Netless

Im writing this from the bar terminal at work. I have no net access at home. Its like losing a limb or something -- I feel so incomplete. I'll get fired for this if caught, plus the touchscreen keyboard is a pain in the ass, so I'll end here. Much more later when I get the laptop to a WiFi hotspot...

Pain In The Ass

Yes, all those commas and periods were COPY AND PASTE motherfucker so kiss my ass.

Random Lists

I read McSweeney's because I know that the best writing of my generation is coming from the school of metaliterary snarkiness best exemplified by that bashful bunch. Who better to diagnose and treat our ill age than painfully self-conscious writers whose IQ is equalled only by their preciousness?

OK, it's just sour grapes: they wouldn't publish my list which was "Words I've Never Encountered While Working A New York Times Crossword Puzzle" The sole entry was: "1. Cunt". For some reason that wasn't worth publishing. Even in light of the "scumbag" mini-scandal, which all crossword afficianados already know about (for everyone else, just google it, I really don't want to take the time to explain).

So, as McSweeneys won't have me, I'll have them. I propose to present lists that are antithetical to those chosen by the rosy-cheeked editorial staff of McSweeneys. Here we go:
OK I submit More about Chuck and stuff tomrrow

Rational Neographic Magazine

The thrilling challenges of low-altitude mountaineering.

Chuck Blythe Has Left The Building

When I moved back to Birmingham around 1990 I took an apartment in Southside (1414 15th Avenue South to be exact) with my girlfriend Anita Our building had four units and faced a dilapidated little house shaded by a dead willow tree Chuck Blythe lived there Chuck had stapled painted paper plates to every inch of the walls Every horizontal surface was covered was littered with bits of wire bolts nuts and assorted electronic detritus Chuck taught electronics but wanted to be an artist He was a great neighbor to have for a late night insomniac like me I'd be awake at three AM and I'd make a pot of coffee and take it across the street Chuck was always awake I don't know when he slept but he was always up for coffee and a little conversation Chuck was a cosmic Christian He was convinced that the End Times were upon us and he had sketched out elaborate plans for a compound in the woods from which I suppose we could either greet Jesus or fight off the barbarian hordes depending on which side of the pre- or post-millenialist fence you chose to straddle

Many of Chuck's scultures were small semingly slapped-together figures made of circuit boards and transistors and copper wire Some were crucifixes Some were of his cat Sophie a grey and white ghost who would disappear from Chuck's lap like a puff of sweet smoke when anyone knocked on the door and spend the duration of the visit glaring at the intruder from beneath the couch One day Chuck handed me a gleaming assembly of nuts and bolts formed into two interlocked hands and spray-painted gold "Guess what it's called" he asked and I said "One hand washes the other?" and he smiled triumphantly and said "Midas' Last Touch"

I wish that I'd bought it

Chuck died this week

I don't know the details Dan called while I was at work and Lady took the message I'll know more tomorrow

Ironic that I have no periods or commas as I write this post There's no pausing there's no stopping it's just on and on until the end

Bye Chuck You were a pearl

Long Time No Blog

My computer and I seem to have fallen ill at the same time -- In my case it's a strained back muscle that has me down for the count and as for the laptop it seems like the period and comma keys have stopped working so I can't end a sentence properly or even write HTML since the less-than greater-than keys are right there -- Dammit! I know! I'll end every sentence with an exclamation point! That works great!

I seem to have fucked up my back in a major way -- it hurts constantly and the muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatories the doc put me on just make me weak and woozy; I've spent the past few days groaning on the couch and actually going to see a doctor so you know it's bad!

More later as I recover!

Dammit!

I Think I'll Stalk Emmylou Harris

If there's no hell, what is this sun for? How can it be that I've been everything from Gram Parsons' Muse to Ryan Adams' Certainty? Why is it that I show up on every country record that has brains, but none of then that have balls? Why do people still offer me burritos? Why am I so fucking beautiful?

Let's Impeach The President

Neil Young rocks granite fucking balls. The link streams the whole record. The way it should be. Fuck you, hippy. You can't have him. I hereby claim him for punk, and I've got 25 years of work to cite, and you have merely ten. So fuck off, hippy. Live Rust, motherfucker.

Ask Me Gets Personal

From AskMetafilter:

How to cope with an angry mate
May 5, 2006 10:38 PM
Does anyone have any insight into living/coping with a mate who has unpredictable angry outbursts and a mean streak? Not a first marriage for either of us. . . 3 kids that are mine(2) and ours(1). Thought he was my long-awaited dream come true.

Our relationship seems to have devolved over the past year as financial stress has increased; we've been together for 18 months. He never, to my knowledge, has lied to me, but there were money issues from his past that he didn't tell me about. I put my name (and my good credit) on a mortgage. . . long story short, the house was lost, my credit blemished and he has been unemployed for 6 months. I am very angry with both him and myself. When we argue -- or even just try to discuss something seemingly safe -- he can suddenly reach a point where he doesn't seem to be hearing my words any longer and he gets mean, derisive, verbally abusive. He does have depression, has for years, and he takes a high dose (200 mg) of Zoloft. We have been in counseling, but I don't feel that it's making a big difference. My own feelings of self-confidence and self-worth have plummetted. I have been trying very hard to make this relationship work, more and more for the reason that I don't want to put my older kids through any more trauma than necessary. I do love my husband and, lest I make him sound like a beast, he is highly intelligent, fairly insightful, usually thoughful and very frustrated about not being able to land a job. Could his depression explain his Jekyll & Hyde behavior? Does anyone out there live with a mate who's got characteristics like this? Any advice?
posted by anonymous to human relations (9 comments total) [!][↑] No other comments.

I'm one of those guys like Alvy. [Read alvy's comment at ask.metafilter, above] I tend to internalize my anger and choke it back until I erupt on the people I love. (Usually, ok, invariably, my irrational rage is directed toward my wife of thirteen years.)

I have felt the same frustrations that your husband feels. I feel many of them today. I've just gone through a rough patch with my wife, and I'm happy to say we've come out stronger and better. At least we listen to each now, which is huge.

Before, I would rant and scream and get red in the face and my wife would coolly turn away and not acknowledge me and it made me batshit crazy. Later, she would fume and pout and throw stuff and I would play it off, thinking tit for tat.

We both realized that we were playing into each others' pathologies. Her script (you know, the "how-families-behave" script that you have in your head by the time you are ten) read that Dad drinks and yells, Mom covers and fluffs. Much older siblings provide role models. So her reaction to my bad behavior was to compensate by being superresponsible and attentive. But she hated me when I got like that, so she had to walk away. My script, however, says that everyone yells and points, all sulk, truce is called, things are hashed out. I'm an only, and everyone exists for my amusement. So my reaction to her bad behavior to was to play mind games and reestablish the status I'd previously held before losing my shit the last time.

Actually talking thorugh all this with my wife took:
a) appropriate herbal supplements
b) dinner at a nice restaurant
c) enough alcohol to prime the pump, not enough to drench it
d) pointlessly epic argument when we got home followed by sweet sweet love
e) learning to enjoy grudge fucking. It's really helped my marriage.

Let me clarify (but that was really cathartic to write, thanks for asking). Let's say you wake up in the middle of the night. Outside, a car and driver and moving vans with crews of movers are waiting silently. Your husband is sound asleep, and you know he will sleep soundly for hours yet. The driver of your car has all the papers you need to make the divorce legit and final and fair. All you have to do is sign them, amending them as you see fit. You have your pick of places to live, and your housing is guaranteed. You will never see your husband again on any occasion not of your own choosing.

Is this an opportunity, or a temptation?

If it's a temptation, keep him and take the good advice offered above. If he's a smart guy with a good heart, he'll shape up. If it's an opportunity, then your heart and your head are telling you to go, and all that remains is surmounting the very real difficulties of sorting out a marriage in court.

Loving him unconditionally won't make him a better husband. It may make you a better wife. But it won't make him the man you're supposed to love unconditionally. Discovering the capacity in oneself for unconditional love is revelatory and crippling. It's supposed to be that way.

Also, if he's a reasonably intelligent person who's out of work, I can find him a job waiting tables tomorrow. He'll bring home anywhere from $50-$100 a day.

Eat At The Bar

You want quick, attentive service; action; and laughs galore?

Eat at the bar.

Your favorite restaurant is on a twenty-minute wait and you're starving?

Eat at the bar.

It's Friday night, the place is packed, you were lucky to find seats at the bar and you're clutching the Talisman of Hostessness as if it were a holy relic.

Eat at the bar.

You'll have more fun. There will be more for you and your date to talk about. Having that final discussion before the divorce? Get a table. Having dinner and drinks before going over to that guy's house, you know the guy who has the killer hydro bud?

Eat at the bar.

Had it with your date, and want to expose his flaws to all mankind?

Eat at the bar.

See, bars bring out the best and worst in mankind. It's where we're at our most generous and our least defensive. It's also where we can be at our most combative and least rational. So take your date to the bar. Find out sumpin. Enjoy yourselves.

Remember, the service is better, and there's more going on.

Eat at the bar.

I need your $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$.

Southern Greek Hot Dogs

This link about hot dogs led me to this link about Greek culinary culture in Birmingham. I'm proud to say that I've eaten in all of these restaurants many times (and worked in one). They omitted Nabeel's in Homewood, and given time I can probably come up with others. Oh yeah, like John's downtown, which has changed hands but was founded, I believe, by a Hontzas.

And I'll take a Pete's Famous over a Gus' any day.

Magical Trevor

I wanted these links in a handy place, as I can't get the jingle out of my head and the only way to make it stop is to watch the cartoon again. Funny flash webtoons parts One, Two, and Three.

And don't forget Weebl and Bob. They like pie.

Rhapsody Doesn't Understand Me

So I'm streaming the great Dillinger Four record Versus God and I notice that Rhapsody wants to suggest some tunes. OK. I scroll down. Huh? "Seal Uncut", Seal; "Rocket To Russia, Ramones (Check. Got it already. In my heart. Forever.); "Number Ones", Michael Jackson. Huh? I never even bought "Thriller"! And to top off the absurdist disconnect, "Jupiter's Darling" by Heart and "Maximum Backstreet Boys" by guess who. WTF? And when I look back it has changed. Now it's recommending "One Track Mind" by Eric Clapton.

The last stuff I streamed off of Rhapsody was: Opeth, a black metal band; Drive-By Truckers, country guitar apocalypse; and Morrissey's cover of "Moon River".

Rhapsody, your heuristics need serious attention.

I Have Seen The Future, And P.T. Barnum Would Have Been Delighted

Dude is making 12 large a month selling virtual real estate and collecting virtual tariffs on his imaginary space station. Why am I not doing this for a living? OK, let's say his business drops off 75% (it's a volatile market, right?). So now he's only making three grand a month. Holy fucking shit.

I just realized what I want to do with my life.

Let's see: I want to avoid the real world completely. Check. I want to have enough money to not have to worry about money. Check. I want to play videogames. Check. I want to be clever and noticed for it. Check.

Hmmm.

What kinda computer does it take to run Entropia?

Dammit.

On second thought, there's this dissuasive analysis on Terra Nova.

Lobster Boy At The Stop-And-Rob

My beloved Alice has left the Stop-and-Rob, and I miss her. She always greeted me with a smile, she happily flirted with me when I was tired and grumpy from a rough night at work, and she taught me how to say hello in Swahili (I don't know how to spell it, but it sounds like, "Jambo!").

Her replacement is also African, and though I'm no judge of accents, I'd guess he's Kenyan, too. His stature is akin to Manute Bol: the guy has to be at least 6'6", and when he turns sideways he disappears. Dude is skinny. And he has interesting hands.

Remember Lobster Boy? No, not that Lobster Boy. The circus freak with the claw hands. This guy:



Well, the new guy at the Stop-and-Rob has hands like that, except he's so tall and skinny that his fingers seem like they are a foot long and he has vestigial (or maybe not, maybe they're functional) thumbs that project from one side of the fused digits. I'm fascinated by his hands. It's not like he's disabled: it's like he's got a different and in some ways better set of fine-motion manipulators than the rest of us. He has fewer digits, but the digits he does have look like they could crush rocks.

Imagine this. Make the Spock "live long and prosper" sign. Now bring your thumb next to your index finger, and imagine that those three digits are fused together as one. One big bone, one enormous tendon and bundle of muscle. Now see the vee? Carve that back to the middle of your palm. Fuse the ring and pinkie fingers together, and add accordingly big tendons and muscles. With your hand sliced so neatly down the middle, you'd be able to place the thumbdigit and the pinkiedigit face-to-face, and you'd have the strength of your whole hand to clamp down. That's some grip.

And his hands aren't exactly like Lobster Boy's were. This guy has that thumb thing working for him, too. And his digits are so long that he can prbably touch his own wrist with the tip of his finger. Imagine that.

No point to this, but I thought it was cool and bloggable(TM, patent pending, copyright controlled) so I thought instead of writing about politics or whining about work I'd do this instead.

Next time I see him, I'm going to ask if he knows Alice. Oh, Alice! My world is emptier without you in it!

Black Rabbit: Dill Hole

My methods of bullying people into listening to the Miutemen are paying off. Double Nickels On The Dime. Listen to it. I hate sounding like such a fucking hippie.

How To Celebrate 6/6/06

Why, it's the National Day of Slayer, of course!

The best thing about it is that it's sponsored by a non-profit corporation in the state of Wyoming.

Libertarians Like Titties

Here's proof!

I like titties....therefore, I am a Libertarian!*

*Not True, but damn close.

On another topic, I found an Alabama-based porn site! Support your local smut merchants! (Actually, it was this guy's posts to MetaFilter that led me to the lovely Loretta in the first place.

Who does NOT, by the way, need anyone writing for her. This:

All's fair in love, war and politics, says Nall. "I had to go one of two ways -- don a burqa so that maybe people like Bob Ingram will be willing to talk about my actual platform instead of my anatomy, or go with the flow and use dismissive attacks to my advantage. I don't back down easily. This is, if you'll pardon the expression, tit for tat."

...is simply priceless.

Stephen Colbert Speaks Truth To Power

I'm sure that my three well-read regulars have now seen for themselves the clips (1, 2, 3) of Stephen Colbert at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. His performance has been panned, praised, and ignored. So, yeah, I'm jumping in late with the 59,781st blog post about it.

Two things strike me. One, isn't it sad that we're all so gobsmacked when someone actually speaks truth to power; and two, Colbert scorched the media, too, and they're certainly not talking that up.

Do they think I don't have C-SPAN and teh intrewebs?

Bravo, Stephen Colbert. Now watch your back.