Yet Another Sign of the Apocolypse

Kerry and Erin were at Fellini’s for lunch the other day and the cashier asked if Kerry wanted a “kid cut” for Erin meaning a slice cut up into small squares. Considerate, yes, but what’s next? Crayons and placemats you can color on? Chocolate milk?

Yes, I know... not exactly the end of the world but it's hard to let go. Sigh. Next thing you know, they'll be putting a Target in Little 5 Points .

To Pitch a Tent, Part 2

I looked for the polo shirt and decent shorts (i.e., non-cutoff, no Georgia clay nor paint stains, and clean) I had brought but couldn’t find them. I ran up to the restroom for a quick shower and when I got back Kerry was hiking off with Erin on her back. We had driven up to the rehearsal gathering the previous night but Kerry wanted to imbibe at the reception so we had decided to walk up. This meant walking back in the dark with flashlights and two tired munchkins but since Kerry was going to drink this was, of course, the only reasonable option!

Anyway, she’s on the way with Tony and some others and I’m still at the campsite with Liam trying to get my act together. I search everywhere for my clothes. All I have that’s clean is my t-shirt with a picture of a little girl furiously biting the face off a teddy bear and a wifebeater, neither really an option for a wedding ceremony…even a camping-themed one. I bought this bright olive-colored shirt in Little 5 during my first year in Atlanta. Below the picture was the exclamation “Birdhouse!” which made a bizarre shirt even more bizarre. Why is she tearing into her toy with her teeth and what the Hell does “Birdhouse!” have to with it? I had to have it.

Turns out that Birdhouse was a skateboard company so here I am walking around with “I skate” on my chest… me, who dropped into a half-pipe once in his life and it may as well have been a quarter since I ended up at the bottom with a blood-spewing nose.

So I end up wearing what I have on, shorts with yellow-splattered paint from when I was highlighting the ends of the plywood panels in my attic so that I wouldn’t step through and fall into the garage (and it worked great… for 2 years!) and an ancient formerly-black-now-dark-gray tee that I bought under basically the same circumstances as the Birdhouse. This one has a chair on the front with an engineering drawing of same on the back. Again, what’s not to love?

By this time, I know I’m skating on thin ice and an executive decision must be made. I strap Liam in and we head up in the minivan. With the clock in the dash I’m now aware that it’s actually past the appointed time so I begin regaling Liam on the facts of Life.

“Liam, we’re late for this important event… something that a lot of people care about and really important to the bride and groom, the people getting married. That’s bad and you should always try to be on time… especially for things like weddings. But, guy to guy, if it REALLY comes down to the drop-dead, cutoff time… as long as you see the bride walk down the aisle, you’re basically ok. It’s not good… you want to be on-time, but you’re not in trouble. Not BIG trouble anyhow.”

We get to the place and I park. Liam notes poetically “I hear beautiful music.” I’m making a last desperate search for the polo shirt when Liam says, “Umm.. Daddy… now I hear talking.” We turn and hoof it up the road and across a field… the ragged stragglers in full view of the on-going ceremony. Obsequiously, I find a spot for us in the back of the crowd, realizing that I am the most underdressed person there. Liam sits down and proceeds to drag his shoes in mud, stand crouched on his chair, and then sit back down into the fresh gloop… selflessly placing his Dad into the #2 hobo postion.

I didn’t make it to the walk. But we all know the absolute, down-to-the-wire deadline is the vows.. I mean, that’s the point that they ACTUALLY become husband and wife… that’s the REAL cutoff. Right?

Am I in trouble?

To Pitch a Tent, Part 1

For 5-1/2 years, this kid-carrying backpack has been through many a journey… from almost a half-dozen ascents of Stone Mountain to the scrubbing of three sinkloads of dishes and a clean kitchen… from Raven Cliffs, the Appalachian Trail, and Panther Creek to Swept Floors, Mowed Lawn, and Concourse B. It’s carried Liam through Key West and the Great Sand Dunes in Colorado and Erin through New York City and La Cueva in New Mexico.

But it was no match for Hard Labor Creek.

We got there Friday around 5, beaten only by a couple in an amazing pop-up straight out of Tonkaland. Turned out only a few of the over 150 guests of the wedding ended up camping. Most drove back to town, many stayed in cabins, and only maybe a dozen at most roughed it. The first night we spent in a massive thunderstorm. I didn’t have high hopes for our Sears tent but I had sealed up the seams and it was a Coleman… no leaks at all save for one that I didn’t notice until morning. Good thing since the blow-up mattress is only big enough for 1 adult and 2 kids so yours truly sleeps Fido-like at the foot of it… exactly where the leak was, of course.

The next day was drizzly throughout… ended up eating at a Subway since we couldn’t make a fire. But as the time of the blessed event drew near… the clouds parted and the sun blazed. And we were running late. Very late.

Unwillful Neglect

Yes, I know... I've been disdaining my blog. Last weekend was jammed with family and friends and this week has been crammed with work. I have lots to post about the weekend so hopefully I get a chance soon to get to it. Hopefully tonight.

Mudhoney

Well, I'm off to a combination wedding/camping adventure so it should be quite a weekend. With a thunderstorms forecasted for tonight, the words "Woodstock mudfest" come to mind.

As long as there's beer....

The Boss Monster of Cloud Level 4

Much the same for untold millions, I’m sure, Mario has been an inspiration to me throughout my life… in my bathroom tiling and other plumbing adventures and in my running, although I’ve never had it as tough as he’s had, what with evil mushrooms and hammer-wielding turtles after him. I haven’t hung out with the little guy since college but he was a steadfast companion through many a long night of putting off studying.

Several years after college - likely 97 or 98 – a little thing happened that reminded me of my Koopah-clobberin’ buddy. Some friends and I were at the Masquerade. Except for the occasional show, I was never a big fan of the place but my group was in its restless transition phase when we were a little tired of L5P but hadn’t yet flocked to the East Atlanta scene. Anyway, we were on the lowest level - the dance club one - hanging out drinking our requisite vodka tonics watching the raver-types filter in.

We were collected around a 4 ft high platform at one end of the dance floor and as the place filled up, a girl who apparently worked there staked her claim to the dais. She was the typical club-girl employee: athletic build, bleach-blond ponytail, tight shirt and baggy pants, with a severe face to match her extreme, gravity-defying shoes.

Not quite ready to bust her moves, Techno Queen would lounge at one side of the platform chatting up her groupies but if any one of us were so bold as to dare place a drink at it’s edge, she’d leap to her feet and stomp over. She would glare at its owner, tapping her massive clomper right next to the drink, clearly threatening to flick it off, (hopefully all over the guilty worm) until the offending beverage was removed.

This happened a couple of times as the night wore on. You could add video game sound effects to the little scene. She became the Boss Monster of Cloud Level 4. The drink would appear and she’d pop up (booble-boop!) then march over (chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh) and begin the tap (ERRR – ERRR –ERRR).

It was hilarious, loads o' laughs, all fun and games… that is until… tra-ge-dy STRUCK!!!

One of us, obviously loco on firewater, breached the sanctity of the she-devil’s throne. From afar, I saw the disaster unfold. “Karen” lifted herself onto the platform and actually began dancing. Can you believe the nerve? Immediately, even though she was facing the other direction, Boss Monster’s head whipped up and she rose, killer android-like, from a crouch. She thumped over to Karen who was shakin’ it not breakin’ it, unaware of the impending doom sweeping upon her from behind. Boss Monster halted a foot from Karen’s groovin’ back, pulled her arms back with palms forward, and shoved... hurling Karen abruptly from the platform.

Unfortunately, although the scenario up to this point is imprinted on my brain, the rest has faded… I’m sure Karen was physically unhurt but I doubt she was avenged in any way whatsoever.

Speaking of...

Who are all these people driving with cellphones glued to their heads TALKING to?

The guy in front of them? Toll booth operators?

Who?!

Vinyl Typewriters

I’ve never been a gadget-freak whatsoever but it’s only been the last 5 years that I’ve really become personally anti-tech. Of course, being in a single-income family and having no money to buy said gadgets makes it easy to adopt such a position. We have no cable, I carry a cellphone probably 2 or 3 times a week, I never use a remote, and the last thing I bought that played music that didn’t have Fisher Price printed on it was this which is currently taking up too much space in the kitchen. But, like I said, I've never been one to get worked up about personal tech.

Music Midtown 1999 finally sold me on the cellphone. Most of my friends had them and I was holding off the inevitable but was getting along just fine with the landline. I think the event started off with Travis and I sneaking in a bottle of vodka, transferring it’s contents to two half-bottles of coke, then meeting up with some people at the Leftover Salmon show. Now I like long rock or jazz jams when I hear them but have never gotten into the whole Phish/Dead/Dave Matthews thing so I didn’t care about the band on-stage. And, actually, I seldom care about the bands at giant venues… I go for the festival. When I want to see music, I go to Star Bar.

Anway, it just so happens my future wife was at this show and with the same friends of friends but we didn’t meet up and this is not really the story I'm telling. Somehow I got separated from everyone. I didn’t really care at first and figured I’d wander into some of them eventually.

But I didn’t.

I stood in line at a payphone for almost 45 minutes but couldn’t get through to anyone when I finally got to the phone. I walked around for another hour then stood in line at another payphone just outside the area where Rick Springfield was playing. Truly it is amazing the number of big songs that guy has! I mean, I could probably only name 2 or 3. Let’s see… Jesse’s Girl, of course, and… well, uh… err… ok, I can name one but I must have recognized 5 or 6 standing in that goddamn line for an hour! And, then !!!blinding killspree-inspiring madness!!! the thing WILL NOT take my quarter!

I trudge around the show aimlessly for another half-hour until joy of joys, I see Travis and Smulley walking toward me. I quickly downed a few cans of Bud Lite or whatever was available and enjoyed the Iggy Pop show tremendously.

I bought my Nokia the next week and I’ve had the same number ever since. Well it’s Kerry’s number now since there is, of course, no reason for me to have one.

Happy Easter

Liam discussing his favorite foods:
"Spaghetti is my third favorite food."

Dad: "So what's your second favorite?"
Liam: "Ummm... hot dogs!"
Dad: "And your first is...?"
Liam: "Macaroni and cheese!"

And, by mac & cheese he is, of course, referring to the classic-style in the slim rectangular box that we all know and love... my sister and I used to call it "Kraft Dinner" when we were kids. The crime is that we now get the generic stuff but, hey, as they say about Mikey: "He likes it!"

And all this talk of food piques Erin's interest:
"My second favoite is Easter eggs!"

Chopped Liver

I moved to Atlanta in 93 and my friend Matt moved up maybe 2 years later and yet, whenever we were running around town, he would always have people coming up to him with “Hey Matt” and “How’s it goin’, Matt-ay” like he was the g.d. high school quarterback in Podunk, Iowa.

My wife has become the OTP Matt.

We’ll be at the local hip spot checking out all the luscious Kroger bargains or cruisin’ for drywall anchors at the Depot and it’s “Hey Kerry” and “How’s it goin’, Ker-ray” like she was the head of the PTA or something.

Behold!!!

It's the infamous pickle dog.

Share the Road, You Bastard!

Usually my 5-mile drive to work is about 15-20 minutes in the morning, 20-25 in the evening. Lately, however, once or twice a week has been getting up past the 30-minute mark. So I decided to bike it.

Now riding around intown Atlanta was one of the things I loved the most about living there. I'm not really sure why but the feeling of freedom I got jetting from spot to spot and going places I'd never go in a car was a huge thrill for me... plus you haven't lived until you've biked home at 3am through Piedmont Park after a drunken spree in the Highlands. Some of those hills are pretty tough... especially when you're too scared to let your speed drop below 30 miles an hour!

Biking through rush hour suburbia is a completely different experience. Riding on the side of a road with no shoulder to speak of with Excursions, dump trucks , and Canyon Arrows hurtling past spraying you with rocks and Dasani empties is not my idea of fun. However, I did get a damn good feeling when I passed a guy in a convertible 3 times in 15 minutes.

Anyway, overall I liked it and I can do it faster by bike than by car on a bad day so more 2-wheel commuting is in my future… I just have to get over that “excruciating death at any second” thing.

'Sup bitumen?

Ah, yes, spring... when a man's fancy turns to installing flashing and new shingles around a leaky skylight. For you earthbound mortals, Sunday was a breezy sunny day, perfect for taking in all the blossoming colors in Atlanta's supreme season. On a rooftop, it feels like you're sitting on Foreman grill. I absolutely cannot imagine doing any kind of roofwork in high summer.

I took the friend that was helping me (doing the job while I watched and passed him the occasional putty knife or shingle is more like it) out to Subway for lunch. In college, I spent 5 years working off and on at a Subway right across from campus and directly next to a bar specializing in quarter beers. Working alone at 2:30 am in a Subway packed with drunks... a little slice o'heaven.

A mighty fine pal of mine, Matt, worked at the same Subway with his roommate. They both lived in a section of the college ghetto directly across from the joint. Fran, the manager, was not adverse to a few beers on a weekend night so when he had to fill in for someone that failed to show on a Friday or Saturday, he'd spend most of his time on the store phone trying to trap someone else to cover for him.

Scene: Matt's apartment. Matt, Jeff, Jim, and misc collegiate riff-raff sitting around the tube engaging in the usual BS and drinking from cans pulled from a case of Busch on the coffee table in the center of the room. The phone rings ("the" not "a", remember kids...this is the late 80's). A guy reaches for it and is immediately shouted down. Like a cop about to enter a crackhouse, Jeff lunges to the tightly-closed blinds shielding the patio door and gingerly peers through one.

"Clear," he reports. "he's nowhere near the phone."

I had a close call with the lawnmower Saturday morning. I gave the cord a good pull, fully expecting to hear the manly roar that was the result of my week-long ordeal but instead, silence. As I felt my ego deflating and withering away, I quickly ran through the usual BS types of things guys do in these types of situations when they have no idea what to do... checking connections, fiddling with anything that's remotely adjustable, and other desperate actions. The funny thing is how often this kind of crap ends up, directly or indirectly, in success. So, hey, I'm sticking with it.

But this time... nothing.

Until I checked the gas.

6am on a Rainy Saturday

Isn't this a bit hypocritical?

Random note (and I will no longer preface these with "random note", what isn't on a blog?): Had a dream last night where I was on a bus telling a character from Crankshaft that she was imaginary. A) she's in my skull, and B) she's from a comic strip. It was an easy sell... she took it quite well considering.

Hey, man, is that freedom rock?

One of the first albums I remember my mom buying for me along with an actual blue vinyl Elvis "Moody Blue" was K-Tel's "Music Machine". Oh, if only...

I own no i-pod and have only bought 2 cd's in the last 5 years so needless to say, I'm out of the music scene except for what is fed to me on my quick trips through the radio dial. In whatever way music is obtained nowadays, I wonder is there any modern analogy to the K-Tel and Ronco-type theme collections of the last decade. I suppose it's just some popular music critic's fave list available for download or pod-cast, I have no idea.

Unless a brief interlude with a clove-smoker with a tail counts, I wasn't into the Bauhaus/Sisters of Mercy goth scene in high school so I can't tell but I wonder if that catchy "Tear You Apart" song that's being overplayed right now hearkens back to that style or is a formulaic rip-off?

Speaking of formulaic, check off the list, genre-clutching bands... being a garage rock fan, I couldn't help but like the stuff from Jet (see? totally behind the times, 4 corners man) I heard until a friend noted "Sure, but doesn't it sound like they're trying a little too hard?".

Yeah, well I still like the "Be My Girl" song.

The Runaround

About 5-6 years ago, I took up running. I was working at a new location where I didn't have a mountain bike trail behind my office so I figured I needed to do something to stay in shape... sitting in my cube surfing the Net or going to Taco Bell for a hot'n'spicy galupa just did not seem to promote a healthy glow. These two older guys would jog every day rain or shine so I decided to start running myself.

Not long later I signed up for the Peachtree and have kept it up ever since. It sucked for a long time and it still basically sucks at it's essence... the actual minute-to-minute slog is a constant effort to ignore your body's screams of "Why am I doing this?" and "Hey, how' bout I walk a little of this right now?" And if you slack off for a week or two... it seems like you go right back to square one when you start back up.

But the overall feeling I have towards running is pretty cool. It's good to escape from the phone and the screen and get outside in the sun and wind. Stress relief is one of my main motivators. I don't know how or why it works but when I don't run for a while I get more worked up about things and sometimes can't sleep as well. Another major motivator is my long-term plan to keep up with my kids as long as possible. The thought of someday hiking the AT with one of them often enters my mostly random brain meanderings as I run.

Speaking of, in my experience, that's typically a big problem especially when first running... how to keep the brain occupied with something other than how tired you are and how much you want to stop. But the main thing that keeps people from running... people that want to, that is... is that first step. Nearly every other day, people say to me "I need to start running" and several of them repeat this to me throughout the year... everytime they leave the building and pass me where I'm stretching on their way to drive 2 miles to the Wendy's.

Although they're lacking in some other respects, Nike definitely captured it dead on with "Just do it".

Pickle Dog

Tonight, sitting on the deck, I watched in amazement as Liam put dill pickle slices all over his hot dog... pushed down into the ketchup. Then he wanted another bun to put on top.

"On top?" I exclaimed. "What the heck do you call that?"

After "hot dog sandwich", "pickle dog" and - a strange one - "a full purse" presumably because the pickle slices resemble coins, he settled on "money bank" which after a little prodding on my part became "money in the bank".

Rocket Grass

Two things I've had no luck Googling: my theory of the kamikaze ants and the identity of the latest majority species in my lawn.

Roughly once a month during the warm seasons, I'll look down and see an ant aimlessly wandering the endless plateau that is my kitchen counter. My theory is that each colony sends out waves of these rovers in all directions. If an ant discovers food then and only then does it re-trace its trail back to the nest to report. Otherwise, it keeps plodding on and on until it finds Sarah O'Conner's name in the phone book.

Yesterday, while surveying my vast tracts of land, I kept feeling little things hitting my knees. I assumed they were bugs but the sheer density made me investigate. Turns out that that the latest weed to take over my lawn, a Darwinian melting pot of clover, dandelions, moss, wild onions, and a few cowering blades of grass, is a plant that when touched, shoots out barrages of bullet-shaped seeds. All sexual comments aside - I can't call them inuendos since they'd basically be true- the whole process fascinates me... burrs, the bee/flower thing, dandelions... all right, enough. The issue is I want to know what they're called (my son dubbed them "rocket grass") but how to Google?

Up the Sodium

Went to Up the Creek tonight with the in-laws. I always get whatever the specialty is so when I'm at one of these theme places I stick with the theme. So I had the Pecan Crusted Trout: "Butterflied trout filet, dusted with seasoned flour and crushed pecans, then sauteed." I'm not a big fan of breaded anything and was a bit worried but "dusted" swayed me.

Dusted, my asymptote. The thing was a freakin' pancake complete with some kind of butter/maple syrup congloperation. What's with these OTP mall remora joints? Everything is over-salted and over-buttered with the end result that everything tastes like spoonfuls of mayonnaise.

I'm far from a health nut... my favorite meals are Beef Stroganoff and 2 slices of Fellini's pizza with the house salad and a coke with a slice of lemon... but if I have to keep going to these Appleby-clones (and I will since I travel for work) I'm going to become one of those "on-the side" people that order everything special.

Me: "I'll have the grilled trout... with nothing on it... and throw in some steamed brocolli.. without dumping a cup of garlic butter on it, please."

Restless Lawn Syndrome

Here's me in the 2k's... I am looking forward to gettin' up tomorrow and spending the entire day working on the yard... picking up pinecones and branches, raking, but most of all, mowing.

When we first bought the house, I reveled in my yard tools: I named my mower Sherman and the weed-eater Strike Force Delta. Fortunately, except for the beginning of "the season", the names didn't stick but now with the resurrection of Sherman by mine own hand, the thrill has returned.

When winter settles in, your supposed to run a mower dry or drain the gas tank... apparently gasoline "gels" over time and clogs up the works. Well, I let my mower sit for a month then tried to run it so I could warm it up, change the oil, drain the tank, and do all the little duties to properly prepare it for hibernation. But the thing wouldn't start! I screwed with the governor a little but ended up letting it lie all winter.

Come the dandelions and I'm desperately searching Small Engine forums, printing out parts lists and troubleshooting guides, and buddying up to friends and neighbors to get advice.

JIM: "Hey, nice weather, huh?"
NEIGHBOR: "Sure is."
JIM: "A lot better than last Saturday night, huh?"
NEIGHBOR: "Oh yeah. Ha!"
JIM: "So... have you ever disassembled a Briggs & Stratton lawnmower carburetor?"

Anyway, I clean up the carb and, after getting a very reasonable suggestion in a forum, I replace a gasket on the air filter base that has something to do with ensuring a proper prime. Sounds good to me. If the carb isn't priming with gas because that little bulb isn't pulling a vacuum, thing won't go no-how, right? So I head on down to Ace where they have a Small Engine Service shop on the side.

By the way, although it is a longer drive and they have French hours, I have set my default to Ace Hardware. They actually know what they're talking about more than once every 10 times you go in the place and even though the place is tiny compared to the warehousian Home Depot and Lowe's, they actually have a better selection of a lot of stuff (ie., plumping, screws, etc.).

Anyway, the guy you visualize when I say "Lawnmower Repair Guy" was behind the counter. I started to describe my problem and I'm fairly certain "Brigg's & Stratton" escaped my lips but I didn't even get a chance to breakout my diagrams to get a part number and he's handing me a $2 gasket. I realized I was in the presence of genius.

Eager to take advantage of the situation, I casually mentioned that the gas tank was leaking... a non-related issue that I was dealing with by not ever filling the tank over 1/2 way. A guy at work had had the same problem and I had a vague recollection of the problem mentioned on the Net so I had a feeling it was a problem with these engines... and since a leaking gas tank is clearly a safety issue, there was a faint sniff of "gratis" in the air but I am not one to directly push anything like this. True to my hunch, the guy rummages in the back and returns with a replacement tank, no charge.

And here is the place in the story where I say "and it fired up, first pull!" but no, that would not be Planet Jim. I put everything back together and nothing... nothing. I took the carb apart again and meticulously explored and cleaned it's every mysterious passage and tubeway. In the process , I sprayed carb cleaner into a blind hole and got a direct shot into my right eye.

Screaming a common 4-letter word beginning with the letter "FUCK!!!" at the top of my voice in Uzi-like repetition, I ran to the kitchen sink, pulling the contact from my eye en route, and locked my wide-open eye directly beneath the fully-running tap. It felt ok after but the next morning, my eye was glued together with mucous and felt a bit "off" all day. Oh well, that was a little less than a wek ago and it seems fine. WEAR SAFETY GLASSSES!!!

So I begin to re-install the now shining carb back onto the engine but - what's this? - I lost an o-ring! Joy! After seaching Hi and Lois for it, I set out for the Ace. I notice a funny noise backing out of the driveway and - WHAT'S THIS? - my left front tire, one of four purchased 5 weeks ago, is completely flat. AAAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!!

And it goes without saying that the place was closed.

But all's swell that end's swell, I finally got it all back together and put in fresh gas and it fired up, first pull! Well, the 4th or 5th anyhow.