Butterflies float around the bottle
The monarchs are in season
Tilt the wings, up to full throttle
With no question for the reason
Splendid spots and polka-dots
An all too fatal clue
Filling us with forget-me-nots
‘Til the dominant shade is blue
A simple A-B rhyme scheme
And a cabinet that beckons
Broken fragments of a dream
A world that no one mentions
—
Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
I remember the first blog I ever wrote for this here interweb thing. Inspired by a segment on The Ticket, I wrote about the 10 things I can do better than the majority of the population. I never really thought anyone would read it, much less find it interesting. It was just an outlet, you know?
Back then, people – at least those that “matter” - didn’t really have blogs. But now they are everywhere. Controlled by publicists, devoid of true meaning and feeling, sanitized lest that someone get offended.
Shit.
Some of my favorite reads seem to be gone for good. And, not to call anyone out on the carpet or anything, but I will name some names.
Screw it. I’ll name just one.
Me.
The economy is bad enough that people are afraid to voice opinions, be humorous, or otherwise rock the boat. I used to have no qualms talking about work on here as long as I didn’t mention the company I worked for. However, I was always trusting that those commenting (probably the most important variable of blogging) would feel the same restraint. I am leery now, though, because the risk is far greater than the reward.
Shit.
And now I have this great story to tell about being arrested for something ridiculous, but I am not sure if I have the sack to lay it all on the line.
And I don’t want to confine myself to an anonymous blog because feedback from friends is 99% of the reason I still post entries. Who cares what Fernando from Akron thinks about my music entries? (No offense, Fernando. You do look marvelous.) But, sadly, that is how things are today.
When you have a last name like I do, it is not too difficult to find me online. I used to get mega-hits on the old Upsaid blog (when my writing was edgy, funny, and topical), but now I am afraid to post anything that may come back to haunt me.
My friend Devin (link omitted, just in case he is as scared as I am) once mentioned to me that he was behind on reading my stuff. His explanation was that (paraphrasing) once something is online, it is there forever.
To wit, I would probably never post anything like this again (my famous non-Christmas party), or this (too volatile for the religious), or even this (too many nipple references).
But I still have a lot to say.
I guess it is time to start the book. Fiction, of course. Who would believe it, otherwise? Lots of great ideas there…
… you would not believe me if I told you.
There will be a new post in the morning that details things I should not say, yet need to be said. Because, dammit, this story is so blog-worthy.
I just need one more night to figure out how to write this without it being used as evidence if a trial were to ensue. Interested?
Thought so.
Love to all, as usual.
I guess that means the pressure is on. It is time to be funny. To “git witty wid it”.
Unfortunately, I have always been much funnier in person. Take my last entry, for example. The sole purpose for that one was to show an example of how quick with a rejoinder I can be. And then my long lost UK brother Cliff – a true writer, comedy or otherwise – outdid my joke tenfold with his “Banana Republic” comment.
The bastard.
I’ll bet he even “gets” Steely Dan.
So I am left to wonder what I can possibly write to make you – yeah, YOU – laugh.
I could mention that Dawn got a Tarot card reading from a student today and how I told her that I have only messed with Tarot cards once: it was the only available deck while playing poker with some friends. I got a full house, and four people died.
But even that joke is stolen (from the great Steven Wright).
Rest assured, I am going to keep my mind nestled on you (three) readers. Anything funny I say during the day, that does not compromise my job or my relationship with my wife, will be posted here.
Expect a few quiet days…
But check back often, because you never know.
On September 1, 2005 – three years ago to the day – I posted the following entry on the first incarnation of “Goin’ To The John”, hosted by a different blog site. With Hurricane Gustav making its ominous approach to the Gulf Coast, I thought it might be a good time to revisit the thoughts I had post-Katrina.
—–
I’m having flashbacks. Kind of.
After 9-11, I became a media hound. I was hurt, saddened, borderline depressed, and I felt like the world as I knew it was over. However, I could not get enough of the coverage. I scoured every website. I listened to The Ticket while the news on TV was muted. (For the record, The Ticket got a lot of rave reviews for their handling of 9-11. It was like listening to your buddies talk about the attack. More personal than national or local news. Plus, it allowed some of those radio guys – specifically Gordo – to showcase just how freaking smart they are.) I took solace in talking to everyone I knew about the hijackings. I followed up on every rumor that was floating around. And the Somesuch-Whatnot email group was very active, sharing links, fears, sadness and hope.
Then the feel-good stories started to come out. “Normal” people doing extraordinary things. “Everyday people” performing unlikely acts of heroism. “Average” people exhibiting above average courage.
I guess that is why Hurricane Katrina is so different for me.
It is an odd consolation, but at least after 9-11, we had someone to blame. A person and an organization. We had a place to vent our anger toward. Nevermind that said anger should have been directed at more than just the one target (and I don’t mean we should have invaded more countries). But we, as a nation, stood around the rallying pole and unified – if only briefly. And we felt good about ourselves for it.
But now… now this.
Total happenstance has potentially ruined a storied city, not to mention the surrounding areas and one of my favorite places that I’ve ever visited (Biloxi, MS).
What do you think of when you think of New York City? Probably the same stereotypes that cross my mind: Self-centered, rude, and violent.
And what do you think of when you think of New Orleans? Again, probably the same as me: Fun loving, laid back, but also kind of creepy.
So which city do you think would have the most looters?
Maybe it all goes back to what the force was that actually caused the destruction. New Yorkers may have seen 9-11 as a brazen attack by a cowardly enemy and not a reason to capitalize on misfortune. But certain residents of New Orleans seem to have taken Hurricane Katrina as a blessing in disguise. The governor of Louisianna called Katrina “our tsunami”, but many residents are acting as if it is their lottery.
I wonder, if the situations were reversed, if the reactions of the residents of these two cities would be the same?
If someone is looting food and water, or even legitimate medicine, that is one thing. But jeans? And jewelry? And tennis shoes?
Again, I realize that comparing 9-11 to Katrina is an apples/oranges argument. New York still had power. And water. Open lines of communication. Safe, or presumably so, places to go. New Orleans has none of that. Hell, they are even evacuating the “safe havens” set up for those too sick or without the means to leave town. And the Superdome has proven to be less that super.
But a natural disaster of this magnitude should not be treated as a means to upgrade the wardrobe. It should be a time when we start hearing about the heroic neighbor saving people and pets. Or a guy who saves a work of art from one of the downtown galleries – not for his own benefit, but for the benefit of future generations.
Sadly, this hurricane is the antithesis of 9-11. Instead of residents showing their humanistic compassion, we are left with images of opportunistic stragglers who probably ignored evacuation orders just for the potential to acquire new things that would be otherwise unattainable.
Hey, I know that many lacked the means to leave before the storm. And I know that many of those people have been forced to “loot” grocery and drug stores to get neccessities. I’m not targeting them. I’m talking about the ones who stayed just for free shit. They are akin to the woman at the grocery store who falls because she is a klutz in high heels, yet sues the grocery chain for an unsafe shopping environment.
I have no use for people like that.
I have now gotten to the point where I have a hard time looking at the video from New Orleans. Someone compared the scene there to the movie “Escape From New York”, and that (sadly) isn’t probably very far off the mark. Gangs of the “left behind” walking (or wading) the streets with guns. Shots fired at police for no reason. Shots fired at helicoptors evacuating patients from hospitals, thus scuttling their mission. Total mayhem.
And the safe haven of the Superdome? No air conditioning and broken toilets have led to massive unrest. There have also been several reports of rape in the dome. Unreal. Of course, I have never been in the situation these folks are in, but I am willing to bet that if I was, forced sex would be the absolute last thing on my mind.
Everyone in the Superdome is being bussed to Texas to stay in the Astrodome and a yet to be determined location in San Antonio. Texas Governor Rick Perry said that the “refugees” are welcome to stay in Texas as long as they want.
I know this is going to make me sound bad, but… screw it. I don’t want them here. Texas is a fucked up state as it is. The Dubya influence still lingers here, as legislators give themselves raises and lower the pension for retired school district employees. The last thing we need here are a bunch of people whose idea of survival consists of not helping their fellow man but taking advantage of them any way they can.
This “victim society” we live in drives me batshit. No one is to blame for anything. Everything is someone else’s fault. Personal accountability is as foreign in the States as the now defunct lira is in Italy.
The people I really feel for are the good ones that we are still not hearing or reading about. I know they are in that group of Superdome dwellers. I have a little faith still. And that poor single mother of three? She is grouped in with the gun-toting rapist thugs who are trying to capitalize on a natural disaster.
It is sad and sickening at the same time. New York gave us punk rock. Chicago gave us the blues. N’Orleans gave us jazz. New York showed us resolve after 9-11. Chicago, as much as I hated the city while there (sorry, Ali), overcame gang wars, a cow-started fire, and Steve Bartman.
New Orleans? It’s your turn now. Please don’t disappoint.
—–
Now, as for Gustav, it appears as if the city has gotten it right. I love the tough talk from New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin, telling people who stay behind that there will be no “last chance” shelters, nor any leniency shown toward looters.
Happy Labor Day.
There was no Ranger game on Austin TV tonight so I took a break from following the action online to lay down with Dawn on the couch downstairs as she cleaned up our DVR. (I had no idea how many episodes of “Leave It To Beaver” that TVLand airs in a single day. After all, there never seems to be an episode on when I am in the mood for accidental sexual innuendos.)
Part of the hard drive clean-up included watching episodes of “Jon And Kate Plus 8″. I have mentioned this show before because I am of the belief that Kate is an unrelenting bitch that makes my blood pressure rise when I see the way she talks to her husband (who reminds me an awful lot of Ray, by the way).
So Dawn was really excited because they were showing the episode in which the family loads up all the kids – plus a Uhaul trailer for the luggage and snacks – to visit Disneyworld. Jon began driving the family down around 5:00 in the afternoon with the intent of making it from Pennsylvania to South Carolina before stopping at a hotel in the middle of the night.
And here is where the joke kicks in: Dawn remarked about the shoddy place to stay that they picked. “You’d think they would stop somewhere nice”, she said, “but that place just looks like a Motor Inn.”
So I replied, “What’s your price for flight?”
And I’m still not sure what is worse… that I issued the “joke” or that Dawn got it.
Sometimes, being a simpleton is nice.
Ok, I admit it: I am an American Idol geek.
I’m not sure how this happened, either. Even after Kelly Clarkson won in season one (have you heard that she and I are from the same town?), I still somehow eluded the allure of, well, spares.
Until the last few years, that is.
Now I find myself tuning in whether I want to or not. And, true to the viewing public, I have some inadvertent hot sports opinions about the show. In fact, this may turn into a rant.
1) “Beatles Week” was cool… the first time. But the producers of the show were so happy that they had secured the rights to the Lennon/McCartney (and even the underrated Harrison) catalog that they drew from the well a week too long. Thank God that no one sang “Yellow Submarine”, though.
2) Mariah Carey? Really? Show me her tits, sure (or even better, Dolly Parton’s from the previous week), but don’t drag the TV viewing audience through her song catalog that bores me to tears.
3) Is there a number three?
4) I am so pissed – beyond pissed – that Michael Johns was voted off. Two weeks after he had what, to me, was the best performance I had ever seen on Idol (Dolly’s “It’s All Wrong, But It’s All Right”, though David Archuletta’s version of “Imagine” comes close), the hunky Australian was given the proverbial boot. Nothing short of shocking, if you ask me. All that proves is that too many retards have phone access.
5) Carly Smithson? Kinda hot… but enough with the sleeveless shirts. I think your husband’s tattoo shop is going to do fine without your shameless promoting.
6) Brooke, you are growing on me. And not like a wart.
7) Enough with the booing every time Simon gives feedback. Admit it: he is the only reason you watch the show.
Paula Abdul is so overly positive that the kiss of death is when she opens her critique with “You look great.” Girl, you know it’s true.
9) I’m really surprised that Jason Castro doesn’t open up a bag of Doritos after singing any of his pot-induced, ukulele warbles thanks to ganja munchies.
10) I’m still rooting for the underdog, Kristy Lee Cook, because she is a look alike for my cousin Hollie. (Truth be told, though, Hollie has a better voice. Really. Honest.)
11) I still contend that losing Idol opens more doors (Clarkson excluded because she was the first). I would rather finish number ten than win and be beholden to Fox and their “exclusivity” terms that are tantamount to slavedom.
So now, in true laziness blogdom fashion, here is the Michael Johns performance of the Dolly Parton song.
Love you.
It’s a good day… Today is the 75th anniversary of the end of prohibition in these United States of America. Celebrate accordingly.
(Could marijuana be far behind? There is talk of legalizing it in Austin. More reasons for the friends to visit.)
In other news:
Enjoy the holiday.
And, just for the heck of it, today’s song of the day is Lucinda Williams’ “Hot Blood”. Leemer sez check it out.
In early October of 2007, about a week before our move to Austin, I was in the local Albertson’s buying something (probably Diet Coke and butter) when I heard a female voice say my name. I turned around and saw that it was Jenny – the best bartender ever. About once every three weeks or so, the old work gang would get off early and spend a couple of hours at Bobby V’s for burgers and beer, and Jenny was our bartender/server/antagonist. She dished out cut-downs as well as she poured tall Miller Lites.
So as I saw her that day, with her newly cut hair and looking almost boyish, I told her about Dawn and I moving to Austin and she told me about her new job: a member of the Fort Worth Fire Department. A staple of Bobby V’s had been removed because of her innate need to serve the public in a different manner. From then on, her hose would be filled with water to save lives as opposed to being filled with beer to try and keep up with Joe.
I knew that would be that last time that I’d see her. Like a fledgling leaving the nest, I did not need her anymore.
Despite what you know, or think you know, about my fondness for beer, I am not a big “bar guy”. In fact, I am happier when having a cold one at home. But the Bobby V’s days were more about comraderie than the suds. Joe, Debra and Brandon with a twist of Jenny. Sure, others joined us at times, but us four coworkers and the bitchy bartender (who, oddly, gave me the confidence to think I actually had a shot with Dawn) were the highlights of many weeks.
So last week I was reading the old hometown newspaper online when I came across this atricle about the Arlington smoking ban and how it has affected business in the city. A few paragraphs stood out.
Pete Moore, who owns Bobby V’s Sports Gallery Cafe on Bowen Road near Interstate 20, said his business is off 15 percent.
Pete, Pete, Pete… It is because I moved. So sorry.
He said people used to come to the bar, eat and drink a few beers while watching a game. Now, the people who still come to the bar area eat and leave with smaller checks.
Pete, Pete, Pete… That is because I quit my job.
“People who used to come in two or three times a week will come in once every two or three months to say ‘hi,’” he said. “I can go to restaurants in Mansfield and see my old customers there.”
Ok, Pete. Now you are exaggerating. Maybe the mullet guy doesn’t frequent your place quite as much, but I don’t think I have ever been there more than one time per week.
And, by the way, don’t discount the fact that Jenny left. Good help is hard to find.
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