so, saturday night was spent primarily at the what i always call “the hockey stadium” because that is typically why i’m there. but now, a new team has taken over the facility for the summer, and it ain’t hockey.

it’s indoor football.

on a fifty yard playing field.

what was interesting was last night. the austin icebats have made it all the way to the championship series of the play-offs, which lapped into the indoor football season. so friday night, there was a hockey game. saturday morning, the goals came down, and goal POSTS went up. the glass came down, too…which kinda sucked for those seated BEHIND the goal posts. and it was football time. then today, the posts came down, the glass and goals went back up, and the puck drops at 6:00 for game two of the championship. interesting.

i watched the team warm up (not easy to do when all that separates you and a big-ass block of ice is a thin layer of turf….and you thought green bay had the “frozen tundra”), and then THEY showed up. the cheerleaders. their dance squad. DAMN….

THAT is where the focus need to be. fuck the team, fuck the whole “indoor football” novelty. fuck the mascot who was trying to hit up on junior’s date amber because she was in watching the game alone since she was WAY pissed at me at the time (a simple misunderstanding..all worked out now…bonded over baby a’s margaritas post game). they need to focus on the hot women they’ve got on the field and those well-sculpted, dancer-built, j-Lo style ASSetts. that, and lower the beer prices. and this WILL succeed. the key is in the latter half of the name of the sport:

Beer
Ass
Lovely
Ladies

and the seats WILL fill. sure, nobody will know your quarterback’s name, but your profits will go up. and if the profits for a team can go up WITHOUT the team, it saves you a world of shit. no more prima-donna athletes who speak of themselves in the third person. no more, “you can’t trade me..the fans will kill you”. fuck you, you cfl wanna-be. they don’t even NOW you. they just know you as the guy who wouldn’t get off the field quick enough last quarter for us to set up the poles do desiree and heather could do sugars-inspired pole dancing while two other girls showered them in gatorade, soaking they’re little white tank tops that displayed a sponsors name who paid out the ASS for the hard-nipple clause of his contract. now THAT’S a half-time show guys will watch. with baited breath. THEN you charge them more for beer, since it has to be delivered to the seats ’cause they don’t wanna miss becky and laurie then LICKING the gatorade off desiree and heather. in fact, charge TWICE as much for gatorade after that as you do for beer, and i bet it STILL sells.

throw in a cage on either side of the goal posts for the girls to dance in DURING the game (otherwise people will stay for the breaks and go piss while the balls in motion) and you’re good to go. i SO need to talk to the GM of this team next week…

Replies: 1 Comment

good plan.

brunette said @ 04/22/2002 04:28 AM GMT

so, my friday at a glance….wake up the second most pleasant way i know how (don’t get perverted with that one…it was meant in the wake-up call sense of the phrase), then it was off to sa. this was trip number FIVE to the alamo city in SEVEN days. think that’ll about do it with sa for a while (but not too long a while…rumor has it i’m working the show at sunken gardens next sunday) then back to san marcos to do some (non) work on the system at sundance (they say it was giving them problems, but all worked fine for me…guess it knows who daddy is, huh?) lunch at gil’s broiler (new owners, new decor, same taste..that was cool) and then back to a-town to set up for a couple of shows there, the second of which decided to be a pill, delaying me to the point of NEVER making an in-office appearance on friday. then worked VERY briefly at the hockey game (but still got paid for the full three hours; man, company policies are cool sometimes), then plopped down and watched the game (we lost..but just barely) with jim & katy (jim being the older brother of my “sister” kathi, and was actually how she became my “sister” in the first place), and josh ended up joining us for late night tex-mex at trudy’s post-game….looking back at it in text form, the day sucked, but not TOO bad i suppose…
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okay, so tonight i had one of THOSE moments. like, if my life were happy days, and the stupidity portion was the leopard lodge, i just got the grand puba post that mr.c is always lusting after. you know, THAT level of dumbass mistake…but i can explain. and oddly enough, i intend to…
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so, worked the day away, hit the gym, got some frozen reptile food, and went to meet kathi and kramer for dinner and booze; the menu for the night can be summed up thusly…(think countdown christmas song here)

5 – pounds of cheeeeeeeeeese
4 – margaritas
3 – scoops of ice cream
2 – dead critters (in the cheese)
and one scary mother fuckin’ drag queeeeeeeeen!!!! (not kramer – a real one..i SO wish i was making that one up, but i’m not)

so, earlier in the day i was on the phone (SHOCK!!!) and was discussing flag etiquette. it seems this person, who shall remain nameless but most reading know of whom i speak since i speak to her more often than every last one of you COMBINED (and have nary a complaint about that, either) was surprised that we here in the great country of texas are allowed to fly the texas flag at the same height as the american one, which is not 100% true.

we can actually fly the texas one HIGHER if we so choose, but doing so tends to cut down on federal funding for our roads and schools, so we keep ’em level to keep the peace. for those of us born and raised, there is no DOUBT where our loyalties lie. we’re not patriots, we’re texriots.

on september 12th, american flag t-shirts could be found all over this state of ours for $10.
on september 12th, texas flag t-shirts could be found all over this state of ours for $10.
on MARCH 12th, american flag t-shirts were being sold two or three for one.
on MARCH 12th, TEXAS flag shirts were still being sold for $10. and they were still SELLING. ya know why?

BECAUSE BEING A TEXAN IS A WAY OF LIFE AND NOT A FUCKING TREND!!!

between birth and death, the average texan will see our flag millions of times. but here are a few (oddly enough, 10) of my favorite places to see it…

1. as a tattoo (like the one that wraps around 80% of my left bicep)
2. flying over the dome of the state capital
3. as a bandana wrapped around the head of willie nelson
4. as a beach umbrella over a sandy picnic on the shores of port aransas
5. in string bikini top form on a hot blonde who is tubing down the san marcos river
6. on the antenna of a gmc z71 4×4 with tires that are taller than an eight year old boy
7. in thong form on a curvy, redheaded stripper
8. airbrushed on the hood of a tricked out 1963 chevrolet impala ss (viva la raza de tejas)
9. as running shorts on a hot latina jogging up the hike and bike trail in austin (i know, i know…three women references…i’m lonely…leave me alone)
10. as a sticker on our laptop with the word “home” below it. wonder who would have THAT, huh?

to whom it may concern:
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so, a few things i learned about the alamo city on day two…

a. every major freeway connects directly to every OTHER major freeway, which is very, VERY cool after two fishbowl sized margaritas.

b. don’t trust kimberly, the little hottie porn star in training, to call you when she says she will, since she’s apparently practicing up the flaky part of her planned profession and therefore will leave you high and dry on promises of keeping your mood up and your attention distracted as you reel around san antonio.

c. people’s attitude to losing their job and store really varies depending on what part of town you’re in, but the universal plan seemed to be bailing as early as possible, so i only went 9 for 10 yesterday, with the over all score needing to hit 20, so this will be short so i can get my puppies some food before i get back on the road…

the saddest thing i saw yesterday? the look in this one mans eye out in the parking lot of one of the albertson’s stores. he wasn’t a former al employee; he had a job, and was doing it. he was a pole. i don’t mean he was polish, although i guess he could have been. he was a sign pole. a new subdivision was having a promotion a few blocks from where i was doing the system pull, and this guy had a giant arrow strapped to his chest pointing the way.

overall, not a bad gig. you’re out in the sun (although that thick strap around your neck probably gives you one hell of a tan line); you’re in marketing (sorta); and everyone will remember your face, but you never have to deal with them directly…kinda like being on TV.

but this man’s eyes looked distant. hollow. like that look you get when you settle down from being single to that one special someone and you go around to tell the “runners-up” that you’ve found your soul mate and they’re NOT it…that look in the eye of someone who has it already set in their eyes that they have been ultimately cast aside and replaced. and on my way out, i could look over his shoulder and see what was in his gaze, making him feel so very replaceable…

home depot. fresh-cut lumber. fence posts.

boy, relax. if they were gonna use a hunk of dead tree to hold up that arrow, it would have been sunk into the ground and staple-gunned by now; kinda like that guy who pissed me off the other day (did i say that out loud? i am SO kidding; but i realized that phrase reeked of a certain mafia “swim with the fishes” vibe)

so now it’s back to sa; if you see a big, obnoxious, long-haired, tattooed up white boy in a big, not so obnoxious, not long-haired, not tattooed up white trail blazer around your neck of the woods in sa, than that would be me…

the subject line here…referring to the mafia? debt? my former porn career? nope. talking about downtown san antonio, texas. i am now firmly convinced that a good portion of sa’s residency just got off the highway to get something to drink, and then couldn’t figure out how to get back on; so they HAD to stay. yesterday, i made it out alive…but today, will i be so lucky?

fanny packs. acid washed jeans. lynyrd skynyrd reunion tour shirts. dew rags. parachute pants. all 80’s relics? nope. all things seen within the first FIVE minutes of opening a box office at a metal show in sa. that, and bad ink. really bad ink. like, if you have a tattoo, and it looks good, realized how blessed you are compared to a lot of people who basically have a colorful (or not so colorful) scar they call a tattoo. and that reference i made a couple of weeks ago about halter tops in plus sizes NOT needing to be bought? they didn’t listen. oh, how they didn’t listen. of course, they also didn’t pay attention to my, “repeating the price does not make it go down”, or “this is not a flea market, so don’t try to haggle”. see, josh read most of this stuff BEFORE he ever worked in a box office. now he has seen where it came from. also, to the guy who ignored my, “we are not a coat check…i’m not responsible for your stuff” advice, all i can say is, “thanks”. the skull knife is REALLY cool. and boiling for sterilization purposes as we speak.

so, something about a predominantly appearance-challenged crowd (ever heard “ugly” phrased any nicer?), free beer, free bar-b-que, and 11 hours on our feet in the heat made me and josh crave ice cream from sonic. i don’t know why, it just did. it doesn’t HAVE to make sense. cravings are like that. take those of you reading this who occasionally crave ME. not that i’m complaining, just showing that as cool (for me) as some cravings are, they don’t have to make sense. we got directions to the nearest sonic in the downtown area from a slightly drunk, slightly old white guy (and the directions basically worked) and away we went.

interesting thing about downtown sa. they have signs that point TOWARDS things, but not right at them. like a sign that said, “35 North” and had an arrow to the left, led us into a rather ghettofied area, where you could see above you the interstate, but you couldn’t get to it. downtown is like that. there was an arrow that pointed to the right and said, “broadway”, which is where the sonic we were looking for was. but when we turned right, we WEREN’T on broadway. but two blocks down, a block over, and we somehow found it. getting back on i35 was a different story.

we drove around downtown sa for about seven hours trying to find the fucking highway. everywhere we went, we could SEE the damn thing. you can drive UNDER it. you just can’t get ON it. at one point, we ended up in a crowd of traffic (at 12:45 am) on commerce street, which made NO sense since it’s not like a show or game or something had just gotten out, but it was absolute gridlock. a few twists and turns in our kick-ass 2002 trail blazer rental, and we end up by the alamo. and then it hit me. our way out…we could draw our inspiration from a rock and roll rebel. the prince of darkness turned real-com star (as in reality comedy…caught the osbourne’s yet? “sharon, i’m the prince of fucking darkness…i can’t have fucking BUBBLES floating off my stage”, he says as he sees the first set up for his merry mayhem tour stage. TOO funny. but, as per usual, i digress…)

i said, “hey…if we go at this ozzy-style, we’re golden”. josh looked at me puzzled. i completed my thought, saying, “simple dude…we’ll go PISS on the alamo. they kicked ozzy out for it, they’ll have to kick us out, too. and in order to kick us out, they’ll HAVE to show us where the only on ramp in downtown sa is!!!”

well, cooler heads, our native texan loyalties, and the fact i have to go back there sunday and monday prevailed and we decided to make one more last turn, and there it was. a bona fide off ramp. our holy grail. the jones had been squashed. moments ago, we were fiending for a way out of sa like a crack head wanting another hit. now we had our fix, and we didn’t abandon i35 again till we were WELL north of san antonio. hell, we even waited till we were north of bexar county. and now, i’m off to the shower to get ready and go BACK. but i am SO not going downtown…

okay, so tonight i went and grabbed drinks with my “sister” kathi and a few of her friends, paying way more than ANY of us wanted to for the booze, and inhaling a bit more second hand than i wanted (all four of the women smoked, and at some points did so simultaneously). all good fun, all good company, and off they went for their ladies night out and i headed to the car. but got stopped on the way.
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we need more women in my office building. well, to be more honest, more thin (or trying to become thin or just addicted to nutrasweet) women. or more homosexuals. or whoever the hell it is that drinks diet pepsi, ’cause that’s all the machine has left downstairs. pepsi. coke. mountain dew. red mountain dew. bottled water. even that nasty-ass lipton brisk tea. ALL sold out, and they have been all week. all we have is diet pepsi. i just wish somebody would come and drink that nutrasweeted-up crap so we could say we drained the machine. it’s kinda like the soda equivalent of floating the keg, ya know? but to no avail. nobody wants that disgusting nutrasweet taste haunting the back of their throat, and who could blame them? that’s one lingering taste that just doesn’t leave you. and i have one smell in this world that’s the same way for me…
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04/11/2002: “”

so, after finding out my weekend was gonna suck ass with me running all over SA (and not for the reason i prefer to be in SA), i head out, work the hockey playoff game, and junior and i decide to go eat. he was craving a chocolate milk shake, and was eager to redeem himself from earlier (went somewhere, ordered, and when it was handed to him in his car he realized he’d left his wallet at home; but hockey games pay in cash…don’t tell the irs), so i took him to the only sonic i knew with a dining room (he wanted to sit somewhere and eat). the dining room ended up being closed, but there was a kfc next door, so i suggested that. junior said, “no way dude…i don’t like fried chicken.”

WHAT?!?!?

junior was born in oklafuckinhoma, but we’ve forgiven him since he WAS raised in texas. or so he claims. but to not like fried chicken? that makes me suspicious. hell, i know a health-conscious transplanted californian who thought it was down-right bad ass that i could get fried chicken delivered to my door, and junior won’t touch the stuff when it’s RIGHT there? that’s denying one of the big three.

“the big three” has been used to describe everything from automakers to tv studios, i admit, but in this case it fits with texas diet. and this is NOT college hoops, so you can’t take two outta three and still win the trophy. still claim to be the “genuine article”. it’s all or nothing, baby. learn, live, and love these three types of food or you WILL be known as a foreigner on texas soil and that is never a good thing. the three types? hell, half of you already know (more than half, i’m hoping)

1. bar-b-que
2. tex-mex
3. fried chicken

that’s it. simple food for us simple folk. there’s no, “how would you like that cooked” question when it comes to the number two dinner, ’cause we all know that the entree is enchiladas and they only come cooked one way. same question applies to brisket, ribs, pork loin, etc…it’s smoke it with mesquite, shove it in front of us, and stand back. and fried chicken? that’s the one that gets the worst rep, and that is just so wrong.

remember when we had kentucky fried chickens all over this country? now they’re called KFC. if the old man were still alive today you KNOW he’d take back at least eight of the eleven herbs and spices just for the shame of it. and church’s fried chicken? now it’s just church’s chicken. even with aunt esther from sanford and son doing their spots, that’s just wrong. and then central-texas based golden fried chicken became golden chick, which to me sounds like the statue they give out at the porno oscars. oh, how the mighty have fallen.

but the chicken that gets delivered to my house? dobb’s FRIED chicken. no shame in the game there. the way it was meant to be to round out the big three. try asking them at kfc if they have any FRIED chicken. they’ll say, “original recipe or extra crispy?” ask which one is FRIED the most. they’re not allowed to use that word. it’s the “fuck” of the fast food industry. the dirty word.

but also, learn from my mistake at jack in the box, where junior and i ended up eating (where they now have fish and chips, but the jack version of fish is just frightening to mentally conceive, so i avoided it) one time, in the drive through (and NOT at band camp) i asked, “your chicken sandwich is made out of chicken, right?” to which they replied, “of course”. “and you’re steak and cheese sandwich is made out of steak?” “well, yeah…” came the reply. “okay, so what kind of monster do you use in your monster tacos?” silence. i am SO scared to know if that was mayonnaise or not on my buddy’s burger that night. i ended up not ordering a thing for fear of what would happen…