I've spent today thankful to have gotten to visit New Orleans this year, even if I spent most of it holed up in a convention center. I did get to spend an afternoon wandering around the Quarter, so it was useful, especially since some say the place might not be the same after today. I saw a picture of the quarter on the wire today, and it made me a little sad. That's a special place, and I'd hate to see it ruined like that.
Anyway. Did anyone else see season finale of The 4400? Oh. Mah. Gah.
SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS AHEAD! DON'T READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU TIVO'D IT AND HAVEN'T WATCHED!
The doc is shooting himself up some magic powers. Richard, whose only previously discernible 4400 power was "scoring with white chicks," now has the Force, man! Isabelle was all about the instant puberty, and, WAH? Rip Van Winkle? No, it's Jordan Collier, baby!
A few questions: Can Kyle actually GO to prison now? Or, can he go, but get time off since his victim was supernaturally revived? And, will the returned Jordan be good or EEEEE-VILL? Hell, I don't know what I'm looking forward to television-wise more, this or Los Sopranos.
I like pie.
August 29, 2005
August 25, 2005
August 24, 2005
I. Am. NERD!
Today, I recorded two hours of XM radio at home to MP3 format while I was at work, then had it automatically uploaded to an FTP account so I could download it at work and install it to my iPod just in time for the commute home.
Just getting ready for Sept. 1, when XM radio starts broadcasting Randi Rhodes from 3 - 7 p.m. (presently, XM bastardizes her sweet, sweet broadcast in the first two hours with that lunkhead Ed Schultz). I've set this up because I cannot count on the AAR stream to be up and running and therefore can't record it at my desk each and every day. And, because, I'm a nerd who wants Randi on his home commute no matter what.
August 23, 2005
August 18, 2005
August 16, 2005
...and then, there's Maude...
I just got done watching the Pamela Anderson Roast on Comedy Central. And, I think, this is what happens when you take a comics' tradition and set it loose on the general public.
If you are on the dais of a comedy roast, you are not supposed to heckle. You don't flip the roaster off, you don't make the "FU" gesture by placing your fist at your elbow and pumping, you don't roll your eyes and call the roaster a "bitch", and you don't attempt to yell him down. You're supposed to clap and laugh because you're on the dais an honor.
The greatest performance of the evening was Bea Arthur. All she did was read from one of Pamela Anderson's novels. The excerpts she read should have graced the Bulwer-Lytton Awards. It was ballbusting, and funny, and smart all at the same time.
August 15, 2005
August 09, 2005
Don't Screw With Marc Cohn
I've been asking for quite some time now what the hell Huey Lewis had against double-reeded woodwinds.
It turns out that I am the victim of a misheard lyric.
For years, I thought he was saying, "now the oboe may be barely breathing," and I wondered what his first lyrics looked like: "Now, the bassoon is just a motherfucker...and don't get me started on the didgeridoo..."
It turns out that it's not "oboe," it's "ol' boy," though I think the third interpretation listed at amiright.com is even better: "Now the elbow may be bad at breathing..." Either way, not a great song to have tootling away in the old psychic jukebox.
Speaking of horrible music, did anyone see that Marc Cohn got shot in the head, and the bullet didn't even touch his skull? Jesus, carjacker guy, I hated Walking in Memphis as much as the next guy, but I think spraying his van with bullets is a tad much. Watch out, Michael Bolton. Seriously, though, Marc, you're a Michael McDonald wannabe who wrote and performed one of the worst songs ever, but many happy returns anyways, big guy.
August 08, 2005
It's Going To Be A Hell Of A Day
You walk into your uncle's cat-doored house where you're popping in from time to time to look after his cats while he's out of town for the weekend, and you find the dry cat food container overturned and empty, and the food dish empty, and the water dish empty, and dog biscuits on the floor, and water everywhere, and parts of a bird who appears to be pining for the Fjords. Lovely. The cats probably encountered a racoon during the night and opted to go all lord-of-the-flies about it. What a mess.
I had nice weekend, nothing new to report. I cooked a lot for my date. The news is that I still can't cook a meatloaf. This one was better for consistency but was not cooked when I pulled it out. Blush. I did better with dessert, the gingerbread with peaches and blueberries, and much better with breakfast, scrambled eggicles with hash browns and a croissant. Still working to get her caught up on Los Sopranos.
In other news:
August 05, 2005
Sigh.
Is it worth explaining to my coworkers that asking me to put up a "hotlink" is not the same thing as asking me to put up a "hyperlink," and that, actually, a "hotlink" is a bad thing?
August 03, 2005
But I Don't Live In Richmond
Question: Why is every news story about the Susan Torres delivery datelined "Richmond" when she and her new baby are at Virginia Hospital Center, not four blocks from my house? Even the Post datelined it that way but said in the story it was "100 miles north" of Richmond. Weird.
August 02, 2005
I Sure Do Like That Potted Meat
What is it about gloved portions of pigmeat boiled in beer and seared over a grill that makes it so fucking good?
I don't know why I got the gumption to cook such a thing while in the supermarket. Mmm. Brats in beer and grilled. Dad's relish. Red beans and rice. I think I have some canned French cut beans at home. That would go well with this Four Brothers wine.
Either it's because I was fucking starving by the time I got home or because it was just that fucking good. Oh, my, god. My buddy Justin taught me how to boil brats in beer and then sear. That's one of at least four reasons he's still one of my four best buddies in the world. He taught me how to boil meat in beer.
I talked to another on that short list tonight. The doc is good. He is a dad. That's weird. This fella I met in about what, 1984? And we palled up based on an equally perverse sense of humor and an equally odd taste in music and an equal sense of desperation and wonder when it came to wimmen. And we're still pals and he's a married dad, and that's weird. Awesome, but weird. Either way, look for me to fly south next month sometime to finally meet his little girl.
My vacation was excellent. The time off gave me the solar plexus soul injection that I needed. As a result, I'm eating better and sleeping better and hoping to cook more and live more and make merry fun on the stage. I can't explain it better than that except to say that if you feel like you need a vacation, you probably do. I needed this one for years.
Life is an abstract. My natural inclination is to try to create it as a matrix. But while I'm diligently setting up the rows and columns, life itself is throwing paint and clay and poop and vegetables at me and at my perfect table.
My biggest challenge is to conduct the negotiations.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
