March 2004 Archives

I just let the coffee run for about two minutes while the pot was in the sink.

While spending quality time with the family today I found myself often burying my nose into Omoo. I've got about 40 pages left and then I'll finish up Melville's South Sea Romances with Mardi in the coming days. Anyhow, during that time, the sun beating down, the waters nestling up to the shore and an occasional boat hum splitting the canal into something short of a wake - I read a passage which recalled to mind something I had read on the internet a few days back. That passage:

579 - "In this here dumned climmate," he observed, "a feller can't keep the run of the months, no how; cause there's no seasons; No summer and winter, to go by. One's eternally thinkin' it's always July, it's so pesky hot."

Oh. And I'm still waiting for people to sign up for our movie date.

Who wants to see this movie with me? Or do I fly solo? Again.

Now there is a movie more frightening than my nightmares. "Touching the Void" is the most harrowing movie about mountain climbing I have seen, or can imagine. - Roger Ebert

I mean - maybe you need a break too. Or maybe you mean to call and just keep finding yourself distracted. Perhaps looking around, your eyes happen to glance at that stupid Dilbert calendar somebody put up in your place of business and you can't believe how many days are already scratched out with little red X's. Whatever. You don't need an excuse to wanna see a movie with me. I promise I won't get up to pee, and I'll share my popcorn.

Spent the day today down near Tampa in the town of Dunedin, Florida, where we took in a game between the Indians and the Blue Jays. It was decidedly much more exciting than yesterdays debacle.

Tomorrow I'll be headed back home to Tucker. It'll be leagues apart from the neighbors I've been keeping down here. I had a great time - but I'm longing to be around some twentysomethings. Plus - I gotta find a job. It's really late. For the Villages. G'night.

Today pops and I were gonna go hit the links. Unfortunately, Baseline Golf Club was stacked. There were 16 carts in front of us, and even though the starter told us there was a good chance that he could get a twosome out walkin in under half an hour - we still would've been waiting all day at every other tee, every other shot - all round long. So we turned round, went back to the clubhouse, recovered his money, then hopped in the van and headed down to Lakeland.

Apparently I'd been to Lakeland before. Back in '81. I don't remember. That's just what pops tells me. He also tells me the Tigers lost that day.We didn't know who was playin today. Pops knew there was a game was all.

I'd skipped breakfast, so when we finally got down to the ballfield about a half hour before game time we made a b-line for the concession stand. On the way in I'd noticed a coupla folks with Yankee caps on, and wondered aloud whether I was about to sit down and watch the Tigers try to take on the only team in the majors that had to pay the luxury penalty last season. Not only that, but witness two of those ballplayers named in the ongoing steroid controversy - Sheffield and Giambi. Not only that - but damn I hot the Yankees!

I felt a twinge of guilt for dressing my polish sausage and hot dog during the national anthem, but felt it would be better to continue smearing packets of spicy mustard around instead of standing in front of the condiments and holding up the line. Especially since so many of those standing behind me were extremely overzealous in their positioning - throwing out an albow where there was no room for such an extremity. Then there were those who walking, cut across the path where there was no room to cut. Truth of the matter was, the Yankees fans were everywhere. They'd bought up all the seats, and now were advancing, along with us, the late arrivals, towards the outfield lawn.

The sun was blazing overhead -- there wasn't a cloud in the sky...A good breeze was blowin in from behind us - towards home plate. The PA boomed out early on, "Game time temperature in New York, 34 degrees, Detroit, 28 degrees - and here in Lakeland, a sunshiney 69 degrees." The crowd roared back one of its loudest cheers of the game. Later, I remarked to pops how quiet it was, and that it would probably be just about this loud come midseason at a game in Comerica Park.

We sat for a while at a table up atop the hill in the general admission area, finishing up our dogs, crunching some peanut shells under our feet, me washin it all down with my first beer in quite a while. It was peaceful. Until that loudmouth next to us roared out to a coupla college kids - "You know, I didn't pay six to eight bucks to stare at your back!"

This much was technically true. He didn't. But he also didn't pay the six to eight bucks to reserve the picnic table in the shade for his fat ass to sit on. He could've just as easily picked up and moved on down to the grassy knoll, where he could sit to his hearts content and watch the game unfold. This was general admission, not ass submission. Unfortunately, we were subjected to this ass on a few more occasions. (Perhaps it's just one of my pet peeves, but this kinda stuff drives me crazy - especially at concerts, when twenty rows in front of you are standing and the speaker's point is rendered mute. Here it was rendered mute by the vast land before him where he could pop a squat.)

The day was enjoyable. Lazy. And I bear the scars to prove it. As I sit here and type into the early hours of the morning - the right side of my face is burning. Only half of it managed to get seared red. I look the fool. But it was worth it. I won't bother with a recap of the game. Reading it just made me realize that I took my potty break at precisely the wrong moment -- missing Bubba's inside the park grand slam. But hey -- I saw the other twelve runs of the game.

poor alan trammel

No. Really. This time I'm serious. I'm really going to be scrapping this design in the coming days. It's beginning to drive me out of my mind.

I am out of my element. Perhaps it could be the 90 degrees, blue sky, palm trees and slight breeze that surrounds me now just outside of Orlando. Then again, it could be that the number of twentysomethings has dramatically fallen off, somewhere into the neighborhood of > 1% - and suddenly I feel like a child again. A really tall child, peering out over a sea of bobbing white and gray heads, rollicking around in an artificial environment created by the gods of real estate. Houses backing one into another, seemingly so close that you have to suck your gut in to squeeze between them. Front lawns manicured to perfection. Each home a reflection of a shuffled stack of limited blueprints, complete with a sign hanging on a pole beside the driveway that identifies the residents of the respective domicile. Golf carts driving every which way...lizards sunning themselves.

I haven't seen any black people in two days. Hell...I've seen more Buffalo down here than black people.

The past few weeks are suddenly flipping out and about on me. And, well, that may just be a good thing. As it stands right now the clock is edging on towards one in the morning and I am simply exhausted. Kaput. The grandfather was struggling with his new coffee maker this morning and it took him three tries and the assistance of his eldest daughter to finally get the flow. Thank god he did. I needed each of the five cups I drank after reluctantly pulling myself off the air mattress around 7 a.m.

Then - I went to church. I don't know why. There wasn't a wedding or a funeral. I guess I just wanted to spend some time with the fam. It was a tad bit unnerving. All those elders sitting rigid in their seats, a choking cough here and there breaking the stiff silence. Nobody dared to utter a word. And then some gentleman strolled up to the microphone - explained what they would be collecting money for for that particular day - and ended by encouraging everyone to say hello to their neighbor.

Suddenly everybody's talking at once. Peals of laughter. Old, gray gums flashing smiles - eyes darting about looking for more to greet. Passions this passions that and have you seen it and the gore and the message and. Then -- as quickly as it had started - it screeched to a halt, and the silent rigidness surrounded once more.

The Gospel was that prodigious parable: The Prodigal Son. They must've known I was in town.

Brunch was nice. Then a short nap - put to a quick end by a surprise drop-in from Mary-Ann across the way who had brought over some oranges because the man was just giving them away from his tree and her husband said that they couldn't possibly keep all those and she would just have to go and give some to the neighbors and oh would you lookatthat your grandson has hair on his face can you believe that and you know what I think the golf tournament is about to come on and Tiger doesn't stand a chance but it's coming on any minute now...

She was from Wisconsin. There was nothing silent or rigid about her.

Grandpa Harper, Pops and I went and hit some balls at the range later on before coming back to eat some dinner and watch a little of the basketball tournament. I spent a good while reading a few more chapters of Omoo.

All together it's been a nice respite from the chaos I left behind. Haven't had a cigarette since Friday night -- as it had been my plan to quit Friday morning. Haven't had a beer since...hmmm - Wednesday night I believe. Haven't had to deal. I've been able to, in effect, tear down and begin to rebuild.

I'm leaving town.

Getting ready to watch Howard Dean make his announcement live...12:30
1:00 -- people on stage, finally. "We can do better, and we will."

Saw this...encountered the owner. Told her that I loved her license plate - that it was one of my most favorite words in all the English language -- to which she replied in an incredibly English accent "It is incredibly daft!"

Band night got cancelled. I could just die.

Tuesday nights are fun nights for me. They are the Saturday of my life - normally - if my schedule doesn't get screwed with. They include sleeping late - waking up with a nice walk down to the coffee shop to pick up a Mocha, followed by a little shopping and an exquisitely homecooked meal by yours truly. The only thing lacking in my Tuesday's is a BBQ grill for my home cooked meals. My menu is thus extremely limited - but I - being the master of make-do often manage to appease any and all taste buds that desire satisfaction.

That said -- with a full belly - Tuesday calls me out of the house - away from the daily drudgery that saturates my soul - and into the airplane hangar that Michael Row calls a garage. There I set up the laptop and microphone - moisten my reed - and blow my horn to my hearts content. I'll also play a lil keys, some strings -- not excelling at any of the above - but performing like a true Keith Lockhart - a utility man if you will. It just feels good. It's a release of the grease of life that never seems to cease it's coagulation during the rest of the week.

As time winds down - and the synergy of music and add extra ingredients here remains, there is but little choice to proceed to the bar. I've spoken of this bar before. In a sense - it is still virgin territory for me. In another sense - everybody there already knows way too much about me because of this guy. Handsome little shit, no?

Anyhow - It was his birthday this past Tuesday - and the roomie and I decided to walk up to the cantina to celebrate. Other than a bunch of loud rednecks yelling around our table, which inevitably led to mixed feelings of amusement/annoyment -- nothing quite like the boobierama was presented to fascinate us.

Still - being the creative fellows we are - Monsieur and I found several interesting things on the walk home to keep our minds from wandering.

Tomorrow should be no different. Except for the fact that I may be jobless.

Thomas has some informative links to the bombings this morning in Madrid. Most informative and telling I believe is Inside Europe: Iberian Notes - whose post here tells how the bombs were set.

They had a daily poll up on CNN today that asked if the United States could prevent an attack like this one. Overwhelmingly - 83% of the respondents said the U.S. was not prepared.

After reading about that modus operandi -- I just kept thinking - How could those people just set those suitcases down, and walk away - knowing that they were leaving behind them devastating carnage and untold loss of life.

Thinking of Spain.

El Pais PDF

"Bush campaign chairman Marc Racicot called Kerry's 'crooked' comment 'unbecoming of a candidate for the presidency of the United States.'" - CNN

Right. Now flash back to this moment. That's much more presidential, right?

I'm sure Kerry could have used a lot stronger language around those Union guys - but showed a great deal of restraint for what most of us are thinking.

3/12/04 12:44am or to put it in other words -

This morning I yanked off an inch long strand of hair - from my left ear lobe.

Then I ended the lives of its remoras.

Sunday began with trying to put my glasses on, and upon retracting the ear flaps - noticing that I was now holding half of my glasses in either hand. The bridge over the nose had split down the middle. Just before arriving at work I stopped off at the drug store and bought some Krazy glue - then reset the glasses in the office. An hour later they were back on my schnoz - thereby avoiding the nerdy masking tape, and allowing me to view every wrinkle upon the walking dead who had come to feast upon the pot pies at just after 5 o'clock. There's a little bubble of glue over the crack - but a nail file will probably shimmy that right up. None of the waitresses had one handy. Mom always had a nail file in her purse. They were big, brown, and rough.

I had a dream about the broken dryer last night. One in which the model number was clearly legible - thereby annihilating the first obstacle in my path towards resurrecting the blowhard. Unfortunately - when I awoke -- reality reared.

I've added a number of sites who'd been hanging around in my aggregator to the blogroll - which I plan on shaping up in the next few days. Three days where I don't have to go to work. Odd. Figured it'd be nice to let those people know I knew they existed. I then went ahead and added a few more sites to the aggregator - which is now up to 139 feeds. They'll probably wind up in the revised links.

Perhaps I'll work on the site design as well. Star's boobies are starting to bore me. Then again - maybe I'll just concentrate on my:

resume. rocking. relaxing. reading.

Busted the dryer last night. I was sitting in the family room surfin around and talking about my disgusting habits when there was a loud sound from the kitchen where the dryer was running, a sound like someone had kicked the dryer. Only later - when the cycle was over - did I realize that my clothes were still wet and that there was definitely something wrong with the dryer. Checking closer I realized it wasn't tumbling. I kept pushing the start button - hoping it would maneuver itself back into the correct configuration - then started spinning the inside with my hand in the hopes that something would catch. Nothing worked. It was busted.

My conclusion was that the loud bang I had heard was either the motor blowing out - or the tension belt (if the dryer had a belt, all my maintenance is usually done on cars) had snapped. This morning I woke up and immediately fell upon repairclinic.com - which diagnosed the problem I was having and told of possible solutions. Searching further - to see how an electric dryer actually works - I came across this information on one of the 3 things a dryer motor is supposed to do: It prevents the heat from turning on if the motor doesn't reach its proper operating speed.

Well - the heat is on. (Singing) - It's on the streets! So it shouldn't be the drive motor. It must be the belt and the idler pulley. Good thing the former is coming down soon!

Dear Self -
Your neighbors on the other side of the backyard fence are home. They are back into their routine of staying up late - which means that your routine of using the pisstree to further your redneck development must be checked. Please kindly return to civility and pay your graces upon the porcelain god.
Thank You in advance,
Self

P.S. Don't forget to offer a bribe to britney with a mix cd of your own so that you can get another of hers without having to rack your brain for some non-blog site that you think she'll find interesting. Now go to bed. It's late. Or have another beer. I don't really care what you do. Just leave me alone!

Je suis fatigue. It was a long night last night - and I may have outdone myself at the local dive bar. Then again - I wasn't either one of the girls taking off my top and revealing my breasts at the table to three refined gentleman unwinding after their weekly music study. Perhaps those girls were overenthused by the whole lingerie show presented by a local radio station that was wrapping up when we meandered into the bar. Or perhaps they found my charm and wit too much to handle and couldn't restrain themselves any longer. More likely the former.

Anyhow - thanks to the new camera - I have a homemade girls gone wild tape that is funny more for the dialogue amongst my fellows than for the shocking display I witnessed. No I will not be posting it. Don't even ask. I can give you this one tidbit of description however...Yesterday, after voting - we all received a circular sticker that read "Georgia Counts - I Voted." At the height of the action, Juan reached over and placed his sticker, perfectly, on one of the baby feeders. the sticker was now surrounded by a red halo. I gleefully rang out: "Georgia Voted! Georgia Voted!" It seemed the only appropriate thing to say. Although, reflecting back on it now I s'pose "Bullseye!" while waving finger pistols in the air would have done just as well.

And there you have it. Yet another reason yezbick.com should become something anonymous. So that I don't have to subject my unwitting relatives to such scandalous stories from the south.

back to Melville.

p.s. - I did vote for the wrong flag -- but everything still worked out in the end.

Click on image for larger view.