I I whooooaaaaaa i'm still alive

yeah, not a whole lot to report.

school's in now, so that's pretty much taking all my time. nothing super interesting going on.

holy moly, it's been almost a month

i'm sorry.

i'm still alive.

i'm not sorry i'm still alive, just sorry i haven't updated lately.

yes, i realize the amount of ego it takes to write that, since one who would write such a thing must assume you care that it's been several weeks since an update.

how is viagra like disney world?

you have to wait an hour for each 5-minute ride.

more later. keep the faith.

avoid the clap,
jimmy dugan

Thinkin' 'bout leavin' tomorrow

the next reader contest i have will be "Name that Blog."

we sold the house (assuming appraisals and all that shiznonsense) this weekend. the buyers want to close within two weeks, so there are very few dispatches left to be sent from the northshore.

we'll be living in kenner for a while until we get the house built in metairie.

dear reader, it's up to you to decide what the blog will be renamed. Here are a list of things that will not be considered as possible replacement names.

-I'm 27 and Live with My In-laws

well, actually, that's about it.

winner will get to write the first entry for the renamed (and maybe redesigned) blog. leave your suggestions in the comments.

She turned me into a newt!

Several things have caught my eye media-wise today:

Check out this sentence from a story about a guy named Samuel Clemens doing a painting on the side of a hill.

Artist Samuel Clemens, not to be confused with the author of the same name, is at it again.

Man, I'm glad they cleared that up. Because if i saw that there was something going on in Newport, Oregon, written in the present tense about Samuel Clemens, i would have immediately assumed they were talking about the guy who's been dead for nearly 100 years.

And you all know how much zombie painters freak me out. I probably would've had a panic attack or something.

Nothing in my life has prepared me for the possibility that sometimes people have the same name...

...i got a chuckle this morning watching ESPN and seeing this appear at the bottom of the screen. "Adam 'Pacman' Jones to turn himself into authorities"

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, i will now asexually reproduce exact replicas of myself, each of whom will attend and graduate from the police academy...

...And, finally (i hope), this story tells of a girl who had a cable lop off both her feet when a ride at Six Flags broke. Check out two of the quotes from witnesses.

"When I got up there, the lady she was just sitting there, and she didn't have no legs."

"I seen the car go up. Then, like, the cable broke, I heard -- pwchh -- and I heard a lot of people screaming," Chris Stinnett, who was at a ride next to the Superman Tower of Power, told WDRB/WMYO.
"The cable went under the car -- and I seen it pull up and hit a lot of people -- and I seen them bring their legs up," Stinnett said.

For any current/potential journalists out there, i want to use these as an example. (disclaimer: i think there's a better than average chance the story was transcribed from a television story, so there may have been nothing to be done about the quotes.)

But if you should find yourself writing a story and you have very helpful sources, don't make them look stupid. I know, technically, you're supposed to quote people exactly. But would it have really done any harm to say "the cable went under the car -- and i saw it pull up and hit a lot of people -- and i saw them bring their legs up."

again, this is merely an example. i'm not faulting the writer here - unless it isn't a story transcript. in which case, i am faulting him or her.

Douchebaggery with a passport

I excused myself to go play online poker (sadly, of the "play money" variety) last night so courtney could watch matt lauer interview the prince people.

while i was playing, i heard lauer say something along the lines of "...talking to your mates at the pub..."

yes, i can just picture Matty Crewcut picking up that bit of dialect quite naturally in greenwich freaking connecticut. i'm sure all his "mates" at the "pubs" talk like that in new england.

freaking assclown.

Come witness the violence inherent in the system

(if you don't like when i talk sports, skip to the next section)

I'm flabbergasted.

There was a great college baseball game between Cal State Fullerton and UC-Irvine yesterday that went 13 innings.

In the bottom of the last inning, the Irvine lead-off man ducked his shoulder into a pitch that was maybe half an inch off the inside corner and the ball grazed off his sleeve (i think it was the third time he had been hit by a pitch in the game).

He quickly tossed the bat away and headed to first base. And then the strangest thing happened -- the umpire let him keep going.

Irvine eventually ended up scoring a run to win the game (as is the case a great deal of the time when you get the leadoff man on with nobody out).

The Fullerton coach got tossed for arguing the call, as was his responsibility, but i believe it would have taken security to get me off that field. The home plate umpire should never call another World Series game (fyi: i was actually pulling for Irvine before that play).

What baffles me even more is that the ESPN story about the game doesn't even mention the play (looks like CNNSI.com ran the same AP story).

***

To answer Ryan's question from yesterday's Father's Day massacre, my eyes are fine, but my face is a little redder than normal.

***

Book review time. I have to premise this by saying that I bought this book before I realized it was an Oprah book club book.

I'm like the literary equivalent of an indy music snob, i like just finding books to read instead of picking up what everyone else is getting (although i certainly read my share of authors like King and Grisham). I basically spend 20 minutes cruising through bookstores judging books by their covers/titles. It's how I discovered such gems as Like the Red Panda by Andrea Seigel and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon; although by this point i'm pretty sure both books have long surpassed the status of "seth's secret treasure" by the reading public.

Any who, what i'm ultimately trying to say is that while I was judging The Road by Cormac McCarthy by its cover, I somehow managed to miss the big ass Oprah sticker on front. Mea culpa...

The novel is about a father and son trying to find someplace warm after what can best be described as the end of the world. We never find out what ultimately precipitated the widespread death of plants and animals and humans and wambats and orangutans and breakfast cereals, nor do we learn why the man and boy survived the event. But the two travel many miles by foot through through snow and ashes, trying to survive.

Let's go to the scorecards:

Plot: 4.5
Not a whole lot to say here. Aside from not knowing what exactly the beginning is, there is a beginning, middle and end. Action progresses nicely throughout the novel.

Comedic Relief: 3
There really isn't any that i recall. but i'm not giving it a zero because i'm not sure there was actually any room for humor.

Ending: 4
how to put this...the ending tells you everything you need to know about the story of the man and his son. I think it also gives you a little more info without completely killing the mood of the rest of the book. Can't really say anymore without ruining it for you.

Je ne sais quoi: 4
McCarthy does a great job of telling the story and letting the reader know how hopeless the situation is without wasting a word. I would have liked a little more background, but that's likely the point--it doesn't matter how whatever happened happened, it's just a situation you either deal with or you don't.
There are also several times I would read a sentence and think "what a great sentence. I'm glad i wasn't the one who wrote this book, because i never would have thought to write that."

Final score: 15.5

Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Chocolate Boogers

I literally ate until I puked yesterday.

To understand the full story, we need to go back a bit.

About a month ago I was in Minden for my sister's graduation and went to the doctor. When I got weighed, I tipped the scales at 207.

There is absolutely no way for someone my height to gracefully carry around 207 pounds, so i decided to lose some weight.

I got serious about it a couple of weeks ago. Aside from spending time on the treadmill everyday, i was dodging the urge to snack by eating small meals more often.

Oatmeal for breakfast around 8 or 9. A sandwich at 11. At 1 p.m., a sandwich and some fruit. A couple of hours later, one of those healthy fruit cereal bars. Then a normal dinner at night and maybe some fruit before bed after my run.

Despite history telling me it wasn't going to happen, I decided that i was going to maintain that discipline when i went to courtney's folks' for Father's Day.

I made myself drink a couple of bottles of water before I had my first beer. Then I would rotate between beer and water.

But then the food happened.

It started out harmlessly enough with a quick bite of spinach dip. But then I kept eating it. Then i had a few bites from a couple of other different appetizers.

Then there was a break. Then the real food came.

I went into the kitchen to make my plate. I looked at my plate, then looked at all the food in front of me.

"This is going to be a two-plater, i believe," I told Courtney's uncle.

"yep."

So i take a little potato salad, and a little corn casserole, and a spoonfull of barbeque beans, and small piece of sausage, and a chicken breast and a couple of ribs and a piece of bread and go outside to eat.

Everything was delicious. Courtney's dad recommended i try a chicken leg. So after finishing my plate, i went inside, planning on getting a chicken leg.

Courtney is in there at the same time i am, and sees me pass up the corn casserole she made in favor of more barbeque beans. She guilts me into adding the corn to my plate. I grab a chicken wing and somehow manage to talk myself into three more ribs and another piece of bread (my guess is the beer was working harder than the water at this point).

Somehow i manage to finish off everything, but am not a very happy camper (despite the delicious food).

I sort of exist for a little bit. just hanging around not doing much of anything, although i'm pretty sure i'm going into shock.

Then they bring out the gelato.

I'm about halfway through a beer when they start serving. Mmmm, beer and ice cream. I was not happy.

Despite much of the day being a blur, i remember very clearly what i was thinking as courtney and her mom were passing out dessert. and i still don't understand how it could so obviously conflict with the rational side of my brain.

"ooh, I want a waffle cone because it's bigger, and she better put gelato in the whole thing and not just one scoop on top of the cone."

Ask and ye shall receive.

I knew about 20 seconds in that it was not in my best interest to finish the entire cone. I knew 12 seconds in that i was, in fact, going to eat the entire cone.

Shortly after finishing it, I walked inside and ran into courtney.

"what are you doing?" she asks.

"Pretty sure I'm going to throw up."

She says something dismissive, and i lie down on the living room floor. Not a good idea.

I get back up quickly and walk into the bathroom downstairs. I hung out there for a second, and decided that i didn't want to hurl where everybody was using the bathroom. So i scurried upstairs.

I paced around the bathroom for a bit, with no action beyond the occasional burp. I went and sat outside the bathroom and zoned out for about 10 minutes. Then i try lying down, and rediscover that changing positions is not good for the ol' stomach.

Courtney comes and finds me.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying not to throw up."

At this point, most people would want to throw up just to feel better. I, however, do not have that luxury.

When I throw up, it's violent. I'm talking burst-blood-vessels-in-my-face-and-eyeballs violent. People usually can't stand to look at me for a couple of days after i puke because my eyes are bloodshot and i look like i have a rash on my face.

It had been almost 3.5 years to the day since the last time I had thrown up. It was after my college graduation party. I'm pretty sure it was either caused by a bad appetizer or the Crown on the rocks i was double fisting through most of the party.

I was doing everything in my power to make sure it wouldn't happen again.

I went back outside and took a seat.

Someone else had arrived at the party and i stood up to shake his hand, getting woozy in the process. He then lifted the lid to the trashcan to throw away his plate and i got a big whiff of barbeque sauce.

Good night nurse.

I try not to make a scene and double-time it into the house. Courtney follows me in.

Whatareyoudoing?Whatareyoudoing?Whatareyoudoing?Whatareyoudoing?

Without looking back i just snap my fingers. My little way of saying, yes, i hear you, but if i open my mouth the next sound you hear will most definitely not be English.

I make it upstairs, open the toilet and ralph something that looked like half-digested chocolate ice cream. I don't know if that's a simile or not, since it really was half-digested chocolate ice cream.

Courtney, ever faithful, comes into the bathroom. "Whatcha doing?"

"Just threw up. Wasn't so bad, don't think i broke anything in my face."

She takes a look and agrees. Then a second wave hit.

"Um, you might want to leave."

Then second round was a little more like i was used to. Including one of those things where you spasm and the next batch comes up while you're still puking the first batch, so it's like you're throwing up two different throw ups at the same time.

I have one last barf--this one was splattery--then try to start cleaning up.

Courtney comes in.

"man," i say, "I don't think i could handle having an eating disorder."

Then I stand up. And i feel great.

"Wait, I think i could handle an eating disorder. This is awesome."

Of course, I had the usual post-vomit breathing problems. so i grab a kleenex to try to clear stuff out.

I take a look and the kleenex is brown. How cool is that?

"Sweet, chocolate boogers. Hey, Courtney, look, i've got chocolate boogers."

And they all lived happily ever after.

Restring all your guitars and pack up all your stuff

i completely forgot that i read a third book a couple of weekends ago.

I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Tucker Max

This won't get the standard review because it's unlike anything else you'll read.

basically, self-professed womanizing, alcoholic asshole tells all his best stories.

the stories where he lets his actions speak for themselves are hilarious. There were a few times on the plane i had to put the book down or hand it to Michael because i was going to make a scene.

Sometimes though, he resorts to a "listen to how funny I am" narrative that just doesn't work. As i've mentioned before, it's hard to like someone who laughs at his own jokes.

For example, when he throws a fat girl's clothes out his bedroom window so he won't have to introduce her to his friends it's hilarious. when he talks about how funny it was to make fun of a fat girl at a party, it wasn't so funny. Not because it was mean, but because what he was saying wasn't funny. (Sort of like how the why did the chicken cross the road joke is not funny, but not because its mean.)

check out some of the stories at his web site.

***

Ok, i'll now break the rule i just complained about and laugh at my own joke...

A while back i had to write about a musuem closing its egypt exhibit for renovations. My headline:

Caulk like an Egyptian

***

I broke a string on my guitar the other day trying to tune it. I don't know why i was tuning it considering i don't know how to play it.

***

and now, why i love reno911:

Reno 911! - New Boot Goofin'

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