Put it on Your Calendar
Last time I didn't give you folks enough warning that Poltz was going to be playing. I think it was three months. This time you get six. August. Early August. Be there, or you suck real bad. Seriously. Last time it was Jo and I. And it was great. Stressful due to my paranoia, but really f**king great. I mean, the man is one of my all time personal heros, not just of the day or the week, but of my life. August. Granted. This is a show that's going to be in Cleveland, but... CD release. His new CD. We can be some of the first to see it. Doesn't that just make you hot? Not in that heat kind of way, but... you know... in your special places? The first in the country to have a new Poltz disc. Because I'm having all sorts of inapropriate reactions to the prospect of being at this show. You wanna come? Let's go. Seriously. Let's go. Tonight. We'll just hang out outside the club for the next six months in anticipation.
-Jon
P.S. I guess if there is a show that's closer that's around the same time, we can go to that one. But, I really want to be at the CD release party... so... I might still insist on Cleveland. Maybe we can follow him around and be Poltzheads for a while, and then, when we finally get burned out, we can start a commune that is nothing but love and understanding and we can all do the naked van dance together.
9 Inches of Pleasure
Or is that 7 inches? Hrmmm... The questions I ask myself at night are, well, strange sometimes. Last night, for example, I found myself... well, I was suddenly standing there thinking, "Why am I in the shower? How did I get in the shower? What the hell is going on?" Yes. I drank last night. Yes, it was quite a bit of drink last night. But, the real question is how did I go from thinking I was falling asleep to waking up washing my hair. It was weird. Another question I ask myself is, "Which is more important to me? The 9 inches of pleasure or the 7 inches of pleasure? I just got them both in the mail, and I couldn't possibly be happier. The knife is sharp, and biting. It cut through a tomato like a hot knife through butter. The pepper mill is, well. It's both sexy and useful. I'm thinking the pepper mill is a slightly (but only just) bigger improvement to my kitchen. The knife, however, is quite possibly the most comfortable knife I've ever used. It doesn't have the heft that I usually look for, and it's a stamped blade instead of forged blade... .... and there are all sorts of stuff about this blade that makes me think that I wouldn't like it, except that it's the most comfortable kitchen knife I think I've ever held, and... well... the stamped (I do shudder thinking about my good knife being stamped and not forged, but... f**k it. I'm young and can find a good comfortable knife that was folded 1000 times by an old Japanese man in the mountains as he put part of his soul into the blade at some point... ... yeah. I don't know what I'm saying either. Don't worry about it.)... ... Well. The stamped blade was made by someone who knows knives. So. Well. I'm ok with a stamped blade. Because those bitches know their blades. They give them to the Swiss Army. The Swiss Army that... well... I'm pretty sure they just protect Rome now. But, Rome is, according to Dan Brown, a place that might attract some trouble. So. Go you Swiss folks.
"
The short version of this update is I got some kitchen s**t, and I love it. I need more excuses to use the knife though. And I need a really powerful magnet soon so I can re-magnatize my sharpening steel.
Yes. I know. I'm a geek.
-Jon
P.S. Yes. Tonight I went out and was social. I wasn't really in the mood to be social. But I was in the mood to go out, so I went. And I had fun. Jo and I went to see a play, and then we ended up at Bennigan's. We saw Chaz at the Big B, and he told us stories of New Orleans and him being afraid of commitment. It was fantastic. Good night. The play was great, and.. well.... Yeah. Good night. I had fun. Now I'm going to bed. G'night.
I Will Call It Squishy, and It Will Be Mine…
I was sitting there, my body and I just having finished that vicious dance otherwise known as... Well. As pooping.
I turned to my right looking for some of the good stuff. The ol' white and fluffy. The roll was empty and there was but one thought in my head, "Please God. Let there be more." For truly, I would hard pressed to name something that was quite as horrible an experience as running out of Charmin in my moment of need. Perhaps, perhaps, being put before a Turkish (or any other "-ish") deathsquad, but... really. That'd be over so quick, and... running out of the TP can be so... ... squishy.
Fortunately, there was more to my left, and I am clean and happy. Going to the bar now. G'night.
-Jon
Quote
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p>"Comedies getting laughs sending up films that were already intended to be funny is like someone making fun of The Daily Show for resembling a news program. It turns out the joke was already there, and you were too stupid to get it." - Jay Pinkerton
Facets
This is a really emotionally piece written by someone I've never met, and never read before -- I got a link off a blog earlier today. This man bares his soul; he tells it all and remains standing. He shows his true self, and does it unabashedly and (seemingly) without fear. He talks of pain, sorrow, and regret as tangible things. He talks of how he knows that he's responsible for them... ... ...
I have a lot going on in my life right now. More than most folks really know. Many things that I mention in passing hold much more meaning than I would ever willingly let people know, and as a result I've been... well. I've been drinking a lot. I'm aware of the problem and I'm aware of the remedy. I simply need to stop. It's something I don't want to do yet. Maybe tomorrow, just not today.
I read that piece and I thought about two things, primarily. First: Have I ever been the Initiator? Yes. I have. Have I behaved as the wife in the blog? I hope with everything I am that I haven't acted like that. Some of the things I know I've not done. Some of them, I'm less sure. But mostly, I hope that I can be aware of myself and my situations in the future to make sure that I handle things in a more open and honest way than the wife in that post. Second: Did my Dad feel about me the way that guy did about his son? Honestly -- I doubt it. And I don't know how that makes me feel. Part of me feels like he should have, part of me feels like when he left it was so late in the game it didn't matter, and another part of me feels like even if he did I was so detached at that point that it wouldn't have mattered. Mostly, I wonder what he was thinking. I wonder what my Mom was thinking. My sister. I never talked about this stuff with any of them with any depth. Things came up, but I don't know how it affected them, or what they were going through. It wasn't my resolve to just live through it as thought it were expected and necisarry (it was both), but rather a deeper issue within my family. And now, here I am, 26 years old and not a day wiser than I was when I was 16 and my Dad moved out of my house. I left for spring break with my Mom, and when we came back he was gone (we had warning he was leaving, but -- if I remember correctly -- not until after we had left).
Mostly, at this point, I don't really care about what happened then. It's easy to say, harder to live -- but here I am. It's done, and I need to live my life. Every day goes by and I worry that I may become one of those things that I never wanted to be. The father that leaves. The Mother that doesn't understand what went wrong. The Sister who failed to connect with her brother. Or me. The boy who feared it all, and lived like nothing matters.
Maybe someday I'll be able to look at myself and see something else... but right now. Well. Right now, I've just gotta go to bed.
-Jon
Deliverance
So, I went out to A2 again. Good trip, played music with Doc (I want the audio from those btw), watched Mr. and Mrs. Smith, was reminded of Doc's just-passed birthday (wrote it down so I'd remember next year), and hung out with a girl. First things first, however... I visited Devlieverance.
On the way out there, I stopped for gas. This gas station is in the middle of nothing Michigan (although, I'm sure, not the middle of the middle as Alma is). Everyone was wearing cammo or flanel, and I was scared. There was a sign on the door that commanded cell phones be off, and I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't heed it's advice. Needing to use the facilites I walked into the cleanest gas station restroom I've ever seen. The single restroom with a "Men/Women" sign on front. It has two stalls (each with their own lock) and a lock on the main door as well. I'm really confused about the logistics of how they want a man and a woman to use this bathroom. Really, we don't live in Ally McBeal. I didn't ask, because I was scared, and I went to pump my gas. That's when I read the Pre-Pay only sign again. The sign read as follows, "Pre Pay'd Only. Cash / Credit Accepted Inside." ... ... ... Pre Pay'd?!?
Alright, I have more to say about the trip, but it's gotta wait, because I have to be at work in about 26 minutes. I'm out. Catch ya'll on the flipside.
-Jon
Two of My Favorite Pasttimes
This guy is my frickin' hero. I thought the NES computer was cool... this is the best thing ever made. Ever. In the history of man. Really. A computer in a whiskey bottle? What's not to love?
-Jon
How I Sliced My Thumb Open
Today I made chili. Again. I watched a Superbowl game that didn't suck. It wasn't a blowout, and that's a good thing. Granted, it wasn't a '06 Rosebowl -- that was the single greatest game of football I've ever seen -- but it was good. It wasn't over until a few minutes into the 4th, which is better than many of the superbowls of late. More than that, however, today was the day that I made my first batch of Cincinnati style Chili. The last batch was far more Texas Style chili, and that recipie is now lost for the ages. Which is a shame, because it was some tastey s**t. This one, however, is also tastey. In a very, very differnet way. It also marks the first time (that I can remember) that I've actually injured myself cooking. Beyond burns. Burns happen, and they've happened to me a lot. My fingers, my knuckles, my lower arm, my upper arm, my tounge, the roof of my mouth, my lips, the palms of my hands, and probably a few other parts of my body have been burned while cooking. I can't remember a time I bled though. Today I bled. I bled not because of my cutting or chopping or slicing or using a fork... ... ... I bled because of my sharpening steel, and my lack of paying attention. Yup, that's right, before I got to cutting anything I cut my finger and bled. Then I got a Veggie Tales band-aid to stop the bleeding. All the injuries aside, this chili over rice is killer. A little cheese, a little onion, and some extra chilli powder (because I made a family friendly pot this time), and damn do you have a rib-sticking, belling filling, meal.
Right now, I'm going to go write down the recipie for this chili I just made... if you have any ideas for chilli you wanna suggest, lemme know. I'm all about it right now. I'll make more next month, if not sooner. I promise.
-Jon