Archive for January, 2009

We’re Just a Little Blue Flea in this Universe

Posted in Uncategorized on January 29, 2009 by tom

I found this picture, which puts our little rock and its problems in perspective. 

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Important Advice

Posted in Uncategorized on January 29, 2009 by tom

A helpful reminder from the good folks at someecards.com:

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The B-3 vs The Abyss

Posted in Uncategorized on January 28, 2009 by tom

Today was yet another of "those days."  From the moment my alarm went off, I was in a vile mood.  I'd had weird-ass dreams–including zombies, for crying out loud–and I hadn't gotten much actual rest.  Plus, per normal when I'm in the Abyss, I kept waking up every 80 minutes or so. 

So I was tired and cranky to start with, and my morning at work was filled with angry clients.  I was ready to invoke the great philosopher Eric Cartman, and say "Screw you guys–I'm going home."

Ann Marie was hungry, and I figured I'd try to eat something, thus we ventured over to the company dining room.  The soup was something uninspiring, and they'd just sold out of the chicken and dressing hot meal, so I went to the sandwich bar.  I halfheartedly ordered a chicken salad wrap with sweet pickles, added a bottle of water and a bag of jalapeno potato chips.  I opened the wrap, ate the pickles, and scooped out some chicken salad with the chips.  Again, not feeling it.  The music today was all upbeat rock, stuff I normally would've fed off of and enjoyed: Tom Petty; Sweet's "Ballroom Blitz," "Midnight Hour," by Wilson Pickett. 

Nothing.

Ann Marie looked at me sadly: "You're really not feeling it today if you're not tripping on `Ballroom Blitz.'" She had to go into a meeting, so she was gathering her things when a lonely, melancholy sound came over the speakers.  I looked up at the speaker and sort of half-smiled. 

"What is this? I don't recognize it."
"Booker T and the MG's.  `Time is Tight.'"

She left, and I closed my eyes at the table.

It was like my emotions were bubbling up.  I didn't know whether to burst out laughing or cry; I couldn't quite manage either, but the song managed to move past my bad day, past my tiredness, past the grumpy clients, and it touched me somehow.

It's a simple song: great bassline, steady drums, guitar following the bass, then the Hammond B-3 organ comes in, sort of a lonely sound.  As the song progresses, the guitar comes in with a simple riff, and the B-3 blasts into shimmering crescendos. 

It's simple, kind of sad, but ultimately hopeful.  On my way back to my desk, I was able to smile at a friend.  And mean it. 

My chemicals are still off, my mood still sour, but that song helped steel me against my afternoon.  This wasn't a great day, by any stretch, but I made it through.  Psychotropic meds are great, but the biggest mood elevation I got was from a 475 lb box of wood and wires.  I wouldn't want to swallow one (and a suppository of that size and construction would be even more horrifying), but I'm grateful.

I never know what will pull me out when I'm down.  Sometimes it's a hug, a good conversation, hell, even ice cream.  Most often, nothing works.  Today, it was "Time is Tight."  Thanks, Booker T, Col Steve, Duck, and Al.  And God bless you Mr Hammond.

I'm off to fight the zombies or whatever unpleasantness will face me in my dreams tonight.  Damn skippy, I downloaded "Time is Tight."  Just in case I need it.

(here's a cool live version of the song, with a funny little film glitch.  Also funny is seeing CCR standing backstage, enthralled as the MG's play)

Booker T & the MG’s, "Time is Tight" (live)

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Vox Hunt: Childhood Photo

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , on January 27, 2009 by tom

Show us a picture of you from your childhood.

My grandfather, my little brother, and me.  I'm on the right, looking dorky as usual.

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Sunday Night Mental Chex Mix

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on January 26, 2009 by tom
  • Props to the new President for saying he'd bring change, then promptly starting out changing things.  Guantanamo would be a fine place for a nice golf resort or a mango plantation.  Let's set that up.
  • Speaking of which, D.L. Hughley was on CNN discussing the inauguration, and he said the reason Dick Cheney was in a wheelchair was because he refused to stand for the new president.  If that's so, then that mean old douchebag is even more evil than I'd always thought, and I hope he ends up needing a wheelchair ever after.
  • Also speaking of which, yesterday marked the one year anniversary of my last wheelchair ride, from my room at Kindred Hospital to my parents' Odyssey.  One year ago today, I was limping around with a walker.  Today, I can walk all over the place with no limp whatsoever.  I'm grateful.
  • My first night home, Carrie brought over yummy Mexican food (ed. note: "Mexican food that was yummy," not "the food of yummy Mexicans" (though if Salma Hayek ate those same pablano chilis rellenos, both interpretations would be valid))
  • Anyway, Carrie and I were seated on my couch.  It was as romantic as could be, considering I had my catheter bag hanging from my walker, and I was glassy-eyed with pain and painkillers, when Ana-Sofia Vargas hopped up on the couch, wedging herself between C and me.  It was very cozy and comfortable…
  • …for about 45 seconds, at which time la Srta Vargas firmly placed her paw on Carrie's arm, her claws grasping the nice tweed fabric.  Carrie–a first-grade teacher–said, "No.  That's my jacket," and gently removed the paw.
  • Ana-Sofia Vargas glared daggers, and forcably put her paw back, again utilizing her super claws to maintain grip. "Fuck. YOU, biped lady.  My couch, my hooman, my rules."
  • Shockingly, Carrie turned out to be allergic, and has been unable to return.  I think Ana-Sofia Vargas would slit her tires and push her down the stairs if she returned.
  • Speaking of horrible ways to die, Madonna's "Take a Bow" could have been the last song I'd have heard on this orb before dying a fiery and unpleasant death.
  • Last night, I was buying gas at my trusty neighborhood 7-Eleven, when a black car pulled up at the pump opposite me.  Driving was a verrrrrry butchy young lady, obviously dressed to go out for the night.  She had Madonna's "Take a Bow" blasting on her car stereo. 
  • I was intrigued by this person, because the car was the sort of tricked-out little Japanese car favored largely by 20 year-old boys.  Plus, you almost never hear Madonna and Babyface emanating from the stereos of such cars as driven by such drivers.
  • Anyway, Joan Jett gets out of her car, swipes her card, and commences to fueling.  She locked the pump on, then LIT UP A CIGARETTE!!
  • She was smoking while pumping gas.  She walked away from the actual tank, and checked her look in the passenger window's reflection.  Short black hair, spiked.  Wife-beater, check.  Black vest, check.  Black leather jeans, check.  Pointy-toed boots with buckle, check.  Sneer, check.  Marlboro dangling from sneer, check.
  • Lushly orchestrated Madonna ballad, check.
  • I've been to an actual Lesbian dance club.  I was dragged there by my friend, M, who is an actual Lesbian, and thus knew the secret handshake or whatever to get us into Kym's Klub.  I was the only straight guy in the joint, although there were a few pairs of men dancing together.  M and I sat at the bar.  I was drinking a straight Jim Beam with a Rolling Rock chaser.  M was guzzling vodka tonics, and sending drinks to this tall, frighteningly beautiful, leopard-print-wearing girl across the bar.  There were the usual mating rituals and skirmishes, just with an all-female cast.  The gay guys just danced.  I just sat at the bar. 
  • The point is, Kym's Klub would never have played "Take a Bow."  They played Cher, "Do You Believe" over and over and over.  When an all-American looking girl got into a fight with a woman my size, we left. 
  • Somebody had broken into my truck and stolen my change-filled ashtray and an extra pack of cigarettes.  I was happy to escape with my life; M wanted Burger King.
  • I should note: I wasn't happy to escape with my life because it was a Lesbian bar, but because it was a Lesbian bar in one of the dodgiest parts of Tampa. 
  • I mean, they stole my ashtray, for God's sake.  If M and I had been in the truck, they'd probably have stolen my pancreas.
  • A girl just auctioned off her virginity online for $3.8 million.  Behind Kym's Klub, you could find a crack-whore who knew what she was doing, and she'd only cost $20, a far better value for your prostitution dollar, more bang for your buck, as it were.
  • That said, the $3.8 million virgin is less likely than a crack whore to have herpes, HIV, HPV, anthrax, gonnorhea, syphillis, hoof-and-mouth disease, Hepatitis A thru X, MRSA, dain bramage, ulcerative colitis, impetigo, plantar warts, scurvy, rickets, scurvy rickets, sticky wickets, wikipedia, and transmit Fournier's Gangrene.
  • No, I did not contract Fournier's Gangrene from a crack-whore.
  • Nor from the Lesbian bar.   I felt perfectly safe there, largely because I was there with M.  M is four-eleven, and I'm six-four, so it wasn't a physical thing.  I was comforted because she was, in essence, a "member of the club" there, an insider, so I felt safe when I went in with her. 
  • Thing is, once I got in and ordered my first drink, I felt safe because it was a bar, and I was a drunk.  Same circus, different clowns.
  • In "The Cold 6000," James Ellroy uses a term that's just perfect to describe my weekend: sleep fuckified.  Sleep fuckification occurs when one sleeps far beyond ones needs.  For example, if you sleep off jet lag. 
  • Or, say, you're in the Abyss, and you basically stay in bed for three days sleeping and watching movies.
  • I needed it.  I'm fully ready to go back to work tomorrow, and face whatever the bastards throw at me.  Plus, there's only one more week in this infernal month, and then I'm through with my scheduled Abyss appearances until June.
  • It's like Winter and Summer Sweeps from Hell for me, but it's okay.  I know it's coming, and I don't let it destroy me.
  • I'm far more likely to enjoy TV shows with one-word titles (including acronyms): House, Bones, Psych, Firefly, CSI, NCIS, Chuck, etc.  This does not apply to comedies, though, where "How I Met Your Mother" and "Arrested Development" are my two current faves. (Obviously, AD is only on video, sadly, but it still amuses me more than anything else on today)
  • Finally, in the course of my three-day weekend of nothingness, I have learned to tell my cats apart by the shapes of their skulls.  Ana-Sofia Vargas' skull is smooth, while Wind has a small point on his.  Ann Marie says it's just a normal part of feline skull topography, but I know better.
  • It's an additional, special methane vent, through which the elegant tux launches bioterrorism weapons into my atmosphere.  
  • Still, not even his worst, Meow Mix wet food-fueled emissions would be as toxic as crack-whore gases. 
  • That said, feed her broccoli and cheddar soup, and even the $3.8 million virgin's farts would reek. 
  • Have a great week.  

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A Friday Night Grin

Posted in Uncategorized on January 24, 2009 by tom

(e-mail from Jane; original author unknown)

A Bottle of Merlot

A man asked a waiter to take a bottle of Merlot to an unusually 
attractive woman sitting alone at a table in a cozy little restaurant. 
 
So the waiter took the Merlot to the woman and said, "This is from the 
gentleman who is seated over there." and indicated the sender with a  
nod of his head.

 
She stared at the wine coolly for a few seconds, not looking at the 
man, then decided to send a reply to him by a note.  
The waiter, who was lingering nearby for a response, took the note  
from her and conveyed it to the gentleman. 
 
 The note read: 
 
 "For me to accept this bottle, you need to have a Mercedes in your 
garage, a million dollars in the bank and 7 inches in your pants". 
 
 
After reading the note, the man decided to compose one of his own in 
return.  He folded the note, handed it to the waiter and instructed 
him to deliver it to the lady. 
 
 It read: 
 
 "Just to let you know things aren't always what they appear to be, I 
have a Ferrari Maranello, BMW Z8, Mercedes CL600, and a Porsche Turbo 
in my several garages;  I have beautiful homes in Aspen , Miami , and 
a 10,000 acre ranch in Louisiana .  There is over twenty million 
dollars in my bank account and portfolio.  But, not even for a woman 
as beautiful as you are, would I cut off three inches. 
. "Just send the bottle back."…………………..  

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Dubaya’s Last Presidential Act

Posted in Uncategorized on January 23, 2009 by tom

The press was too busy covering Barack Obama's inauguration to follow this one:

Bush Repeals English Language

 

In what he hoped would be the capstone to his eight years as President, George @. Bush today signed an executive order repealing the English language

Scrawling his name on the official document, Mr. Bush said that in abolishing English, he had vanquished his "greaterest enemy."

For Mr. Bush, the executive order represents the realization of a longstanding dream that began in 2001 when he declared an official War on Grammar.

The President followed up that declaration of war in 2003 when he signed an executive order canceling the agreement between nouns and verbs..

Mr. Bush's decision to repeal the English language could complicate matters for his successor, President Barack Obama, who is scheduled to deliver his inaugural address tomorrow, presumably in English. 

Mr. Bush's executive order also drew high praise from a fellow Republican, Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska: "Being that the English language can and has been used in confusing and also too in harming ordinary Americans, knowing that it no longer can or will be used in doing that is something positive that this is doing also."


(stolen from Ellen's e-mail; original author unknown)

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