purposes, but now we don't have to. Check this thing out:



It holds a lot of canned goods, as well as a large bag of coffee, potato chips, and a pint of half and half, with no sign of struggle (the bottom is slightly reinforced) and room to spare. Kick ass. I hope all stores start doing this.


*Except for my terrible memory, which I will attempt to circumvent by simply keeping the bags in the car at all times.

Satisfaction.

There's just something about a good heavy rain* falling on a freshly planted flower bed.


*This photo is pre-rain, and a bit old actually. And you can't see anything, so it's relatively pointless. But uploading it and adding it to this old post made me feel like I was doing something, as opposed to fucking off, like I have been. Ah well. The bed is even more full now. I'll get back to taking photos soon now that I have finally uploaded all the ones that have been in the camera for ages.

Well Said.

"No matter how corrupt, greedy and heartless our government, our corporations, our media, and our religious and charitable institutions may become, the music will still be wonderful.If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD WAS MUSIC"



-Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007)

Devastated.

There are no other words, really. First Hunter Thompson, then Molly Ivins, and now this:

Novelist Kurt Vonnegut dies at 84
POSTED: 1:46 a.m. EDT, April 12, 2007

By CRISTIAN SALAZAR, Associated Press Writer1 hour, 8 minutes ago

Kurt Vonnegut, the satirical novelist who captured the absurdity of war and questioned the advances of science in darkly humorous works such as "Slaughterhouse-Five" and "Cat's Cradle," died Wednesday. He was 84.

Vonnegut, who often marveled that he had lived so long despite his lifelong smoking habit, had suffered brain injuries after a fall at his Manhattan home weeks ago, said his wife, photographer Jill Krementz.

The author of at least 19 novels, many of them best-sellers, as well as dozens of short stories, essays and plays, Vonnegut relished the role of a social critic. Indianapolis, his hometown, declared 2007 as "The Year of Vonnegut" — an announcement he said left him "thunderstruck."

He lectured regularly, exhorting audiences to think for themselves and delighting in barbed commentary against the institutions he felt were dehumanizing people.

"I will say anything to be funny, often in the most horrible situations," Vonnegut, whose watery, heavy-lidded eyes and unruly hair made him seem to be in existential pain, once told a gathering of psychiatrists.

A self-described religious skeptic and freethinking humanist, Vonnegut used protagonists such as Billy Pilgrim and Eliot Rosewater as transparent vehicles for his points of view. He also filled his novels with satirical commentary and even drawings that were only loosely connected to the plot. In "Slaughterhouse-Five," he drew a headstone with the epitaph: "Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt."

But much in his life was traumatic, and left him in pain.

Despite his commercial success, Vonnegut battled depression throughout his life, and in 1984, he attempted suicide with pills and alcohol, joking later about how he botched the job.

"I think he was a man who combined a wicked sense of humor and sort of steady moral compass, who was always sort of looking at the big picture of the things that were most important," said Joel Bleifuss, editor of In These Times, a liberal magazine based in Chicago that featured Vonnegut articles.

His mother killed herself just before he left for Germany during World War II, where he was quickly taken prisoner during the Battle of the Bulge. He was being held in Dresden when Allied bombs created a firestorm that killed an estimated tens of thousands of people.

"The firebombing of Dresden explains absolutely nothing about why I write what I write and am what I am," Vonnegut wrote in "Fates Worse Than Death," his 1991 autobiography of sorts.

But he spent 23 years struggling to write about the ordeal, which he survived by huddling with other POW's inside an underground meat locker labeled slaughterhouse-five.

The novel, in which Pvt. Pilgrim is transported from Dresden by time-traveling aliens from the planet Tralfamadore, was published at the height of the Vietnam War, and solidified his reputation as an iconoclast.

"He was sort of like nobody else," said Gore Vidal, who noted that he, Vonnegut and Norman Mailer were among the last writers around who served in World War II.

"He was imaginative; our generation of writers didn't go in for imagination very much. Literary realism was the general style. Those of us who came out of the war in the 1940s made it sort of the official American prose, and it was often a bit on the dull side. Kurt was never dull."

Vonnegut was born on Nov. 11, 1922, in Indianapolis, a "fourth-generation German-American religious skeptic Freethinker," and studied chemistry at Cornell University before joining the Army.

When he returned, he reported for Chicago's City News Bureau, then did public relations for General Electric, a job he loathed. He wrote his first novel, "Player Piano," in 1951, followed by "The Sirens of Titan," "Canary in a Cat House" and "Mother Night," making ends meet by selling Saabs on Cape Cod.

Critics ignored him at first, then denigrated his deliberately bizarre stories and disjointed plots as haphazardly written science fiction. But his novels became cult classics, especially "Cat's Cradle" in 1963, in which scientists create "ice-nine," a crystal that turns water solid and destroys the earth.

Many of his novels were best-sellers. Some also were banned and burned for suspected obscenity. Vonnegut took on censorship as an active member of the PEN writers' aid group and the American Civil Liberties Union. The American Humanist Association, which promotes individual freedom, rational thought and scientific skepticism, made him its honorary president.

His characters tended to be miserable anti-heros with little control over their fate. Vonnegut said the villains in his books were never individuals, but culture, society and history, which he said were making a mess of the planet.

"We probably could have saved ourselves, but we were too damned lazy to try very hard... and too damn cheap," he once suggested carving into a wall on the Grand Canyon, as a message for flying-saucer creatures.

He retired from novel writing in his later years, but continued to publish short articles. He had a best-seller in 2005 with "A Man Without a Country," a collection of his nonfiction work, including jabs at the Bush administration ("upper-crust C-students who know no history or geography") and the uncertain future of the planet.

He called the book's success "a nice glass of champagne at the end of a life."

In recent years, Vonnegut worked as a senior editor and columnist at In These Times. Bleifuss said he had been trying to get Vonnegut to write something more for the magazine, but was unsuccessful.

"He would just say he's too old and that he had nothing more to say. He realized, I think, he was at the end of his life," Bleifuss said.

Vonnegut, who had homes in Manhattan and the Hamptons in New York, adopted his sister's three young children after she died. He also had three children of his own with his first wife, Ann Cox, and later adopted a daughter, Lily, with his second wife, the noted photographer Jill Krementz.

Vonnegut once said that of all the ways to die, he'd prefer to go out in an airplane crash on the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. He often joked about the difficulties of old age.

"When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life; old age is more like a semicolon," Vonnegut told The Associated Press in 2005.

"My father, like Hemingway, was a gun nut and was very unhappy late in life. But he was proud of not committing suicide. And I'll do the same, so as not to set a bad example for my children."

___

Associated Press writers Michael Warren, Hillel Italie and Chelsea Carter contributed to this report.


I have to go now.

Reading Roundup.

I have spent a whole lot of time recently reading newspapers and political websites, which I realized is causing me to fall way behind in my book reading. Infinite Jest has once again proved incredibly thick and slow-going. I love it, but I tend to do my book reading right before I fall asleep, and that book is too much work (both mentally and physically). I really need a vacation in order to get serious about it.
On a recommendation from my friend K, I picked up a couple of Carl Hiassen books at a rummage sale recently. I am reading one, but I'm too lazy to go upstairs and check the title right now. It's about a murdered musician and a reporter who is kind of a fuckup. It's funny, and pretty smart, and in general a good, easy wind down at the end of a day. Thumbs up.
I still have the Shakespeare book on my night stand, but I haven't made any progress. Like the DFW book, it is really large and cumbersome, and I will need more time in larger chunks to get through it.
I have also been reading a lot of magazines, the best of which is a literary mag called The Believer (www.believermag.com), brought to us by the wonderful people at McSweeneys. The Believer is as close to being in a literature class as my brain has come for over ten years. I love it. I have been reading it monthly for over a year, and recently grabbed a stack of back issues on ebay for next to nothing. I love it.
Honestly, my heart isn't really in this post, but I am trying very hard to post more often. Sorry it's not that fun. I really have to go read now.

Chilling Out.

Literally, I mean. The temperature is dropping quickly, which means I only have time for a quick catchup. Gotta walk the hounds before it gets too cold.

Have finished bringing in the seedlings and covering the plants that are already in the ground. Waiting on a batch of organic pomegranate jelly to finish processing. Last night I made some fizzing bath bombs and lavender soap. Tomorrow I hope to bake some cookies and dog biscuits, and maybe, just maybe, make some ancho chile hot chocolate. Hell, if my first farmer's market is gonna be in the cold, I might as well make the best of it.
Here's a nice shot of the very weird sunset we had last night.

Pollen Panic.

It's that time of year again. Birds chirp, bees buzz, and my formerly forest green car is now a mucky shade of yellow.


(That line is where I rubbed off the pollen with my finger so you can see the difference in color.)

Are you sneezing yet?
I hope not, because if your nose gets too stuffy, you won't be able to smell this:



I appreciate wisteria more with each passing year. It's stay is far too brief, but will be followed, I know, by honeysuckle, and then giant magnolias. All of these things are lovely and have an intoxicating smell that I never got in the north (Though the lilacs up there are pretty amazing as well).

So anyway, everybody i know seems to be coming down with a "Spring cold", while I am getting started on what promises to be a hellacious allergy season.

By the by, there is a payoff for all the pollen:

These guys are gonna be huge.

FYI

I got tagged by Z. The results are (finally) a couple posts down. I forgot that it would post in the order that I started it, not in the order I finished it.