can you dig it???!!!

I'm still here, yo. Well, you know, in the metaphorical sense.

theMonica and I went to North Carolina for our anniversamarry. We visited RS4/RS4H and theMonica's cousins/baby. Then we visited dirty hippies/the gay community, otherwise known as Asheville.

We stayed at a b-n-b. I'm not going to lie to you; I do not like b-n-bs. Some people appreciate the personal service, home-cooked meals and all that, but to me it feels like living with your family that you've known for 2 days - just as annoying, unable to punch. *I* prefer the cold anonymity of a large hotel. So maybe they charge you 8 bucks for a diet DP, fine, they don't make you sit 2 feet away from some hiking-obsessed Swede when you're trying to eat breakfast.

We went to the Biltmore. It's "basically" a 275,000 square foot "home" that an heir, George Vanderbilt, built. He incidentally, made none of the money. That place is pretty nuts and has individual rooms larger than our entire house - which seemed big at the time. I enjoyed the old-timey nature of it. You know? Like if it had been built last year, I would have been bored out of my mind.

The Biltmore has a bowling alley that reminded me of the last scene of There Will Be Blood. Though the audio tour gave no indication if Vanderbilt was as sloppy of a eater/murderer as Daniel Plainview.

veni, vidi, vici

I went to a used book sale at a library on Saturday. Now I've been to a few library book sales in my day, so I was pretty sure what to expect - mass confusion. Books are helpfully categorized into categories: fiction and non-fiction. And then they're sorted into cover design appeal - or something; I'm not sure what the second-order sorting variable is. I knew this going in, so I had a brilliant idea: I would print out a list of my Amazon wishlist books and take it with me. BRILLIANT! Then I got to the library (smartly keeping the 10-page list out of sight) and thought, "This is quite possibly the dumbest thing I've ever done." As if I'm really going to check this list against each title I look at. The books are in no discernible order. They are fiction or non-fiction (ok, there were a couple of other categories, but those only contained a handful of books). As I was contemplating my nerdy jackassery, I happened upon a book that actually appeared on my list! Forget the fact that I probably only remembered because it was my most recent add to my wishlist. I swear I remembered because of the ass-info osmosis going on between my list and my money-maker. I'm so smart.

The problem with so many cheap books being so readily available is that you'll buy stuff that you'll never, ever read. It took a while, but I ultimately resisted the urge to by $1 copy of "Compiler Design in C." Compiler design is to my job as barley harvesting is to a bartender. You could draw a connection, but it's tenuous at best. I just diddn't see myself reading 600 pages on compiler design anytime soon.

By far the highlight of the trip was overhearing some old lady try to haggle on a 50 cent paperback. "I would buy this if it was 25 cents, but not for 50 cents." She was clearly, though awkwardly, trying to hint that the price should be dropped. The library workers just kind of stared at her amidst a dense fog of confusion. So what? - their looks asked. Finally, old school left without the overpriced book, muttering about a time when two bits could get you a steak dinner, a movie and a private audience with Teddy Roosevelt

SHOWTIME

I WENT TO THE NEW PORNOGRAPHERS SHOW LAST NIGHT WITH ALAN AND A2Z. IT WAS REALLY GOOD. WHAT'S THAT? Oh, sorry. I didn't realize I was shouting. It was really loud last night and my ears are still ringing. No I am not suffering from voice immodulation disorder.

Yah, so anyway, it was a good show. I didn't have anything to say about it. I just wanted to use my ALL-CAPS joke. I know. Hilariously stupid.

there's no shame in personal hygiene

theMonica, Alan, RS3 and I went to a rock show over the weekend. It was actually a pretty nifty little event where they take a bunch of local musicians and created new, random bands from the musician pool, making sure not to group friends, bandmates, dopplegangers, etc. It's safe to say we all had a good time.

I think most people did and the popularity/logistics of the event made for a crowded venue. That's fine. I'm not so claustrophobic. Odoraphopic though? Check. Apparently, new American Hipsters, with their tapered jeans and unkempt looks are actually taking it to the NEXT level. Gone are the days of just looking dirty. Now they are actually dirty. And smelly too. Is it productive to rebel against personal cleanliness? I thought not, but apparently stench is the choice of the new generation.

debriefing

• Cincy was a good time. The Garfield Suites are nice pseudo-apartments, suiteable for drinking/sleeping/watching the Cavs play like shit on national TV.


• Spoon . . . well, I was disappointed. I mean, it was a great show, but my expectations were certainly elevated from the last time I saw them. I thought that show featured a much more high-energy crowd (albeit smaller) and performance. I love the new album and it seems based on crowd reaction/sing-alongingness that it has garnered them some new fans. That fact plus a less than fast, but nevertheless, delicious dinner conspired to cause us to arrive somewhat late to the festivities. By the time we got there the crowd was substational and we had to stand in the back of an abnormally long venue. Oh well.


• We caught a Reds game on Saturday afternoon. I had to agree with Alan that the Great American Ballpark looked like a fancy minor league park. Is it possible for a major league park to look chintzy? I report; you decide. They had this monstrous thing beyond centerfield that looked like a steamship. It's available for all your group outings.


• My hair looks funking spectacular today, fyi.


• I got sunburned at the game. It was only about 60 degrees, so I had a long-sleeve shirt on. Right now one side of my face and the backs of my hands are red. It's like I'm wearing a fancy pair of carcinogenic weightlifting gloves.


• Sometimes drinking tea makes me feel like I'm going to barf. Like right now.

i will not rest until my old seat row is retroactively awarded DiGiorno pizzas

re: a previous trip to a Cavs game

So I went to last Thurday's game with Baby Daddy (not mine, his own) and they did the "Talk Like Tait" segment again. I was very happy to see that the 2 guys doing it looked approximately how I felt. Queasy. I would also like to go on record as saying that I did a better Joe Tait impression than either guy. And once again, the second guy won despite no discernible superiority to the first guy.

Later one they were air-cannon launching hot dogs into the stands. The in-game announcer people are like, "Who wants a hot dog?!!!!" (They say everything real excited-like, because they're paid to always be excited.) And then a jumbotron camera guy comes and stands about 2 feet in front of us.

We went nuts. I was like, "Hey Moondog! Give me a hot dog; they're so delicious! I want a hot dog right now!" Moondog is the Cavs mascot and he didn't have the fire power to get a hot dog up to us, nor were we in anyway audible to those outside our immediate radius but we were selling that shit hardcore. I've learned my lesson - when on camera, freak out as much as possible. That's what the people want - hysteria over the possibility of hot dog reception.

And the meaning of life is revealed.

feelin' old?

Then B-I-N-G-O!

theMonica and I took my aunt to BINGO! last night.

A few observations:

• Nothing can make you feel younger than going to bingo. For serious. Unless you are the absolute oldest person there/alive, you are sure to find someone 30 years your senior. I saw a 90-year-old woman telling a 120-year-old guy that he was old enough to be her grandfather (they're used to younger reproduction) and WAY TOO OLD to date.


• I am the bionic woman of Bingo night. It's true. Because in this setting I have ultra-sensitive hearing. Old people mutter under their breath a lot louder than what you normally encountered. The bingo pimp in front of me (older gentleman, track suit, shark tooth necklace, bling all over) was guilty of this. Every once in a while I'd hear him . . . "Son of a bitch," "Awwww go to hell!" along with a couple of god damns thrown in for good measure.


• Even on the cankle, I'm pretty sure I could outrun every person there.


• This ain't your mother's bingo. Well, actually it probably is. The vast majority of games required DOUBLE bingo. Which is one bingo, plus another - at the same time. There are also other, previously unknown to me, ways to make bingo - such as postage stamps (only one per double bingo), four corners, etc.


• No corn kernels anywhere in sight to eat. (This joke exclusively for RS2 and any other Moss Creek readers I might have.)


• You can have wild balls (huh-huh) and shit. Old people be blowin' up with the bingo games. There were games where you make an "X" or "U" or complete the inside frame. I made a smiley face, but apparently that doesn't count as bingo.


• Even when you cheat you can't win. The wild ball game takes the ending digit of the first ball and makes it wild - meaning, you can mark any number on your cards which ends in the wild. So, 14 makes ending 4 wild = 4, 14, 24, 34, 44, 54, 64, 74. I was confused and thought it was ALL fours (so, x4 numbers and 4x numbers). Despite this considerable head start, I still didn't win. And I'm really glad I didn't. I would gotten all Night of the Living Dead on me. That's when I started considering my running speed vis-a-vis the rest of the bingo population.


• 98% of all people there were joyless. I thought bingo was supposed to be a social activity, but it seemed more like a library. My aunt was even commenting on how generally nasty bingo people were. Case in point, we were reprimanded for sitting 3 at a table. 3 at a table that was NEXT to a table where a woman was going to be sitting. Since I don't weigh 1500 pounds, it turned out not to be a problem.

So whenever you feel the boney hand of the grim reaper tapping on your shoulder, sing those magical 5 letters . . .

monday is the new friday

But Tuesday morning is still Tuesday morning no matter how many you try to wish it away via the snooze.

Monday night Alan, A2Z and I went to the Grog Shop to take in a little of the rock music.

Quick rundown of the bands:

Bears: I am like the top, number one, Bears merch whore. I am a merch whore for all bands really. Being as how I'm frequently sweaty, I wear lots of t-shirts. So, I buy a lot of band t-shirts because how many days a week can I wear a wife-beater? Well, I have 2 Bears' Ts now. This is the first one I bought from them that wasn't irregularly sized.

JJ Magazine: I enjoyed them. The lead singer has developed her own elaborate dance repertoire sans shoes which was fun to watch.

Asobi Seksu: This is one of those bands that you just have to listen to, not that you will, but what I'm saying is I don't have a proper frame of reference for describing them - except physically. The lead singer is like 4'8", 37 pounds.

I also saw the plot for every 80's teen movie played out before my very eyes. Guy who wears a funny hat is in love with girl with glasses. Funny Hat (perhaps subconsciously modeling himself after Duckie, with a different funny hat) heads to the girls' wing and asks Glasses if she's going to the Asobi Seksu show at the Grog Shop tonight - ROCK 'N ROLL!! Glasses says, "Oh yah, I'll be there." Hat asks if she wants to carpool. "I can't I'm going to dinner right before." Hat, excited that Glasses will be in attendance and not wanting to push Glasses, asks nothing further. Unbeknownst to Hat, Glasses is going to dinner (and Asobi Seksu) with Ponytail, this guy from her Intro. to Philosophy class; he's really smart. Ponytail hates philosophy, but Glasses eats up all his BS about Wittgenstein. They hang out. It's cool for what it is. Hat sees Glasses at the show. "Sweet!" Goes over to talk to her. "Who is this douchebag with the ponytail that's staring at us?" "Who's this douchebag with the hat?" The game is on. Passive aggressive possessive touching of Glasses begins in earnest. Eventually, Ponytail kisses Glasses and the game is won. After much durress and obsequious adulation, Hat will confess to Glasses (perhaps during his first drunken night) that he loves her. It will be awkward. Ponytail will proclaim, "I knew he was a douche."

Back in the real world, the key bit of information I gained from the night is that I'm getting old. I mean, the whole night, with each swig of Pabst Blue Ribbon, I thought to myself, "Man, Tuesday morning is going to SUCK!" I don't know about you, but I don't want the voices in my head discouraging me from drinking. I want the voices in my head telling me I'm more handsome and stronger and better than most people at a lot of things. I mean, if I can't get false confidence from beer anymore, I'll actually have to improve myslef or something . . . or start doing harder drugs.

about a boy

So theMonica, Alan, Dan and some other folks went to the most recent Machine Go Boom show at the Happy Dog (where, incidentally, there was a happy dog and a happier dog owner; though the dog was probably not really hammered).

The opener was a guy called Ukebox. He played a ukulele and sang songs about . . . uhhh, pretty much anything, really. I think he had a song he opened with, "This is a song about playing the Happy Dog on December 2nd, 2006." Another buddy of mine said, "This is guys is like, 'Here's a song about a dump I took this morning.'" Little blue for me, but it captured the spirit of Ukebox fully.

The show happens and whatnot. And actually, some of the members of the other band from my last post that was exactly like this one, Bears were there in an audience capacity. I was returning from the bathroom and had to walk right through the middle of them. So, I stopped and said, "Hey, I really like your album." And they just kind of stared at me for a while. Have I ever mentioned I embarrass easily? If I'm intentionally making an ass of myself, I don't embarrass easily, but during this kind of unintentionally uncomfortable social encounter, I feel really, really self-conscience. I kept thinking, "Why did I tell these people I liked their album? Aargh!" (See, if I only had my pirate gear on, this bit would have been much less awkward.) Finally, one of the guys introduced himself and it was somewhat less awkward. Even so, my getaway line was, "Wow. That was really awkward."

I'm not sure why. Maybe they are famous or something. Generally, if they are just people (not famous people), it's not awkward at all to pass along a compliment and have them say, "Oh thanks." Like: "Sweet 'stache." "Thanks bro." But there's a certain level of fame where this gracefullness short-circuits (there's a false gracefullness that develops when fame grows even more), I once asked the guy from The Aislers Set if I could get their albums on-line (we were at the merch table and I was short on cash.) The look on his face said, "Do you live on the fucking moon? With no interwebs access?" I kind of apologized to that guy and scurried off. Maybe they should wear the scarlet F for "Famous."

. . . Thus endeth this long side track, The Ballad of Awkward Roger.

Anyway, at the show some chick starts talking to (hitting on?) theMonica while I'm rocking the party that rocks the body or however that saying goes. theMonica tells this girl that she's with me. This girl, dumb bitch, we shall call her, is like shocked and says that theMonica couldn't be dating me because I "look like a boy." theMonica, pedophilia accusations notwithstanding, laughs it off deftly. Later on, she's telling me the story - the one where I'm 30-years-old and look like a boy. And whatever, I dropped a WTF or something and did a shoulder shrug at theMonica. Then she says, "That's one of the things I like about you - your boyish face." So I'm 30 and I look like I'm 10. I'm a reverse Mitch Taylor.

hello Cleveland!

Last week, theMonica, Alan and I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. If you're ever in town, not only should you have a beer with me and see how much cooler I am in real-life (as opposed to this blog), but you should also check out the Rock Hall.

It was a rockin' good time really. While I'm predisposed to liking history in general, I was amazed at the show outfits. From the scary, green, be-eagled Roy Orbison one-piece, to the giant shouldered David Byrne Talking Head get-up, I am always transported to the moment when the artist green-lighted the idea of wear such ridiculous attire. "Tight crotched, striped, unitard? Butter me up and roll me in!" I am also amazed at how tiny some of these people are. There was a couple of Christina Aguilera costumes there, including a yellow singlet (it's all singlet with these people) that was exceptional only in its tininess. You could honestly put the girl in your pocket. You'd probably be annoyed and toss her after five minutes, but she is that small.

After the trip, we went to dinner. Apparently, the commenting around here has been pretty lacksydaisyall. I am here, all day, blogging my ass off and people are not commenting! I had not noticed all the slacking, but these are my most trusted peeps and they informed me a few posts were left friendless over the past week or so. I must believe them and despise all of you! Just kidding, but no, if you don't find me funny, you should at least PRETEND. Didn't your parents ever teach you about being polite - like if you don't have anything nice to say - oh that's right. Forgot all that stuff I just said. Thanks for being kind.