Monday, March 26, 2007

God's Comic

Normally I don’t find Luann funny.

This is to say that I have never found it funny. I prefer Mary Worth if only for the unintentional comedy scale on which it has been placed by the Comics Curmudgeon. I mean, Mary had Aldo Kelrast stalk her in a 2006 storyline. His last name was an anagram of "Stalker" and he looked like Captain Kangaroo. Plus, he died while driving drunk which makes him more of a hero than Morrissey (for precipitating the reformation of The New York Dolls).

But Luann hit a nerve discussing Fresno Motel 6s and I can tell you a story or two about a Motel 6 in Fresno. Well, one story...

Several years ago I was given the "job" of squiring a Korean lad around the United States. The lad was sent to "see" the United States and practice his English. For $100 a day and expenses I was the leader of a two-car caravan. My car was me and the BAG, the other car contained my Korean friends and the lad switched between the cars, though normally not while we were still moving.

When a Korean "sees" the western United States it is something like a photographic treasure hunt. Certain sites must be visited and photographs must be taken there. Sites that aren't on the 'official' list are completely unimportant. UCB and Stanford are on the academic list (While the Community College I work at isn't ;-p). Yosemite and the Grand Canyon are on the natural list (While Lassen or deserts aren't). On our way from Yosemite to Las Vegas (on the list) we spent a romantic evening in Fresno. Fresno is a cosmopolitan town on the scenic central plains of California between Yosemite and Vegas. On this magical evening we, tired and happy travelers, stopped in at the Motel 6.

The Koreans took a room towards the front of the hotel and the BAG and I took a room slightly further back. BAG and I fell asleep to the gentle susurrus of sirens, bald tires squealing, glass bottles shattering on pavement and occipital lobes, and the gentle "crunk" of shotguns in the middle distance.

It was the sleep of the just.

The next morning we were awakened by the Koreans who looked.. well .... not well. They were unjust, and thus had not slept well.

At about 1:00 am they had been awakened by an old, bloody man pounding on their door. They went to the door and the old man began a tale of woe.... "Call the police. Please call the police."

The Koreans called the guy at the front desk who, deciding discretion was definitely the greater part of valor, remained huddled under the front counter with his niner and bottle of Jack.

The old man kept hollering, "They beat me up, they beat me up. Please call the police."

The Koreans ignored him and he finally moved on to the next door.

The next door, unfortunately, was also to the room the Koreans were in (no, I have no idea why there were two doors to one room -- perhaps for escape?).

It began again... "Call the police. Please call the police. They beat me up, they beat me up. Please call the police."

Finally, the old man understood he wasn't marketing himself correctly and went for his big finish, "The beat me up! They beat me up! All I wanted was a blow-job, and they beat me up!"

Whilst the BAG and I (and the guy at the front desk) slept, this drama played itself out for an hour or so.

Welcome to the United States, Korean lad!

Finally, presumably overcome by drunkeness or loss of blood, the old man staggered off into the noisy night.

That morning the BAG quite sensibly asked why one of the Koreans hadn't just given the old man a blowjob to get him to leave.

She's practical that one.

The trip went on and no one was hurt.

And I had nearly forgotten all of it.

Until I actually laughed at Luann.

I suck.

Which means the poor old dude was at the wrong door the whole time.

I"m a Dumbass

Took a long walk with the BAG today and snapped a wide variety of lovely pictures including some of low-flying hawks artfully lit by a bright sun and framed against a brilliant blue sky.

So I really should have had a smart-card in my camera. :-(


But watching the NCAAs and looking at this guy:

I'm thinking, "Fifteenth Year Senior?"

Friday, March 23, 2007

A Challenge and a Stupidity


Some geniuses in England have done a "study" on the danger of drugs. The same geniuses who have never quite grasped the danger of NOT using toothpaste. Brits... This is the chart they've created:

I must admit to being boggled by some of it. To make pot more dangerous than solvents seems to ignore the differences between organic and inorganic chemistry. Which would you rather accidentally spill on your Pizza?

Of course looking at the source info adds more questions...

And Heroin as number one? That shit is dangerous because you can't tell what the dosage is. If Alcohol was sold in one-dose packets without any indication of how much was inside the packet and how much it was cut with lime juice and sugar (pick you own adulterant?). There would be a whole lot more random death - this also explains why "Street Methadone" is dangerous.. it isn't packaged by dose as prescribed methadone is.

What kind of weak methodology is this?

On the other hand?

I need to get me at least one of my hands on some 4-MTA or Buprenorphine.

I don't even know what that shit is, but apparently it will Fark me up!

Doctor, doctor, please!

God Loves the Drunkard, but Hates the Indian

It's not like I should go out and purchase beer, mmmmmm.. delicious beer(!)... on a weeknight, but there I was at the SnakeWay purchasing two large flagons of some Canadian import.

And Gawd shined on me. As I walked out I saw the evilest thing in the world.

Eviler than a Hummer.

A Hummer stretch-limo.

In this case stretched out over the curb protecting the in-lot shopping cart depository. And I mean hung up on it. Dude driving it kept trying to get off the curb-island and the noise was shocking and quite evocative of destruction. A special moment - me, there, completely enjoying the pain of someone else who quite clearly deserved it. I bet the Germans have a word for that. They have a word for everything.

Sadly, since the BAG lost my little camera, I didn't a way to catch a picture of the thing.

Still, it (and the beers) have kept me warm here in Big City, this fine evening.

Hummers and their drivers... swine...

Monday, March 19, 2007

The Day after that other day...

Morning came early and with all the shit associated with nature – Sun blazing, birds hollering, chipmunks pounding on my head. OK, that was my hangover, but still.

Spent the morning yapping with the sister and Moms until a Very Bad Phone Call came in. Seems my … well… my “something in law” was working out this morning, felt light-headed, sat down on a bench and promptly slipped off it to the ground. Last word we have is that he was “unresponsive” and being life-coptered to a hospital onshore (he lives on a lovely island). Not completely a surprise as he has had cerebral tangle/event before, but still a bummer on a lovely spring morning at 6,000 feet up.

During the pre-trauma talk I did figure out that the bar in Newcastle is probably still open (Sis and website provided strong evidence for) and that, as usual, I had just been lost. I stopped by again in Newcastle and, lo and behold, it was there. So I'm an idiot.

I cruised the old-highway and ran every frontage road I could find. Somewhere amongst the wineries in Lodi I passed this unfortunate soul whose relationship with beer had temporarily betrayed him. I found it amusing he was passed out on the edge of a winery, but that's the kind of jerk I am.

The ride down was a good one and the Bar On The Edge Of The Delta was crowded. This marks the beginning of the “White Trash on the Water” season and why hunting licenses aren't available for this season is a mystery to me. It was probably judged unsporting as you could pick the swine off as they loaded cooler after cooler of booze onto their river-rockets. Snot-nosed little 12 year olds running around with hair that would have been unfashionable in the 70s, and the little swine are wearing Hooters T-shirts in a completely unironic way. There isn't a woman under 50 without a tramp-stamp or a man without a goatee or soul-patch. It Luckily the Rockola is playing Lynyrd Skynrd and Blink-182, so at least I want to kill everyone here. Is that a good thing?

After all that I dropped some green snowballs off at the house of a friend. I think that goes without explanation.

Then it was home and the dread specter of work the next day. I'm neither proud nor ashamed to say that I killed a rabbit, drank it's blood, and had a beer.

These things just are..

Sunday, March 18, 2007

More screw-aroundery today. Got up relatively early and packed up to ride to the hills to see the fambly. Along the way I had planned to stop in and see Old Married With Children Friend, but instead got a lesson in how long it had been since I have seen her. Headed off to her house (along the way) and took a wrong turn somehow. Just couldn't find it as I accidentally stayed on the wrong road (well, obviously, but I think I know which wrong road it was).

Rolled out the Delta Highway to mid-state. Took a weird route on some backroads. Passed the big wind machines and rather then get on THE BIG Interstate I stayed on the Delta which turned into “Dr. Martin Luther King Rd.” As some clever comic noted, roads named for the good doctor are universally amongst the crappiest, poorest, and most crime-ridden roads in the city, and this was no exception. Hard-faced white-trash walking out of liquor stores with plastic bags full of booze. Tank-tops dirty and faces grimly set. It's going to be a good St Paddy's day for those folks. Good old St. Patrick, the patron saint of the drunkard, money-shot, and ATM.

Some blocks are little Mexico – old men sitting out with barrels smoking as they cook meat. Little children running around and the odd Vietnamese old lady. Every window that isn't barred is broken.

Nice place.

Up into the hills and everything is a riot of color.

Tried to stop in at the Newcastle Inn, but it was closed and so I motored up the hill and found a truly great little place called the “Red Frog” which had taken over an old bar/restaurant which had always been empty when I passed it before. The bartendress was trying to figure out the signature drink of the place, to be called the “Red Frog,” of course. And I was lucky enough to get a shot of it. Amaretto, cranberry, a couple of other things. Quite good. The view from the place is mind-numbing and I don't know if it is legal to smoke outside in California, but everyone is and so it has the vibe of a nice bar from the old days. Three families and about 6 bikers including a young woman with spectacularly outsized silicon breasts that threaten to topple her really skinny frame. I'm not saying anything or looking much, however, since her boyfriend is 3 bills if a pound and I'm too pretty to take a beating. Ordered a burger and the chef had to be separated from her cocktail and cigarette to come on in and cook it. I could live here. ;-)

As I drove up I stared wistfully at each cruddy looking hotel and dive bar. Imagining the immature joy of tucking away in a shitty hotel for a week, coming out only to walk to the bar. Existing from beautiful twilight state to beautiful twilight state. Got up to the sister's place and had a lovely meal with the parents as well as some hilltop strays. Sis has those hostessing skills and over three bottles of wine the six of us reimagined our lives as if we were witty heroes. An excellent time was had by all.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Things I Find Amusing


This Imprecation:
"The Dirt-Farming Dictators who took away morning sunlight."

This Joke:
What do Walter Reed Hospital, Jeff Gannon, and Matt Sanchez all prove?

That Republicans love to fuck soldiers.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Farkery and Thesis

A lovely summery day here in Big City. I have almost forgotten last month's snow and frigid temperatures. I decided that rather than doing anything useful or social I would grab my camera and take a ramble.

Just a little bit of useless fuckery, wander around out in the sun for no reason. Once I get out there I realize I should do a bit more useless fuckery. All this work has been boring and since the whole universe is premised on useless fuckery, it's not going anywhere.. well, it's expanding, but it's not going anywhere.. so why should I be any different? Except maybe not expand as much.

Not good for a fat guy.

Anyway, I don't want to stop at any of the bars along the way, so I decide to take a pill. On top of my desk/cabinet/mirror thingie I have a motley collection of pills, in sets of one or two. These have been collected from prescriptions over the years for various ailments and if I don't finish a prescription I just toss the remaining few onto the cabinet. One downside of this is I have no idea what they are. I know that the 3 big blue ones are some kind of anti-psychotic a friend gave me that he said would calm me down if I was nervous. I took one and nearly flipped out, so I really don't want those. I should probably grind them into some hamburger and feed them to the dog next door, or something. But after looking at my options, I picked one of three lovely pinkish and little ones and had it with a cup of coffee. I sure hope I don't get addicted.

I walk a few blocks and realize that I forgot to bring something to write on. I see an Office Depot and decide to go inside. Just inside the door is a lovely row of small digital tape recorders and I realize I must have one. After 20 minutes of puzzling, I make my choice. Then, standing in line as the woman is unpacking it from its protective case in the store, which is just as difficult for her to open as it is for me to open the package when I get out on the street (see the lovely picture of my cut finger - boohoo for me!), I start freaking out because I haven't picked up the pad and pen I came in for. The whole time I'm in there I'm peering over at the “school supplies” area to try to figure out if I have time to run over there and get the pen and pad before she rings me up. There is not such an amount of time. It isn't until I get out of the store that I remember that the I paid 49 dollars for a digital tape-recorder so I wouldn't have to use a pad and pen while I was walking.

So now I'm thinking that pinkish pill was pretty good!

And then some delicious coffee from 7-11 powered by ginseng, guarana and yurba mate. So now I'm wondering about (or is that hoping for?) potential complicative interactions between the pinkish pill and all the hippie-drugs in my caffeine. When I get outside the sun seems a bit brighter, the sky a bit bluer, and the sidewalk a bit more like undulating polka-dotted taffy. So I think it worked.

Further down I walk past the sign that influenced one of my Spanish-language adverts on the last campaign. It is here right above the advert. I'm not sure “influenced” isn't overstating it. It's the "Se Habla" part and I liked it and the advertising did work. :-) Anyway, I need to use the bitching stars in the next one!

Got down to a Mega-store and purchased polarizing something or others to cover my lenses. Unfortunately the store did not have a lens cap for the lens missing one, neither did it have the screw on cover I need for the back of one of my lenses. I'll pick those up tomorrow at Funky Little Kamera Store over by work. Then I'll have my camera kit in order, should I ever decide to leave the job and become an itinerant photo-blogger.

Up the stairs to the gym for some drug-addled exercises to protect the old back, and then back home with a lovely slice of NY style thin-crust cheese pizza on the way.

Tonight all about typing in latest version of edits on the thesis.. it is getting very close now.. 16,343 words. Still a bit long even with huge chunks cut out in revision. I've kept each substantial re-write of the piece, so all the bits that are out.. descriptive style, social ironist, even country by country analysis… are all on the computer somewhere.

The lovely BAG is coming over tomorrow night and she is working on her final papers. This leads to my favorite kind of couple night - close proximity and occasional chatter, but not the relentless conversational navel-gazing that women like. Men are so much better at communicating things than women are. If a picture is worth a thousand words? A grunt is worth a thousand pictures.

Anyway, at some point I'll have to declare the writing done, get to the formatting, and then get to the turning in and publishing.

Oh yeah, also saw a nice bumper sticker. Just about two weeks ago I was talking with some co-workers about how you don't see the stupid "W" bumper stickers anymore (This is Big City, after all, not Bumbfuck Tejas). I laughed.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Three Things I Learned Today

1) If there is pigeon crap all over the sidewalk, DON'T look up!

2) Old men have no business playing basketball.

3) Some people are just cranky as the following IM attests to:

r_wellor (7:51:49 PM): how was your lovely day off?
cranky_friend (7:52:43 PM): most xlnt
r_wellor (7:54:07 PM): k3wl...
r_wellor (7:54:29 PM): I had to work, but it was also a most exlnt day (I had to put one vowel in there!)
cranky_friend (7:54:31 PM): yep
cranky_friend (7:54:47 PM): i went on a bay area tour
r_wellor (7:55:00 PM): just driving?
cranky_friend (7:55:15 PM): livermore topleasant hill to martinez to berkeley then back across skyline to castro valley adn now i'm at LPC
cranky_friend (7:55:28 PM): "just"
cranky_friend (7:55:36 PM): you're so fucking judgemental
r_wellor (7:56:18 PM): er.. you're paranoid...
r_wellor (7:56:32 PM): I mean that as in "doing nothing else, noodling along"
r_wellor (7:56:46 PM): one of my favorite pass-times
cranky_friend (7:56:47 PM): no you don't
cranky_friend (7:56:51 PM): you're always passing judgment
cranky_friend (7:56:59 PM): and paranoid implies that I care what you think
r_wellor (7:56:59 PM): paranoia will destroy ya...
cranky_friend (8:19:13 PM): touchy
Yahoo (8:19:17 PM): cranky_friend has logged off

I think cranky_friend mis-spelled "touche" there at the end. ;-)