0745 - Wake up in Atlantic City
0810 - Shitty cinnamon roll at Starbucks
0845 - Train to Philadelphia's 30th Street Station
1030 - Train to Philadelphia International Airport
1115 - Shitty pastrami sandwich at airport bar
1200 - CNN Headline News at gate
1300 - Plain M&Ms at gate
1325 - Mechanical problem reported on aircraft: delay = 1 hour
1425 - Board new plane
1525 - On plane, rereading "Breakfast at Tiffany's", waiting to takeoff
1630 - Still reading, waiting to takeoff
1730 - Waiting to takeoff, planning various means of homicide for chatty, stupid woman in row behind me
1745 - Next in line to takeoff!
1750 - Fuel low, taxi back to gate
1755 - Flight cancelled due to weather somewhere between Philly and KC
1800 - In line to arrange alternative flight
1900 - In line to arrange alternative flight, planning where to stash body of chatty, stupid woman next to me, who is loudly calling local hotels to ask for smoking exclamation point, not non-smoking underlined, rooms
2000 - Gate agent explains that the next available flight from Philly to KC will be Sunday (4 days from now)
2015 - Get a flight to DC
2100 - Waiting in airport
2200 - Waiting in airport, shitty slice of Sbarro forced down gullet
2250 - Thunderstorm begins
2315 - Board flight for DC
2400 - Sitting on plane, at gate, watching rain fall
0100 - Plane in line for runway, finish "Breakfast at Tiffany's"
0115 - Liftoff
0215 - Touchdown in DC
0230 - Ring wrong apartment, Serpentine's neighbor buzzes me in anyway, sleep
0930 - Book flight from Baltimore to KC
0945 - I needed that shower in the worst way
1000 - Delightful ginger scones (again) and some kind of super black tea at Teaism
1100 - Wander around Dupont
1200 - Blogger
1530 - Baltimore by train?
1930 - KC by air?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Coast To Coast
It's strange to think that I write you now, blocks away from the Atlantic Ocean, when I began this month on the Pacific Coast. But in another way, it makes sense ending the month in New Jersey, since I started June Slippery When Wet.
My room at the Trump Plaza is decorated subtly, with gold accents on everything that is not entirely gold.
I'm up $30 in blackjack.
Yesterday I learned that tomatoes are thought to have originated in Peru or Ecuador.
So, you know. Productive trip.
My room at the Trump Plaza is decorated subtly, with gold accents on everything that is not entirely gold.
I'm up $30 in blackjack.
Yesterday I learned that tomatoes are thought to have originated in Peru or Ecuador.
So, you know. Productive trip.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Portland - Friday, June 1
ITEMS ORDERED FROM KEN'S ARTISAN BAKERY
Rhubarb galette
Pure butter croissant
Morning roll
Black tea (his)
Hot chocolate (hers)
WHEN THE MOUTH BURNS AND THE MIND RACES
I just wanted a little sip of this Indian tea but I couldn't quite measure what a sip was because of the lid on the cup and now I've got a mouthful of scalding tea in my mouth and it's so fucking hot hot fuck fuck fuck fuck this is going to be bad but I can't just spit it out because I'm out here at the sidewalk tables and that guy over there is looking at me and he'll judge me because he'll know I'm not a local and he'll think I'm the kind of person that spits shit out all over the sidewalk for no good reason and his dog might think the same thing oh fuck fuck fuck I'll just swallow it and hope my esophagus doesn't melt.
PRETTY SIGHTS ALONG THE HISTORIC COLUMBIA RIVER HIGHWAY
Portland Women's Forum State Park
Crown Point State Park
The young female sporting punk-lite touches to the standard park ranger uniform working at Crown Point State Park
Trees to the right of the highway
Trees to the left of the highway
North
South
East
West
Up
(Additional locations to be mentioned below)
MY ARGUMENT FOR NOT STOPPING TO VIEW THE SMALLER WATERFALL
"Latourell Falls is going to look like a big dump compared to Multnomah Falls."
AFTER RECOGNIZING SHE MAY HAVE INTERPRETED THE WORD "DUMP" TO MEAN "LANDFILL"
He decided not to clarify that he intended "dump" to be a scatological reference.
BEGINNING THE HIKE TO THE TOP OF MULTNOMAH FALLS
Woman also visiting that day: "Are more benches like this one along the way?"
Me: "I haven't been here before, but I assume so."
Woman: "My husband will need to stop along the way to rest."
Me: "..."
Woman: "So you think there will be benches to stop at?"
Me: "I really can't say."
Woman: "We just want to go as far as the footbridge."
Me: "…"
IMAGINGED LECTURE GIVEN TO THE OREGONIAN SCHOOLCHILDREN AT MULTNOMAH FALLS
You're on a field trip today, huh kids? Yeah? School's still in session, but at least you got out of the ol' classroom today, right? Cool. Well, let me tell you kids a little story.
When I was your age, my class was all set to go on a field trip to collect fossils! I was really excited, because I'd always loved learning about dinosaurs, and I like to, uh, dig and shit, so I was pumped. The big day finally came, and mean old Mother Nature decided to make it rain -- field trip cancelled! Teacher said that we'd reschedule, but we never did. I was really sad.
Luckily, a short three years later, a field trip to somewhere other than the oft-visited Kansas Cosmosphere was planned, and this time, it didn't rain! My class went with the eighth graders down to Oklahoma, to explore a cave and the salt flats.
Have you ever been in a cave? It's kind of neat, I guess -- it's tough to rave about a place when the highlight of your visit is experiencing total darkness.
Have you ever been to a salt flat? No? Well, it's a lot like being in an Egyptian desert, except instead of seeing pyramids and camels, you dig around for salt crystals. It's dirty work, and hot, and once you've found one crystal... well, there's not much point in finding your second crystal. Do you know what a crystal is, kids? I fear I'm giving you the impression that a crystal might be like a crystal ball, which is full of fun and witchcraft. A crystal is really just a technical term for a rock.
We went to Oklahoma -- it took half a day on a hot bus to get there, by the way -- to look at rock formations, both within a cave and on an arid plain. Shit, man, have you ever seen pictures of Oklahoma? Well, here's a photo from the salt flat.
I guess what I'm trying to say, kiddos, is fuck off, because this waterfall is about seventy times seven times more beautiful than any of my childhood field trip destinations.
Spoiled little bastards.
STARING DOWN FROM ATOP MULTNOMAH FALLS
Him: "If you had known what it was like up here, would you have made the hike?"
Her: "No."
Him: "...I guess I'll take another picture."
VISITOR INFORMATION AND EXPECTATION TEMPERING
Woman: "How do I get to The Bridge of the Gods?"
Visitor Info Guy: "It's really just a bridge..."*
*Denotes the same phrase that one of our hosts used to describe the bridge.
ITEMS ORDERED FROM THE BIG RIVER GRILL AFTER CROSSING SAID BRIDGE INTO WASHINGTON
Salmon chowder* in a breadbowl (his)
Salmon sandwich w/ chowder* and one raspberry beer (hers)
*Contains lactose
Q: BETTER TO WATCH: HOOD RIVER WINDSURFERS, OR HOOD RIVER KITESURFERS?
A: KITES IN A LANDSLIDE
Q: WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE USE THE KITES? IT LOOKS WAY MORE FUN.
A: PRICE? SKILL? RESEARCH NEEDED. REMEMBER TO ASK JEEVES.
WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU'RE ON A MOUNT HOOD, WITHOUT SKIS, AND YOU CAN'T GET INTO THE LODGE THEY USED FOR EXTERIOR SHOTS IN "THE SHINING" BECAUSE THERE'S A GIGANTIC WEDDING PARTY BLOCKING THE ENTRANCE
"Let's walk up past those trees and take a picture."
THINGS LEARNED ON THE WAY TO THE SHANGHAI TUNNELS
There's a remix of Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend", wherein the featured rapper (Lil' Mama) references that chick that won an Oscar for her work in "Dreamgirls" for some reason.
My travel companion sometimes becomes hysterical with laughter and tears when frustrated, such as when she attempts to parallel park.
Women hate being waited on by female staff.
Couch Street is pronounced "Kooch".
THINGS I LEARNED INSIDE THE SHANGHAI TUNNELS
In olden times, urinal troughs would run the length of the bar, saving patrons time and effort.
Consumption of embalming fluid is far more common than one would assume.
The guy in the karaoke bar above us trying to pull of Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know" picked a song much too difficult for himself.
Other intellectual property I pledged not to disclose.
HEY, IT'S LATE
Hawaiian pizza* at the Silver Dollar Saloon. We're tired, so we don't bother talking much. She hates this female bartender**, too.
*Contains lactose.
**The bartender made it clear that she was NOT a server, even though she took our order and delivered our pizza.
Rhubarb galette
Pure butter croissant
Morning roll
Black tea (his)
Hot chocolate (hers)
WHEN THE MOUTH BURNS AND THE MIND RACES
I just wanted a little sip of this Indian tea but I couldn't quite measure what a sip was because of the lid on the cup and now I've got a mouthful of scalding tea in my mouth and it's so fucking hot hot fuck fuck fuck fuck this is going to be bad but I can't just spit it out because I'm out here at the sidewalk tables and that guy over there is looking at me and he'll judge me because he'll know I'm not a local and he'll think I'm the kind of person that spits shit out all over the sidewalk for no good reason and his dog might think the same thing oh fuck fuck fuck I'll just swallow it and hope my esophagus doesn't melt.
PRETTY SIGHTS ALONG THE HISTORIC COLUMBIA RIVER HIGHWAY
Portland Women's Forum State Park
Crown Point State Park
The young female sporting punk-lite touches to the standard park ranger uniform working at Crown Point State Park
Trees to the right of the highway
Trees to the left of the highway
North
South
East
West
Up
(Additional locations to be mentioned below)
MY ARGUMENT FOR NOT STOPPING TO VIEW THE SMALLER WATERFALL
"Latourell Falls is going to look like a big dump compared to Multnomah Falls."
AFTER RECOGNIZING SHE MAY HAVE INTERPRETED THE WORD "DUMP" TO MEAN "LANDFILL"
He decided not to clarify that he intended "dump" to be a scatological reference.
BEGINNING THE HIKE TO THE TOP OF MULTNOMAH FALLS
Woman also visiting that day: "Are more benches like this one along the way?"
Me: "I haven't been here before, but I assume so."
Woman: "My husband will need to stop along the way to rest."
Me: "..."
Woman: "So you think there will be benches to stop at?"
Me: "I really can't say."
Woman: "We just want to go as far as the footbridge."
Me: "…"
IMAGINGED LECTURE GIVEN TO THE OREGONIAN SCHOOLCHILDREN AT MULTNOMAH FALLS
You're on a field trip today, huh kids? Yeah? School's still in session, but at least you got out of the ol' classroom today, right? Cool. Well, let me tell you kids a little story.
When I was your age, my class was all set to go on a field trip to collect fossils! I was really excited, because I'd always loved learning about dinosaurs, and I like to, uh, dig and shit, so I was pumped. The big day finally came, and mean old Mother Nature decided to make it rain -- field trip cancelled! Teacher said that we'd reschedule, but we never did. I was really sad.
Luckily, a short three years later, a field trip to somewhere other than the oft-visited Kansas Cosmosphere was planned, and this time, it didn't rain! My class went with the eighth graders down to Oklahoma, to explore a cave and the salt flats.
Have you ever been in a cave? It's kind of neat, I guess -- it's tough to rave about a place when the highlight of your visit is experiencing total darkness.
Have you ever been to a salt flat? No? Well, it's a lot like being in an Egyptian desert, except instead of seeing pyramids and camels, you dig around for salt crystals. It's dirty work, and hot, and once you've found one crystal... well, there's not much point in finding your second crystal. Do you know what a crystal is, kids? I fear I'm giving you the impression that a crystal might be like a crystal ball, which is full of fun and witchcraft. A crystal is really just a technical term for a rock.
We went to Oklahoma -- it took half a day on a hot bus to get there, by the way -- to look at rock formations, both within a cave and on an arid plain. Shit, man, have you ever seen pictures of Oklahoma? Well, here's a photo from the salt flat.
I guess what I'm trying to say, kiddos, is fuck off, because this waterfall is about seventy times seven times more beautiful than any of my childhood field trip destinations.
Spoiled little bastards.
STARING DOWN FROM ATOP MULTNOMAH FALLS
Him: "If you had known what it was like up here, would you have made the hike?"
Her: "No."
Him: "...I guess I'll take another picture."
VISITOR INFORMATION AND EXPECTATION TEMPERING
Woman: "How do I get to The Bridge of the Gods?"
Visitor Info Guy: "It's really just a bridge..."*
*Denotes the same phrase that one of our hosts used to describe the bridge.
ITEMS ORDERED FROM THE BIG RIVER GRILL AFTER CROSSING SAID BRIDGE INTO WASHINGTON
Salmon chowder* in a breadbowl (his)
Salmon sandwich w/ chowder* and one raspberry beer (hers)
*Contains lactose
Q: BETTER TO WATCH: HOOD RIVER WINDSURFERS, OR HOOD RIVER KITESURFERS?
A: KITES IN A LANDSLIDE
Q: WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE USE THE KITES? IT LOOKS WAY MORE FUN.
A: PRICE? SKILL? RESEARCH NEEDED. REMEMBER TO ASK JEEVES.
WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU'RE ON A MOUNT HOOD, WITHOUT SKIS, AND YOU CAN'T GET INTO THE LODGE THEY USED FOR EXTERIOR SHOTS IN "THE SHINING" BECAUSE THERE'S A GIGANTIC WEDDING PARTY BLOCKING THE ENTRANCE
"Let's walk up past those trees and take a picture."
THINGS LEARNED ON THE WAY TO THE SHANGHAI TUNNELS
There's a remix of Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend", wherein the featured rapper (Lil' Mama) references that chick that won an Oscar for her work in "Dreamgirls" for some reason.
My travel companion sometimes becomes hysterical with laughter and tears when frustrated, such as when she attempts to parallel park.
Women hate being waited on by female staff.
Couch Street is pronounced "Kooch".
THINGS I LEARNED INSIDE THE SHANGHAI TUNNELS
In olden times, urinal troughs would run the length of the bar, saving patrons time and effort.
Consumption of embalming fluid is far more common than one would assume.
The guy in the karaoke bar above us trying to pull of Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know" picked a song much too difficult for himself.
Other intellectual property I pledged not to disclose.
HEY, IT'S LATE
Hawaiian pizza* at the Silver Dollar Saloon. We're tired, so we don't bother talking much. She hates this female bartender**, too.
*Contains lactose.
**The bartender made it clear that she was NOT a server, even though she took our order and delivered our pizza.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Portland - Thursday, May 31
We've a layover in Denver, where the airport is cold and uncomfortable. A longer flight is just ahead, but we elect to eat breakfast burritos anyway. The entire restaurant is captivated by the televised spelling bee. Our waitress is amazed by the words these kids can spell. "There's no way I could do that," she says, and I try to express a requisite amount of faux-surprise through the movements of my mouth and head.
We touch down at Portland International, are shuttled to our rental car, and navigate ourselves across the Willamette to our hosts' home in the alphabet district in the city's northwest neighborhood. I glance at the Oregonian lying the kitchen table: the business section, below the fold. The headline reads, "IBM lays off 1,570 workers, including nine in Oregon".
Once, during high school, at Angie's house, Anna talked about her older sister -- how she had let her armpit hair grow out for a while, and how after she shaved it, her boyfriend said, "I kind of miss it." In between bites of my late lunch (rockfish sandwich, garlic fries, and a glass of Laurelwood's beer), I look up to see the young woman seated across the patio. She's got a lot of armpit hair, but I really don't mind. I'm in Portland, where the sun is shining brightly, and it's a gorgeous day for everyone exposed, save for perhaps nine ladies or gentlemen that are looking for work.
There are a lot of dogs in Portland, even one on the trails of Forest Park, the third-largest urban park in the country. We just passed two women that brought theirs along for a hike, possibly for companionship, possibly for some exercise, but definitely for cargo storage. The women have strapped ol' Rex with a doggie saddlebag; he's carrying their water bottles and maybe more. Rex was probably excited for this walk before things turned. Rex might be wondering when he turned from canine to mule.
We navigate through the up the trail, passing Rex and his captors, rowdy high school graduates, and downhills runners. We're catching up on recent dates and relationships. We climb around a giant, uprooted Douglas-fir that lays across our path, and turn a corner on a hill, much higher than where we started, but still beneath the forest's canopy. Light filters down to a blanket of ferns. It's Jurassic and beautiful, and I'm ashamed that all I can think about is how you water ferns with a spray bottle instead of a watering can.
"I don't think there's anywhere else in the world I would rather be right now."
"Even Spain?" I asked.
"Even Spain."
Our hosts treat us to dinner before paying our cover charge at a benefit show in southeast Portland. Every table is occupied, but by the time we've got our drinks, we're shown to one of the (previously reserved) tables nearest the stage. I've just eaten the best salmon I've ever had. I'm enjoying a premium drink. I haven't opened my wallet since Denver. Everyone is getting along. I feel great. And that's before her music starts. Before she walks out on stage. Before she puts down her case. Before she unlocks it, and before she removes the bottle of Maker's Mark. Before she takes a generous swig. Before she ditches the top hat. Before she loses the jacket. Before we learn her nipples are covered by electrical tape. Before she takes another drink, and sprays the whiskey above her like a fountain. Before she pours more of the liquor over her chest.
Before you wonder why you had thought it might be awkward to walk into a lesbian bar for a benefit drag show.
We touch down at Portland International, are shuttled to our rental car, and navigate ourselves across the Willamette to our hosts' home in the alphabet district in the city's northwest neighborhood. I glance at the Oregonian lying the kitchen table: the business section, below the fold. The headline reads, "IBM lays off 1,570 workers, including nine in Oregon".
Once, during high school, at Angie's house, Anna talked about her older sister -- how she had let her armpit hair grow out for a while, and how after she shaved it, her boyfriend said, "I kind of miss it." In between bites of my late lunch (rockfish sandwich, garlic fries, and a glass of Laurelwood's beer), I look up to see the young woman seated across the patio. She's got a lot of armpit hair, but I really don't mind. I'm in Portland, where the sun is shining brightly, and it's a gorgeous day for everyone exposed, save for perhaps nine ladies or gentlemen that are looking for work.
There are a lot of dogs in Portland, even one on the trails of Forest Park, the third-largest urban park in the country. We just passed two women that brought theirs along for a hike, possibly for companionship, possibly for some exercise, but definitely for cargo storage. The women have strapped ol' Rex with a doggie saddlebag; he's carrying their water bottles and maybe more. Rex was probably excited for this walk before things turned. Rex might be wondering when he turned from canine to mule.
We navigate through the up the trail, passing Rex and his captors, rowdy high school graduates, and downhills runners. We're catching up on recent dates and relationships. We climb around a giant, uprooted Douglas-fir that lays across our path, and turn a corner on a hill, much higher than where we started, but still beneath the forest's canopy. Light filters down to a blanket of ferns. It's Jurassic and beautiful, and I'm ashamed that all I can think about is how you water ferns with a spray bottle instead of a watering can.
"I don't think there's anywhere else in the world I would rather be right now."
"Even Spain?" I asked.
"Even Spain."
Our hosts treat us to dinner before paying our cover charge at a benefit show in southeast Portland. Every table is occupied, but by the time we've got our drinks, we're shown to one of the (previously reserved) tables nearest the stage. I've just eaten the best salmon I've ever had. I'm enjoying a premium drink. I haven't opened my wallet since Denver. Everyone is getting along. I feel great. And that's before her music starts. Before she walks out on stage. Before she puts down her case. Before she unlocks it, and before she removes the bottle of Maker's Mark. Before she takes a generous swig. Before she ditches the top hat. Before she loses the jacket. Before we learn her nipples are covered by electrical tape. Before she takes another drink, and sprays the whiskey above her like a fountain. Before she pours more of the liquor over her chest.
Before you wonder why you had thought it might be awkward to walk into a lesbian bar for a benefit drag show.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Hodgemania
I'm reading his book at present time, and this, fresh from the other night, was hilarious:
But I'm very close to cancelling cable. It's, like, $50 bucks a month for the first 20 minutes of The Daily Show. Essentially.
Hodgeman clarified that clip, by the by:
But I'm very close to cancelling cable. It's, like, $50 bucks a month for the first 20 minutes of The Daily Show. Essentially.
Hodgeman clarified that clip, by the by:
I CERTAINLY DO NOT MEAN THESE FIGHTERS OR THEIR CRAFT ANY DISRESPECT, and not just because I do not want them to break my forehead in half.
Some of the fighters I watched were incredibly skilled, and Karo "The Heat" Parisyan in particular KICKS ASS.
Some of them, though, seemed to be merely artless brawlers ROLLING AROUND ON THE FLOOR HALF NAKED.
EITHER WAY, IT WOULD BE A VIOLATION OF COMEDY if I were to avoid pointing out just how prevalent this aspect of the sport is, and how it would look to a space alien, or a non-fighter, or even, I daresay, to a portion of the MMA audience who do not know about the long history of the grappling arts: THE FIGHTERS SOMETIMES LOOK LIKE THEY ARE LOVING EACH OTHER.
Pleeease Park The Car / You Took From Me
We have a winner in the Lamest Email Promotion That Landed In My Inbox contest.
(For the record, I like Chris Issak. I even watched a few episodes of the short-lived Chris Issak show, back when my roommates and I paid for Showtime, even though there was no good reason to have it. So. This isn't lame because it's for Chris Issak, it's lame because of the valet parking bit. Free! Except, you know, you've still got to tip the valet. Right? Right.)
(For the record, I like Chris Issak. I even watched a few episodes of the short-lived Chris Issak show, back when my roommates and I paid for Showtime, even though there was no good reason to have it. So. This isn't lame because it's for Chris Issak, it's lame because of the valet parking bit. Free! Except, you know, you've still got to tip the valet. Right? Right.)
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The Third Noel
Shady Beach Campground. Noel, Missouri. Memorial Day weekend, in pictures.
Here's Shawn, relaxing at the campsite, utilizing the ever-popular neckband beer koozies sold at the campground's little shop.
And here's our man Nathan, sporting a mighty horseshoe mustache. If you ask Nathan why he's chosen such facial hair, he will launch into an inspiring tale. "Who do you always see wearing this kind of mustache?" Nathan will ask. "Child molesters. Mass murderers. Perverts have stolen this mustache as their own, but I'm taking it back for the common man." So, it bears repeating: Nathan does not molest children. Oh, and those are legit Zubaz pants. Go Chiefs!
You might recall that last year was my second time on the Elk River, and I chose to wear a rice farmer's hat while canoing, absorbing 31 racial slurs along the ride. This year, I brought the hat with me, but neglected to put it on before pushing off. (It was very cloudy, which made it very easy to forget.) Here's proof that I do own such a hat, and that it did travel with me to the campsite.
Brian and Jeremy's canoe had a hole in it, but they made the best of it.
Floyd once again piloted my canoe from the rear. He wore a bandana this year over his long, stupid hippie hair.
His outfit prompted comment from a thirtysomething gentlemen, who was standing alone in chest deep water as we floated near him. "Hey, Axl Rose! What are you doing down here?" the man asked. Floyd chuckled. I chuckled. The man looked off in the distance as we continued downstream. Moments later, his voice roared as he shouted to no one in particular, "IMMIGRANTS AND FAGGOTS, GET OUT OF THE WAY!!" Floyd and I had to wait 30 seconds, pretending nothing happened, until we were out of his earshot, before we could laugh, shake our heads, and thank God that I was hatless.
Here's Shawn, relaxing at the campsite, utilizing the ever-popular neckband beer koozies sold at the campground's little shop.
And here's our man Nathan, sporting a mighty horseshoe mustache. If you ask Nathan why he's chosen such facial hair, he will launch into an inspiring tale. "Who do you always see wearing this kind of mustache?" Nathan will ask. "Child molesters. Mass murderers. Perverts have stolen this mustache as their own, but I'm taking it back for the common man." So, it bears repeating: Nathan does not molest children. Oh, and those are legit Zubaz pants. Go Chiefs!
You might recall that last year was my second time on the Elk River, and I chose to wear a rice farmer's hat while canoing, absorbing 31 racial slurs along the ride. This year, I brought the hat with me, but neglected to put it on before pushing off. (It was very cloudy, which made it very easy to forget.) Here's proof that I do own such a hat, and that it did travel with me to the campsite.
Brian and Jeremy's canoe had a hole in it, but they made the best of it.
Floyd once again piloted my canoe from the rear. He wore a bandana this year over his long, stupid hippie hair.
His outfit prompted comment from a thirtysomething gentlemen, who was standing alone in chest deep water as we floated near him. "Hey, Axl Rose! What are you doing down here?" the man asked. Floyd chuckled. I chuckled. The man looked off in the distance as we continued downstream. Moments later, his voice roared as he shouted to no one in particular, "IMMIGRANTS AND FAGGOTS, GET OUT OF THE WAY!!" Floyd and I had to wait 30 seconds, pretending nothing happened, until we were out of his earshot, before we could laugh, shake our heads, and thank God that I was hatless.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Meantime
OK. So. I'm back from vacation. Again. I have some stories to tell, and some photographs to share. I will do that. Soon. Soonish. I am, happily, still very busy with unpacking and hoops and D-Day festivities. I just learned last night, via the John Tesh radio show, that National Womens' Feel Good About The Way You Look Day (or something) falls on the same date as D-Day. I wonder what the heroes of Normandy would have to say about that. Did they storm that fortified beach to defend the freedom of curvaceous American females? Kind of.
There are lots of things for you to look at in this waiting room.
While in the too-cold Denver airport, I read Chuck Klosterman's article in the new Esquire, a thinkpiece about radio. He explains the "magic" of radio, which turns out to be the same quality that pushes us toward shuffle mode on our digital audio players:
To my amazement, his archived Esquire pieces are available online, including a piece on our obsession with pirates:
Klosterman's also written a newly published piece for ESPN's Page 2, which is not great, but it does include some trademark wit:
There was a headline on Yahoo recently: "Italian doctor builds new, more natural vagina". Finally, right? Am I right, fellas? I haven't read that article yet. Maybe a reader would like to summarize it for me.
I feel like I should have known all of the Bo Jackson legends lovingly recapped by the KC Star a few weeks ago, but I have little recollection of Bo.
I finished reading In Cold Blood while in Oregon. The best sentence:
Finally, Paul and I discussed important news last week:
--- dn wrote:
Bad idea, or terrible idea?
http://www.vh1.com/artists/az/poison/1539925/album.jhtml
--- Paul wrote:
That's an easy one. Terrible idea. Actually, it's beyond terrible. Can C.C. Deville even play the guitar well enough to pull off some of these songs?
What's your vote for what the worst song on the CD will be? I have to go with "Suffragette City". Being a huge Bowie fan, if I ever hear this cover, it may completely ruin the song for me completely. It's really a rare accomplishment for a cover version to have such destructive potential. So, kudos to Bret and the boys for that.
--- dn wrote:
Speaking of Bowie covers, I downloaded Of Montreal's version of "Suffragette City" the other day, and it's pretty good. Pretty faithful cover.
My vote for the best cover is "Just What I Needed". Poison should be able to handle The Cars' power pop. But The Rolling Stones' "Dead Flowers"? That's practically a country-western song. What made them think that they could pull that off? Oh, right. The drugs.
There are lots of things for you to look at in this waiting room.
While in the too-cold Denver airport, I read Chuck Klosterman's article in the new Esquire, a thinkpiece about radio. He explains the "magic" of radio, which turns out to be the same quality that pushes us toward shuffle mode on our digital audio players:
For a variety of reasons -- some technological, but most intangible -- the experience of hearing a certain song at a random moment in an undefined place is infinitely more evocative than hearing that same song by choice. There are countless songs I would never consciously play in my house but always enjoy on the radio.
To my amazement, his archived Esquire pieces are available online, including a piece on our obsession with pirates:
In his book Under the Black Flag, pirate expert David Cordingly describes the bizarre buccaneer torture practice of slashing a prisoner's stomach, extracting one end of an intestine, nailing it to a post, and then forcing the victim to "dance to his death" by beating his ass with a burning log. This strikes me as wildly unnecessary.
Klosterman's also written a newly published piece for ESPN's Page 2, which is not great, but it does include some trademark wit:
There are some historical lessons that almost always prove true: Don't wage a ground war on two fronts. Don't impulsively buy a speedboat or a racehorse. Don't ask a woman who loves Tori Amos to tell you about her dreams. And do not stage professional football in spring.
There was a headline on Yahoo recently: "Italian doctor builds new, more natural vagina". Finally, right? Am I right, fellas? I haven't read that article yet. Maybe a reader would like to summarize it for me.
I feel like I should have known all of the Bo Jackson legends lovingly recapped by the KC Star a few weeks ago, but I have little recollection of Bo.
I finished reading In Cold Blood while in Oregon. The best sentence:
He had merely fallen face down across the bed, as though sleep were a weapon that had struck him from behind.
Finally, Paul and I discussed important news last week:
--- dn wrote:
Bad idea, or terrible idea?
http://www.vh1.com/artists/az/poison/1539925/album.jhtml
--- Paul wrote:
That's an easy one. Terrible idea. Actually, it's beyond terrible. Can C.C. Deville even play the guitar well enough to pull off some of these songs?
What's your vote for what the worst song on the CD will be? I have to go with "Suffragette City". Being a huge Bowie fan, if I ever hear this cover, it may completely ruin the song for me completely. It's really a rare accomplishment for a cover version to have such destructive potential. So, kudos to Bret and the boys for that.
--- dn wrote:
Speaking of Bowie covers, I downloaded Of Montreal's version of "Suffragette City" the other day, and it's pretty good. Pretty faithful cover.
My vote for the best cover is "Just What I Needed". Poison should be able to handle The Cars' power pop. But The Rolling Stones' "Dead Flowers"? That's practically a country-western song. What made them think that they could pull that off? Oh, right. The drugs.
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