A Copout, Courtesy of Sullivan...

And to him courtesy of somebody else. Oh well. It's too good to pass up.

"A huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded. Here's one example of the utter wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: Everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe, the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely talk about this sort of natural, basic self-centeredness, because it's so socially repulsive, but it's pretty much the same for all of us, deep down. It is our default-setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: There is no experience you've had that you were not at the absolute center of. The world as you experience it is right there in front of you, or behind you, to the left or right of you, on your TV, or your monitor, or whatever. Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real -- you get the idea. But please don't worry that I'm getting ready to preach to you about compassion or other-directedness or the so-called "virtues." This is not a matter of virtue -- it's a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default-setting, which is to be deeply and literally self-centered, and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self.

People who can adjust their natural default-setting this way are often described as being "well adjusted," which I suggest to you is not an accidental term," - David Foster Wallace

Funny in a Depressingly True Way.

Just finished mowing the lawn (no, not a euphemism). Straightening up the house and running some errands next. Then I get to pick up the b.h., fresh from his week long road trip. So I'm prolly not gonna be back here for a minute. In the meantime, enjoy this little nugget, courtesy of my good friend MT and my growing fears about the political environment in this country.
Terrorist Fist Jab, Y'all.

Great Idea.

Look over on the right there at my new link- The Newspaper Bag Project is a website that Z's son started. I took a quick look at it a minute ago (I'm at work) and I'm going to try to make my own bags when I get some free time. Which should be in about a month. Well, probably Sunday, but that will feel like a month from now.
Anyway, it looks like fun.

Ready, Set, D'oh!

The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was knock a glass off of my nightstand when reaching to turn off my alarm. It broke, of course.

The rest of my morning has been going better, thanks.

Ahhhh.

Finally somebody makes me laugh.

No. No. No no no no

Noooooooooooo.

This one says it better.

Best.

Fuuuck.

Another Lame Weekly Recap.

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.

Tonight.

J. Roddy Walston & the Business. Tasty World. Be there.
Oh, and The Dictatortots, too.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Holy Shit.

This is brilliant. I think I might have to get a fucking job at Showbiz, just so I can get that bear to sing "GOAT".

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.

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.

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!

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?

Don't Worry Everybody...

He's got it all under control.


What an asshole.

"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.

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]

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.

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.

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.

The Future Is Unwritten.

If you haven't seen it yet, I recommend the new Joe Strummer Documentary. I just watched it. Twice.

Well Stated.

I'm not really a huge fan of Th3 Huffingt0n P0st, but the headline here was a pull quote I couldn't resist while I was viewing the very intriguing new Harry P0tt3r trailer.

If you haven't seen the new trailer, by the way, go have a peek. It's pretty effing cool.

Sweet!

So apparently NPR is broadcasting that Tom Waits Show we went to last month. Did I even mention that show? It was fucking stunning. Worth every penny and every minute spent driving to Atlanta, which is not something I say very often.
I had never been to The Fox Theater before, and I can't think of a more perfect venue for Tom Waits. The site doesn't seem to have any current photos, which is a huge bummer, because we also weren't allowed to take any ourselves. Basically it's designed to look like you're outside. The ceiling was dusk blue when we got in and got progressively darker as the night went on. There are also lights in it that look like stars. If you walk all the way up to the orchestra pit and look back, the balcony is surrounded by what look like castle walls, with a circus tent type thing over the second one, so it looks like you're watching a performance inside a courtyard. The usher that I spoke to said that the theater was built in the twenties (she knew the exact year, but I have since forgotten), and that it was almost torn down several years ago. I can't really begin to describe it.
The show was fantastic, as expected. It turns out I am more familiar with his material than I realized. It helped that he did "Down In The Hole" early in the set. That's the theme from The Wire, which is one of my favorite shows ever, so I've heard it a whole bunch. Anyway, no need for my sad attempts at a review. Now you can all enjoy the show.

Big Bird & Vermont.

For the past several days, we have had what I believe is a Great Blue Heron hanging out in our pond. We see these guys for most of the year, but since Kilgore has taken to chasing them (as much as he can when he is a couple hundred feet below) when they fly over, none have been visiting our pond this year. I tried to get a picture of this guy, but my point and shoot digital was simply not meant for long-distance wildlife photography. It's too bad. He's pretty cool looking.
There is also a family of kingfishers out there, but they never hold still long enough for me to get a picture.

I finally loaded up the Vermont pics. Most of them are from the Museum at Shelburne, because the ones from the fist couple days were on the card that crashed. Anyway, here they are, in no particular order:


I bought this coffee because I liked the logo. Turns out the coffee is pretty fucking awesome as well.



This one is from the Shelburne Museum. Another self portrait.



More photos later. The computer is acting up.

Wisdom of the Ancients.

Old Man Robbie, my boss at the Local Liquor Store, has been "in the business" for almost twenty years. He's not that old, chronologically, but he likes to refer to himself as if he is, and often the effects of his lifestyle make him pretty convincing in the part. He and the owners are really great guys, and I am learning a lot from them.
For example, I recently learned that if a customer wants to write a check, and they ask for a carton rather than a pack of cigarettes, the check is unlikely to clear.

Personally, I have no idea why we take checks anyway. In this day and age, I would think you have to try pretty hard to convince the bank not to send you a check card. Checks are outdated. They slow up the line, they piss people off, and at least in the case of our bank, they cost money to use. I think the b.h. and I are allowed a couple checks per month before we start having to pay a fee for each one. So why do we take them? I don't know. We do have a lot of regular customers who use them, er, regularly (though they still manage not to have the check made out to Local Liquor Store, dated, and signed before they get up to the counter, which I find a bit exasperating. When I go to The Giant Big Box for my other boss, I always have the check filled out ahead of time, so I need only fill in the dollar amount. It's just common sense and common courtesy, in my mind). The thing is that the Local Liquor Store is pretty small and often very, very busy, and it only takes a moment for a line to form, and for that line to become a mass and then a mob. But I digress.

I was working at the Local Liquor Store the other night when we got a phone call. Old Man Robbie answered, and as he wandered through the store on the cordless phone, I could hear him telling the person on the other end that yes, we do take checks, as long as you have (laundry list of stuff we need in order to take a check from you). He explained it loudly and repeatedly, as if he were speaking to a person who was deaf, mentally impaired, or possibly not a native English speaker. He hung up the phone and shook his head exasperatedly. I was ringing up a line of customers, so I didn't get a chance to hear the explanation.
A little while later, a woman came in while Old Man Robbie and I were behind the counter, walked directly up to him and said
"I think I talked to you?"

She looked to be at least sixty or sixty-five, and a bit frail. Old Man Robbie helped her locate what she was looking for, and then stood patiently as it took her a month and a half to fill out her check. In the meantime, I was checking out a long line of customers. She asked him for the total again, and when he told her (it was over a hundred dollars), she decided to add on - wait for it - a carton of cigarettes. At that point, Old Man Robbie knew he'd been had. He said no, finished ringing her out, and when she finally went out the door, he cussed loudly and walked very quickly back to the office.

He returned, fuming, a few minutes later.
"This check isn't going to clear," he said. At this point there were no customers, so he took the time to explain the Theory of the Carton to me. He also said that there was a way you could call a person's bank and see if they had enough money in their account to cover a check. He had called, and Nadine (47 years of age, I was shocked to discover) didn't have the money. Now all we can hope for is a magical deposit (doubtful, since Nadine is likely a crackhead) into her account before our check goes in, or that Nadine is pulled over at some point and taken to jail for the bad check. In any case, we probably won't ever see that money.

At the bar the other night, I was flagged down by a pudgy, thirty-something white guy in a polo shirt and a baseball cap. He was drunk(ish) and loud, but nice enough. I got him his drink and he tried to start a conversation with me. He was friendly and polite, but I didn't feel much like chatting, so I gave him a couple short answers and then made myself busy at the opposite end of the bar. Minutes later I discovered that he had found another victim: a middle-aged black guy who was also drunk and more than happy to have somebody to talk to. Well, good for them both, I thought. Then while I was making a drink for another customer, I realized that the Pudgy White Guy was "talking black" to the Middle Aged Black Guy. Loudly. He was making huge hand gestures, and demonstrating, he thought, his solidarity with Black People by changing the whole grammatical structure of his sentences. It was quite embarrassing. Fortunately, the Middle Aged Black Guy didn't seem bothered at all. I pointed the Pudgy White Guy out to the other bartender, who went down to eavesdrop. He returned, cracking up. We told another customer, and then another employee. Then I got busy for a few minutes and forgot about the guy.

When I saw him again, I noted to my utter horror that he had turned his baseball cap slightly to one side. Oh. My. Fucking. God. And I thought to myself that somebody should really make a public service announcement. Just because you've seen every season of The Wire does not mean that you know anything about The Black Experience. I don't care how many hip-hop and rap records you have downloaded into your iP0d. I don't care how many black friends you have. You have got to stop acting like that because you are embarrassing all people everywhere. You are acting like a condescending douche and no matter how many black friends you think you have, they are all laughing at you behind your back.
Now, does anybody know who we can get to record this announcement? A local rapper, perhaps?

Adventures In Southern Gardening.

Is it too soon to start making a list of things I'm not going to miss about living here? Probably, since we don't really have a move date yet. But, you know what they say: No better time than the present and all that.
So I was out in the garden this morning. I have been meaning to put up a trellis for the cukes and zukes to climb on, but since we don't own a ladder I wasn't sure how I was going to get those seven-foot stakes pounded into the ground. I have had a couple people offer to bring over ladders, etc., but have never managed to work it out. So today, I got all McGuyver. I backed my car through the yard and up against the side of the garden, then hopped onto the trunk and stood there and pounded in the stake. All I have is a rubber mallet, so there were flying chunks of it spewing out and I was using both hands, wobbling precariously all the while. I'm sure the people in the office complex behind me were highly entertained. The whole time I was standing up there I thought how lucky I was not to be trying to use a ladder, as I would surely have fallen off and broken something.
For the second stake, I had to recruit the b.h. I had already worn a blister into the crook of my left hand, and since the ground seemed a lot harder on that side it was near impossible for me to get the stake in. He did fine, though, and then went back in to resume backing up the shit on our desktop, which we think is virus-ey and dying.
So I unrolled the metal fence, and wound it around post A, folding the edge around the post as I went and using my other hand to fend off the other end of the fence, which wanted to roll itself back up again with me in the middle. I was doing this very slowly and methodically, even though it was hotter than hell and I was sweating like a whore in church, because I had a vivid picture in my head of trying to drive myself to the hospital with a section of fence stuck in my eye, and frankly I had no idea how we'd both fit in the car. What I didn't realize, however, was that while I was being so careful with my hands and my eyes, I was standing with my right foot planted firmly on a fire ant hill.
After I ripped my shoe off, I had to hop on one foot most of the way through the yard and all the way to the porch, where I began ripping off my clothes while running through the house to the shower.
No,I will not miss fire ants, but I suspect those people in the office complex are really going to miss me.

Quote for the day.

"Despite the common delusion to the contrary the philosophy of doubt is far more comforting than that of hope. The doubter escapes the worst penalty of the man of faith and hope; he is never disappointed, and hence never indignant. The inexplicable and irremediable may interest him, but they do not enrage him, or, I, may add, fool him. This immunity is worth all the dubious assurances ever foisted upon man. It is pragmatically impregnable. Moreover, it makes for tolerance and sympathy. The doubter does not hate his opponents; he sympathizes with them. In the end he may even come to sympathize with God. The old idea of fatherhood submerges in a new idea of brotherhood. God, too, is beset by limitations, difficulties, broken hopes. Is it disconcerting to think of Him thus? Well, is it any less disconcerting to think of Him as able to ease and answer, and yet failing?"- H.L. Mencken. From "Damn, a Book of Calumny" (now out of print, but available in "A Mencken Chrestomathy"; p.96

Vermont, Part Four.

Saturday we visited the school in Montpelier.
It was everything we hoped for and more. Average class size? SEVEN. You can do your internship pretty much wherever you want. Many people choose to do their second internship overseas. All internships are real learning experiences, not peeling potatoes in a corner for twelve hours.
Of course they tell you what you want to hear when they want your money, but we got to talk to actual students and see the actual kitchen/classrooms, so it can't be too far off the mark. The only question now is how much we can afford and how soon we can afford it. I'm already selling off belongings in my mind.

After that we stopped in Waterbury for more coffee (are you detecting a recurring theme here?), stopped at our hotel to get the camera, stopped at B3st Buy to get a new camera card, since the old one had somehow gotten completely erased (Booooooooooooooooo), and went into Burlington again. Saturday afternoon we drove up through a small series of islands on Lake Champlain toward Canada. We didn't have a specific plan, but stopped at a small state park and got out and walked a bit. We were hoping for some real hiking trails, but found none and so wound up driving more than walking. It was pretty, but mostly pointless.

Saturday night was Food Porn Night.

After we got back to our hotel we started talking about the school, about where we might want to live, how long we might stay, etc. It turns out that we both had the same idea. At first we thought that the b.h. would go through the certificate program, which is very basic and lasts only a few months. Once we sat through several informational meetings at the school, though, we both thought that perhaps the Associates Degree was the way to go. The program is two years, and it costs considerably more, but we're both pretty excited about it so we're going to look into it. There are a lot of grants and scholarships and loans out there, and hopefully we'll be able to get our hands on some.

Sunday it was overcast and there was rain in the forecast, so we decided on a museum. When we got there we discovered that it wasn't a large building, but rather a series of smaller ones that you walk between. It actually ended up being to our advantage, because the weather kept most people away and we went through entire buildings without seeing other people. My favorite thing was the display of carousel pieces, but it was also fascinating to see a Monet in an actual house. There were a few, actually, and they look even more awesome (in the literal sense, not in the "Dude!!" sense) when they're hanging in a dining room than they do on a giant wall in a carefully planned gallery at say, the Art Institute. It was just starting to rain when we finished up, but by the time we got to the car it was really coming down and we were both soaked. We went for a late lunch at The Skinny Pancake, which is just a block or so up from the lake. We had been meaning to eat there since our first day, and took great delight in calling it "The Crappery." The food there was also fantastic. I only regret not having room for a dessert crepe. I think crepes are the reason Nutella was invented.
Sunday night we went back to the Flatbread Company again, and this time we stayed for dessert (giant chocolate brownie a la mode).

Monday we drove back out to Montpelier to look around more. We originally thought we would be living in Burlington, but if the b.h. does the two year program he will be taking classes at the Montpelier campus, so we wanted to make sure we thought we could live there. We do. We found the local co-op, drove around some neighborhoods, and walked through the capitol building. I took a picture of the b.h. with a giant portrait of Howard Dean in a rowboat. There are at least three independent bookstores in Montpelier, and nary a B0rders or a B@rnes & N0ble in sight. In fact, we saw very few bigger chain businesses at all. It was strange and kind of refreshing.

Getting home was not fun, and I hope to avoid flying at all costs from here on out, but in all it was a great trip and neither of us can wait to get back. I haven't seen a scale since our return, but I'm willing to bet I gained at least five pounds.

Vermont, Part Three.

After Montpelier we headed over to Cabot to take a tour of the Cheese Factory. We ate a lot of samples, bought three kinds of cheddar (garlic herb, chili lime, and Tuscan) and a cheese board in the shape of the state of Vermont (or New Hampshire, if you flip it over), and a t-shirt with a cartoon beaver that says "dam it". I also picked up some locally made soap.
The factory tour was interesting and informative (for food geeks like us, anyway), and the girl who served as our guide was the daughter of a chemist in the quality control lab. She was hilarious. He looked like Donald Pleasence in Halloween. Everybody there seemed to really enjoy their jobs. The woman in the gift shop was particularly friendly and informative.
After that we headed back into Burlington (lots of driving, we did, but we were trying to get a feel for the place). We went to the lakefront and walked around, and when we were hungry enough we had dinner at The American Flatbread Company. It was packed, of course, but we had a beer while we waited for our table (almost every place we went carried the b.h.'s favorite NA beer, which was a huge bonus) and the time went very quickly. We sat very close to the big wood-fired stove, so we watched all of the pizzas being made. The menu had only two things, really, salad and flatbread pizza, but the ingredients were all fresh and mostly local and everything was very tasty. The whole dining experience took less time than we had waited for our table. That would definitely be a great place to work.
Musically, the whole place was awful. There was crappy jam band music blaring from speakers virtually everywhere we went. This was something we expected, of course, but it didn't make it any easier.

Vermont, Part Two.

Our hotel was a couple miles outside Burlington proper, just off the interstate. We had gotten it through Pr1celine, so we were paying next to nothing and it was much nicer than what we are used to. We unloaded our stuff, washed up and changed clothes, and headed out to explore.
Waterbury was about twenty minutes away, and we figured that visiting Ben & Jerry late on a Thursday afternoon would be better than doing so early on a Friday. We stopped at the Green Mountain coffee roaster on the way and fueled up, and by the time we got to the Ben and Jerry's factory we were just in time to take the 4:20 tour. Sweet. It was quick but interesting. The automated machines reminded me of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. At the end of the tour we got a sample of Cinnibun iced cream. It was only about as big as a large shot of liquor, but it was sickly sweet and I had no need for a cone when we finished the tour. We took a bunch of pictures, walked around a bit, and then got back in the car to head to Burlington.
Burlington is smaller than I thought it would be, which was nice because it made finding stuff a lot easier. We pretty much just drove downtown and parked and walked around until we saw something we wanted to eat.
We ate at a noodle shop called P@cific rim. The food was okay and the service was spotty at best, but we were on vacation and couldn't have cared less. They were also out of several things on the menu, and I began to suspect that there was an elaborate Fuck With Hey Bartender plot unfolding, but I managed to press on. I had a decent local beer on tap but I can't remember what kind.
We were both impressed by the lakefront. There were a lot of nice restaurants, and nothing seemed outrageously priced just because it was on the water. We parked at a meter and walked along while the sun was setting. There were large wooden swings placed at intervals along a biking and foot path on the lakefront, and after we walked around a bit we took advantage of one. We watched a lot of people walking their dogs, which of course made us miss ours, and noted that many of them were swimming in the lake - something that Kilgore will really enjoy. After the sun set we made our way back to the hotel and watched TV until we crashed early.
Friday morning we got up early and went back to Green Mountain for coffee. Then we drove up to Mt. Pelier to get the lay of the land. We found downtown and parked, walking a short way until we located the NECI restaurant. It was a beautiful day. SLightly overcast and breezy and cool, so we sat outside for lunch. When I went in to use the rest room I saw signs pointing to classrooms, and there was a window into the kitchen. Our waitress was very nice, totally competent, and seemed to really enjoy her job, which was comforting because she was obviously a NECI (they pronounce it "necky", which I find very weird) student. Anyway, the meal was great, the latte was perfect, and the people next to us had a dog. The b.h. had some kind of seafood soup thing with mussels, and I had a house made black bean burger. When the guy at the next table got up to get some water for his dog, who was seated out on the sidewalk a couple feet away, he was accosted by Mormons. The b.h. took a picture. I wish he had taken video, because their speech was hilarious.
After we ate we walked around a bit. The local library is in a building that is very old, very large, and totally beautiful They were having a book sale, and even though I had no desire to lug books around in my luggage, I had to step in and take a peek. I love the smell of libraries. I did wind up buying a book, because it was old and beautiful and they let me name my own price (which was two dollars, for which I got a very earnest and surprised "Thank you"). I'll try to post a picture of it later.

Quote of the Week.

"We really don't know what we're doing folks, so we're just gonna throw a bunch of things up in the air and hope it lands okay."

That was from an attendant on our final flight home last night. The b.h. and I started laughing out loud, much to the consternation of our fellow passengers.

It did land okay, and after all was said and done we only got home about two hours late. This despite bad weather having canceled another flight, leaving some of those passengers stranded an extra two days. If they were offering free hotel rooms, I think the b.h. and I would gladly have jumped at the offer to stay. Vermont is lovely.

For various reasons we haven't been talking about it out loud much, but the b.h. is looking at culinary school. The New England Culinary Institute is his top choice. His only choice right now, in fact. The class sizes are tiny, the teaching is very hands on, and the focus is on local, organic, and sustainable foods. We love it. Despite having a very short growing season, Vermont farmers are very committed and there is (purportedly) an abundance of local produce to be had year round. When we were there, we had local cheese and veg with virtually every meal. It was fantastic. We ate a ton.

Wednesday night we went to Atlanta to stay with our friends J and B, since we had a very early flight. We went out for pizza and beer in their neighborhood, then stayed up late and talked and caught up. We woke before dawn on Thursday, pounded some much needed coffee, and B drove us to the train station, where we caught the first of two trains to the airport.

We decided to keep our bags rather than checking them. This required quite a bit of finagling with all of our toothpaste, hair care products, deodorant, etc. Apparently now there is even a required size for the ziplock bag you keep that shit in. I of course managed to forget to bag something, having packed after working a very long opening shift at the store on Wednesday. Luckily I had a very understanding TSA employee go through my bag, and he did not throw out my eighteen dollar hair gunk though he had every right to.

Our flight was, as usual, loaded with screaming kids. This happens to me every time I set foot in a plane, and is one reason why I almost never fly. I'm not big on kids on the first place, and being trapped in a tiny space with several of them screaming at once tends to make me want to scoop out my ovaries. Ah well, what are you gonna do, right? I took an antihistamine and promptly passed out. I awoke briefly when we landed and took off in Baltimore, but I totally missed the changeover in passengers. When I woke up during our descent into Burlington, I though my teeth were going to rip out of my head. Another reason I don't particularly enjoy flying: my sinuses are fucked. I know other people feel it when they fly, but I'm pretty sure most people don't feel it like I do. I squirmed and clutched my arm rest, desperately trying to relieve some of the pressure by yawning and swallowing and whatever means I could. Luckily there was some breathtaking scenery to distract me. Vermont is exactly how I pictured it. Green and mountainous, with cows and little white church steeples speckling the landscape.
When we got out of the plane it was about seventy degrees, which at noon in July is more than a Georgia resident ever dares to hope for. We got our rental car without a hitch, and stopped for our first meal at one of those fifties-style roadside railroad car diners that you always see on the food network. We weren't expecting much, but we were both starved so we didn't really care.
To our delight we discovered that the place was owned by a Greek family, and the menu featured several authentic Greek foods that we don't see often and were certainly not expecting. Unfortunately, they were out of all of the vegetarian items, so I watched the b.h. eat a gyro while I ate a grilled cheese sandwich and cold fries. Booooo.

Food Porn.

We're on vacation in Burlington, Vermont right now. Last night the b.h. and I consumed the best food we've had in ages from This place. We shared a cheese plate (all local, all fabulous, with figs and carmelized onions and lilac infused local honey), I had the strawberry spinach salad with pecans and local gorgonzola, the b.h. had duck confit, and I had the Moroccan grilled tofu plate, and we shared a (decidedly *not* wafer thin) warm lemon bread pudding. When we finally hoisted ourselves from the table, we waddled back to our rental car and returned immediately to our hotel to fall down.
I will have more to report later, but for now we're off to the local brewery.

!

Oh. My. God.

Cool.

This is really interesting. (Hat tip, Andrew Sullivan).

Fair Warning.

There is a ridiculously cool rock show going on at Tasty World on Thursday night. Hayride, Lake City, and The Dumps. All three bass players are bartenders at Tasty World, so it will be a basstender extravaganza. Special guest bassist Murphy Wolford. Deals on Bass beer if you play bass. I'll try to upload the flyer here later if I can. It's funny as shit.

Employment Update.

So I got another job. This one is at a liquor store. I'm working mostly in the wine department, which is great, because I have so much to learn and I am very interested in the subject.
So far it has gone very well, though I am exhausted after working both jobs for several days in a row. I like all the people I work with. I've known a few of them for a long time, which always makes things easier. Customers, however, can still really suck. I had forgotten how depressing scary alcoholics can be. It's totally different, to me at least, to see people drinking early in the day. Especially people who come in for an airline bottle to slip in their coffee during their lunch hour. Ick.
The good news is there will be plenty of Customer of the Day/Night stories from this job as well. I've already got one scratched on a post-it in the back of my brain that I'll share when I'm more up to writing. Right now I'm going to get horizontal, play my new Glossary CD over and over*, and tuck in to The Yiddish Policeman's Union before I get to the rest of the John Adams movie I started yesterday. HBO does such incredible work. I highly recommend the movie for history geeks and movie lovers alike. It does an excellent job of portraying our founding fathers as people, rather than mythical figures, and personally I fond that the truth is way more interesting anyway. Ben Franklin was a fucking weirdo. I can't wait 'til they make the movie about him.
I'll be catching up on blog reading later and a bit tomorrow, I imagine. Happy Sunday everybody.

*I finally saw them on Thursday night at the 40 Watt, and I can't tell you how amazing it was. Think Marah meets Whiskeytown, but without all the bullshit rockstar attitude. Beautiful. Oh yeah- their new album is available for download - free! - at their myspace page. So you have no excuse not to check it out.

Finally,AthFest Photos.

The guy in the bunny head must have been sweaty as shit. It was a million degrees and there were SO many people at the main stage for Modern Skirts.




This is a shot of Will backstage at the 40 Watt.





The graffiti in there would take hours and hours to read, but I got the important stuff on film - Like this one:




Clever shit, huh? And there are drawings just like it all over backstage areas all over the country- probably all over the world.

Here's Will in action. I was closest to him, so the pics of him turned out best. You can see Matt there in the background, but not as well as I'd like.



Luckily, I got a nice one of Matt showing off yet another talent:



Do you see how that van is packed? A work of art, it is.


Here are a couple pics of the Don Chambers & GOAT show at the GA Theater:

Control.

Or rather, Control. Great movie. I never knew much about Joy Division, but I have always been of the opinion that Anton Corbijn is a genius behind the camera. Anyway, the movie is beautiful, but i don't recommend sitting on your unemployed (underemployed, anyway) ass on a rainy afternoon watching it by yourself. Fuck. That was depressing.

Customer of the Night #21: Angry Drunken Mumbler

Friday night was so busy that I hardly had time to pay any attention to anything, much less bother to get pissed off. For the most part people were really drunk, but polite enough, and everything was going smoothly. It was busy enough that we had three bartenders, with a barback that was also slinging a drink here and there. So this guy that I haven't seen all night comes up and I go over and ask
"What can I do for you?"
"Grlmphclosemlghtabgrlmmph," he replied, making a swirlie motion in the air with his hand.
"Close your tab?" I responded. I am fluent in Drunkanese. "Okay, what's your last name?"
"Grlgggrmmph."
"Great. I'll be right back with that."

I retrieved his card, ran it through the credit card machine, and stopped to find a pen, at which point I ran into T, who seemed a bit testy. Apparently his night was not going quite as smoothly. We exchanged a quick couple of words, and as I was turning back to the Drunk Mumbly Guy, he looked blearily in the general direction of my left ear and demanded to know where his drink was.
"You didn't order a drink. You asked me to close your tab."
"Mmmglph... bullshit...drink mmmglph."
"No, you didn't ask for a drink, and you obviously don't need one, because you are totally wasted, so please sign your tab."
He flipped me off, and before I could say another word T was in front of me, pointing in the guy's face and telling him to "sign his shit and get the fuck out."
The guy continued to protest, and T poked him hard in the side of the head. I knew what he was doing, and I found it a bit unnecessary.
"I've got it," I told him. I was wrong. There followed much repetition, me trying to get him to sign his credit card slip and him being drunk and stupid, until finally i went over to my boss.
"I don't have time for this shit, can you please handle it?"
N, the other bartender, who is bigger than T or me, went around and escorted the guy to my boss, who was waiting with his card and the slip.
In the end, the Mumbler was escorted from the building by his throat to the sidewalk, but he tipped us so that was okay. Idiot.

Well, shit.

R.I.P. George Carlin.

AthFest Roundup.

Holy Crap am I exhausted. Thursday night I was off. The b.h. and I went over to Jenn's for dinner. Some friends from Rotterdam are in town and they're staying at Chez Pointy Pointy. Matt made a lovely lasagna and we all ate 'til it hurt.

The thing about Chris and Corine is that they seem like such kindred spirits. I first met them about six or seven years ago on the porch at Tasty World during AthFest. It was totally random, of course. My friend Jason and I were bartending, and while we were between shifts we both went outside and there they were. We struck up a conversation and lost track of time, and then Chris and Corine left to see the Truckers and I din't see them again.
Not until 2005, at least. The b.h. and I drove to Denton Texas to see the final Slobberbone shows. We were traveling with our friend P, who would break off in Texas and head to S0uth by S0uthwest when we returned to Athens. The b.h. is in P's band, and P plays in multiple other bands as well (welcome to Athens, where everybody's a musical whore). So we drove to Texas and we went to the show, and as I was standing in Dan's Silverleaf, I turned and saw Corine. I knew immediately that it was her. I did that thing, where people sputter a bit and point and go "I know that I know you, but- here? Where? Why? What the-?" I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Lots of people travel for music the way the b.h. and I do. It was a fun reunion, but it was short-lived.
Then last year we went to St. Loius for TwangF3st. Standing in the Schlafly Taproom, chatting with the Centro-matic, I once again turned and saw Chris and Corine. Turns out they also knew Jamie, as well as our buddy T1m Easton, and a host of other like-minded folks that all made the pilgrimage. We wound up at a very strange late night party, and I encouraged them to come to AthFest this year. We exchanged e-mail addresses and went on our way.
Flash forward to Tuesday afternoon. My phone rings and it's Jenn, and she's sitting at Cutters Pub with Corine and Chris. I had no idea that they were coming, but I was thrilled. Apparently they lost our e-mail addresses somewhere along the way, so they never got in touch. Ah well, at least they made it.
So Thursday night was great, because we finally got to hang out in a non rock show environment. Real conversations, good stories, etc. Then we did go to a show. The show was a blast. Nick Bielli and Carlton Owens proved themselves the rock Gods that they are (and then Nick rushed back to work), and we talked to strangers and had a few beers and generally had a good time. When I went back to the bar to pick up the b.h., somebody broke a main water pipe in the back hallway at the bar and water started pouring out all over the floor. We shut the water off, called the plumber, and arranged for him to come out the next morning.
Friday morning I got a call way too early from a lady whose water had also been shut off in the process of our late-night problem solving. Having had a whole four hours sleep, I leapt out of bed, washed my face and tried to flatten out my hair and we both ran out the door.
When we got to the bar there was a lot of calling around for a plumber (we couldn't wake ours), and a lot of plumber's tape. We wrapped the pipe as best we could and turned the water on so as not to inconvenience that other woman any further. Luckily the pipe was leaking onto a drain in the floor, so it wasn't terribly messy. Once the plumber and S got there, the b.h. and I went to meet Corine and Chris for lunch. We ate at The National, and then the b.h. and I had running around to do so we took off. The b.h. played a show on Friday night while I slaved away at the bar. It was a pretty good night. Good music and so busy that it went very quickly. It all ended with a lot of people on the bar at 2:15 am. I'll try to post the pictures later.
Saturday we had to b00tleg some beer due to a misunderestimation (thank you, Mr. President) of exactly how much people like to drink. The b.h. and I went to the store, where our friend was kind enough to loan us his truck to deliver it so we wouldn't have to try to cram 17 cases of beer into our T0y0ta.
After that we went to Jenn's and ate- once again, fucking fantastic. I may die from banana pudding one day, but at least I'll die happy. We went straight to the 40 Watt from there. I stopped out at the main stage to see Modern Skirts. They were fantastic, as usual, but the sound on the side of the stage was shitty and I would have had to walk back three blocks to stand in the front. It was that crowded.
So we hid in the air-conditioned confines of the Watt, catching up with the Centro-matic guys and marveling at the back stage graffiti. I have often threatened to make a coffee table book of backstage areas in small clubs, because they are all hilariously similar in their utter juvenilility. (Yes, it is a word. I just made it up.)Again, pics to follow. Can't upload them on this here laptop.
Centro-matic was, as always, amazing. The new songs are glorious, even more so when I heard them again today on our new vinyl copy of the record. Those guys should really be huge by now. I'm happy for my own sake that they're not, of course, but it would be nice if they could get paid.
While we were backstage, Will asked the b.h. if he had gotten a message he had left two days before. Is the offer still open for us to crash with you guys tonight? But of course, we said. We hadn't gotten the message, but it would be no problem.
No problem except for the fact that the dishes hadn't been done in five days, nor had the laundry, nor had our carpet seen a vacuum this week. So after they finished their set, I ran out of the Watt, over to my car, and sped back to the house to tidy up. The result of my thirty minute whirlwind calls to mind a saying about laws and sausages- that you don't want to see how they get made. I emptied and filled the dishwasher, shoving the remaining items which were too big into a cooler, on which I stacked some things so nobody would open it. Laundry was crammed into baskets and run up the stairs. Sheets from the guest bed were freshened with a dryer sheet and some lavender essential oil, ditto the couch cover. The dogs were staring at me like I was insane (they were right), and barely able to keep out of my way as I ran the vacuum cleaner and dusted at the same time.
The thing is I doubt the guys would have noticed or cared what our house looked like, but I couldn't bear for them to see it like that.
I got back downtown in time to see some of The Empties and some of Idiot Slowdown at Tasty World. The crowd for Idiot Slowdown was so horrifying that I lasted only a few songs. Swooning dumbshit girls and big, oafy guys, all flailing about dangerously and drunkenly. The band sounded great but there were only about eleven brain cells in the whole room, and I couldn't stay. The Empties did a cover of The Glands. Can't recall the song at the moment, but it was cool.
Next I went down to the Georgia Theater to see Don Chambers and GOAT. Girls were swooning there as well, but they weren't encroaching on my personal space while they did it, so I didn't mind. The band sounded fucking great. Best band in Athens, if you ask me. There was a small group of girls standing directly in front of Pistol, totally mesmerized. Will and I were cracking up. I took some pictures.
After that I went with Corine, Chris, and Centro-matic back down to the Watt so the guys could unload. As we were piling into the van, Pistol walked up.
"Did you lose your blonde?" I asked.
"Shhh," he replied, his eyes growing wide.
"Is she behind you?'
He nodded. Actually, she was behind me, but drunk enough that she had no idea what I had said.
We got back here and everybody pretty much fell out. The guys had to be on the road by 7:15, so I barely even heard them this morning. All in all a successful weekend. I'm just glad I get to recover tonight.

Erie Silence.

My co-worker S got a tooth yanked this morning. He hasn't said two words in the hour we've been together. Anybody who knows S will understand how weird this is. I feel like he's hatching a terrorist fist-bump plot.

Crotchety.

There seems to be a rush of people looking for jobs right now. I have lost count of the number of people who have come into the bar this week inquiring. It's unfortunate, really, because there are NO bar jobs to be had in this town in the dead of summer. What's more unfortunate is the resume' I got from a girl on Monday.
Objective: "I wish to seek a position(...) that my abilities with customer service..."
This was at the top, before I read that she was a HOPE scholarship student and that she had maintained a 3.2 GPA all the way through college, from which she had already graduated. With a degree in English, and a minor in fucking Journalism. Seriously.
I don't mean to sound a prude or anything, but are there any fucking standards anymore?
I wouldn't deny the girl a job because she has no grammar skills - they really aren't necessary in our line of work - but seriously?!
Your objective is to wish to seek? And you have a degree in journalism?! It really does explain some of the ridiculous headlines ("Man accused of tying son to tree in Court"). This shit makes me want to tear my hair out.

Oh yeah- Get off my lawn!!!

Brilliant.

I finally got my copy of The Signal in the mail. The b.h. and I watched it on Friday between work and work. It was even better than I remembered, possibly because when I saw it before I was watching on a smallish screen from about a hundred feet away. In any case, I'm sure you can all find it on Netflix, so go ahead. On top of being very entertaining, it was nice to see a friend actually doing what they're supposed to be doing. (Excellent work, A.J. We're all really excited for you.) Outside of musicians, that doesn't happen to me much.
Things are looking good on the job front. Got a callback and will probably interview on Friday. ST
till waiting to hear from the other place. In the meantime, I am spending a lot of time at the bar this week, since my boss is out of town.
And of course, with AthFest rapidly approaching, I am not sweating the money thing much. It should be a good weekend for us. Incidentally, if you aren't already aware, Centro-matic is playing at the Forty Watt on Saturday, just after Modern Skirts finish up the main stage. Hope to see you all there. I just got a call from Jenn, and it turns out that Chris and Corine are in from the Netherlands. I'm looking forward to seeing them. The first time I met them was at another AthFest several years back, on the front porch at Tasty World. I have since run into them in Denton, Texas (at Dan's Silverleaf for the last Slobberbone show), as well as on our trip to St. Louis last year. Weird how that happens. Again with the small world thing. Anyway, I am glad they are here. After Centro-matic I will probably head over to Tasty World to catch The Help, Idiot Slowdown, and Rockinwood.
Lots of interesting stuff on the horizon, possible weird shit and mostly good shit, that I look forward to being able to discuss soon. Don't let the suspense kill you while I go off to see the new Hulk movie.

It's a Small World After All.

Got a call from Peggy Plants today. It seems that my contract has run out at the B.S. Squared. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Since I hadn't gotten dressed or had any coffee yet when I found out, I didn't really react at all except to thank her and hang up. Then I drove the b.h. to work and went to find another job. Went to the new location of an old health food store, where as it turns out, they no longer carry any food and are focusing on vitamin supplements and skin care products. They are not hiring, but they were doing free organic facials (tee hee), so I stuck around for a few minutes and let a total stranger rub a bunch of goop onto my face. It never ceases to amaze me how much crap people actually wear on a daily basis. I thoroughly enjoyed the cleanser/toner/moisturizer portion of it, but the rest was pretty hilarious. Clown-like, even. I smiled and thanked the woman and left.
I don't know if i have ever mentioned it before, but Athens is an incredibly small town for it's size. Some might say too small. They would be (sort of) right. When I got to the Other Health Food Store, I stopped and chatted with my friend D, who works in the grocery department. I mentioned my free facial and my discomfort with the amount of makeup I was wearing, but he didn't seem to notice. He gave me an application, and while we were standing there a former co-worker of mine walked up. This former co-woker and I are not really speaking, for reasons that I don't care to go into, and D had no idea, and so felt the need to introduce us to each other. We both kind of looked uncomfortable for a minute and quickly and awkwardly assured D that we had, in fact, met. Then we exchanged some pleasantries and she moved on. I have no wish to intrude upon this person's pleasantly hey bartender-free existence, but I really, really need a job, and the Health Food Store is one of the few places in town that has a good health insurance plan. Plus, I really like healthy food. So i hope she will indulge me.
I went and sat in the cafeteria area to fill out my application. On the way there, I saw three people I knew. Two of them work at the Health Food Store and one of them was shopping. (Did I mention how small this town is?) Anyway, there were only two other people in the room where i was sitting, and they were having a loud and very lively (to the point of distracting) conversation which involved several people with whom I am familiar. Apparently these two dipshits have no idea how small this town is, because the woman was loudly discussing her ex-boyfriend (first and last name mentioned at least five times), with whom I am quite familiar, having SHARED A NEEDLE with another person they were talking about. SHe said it without any malice at all, and having heard so much of this conversation I was sure that they are still friendly with one another, which is all the more reason why I was appalled that she would repeatedly mention his first and last name in the same sentence with SHARED A NEEDLE. These people were truly idiotic and so completely compelling that it took me well over fifteen minutes to fill out a very simple application form. I almost went and got myself lunch just so I could stay in there. There was talk of his divorce, of a woman whom he had befriended who wound up stalking him (puzzling to me once I turned and actually saw him), a woman who, of course, the woman he was speaking also knew, because everybody knows everyfuckingbody here. She apparently sent him pornographic pictures of herself. It was seriously entertaining. I am going to leave you now and see if I can't find them on MySpace, because I just know there is more to the story.
Oh, I also made another stop and I think I found myself a job, but I don't want to jinx it so I'll have to tell you about it later.

I'm having a really weird day. Can't describe it- don't even want to try, but suffice to say that I watched Rude Boy and then drove to the theater to see the Sex & The City movie.
I'm glad I went. I needed to get out of the house. Say what you will about that show, but it was well written, and so is the movie. I find it amusing that people are talking so much about it. Aside from the usual "chick flick" remarks (whatever- it is,and we're all aware of that), there are people who are really, really pissed off about it. Why? Because it enjoyed the highest grossing opening weekend ever for a movie about women? I love that men have the balls to be "tired of" the hooplah, of the fact that women are so excited about this movie. As if we should apologize for getting in the driver's seat when everybody knows the vaginas belong in the back. (Even my spellcheck is in on the act. It doesn't like the word "vaginas".) Whatever. Has it even occurred to anybody that if there were more movies about women- real women, with opinions and jobs and lives and female friends who aren't exactly like them- then this one wouldn't stick out so much? I don't get it. In any case, my enjoyment had nothing to do with feminism or politics or any of that. I just thought it was fun.
It had rained (yay!!) while I was in the theater, and my drive home was like a reverse game of Frogger, with frogs leaping all over the road and me swerving to try to avoid flattening them. When I pulled into our driveway, a large clump of kudzu ran in front of me, camouflaging a large and presumably happy beaver. No rain has left them nothing to dam, so now I guess he'll be getting back to work. Which means that the b.h. will have to do the same.
I just got a text message from the b.h.:
"Sometimes two people who can't sing will accidentally harmonize. This is not the case right now."
I'm sure he regrets quitting drinking.

Also, this beer kicks total ass.

Waiting for Godowen.

So I ordered my copy of The Signal, assuming (there I go again, Z) that it would be delivered on the release date. No such luck. Damn. I didn't rent it from Vision Video because I thought it would be waiting for me when I got here yesterday. Crap. I still haven't seen the finished version, but even in rough cut I thought it was fantastic. Go get it, and tell me how it is. Amazon sent it via the U.S. Mail, so who knows when it might get here. I suppose hacking back all the overgrown vines in the driveway might help. Crap.
Alright then.

More Reasons To Love The British.

Thanks to Matt for sending me this.

Inspiration.

I have Andrew Sullivan to thank for this. Just what I needed: Another really cool distraction.

Last night I wound up seeing Craig's new band at the Caledonia, followed by Don Chambers. The show was great, intensified (perhaps) by the heat. I mostly sat outside with Jenn and a few other folks, but once Donnie started I had to go in because I couldn't hear him over the awful shit at farm 255. I don't know what the band was called, but they had no business playing outside, or anywhere within earshot of the general public.
When Donnie finished I went over to farm to catch Idiot Slowdown, who more than made up for the shit that preceded them. Seriously, those guys are fucking awesome. And they were having a particularly great night. I only wish I had remembered earplugs, because maybe my ears wouldn't be ringing right now. Anyway, catch them at Tasty World upstairs for Athfest. Saturday night, long after Centro-matic is through, so no excuses.

I actually finished a second book before my Novel reading Month time ran out. Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict was fun- a nice pot boiler, as my brother-in-law would call it. Nothing like the great literature being created by Michael Chabon, but I did manage to finish it in three days, unlike The Yiddish Policeman's Union, which I have still barely cracked. Chabon requires my full attention and wakefulness, neither of which I've had much of recently.
I found out on Monday that my hours were cut- by more than half!- at the BS2. Which is a huge shock to my system and my bank account, but since the temperature has been well into the 90s all week, I can honestly say I was a bit relieved. Of course, I will likely need to find a different job now, but what the hell. Unfortunately E was layed off, so now I have to face the BS2 with Scooter as my only co-worker. Sigh.
We went to see the new Indiana Jones movie on Tuesday night. I didn't hate it the way that most people seem to, though I found the CGI animals to be both pointless and annoying. Fucking George Lucas. Also, it apparently did not occur to anyone that the skull, being made of Crystal, should have weighed more. I noticed that the first time somebody picked it up, and after that it was like the laugh track on M*A*S*H, which I will never forgive my sister for pointing out because it is all I hear when I see that show now. All things considered, though, I was entertained. There was no way I was going to wait for that to come out on video. I saw the first IJ movie in the theater, and it shaped who I was as a kid. I seriously wanted to be an archaeologist for awhile.
Tonight there are several shows I'm looking into. We'll see where I land. For now I'm going to watch some TV.

Oh yeah- my tomatoes are infested with fucking aphids, too. Fuckers.

Sunday, Sunday, and finally SUNDAY.

We got up early, like I said, so I had some time to get laundry started and have some coffee before starting my day. I had talked to Jenn about maybe getting breakfast at Big City Bread, but when I called her she didn't answer. When she called me back she sounded like she had one foot in her grave. I know the sound of a hangover, and I know when I'm hung over the last thing I want is sunlight or food, so we rain-checked for next weekend and I got on about some other business. Ran some errands with the b.h., then went to a party for the cutest little muppet two-year-old in town. I realized while we were there that when people stop going out after they have kids it really is because they can't. Watching my friends chase after, monitor, and try to entertain theirs is all the proof I need that I never want any. They are all adorable, though. It was a really great party.
After that we headed over to the 40 Watt for a wedding. It was strange to see all those bar folks in the daylight, but everybody looked sharp and we all managed to get by, sunlight be damned.
After that we headed back here to watch a movie and sit on our butts. Once pantsless, real Sunday commenced and it was quite relaxing and nice.

I woke this morning to a thud, and when I sat up I found Wyatt, dazed and I daresay a little embarrassed, shaking out the cobwebs on the floor next to the bed. It was early, and though I had sworn to sleep until at least eleven, I was already wide awake, so I stumbled downstairs for some coffee.

Last night I bartended a wedding for some douchey former frat kid types. It's funny how they can get older (and look even older than they are, thanks to the fake tanning and whatnot) and never change. By "funny", I of course mean pathetic and gross. There were two girls there who were so plastic and terrifying that I couldn't stop staring at them. The Blonde One was bitchy and never made eye contact with me no matter what. The other two bartenders were guys, you see, so she had no use for me. She and her Hooker-like Friend both bought a round of shots from FB, and they bought one for him and "the other guy bartender" as well. But not for me. Not that I wanted one, mind you, but that is a really shitty thing to do. I think she was pissed off because my tits were nicer than hers and I didn't have to buy them. Her Hooker-like Friend was brunette, scarily tan, and wearing a skimpy white top with no bra (to a wedding- very classy) and short shorts. She kept standing with her chest puffed out like a rooster - also very classy - and one hand on her hip. They were loud in an attention-seeking way, and nobody at the wedding liked them except the two guys they were with. I think it is possible that they were both hookers. If so, I hope they weren't expensive.
There was another chick who was also incredibly bitchy to me. She was actually attractive, dark-haired and with a sense of style that wasn't as cookie cutter as everyone else in the room, but her attitude pretty much ruined it. After the second time she barked an order at me I stopped asking what she wanted and started opening her shitty domestic beer and shoving it at her when I saw her coming.
I swear to the gods, despite the snarky nature of these missives, I am actually a very nice person behind the bar. After all, it doesn't behoove me to start off an evening acting put out that people expect me to wait on them. I actually enjoy my job quite a bit, and my philosophy as a bartender has always been to treat people like they are my guests. The problem comes when your party gets crashed by assholes. When that happens, I can't help but respond. Luckily my boss had warned me in advance that these were "Horrible people," so I was ready. My expectations were low and my tolerance was high.
There was a couple there with two children. The woman was pretty in a soccer mom way, blonde and yuppie, with a balding blonde husband and two Hitler Youth kids that kept being fed soda after sugary caffeinated soda. They got more hyper and more annoying, and their parents got madder and more reactionary. Made me want to kill them all. The guy had a one word vocabulary: "Guinness." This was grunted at each of us bartenders in turn, without a please, a thank you, or an acknowledgment that we were, in fact, people. I started saying "You're welcome very loudly each time I set a drink in front of him. It didn't have any effect. To those people we aren't people, after all, we're The Help. Well, The Help was getting paid by the Father Of The Bride, one of maybe two nice people in the whole room, and The Help had a guarantee, so The Help kept their heads down, smiled and laughed and joked with TFOTB, and put as many drinks as possible across the bar. I poured the well drinks STOUT, dreaming of the wretched morning that would follow for those people and their toilets.
The band was horrible, too. They played some old Motown songs and what would have been cool soul numbers, but they were so white that everything sounded like J1mmy Fucking Buffett. It was horrible. At least they were nice, though. At one point I served one of them a beer, and I said

"You must be in the band."

"Because of my shirt?"

"No. Because you actually said 'please'."

He looked horrified, then pulled out his wallet and stuffed a few dollars in the empty tip jar.

When all was said and done I made an assload of money for not very much work. And, unlike those people, I didn't have to wake up and be-well, one of them.


Finally finished Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste. Fucking brilliant. Have started The Yiddish Policemen's Union, by Michael Chabon. I'm also due to pick up a book from the b.h.'s mom tomorrow. I started reading it when we bought it for her, then gave it to her, and now I need to borrow it back and finish it before his sister leaves town on the 12th, so she can read it on the plane going home. So I haven't been very good at reading this month, but I'm starting to get better. My hours at the BS2 are about to get cut for the season, so I suspect that I'll start tearing through books again.

Betrayal.

"This was not part of the deal!" I shout, hurling a pine cone at his head.

He ducks his head briefly and says nothing.

"Seriously, why would you do this to me? After five years? We have never once had a fight- not even a disagreement. I know you didn't trust me at first, but things have been going so well."

He remains unmoved.

"You are such an asshole," I hiss, not quite under my breath, hitching the hose up over my shoulder. He looks at me blankly, completely unapologetic.

I turn my back on him, watering the lantana. I am seething with rage.

"I gave you strawberries!" I know this argument is futile, but I have to say my piece. The dog is pacing nervously at my feet. He has seen me like this before and he doesn't like it, but he knows there is nothing he can do.

The turtle floats about five feet from shore, munching the last of what used to be a two and a half foot tall Canna contemplatively. I squirt him with the hose and stalk off in despair.

I heard somewhere that there is good eating on one of those. He is very lucky that I am a vegetarian.