i was chatting with kimberly (yes, the former “porn star in training”, for those who remember the whore from the early years) last night when she popped me on my phrasing…

see, i mentioned to her that i had gone down for a nap around 3:30 or so, and she had accepted it at the time. then details started to surface and she called me out on it. now, anybody who REALLY knows me knows that i don’t take naps. never have. not even as a kid. so, for me to crawl into bed for any length of time in the middle of the day would require one of three things:

1. a naked woman

2. mind altering substances

3. illness

now, for those who have seen me in the last forty-eight hours (of which there have been few) you know i’m not sick. and for anyone who knows my work schedule (and social luck of late) you know you can strike numero uno from the list as well. so that just leaves us the “runner up” slot…

i was once told (i believe by one of the wilson brothers, or it was eddie griffin) that champagne is the ultimate “commitment” for an alcoholic person – once the bottle is opened , you HAVE to consume it. the whole damn thing. if you don’t, it goes flat. now, i’ve heard that you can stick a silver spoon in the neck of the bottle and fix that – and i do have two full sets of sterling flatware to choose from…

…but i’m not afraid of commitment. and i needed a blow-off, do nothing day. so the bottle of veuve that was left over from new years was cracked open and consumed in it’s entirety. then i lay down for a nap…or more accurately, passed out…for about three hours.

see – subtract the bubbly and it would have been a legitimate nap, right?

i busted a guy who worked with me at sundance on this once. he told a story that ended with, “…and then i fell asleep in my buddy’s front yard”.

um…no.

one does not “go to sleep” in the front yard of a buddy’s house. one passes the fuck out in the front yard of a buddy’s house. here are (appropriately enough) a six pack of signs that you in fact “passed out” rather than “went to sleep”…

if you get woke up by…

1. the morning paper hitting you in the ass – indicating you’re on the front lawn. you didn’t even make it indoors. you, my friend, have passed out. and no, that lawn gnome is NOT trying to “get” you…

2. a nine ball in the nay-nays – indicating that you are on a pool table…that would ALSO fall into the “passed out” category. same can be said if it was the sharp pain of a foosball player kicking you in the ribs – although that is a WHOLE different level of passed out, i’m afraid…

3. your own car horn – indicating that you are not only in your vehicle, but in the driver’s seat of your vehicle. and your forehead just met the horn. it’s time to re-think your plan to get home.

4. the laughter of children – this is not quite so disturbing if you HAVE children. or date someone with children. or, if you can struggle with the memory, remember the person you hit on in the bar the night before mentioning that they had children. but when it is STRANGE children, and you notice the world is spinning – because you happen to be on a merry-go-round in the yard of the elementary school two miles from your house…well…um…you know what i’m about to say.

(at this point i’d like to interject that as well detailed as some of these might seem to be, it’s just because i’m an EXCELLENT writer, and not because i’m detailing my own adventures, okay?)

5. the gentle caress of a stripper asking you if you would “like some company” – you’re still IN the strip joint, you loser. okay, so you picked the nice, dark corner table so if you got a bit touchy-feely no one was the wiser – but now your lack of viewage by security has allowed you to konk out in there. that’s a BAD sign…plus, god only knows what the girl waking you up REALLY looks like!!! count your blessings – at least you’re not wondering if she looks okay as she woke you up at your place, right? you guys noticed i avoided that “wake up with the ugly bitch” cliche so far, right?

and finally…

6. the stank breath of an ugly bitch JUST KIDDING!!! – we’ll go one step worse…

6. sirens – no matter where you are – the front yard of your own home, the back lot of six flags, or, all the worse, careening down I35 at 90 mph, if this is what actually brings you back to consciousness, this is only going to get WORSE. just don’t call me when you get that one phone call, and you MIGHT be okay.

and that will be MY version of the “be safe memorial day weekend” speech, okay?

an open letter to the recording industry of america…

(or at least the bands thereof)

today is tuesday. as anyone familiar with the world of recorded music knows, tuesday means new release day. for those who REALLY know their music, it means best buy day. now don’t get me wrong – i worked for an indy record store for four years, and i am ALL about supporting local businesses. i know that all the major chains (wherehouse is already gone from here, and this is tower’s last weekend after they moved into the former varsity movie theater over a decade ago) are dying due to downloads and places like best buy who’s main marketing plan is to have new release CDs and DVDs at BELOW wholesale cost so the little guys can’t POSSIBLY compete with their prices because they hope that you’ll go in for the new lenny kravitz cd and then also buy a tv or fridge.

i don’t fit that trend…

i’m in and out in five minutes. no additional purchase except for a cd or two. and even then, i ONLY buy when the cd comes in at $9.99 or below. local loyalty aside, if it’s FIFTY PERCENT cheaper to go buy my shit from some guy in a blue polo shirt rather than a guy in a faded out shirt from the first wilco tour, so be it. when it comes to back catalog and box sets, my money goes to the locals. and if the new stuff clocks in at $12.99 or higher at best buy, it goes to the locals. but for only $9.99? i even know LOCAL record store guys that buy there because it’s cheaper than their COST.

but never mind all that now…

the biggest kick in the crotch to the recording industry these days are illegal download sites. i always criticize my friends.

“you’re killing the industry”, i say.

“your favorite bands will go away if it keeps up”, i say.

“why don’t you support the popular arts?”, i say.

(this all from a guy that refuses to pay to see a concert, but never mind that now)

but i had an epiphany. a moment of clarity. i was listening to the new slipknot cd and realized about half way through (which is about as far as i’ve made it at the time this is being written) that with the exception of the radio single, the rest of it is pretty lame. surveying the bulk of the new CDs i’ve bought over the last year, most of them have one, maybe two listenable tracks and the rest pretty much blows.

(there are a few exceptions, but they are few and far between)

not all of these come from new artists that are destined to be shatnerized on vh1’s one hit wonder show later – some come from established artists, who i own other full discs from and i’m happy with – it’s just that if the chinese zodiac was what determines the album quality for the year (which it might very well – i don’t know such things as i should) then this would truly be the year of the LAME ASS cd.

so why drop $15 for a future coaster when you can just go to www.get_a_real_job_you_suck_ass_whiner.com and download the ONE song you give a shit about and forget about the fourteen you DON’T?

for once, it actually makes sense; except i don’t own an mp3 player. yet. but once i do, i will probably join the masses that don’t pay for shit until i HEAR it. now, let an album have three or four tracks that catch my attention, and i’ll go buy it. but i’m running out of storage space and you band fucks don’t seem to be doing a whole hell of a lot to convince me that doing it the RIGHT way is a good call.

plus, it all goes back to something i’ve said time and time again about, shall we call them, “fuller figured gals”. a friend once decreed (and accurately so) that “big girls need lovin’, too”. without missing a beat i responded, “well, they also need food – and since i’m not COOKING for any of them, why tease them with PART of the equation?”. well, i’m not paying to get in any lame bands SHOWS, so why am i teasing them with part of the equation by buying their cd only to have their show undersell and cancel a couple of months later? i’m actually CONTRIBUTING to the problem.

fuck all that. pass me the iPod.

the weekend – four bottles of crown and a wedding. and boat loads of dead crustaceans. and a speed date with a stripper. where to begin?

we left off at friday, right? me – shit-faced with harold watching the spurs lose to the lakers just barely??? (nothing compared to the beating they took this weekend, but never mind that now). yeah – let’s blame that one on the spurs. thursday was because of the spurs.

so that excuses that one, right? okay…

then came friday. after thursday, i was SO not drinking on friday – but then came the email announcing the birthday shindig for matt and neal. but it was all down in the warehouse district, where drinks tend to be RIDICULOUSLY expensive – so i knew i wouldn’t drop any cash…but i didn’t realize others would. and as a result, i ended up downing a LARGE amount of crown, and a concoction i’ve never tried till friday called a “jäeger bomb” (jäegermeister and red bull) – which added up to a messy evening. a FUN evening, but a messy one -lots of bars. lots of people (our group topped 25 by the time i split). and i spent very little…like one round for me, and one for me and the birthday boys. that was it – everyone else dropped their own cash; and in the middle of it i ran into people from high school. trust me, if you knew where i went to school, you’d realize most of those fucks would drive you to drink by their mere presence – but never mind that now.

and then there was saturday…saturday was benita’s wedding. benita is a close friend who had four kids by the age of 25 and who has ever since i’ve known her tried to set me up with one of her friends – most of which i can describe with two simple words (”um…no.”). but saturday she got married – which is VERY cool. yet somehow, some way, some MPs from ft. hood decided to adopt me as their own. after the wedding (where she married a guy from ft. hood) they had nothing but beer at the reception, which was good because i didn’t want to drink after the two previous nights and i **don’t** drink beer. but then they handed me a half a fifth crown – which i downed at one sitting, and that was before we headed to austin. on the way up i got a call from a girl from the rose (who ain’t a waitress) who complained about how we hadn’t got to hang out all week and we needed to fix that. next thing i know, on five minutes notice, i’m at chili’s having dinner with a stripper…in and out in under an hour and we spent most of it talking literature. does that make me odd or just \\really\\ drunk. i ended up missing half a dozen calls from my new army compadres, but we met up downtown and made up for lost time in alcohol consumption AND time…and again, i’m on the pizza slice crawl to absorb canadian candy – which worked well enough to get me home ALMOST legally.

and then came sunday – a benefit show where the only thing that REALLY benefited was my amount of reading of dan brown i got done (having devoured “the da vinci code” i’ve started in on “angels & demons”). i worked four hours and only sold twelve tickets – but when i went into the venue part of la zona (which is not visible from the box office) i found a couple hundred people were there. turns out the promoter took it upon themselves to let people in for CHEAPER than the ticket price but still leave me there to rot. the conversation once i found this out was brief…

them: “i’m sorry – we’re kind of new”

me: “GO FUCK YOURSELF!!!!”

the end. always know for my professionalism. then it was off to the sopranos and deadwood at jim’s place. always a good way to wrap up a weekend whether it’s shitty (the common theme lately) or fun (which could happen for me eventually, right?). and thus started a new streak of NON drinking nights…

…which ended monday – when kathi had me over for dinner and a couple bottles of wine. oh well, there’s always tomorrow to start my sober streak, right?

(and this whole piece was written AFTER the second bottle was drained – so if it sucks, blame some wine called “goats do roam” – isn’t that some bestiality porno?)

sure, we can ALL bitch about how hard it is to dispose of a dead body…

(hey – where are you going? don’t be scared – i’m going somewhere with this)

but you know what else is cumbersome, annoying, stinks up your kitchen, and is ALSO a bitch to dispose of?

a kitchen trash can. this was just seriously retarded.

first off, i got the bright idea to replace the stinkin’ thing (not censoring myself on that one – it fits in more than one way) when i was at HEB one night after ‘working” in the tattoo joint all evening (in quotes because i do very little and get no pay). the thing i HADN’T thought of was that i had walked about four blocks to HEB because it was a nice night out – but a nice night for a stroll does NOT mean a nice night to stroll back four blocks carrying a kitchen trash can while drunken college kids drive by and scream, “hell yeah, dude!!! trash can punch!!! that’s what i’m talking about!!!”.

oops. i suppose these things happen.

but the real fun came when i had to throw the old can away. i just set it out by the curb, with the bag of trash still in it, amongst all the larger garbage bags from yard work. well, of course, the trash crew (not exactly the mensa family) grabbed all the big bags, plus the little one out of the trash can, and left the can.

that one i see as my fault.

but in my neighborhood the trash is picked up both on tuesdays AND on fridays. so that friday, since i really didn’t have any trash to speak of, i just set the can out by the curb solo as trash. of course, the crew de garbage thought that i had just forgotten to take the can in, so they just knocked it on it’s side to show they had touched it and moved on.

and thus ended week one of trying to get rid of the damn thing. on to week two…

on tuesday of last week i had a lot of stuff to toss because i had FINALLY cleaned out the closets in my bedroom, plus a bunch of boxes out of the hall closet (i apparently have inherited my mother’s pack rat gene, but i am trying to exorcise it slowly but surely). i had four large bags, so i just lay the white trash can across the top of them, kinda thinking, “hey look – it’s a trash sundae and the white can is the cherry on top!”

they left the cherry.

that friday i decided to make it a no-brainier…even thought i HAD trash, i didn’t put any out, and instead put out JUST the white can – but i wrote down the side of it in HUGE letters:

i am trash!!! please take me away!!!

(i got the idea from the pickup line my friend used to meet her husband in a beer joint just outside of lockhart, but never mind that now)

i came back to a the white trash can in the driveway…writing side UP, no less. now they were just toying with me…plus, you all read about the condition i was in when i got home on the last entry, right? moving along…

so today, i had an epiphany – i took the bag out of the new kitchen trash can, and since that was all i had, put in the old kitchen trash can…then i took the old kitchen trash can and put IT in a 45 gallon contractor’s trash bag, and twist tied the bag shut.

success!!!

now, if i could only figure out where to dump this damn body i have to get rid of…

that was my greeting to the waitress last night at antonio’s. and i wasn’t showing off to anyone else at the table – i was solo. this should have been a sign of things to come, shouldn’t it? but let’s back up for a moment…
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i’ve been watching tv lately, and some things have not sat well with me…
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allow me to clarify…
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we’re trying something new here…
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the title is NOT a floral reference…

…it’s a MILK CARTON one.

as in “this (not so) lil’ white boy’s been missing too damn long”.

as an old cuban saying goes, “i have some ‘splaining to do…”

so lemme ‘splain.

two back ground items:

number one, when you make the “temp to perm” transition in the land of the rising dell you actually make LESS money to start. in fact, for the first month, you’re pretty much dead broke. the theory is that with your new-found ability to make commission, in the long run, you make more money. from what i’ve been told, this is actually true. but in the short term, before the commission kicks in (which takes about six to eight weeks) you are FLAT busted.

which leads me to that unpleasant conversation i get to have with my mortgage company later – how are you supposed to explain that you got a promotion and now make less money? to those unfamiliar with “dell culture” (a term that’s thrown around way to much at work) this makes little sense…

…to those of us who bust our ass there, it makes even less.

but, for the time being, it’s the way it is. hey, at least now i don’t have to wonder who’s gonna be cutting me a check come may (when my spherion assignment was set to run out) – i just have to wonder how to pay bills with it.

so, needless to say, with all this economic stress (which i should be used to by now, but after a break of four months, i had grown Unaccustomed to again) i’ve been drinking a bit more. as the social scientist homer simpson has stated, “ah, sweet liquor eases the pain”. so painfully true. but this STILL isn’t the number two reason i’ve been off the whore for a week (not meant as a “no-sex” reference – that’s actually been WAY more than a week – why the FUCK do you think i’m so bitter these days?) although this does kinda play into the the number two reason…

so, i was drinking at baby a’s one afternoon (you knew a purple would creep in here somewhere – this time it was another three round experience) when i started glancing through the chronicle and saw the south by southwest (or sxsw) list. for the last three years i have been the guy in charge of distributing all five THOUSAND of the wristbands throughout the greater austin area. i have also gotten one from star for free for the last three years. the first year i went and had a ROCKING time. the next year i was stranded NEAR mexico (not even IN mexico) and the next year i was stuck in oklafuckinhoma…

…so my record of actually getting to USE the fucking wristbands was not good. with a little purple frozen mental lube i decided that i HAD to call and see if i could get one this year. one call had me on the list of possibles to receive one of the star comps – and ALSO had me reenlisted to distribute them for a fourth year. i figured during this time of economic “transition” the extra moulah would do me a world of good, and once again when dell HSFed* me, star stepped to the plate and made sure i could afford a square meal or two.

* HSFed = High School Fucked (hahy skool fuhkt) verb: what SEEMS like it will be fun and pleasurable and is therefore something you dream and strive for but instead turns out to be, at least at the time, awkward and disappointing.

so last tuesday and wednesday morning, that’s where i was – running all over hell’s half acre making it to where when wristbands went on sale 10:00 am thursday morning, all was set up nicely. but it also requires occasional maintenance…

…which is where i’m off to now.

so, i’ll ‘splain the rest of my disappearance time a bit later…

(to be continued)

“if train ‘a’ leaves chicago southbound at 60 miles per hour and train ‘b’ leaves dallas northbound and crosses the path of train ‘a’ five hours later after traveling a distance of 967 miles and then you take the speed of train ‘b’ and multiply it by the atomic weight of boron taking the resulting product and dividing it by amount of feathers on the eagle on the mexican flag what would you get???”
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