Monday, December 31, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Boxing Day shopping with Mom = AWESOME!!
I got a new guitar today, it’s sweet. It’s not a regular style guitar it’s an electric “Hawaiian Style” guitar, also known as the “lap steel” guitar. It looks like this:
I’m a complete beginner in this type of guitar which is played by laying flat on your lap and manipulating the tone with a steel bar slide which you move up and down the neck. It’s called Hawaiian style because it was first used in Hawaii (duh) when this dude was walking down the train tracks with his guitar and picked up a loose bolt and used it slide around on the guitar strings.
There are several people famous for being slide guitar players, Blind Willie Johnson, Elmore James, Bonnie Raitt, Tony Furtado, to rattle of my favorites, but really no one famous for the lap steel. In fact I’ve only see two people ever play it, the front man from String Cheese Incident which was not a memorable performance, and Ben Harper. I’ve seen Ben Harper before live, and he puts on a pretty good show, especially when he plays Midnight Rider on the lap steel.
I’m a complete beginner in this type of guitar which is played by laying flat on your lap and manipulating the tone with a steel bar slide which you move up and down the neck. It’s called Hawaiian style because it was first used in Hawaii (duh) when this dude was walking down the train tracks with his guitar and picked up a loose bolt and used it slide around on the guitar strings.
There are several people famous for being slide guitar players, Blind Willie Johnson, Elmore James, Bonnie Raitt, Tony Furtado, to rattle of my favorites, but really no one famous for the lap steel. In fact I’ve only see two people ever play it, the front man from String Cheese Incident which was not a memorable performance, and Ben Harper. I’ve seen Ben Harper before live, and he puts on a pretty good show, especially when he plays Midnight Rider on the lap steel.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
A Christmas Story
For as long as I can I remember, I’ve had trouble falling asleep on Christmas Eve. Not because I was trying to see Santa, but because I knew that soon another Christmas would be gone, and I’d have nothing to show for it except a few toys I was tired of by noon, a chocolate supply that wouldn’t last until dinner, and a bolstered supply of socks and underwear.
Back at home for only the second time since last the yuletide was gay, things are the same and completely different at the same time. Like for example, there’s a big ass tree in the living room. Also new, is wireless internet, which I am enjoying presently. Our tree is decorated with a nice blend of fancy store bought ornaments, moderately fancy store bought ornaments that were then painted with snowflakes, angels, wreaths, Santa, etc. and hand made elementary school crafts projects (and mardi gras beads, because I’ll use any excuse to get rid of some of those.) The closest ornament to me as I write, is one I made out of three popsicle sticks, blue paint, yarn, glue and red glitter. In the center is a school picture day portrait of me at roughly kindergarten/1st grade. My brother said I had fresh faced optimism, but I recognize the same no-teeth grin I still use today if told to smile with nothing to smile about.
There was a streak of about four or five years recently where every year, my mom says that this is going to be the year that Christmas gets scaled back and the amount of presents is severely reduced, but ended up loading the tree anyway. In recent years, the amount of presents really has declined, but gradually to the point of there being few, if any From: Santa gifts. I blame Al Gore.
I did 90% of my Christmas shopping in an underground music store. From street level you walk down a flight of steps into a basement filled with CDs, DVDs, and LPs. They were giving away free posters for a band fronted by a girl I went to middle school (and sang in chorus) with. I wouldn’t say she’s huge, but those in the musical know would know her. She’s definitely the most famous person I went to middle school with. Anyways, I’ve long been a fan of this music store, their indie rack is as big as their pop rack, and half the store is used CDs. They have concert videos that I’ve never seen in any store or even for sale online.
My original flight out of New Orleans was delayed two hours due to bad weather in Philly, then they boarded the plane and told us that the plane wasn’t going to fly for another two hours. Since the first two hours used up all of the contingency in my layover, I decided that maybe it would e better to try the next day (Saturday.) I called up my buddy to see what his plans were, and then told him I’d be there shortly. He asked what I meant and I told him I intended to get off the plane and he goes: “I like your style.” Me too, we went downtown and got pretty banged up, saw Kermit Ruffins break it down real nice at the new Balcony Club on Decatur, spent an hour looking for my friend’s lost work van, sang Motown songs with a homeless guy, then went to Ms. Mae’s. When the bouncer told me I wasn’t allowed in until I finished my drink, I said “Do you know who I am?” Stupid new guy, needless to say I didn’t go in.
Saturday morning, my brother called about 10:30am to ask what time my flight was arriving/ remind me I was flying/ make sure I didn’t miss my flight. I reassured him I would make it, in fact I had spent the night on my buddy’s couch, who coincidentally I would be sharing a flight with. We got the desk agents to give us seats next t each other, and then went to the airport bar. My buddy had already drank about two pints of sangria, and the sitting next to him thing turned out to be only a moderately good idea. We had a couple drinks at the hotel bar and hopped on the plane. I only had to tell him a couple of times not to point at the person he was talking about, the middle-aged shuffle rocking guy who had the misfortune of sharing a row with us that day. We fired up a couple bloody marys and since it was Christmas the subsequent ones were free.
Upon arrival in Philly, we found our way to the restrooms, where I had sitting business. I hear my buddy say:
So we check on our connecting flights and go to the pub for nachos, a hotdog and four or five more drinks. We meet these two English (but actually it turns out are originally South African) girls who are on their way to Miami for “chrimble holiday,” which directly translated means: Christmas break. I think they may have warmed up to us once they realized how drunk we were. What shouldn't take them long to realize, is that there are no two guys in the United States that they could have been luckier to sit with.
I had an extra hour and a half after the girls’ and my friend’s plane left, so I decided I’d stretch my legs before I continued to kill my liver. I got a coffee irished and signed up for a US Air MasterCard and in return received a small teddy bear which spent the rest of the trip on my shoulder, being introduced to everyone he made eye contact with as Boudreaux the Bear, my co-pilot and confidant.
Back at home for only the second time since last the yuletide was gay, things are the same and completely different at the same time. Like for example, there’s a big ass tree in the living room. Also new, is wireless internet, which I am enjoying presently. Our tree is decorated with a nice blend of fancy store bought ornaments, moderately fancy store bought ornaments that were then painted with snowflakes, angels, wreaths, Santa, etc. and hand made elementary school crafts projects (and mardi gras beads, because I’ll use any excuse to get rid of some of those.) The closest ornament to me as I write, is one I made out of three popsicle sticks, blue paint, yarn, glue and red glitter. In the center is a school picture day portrait of me at roughly kindergarten/1st grade. My brother said I had fresh faced optimism, but I recognize the same no-teeth grin I still use today if told to smile with nothing to smile about.
There was a streak of about four or five years recently where every year, my mom says that this is going to be the year that Christmas gets scaled back and the amount of presents is severely reduced, but ended up loading the tree anyway. In recent years, the amount of presents really has declined, but gradually to the point of there being few, if any From: Santa gifts. I blame Al Gore.
I did 90% of my Christmas shopping in an underground music store. From street level you walk down a flight of steps into a basement filled with CDs, DVDs, and LPs. They were giving away free posters for a band fronted by a girl I went to middle school (and sang in chorus) with. I wouldn’t say she’s huge, but those in the musical know would know her. She’s definitely the most famous person I went to middle school with. Anyways, I’ve long been a fan of this music store, their indie rack is as big as their pop rack, and half the store is used CDs. They have concert videos that I’ve never seen in any store or even for sale online.
My original flight out of New Orleans was delayed two hours due to bad weather in Philly, then they boarded the plane and told us that the plane wasn’t going to fly for another two hours. Since the first two hours used up all of the contingency in my layover, I decided that maybe it would e better to try the next day (Saturday.) I called up my buddy to see what his plans were, and then told him I’d be there shortly. He asked what I meant and I told him I intended to get off the plane and he goes: “I like your style.” Me too, we went downtown and got pretty banged up, saw Kermit Ruffins break it down real nice at the new Balcony Club on Decatur, spent an hour looking for my friend’s lost work van, sang Motown songs with a homeless guy, then went to Ms. Mae’s. When the bouncer told me I wasn’t allowed in until I finished my drink, I said “Do you know who I am?” Stupid new guy, needless to say I didn’t go in.
Saturday morning, my brother called about 10:30am to ask what time my flight was arriving/ remind me I was flying/ make sure I didn’t miss my flight. I reassured him I would make it, in fact I had spent the night on my buddy’s couch, who coincidentally I would be sharing a flight with. We got the desk agents to give us seats next t each other, and then went to the airport bar. My buddy had already drank about two pints of sangria, and the sitting next to him thing turned out to be only a moderately good idea. We had a couple drinks at the hotel bar and hopped on the plane. I only had to tell him a couple of times not to point at the person he was talking about, the middle-aged shuffle rocking guy who had the misfortune of sharing a row with us that day. We fired up a couple bloody marys and since it was Christmas the subsequent ones were free.
Upon arrival in Philly, we found our way to the restrooms, where I had sitting business. I hear my buddy say:
Did you just see that? There was just a woman in here. Maybe it wasn’t a woman,I am sitting in my stall, absolutely dying laughing, there’s probably 5-8 other people in this bathroom, few of which would have the presence to realize that he was shitfaced because it was only like 4pm.
maybe it was it just a manboy… or mangirl.
So we check on our connecting flights and go to the pub for nachos, a hotdog and four or five more drinks. We meet these two English (but actually it turns out are originally South African) girls who are on their way to Miami for “chrimble holiday,” which directly translated means: Christmas break. I think they may have warmed up to us once they realized how drunk we were. What shouldn't take them long to realize, is that there are no two guys in the United States that they could have been luckier to sit with.
I had an extra hour and a half after the girls’ and my friend’s plane left, so I decided I’d stretch my legs before I continued to kill my liver. I got a coffee irished and signed up for a US Air MasterCard and in return received a small teddy bear which spent the rest of the trip on my shoulder, being introduced to everyone he made eye contact with as Boudreaux the Bear, my co-pilot and confidant.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Not to toot my own horn or anything but...
Christmas came early today when I found out I passed this test...
Good thing I studied...
Good thing I didn't go to a massive music festival the night before the test...
I'm going on vacation for a week or so, so I should have some time to write. I'll be in Chi-town for the Saints vs Bears abortion (preseason, tickets for this game were like $150 min. now you can get for like $40,) and New Years, I'll miss Galactic feat. Chali 2Na at Tips but I plan on having some good stories from the windy windy.
Pacem.
Good thing I studied...
Good thing I didn't go to a massive music festival the night before the test...
I'm going on vacation for a week or so, so I should have some time to write. I'll be in Chi-town for the Saints vs Bears abortion (preseason, tickets for this game were like $150 min. now you can get for like $40,) and New Years, I'll miss Galactic feat. Chali 2Na at Tips but I plan on having some good stories from the windy windy.
Pacem.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I could not care less about TO and Jessica Simpson
This is a screen grab of a link someone just emailed me:
What I wonder is how many people who received the same link read the article without noticing the red BREAKING NEWS above it, I'd guess at least two-thirds.
That's $70B that won't be spent on:
What I wonder is how many people who received the same link read the article without noticing the red BREAKING NEWS above it, I'd guess at least two-thirds.
That's $70B that won't be spent on:
- Low income housing for the NOLA residents who can't live in their FEMA trailers anymore because of the formaldehyde coming out of the AC, (or those levee thing-eys,)
- Health care for the 10,000 homeless CHILDREN in L.A,
- Renewable energy/cancer/AIDS research,
- or my favorite charitable cause: musical instruments for kids that can't afford them.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Why I Chose to Become an Engineer
Right after I grduated from college, my father set me up with a job interview with the local office of what I think is the world's largest consulting engineering firm. He knew a guy who worked in the company's office in St. Louis, but occasionally did work out of the office in New Orleans, and also occasionally offered his professional opion to my father's endeavors, for a tidy fee, they only knew each other professionally. So I went in for the interview and met with the office manager and then later my father's contact, and it was my first real job interview and I wasn't prepared or loose, and I didn't get the job. Months later I was talking to my dad and he mentioned that he had talked to his buddy, and he had ecounted a funny story from our interview. He asked me if I remembered what I had said when asked why I chose to become an engineer. I replied that I had a couple of canned answers to that question, but I didn't recall which I'd given. Apparently my response had been: "Because I didn't want to be a doctor."
You see, I grew up the son of a doctor and an engineer, who made relentless fun of accountants and lawyers. I considered there to really only be two career paths to upper-middle-classdom. I remember one time my dad telling me something along the lines of: Your mom and I could have made a lot of money with our professions, but instead we chose to live well and have more time to spend with you kids. But don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being rich. I'm pretty sure he waited to tell me that until after I admitted that I'd never be a rockstar. I never showed any talent for non-waaaayyy-abstract visual arts and I was never more than a B+ guitar student even before I lost part of my finger, and I didn't thought acting was for homosexuals, even though I showed a flair for the dramatic earlier than most. Maybe he wasn't talking about being famous, but rather suggesting I pursue a career on Wall Street (or some other financial endeavor riskier than moving to LA and waiting tables (or worse), trying to get noticed) but to my 12 year old mind he said "rich", and I just added the "and famous."
When I was about twelve I cut my finger carving my Halloween pumpkin (this is not the story of how I lost my finger tip, this was just a good deep gash) and I bled so much that I passed out. My mom said it was because of lost blood pressure, but I wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a weakness concerning the sight of what the inside of my finger looked like. When I did have my finger tip “traumatically amputated” in a door, I saw for a second time the inside of (coincidentally the same) one of my fingers. I passed out a couple times before that one was all said and done, and I ruined one of my favorite t-shirts.
Being an engineer was the rational choice, which coincidentally is what engineering is all about, getting as much information as possible and making the optimal decision within all of the constraints; maximizing the positives, without sacrificing any of the design constraints. Engineering is about pushing the limit of what is possible without delving into the realm of unknown or unsafe. Art professions ask you to not only break boundaries but to stay outside and no compromise your vision based on the criticism of others; not just think outside the box, but live outside the box. As a lawyer or financier, I may have a shot at becoming rich, but, possibly, at some moral or ethical cost. As an engineer, ethics are a big part of the equation. (Sure Westinghouse made a fortune on his air-brake, and Otis invented the brake that stops a falling elevator and both got rich in the process, but they did it saving lives. Every time you drive over a bridge, whether it be the Golden Gate, Brooklyn, a high rise, overpass, or just a short creek crossing, you’re entrusting your life to the engineer that designed the bridge and his/her ethics and “due diligence.”) As a doctor you are also entrusted with strangers’ lives, but you have to be able to deal with blood.
You see, I grew up the son of a doctor and an engineer, who made relentless fun of accountants and lawyers. I considered there to really only be two career paths to upper-middle-classdom. I remember one time my dad telling me something along the lines of: Your mom and I could have made a lot of money with our professions, but instead we chose to live well and have more time to spend with you kids. But don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being rich. I'm pretty sure he waited to tell me that until after I admitted that I'd never be a rockstar. I never showed any talent for non-waaaayyy-abstract visual arts and I was never more than a B+ guitar student even before I lost part of my finger, and I didn't thought acting was for homosexuals, even though I showed a flair for the dramatic earlier than most. Maybe he wasn't talking about being famous, but rather suggesting I pursue a career on Wall Street (or some other financial endeavor riskier than moving to LA and waiting tables (or worse), trying to get noticed) but to my 12 year old mind he said "rich", and I just added the "and famous."
When I was about twelve I cut my finger carving my Halloween pumpkin (this is not the story of how I lost my finger tip, this was just a good deep gash) and I bled so much that I passed out. My mom said it was because of lost blood pressure, but I wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a weakness concerning the sight of what the inside of my finger looked like. When I did have my finger tip “traumatically amputated” in a door, I saw for a second time the inside of (coincidentally the same) one of my fingers. I passed out a couple times before that one was all said and done, and I ruined one of my favorite t-shirts.
Being an engineer was the rational choice, which coincidentally is what engineering is all about, getting as much information as possible and making the optimal decision within all of the constraints; maximizing the positives, without sacrificing any of the design constraints. Engineering is about pushing the limit of what is possible without delving into the realm of unknown or unsafe. Art professions ask you to not only break boundaries but to stay outside and no compromise your vision based on the criticism of others; not just think outside the box, but live outside the box. As a lawyer or financier, I may have a shot at becoming rich, but, possibly, at some moral or ethical cost. As an engineer, ethics are a big part of the equation. (Sure Westinghouse made a fortune on his air-brake, and Otis invented the brake that stops a falling elevator and both got rich in the process, but they did it saving lives. Every time you drive over a bridge, whether it be the Golden Gate, Brooklyn, a high rise, overpass, or just a short creek crossing, you’re entrusting your life to the engineer that designed the bridge and his/her ethics and “due diligence.”) As a doctor you are also entrusted with strangers’ lives, but you have to be able to deal with blood.
If you haven't signed up at imeem.com, do it now!
imeem.com has signed deals with all the major labels allowing them to share music for free. Advertising revenue sharing will appearently apease the giant blood sucking leaches, who, for the first time since napster got blown up, are off my shit list! Fuck you iTunes!
Monday, December 17, 2007
A couple choice moments with the boss at the office Christmas party
[Electric Slide Playing in the background]
Me: Nice party man, what a room.
HMFIC: It is nice isn't it, way better than last years. (I slept through the party last year because I had been out until noon/1 the night before.) Some day it'll be you picking out the room.
Me: I could be so lucky...
HMFIC: You will be.
Me: So you want to do the Electric slide... it's electric?
HMFIC: No, I don't think so.
Me: No you don't want to, or no you don't know how?
HMFIC: (Smiles) I don't think so.
[Sean Kingston - Beautiful Girl playing in the background]
#2MFIC: How come you're not dancing?
Me: I don't have anyone to dance with.
#2MFIC: Here take my wife.
#2MF'sW: You got me suicidal, suicidal. Beautiful girl...
Me: Nice party man, what a room.
HMFIC: It is nice isn't it, way better than last years. (I slept through the party last year because I had been out until noon/1 the night before.) Some day it'll be you picking out the room.
Me: I could be so lucky...
HMFIC: You will be.
Me: So you want to do the Electric slide... it's electric?
HMFIC: No, I don't think so.
Me: No you don't want to, or no you don't know how?
HMFIC: (Smiles) I don't think so.
[Sean Kingston - Beautiful Girl playing in the background]
#2MFIC: How come you're not dancing?
Me: I don't have anyone to dance with.
#2MFIC: Here take my wife.
#2MF'sW: You got me suicidal, suicidal. Beautiful girl...
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Pictures that aren't confidential
You can see how this stairway was pushed into plastic behavior. The Katrina waves that did this pushed it past this point, but it flexed back to here. Someone signed off on it saying it was still safe though.Friday, December 14, 2007
Dear God, please let there be another oil boom, I promise I won't piss it away this time.
I know what you're thinking and the answer is: yes, I did ride on a helicopter today. My friend called me up last night around 8 to see if I wanted to go out drinking, I told him: "Sorry man, I'm going offshore tomorrow which means I have to get up at around 2:30 am." He says "Well, aren't you lucky." I'm can't decide if he was being sarcastic, I love going offshore.
Up at two thirty am in order to be at the heliport for six. Please forgive any spelling, or grammer mistakes I'm really tired right now?
These old guard oil field guys are full of great stories and one-liners, I'll relate one story I heard today and then a few of my favorite one-liners (I never saw the sign I used for the above title, but it's reported to be somewhere near Lubbock), then I'm going to fais-do-do.
So this one well in the field I was in today has been producing oil continuously since 1955. For it's 50th birthday, the operator got an old christmas tree (which is what you call the head of a well string) and had it blasted and painted real nice and had a plaque made listing the amount oil this well had produced in its 50 years. So last year, the field superintendent, who I'm told was a great guy, retired. The guys in the field convince the operator to take this monument and ship it to north Louisiana and put it in this guys yard. Great tribute right? Can you imagine having a big (approx. 3'X3'X5') chunk of iron, painted bright yellow, planted like a tree in your front yard?
"He didn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his ass."
""___insert any number of unintelligible catch phrases everyone but me thinks is absolutely hilarious here ____."
"There's no such thing as an oil spill at night."
"Your wife's like mine huh, two assholes... one she shits with, one she sends to work."
I've got more, but my brain is too tired to remember any right now.
Up at two thirty am in order to be at the heliport for six. Please forgive any spelling, or grammer mistakes I'm really tired right now?
These old guard oil field guys are full of great stories and one-liners, I'll relate one story I heard today and then a few of my favorite one-liners (I never saw the sign I used for the above title, but it's reported to be somewhere near Lubbock), then I'm going to fais-do-do.
So this one well in the field I was in today has been producing oil continuously since 1955. For it's 50th birthday, the operator got an old christmas tree (which is what you call the head of a well string) and had it blasted and painted real nice and had a plaque made listing the amount oil this well had produced in its 50 years. So last year, the field superintendent, who I'm told was a great guy, retired. The guys in the field convince the operator to take this monument and ship it to north Louisiana and put it in this guys yard. Great tribute right? Can you imagine having a big (approx. 3'X3'X5') chunk of iron, painted bright yellow, planted like a tree in your front yard?
"He didn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his ass."
""___insert any number of unintelligible catch phrases everyone but me thinks is absolutely hilarious here ____."
"There's no such thing as an oil spill at night."
"Your wife's like mine huh, two assholes... one she shits with, one she sends to work."
I've got more, but my brain is too tired to remember any right now.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Friday Night Part II
So I just got to my neighborhood bar for dinner and the bartender says to me "Zach! How you feeling?" to which I replied "You must have been working Friday." This is not the first time this has happened. Leslie (the bartender) says I sat down at the bar, didn't say hello and demanded a double Leslie and Coke.
I'm in no way endorsing this crappy song but,
even if I was a chick I think this video would give me a boner:
Monday, December 10, 2007
I Probably Would've Given More Than an Ear
A few interesting things happened today, but the two most culturally important would have to be Michael “Ron “Ookie” Mexico” Vick’s being sentenced to just shy of two years in federal prison for his role in the dog fighting corporation he financed “Bad Newz Kennelz,” (Bad news indeed… zing!) and the reunion concert by Led Zeppelin that just ended. They played a strong set list including some of my favorites, ROCKING in with Good Times Bad Times (a song we called GT/BT back in the halcyon Phish days of my youth), Ramble On (two of the top five best baselines ever, in one song!), and Black Dog (played out, but for a reason) to open. Then they played a few songs with which I must admit unfamiliarity, In My Time of Dying, For Your Life, Trampled Under Foot, and Nobody’s Fault but Mine. Then they launched into an EPIC string of ABSOLUTE AWESOMENESS:
No Quarter – My most recent favorite Zepp song.
Since I’ve Been Loving You – The song I lost my virginity to.
Dazed and Confused – Reportedly lasted ten minutes at the end of which Plant clued everyone in as to who was playing the guitar.
Stairway to Heaven – The song I touched my first boob to. (Seventh Grade Dance What What!)
The Song Remains the Same – Classic, aptly named even?
Whole Lotta Love – Was at one time my favorite Zepp song.
Rock and Roll – Again, aptly named, one of the ROCKINGEST songs ever.
A few weeks ago, a friend and I had a discussion as to which part and how much of our body we’d be willing to give up to be at this show. She said a ear, I said yeah but only after the show.
Three Stories My Parole Officer Would Not Find Amusing
So if you take a look at the comment that was left in the last post, you may not understand, but I’ll translate as much as I can. Basically it says:
To further clarify, I was at a Robert Earl Keen show, after going to an event sponsored by the local microbrewery that involved $1, 16oz, I.P.A.s that I drank about ten of, then went to the show and started drinking redbull-vodka, then, after the show, hitch/jacked a ride to a bar that serves well cocktails for $1, and somewhere in between I stopped remembering stuff.
Thank GOD I didn’t drive to the pub crawl initially.
Saturday was a tough one, even my patented hangover cure, which involves two ten minute walks, bacon, and as much Ice Tea as a man can possibly drink, did not make me feel any better. So, rather ingeniously I think, I came up with a plan to cure what ale-ed me (get it?). I would go to a place that's so loud, you're required to wear hearing protection. I called my buddy who has a gorgeous .357 magnum revolver and took my Browning Hi-Power to the local indoor pistol range. I can put 10 out of thirteen shots through the same hole with that Hi-Power, I love that gun. Afterwards we went to a nearby BBBQ (the extra B is for bbombdiggity) joint (you have to say BBQ JOINT I'm told, restaurant is unacceptable.)
Sunday I drank from noon until about 9pm. The Patriots are sooooo good, but you know who's better? Me, at fantasy football.
Hi, you may not remember me but my name may or may not be Missy. Last night you jumped into my car and forced me to give you a ride to Mae’s where, judging by your condition, you had absolutely no business going. You did however feel bad for hijacking me, so you gave me twenty dollars which I spent on beignets and coffee and It was delicious.
p.s. At some point in the drive you told me about your blog and even convinced me that I should look at it and leave you a note.
To further clarify, I was at a Robert Earl Keen show, after going to an event sponsored by the local microbrewery that involved $1, 16oz, I.P.A.s that I drank about ten of, then went to the show and started drinking redbull-vodka, then, after the show, hitch/jacked a ride to a bar that serves well cocktails for $1, and somewhere in between I stopped remembering stuff.
Thank GOD I didn’t drive to the pub crawl initially.
Saturday was a tough one, even my patented hangover cure, which involves two ten minute walks, bacon, and as much Ice Tea as a man can possibly drink, did not make me feel any better. So, rather ingeniously I think, I came up with a plan to cure what ale-ed me (get it?). I would go to a place that's so loud, you're required to wear hearing protection. I called my buddy who has a gorgeous .357 magnum revolver and took my Browning Hi-Power to the local indoor pistol range. I can put 10 out of thirteen shots through the same hole with that Hi-Power, I love that gun. Afterwards we went to a nearby BBBQ (the extra B is for bbombdiggity) joint (you have to say BBQ JOINT I'm told, restaurant is unacceptable.)
Sunday I drank from noon until about 9pm. The Patriots are sooooo good, but you know who's better? Me, at fantasy football.
Friday, December 7, 2007
And Now For Something Completely Different
I don't usually like to get political but fuck Bush and his continuing crusade in Iraq. Since the war started in the spring of '03, an average of about 17 coalition soldiers have died each week. 120 have killed themselves. Three died yesterday. I can't believe they're still dying.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Not for the Weak
A friend told me a story a few weeks back about how the injured their knee that made me nauseas.
While watching this, I did the move where I covered my eyes but peeked through my fingers. Enjoy!
While watching this, I did the move where I covered my eyes but peeked through my fingers. Enjoy!
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