So, I've been busy. Third straight week at work, and many bruises to show for it, as if anyone can get hurt doing something, I can show you how.
Anyway, on my fourth trip to the local university to run yet another set of desk copies to professors, I was in a bit of a hurry. It was pouring down rain, and I thought that I would jump out of my car, and immediately be under the overhang and out of danger of melting.
I turned off my car, undid the seat belt, and got ready to spring from my car.
BAM! I smacked my face on the car door and bloodied my nose.
Today I learned that the door lock button is NOT the door handle.
I opened the door, got out, and lifted my head and put pressure on one side of my nose like I was taught to end a nose bleed. Breathing from my other nostril, I took in a load of water with my first breath. I was not yet under the overhang. I must've sneezed bloody goo for a good two minutes.
I love this week.
Aug 21, 2007
Aug 15, 2007
this is why I never went to med school
As you all know, it's been a bit busy here. We increased from 10 to 12, and now 14 days. I realize to many people that is nothing, but to them I say, "go blow a goat."
I had a dream that my phone was ringing last night, and when I woke, my phone showed that a professor had called at 6:30 in the AM saying that they would be on campus at nine and would wait for my call. I called them back at 12:30 out of spite.
Here's the week so far. Let me know if I need to go back on the caffein:
I walked about 8 miles Monday if my math is correct, and that’s just around UofL. I’ve answered the cell phone while sitting on the toilet, and fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard at 7PM.
Yesterday I called a professor, and while the phone rang I thought of my brother Darryl for some reason, and when the professor said hello, I said, “Hey diddy, what’s shakin?”
Today I walked into a door that I knew was closed because I closed it. I cut open a bag of salad, dumped some on my plate, put the twisty on the bag, and then opened my desk drawer and threw the bag in there. And just a few minutes ago, the office phone rang. I reached out without paying attention and held my calculator to my ear. The phone rang again, and I pressed the CE button on the calculator because it’s about where the TALK button is on the phone, AND STUCK IT BACK UP TO MY EAR AND TRIED TO ANSWER IT.
I have, however, been listening to Great Big Sea and singing about the night that Pat Murphy died.
Some of the boys got loaded drunk…
I had a dream that my phone was ringing last night, and when I woke, my phone showed that a professor had called at 6:30 in the AM saying that they would be on campus at nine and would wait for my call. I called them back at 12:30 out of spite.
Here's the week so far. Let me know if I need to go back on the caffein:
I walked about 8 miles Monday if my math is correct, and that’s just around UofL. I’ve answered the cell phone while sitting on the toilet, and fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard at 7PM.
Yesterday I called a professor, and while the phone rang I thought of my brother Darryl for some reason, and when the professor said hello, I said, “Hey diddy, what’s shakin?”
Today I walked into a door that I knew was closed because I closed it. I cut open a bag of salad, dumped some on my plate, put the twisty on the bag, and then opened my desk drawer and threw the bag in there. And just a few minutes ago, the office phone rang. I reached out without paying attention and held my calculator to my ear. The phone rang again, and I pressed the CE button on the calculator because it’s about where the TALK button is on the phone, AND STUCK IT BACK UP TO MY EAR AND TRIED TO ANSWER IT.
I have, however, been listening to Great Big Sea and singing about the night that Pat Murphy died.
Some of the boys got loaded drunk…
Aug 13, 2007
A fart away from a good time
It's the busy time of year for us in the coursepack business. I took a phonecall in the car on the way to work, one in the parking lot before opening the door, two before I could finish my banana and cup of decaf, but the best one was in the head.
I had to drop the kids off at the pool, and I had my phone in my hand, knowing that as sure as God made little green apples, someone would call. Well, I was right and the timing couldn't have been better.
I had just sat down when I heard my phone ring, and as I answered it, BABLOPBLOPBLOP THHHPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! I had completely emtied the ravioli, sauerkraut and porkchops, 1/4 bag of peanuts, and 7 beers in less than a second, followed by a three second tuba salute.
Dr. Schmenkman: "Is everything ok?"
me: "It is now."
D.S-"Is this a bad time?"
"nope. You have my full attention. How can I help you?"
"Are you sure this is a good time? I hear an echo."
"Well, I'm in a smaller room than usual when I answer the phone."
I had to drop the kids off at the pool, and I had my phone in my hand, knowing that as sure as God made little green apples, someone would call. Well, I was right and the timing couldn't have been better.
I had just sat down when I heard my phone ring, and as I answered it, BABLOPBLOPBLOP THHHPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! I had completely emtied the ravioli, sauerkraut and porkchops, 1/4 bag of peanuts, and 7 beers in less than a second, followed by a three second tuba salute.
Dr. Schmenkman: "Is everything ok?"
me: "It is now."
D.S-"Is this a bad time?"
"nope. You have my full attention. How can I help you?"
"Are you sure this is a good time? I hear an echo."
"Well, I'm in a smaller room than usual when I answer the phone."
Aug 11, 2007
Aug 8, 2007
From trash they came, and to trash they will become
Dear Hoosiers:
You have your own state. Why must you pollute ours? I'm serious here.
I'm writing a letter to my state senator to put a bill together that I'm calling, "The two for one special." All of you dirty sad sack poor excuse for drivers would be required to find the nearest fifo and high-tail it the fuck out of Kentucky.
You want to go south on a highway? Go around. I'm not kidding. Get out and stay out.
Do you know why the Ohio River is so polluted? Because it touches both Ohio and Indiana. Don't bathe in it, you're killing the fish.
The only antidote to Hoosiers is to beat them to death with the skulls of assholes from Ohio.
This ain't over by a long shot.
You have your own state. Why must you pollute ours? I'm serious here.
I'm writing a letter to my state senator to put a bill together that I'm calling, "The two for one special." All of you dirty sad sack poor excuse for drivers would be required to find the nearest fifo and high-tail it the fuck out of Kentucky.
You want to go south on a highway? Go around. I'm not kidding. Get out and stay out.
Do you know why the Ohio River is so polluted? Because it touches both Ohio and Indiana. Don't bathe in it, you're killing the fish.
The only antidote to Hoosiers is to beat them to death with the skulls of assholes from Ohio.
This ain't over by a long shot.
Aug 4, 2007
THINGS THAT PISS ME OFF
I haven't ranted in a while, but here lately as I've been getting busier and my fuse dwindles, I've made a few observations to which I'm sure I'll get plenty of support.
1) If you have a hoosier license plate, get out of my way, no, out of my state. Your car was manufactured with a gas pedal. Find it and get the hell moving.
1a)It's called a turn signal. Sometimes we call it a blinker so that you know what fucking part of the car we're talking about. Turn on your blinker, and get into the left hand lane if you want to turn left- there is no reason other that having cateracs in both eyes to turn left from one of the middle lanes. This applies for right turns as well. I would even take one of you "got my license from a box of Captain Crunch" assholes yelling "STRAW FOOT" out the window.
2) When the light turns green, go. Save the fucking reverend pause for church, which is where I'm getting ready to send you, but in a box. Red lights are not the time to be searching in the passenger seat for a phone number so you can also talk while driving. Unless you have a toddler in the car, point your head toward the front of your vehicle.
3) Don't talk on the phone while driving unless you're on the damn freeway. If you're negotiating turns in downtown Louisville while on the phone, I will do my best to hit you and make it your fault. This ain't a Christian attitude, but I don't believe I've read "lack of road rage" in the Beatitudes, so kiss my ass and get off the phone.
4) I'm glad your car has a loud radio. Let your friends hear it in the West End, but turn that goddamn BOOMBOOMBOOM the fuck down around me, or I will continue to spit on your car.
If you worked as hard as being a good father as you do on trying to be cool, my, what a family you would have.
5) Dear lazy, talkative co-worker. Shut your mouth and help a customer. We're all replaceable, so stop acting like the doors would have to close if you weren't around. Quit dismissing others around you and wondering why no one wants to talk to you.And please, whatever you do, do not even attempt to make fun of me, or talk about me to others, for I am smarter than you, and I'm smarter ass than you. I will win, and it will hurt.
I have many other things, but my shoes seem to be on fire...
1) If you have a hoosier license plate, get out of my way, no, out of my state. Your car was manufactured with a gas pedal. Find it and get the hell moving.
1a)It's called a turn signal. Sometimes we call it a blinker so that you know what fucking part of the car we're talking about. Turn on your blinker, and get into the left hand lane if you want to turn left- there is no reason other that having cateracs in both eyes to turn left from one of the middle lanes. This applies for right turns as well. I would even take one of you "got my license from a box of Captain Crunch" assholes yelling "STRAW FOOT" out the window.
2) When the light turns green, go. Save the fucking reverend pause for church, which is where I'm getting ready to send you, but in a box. Red lights are not the time to be searching in the passenger seat for a phone number so you can also talk while driving. Unless you have a toddler in the car, point your head toward the front of your vehicle.
3) Don't talk on the phone while driving unless you're on the damn freeway. If you're negotiating turns in downtown Louisville while on the phone, I will do my best to hit you and make it your fault. This ain't a Christian attitude, but I don't believe I've read "lack of road rage" in the Beatitudes, so kiss my ass and get off the phone.
4) I'm glad your car has a loud radio. Let your friends hear it in the West End, but turn that goddamn BOOMBOOMBOOM the fuck down around me, or I will continue to spit on your car.
If you worked as hard as being a good father as you do on trying to be cool, my, what a family you would have.
5) Dear lazy, talkative co-worker. Shut your mouth and help a customer. We're all replaceable, so stop acting like the doors would have to close if you weren't around. Quit dismissing others around you and wondering why no one wants to talk to you.And please, whatever you do, do not even attempt to make fun of me, or talk about me to others, for I am smarter than you, and I'm smarter ass than you. I will win, and it will hurt.
I have many other things, but my shoes seem to be on fire...
Aug 2, 2007
Fat, Drunk and Stupid is No Way to Go Through Work
I'll make this fast(you're welcome, Ted).
I decided to stop drinking during the week this last Monday, as I just felt blah all day. Not because I felt blah only on Monday, but I was holding a piece of paper, and my hand was shaking like Tom Hanks's in the Movie Saving Private Ryan.
I was thinking back, and realized that for the last fifty-nine days I had drunk at LEAST eight beers a night- That's 472 to you and me. This was also a great opportunity to end my tobacco habit.
Fireman Ed came over last night and my two day dry spell ended. I only had six, but still felt blah. I think it's because I also had smokes for the first time in two days.
Well, here's trying for another two days.
The difficulty was that on Monday and Tuesday I felt wide awake at one in the AM even though I was waking up earlier than I did when drinking a bunch, and this is while avoiding caffeine.
Work ain't helping me not want to have a beer or smoky treat.
On the up side, I've already saved $10 on beer this week.
I decided to stop drinking during the week this last Monday, as I just felt blah all day. Not because I felt blah only on Monday, but I was holding a piece of paper, and my hand was shaking like Tom Hanks's in the Movie Saving Private Ryan.
I was thinking back, and realized that for the last fifty-nine days I had drunk at LEAST eight beers a night- That's 472 to you and me. This was also a great opportunity to end my tobacco habit.
Fireman Ed came over last night and my two day dry spell ended. I only had six, but still felt blah. I think it's because I also had smokes for the first time in two days.
Well, here's trying for another two days.
The difficulty was that on Monday and Tuesday I felt wide awake at one in the AM even though I was waking up earlier than I did when drinking a bunch, and this is while avoiding caffeine.
Work ain't helping me not want to have a beer or smoky treat.
On the up side, I've already saved $10 on beer this week.
Jul 24, 2007
And They'll know I am Cussing by my Blood
This week, only three days long so far, is turning out to be a doozy. I have, it seems, found everyway that I can appear a complete idiot without trying. Some might say that this is a pretty simple task and begin to cite instances that will ultimately prove that the odd times are when I'm not doing something stupid or rude. To these people I say, "Hah! but I wasn't drinking at the time!" Well, at least for two of these I wasn't.
WELL, HELLO OFFICER
My cousin Luke's son began working at the Gray's Warehouse last week, so I have been dropping him off in the morning on the way to the office.
This week is junk pickup in the neighborhood, and the city dumptrucks are all over the place. I don't mean there are many of them, I mean that the bastards couldn't put a hard dick in a bucket of warm lard, much less a large truck to the side of the road. I don't know who taught them to drive, but I bet she has bleach-blond hair and drives a camaro with t-tops.
This morning I was trying to get around one of these trucks, and I came upon a minivan on opposite. We were making all of the "get the hell out of my way, asshole" motions to get the other to move, with no luck. So I backed up enough so that if he knew how to drive he could get around. Well, he decided to pull along side and start to roll down his window, so I did the same, knowing that he just stepped into the road-rage-ring, and round one ALWAYS goes to Andy.
"WHAT, MOTHER FUCKER?," was my gentle request of his intentions.
He responded in the same calm manner with, "WHY THE HELL WERE YOU BLOCKING THE INTERSECTION?"
"BECAUSE YOUR FUCKING ASS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE FROM BEHIND THAT TRUCK AND WOULDN'T FUCKING MOVE!" I knew that logic generally wins people over, and that a light reminder and a kind smile go very far in defusing a situation.
Lowering the tone he said, "You better watch yourself."
"Or you'll what, Curly?" I said, curtly reminding him of his shiny bullet like dome.
This is where He shows me his badge, and I just say, "Well, hello officer" and drive away.
Round One: Officer Curly
I DISLIKE FLYING BATS
Ok, so after dark the Coon comes out on the roof of Bob's hizzy, so I think, "Get the bat and see what kind of dammage you can do." Well, did I show me what kind of damage I could do.
Standing on Bob's central air unit is no problem. Swinging a bat is no problem. Swinging a bat while standing on the central air unit is a problem. In sequence:
Andy runs between houses, hops on the air unit while swinging a bat at the coon running allong the edge of the roof.
Andy is 5' and the fully extended bat doesn't connect with the roof, coon, or any solid surface.
Momentum from running and the swinging bat makes Andy leave the surface of the air unit and hurling toward earth like a low-flying Icarus.
The bat, at the peak of its pendulum arc and still in my hand connects rather forcefully against the side of my knee.
Coon 1, Andy 0
THIS IS DEFINITELY WHERE I PARKED MY CAR
I was caught up in getting caught up, and it caught up with me. I almost missed an appointment today, so I quickly drove to UofL directly instead of parking at the store and walking over, since I would arrive sooner, and not all sweaty from the 8thof a mile walk.
I pulled up to the info booth and tell the young lady who has continents for boobs that I'm visiting one professor, that I'll only be about a half an hour, and get my parking pass. So far, so good.
After parking, I walk past the booth, wave at Hooty McHuge, and go to the education building. I talk to professor Plumb for about 10 minutes and leave. Out the door, and back over to Gray's.
I talk to the text manager, help dolly some boxes, and go to leave.
Out the east door and look- nothing.
Over to the west door, telling a young lady that i must be over there. Look- nothing.
I walk back in, think for a minute, and lowly exclaim, "Sweet bucket of shit. How retarded am I?"
That's when one of the employees said, "Pretty damn. I saw you park your car at the north lot about twenty minutes ago." I now refer to him as "Oh yeah, well fuck you."
I walked back to campus, waved to Her Boobness (who, by the way, has a nose stud. I was told that they are to keep the ejaculate from coming out while fellating), and got into my car with two minutes to spare.
Habit trumps, and I'm 0-3.
I love this week.
WELL, HELLO OFFICER
My cousin Luke's son began working at the Gray's Warehouse last week, so I have been dropping him off in the morning on the way to the office.
This week is junk pickup in the neighborhood, and the city dumptrucks are all over the place. I don't mean there are many of them, I mean that the bastards couldn't put a hard dick in a bucket of warm lard, much less a large truck to the side of the road. I don't know who taught them to drive, but I bet she has bleach-blond hair and drives a camaro with t-tops.
This morning I was trying to get around one of these trucks, and I came upon a minivan on opposite. We were making all of the "get the hell out of my way, asshole" motions to get the other to move, with no luck. So I backed up enough so that if he knew how to drive he could get around. Well, he decided to pull along side and start to roll down his window, so I did the same, knowing that he just stepped into the road-rage-ring, and round one ALWAYS goes to Andy.
"WHAT, MOTHER FUCKER?," was my gentle request of his intentions.
He responded in the same calm manner with, "WHY THE HELL WERE YOU BLOCKING THE INTERSECTION?"
"BECAUSE YOUR FUCKING ASS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE FROM BEHIND THAT TRUCK AND WOULDN'T FUCKING MOVE!" I knew that logic generally wins people over, and that a light reminder and a kind smile go very far in defusing a situation.
Lowering the tone he said, "You better watch yourself."
"Or you'll what, Curly?" I said, curtly reminding him of his shiny bullet like dome.
This is where He shows me his badge, and I just say, "Well, hello officer" and drive away.
Round One: Officer Curly
I DISLIKE FLYING BATS
Ok, so after dark the Coon comes out on the roof of Bob's hizzy, so I think, "Get the bat and see what kind of dammage you can do." Well, did I show me what kind of damage I could do.
Standing on Bob's central air unit is no problem. Swinging a bat is no problem. Swinging a bat while standing on the central air unit is a problem. In sequence:
Andy runs between houses, hops on the air unit while swinging a bat at the coon running allong the edge of the roof.
Andy is 5' and the fully extended bat doesn't connect with the roof, coon, or any solid surface.
Momentum from running and the swinging bat makes Andy leave the surface of the air unit and hurling toward earth like a low-flying Icarus.
The bat, at the peak of its pendulum arc and still in my hand connects rather forcefully against the side of my knee.
Coon 1, Andy 0
THIS IS DEFINITELY WHERE I PARKED MY CAR
I was caught up in getting caught up, and it caught up with me. I almost missed an appointment today, so I quickly drove to UofL directly instead of parking at the store and walking over, since I would arrive sooner, and not all sweaty from the 8thof a mile walk.
I pulled up to the info booth and tell the young lady who has continents for boobs that I'm visiting one professor, that I'll only be about a half an hour, and get my parking pass. So far, so good.
After parking, I walk past the booth, wave at Hooty McHuge, and go to the education building. I talk to professor Plumb for about 10 minutes and leave. Out the door, and back over to Gray's.
I talk to the text manager, help dolly some boxes, and go to leave.
Out the east door and look- nothing.
Over to the west door, telling a young lady that i must be over there. Look- nothing.
I walk back in, think for a minute, and lowly exclaim, "Sweet bucket of shit. How retarded am I?"
That's when one of the employees said, "Pretty damn. I saw you park your car at the north lot about twenty minutes ago." I now refer to him as "Oh yeah, well fuck you."
I walked back to campus, waved to Her Boobness (who, by the way, has a nose stud. I was told that they are to keep the ejaculate from coming out while fellating), and got into my car with two minutes to spare.
Habit trumps, and I'm 0-3.
I love this week.
Jul 23, 2007
My theme song will be "OUCH!"
As I was finishing up a beer last night and then un-beering from the porch, I heard something climbing on Bob Reed's/the Bank's roof. The coon, it seems, wants go round two. So be it.
I was going to start the harassing last night, but my watch read 1:30, so I figured a good night's sleep is much better to proceed a work day than a hospital trip would be.
This is going to get interesting.
I was going to start the harassing last night, but my watch read 1:30, so I figured a good night's sleep is much better to proceed a work day than a hospital trip would be.
This is going to get interesting.
Jul 16, 2007
Get your own damn beer
Death to beer moochers everywhere!
I do truely love my brother Darrel, and my cousin Luke, but I heard something out of both of their mouths this last week that was so beyond shocking that it left me to stand in front of them with no discernable expression, and no response, which was itself beyond shocking, and compounded my inability to respond. My mouth found itself tripping over over my brain's inability to come up with a retort, and my brain in a more unusual state of not hearing words come out of my mouth, due to the fact that I have on many occasions spoken without thinking, so this was a truely odd occurance.
Another distinct oddity was that the offending comment came from their gobs on different occasions.
Well, on with the show.
As you all know, everyone is welcome to come to the hizzy and have some beer. By everyone, I meant the ten, no eight people I like. You come in, open the beer drawer (beer stays colder in the crisper drawer), and holler, "ONE OR TWO?" I'll let you know if I want another, for we'll make the assumption that I'm home from work and am awake, meaning I've already had one or two.
When you come down to the basement to the shop and I ask if you're going to be over for a bit and you say yes, well...I'll just let you pick out what not to say to Andy who knows how much beer's in his frige and its time apportioning:
"Are you just stopping by?"
"Nah, I figured I'd have a couple of beers."
"Let's go make a b-double-e."
"We don't need to do that, I'm not going to have that many."
(sound of needle scratching record)-PING! W-W-W-W-W-WHAT?
After a short silence and stare my brain elbowed my mouth and told it to shit or get off the pot, and I finally said to Darrel (who was stunned at my oral confoundment as well), "After the one you're having, are the fucking beer elves going to magically restock my frige?(time out for you all to reference my stature and alcoholism) Do you want me buzzing and happy, or do you want me pissed off and more pissed off? Fuck it. You stay here and I'll be back in a minute."
When my cousin Luke said the same thing a few days later, my mouth again jumped the hurdle after several seconds. This time my witticism was a little more pointed- "Did fucking Darrel call you? You both said the same thing."
"Nope. I just gotta get back and make dinner."
Now, I don't mind people coming over and doggin' up my beer, but holy cow that was retarded.
Yankee John's got it right: Bring me beer.
"The beer that I am holding will go from full to empty," said Danny Donkey, "and I will be happy."
I do truely love my brother Darrel, and my cousin Luke, but I heard something out of both of their mouths this last week that was so beyond shocking that it left me to stand in front of them with no discernable expression, and no response, which was itself beyond shocking, and compounded my inability to respond. My mouth found itself tripping over over my brain's inability to come up with a retort, and my brain in a more unusual state of not hearing words come out of my mouth, due to the fact that I have on many occasions spoken without thinking, so this was a truely odd occurance.
Another distinct oddity was that the offending comment came from their gobs on different occasions.
Well, on with the show.
As you all know, everyone is welcome to come to the hizzy and have some beer. By everyone, I meant the ten, no eight people I like. You come in, open the beer drawer (beer stays colder in the crisper drawer), and holler, "ONE OR TWO?" I'll let you know if I want another, for we'll make the assumption that I'm home from work and am awake, meaning I've already had one or two.
When you come down to the basement to the shop and I ask if you're going to be over for a bit and you say yes, well...I'll just let you pick out what not to say to Andy who knows how much beer's in his frige and its time apportioning:
"Are you just stopping by?"
"Nah, I figured I'd have a couple of beers."
"Let's go make a b-double-e."
"We don't need to do that, I'm not going to have that many."
(sound of needle scratching record)-PING! W-W-W-W-W-WHAT?
After a short silence and stare my brain elbowed my mouth and told it to shit or get off the pot, and I finally said to Darrel (who was stunned at my oral confoundment as well), "After the one you're having, are the fucking beer elves going to magically restock my frige?(time out for you all to reference my stature and alcoholism) Do you want me buzzing and happy, or do you want me pissed off and more pissed off? Fuck it. You stay here and I'll be back in a minute."
When my cousin Luke said the same thing a few days later, my mouth again jumped the hurdle after several seconds. This time my witticism was a little more pointed- "Did fucking Darrel call you? You both said the same thing."
"Nope. I just gotta get back and make dinner."
Now, I don't mind people coming over and doggin' up my beer, but holy cow that was retarded.
Yankee John's got it right: Bring me beer.
"The beer that I am holding will go from full to empty," said Danny Donkey, "and I will be happy."
Jul 11, 2007
I think I broke my coon
As you know, my neighbor who for privacy's sake we'll call Bob Reed hasn't lived in his house since his son tried to kiln-dry the upstairs by tossing a blanket onto a space heater while sleeping.
"Didn't they have insurance?" you just asked.
Yes, they did. But when you buy a van and drink like you were born in a brewery, you ain't got much left over for the fixin o' the house.
The city cuts the grass, and we neighbors threw out a lot of his junk. I found out last week that the city has a warrant out for him. Needless to say, we've been Reed-free since '03.
Unfortunately we haven't been rodent free, so I put out the poison.
About 5 months ago I found out that some Raccoons had taken up residence in the sofets of the house. Raccoons = not fun to tangle with, as they tend to fight back, unlike the 9 opossums (ia?) that I've Louisville sluggered into the afterlife. Being a member of the bear family, coons can run fast, see at night (a distinct advantage to me after 6beers), and climb on the roof (very difficult after 6beers).
Well, after chasing and harassing them with a bat for a few months, I'd had it. Last week there were two coons in the tree climbing down. One of them was on the ground running by the time I grabbed a piece of wood from the pile to make chase, with the other descending more slowly. It stopped with its hind legs on the tree and fore limbs on the top of the wooden fence.
I was fired up and ready to beat the hell out of this coon,but when I was about five feet away, for some odd reason I looked at the piece of wood I had grabbed as a weapon. My dumb ass had snagged not the 18" long piece I had thought, but a 12" piece, which meant some of the blood shed would be mine. So instead of a club, it became a projectile hurled as hard as I could from five feet away, basically blasting the coon from its moorings and landing it in the middle of Bob's yard.
I heard a crack, and the animal make a sound that I'm sure was, "What the ever-loving fuck did I ever do to you, you fucking asshole" in coon-ese.
I haven't seen 'em since, which is a good thing, since my cousin loaned me a pellet gun that was made originally for the Bay of Pigs landing and has more steps to loading it than a flintlock. A coon would have to have a smoke and a beer and wait to get shot.
"Didn't they have insurance?" you just asked.
Yes, they did. But when you buy a van and drink like you were born in a brewery, you ain't got much left over for the fixin o' the house.
The city cuts the grass, and we neighbors threw out a lot of his junk. I found out last week that the city has a warrant out for him. Needless to say, we've been Reed-free since '03.
Unfortunately we haven't been rodent free, so I put out the poison.
About 5 months ago I found out that some Raccoons had taken up residence in the sofets of the house. Raccoons = not fun to tangle with, as they tend to fight back, unlike the 9 opossums (ia?) that I've Louisville sluggered into the afterlife. Being a member of the bear family, coons can run fast, see at night (a distinct advantage to me after 6beers), and climb on the roof (very difficult after 6beers).
Well, after chasing and harassing them with a bat for a few months, I'd had it. Last week there were two coons in the tree climbing down. One of them was on the ground running by the time I grabbed a piece of wood from the pile to make chase, with the other descending more slowly. It stopped with its hind legs on the tree and fore limbs on the top of the wooden fence.
I was fired up and ready to beat the hell out of this coon,but when I was about five feet away, for some odd reason I looked at the piece of wood I had grabbed as a weapon. My dumb ass had snagged not the 18" long piece I had thought, but a 12" piece, which meant some of the blood shed would be mine. So instead of a club, it became a projectile hurled as hard as I could from five feet away, basically blasting the coon from its moorings and landing it in the middle of Bob's yard.
I heard a crack, and the animal make a sound that I'm sure was, "What the ever-loving fuck did I ever do to you, you fucking asshole" in coon-ese.
I haven't seen 'em since, which is a good thing, since my cousin loaned me a pellet gun that was made originally for the Bay of Pigs landing and has more steps to loading it than a flintlock. A coon would have to have a smoke and a beer and wait to get shot.
Jun 29, 2007
I'm not hyperactive, I'm just an Asshole
Due to conditions being less than optimal for me to post I haven't. My brother Darryl's wedding, barge-dodging in the intercoastal with my other brother Darryl, and then a trip to Douglas lake where much of my time was taken up cringing on the bow of the potoon boat wondering how long it was going to take my other other brother Darryl to realize that playing chicken with a bridge piling was a we-lose proposition.
Basically, it's been hectic and my health has shown it. Stress leading to worrying about stress, and then my odd ability to monitor every tic of my body and suddenly think,"What was that?" like I were sleeping in the woods and heard some branches crack under the weight of some large animal. The biggest problem, however, was losing much of my appetite after going through a hyper spell. That didn't stop the beer drinking mind you, but only the healthy stuff during the day. Sorry, Ted, for not eating your burgers, I'm sure they're groovy.
I'm better now that I'm back in a rythm. I'm sure many of you will agree- I had to come back to work to get some rest.
In other news: I have had precious little caffene these last two weeks, and my energy level is up. I hate it. I can't relax, I can't concentrate, I can't just sit and watch TV. That's downright unamerican!
I'm going to go get my alcohol system checked for blood. There may be an imbalance here.
Basically, it's been hectic and my health has shown it. Stress leading to worrying about stress, and then my odd ability to monitor every tic of my body and suddenly think,"What was that?" like I were sleeping in the woods and heard some branches crack under the weight of some large animal. The biggest problem, however, was losing much of my appetite after going through a hyper spell. That didn't stop the beer drinking mind you, but only the healthy stuff during the day. Sorry, Ted, for not eating your burgers, I'm sure they're groovy.
I'm better now that I'm back in a rythm. I'm sure many of you will agree- I had to come back to work to get some rest.
In other news: I have had precious little caffene these last two weeks, and my energy level is up. I hate it. I can't relax, I can't concentrate, I can't just sit and watch TV. That's downright unamerican!
I'm going to go get my alcohol system checked for blood. There may be an imbalance here.
May 30, 2007
He's out, but I'm not alone
My younger brother was married this last Saturday, and a lovely day it was. The service went well, it was a sunny day, we wore simple tuxes, and Yankee John came to town to celebrate with us. All was going splendidly, one required reception duty after the other being hurdled easily.
I danced, I drank, and I made a groovy speech. Cake was eaten, conversations were had. And it's about this last point that I wish to pause with you for a moment.
For all those that have been married or a best man, you understand that during the reception you have little "talks" with two hundred people that you don't remember the next day, since you were allowed a full minute and a half to talk before you had to move to the next table, or felt a tap on the shoulder indicating that your current train of thought had just come to a dead end. Most will be pleasant, with a lot of "Haven't seen you in a while- how ya doin?s", and "man you cleann up wells", and the like. Guys know the drill. Well, most of them anyway. It's the females that were the difficulty at this particular gathering.
Now, I'm not sexist by any means, but I do understand that men and women are wired differently when it comes to certain situations, and there ain't no situation more feminine than a wedding, and it sets the tone for them for the rest of the day. For those people named Ted who might disagree, let me point out the differences between a wedding planned by and for the bride compared to one for and by a groom:
Bride: Church is decorated with flowers, accompanied by gentle flowing music, anticipating a lovely service followed by a beautiful reception.
Groom: Bowling alley halts play for five minutes while the preacher gets you to say I do and follow it up with "anyone who objects to this marriage- Set down your bud light."
Bride: let us pay a lot of money for shit we'll never wear again, but every year on the same day you can look at the stuff in a box you take down from a closet. (If you break down the price of the dress and the like by the number of times you view them on your anniversaries, by the time you die you will be down to $5 a viewing.)
Groom: you have a closet full of dresses. How about you wear the one you own that I thought made you look so hot that I should propose to you on the spot? Hell, it tricked me once; maybe the magic will work again.
Bride: We should have lovely music that reminds everyone of how much we love each other. It will be the music of our lives.
Groom: I got a skinnert tape, and it's already in the boom box from that time we fooled around in the stationwagon.
Bride: I want the entire thing to last as long as we need it to for everyone to have fun.
Groom: When the beer's gone, so are the people. Let's go back to the hotel and get them panties off.
TED-WAKE UP!
Anyway, my belaboured point is that all women talk to all other women in a family. In my family, we have an eight woman gossip ring. And here's the thing- they all came up to me and asked, "When are you getting married?" like they were going to go back and compare notes.
For the record, I anticipated this and answered, "When I find someone saner than my family."
The next question from the females was, "So, what are you going to do with the house." How friggin stupid is that question? Like I'm going to pick it up and move it a hundred yards so my brother will be dumbfounded when he tries to visit? To all of these females I answered. "Porn. Not only viewing it, but most likely filming some too. Whe are you coming over?"
Remember people- No conversations. Smile and small talk. The reason you haven't seen me in eight months is that I don't like talking to you. We both have phones and don't call each other. That should let you know that we ain't girlfriends.
I danced, I drank, and I made a groovy speech. Cake was eaten, conversations were had. And it's about this last point that I wish to pause with you for a moment.
For all those that have been married or a best man, you understand that during the reception you have little "talks" with two hundred people that you don't remember the next day, since you were allowed a full minute and a half to talk before you had to move to the next table, or felt a tap on the shoulder indicating that your current train of thought had just come to a dead end. Most will be pleasant, with a lot of "Haven't seen you in a while- how ya doin?s", and "man you cleann up wells", and the like. Guys know the drill. Well, most of them anyway. It's the females that were the difficulty at this particular gathering.
Now, I'm not sexist by any means, but I do understand that men and women are wired differently when it comes to certain situations, and there ain't no situation more feminine than a wedding, and it sets the tone for them for the rest of the day. For those people named Ted who might disagree, let me point out the differences between a wedding planned by and for the bride compared to one for and by a groom:
Bride: Church is decorated with flowers, accompanied by gentle flowing music, anticipating a lovely service followed by a beautiful reception.
Groom: Bowling alley halts play for five minutes while the preacher gets you to say I do and follow it up with "anyone who objects to this marriage- Set down your bud light."
Bride: let us pay a lot of money for shit we'll never wear again, but every year on the same day you can look at the stuff in a box you take down from a closet. (If you break down the price of the dress and the like by the number of times you view them on your anniversaries, by the time you die you will be down to $5 a viewing.)
Groom: you have a closet full of dresses. How about you wear the one you own that I thought made you look so hot that I should propose to you on the spot? Hell, it tricked me once; maybe the magic will work again.
Bride: We should have lovely music that reminds everyone of how much we love each other. It will be the music of our lives.
Groom: I got a skinnert tape, and it's already in the boom box from that time we fooled around in the stationwagon.
Bride: I want the entire thing to last as long as we need it to for everyone to have fun.
Groom: When the beer's gone, so are the people. Let's go back to the hotel and get them panties off.
TED-WAKE UP!
Anyway, my belaboured point is that all women talk to all other women in a family. In my family, we have an eight woman gossip ring. And here's the thing- they all came up to me and asked, "When are you getting married?" like they were going to go back and compare notes.
For the record, I anticipated this and answered, "When I find someone saner than my family."
The next question from the females was, "So, what are you going to do with the house." How friggin stupid is that question? Like I'm going to pick it up and move it a hundred yards so my brother will be dumbfounded when he tries to visit? To all of these females I answered. "Porn. Not only viewing it, but most likely filming some too. Whe are you coming over?"
Remember people- No conversations. Smile and small talk. The reason you haven't seen me in eight months is that I don't like talking to you. We both have phones and don't call each other. That should let you know that we ain't girlfriends.
May 24, 2007
Because Ted's my Bitch
I don't really have anything here. I just thought of the line for the title and figured I had to get it out there.
That is of course, if he's tired of being Yankee John's bitch.
peace-out
Mike &Andy in 08!
That is of course, if he's tired of being Yankee John's bitch.
peace-out
Mike &Andy in 08!
May 23, 2007
No Good Deed Goes Unfunded
Last year my brother asked his girlfriend to marry him, and due to her being able to make poor decisions (on this point they are a perfect match), she said yes.
He had little money being in school and all, and with them pinching pennies on the wedding, I told him that as a gift, I would pay for the bar. Actually less altruistic than acoholicly selfish, I figured that it would be about $600. Not a sum to sneeze at, but enough to beer up the guests, with a few bottles of wine for the posh.
Well, you've anticipated the joke. Last week I asked my brother if I needed to write a check to him, or to the caterer, and how much it would be. Verbatum (you'll know who's who)-
"I guess the caterer. It's only going to be fifteen hundred."
"What? Are they serving liquid gold? for 200 people? That 's over seven dollars a fucking drink!"
"Well, that's just a down payment."
"Just a down payment? Fifteen fucking hundred dollars is just a down payment?"
"No, not a down payment. It's to cover everything."
"It doesn't cover shit, it fucking buys it twice."
"If you'd shut up asshole I'll finish. You pay fifteen hundred, and what they don't use gets credited back to you."
"Do they know I'm backing the car up to the door and removing the remainder?"
"I don't think you can, due to liquer licenses and all."
"Shit. Oh well, I hope they're not dicks. If they are, I'll show them how it's done."
I don't want to ruin his day, but damn that boy's expensive.
He had little money being in school and all, and with them pinching pennies on the wedding, I told him that as a gift, I would pay for the bar. Actually less altruistic than acoholicly selfish, I figured that it would be about $600. Not a sum to sneeze at, but enough to beer up the guests, with a few bottles of wine for the posh.
Well, you've anticipated the joke. Last week I asked my brother if I needed to write a check to him, or to the caterer, and how much it would be. Verbatum (you'll know who's who)-
"I guess the caterer. It's only going to be fifteen hundred."
"What? Are they serving liquid gold? for 200 people? That 's over seven dollars a fucking drink!"
"Well, that's just a down payment."
"Just a down payment? Fifteen fucking hundred dollars is just a down payment?"
"No, not a down payment. It's to cover everything."
"It doesn't cover shit, it fucking buys it twice."
"If you'd shut up asshole I'll finish. You pay fifteen hundred, and what they don't use gets credited back to you."
"Do they know I'm backing the car up to the door and removing the remainder?"
"I don't think you can, due to liquer licenses and all."
"Shit. Oh well, I hope they're not dicks. If they are, I'll show them how it's done."
I don't want to ruin his day, but damn that boy's expensive.
May 17, 2007
HANG UP AND WELL, JUST HANG UP
One may have observed that from time to time I get rather irritated, I mean irked, I really mean pissed off when my cell phone rings. Now, you might say that "You dumb shit, you're in sales. You live by the phone. You talkie in one end, and heary in the other. That's how you make money."
I'm here to tell you, it's not the customers calling me that bug the utter can complete shit out of me- it's the others and their total lack of understanding that just because they can reach me, it doesn't mean they have to. And their non use of cell phone protocall, an d unnecessary platitudes.
If you never call me outside of work, and you need to call me because of work, and I sound curt on the line (always do), then don't start with, "Hi Andy, howya doin?," because my answer will always be, "I was doing well before the interruption." Do you think I'm going to say something about how sad I've been ever since All in the Family went off the air? Hell no! I'm going to say "fine," and then ask you what you wanted so I can get you off the phone in order that I can move on to the next schmuck. How about you start the call off with, "hey andy, I've got a question about the Engl 102 pack." Holy cow. We don't need to be friends in order to work together, because honestly, I don't care about you. Well, I care about you in the sense that I hope nothing happens to you that removes you from the ability to be of service to me.
If you are one of the few who do call me outside of work and we are on come-over-to-my-house-and-drink-beer status, and you are in the city limits, then here's the script to our entire conversation:
"this is Andy"
"You got plans tonight? maybe a fuego?"
"no plans. When you comin' over?"
See how easy that is? 'Fuego' can be replaced by "go to the 'Ville?" or "ball game tonight?"
If you live out of town and want to jaw for a bit that's fine. Since you can't physically stop by when you want, I will accomodate with a short conversation. Just remember that all I want to do is joke around, and that the more I drink the more deaf I become. Expect foul language.
If I'm in the car and I answer the phone, I ain't really paying attention to the conversation, as I have a clutch and am concentration on trying to hit pedestrians.
And last and very not least: when you ask "What're you doin'?", and I respond, "Just talking to some asshole on the phone," don't ask who, like I just put someone on hold. It's you.
Now we can all get along.
One may have observed that from time to time I get rather irritated, I mean irked, I really mean pissed off when my cell phone rings. Now, you might say that "You dumb shit, you're in sales. You live by the phone. You talkie in one end, and heary in the other. That's how you make money."
I'm here to tell you, it's not the customers calling me that bug the utter can complete shit out of me- it's the others and their total lack of understanding that just because they can reach me, it doesn't mean they have to. And their non use of cell phone protocall, an d unnecessary platitudes.
If you never call me outside of work, and you need to call me because of work, and I sound curt on the line (always do), then don't start with, "Hi Andy, howya doin?," because my answer will always be, "I was doing well before the interruption." Do you think I'm going to say something about how sad I've been ever since All in the Family went off the air? Hell no! I'm going to say "fine," and then ask you what you wanted so I can get you off the phone in order that I can move on to the next schmuck. How about you start the call off with, "hey andy, I've got a question about the Engl 102 pack." Holy cow. We don't need to be friends in order to work together, because honestly, I don't care about you. Well, I care about you in the sense that I hope nothing happens to you that removes you from the ability to be of service to me.
If you are one of the few who do call me outside of work and we are on come-over-to-my-house-and-drink-beer status, and you are in the city limits, then here's the script to our entire conversation:
"this is Andy"
"You got plans tonight? maybe a fuego?"
"no plans. When you comin' over?"
See how easy that is? 'Fuego' can be replaced by "go to the 'Ville?" or "ball game tonight?"
If you live out of town and want to jaw for a bit that's fine. Since you can't physically stop by when you want, I will accomodate with a short conversation. Just remember that all I want to do is joke around, and that the more I drink the more deaf I become. Expect foul language.
If I'm in the car and I answer the phone, I ain't really paying attention to the conversation, as I have a clutch and am concentration on trying to hit pedestrians.
And last and very not least: when you ask "What're you doin'?", and I respond, "Just talking to some asshole on the phone," don't ask who, like I just put someone on hold. It's you.
Now we can all get along.
May 11, 2007
Dang.
http://csumc.wisc.edu:16080/AmericanLanguages/writings/2_myths_official_language.html
Well, at least it wasn't Polish.
http://csumc.wisc.edu:16080/AmericanLanguages/writings/2_myths_official_language.html
Well, at least it wasn't Polish.
May 9, 2007
Quiet Night Games Are Better.
I had an apostrophe, epiphany, or what ever last night, and I was forced into it. Well, maybe not forced exactly, but it was the outcome of a chain of events that ended with me sitting alone at Louisville Bats baseball game.
Now, I'm not a loner by any means- just look at my cell phone bill and you will realize that I crave a good conversation, and when I find one, I'll let you know. Perhaps you will be part of it. Most likely not a participant, but if we are in anyway acquainted, rest assured, you have been and will be a subject of one, especially if you have done something stupid, and if we are in anyway acquainted, you can be rest assured that you have. We are, you see, a very odd lot. Very.
Well, the Ottawa Lynx are in town for a few days to show our Louisville Bats how to play baseball, and I had a pair of tickets for last night's game. My cousin and I have season tickets this year, and with 72 home games this season we obviously aren't going to every game, and aren't attending them all together.
My cousin and I stayed through 8 innings on Monday night, attempting to drink a car payment, so I was looking forward to going cheap last night with my brother who owes me a sandwich and a few beers. Little did I know that not only was I not going to get my adult beverages gratis, I wasn't even going to receive the free ride into the ball field's parking lot.
This my seem a bit trifle as the privilege to leave my car parked in a space marginally close to the field only costs four dollars, but you have to remember that parking lots become giant pedestrian through ways. And people exiting expensive cars invariably make quite poor pedestrians, as they are not used to walking anywhere except to and from their cars, and generally in the east end, so they are not aware of the rules of getting near my car that I have imposed upon them. Were they to stroll through downtown around, let's say for argument's sake, the corner of Second and Broadway, they would understand immediately that Andy and pedestrians don't mix. As if that isn't bad enough, there is always a group of children strewn across the lane of traffic looking at their shoes as they walk with their guardians in the lead, not paying a lick of attention. As expensive as children are, one would think that parent would be a little more worried about losing the tax exemption, but who am I to prevent them from becoming a headline.
I made it to my seat without having to deal with any form of law enforcement outside of a voice on the loudspeaker warning me or anyone else not to go onto the field for any reason during the game. It seemed silly, as even though the view of the game would be much better at ground level, there are no chairs out there. This announcement became even sillier as the game progressed, as it was evident that someone had to go out there and replace Louisville's pitcher.
As I sat in my seat last night not engaged in conversation I recognized some of the nuances of baseball that I had heard about, but had never observed. The way the pitcher comes in to cover home when the catcher is involved in a squeeze play, or how the out fielders move depending on who's batting is something I hadn't paid attention to before as my focus was on words exiting my mouth, and not completely on the game I had spent money to see. I was also introduced to some of the other realities of attending a ballgame, like the fact that the guy going around selling beer will pass by your seat mid beer, and then disappear for the length of time it takes you to finish your beer and wait for him for some minutes, only to reappear the moment you sit down with a beer you walked to purchase from another vendor. I avoided this disparity from reoccurring when I overheard a gentleman a couple of rows over tell the beer man to "come back at the end of the inning," and noticed that Doug (we're on a first name basis now. I call him Doug, and he calls me "another Bud Light?") did as directed. Neat.
Another aspect of not jaw-jacking through the game is that you can listen in to people around you doing exactly that. The one difficulty associated with this activity is denying myself the gratifying act of breaking into a conversation and asking the guy, and it's always a guy, if he always spouts absolute bullshit, or if he reserves speaking out of his ass for the ballpark. I listened in for about fifteen minutes to his ramble, and was privy to only one funny line that was purely unintentional, not from the guy, and only funny if you dislike Ohioans as much as I do. It went something like this-
"Where are you from?" asked one of the ladies.
"Dayton Ohio," replied the guy through a mouthful of hot dog.
"Oh, I bet you're glad to be out of there," she said in a comforting tone, as if to say, "I've been there. It's shitty."
This is where I lost it inside. "Ohioans making fun of themselves- don't that beat all. If they learn to drive, I'll be out of a job!"
I stopped listening to them at that point knowing that it couldn't get any better than that.
In the seventh inning i decided to leave when I found myself considering the absurd notion of hopping onto the field in order to show the third pitcher of the night a thing or two.
I had an apostrophe, epiphany, or what ever last night, and I was forced into it. Well, maybe not forced exactly, but it was the outcome of a chain of events that ended with me sitting alone at Louisville Bats baseball game.
Now, I'm not a loner by any means- just look at my cell phone bill and you will realize that I crave a good conversation, and when I find one, I'll let you know. Perhaps you will be part of it. Most likely not a participant, but if we are in anyway acquainted, rest assured, you have been and will be a subject of one, especially if you have done something stupid, and if we are in anyway acquainted, you can be rest assured that you have. We are, you see, a very odd lot. Very.
Well, the Ottawa Lynx are in town for a few days to show our Louisville Bats how to play baseball, and I had a pair of tickets for last night's game. My cousin and I have season tickets this year, and with 72 home games this season we obviously aren't going to every game, and aren't attending them all together.
My cousin and I stayed through 8 innings on Monday night, attempting to drink a car payment, so I was looking forward to going cheap last night with my brother who owes me a sandwich and a few beers. Little did I know that not only was I not going to get my adult beverages gratis, I wasn't even going to receive the free ride into the ball field's parking lot.
This my seem a bit trifle as the privilege to leave my car parked in a space marginally close to the field only costs four dollars, but you have to remember that parking lots become giant pedestrian through ways. And people exiting expensive cars invariably make quite poor pedestrians, as they are not used to walking anywhere except to and from their cars, and generally in the east end, so they are not aware of the rules of getting near my car that I have imposed upon them. Were they to stroll through downtown around, let's say for argument's sake, the corner of Second and Broadway, they would understand immediately that Andy and pedestrians don't mix. As if that isn't bad enough, there is always a group of children strewn across the lane of traffic looking at their shoes as they walk with their guardians in the lead, not paying a lick of attention. As expensive as children are, one would think that parent would be a little more worried about losing the tax exemption, but who am I to prevent them from becoming a headline.
I made it to my seat without having to deal with any form of law enforcement outside of a voice on the loudspeaker warning me or anyone else not to go onto the field for any reason during the game. It seemed silly, as even though the view of the game would be much better at ground level, there are no chairs out there. This announcement became even sillier as the game progressed, as it was evident that someone had to go out there and replace Louisville's pitcher.
As I sat in my seat last night not engaged in conversation I recognized some of the nuances of baseball that I had heard about, but had never observed. The way the pitcher comes in to cover home when the catcher is involved in a squeeze play, or how the out fielders move depending on who's batting is something I hadn't paid attention to before as my focus was on words exiting my mouth, and not completely on the game I had spent money to see. I was also introduced to some of the other realities of attending a ballgame, like the fact that the guy going around selling beer will pass by your seat mid beer, and then disappear for the length of time it takes you to finish your beer and wait for him for some minutes, only to reappear the moment you sit down with a beer you walked to purchase from another vendor. I avoided this disparity from reoccurring when I overheard a gentleman a couple of rows over tell the beer man to "come back at the end of the inning," and noticed that Doug (we're on a first name basis now. I call him Doug, and he calls me "another Bud Light?") did as directed. Neat.
Another aspect of not jaw-jacking through the game is that you can listen in to people around you doing exactly that. The one difficulty associated with this activity is denying myself the gratifying act of breaking into a conversation and asking the guy, and it's always a guy, if he always spouts absolute bullshit, or if he reserves speaking out of his ass for the ballpark. I listened in for about fifteen minutes to his ramble, and was privy to only one funny line that was purely unintentional, not from the guy, and only funny if you dislike Ohioans as much as I do. It went something like this-
"Where are you from?" asked one of the ladies.
"Dayton Ohio," replied the guy through a mouthful of hot dog.
"Oh, I bet you're glad to be out of there," she said in a comforting tone, as if to say, "I've been there. It's shitty."
This is where I lost it inside. "Ohioans making fun of themselves- don't that beat all. If they learn to drive, I'll be out of a job!"
I stopped listening to them at that point knowing that it couldn't get any better than that.
In the seventh inning i decided to leave when I found myself considering the absurd notion of hopping onto the field in order to show the third pitcher of the night a thing or two.
May 7, 2007
MY APOLOGIES MR. BRYSON
I decided to get some new trail hiking shoes, as I've decided to hit some of the 3 and 5 mile trails in Jefferson memorial forest nearby.
Hiking, you see, is something that completely changes the nature of exercise. It's walking in large circles, but in the shaded forest that change somehow on every circuit. It's outdoors, but close enough to home to sleep in your own bed. It's using up calories, but not on the guess-who's-fat tour of city sidewalks, in full view of the neighbors. Instead you are a hiker.
Hikers by nature come in all forms and sizes, and no one pokes any fun at any other because the woods are the great equalizer when it comes to the simple act of perambulation. I, for instance, have a difficulty getting my dwarf legs up trails with steep ledges, but I know that that tall fellow farther back that almost hit his head on a treebranch that I couldn't jump and hope to touch won't be able to get under the tree covering the path, and will eventually be covered in sticker bush scrapes later on circumventing the offending encumbrance and wondering to himself how it is that he finds this activity refreshing.
I'm sorry-I will finish this when I get Bryson out of my head. A mental act that seems at first to be simple enough, but is instead so difficult that I am actually hearing his voice right now, as if he has somehow supplanted my mental voice box and replaced it with his. Moreover, his manner becomes so very rhythmic that I cannot help but fall into the motion that is his style.
Christ, I'm doing it right now.
OUT! OUT, DAMN SPOT!
I decided to get some new trail hiking shoes, as I've decided to hit some of the 3 and 5 mile trails in Jefferson memorial forest nearby.
Hiking, you see, is something that completely changes the nature of exercise. It's walking in large circles, but in the shaded forest that change somehow on every circuit. It's outdoors, but close enough to home to sleep in your own bed. It's using up calories, but not on the guess-who's-fat tour of city sidewalks, in full view of the neighbors. Instead you are a hiker.
Hikers by nature come in all forms and sizes, and no one pokes any fun at any other because the woods are the great equalizer when it comes to the simple act of perambulation. I, for instance, have a difficulty getting my dwarf legs up trails with steep ledges, but I know that that tall fellow farther back that almost hit his head on a treebranch that I couldn't jump and hope to touch won't be able to get under the tree covering the path, and will eventually be covered in sticker bush scrapes later on circumventing the offending encumbrance and wondering to himself how it is that he finds this activity refreshing.
I'm sorry-I will finish this when I get Bryson out of my head. A mental act that seems at first to be simple enough, but is instead so difficult that I am actually hearing his voice right now, as if he has somehow supplanted my mental voice box and replaced it with his. Moreover, his manner becomes so very rhythmic that I cannot help but fall into the motion that is his style.
Christ, I'm doing it right now.
OUT! OUT, DAMN SPOT!
Apr 27, 2007
This Saturday begins Derby week. This means an influx of people wanting to party, which is fine. Other places have bigger/longer parties. Take New Orleans for instance. They had a pool party that lasted for about a month!
The difficulty arises from the standpoint that these ding-dongs believe they can just drive into town and make their ways through the maze of one-way streets and Derby road closings based upon Mapsco that hasn't updated their database since Al Gore invented the internet. This also means that speed limits will be strictly followed by gawkers that believe that since Churchill Downs is only ten blocks away, they should take their time and enjoy the view.
You know what they view? All the other FIFOS in minivans taking the same route at the same speed. All they need is a gdamn marching band and they could call it "Retards on Parade."
It's nice that people get to take time off from work in order to enjoy an annual event that involves short people riding large animals. Hell, it reminds of prom night. But remember that the rest of us have to work and get to places on a schedule, and all cars since 1910 have gas pedals on the right, and that pack man is a video game, so quit trying to eat the dots as you go down the road. If Henry Ford handed you your first set of car keys, our roads ain't where you need to be.
And above all, remember that if you sit at a light after it has turned green, the protocol for the car behind you is honk, bump, push. Paint is paint, and you're in the way. My car has right of way, because I know where I'm going, I know where my car will fit, and I know how fast it will go. My lane is down the middle, and I've been known to cut off cops in traffic.
Ask John- he'll agree.
Driving is an activity, not a passivity. Welcome to Louisville. Get off the Road.
The difficulty arises from the standpoint that these ding-dongs believe they can just drive into town and make their ways through the maze of one-way streets and Derby road closings based upon Mapsco that hasn't updated their database since Al Gore invented the internet. This also means that speed limits will be strictly followed by gawkers that believe that since Churchill Downs is only ten blocks away, they should take their time and enjoy the view.
You know what they view? All the other FIFOS in minivans taking the same route at the same speed. All they need is a gdamn marching band and they could call it "Retards on Parade."
It's nice that people get to take time off from work in order to enjoy an annual event that involves short people riding large animals. Hell, it reminds of prom night. But remember that the rest of us have to work and get to places on a schedule, and all cars since 1910 have gas pedals on the right, and that pack man is a video game, so quit trying to eat the dots as you go down the road. If Henry Ford handed you your first set of car keys, our roads ain't where you need to be.
And above all, remember that if you sit at a light after it has turned green, the protocol for the car behind you is honk, bump, push. Paint is paint, and you're in the way. My car has right of way, because I know where I'm going, I know where my car will fit, and I know how fast it will go. My lane is down the middle, and I've been known to cut off cops in traffic.
Ask John- he'll agree.
Driving is an activity, not a passivity. Welcome to Louisville. Get off the Road.
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