A Lemming, I Am

My sis and I were discussing V-man's "new meme" the other day, and we came to realize how much those early toons shaped us. All I had to do was mention "I like to singa...," and my sis finished off the song. We got to talking about our favorites, and it's damn near impossible to pin down any specific cartoon. Looney Tunes and Merry Melodies, in general, rocked. Especially the early ones... like Daffy, Bugs and the Dodo. As we were talking about it, my sister spouts off, "Please pass the ketchup, I think it's going to rain." We set to digging around until we found "Boobs in the Woods...." it was on a tape that had probably my favorite Daffy cartoon of all time. Heheheh... I still whistle or hum the song in the middle, and if it's around family, they'll finish it off with me.

It's below the fold, "The Daffy Doc."

What were some of your faves?

Behind

Damn. I thought that once I got home, I'd have more time. It hasn't seemed to be working out that way.

Oh, yeah... I've had a couple of trips to Fritz's that I could have put off, but that doesn't really count for that much, timewise. Well... with an exception or two. But that's something else, entirely.

No, I'm falling further and further behind in blog reading and emails. I've finally gotten around to fixing a couple of busted links on my side bar, as well as adding a couple... I know there's more that I should be adding (I've had a few new visitors, and found that I was on their blog rolls... I'd like to reciprocate.) If you see I don't have you linked, and you've linked me, let me know. I'll try to fix that in the coming week.

And speaking of behind, I've owed this to Og and Mike the Marine for quite awhile now. For all the wait, I don't know if it's worth it, but it's the best I could get...

Mmmmm... Selene...

I've got to stop getting distracted by all of the little things and devote some time to catching up, but that's easier said than done. Fer instance, yesterday would have been a great day to catch up... if I hadn't run out to meet Richmond, Raging Mom, Tammi, and Harvey at Hooters.

Yeah. You're right if you're thinking that usually Contagion is the one who hits that fine establishment with me. But since I've been in Florida, he'll have nothing to do with me. He made up some bullshit excuse about a re-enactment.

Anyway, it was a very good time, though I did get to see how selfish these folks can be... Tammi and Richmond knocked Richmond's youngest down and stole her carmel cheesecake, and Harvey just kept talking on and on and on about hitting it big with his I am Huff Po piece. Hardly anyone else was able to get a word in edgewise. Not that Raging Mom was trying... she just sat there giving me this big smirk. She knows that I owe her big for a certain picture that made it's way up on the wall at Fritz's.

One thing brought up was Harvey's latest portrait in his side bar. No offense to Chris Muir, but the old, blockhead looking pic was much more true to life than Chris' flattering masterpiece. Chris must be a saint, taking that much time to try and make Harvey look almost normal.

We feasted mightily upon buffalo shrimp, buffalo chicken strips, and curly fries, washing it down with pitchers of Amber Bock. And when it was all done, and Harvey and I had seen how violently Richmond and Tammi had assaulted the young girl... over a cheese cake, for cryin' out loud... we ordered our own. Alas... no beatings were given. They were too damn drunk to move by then...

'Twas great hanging with them. All of them. (Even if vengeance is on the way for two of them.) And I'm looking forward to the next get together.

* Note to news agencies and bloggers: some of these events may not have actually happened. At least not in the way described. That is all.

Um... yeah...

Tping with my good eye closed. I'ts been a frickin while.

Prwtty gott damned interesting too.

Yeah... you[d read that right. I thi[k. Anyway... funny ahir. You xhexk ir our noq.

Hookin' Up

Tomorrow. Hooters in Rockford. Northwest corner of State and Perryville. 1:00.

I'll be there with a few others, if anyone in the area is interested in consuming some beverages. Drop me a line if you'd like to show...

School

Today, I went back to kindergarten. It was Grandparent's Day, but since my Ma couldn't make it, I was asked to go. I got to sing goof ass songs, color, and dance. Well... I refused to dance. Sticking my ass out and spinning in circles ain't gonna happen.

The nephew made me this:

A beaut, no?

Jay's

One thing about that I like about this area is the number of drive-ins we have. Diners... not theatres. We used to have alot of those, too, but they're long gone. We've got three diners within a half an hour of here... at the least. Jay's in Oregon, Sam's in Byron, and Bing's on the southside of Rockford. Something about those places that I love... not only do they have personality, but I like the sense of stepping back. And sometimes you end up other places...

I had to run down to Oregon (Raging Mom's stomping grounds) to renew my cycle plate, and, since I was in the neighborhood, I stopped into Jay's and got a double cheeseburger basket and a large chocolate malt. Not a problem, there was a bit of a wait, so I grabbed a booth and looked around at all of the fifties memorabilia, the Cardinals/Reds wrapup in the background. I watched a mentally handicapped kid beating up the jukebox, and his grandmother trying to calm him down. Finally, one of the girls came from behind the counter, shut off the game, and gave the kid some quarters to play the jukebox. When "The Monster Mash" started to play, I felt like I was in another place.

The inside of the diner seemed a bit brighter, and the outside grew darker. The smiles of the little girls eating ice cream cones were too big, too innocent. The handicapped kid started running... stumbling... in contorted circles. He stopped and clapped when "Little Old Lady From Pasadena" started playing. He may as well have been clapping for the arrival of my food, because it showed up at the same time. And per the usual, it kicked ass.

As I watched the kid bouncing off of the jukebox, and listened to the slightly annoying giggles of the three little girls, it clicked. The whole scene was too Kingesian. Or Kingesque, should you prefer. I knew right then that something was about to happen. Most likely, it wasn't to be a good thing. I was halfway through my burger when it finally came about.

I sat facing the door, and I could see the outer door begin to open. As it did so, there was a rush of air. Not like in the movies... this was towards the door, like the air was trying to escape. Then the inner door was blown or pulled open, and there he stood. Roy Frickin' Orbison.

You couldn't mistake him. He was wearing the dark glasses, and carrying his Gibson ES-335. The strings on the guitar were rusted through, and broken, and the wood even appeared to be rusty. Roy wasn't looking too good, himself. I believe that I could see maggots moving through his rotting flesh, but I didn't want to stare... I was always told that it was impolite, and gott knows that I'm going to be damned polite to a dead man who's standing in front of me. Roy looked at me with his new eternal grin, and I'd have sworn that he winked. Then he tossed a quarter to the jukebox kid, who no longer seemed to have any problems. The kid deftly caught the quarter, dropped it in the machine, and punched the numbers. Roy's rendition of "Love Hurts" began to play.

I looked back towards Roy, and his grin was unmistakable. He gave the kid a look, nodded at me, and began to sing in his decayed tenor. It was surreal. "Love hurts, love scars, Love wounds, and mars any heart not tough or stong enough..."

And before I knew what was happening, the guitar flashed, smashing into the skull of the kid's grandmother. "To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain, Love is like a cloud, holds a lot of rain..." Her dentures flew to the floor, and I couldn't look elsewhere. The slightly yellowed teeth setting in a growing puddle of red rain... the thunder of dull thuds heard in the distance.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, but when I looked up, only Roy, the kid, and I were the only ones left. That I could see, anyway. The kitchen help may have been alright, but of all the patrons, there were but the two of us. Booths filled with bodies slumped over and bleeding. The giggling little girls were now silent, save one who was now a gurgling little girl. There were splatters of gray matter and blood across the front windows, and bright artistic splashes of red on the walls... a horrible Rorschach test.

"Oooooo, love hurts," Roy sang as he walked to the door. The kid resumed stumbling his circles, and fell skidding through a blood puddle when he stepped on his grandmother's teeth. As he got to the door, Roy turned and gave me a thumbs up. Then he turned and walked away...

What the hell was that all about?

A Wuss

Yeah... call me a pussy. Call me a wimp. But I had to give in and turn on the heat... it was 53 degrees in the house today. Yesterday, it was 56... about as low as I go.

A man has to be able to wander about, in his own home, while donning his bungies. 53 just... well... it's not comfortable. Things disappear.

Funny how much difference three degrees can make.

Beating Bushes

Saw a video posted by Walrilla a couple of weeks ago, and my first thought was to send it to Hubba for approval for the playlist at Mo's wedding. (I haven't been doing too good with my suggestions, but at least she's laughing.) I also was going to post about the band, as they are pure lyrical geniuses. Alas, I deemed myself "too busy," and did neither. However, some of Bou's recent posts have me thinking that I need to post them now... they go right along with her posts about "the talk," and "other terms."

Walrilla posted the video for "Bad Touch," by the Bloodhound Gang, the song that I was going to facetiously suggest to Hubba. (Hey... you can dance to it...)

This is just a bonus, for Mr. T and Bou.

Enjoy...

Cold Facts

AW's been feeling a bit under the weather. I saw this today, and thought of her.

Feel better, AW...

Communion

One nice thing about being home is the church services. Particularly, communion.

Tip o' the mug to my cousin...

Journey Home

Eight days gone from Florida, five days home... it's been great. Though, I am missing my family down there. And judging by the amount of crap that I've gotten done since being home (and there's plenty more to do), I may even be missing the ridiculous hours I worked. But probably not. All insanity aside, it are good to be home.

A week ago today, I was down at the shop for the last time, leaving notes and making sure that I was leaving everything ready, framed by frantically trying to get my taxes finished. (I'd discovered that my state taxes did not need to be postmarked by the 17th, but received by the 16th. Yep. Express Mail.) Today? Taking a break from the tasks I've assigned myself, jamming on some tunes, spazzing because I can't find my Devil Driver or History of Elmore James discs, and trying to visit a few folks' blogs (which is miserable on dial up). Right now, I'm listening to Buzz Osbourne and Fantomas play an incredibly heavy version of the theme for Rosemary's Baby... damn, it's so much better than hearing the daily doses of Van Morrison or Dylan. Or Joplin. And that's not Scott Joplin.

Other than having to cut it short, it was a good trip home. I mentioned being able to hook up with AW's husband, and the following evening I did manage to hook up with Zonker... as well as Denny, Elisson, Richard, and RSM. Sissy, whose idea it was for us all to meet at The Five Seasons, was not able to make it... headache. (If I only had a dime ...) There was the usual minimal consuming of fermented beverages, and bullshitting. Always a good crowd to hook up with, I fear it may be too long before I'm able to do it again. I'm glad as hell that they were able to come out and play...

Monday saw me stopping by Eric's place to pick up the three Smith sisters. I was able to visit for awhile, but not nearly as long as I would have liked, and then had to head out, Jerry's place being the goal for the day. I will say, the three girls seemed to be a bit reluctant to leave Eric. They were worried that I wouldn't oil them up the same way he did. Many thanks to my bro for keeping them whilst I was gone.

That evening, I did make it to Jerry's. By then, the car had settled down a bit. I don't know if that's a bad sign, or good. Either way, she's going to see the doctor this coming week.

Anyway, I crashed at Jerry's that night, and the following morning, we ran over to his folks' house for breakfast. Very nice folks, his father is a real character... plenty of stories. His mother was pretty quiet, but that's because I think it's pretty much impossible to get a word in edgewise when he's wound up. I enjoyed the visit. If you get the chance, you've got to visit Jerry and his family. I don't think he'll ever suffer beal with all of that blogfodder...

Tuesday, I rolled into Stillman at 3, unpacked the car, and was seated in Fritz's by 3:15. I'd planned on staying for only a couple of hours, but eight hours later, I'd decided that that just wasn't going to be possible.

Ah... home, sweet home.

Updates

I've been spending the week working around the dust catcher. Cleaning... well, what I consider cleaning... and sorting through shit. Just trying to get settled back in. I may fill you in tomorrow. Or not. But it's the plan.

In the meantime, the search the world's oldest tree has ended... found in New York. An alert cabby noticed the elderly Wattieza wandering the streets...

Home

Hey, folks... just me checkin' in.

I made it home alright, yesterday, but I've not had internet access. Probably won't for a bit.

Thanks for the calls worrying about me. I didn't mean to keep ya all hanging...

Peace out, and all that rot.

It Begins... And Pretty Much Ends

How's it go with that saying? The best laid plans?

The plan was to leave Apollo Beach at 10 am yesterday, get up to Ft.Benning and hang out with Army Wife's hubby and RSM, and then spend the rest of the week heading up the east coast hooking up with folks.

So I ended up leaving at 2 or a little after, and didn't get to Benning until nine something. In the meantime, the car started acting up and RSM called to tell me that he got sick and had to turn around. I did get to hang out with AW's husband, so that was cool. Very cool.

Tonight? The plan is to hook up with Zonker. That's the plan, anyway.

I guess we'll see how that comes out.

Then it's pretty much just heading straight home...

Agog

We were listening to a cd today, and a true country classic came on. I was singing along to it, and noticed my aunt nearly falling over laughing. At first I thought it was my terrible voice, but she informed me that she had never hear it before. "Wha???" says I. 'Twas true. She'd never heard it until today. I was gabberflasted. Bewildered. Thunderstruck. Aghast, even. Not to mention a bit horrified.

How can one have never heard a tune such as this one? Seriously. It's a classic. And it ain't heavy metal. But it's not really safe for work.

Please tell me that she's the only one that hasn't heard that tune...

In A Word

Intriguing.

Offer

Well, I'm leaving here to head home in nine days. And I've already gotten a job offer. Only thing... it's doing my old job (which I started to hate), and in San Francisco. Um.... probably not interested. Cost of living nearly doubles, and wages increase by twenty percent, tops. It just doesn't figure.

I will do some checking, but I can almost surely say, it's not for me.

But it's a good start...

Angels

A shot from this past weekend.

And a short movie. Very short.

Shit like this makes me feel like a kid at Christmas.

Hockey

This has been cracking me up... especially when the aggressor becomes the hunted.

It's funny, but it's not. If you haven't watched it, watch it now. Okay...

Little kids, trying to hit each other. WTF??? Do you call that hitting? Little wussies is what they look like.

Time to send them to Coach Winnfield...

A tip of the glass to Z-man for the Winnfield link

Routine Interrupted

Good intentions, best plans, all of that crap... my weekends haven't worked out in the way that I was hoping. The routine is a hard thing to break away from, especially right now. So much for busting my ass all week so that I can hook up with folks before heading back home.

That's not to say that I haven't been doing anything but work, or that I haven't been able to hook up with folks. That'd be a lie... as you know, a few weeks ago, I made it up to Claxton, Georgia. The following week, I was able to get together with Alleymouse, The Evil Darth Donald Duck, and their ma, The Loverly Shoe. And just this week, I was able to escape from work during the day to hook up with blogsister Bou. A very welcome, and much needed, escape from the routine.

I'm glad as hell that Bou happened to be passing through my neighborhood's neighborhood's neighborhood. She was one of the definite stops that I had planned on making before my exodus, and now it's looking like I won't be able to make the trip down to her end of the state. At least we were able to get together, though I won't be able to see VW.

Two work weeks left, and one weekend. It's getting to look like I'm going to miss out on alot of the visits I was hoping for... damnit.

Double damnit.

A Lame Rant

From The Linear One:

… his tricycle was one of those that had the pedals welded to the front wheel…. remember those?..... every time the wheel turns the pedals move too….. yeah….

Funny how reading something like this can get you to smile and piss you off within seconds of each other. Not that Eric is the one who pissed me off, but still... his words started the ball rolling. Words can be powerful...

I don't do "stream of consciousness" blogging. I enjoy reading others who do, but if I did it, other than when I've been drinking, readers would be hunting for dramamine.

We had two of those trikes. One was a bright candy apple red, and the other, older and smaller, a dull royal blue. Heheheh... once we outgrew that blue trike, we still rode the thing. 'Twas better for ripping down through the barnyard than the other, taller, tricycle. That tall one would have you high-siding in a heartbeat, and it was the cause of many skinned appendages. The blue one? Mostly bashed in shins. But battered shins are more tolerable than having the metallic beast you're riding fling you head over tail down the 'yard.

I got my ass beat for riding that blue one on cement that I thought was dry. I'd been told to stay off, but it was a perfect ramp, at the top of the sloping barnyard, and I couldn't wait to test it out. I rode up a couple of feet, and determined that my father didn't know what he was talking about. So I got my little legs pumping the pedals, and started up the ramp... and promptly got stuck. I did manage to back out, but my father saw the tracks and got me anyway. Those tracks are still there today. As are some names...

Those names are carefully carved in the cement, by the first post, facing east, on the southern side of our old steer barn. They were put there by us kids, and the crew that worked on the barn. Four kids' names, carved in the concrete, just out of the reach of hooves.

Our steer barn was in dire need of repair. It had a limestone foundation, and wooden top half. Pa hired a crew to come in, tear down the limestone and put up concrete, put in a concrete floor, and put up metal siding and roofing. It was impressive seeing the upper part of the barn floating over space while the limestone was being hauled away. While I can't remember all of their names, it's a crew that I won't forget. We spent a lot of time out there, bugging them, and they spent much time talking to us, teasing us, and showing us what they did (though we weren't allowed to be in their way when they were in the middle of work... we went out there at lunchtime and cleanup). The Perfect One picked up the nickname "Ernie," a moniker that is with him to this day. We were told to call one guy, named Dean, "Squatter Dean," and we did. Didn't find out for a couple of years (I was seven or eight at the time) what that was all about.

These guys called us by our names, and then some that weren't. We loved it. Thought it was funny. It's something that we do as adults, now. Unfortunately, it pisses some people off. I don't know what the hell their problem is.

It's not like we're being mean when we do it... yeah, we used to call the mumbling, stuttering neighbor kid "Boomhauer," but if it was so terrible, why'd she keep showing up? We call friends' kids variations of their names, sometimes pissing off their mothers, but why are they so damn happy to see us?

Yesterday, I managed to piss off another woman at the beach. This time, it had nothing to do with referring to dogs as bitches, but calling a little kid by a name not his own. The little man kept running through our area on the beach, playing with my cousin's kid. I didn't know his name, and he would only smile when I asked him. So, since he always was grinning, and he looked a lot like the infamous Sanjaya Malakar (the death knell of American Idol), I started calling him "Sanjaya." Everytime I did it, I got a toothy grin and a giggle.... and he kept coming back so that I'd call him that again. Finally this woman snarls at me, "Is that the only name you know?" Then she implied it was somehow racist. Implying it was racist seemed to be racist in itself, to me. Fuck it... I'm racist. Calling folks names that aren't their own is a racist thing. It's true.

I may call the little ones names that I think are funny, that they think are funny, but it ain't a mean thing. It's an interaction thing. It doesn't bother them, because they know that I'm not being a mean asshole. I'm playing with them, they are having fun. If they don't like it, I won't do it. That, my friends, is why they don't mind...

Which leads me to the whole point of my ramblings... if you don't like the fact that I jack with kids' names, you talk to them. You play with them. You make them feel like they matter to an adult. Get them to smile. Don't leave it to cruel, "racist" bastards like myself.

Or fuck off.

The Horror

This is damn scary...

At least for today...

This Day

April Fools Day... and Palm Sunday, celebrating Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem.

Gotta wonder what the Big Man thinks of that scheduling...