Surreally Seducted: Damn You Salvador Dalí!

One monkey promoting the ceaseless propagation of useless crap on the internets since a long time ago.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Running for office

I'm thinking of running for public office, or working for a government official. This is something I've wanted to do for a while. I really have no idea how to do it. But it's something I want to do.

Monday, December 27, 2004

The bet

Because I never follow through, and neither does anyone else, Josh has a bet with me that I can't put up one post a week until June. On the line? Ten dollars and a case of Guiness (if he wins) and a case of Foster Oil Cans (cause I gotta be manly somehow). I get two passes, just in case I go on vacation, which will probably happen.

Big Earl's

Big Earl's is a place that you never forget. It's been a little over 13 years since my grandfather Didi died, and I still remember the place. Maybe it's because I got violently ill because of Earl's. Maybe it's the gigantic cinnamon bun. Whatever it was, I haven't forgotten the place. We drove to upstate New York for the funeral. First and only time I've been up to my dad's hometown, but Earl's is the thing that sticks out most. That and getting pulled over on the drive back (I wasn't driving, but I spent a lot of time staring at the cop's lights and making excuses to the cop). I think Earl's is one of those classic truck stop diners, but it's the only classic truck stop diner I've been in. You walk in, and everything is made out of wood. Wood shelves, wood tables, wood benches. The wood tables had one distinguishing feature, especially for upstate new york. Well, not that it's exceptionally distinguishing for something in New York, but rather that it's not something you would expect, especially in upstate New York. The wooden legs for the wooden tables were clad in jeans and cowboy boots. Most tables had only one leg, which meant that there was only one boot and only half a pair of jeans (a jean?) for each table. We ordered milkshakes and a cinnamon bun for the table. If I remember, this was one of our last meals before heading home, and it had snowed recently. Big Earl's was right across from our hotel/motel/wherever we were staying. I think I had a strawberry milkshake, but I remember the size of the cinnamon bun...

It was table sized. Ok, so maybe a bit smaller. Dinner plate size, and covered in, well, goop. There were more than 8 of us there. We came nowhere near finishing it off. I could understand why they called it Big Earl's. I mean, if Earl ate there regularly, he'd have been Big Earl in no time at all.

Anyhow, as a postscript to this story, I ended up, along with all the kids who ate there that day, violently ill. I was walking home from the bus stop, and vomited all over my jacket. I ran the rest of the way. I did not become afraid of cinnamon buns or milkshakes, but I did learn that I hated the feeling of lockjaw before vomiting. Funny how that works.

Sunday, December 26, 2004

The fat man on the golf course

(A holiday special. Two character sketches today. For free!)

A little background information for you. My name, Tweedledopey, comes from a time when my dad and I played a round of golf with two pure duffers. The course is world famous, and my dad and I play there often. These guys were on vacation, and were playing there; we got paired with them by the starter. They were round, jovial, laughed a lot, and not very good at the game of golf. I named them tweedledumbass and tweedledope. This is from whence my name came.

Some people get fat just because, well, they like to eat, and don't like so much to exercise. Other people get fat because its genetic. Then you have the guys who are fat and don't give a damn. Laird is one of those guys. He rejoices in his fatness. Not that anyone minds Laird's fatness. He's a jovial fellow. One of those guys who could play Santa at a mall if he wanted to. But that's not his style. Nor is it the thing to do on the Isle. Laird, like any good Scot, would rather be at the pub, drinking. But Laird has a job, a wife (rather good lucking), and three skinny kids at home. Laird had met his wife on a business trip to Denmark; contrary to the ribbing that his co-workers gave him, she was not a call-girl. She had actually been a secretary at the company he was meeting with that week. This had caused a few problems between Laird's company and the Danish company, but that had been smoothed over at the pub when Laird met with the Danish CEO.

There is one thing that Laird liked more than drinking. Actually, Laird has one thing that he liked to do while drinking. That was golf. Laird spends most of his weekends were spent with his co-workers on the links. Laird is a good golfer; he had been playing golf since he was a wee little boy. While he is good, his co-workers are a whole lot better than he is. Laird found years ago, however, that as he gained weight and drank more on the course, the better he plays. So on the course, Laird tends to eat quite a bit, drink quite a bit more than he should, and take a couple of mulligans. But much like a large gorilla gets his way, his playing partners didn't display their displeasure. He pays up on his bets, and takes the money he wins to the pub, where he ends up buying everyone drinks anyhow.

Everyone loves Laird.

The working mind

It has appeared to me that I have indeed growed up just enough to know that my bed time is probably right around midnight right now. Hopefully that means my body is starting to get into a pattern. Most days I wake up after 8 hours of sleep without an alarm clock (most days I work I use an alarm clock because I don't get the 8 hours). I'm not sure if that's a matter of me being home for vacation (I always get tired here, but usually sleep more), or whether it's me getting slightly more mature. We'll see.

A non-rant, non-character sketch

My girlfriend kicks ass. She could probably kick my ass (she has long legs, i have short legs, thus, my ass is not too high for her to kick). She's unbelievable smart. She's the only one who reads this so far. She's unbelievably great, and I can't imagine how I was so lucky to find her and for both of us to be as happy as we are right now. Plus she likes many of the things I like (all of the good things). So, I say to her, I love you.

A Porn Star Looks at Fifty

Life in the suburbs is very different from life in the porn industry. James Pickle (stage name no doubt) had retired at 42 and took the money that he had earned, moved east, started a company, and bought a nice house out in the suburbs. He had also found a nice woman (whether she had ever seen any of his acting she would never reveal), married her, and honeymooned where he was sure nobody would recognize him (nobody did although the bellhop did give him an odd look). He drove to work everyday in his inconspicuous luxury car, pinched his secretary's ass once and got threatened with sexual harassment, apologized profusely many a time, and was generally successful. Now, at 65, he had retired completely, played golf three times a week with some ex-porn buddies, and mowed his own lawn. He needed a little help with sex at his age, but his wife (20 years younger than he) was always willing, ready, and able to satisfy him.

James also spent a lot of time reflecting. At Halloween, he remembered his last halloween before dropping out of college to enter the movies. He had gone as a bottle of glue and his girlfriend had gone as a piece of paper. That night, the sex had been great, but his girlfriend had walked in on him, and that was the end of that. No regrets there to be sure.

Now, at Thanksgiving, as so many Thanksgivings before, James sat in front of the TV with a beer in hand watching football while his wife cooked. His wife was in the kitchen cooking dinner, and their kid was out with some old high school friends. Across the street, Barbara and Phil were in the yard planting their flowers for the winter. This was distracting. But not nearly as distracting as what happened next. Phil and Barbara had a verbally violent, public and very loud fight, followed by a physically violent, public, and very loud bout of sex. James, who had, in his time, done much the same, was not in the mood; having been distracted from his football and lacking the pills that would help him and his wife enjoy the spectacle across the street. So he did what any ex-porn star wouldn't do in his prime, but would do well past it; James called the cops. For the next five hours, the cops had to deal with animosity between Phil and James. In the end, nothing really happened other than some added entertainment for the cops.

That night, James did not need any pills for sex (nor did he have any). His kid didn't walk in on him (although perhaps the kid's girlfriend caught the kid cheating on her), and life went on.


Facelift Francis

Francis was, is, one of those people you hate to get stuck on a plane with. Not because she is a terrorist (she isn't), but because after an three hours on a plane with her, youalmost wish you had a parachute (provided you aren't waiting on the runway, where a parachute is, well, no good). It is even worse to be in the same row with Francis, and to be of similar age. Francis will seek out someone, anyone, to talk to, but she much prefers to talk to someone who might be able to empathize. Yes, friend, that's you. Facelift Francis will then go on to tell you about how she, when she was twenty, left home because her mother was a collosal bitch who never gave her the kindness, dignity and respect she deserved. You better agree with her; it's the only way to keep her voice down. If you're lucky enough to make it past that trial, friend, you get to hear Francis moan about how she was passed over for advancement as a secretary at a law firm 20 years ago, and how she hasn't been able to keep a steady job since. Her coup-de-grace (much like the soup du jour, only more creamy) is to tell you about her 25th high school reunion. You see, FF was a beauty in high school (you wouldn't know that looking at her). FF is still single, so she had to have some way to rub everything into her classmates faces at the reunion. So FF went to her local plastic surgeon, got her face lifted, her eyes done, her lips injected, her fat liposucked (leaving a shriveled head requiring the three previous surgeries to be redone), and getting a boob job. Yes, you see, FF is a looker. Or would like to be. But she once again reverts to talking about her dysfunctional relationship with her family, and none of it is her fault. Her grandmother was a smoking alcoholic drug addict, and her dad is dead. Not her fault, to be sure, unless, of course, she made them both listen to her stories. In which case, there is little doubt. But FF's boob job is sagging, the botox has warn off, and all the collagen in all the lips in all the world could not make up for the wrinkles on FF's soul as she drones on about Dignity, Kindness, and Respect; and how nothing is her fault at all. As the three men in the seat in front of you laugh at your predicament, and the girl between you and Francis wishes she were dead (and it's Christmas to boot), do us all a favor and put on a pair of headphones. You don't have to listen to anything, so long as we don't have to listen to Francis.

Saturday, December 25, 2004

Wireless

My wireless keeps crapping out. Oy vey. 5 minutes on, 1 minute off.

ESPN... or Oh how the mighty have fallen

ESPN is the MTV of the sports world. I used to watch SportsCenter semi-religiously. Lately, it has sucked. The NFL coverage doesn't really cover the NFL; rather, it covers the players whom Joe Theisman would most like to suck off. Tonight, Joey T. wants to suck Jake ("the Snake") Plummer and Ruben Droughns off. Not to mention the whole Denver O-line. NFL coverage could be so much better. They just need to watch some golf coverage and European soccer coverage. Ooh... now they are talking about how Ruben Droughns feels (physically) now that he's carried the ball 240+ times this year. Ooooh Drew Bennett... c'mon Joey T. Drew Bennett is like Jerry Rice? What? Dumbass.

US Airways

So... it really sucks to see US Airways going out of business (all signs point to them running out of money in mid-January). I flew home yesterday from Boston. They cancelled all the flights out of Boston to Philly before my flight, and when we got to Philly we say on the taxiway for an hour. Not only that, we sat 75 feet from the gate because there was nobody to direct our plane the last 75 feet. Why was there nobody there? An unprecented number of baggage handlers and flight attendants called in sick yesterday. My flight home from Philly was delayed 2.5 hours more, and we flew into a 150 mph head wind. The captain of the flight came over the pa and explained the situation, and how distressed he and his crew were about people not showing up to work. My parents and I all think that the US Airways employees all decided that if they were going to be out of jobs in a month that they might as well spend Christmas with their families.

There are two major problems here. First is the overpayment of airline employees for so long that it has been entrenched. Yes, unions are a good thing, but heres a case where the unions are going to drive multiple companies out of business. It's not just US Airways. It's United, Delta, and a slew of other carriers that are struggling right now.

The second problem is with the air traveler. Not really a problem with the traveler, but more a porblem with perception of the airline industry. The airlines aren't like commuter rails, taxis, subways, or buses. Something has to give here. In case people haven't noticed, the low fare carriers prices aren't all that low compared to regular airlines. It's a matter of marketing. Southwest markets their fares as one-way fares for $39 to $109, and these aren't for all cities either. But the major airlines, when they do market their fares, usually go out of their way to point out that their fares are one way (yeah yeah I know they can't have false advertising). But you can usually find a lower fare from a major airline than Southwest. But Southwest is making money. They don't fly internationally, I don't think they have any union agreements, and they have a fleet of 737's and nothing else (eases maintenance costs, etc.). But the quality of service on Southwest isn't all that great (it isn't all that bad either); at least the service should be better for the major airlines. It would be interesting to see where they lose most of their money.