I have been stuck listening to the radio a lot at the coffee shop since the CD player died.
To the songwriters out there: maybe it's time to break the mold and stir things up a little. A song, like a sandwich, consists of 3 general parts: a beginning, a middle, and an end. Other than those basic guidelines, the rest of the ingredients are all up to you.
It doesn't just have to be verse/chorus/verse/chorus/break/chorus/verse/fadeout all of the time, does it?
Just a thought... think outside the bun.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Hypnotized by the green glow of a new ATM sign across the street
Ever bite the side of your tongue and then you keep biting the same damn spot for the rest of the day? That's kind of what's happening to me with a new neon sign across the street at the Cedar Country Boy (see: Inconvenience Store post)
Above the entryway of the Country Boy, there used to be a tiny clock with lit up red numbers that you could hardly see. Last week it was replaced with an ATM sign with super bright green letters that I see the second I look out the window, not unlike Kramer and the Kenny Rogers Chicken sign on Seinfeld. Every time I raise my head, all I see is
ATM
HELP ME!
It makes me feel like I need to go across the street and take out money, even though I have no money. I close my eyes for a few seconds and all I see are blurry purple letters ATM floating around... they're burned onto the back of my eyelids. I think about it when I close my eyes and try to sleep. If somebody were to get hit by a car in front of the coffee shop, I fear that all I would do is look up, gaze at the ATM sign and forget to call 911.
I can only handle a few more days of this and then I'm going to have to go over and clip the cord that feeds it electricity. But that would do no good... I have a feeling it would keep burning bright like Lady Libery's torch.
Nothing can stop the ATM sign, and nothing can keep me from looking at it. Perhaps I should wear tanning bed goggles.
For the love of God, make it stop...
Above the entryway of the Country Boy, there used to be a tiny clock with lit up red numbers that you could hardly see. Last week it was replaced with an ATM sign with super bright green letters that I see the second I look out the window, not unlike Kramer and the Kenny Rogers Chicken sign on Seinfeld. Every time I raise my head, all I see is
ATM
HELP ME!
It makes me feel like I need to go across the street and take out money, even though I have no money. I close my eyes for a few seconds and all I see are blurry purple letters ATM floating around... they're burned onto the back of my eyelids. I think about it when I close my eyes and try to sleep. If somebody were to get hit by a car in front of the coffee shop, I fear that all I would do is look up, gaze at the ATM sign and forget to call 911.
I can only handle a few more days of this and then I'm going to have to go over and clip the cord that feeds it electricity. But that would do no good... I have a feeling it would keep burning bright like Lady Libery's torch.
Nothing can stop the ATM sign, and nothing can keep me from looking at it. Perhaps I should wear tanning bed goggles.
For the love of God, make it stop...
Monday, October 25, 2004
Buy Me Toys
Due to having no money lately, I've had to think about fun rather than paying for it. As a result, I've been having a pretty hardcore case of lost childhood toy nostalgia. I'll be covering some late 70s/early 80s recreational products here, so let me crawl off my dinosaur, sit down by the fire, and get started:
Remember Stompers? The little 4x4 trucks powered by a single AA battery? They had those big spongy black tires that enabled the vehicle to effortlessly cross over some pretty rugged terrain such as No. 2 pencils, crayons, fingers, sticks, sand, and just about any other 1/4" tall object you put in its path. Can you say 'Ass kicking'? They had working headlights. My friend Jason and I would take them apart like they were little truck shaped froggies being dissected in biology class and put them back together. We'd inevitably ruin them by doing so, and beg our moms to buy us new ones on the next trip to K Mart. I've seen a new generation of Stompers on toy shelves lately, but just like everything else you grow up with (unless you were a kid in the late 80s/early 90s when everything was being made cheap and crappy by default), they don't make 'em like they used to.
Intellivision. Yeah, I'm old. I never had one of these state-of-the-art gaming consoles, but remember the controllers had numbers on them and a gold disc which you'd press to control gaming movements. Aforementioned friend Jason had one of those and in between ruining his parent's TV screen by holding magnets up to it and watching the colors change, we spent many hours playing Donkey Kong and some weird math game where a monkey was on a river and you had to solve math problems in order to get points and travel further down the river.
SIMON Red, yellow, green, or blue? I loved this game (Santa scored big time leaving this under the tree for me... along with those Ace and Peter KISS solo albums that year.) I heard this game is making a comeback, but I don't want anything to do with the new version.. I guess it has way more buttons and lights on it to cater to the needs of today's children who apparently need all of that shit to keep them from falling asleep or dying of boredom while playing. Poor things...
Garbage Pail Kids My brother and I got into these right around the 2nd/3rd series crossover. Miniature paintings of severely mutated Cabbage Patch Kid dolls? Sign me up. Those things were the best up until the Cabbage Patch folk allegedly threatened Topps with a lawsuit unless they eliminated the Cabbage Patch resemblance. What a bunch of wussies.
The last street I shall travel on for this entry is a toy which I cannot for the life of me remember what the name of it was. I think Nerf made them, but have searched the internet high and low with no answer. They were D cell battery-shaped chunks composed of a spongy Nerf-like substance. You'd hold them between your thumb and index finger and squeeze them until they'd fly out of your hand and make a popping sound. Sounds like about as much fun as a stick and a glass of water to you, but when I was five, holy crap - hours of entertainment there.
Time to head over to Ebay...
Remember Stompers? The little 4x4 trucks powered by a single AA battery? They had those big spongy black tires that enabled the vehicle to effortlessly cross over some pretty rugged terrain such as No. 2 pencils, crayons, fingers, sticks, sand, and just about any other 1/4" tall object you put in its path. Can you say 'Ass kicking'? They had working headlights. My friend Jason and I would take them apart like they were little truck shaped froggies being dissected in biology class and put them back together. We'd inevitably ruin them by doing so, and beg our moms to buy us new ones on the next trip to K Mart. I've seen a new generation of Stompers on toy shelves lately, but just like everything else you grow up with (unless you were a kid in the late 80s/early 90s when everything was being made cheap and crappy by default), they don't make 'em like they used to.
Intellivision. Yeah, I'm old. I never had one of these state-of-the-art gaming consoles, but remember the controllers had numbers on them and a gold disc which you'd press to control gaming movements. Aforementioned friend Jason had one of those and in between ruining his parent's TV screen by holding magnets up to it and watching the colors change, we spent many hours playing Donkey Kong and some weird math game where a monkey was on a river and you had to solve math problems in order to get points and travel further down the river.
SIMON Red, yellow, green, or blue? I loved this game (Santa scored big time leaving this under the tree for me... along with those Ace and Peter KISS solo albums that year.) I heard this game is making a comeback, but I don't want anything to do with the new version.. I guess it has way more buttons and lights on it to cater to the needs of today's children who apparently need all of that shit to keep them from falling asleep or dying of boredom while playing. Poor things...
Garbage Pail Kids My brother and I got into these right around the 2nd/3rd series crossover. Miniature paintings of severely mutated Cabbage Patch Kid dolls? Sign me up. Those things were the best up until the Cabbage Patch folk allegedly threatened Topps with a lawsuit unless they eliminated the Cabbage Patch resemblance. What a bunch of wussies.
The last street I shall travel on for this entry is a toy which I cannot for the life of me remember what the name of it was. I think Nerf made them, but have searched the internet high and low with no answer. They were D cell battery-shaped chunks composed of a spongy Nerf-like substance. You'd hold them between your thumb and index finger and squeeze them until they'd fly out of your hand and make a popping sound. Sounds like about as much fun as a stick and a glass of water to you, but when I was five, holy crap - hours of entertainment there.
Time to head over to Ebay...
Attn. Coffee shop freeloaders: I am coming to your house
Dear people that come into the coffee shop use the phone, bathroom, and grab a glass of water without buying anything:
Let me know when a good time is to come over to your house so I can give my friend a call with your phone... please have a phone book handy, otherwise I might get a little frustrated with you. Then I'll have to use your bathroom, and OOPS - sorry if I make a mess, but it's not my bathroom and I don't have to clean it up. OH - and if I could just taste a few things in your refridgerator, that would be awesome.
Let me know when a good time is to come over to your house so I can give my friend a call with your phone... please have a phone book handy, otherwise I might get a little frustrated with you. Then I'll have to use your bathroom, and OOPS - sorry if I make a mess, but it's not my bathroom and I don't have to clean it up. OH - and if I could just taste a few things in your refridgerator, that would be awesome.
SpaGhetto Os
I felt the need to once again use this online Ebonics translator for today's journal entry... http://www.atlantaga.com/ebonics.htm It just needed that extra little push to go with the flow of the "SpaGhetto Os" concept.
Yo buss dis. I wuz jus munchin on some Spahgetti Os fuh lunch an' came up wit a new product fuh de folk at Campbell's to try out in de tes kitchen:
"SpaGhetto Os"
Wit thins likes Pimp Juice on de market, dis could go ovuh very well.
De label could be some sort uh pimped out thin wit sparkely gold letters an' has a pictua uh Flava Flav eatindem out uh a big expensive hubcap surrounded by a bunch uh hos.
De pasta could be buck sign shaped - maybe cannabis leaf shapes would be bad assed as well. Hey.. Evuh see hubcap-shaped pasta before? I aint either. See what I'm sayin? Dat would be phat.
Are you listenin, Campbells? Sheeit!
Yo buss dis. I wuz jus munchin on some Spahgetti Os fuh lunch an' came up wit a new product fuh de folk at Campbell's to try out in de tes kitchen:
"SpaGhetto Os"
Wit thins likes Pimp Juice on de market, dis could go ovuh very well.
De label could be some sort uh pimped out thin wit sparkely gold letters an' has a pictua uh Flava Flav eatindem out uh a big expensive hubcap surrounded by a bunch uh hos.
De pasta could be buck sign shaped - maybe cannabis leaf shapes would be bad assed as well. Hey.. Evuh see hubcap-shaped pasta before? I aint either. See what I'm sayin? Dat would be phat.
Are you listenin, Campbells? Sheeit!
Friday, October 22, 2004
Apparently, I'm an idiot. a.k.a. "The customer is WRONG, bitch!"
Yesterday some guy I've never seen before who looked as if he may have some anger management/mental issues came into the coffee shop and ordered a $1.50 cup of coffee. I filled his cup, took his $1.50, transaction complete.
Or so I thought...
"Excuse me, but I'd like my change," the man said. "I gave you a twenty and two quarters." He had a very you want to start some shit with me, buddy? sound to his voice.
Uh oh.
I was certain it was $1.50 that he gave me and I told him that. I remembered specifically putting a one and two quarters in the drawer. After a brief exchange of words - mellow on my part, pissed off on his part, we ended up counting the drawer in front of him. The daily report said $88 was made so far that day, and only $78 (plus some uncounted change) was in the drawer.
Hm!
After hearing that, he said "well obviously you don't know what you're doing... you're an idiot!" His face was turning the color of a baboon's ass (not to mention it kind of looked like one)
Although he got his $1.50 back, he wasn't going to get the rest of "his" money back because the drawer was not over, and this made him very upset - he threw the word "idiot" out a few more times, said something like you're ripping me off, you don't know how to run a business, and on his way out mumbled something to the fact of this being bullshit and that we're a bunch of idiots that were robbing him.
I couldn't help myself and very sarcastically yelled out "Yup - we GOT YA!" That was probably not the right thing to say. (ha ha!)
He turned around and headed to the counter most definitely ready to punch me in the piehole; you could see it in his eyes. Thankfully there were other people waiting to order and judging from his behavior, he probably was thinking "oh, I don't want to hold these nice folks up - I'll just get along with my day and skip down the sidewalk!"
I haven't seen him again, thankfully.
Moral of the story: be sure to have a frothing pitcher full of boiling hot water on hand in case you need to throw it in the face of a hot tempered quick change artist that's going to knock you out for smart-mouthing him.
Or so I thought...
"Excuse me, but I'd like my change," the man said. "I gave you a twenty and two quarters." He had a very you want to start some shit with me, buddy? sound to his voice.
Uh oh.
I was certain it was $1.50 that he gave me and I told him that. I remembered specifically putting a one and two quarters in the drawer. After a brief exchange of words - mellow on my part, pissed off on his part, we ended up counting the drawer in front of him. The daily report said $88 was made so far that day, and only $78 (plus some uncounted change) was in the drawer.
Hm!
After hearing that, he said "well obviously you don't know what you're doing... you're an idiot!" His face was turning the color of a baboon's ass (not to mention it kind of looked like one)
Although he got his $1.50 back, he wasn't going to get the rest of "his" money back because the drawer was not over, and this made him very upset - he threw the word "idiot" out a few more times, said something like you're ripping me off, you don't know how to run a business, and on his way out mumbled something to the fact of this being bullshit and that we're a bunch of idiots that were robbing him.
I couldn't help myself and very sarcastically yelled out "Yup - we GOT YA!" That was probably not the right thing to say. (ha ha!)
He turned around and headed to the counter most definitely ready to punch me in the piehole; you could see it in his eyes. Thankfully there were other people waiting to order and judging from his behavior, he probably was thinking "oh, I don't want to hold these nice folks up - I'll just get along with my day and skip down the sidewalk!"
I haven't seen him again, thankfully.
Moral of the story: be sure to have a frothing pitcher full of boiling hot water on hand in case you need to throw it in the face of a hot tempered quick change artist that's going to knock you out for smart-mouthing him.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
My siblings kick ass!
My sister Lisa and I just spent the weekend at my brother Chuck's place in downtown Cleveland where he lives and attends the Cleveland Institute of Music. To put it very lightly, my summer SUCKED MAJOR BALLS and it was really, really nice to have the opportunity to get away from the overstuffed reality sandwich I know as Minnesota and be a lazy bum for a couple of days with the two other beings my mother spawned.
I had the best time I've had in a long time. At the train station on the way to the airport when we were leaving for home I had a cartoon bubble over my head of me holding onto the bench with a white knuckle grip while Lisa and Chuck each had one of my legs trying to pull me into the train. Ha!
Highlights of the trip included:
- Seeing my brother sawing away on his viola in an orchestra @ Severance Hall with an amazing pianist named Andrius Zlabys - and then drinking way too much wine at the afterparty in a wine glass that I held with a Starbucks coffee cup sleeve ("I don't want it to get cold!" I was telling people)
- Going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and once again being mesmerized by things like The Who's old instruments (the musical ones), handwritten letters by people like Hunter S. Thompson & Paul Simon, and Freddy Mercury's jumpsuit
- Waiting for the bus
- Eating like a pig
- Not making lattes
- Hanging out with my siblings
Speaking of: My siblings kick ass! Plain and simple. We are all tuned in to the same strange frequency - one where bizarre senses of humor and just being mellow is a 24 hour/7 day a week instinct. I'm not sure if there's any other group of people I could spend 96 hours straight with and still be laughing or not feeling like I need to shove a No. 2 pencil in my ear to stop the insanity. There is no bickering when we're around each other.. I am at liberty to say the most vile, sarcastic, dry, abstract, disgusting, inappropriate things around them (and they do the same - some more than others, *cough cough* Charlie) and there is always an unspoken understanding that it's just a joke. I've had a few run-ins with therapists in my day and they've all said the same thing: "That is incredibly rare - consider yourself very lucky!" Nice job, Moms and Pops!
Anyways, it was a great weekend and I hope to do it again real soon sometime. Now it's time to unpack my clothes, get back to worrying about bills, looking for a job, more bills, and figuring out what the hell I'm going to do with the rest of my life.
"There's no place like home..." Yeah, well f*ck you, Dorothy!
I had the best time I've had in a long time. At the train station on the way to the airport when we were leaving for home I had a cartoon bubble over my head of me holding onto the bench with a white knuckle grip while Lisa and Chuck each had one of my legs trying to pull me into the train. Ha!
Highlights of the trip included:
- Seeing my brother sawing away on his viola in an orchestra @ Severance Hall with an amazing pianist named Andrius Zlabys - and then drinking way too much wine at the afterparty in a wine glass that I held with a Starbucks coffee cup sleeve ("I don't want it to get cold!" I was telling people)
- Going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and once again being mesmerized by things like The Who's old instruments (the musical ones), handwritten letters by people like Hunter S. Thompson & Paul Simon, and Freddy Mercury's jumpsuit
- Waiting for the bus
- Eating like a pig
- Not making lattes
- Hanging out with my siblings
Speaking of: My siblings kick ass! Plain and simple. We are all tuned in to the same strange frequency - one where bizarre senses of humor and just being mellow is a 24 hour/7 day a week instinct. I'm not sure if there's any other group of people I could spend 96 hours straight with and still be laughing or not feeling like I need to shove a No. 2 pencil in my ear to stop the insanity. There is no bickering when we're around each other.. I am at liberty to say the most vile, sarcastic, dry, abstract, disgusting, inappropriate things around them (and they do the same - some more than others, *cough cough* Charlie) and there is always an unspoken understanding that it's just a joke. I've had a few run-ins with therapists in my day and they've all said the same thing: "That is incredibly rare - consider yourself very lucky!" Nice job, Moms and Pops!
Anyways, it was a great weekend and I hope to do it again real soon sometime. Now it's time to unpack my clothes, get back to worrying about bills, looking for a job, more bills, and figuring out what the hell I'm going to do with the rest of my life.
"There's no place like home..." Yeah, well f*ck you, Dorothy!
Friday, October 15, 2004
Dear Scott Weiland: Please eat something
Last night the rock band Velvet Revolver was on Jay Leno performing one of their songs. For those of you not aware, here's the lowdown on this band:
Guns N Roses - Axl Rose + Scott Weiland (Stone Temple Pilots vocalist) = Velvet Revolver
It was very strange to see the bastard son of 2 bands I grew up with 10+ years ago.
My earliest Guns N Roses memory dates back to 1987. I remember having the Appetite For Destruction cassette in my Walkman while attending the Minnesota Twins World Series parade in 1987 with my Dad and brother Chuck. On a side note, to this day I could care less about the World Series, but hey - when you get a free legitimate excuse to get out of school for the day, you've got to jump on it.
I remember playing an acoustic rendition of Stone Temple Pilots "Plush" outside of the Cottage Grove Subway franchise at 3 in the morning with a group of friends. That was... um... 1993?
The point is this: I've enjoyed both of these bands for a long time now, I am older, they are really older, and it's weird but cool to see the two together making music.
Slash hasn't aged a day - apparently chain smoking, drinking, and not wearing shirts is the secret to staying young.
Scott Weiland on the other hand. Ouch. Not looking too good. He could give Chris Robinson of the Black Crowes a run for his money in a "most disgustingly undernourished lead singer" contest if there ever was one. Apparently substantial hard core drug use is not the secret to staying young. He is looking so ridiculously waifish from his drug addiction that when he reached up and you could see his torso, it looked like a bird cage. When the spotlights lit up behind his wee little frog legs, they're so skinny that the glare from the lights seemed to make them disappear. The man is basically a skeleton tightly wrapped in skin.
Friends/band members of Scott Weiland: in the unlikely event that you end up reading this, please take Mr. Weiland to Old Country Buffet. He needs it. And don't just take him once - I might recommend lunch and dinner there for a month or two straight, and don't let him skimp on the salad dressing. Make him drink at least 2-3 Cokes. He needs all the calories he can get. Where's that healthy looking Scott Weiland we all used to know and love in the Stone Temple Pilots videos with bright orange hair? I hope drugs haven't taken him down for good - he's one of my favorite singers from one of my favorite bands, and I'd hate to see a perfectly good white boy go to waste like that.
Dear Scott Weiland: Please eat something. There's no need for you to hook up with your old pal Layne Staley quite yet.
I'm off to Cleveland this weekend to see my brother and the glorious Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Maybe they have a jar containing Scott Weiland's 40 pounds of body mass he lost on display there? I'll let you know.
Happy Trails.
For those of you who remember Stone Temple Pilots as "that grunge band from the 90s", do yourself a favor and check out their more recent offerings such as "No. 4" and "Shangri-La Dee Da" - it's some of the best gritty candy coated rock and roll out there today.
Guns N Roses - Axl Rose + Scott Weiland (Stone Temple Pilots vocalist) = Velvet Revolver
It was very strange to see the bastard son of 2 bands I grew up with 10+ years ago.
My earliest Guns N Roses memory dates back to 1987. I remember having the Appetite For Destruction cassette in my Walkman while attending the Minnesota Twins World Series parade in 1987 with my Dad and brother Chuck. On a side note, to this day I could care less about the World Series, but hey - when you get a free legitimate excuse to get out of school for the day, you've got to jump on it.
I remember playing an acoustic rendition of Stone Temple Pilots "Plush" outside of the Cottage Grove Subway franchise at 3 in the morning with a group of friends. That was... um... 1993?
The point is this: I've enjoyed both of these bands for a long time now, I am older, they are really older, and it's weird but cool to see the two together making music.
Slash hasn't aged a day - apparently chain smoking, drinking, and not wearing shirts is the secret to staying young.
Scott Weiland on the other hand. Ouch. Not looking too good. He could give Chris Robinson of the Black Crowes a run for his money in a "most disgustingly undernourished lead singer" contest if there ever was one. Apparently substantial hard core drug use is not the secret to staying young. He is looking so ridiculously waifish from his drug addiction that when he reached up and you could see his torso, it looked like a bird cage. When the spotlights lit up behind his wee little frog legs, they're so skinny that the glare from the lights seemed to make them disappear. The man is basically a skeleton tightly wrapped in skin.
Friends/band members of Scott Weiland: in the unlikely event that you end up reading this, please take Mr. Weiland to Old Country Buffet. He needs it. And don't just take him once - I might recommend lunch and dinner there for a month or two straight, and don't let him skimp on the salad dressing. Make him drink at least 2-3 Cokes. He needs all the calories he can get. Where's that healthy looking Scott Weiland we all used to know and love in the Stone Temple Pilots videos with bright orange hair? I hope drugs haven't taken him down for good - he's one of my favorite singers from one of my favorite bands, and I'd hate to see a perfectly good white boy go to waste like that.
Dear Scott Weiland: Please eat something. There's no need for you to hook up with your old pal Layne Staley quite yet.
I'm off to Cleveland this weekend to see my brother and the glorious Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Maybe they have a jar containing Scott Weiland's 40 pounds of body mass he lost on display there? I'll let you know.
Happy Trails.
For those of you who remember Stone Temple Pilots as "that grunge band from the 90s", do yourself a favor and check out their more recent offerings such as "No. 4" and "Shangri-La Dee Da" - it's some of the best gritty candy coated rock and roll out there today.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Door knocking...
Door knocking just shot to the top of my list of things I really hate.
DOOR
KNOCKING
SUCKS!
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
The last televised presidential debate is tomorrow.
Just heard this news on the radio.
This is great news. Mainly because it's the last night I have to resort to watching the weather channel or the fine programming on the WB network if I'm watching TV.
This is great news. Mainly because it's the last night I have to resort to watching the weather channel or the fine programming on the WB network if I'm watching TV.
Your hands are never 100% clean in a public restroom
a.k.a. "I've Seen Too Many NBC Dateline Segments on Bacteria in Public Places"
Here's something I've always thought about, and I'll be the first to diagnose myself with a slight case of subconscious handwashing OCD before I go any further. I call it a slight case because I only think about it - I'm not one of those people who opens doors with a hanky in my hand (see: "What About Bob?")
When you wash your hands, all you do is immediately get them dirty again. Why? Allow me to explain.
1. Your dirty hands turn the faucet on.
2. You get them all nice and soapy and rinse them off.
3. You take your hands you just cleaned and touch the faucet handles that you just turned on with your dirty bacteria-ridden hands (and everyone else's grime from when they turned the sink on), thereby contaminating your hands once again.
4. Most of the time, (in the Mens room at least, where hardly anyone washes their hands), chances are 2 dozen people that didn't wash their hands open the door with their dirty hands. This means you're touching a door handle full of who-knows-what and contaminating your precious little paws that mom taught you to wash after every time you make boom boom in the potty.
Yes, your hands may be more clean in the end and they probably smell nice and pretty, but more likely than not, someone else's cooties have moved in and set up shop on them.
Stay tuned for next week's self-grossout essay when I write about how you smash hundreds of microscopic bed mites every time you put your head on the pillow at night. Hmm.. Either that or how there's traces of fecal matter and um... other stuff on that hotel television remote you use.
Here's something I've always thought about, and I'll be the first to diagnose myself with a slight case of subconscious handwashing OCD before I go any further. I call it a slight case because I only think about it - I'm not one of those people who opens doors with a hanky in my hand (see: "What About Bob?")
When you wash your hands, all you do is immediately get them dirty again. Why? Allow me to explain.
1. Your dirty hands turn the faucet on.
2. You get them all nice and soapy and rinse them off.
3. You take your hands you just cleaned and touch the faucet handles that you just turned on with your dirty bacteria-ridden hands (and everyone else's grime from when they turned the sink on), thereby contaminating your hands once again.
4. Most of the time, (in the Mens room at least, where hardly anyone washes their hands), chances are 2 dozen people that didn't wash their hands open the door with their dirty hands. This means you're touching a door handle full of who-knows-what and contaminating your precious little paws that mom taught you to wash after every time you make boom boom in the potty.
Yes, your hands may be more clean in the end and they probably smell nice and pretty, but more likely than not, someone else's cooties have moved in and set up shop on them.
Stay tuned for next week's self-grossout essay when I write about how you smash hundreds of microscopic bed mites every time you put your head on the pillow at night. Hmm.. Either that or how there's traces of fecal matter and um... other stuff on that hotel television remote you use.
Do you have a plastic spoon? I want my f*&king ice cream, dude.
Slow day at the office, so I'm just going to keep on adding stuff here.
There is a convenience store across the street from the coffee shop I work at. I like to call it "the Inconvenience Store", because everything they have is overpriced and either a) not what you want or b) expired. Not to mention it smells like warm cabbage in there.
Here are two recent events that pertain to this fine little corner market that most locals know as "The Cedar Country Boy":
Inconvenience Store Story #1
Some scruffy guy with no teeth just came into the coffee shop from the Inconvenience Store. He was all jacked up looking for a plastic spoon. He said "The guy across the street is an asshole. He sells Breyer's ice cream for $4 and won't give me a plastic spoon to eat it, and that shit is my favorite."
I told him I didn't have a spoon for him and he looked a little panicked.
"Well, I'm gonna go find me a plastic spoon somewhere, because that shit is my FAVORITE." He was forgetting to use his indoor voice when communicating with me - all of the customers sitting in here were giving him the "okay... settle down.." look.
Five minutes passed and he came back in just to let me know he found a spoon. Wow, thanks for the update - I can't imagine the pain he was going through.
Inconvenience Store Story # 2
Yesterday after closing the shop and making a stop off at the Inconvenience Store, a different scruffy man walked out with a 1 pound size brick of cheese. He peeled back the wrapper like it was the foil on a Chipotle burrito and took a big old bite out of it.
I wonder if he buys all of his food unsliced and eats it like that? Cheese, bread, salami, lettuce... if so, I'd love to watch that guy try and make a sandwich.
There is a convenience store across the street from the coffee shop I work at. I like to call it "the Inconvenience Store", because everything they have is overpriced and either a) not what you want or b) expired. Not to mention it smells like warm cabbage in there.
Here are two recent events that pertain to this fine little corner market that most locals know as "The Cedar Country Boy":
Inconvenience Store Story #1
Some scruffy guy with no teeth just came into the coffee shop from the Inconvenience Store. He was all jacked up looking for a plastic spoon. He said "The guy across the street is an asshole. He sells Breyer's ice cream for $4 and won't give me a plastic spoon to eat it, and that shit is my favorite."
I told him I didn't have a spoon for him and he looked a little panicked.
"Well, I'm gonna go find me a plastic spoon somewhere, because that shit is my FAVORITE." He was forgetting to use his indoor voice when communicating with me - all of the customers sitting in here were giving him the "okay... settle down.." look.
Five minutes passed and he came back in just to let me know he found a spoon. Wow, thanks for the update - I can't imagine the pain he was going through.
Inconvenience Store Story # 2
Yesterday after closing the shop and making a stop off at the Inconvenience Store, a different scruffy man walked out with a 1 pound size brick of cheese. He peeled back the wrapper like it was the foil on a Chipotle burrito and took a big old bite out of it.
I wonder if he buys all of his food unsliced and eats it like that? Cheese, bread, salami, lettuce... if so, I'd love to watch that guy try and make a sandwich.
Monday, October 11, 2004
I own technology... it doesn't own me
Yesterday a nice man came into the coffee shop to apply for a job. I am not one to judge a book by its cover, but it's safe to assume he was a computer geek. He had the look.
He didn't want to fill out an application - he wanted to give me his info via a USB storage device that he was wearing on his neck... kind of like this thing here. He asked "Can I plug this in and print it out?"
Okay... now I love technological doodads as much as the next computer geek, but there comes a point where it crosses the line between convenient and just plain old nerdy. Wearing a USB flash drive around one's neck is crossing the line into geekdom. This made me look at myself and fear that this could someday happen to me, or maybe I'm already on the way and don't know it.
Dude: grab a piece of paper and a pen and write the shit down. It's not that much work, and there's way more romance and personality in a handwritten word instead of one printed out by an inkjet printer in Times New Roman font. Computers are great and everything, but if people are wearing computer hardware around their necks like that, something has gone seriously wrong with this world. Your computers are starting to own you instead of you owning them. Cell phones that take pictures are real cool and everything, but keep in mind that it's a freakin' PHONE, for the love of gawd. Get up, get outside and get yourself some fresh air.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to publish my blog that I just spent 20 minutes typing up and go check and see if anyone's emailed me yet.
He didn't want to fill out an application - he wanted to give me his info via a USB storage device that he was wearing on his neck... kind of like this thing here. He asked "Can I plug this in and print it out?"
Okay... now I love technological doodads as much as the next computer geek, but there comes a point where it crosses the line between convenient and just plain old nerdy. Wearing a USB flash drive around one's neck is crossing the line into geekdom. This made me look at myself and fear that this could someday happen to me, or maybe I'm already on the way and don't know it.
Dude: grab a piece of paper and a pen and write the shit down. It's not that much work, and there's way more romance and personality in a handwritten word instead of one printed out by an inkjet printer in Times New Roman font. Computers are great and everything, but if people are wearing computer hardware around their necks like that, something has gone seriously wrong with this world. Your computers are starting to own you instead of you owning them. Cell phones that take pictures are real cool and everything, but keep in mind that it's a freakin' PHONE, for the love of gawd. Get up, get outside and get yourself some fresh air.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to publish my blog that I just spent 20 minutes typing up and go check and see if anyone's emailed me yet.
Saturday, October 9, 2004
SuperDevo
My cat and I are a pest-control wonder duo of sorts. If there is a spider up on the ceiling or in an area he can't get to, I'll gladly hold him up as high as I can so he can bat whatever it is down, chase it, torture it, and eat it. crunch crunch crunch crunch
The other night, I was quite impressed - there was a fly in the bathroom zooming around for about 5 minutes, apparently unaware of the gigantic 7'x3' hole in the wall called a DOORWAY that it could have easily flown out of. Eeeediot!
I whistled for kitty, he ran in, saw the fly, and was immediately ready to get to work. I held him up above my head, and sure enough, he clapped that sucker in midair. The fly's wing buzzing which had been reverberating off the bathroom walls stopped and created a deafening silence.
Devo opened his clamped together paws to peek and make sure the fly was in there, and apparently didn't have a firm enough grip, as the buzzing started up again and the fly was loose.
I quickly shut the door and held him back up. Within 2-3 claps, he had the fly again. I put him down on the floor. Once again, he lifted one of his paws ever so slightly to admire his catch, and the buzzing started again. His head jerked around trying to keep his eyes on the fly, I held him up again, and this time he swatted it against the wall and the fly dropped to the floor. Devo hopped out of my arms, sniffed the fly, and lapped it up before it got away again. I saw his little head bobbing and heard crunch crunch crunch crunch
After all of that intense teamwork, he walked over to me and brushed against my leg as if to say "Thanks!"
Dear reader: What you just read may seem a little disgusting, but he's certainly a lot cuter, cleaner, and more fun to have sit on your lap than a flyswatter.
The other night, I was quite impressed - there was a fly in the bathroom zooming around for about 5 minutes, apparently unaware of the gigantic 7'x3' hole in the wall called a DOORWAY that it could have easily flown out of. Eeeediot!
I whistled for kitty, he ran in, saw the fly, and was immediately ready to get to work. I held him up above my head, and sure enough, he clapped that sucker in midair. The fly's wing buzzing which had been reverberating off the bathroom walls stopped and created a deafening silence.
Devo opened his clamped together paws to peek and make sure the fly was in there, and apparently didn't have a firm enough grip, as the buzzing started up again and the fly was loose.
I quickly shut the door and held him back up. Within 2-3 claps, he had the fly again. I put him down on the floor. Once again, he lifted one of his paws ever so slightly to admire his catch, and the buzzing started again. His head jerked around trying to keep his eyes on the fly, I held him up again, and this time he swatted it against the wall and the fly dropped to the floor. Devo hopped out of my arms, sniffed the fly, and lapped it up before it got away again. I saw his little head bobbing and heard crunch crunch crunch crunch
After all of that intense teamwork, he walked over to me and brushed against my leg as if to say "Thanks!"
Dear reader: What you just read may seem a little disgusting, but he's certainly a lot cuter, cleaner, and more fun to have sit on your lap than a flyswatter.
The Department of Redundancy Department
A customer at the coffee shop just ordered a medium "iced chocolate mocha latte on ice."
Would you like that in a medium cup, sir?
Thanks. Thank you. Please stop in again, and please come back soon.
Would you like that in a medium cup, sir?
Thanks. Thank you. Please stop in again, and please come back soon.
I was a friggin' idiot when I was a kid
When I was younger, I suffered from legume-a-phobia.
I grew up in a family fortunate enough to eat homemade dinners 7 days a week (thanks, Mom). Occasionally chili would be on the menu. Being afraid of legumes as a kid, the simple task of eating chili that all chili eaters take for granted was always a tedious, laborious effort on my part. I would pick out the little pieces of hamburger from the sea of beans and savor every bite I could strain out of the bowl - to every 1 bowl of chili everyone else would consume, I would probably have 3 and end dinner with a bowl full of beans. Every so often there would be a larger chunk of ground beef in the bowl that was the perfect topping for a cracker with a little bit of chili juice... "Score!" I'd think to myself.
Since I've moved out and gotten a little older, I have overcome my fear of beans. Love 'em. Last week my sister brought me a container of that delicious chili which she made from the same recipe our Mom uses. I think that may have been the first time I can ever remember that I ate that chili as a whole, beans and all. And you know what? It was delicious. I lived through it. After finishing that first bowl of chili, I wanted to kick myself for having access to such a good thing when I was growing up and not being able to fully take advantage of it.
Delicious chili, my dear sister... you done reeeeeeeal good.
Man, kids are stupid.
I grew up in a family fortunate enough to eat homemade dinners 7 days a week (thanks, Mom). Occasionally chili would be on the menu. Being afraid of legumes as a kid, the simple task of eating chili that all chili eaters take for granted was always a tedious, laborious effort on my part. I would pick out the little pieces of hamburger from the sea of beans and savor every bite I could strain out of the bowl - to every 1 bowl of chili everyone else would consume, I would probably have 3 and end dinner with a bowl full of beans. Every so often there would be a larger chunk of ground beef in the bowl that was the perfect topping for a cracker with a little bit of chili juice... "Score!" I'd think to myself.
Since I've moved out and gotten a little older, I have overcome my fear of beans. Love 'em. Last week my sister brought me a container of that delicious chili which she made from the same recipe our Mom uses. I think that may have been the first time I can ever remember that I ate that chili as a whole, beans and all. And you know what? It was delicious. I lived through it. After finishing that first bowl of chili, I wanted to kick myself for having access to such a good thing when I was growing up and not being able to fully take advantage of it.
Delicious chili, my dear sister... you done reeeeeeeal good.
Man, kids are stupid.
Thursday, October 7, 2004
Whodunit?
So.
I was sitting at the computer the other day minding my own business, having a grand old time.
As I was typing an email to a lady named Liz about my band's show at First Avenue, suddenly the air I was breathing became thick. A horrific funk filled the air that was not unlike warm egg salad. Every hair on my body stood up straight and I was beginning to hallucinate.. Suddenly I could have sworn I was trapped inside a giant container of deviled eggs. Mom - you know those tan/white Tupperware deviled egg containers you have? Yup, one of those.
Suddenly a car horn honked outside and snapped me out of my trance.
There are certain times in life where a very foreign aroma enters your nostrils and you know immediately where it came from. I looked over and realized the Doggy was lying on the floor in the room with me.
I jumped out of the chair, stumbled a little bit from the fumes, pulled the collar of my T shirt over my nose, pointed at the Doggy with my index finger and exclaimed "GUILTY!"
Dog farts are like when Fabio got hit in the face by a bird when he was on a roller coaster: funny when you hear about it, not so funny when you're on the receiving end.
I was sitting at the computer the other day minding my own business, having a grand old time.
As I was typing an email to a lady named Liz about my band's show at First Avenue, suddenly the air I was breathing became thick. A horrific funk filled the air that was not unlike warm egg salad. Every hair on my body stood up straight and I was beginning to hallucinate.. Suddenly I could have sworn I was trapped inside a giant container of deviled eggs. Mom - you know those tan/white Tupperware deviled egg containers you have? Yup, one of those.
Suddenly a car horn honked outside and snapped me out of my trance.
There are certain times in life where a very foreign aroma enters your nostrils and you know immediately where it came from. I looked over and realized the Doggy was lying on the floor in the room with me.
I jumped out of the chair, stumbled a little bit from the fumes, pulled the collar of my T shirt over my nose, pointed at the Doggy with my index finger and exclaimed "GUILTY!"
Dog farts are like when Fabio got hit in the face by a bird when he was on a roller coaster: funny when you hear about it, not so funny when you're on the receiving end.
Monday, October 4, 2004
Bring on that fog machine, baby!
Last Thursday my band played in a band battle. No, we didn't have suits of armor on and knock each other off of our ponies - this was a musical battle. I had not participated in anything like this probably since high school(?) and thought it would be great exposure for the band. It most definitely was.
Long story short, we played a great fog-filled set and placed 2nd out of three bands. There were quite a few people there and many of them seemed to really be getting into what we were doing, which is all I honestly care about.
They announced the results at the end of the evening. 34 votes for us, 37 for the winning band, and 32 for the band who I thought should have won. I think it was one of our best shows to date. We gained a lot of new fans which is not the easiest thing to do when you play the kind of music my band does.
Just between you and me: You know why I think it was one of our best shows? There was a fog machine on the stage. All I needed to see was that first cloud shoot out of that little thing and I knew it was going to be a good set. After that, I provoked fog machine button engagement for the remainder of our set. Although it makes my eyes and throat watery and my head feel a little strange, fog makes things look so bitchin'. Especially when the stage lights hit it. You can have green fog.. orange fog... purple fog.. Whatever color fog your little heart desires. You can hide in the fog. You can jump out of it. You can blow holes into the fog. You can stomp through it and pretend you're Godzilla and you've just destroyed a large city.
Whose idea was it in the first place to pair up fog machines and rock bands? Genius move, I say. Possibly the greatest move since the culinary marriage of chocolate and peanut butter.
You can be the lamest band in the world, but if you've got a fog machine backin' your shit up, it's all good.
Kudos to you, Star Central, for having a fog machine and not being afraid to use it.
Actual pic of my band from the show. You can't see me, because there's too much fog.
Long story short, we played a great fog-filled set and placed 2nd out of three bands. There were quite a few people there and many of them seemed to really be getting into what we were doing, which is all I honestly care about.
They announced the results at the end of the evening. 34 votes for us, 37 for the winning band, and 32 for the band who I thought should have won. I think it was one of our best shows to date. We gained a lot of new fans which is not the easiest thing to do when you play the kind of music my band does.
Just between you and me: You know why I think it was one of our best shows? There was a fog machine on the stage. All I needed to see was that first cloud shoot out of that little thing and I knew it was going to be a good set. After that, I provoked fog machine button engagement for the remainder of our set. Although it makes my eyes and throat watery and my head feel a little strange, fog makes things look so bitchin'. Especially when the stage lights hit it. You can have green fog.. orange fog... purple fog.. Whatever color fog your little heart desires. You can hide in the fog. You can jump out of it. You can blow holes into the fog. You can stomp through it and pretend you're Godzilla and you've just destroyed a large city.
Whose idea was it in the first place to pair up fog machines and rock bands? Genius move, I say. Possibly the greatest move since the culinary marriage of chocolate and peanut butter.
You can be the lamest band in the world, but if you've got a fog machine backin' your shit up, it's all good.
Kudos to you, Star Central, for having a fog machine and not being afraid to use it.
Actual pic of my band from the show. You can't see me, because there's too much fog.
If you can't do it, wear it.
It's been a rather stressful past couple of days to say the least and I haven't been home very much. As a result, I've sort of let my usual daily hygiene practices go. Today I am wearing a severely dirty pair of jeans that carry the rather unpleasant aromatic funk of sweat, cigarettes, and spilled beer from playing 2 shows with my bands. I have not showered or shaved in almost 2 days, and my hair has a bit of product buildup in it. And come to think of it, I don't recall applying my Right Guard Cool Breeze-scented pitstick yet today...
I just realized that I am wearing a freshly laundered T shirt with the Mr. Bubble artwork on it.
Irony is sweet!
I just realized that I am wearing a freshly laundered T shirt with the Mr. Bubble artwork on it.
Irony is sweet!
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