Sick Bastard

The newest girl in my life slept with me for the first time Sunday. It was a lot of fun — she looked so cute in that tiny pink outfit, and she’s a redhead, which is hard to resist — but she gave me, um, a, uh, disease. Which sucks. I’m all drippy and stiff and shit. We’re going to have some words. But first, I’m off to be treated.

Meantime, here’s an excerpt from the contribution I’ll be contributing to the next installment of “Baby Songs”, with profound apologies to KMD and anyone else with the remotest bit of good taste.

I rocked her to the left, rocked her to the right
She felt so good, hugged me so tight
I said good night
Three days later…
Woke up fussing, yelling and sneezin’
Drip drip dripping and whe-whe-wheezin’
I went to the bathroom and said “Mama Mia!”
I’ma kill that girl next time I see her!
The madder I got, the more I reminice,
Why is my damn throat burning like this?
Well I remember the first day I saw that girl,
I just couldn’t wait to rock her world.
The nap was dope and you know that I rocked her
But three days later, go see the doctor.

You Know What?

Luna: (Upon seeing some eminence or another pontificating on the blessedly muted gym TV) He looks like that weird cartoon dog. You know, the one with the all droopy face? What was his name? The white one? With the droopy jowls? The dog? You know?

Me: (eyebrows raised) “Droopy”?

Luna: (beaming) Yes! Him!

*yawn*

In the interest of losing my six remaining readers, I have decided to combine the incoherent immorality of gambling with the breathtakingly narcissistic tedium of personal improvement. So I joined a pool. The terms:

* Official start date is 2/1.
* Contest ends on 5/1.
* Status reports are due on 2/20, 3/20, and 4/20. (Heh-heh, heh-heh, yes, Dr. D, I said “and”.)
* $25 buy-in, due in advance. Those who get it done split the pot.
* “Goals: Draft One” is due to bondgirl — post a comment and she’ll contact you — by Wednesday, 1/25. Goals will be publicized by the aforementioned ingénue to give entrants the chance to revise those goals that turn out to be insufficiently or excessively ambitious in comparison to those of other entrants.
* “Goals: Final List” is due to bondgirl by 1/31.
* Goals must be specifically measurable. Examples below. j.ko and Gail and Stimpy are the judges of “measurable”. Their decision is final.

Examples:

Metric goal: “Put on my brand new doggy underwear.”
Nonmetric goal: “Mo’ fresh vegetables fo dat ass.”

Metric goal: “Drop my cholesterol below area-code eligibility.”
Nonmetric goal: “Lower my triglycerides to a point wherin I no longer worry when eating fried things.”

Metric goal: “Add another 35,000 words to ‘Big: A Life’.”
Nonmetric goal: “Work on my book.”

Metric goal: “Extract my ship from the bog.”
Nonmetric goal: “Try not to give in to my feelings and let the hate make me powerful.”

Metric goal: “Put the band back together and make $5,000 in eleven days to save the orphanage in which we grew up.”
Nonmetric goal: “See the light.”

Questions?

Pay Attention To Me!

Before we move on to bondgirl‘s request, let me take a moment to pimp a couple of other pieces:

1) Juli introduced me to Intrepid Media, and, because I am 1) a glutton for punishment, 2) a praise whore, and 3) so lazy about this stuff as to defy metaphor, I reworked a couple of my less humiliating B&T pieces and submitted them. One of them is running through the weekend as a feature, which I assume is because they wish to give new members false hope. (Aspiring writers: You want to look around this site more closely than do the people who’re just humoring me.)

2) This is the second of many tiresome, shameless plugs for my new unpaid gig. There’s a recycled piece there too, right now, but give me some time.

Throw a brother some site traffic?

* * * * *

Off the request line over there on the right::

bondgirl: Describe the taste of five of your favorite beverages without naming them.

1) High-quality-fort-building coconut snow perfumed with pineapple.

2) Firewater filtered through brown sugar.

3) Cold.

4) Sweet and creamy cut with such powerful bitterness that it no longer seems sweet and creamy.

5) Sharpish, not sweet, and slightly astringent; with the texture of a mouthful of ants.

"Yes, Let's Go."

Waiting For The Bus
A play in one act

Lights up. Al, a slovenly, unkempt, possibly homeless man in his early thirties, is standing alone under a traffic sign, on the edge of a busy highway. A newspaper machine prominently displays today’s date: Monday, January 16th, 2006.

Al: This is odd. The bus is usually right on time. Think I’ll stand on one foot for a while. *sigh*. It’s a beautiful day. It would be extra-nice from the inside of the bus. Not ’cause it’s hot, ’cause I’m gonna be late. Wonder what all the buzzards are doing. I wish I had time to run over to the video store, or even down to the gas station for a drink. But I can’t, becuase the bus is past its scheduled time. I can’t miss the bus. I have to be in Key West by 530 to go to the gym. WATCH IT, ASSHOLE! Jesus. Some people can’t drive. You’d think there’d be a fucking bench or something. Especially if the bus is going to be THIS late. *sigh* I’m hungry. And my feet hurt. I should not have walked a mile to the bus stop on the edge of US 1 in flip-flops, but my shoes are in my locker. At the gym. Where I’m TRYING TO GO RIGHT NOW. Dammit. extracts cellular phone from obviously heavy-ass backpack Hi. Will you 411.com the number for ‘City of Key West’? I know 305. Eight-oh-nine-three-seven-zero-zero? Thanks. dials, waits Fucking ridiculous. No answer. I hate it here. No one pays attention to their fucking job. AND WHERE IS THE FUCKING BUS? IT’S FIFTEEN MINUTES LATE! IT’S NOT LIKE IT’S A SATURDAY OR A SUNDAY OR A HOLI

curtain

* * * * *

Nate: Request: produce a method by which an infinite supply of smoked ribs can be produced, thus ending world hunger

It is said that if the Chinese Army lined up shoulder-to-shoulder along the Russian border and began marching north, at current population-replacement rates, they would never finish the invasion, just keep the line moving forward forever. I believe this math can be harnessed.

What we need to do to feed the world, my compassionate, barbecue-lusting friend, is work out permanent-replenishment values for hickory wood, pigs, and pitmasters. Enough of all three, and we can build a smoker big enough to feed the world; a smoker that will never, ever run out of tenders, fuel, or sweet, sweet pig. I believe this super-smoker should be located near the equator on the Pacific Rim, to allow for the eventual harnessing of geothermal power and to ensure an atmosphere conducive to conviviality during the six hours required to properly process a slab of ribs. Longer-term, we are looking at the groundwork to keep an extraterrestrial colony fat and happy and self-sufficient.

Does anyone have a calculator?

From The Request Line

j.ko: Awwright. Is Lovie Smith the star of the latest version of “The Emperor’s New Clothes”, or The Second Coming of Christ/Ditka? As always, thoroughly explain your reasoning. (I need a Bears fix)

The following was written before Sunday’s loss to Carolina: The jury is out. He may be taking a team with no business being there to the Super Bowl. That could be Ditkaish — motivating a team that’s not ready to play way above their heads. It could also be flukey — see Minnesota’s 15-1 season of a few years back. Even if the Bear wins Super Bowl XL — which, *sigh*, they won’t — the jury won’t come in until next season. (And in regards to next season, a note to Jerry Angelo: In the draft, sir, get a top-tier tight end, offensive line depth, and another wideout. In free agency, throw a “One year deal and let’s win a Super Bowl” offer sheet at LaVar Arrington. Briggs, Urlacher, Arrington….) Regardless of what happens tomorrow vs. the Panthers, I think we have the makings of a run at the 2007 Super Bowl.

In Miami.

Party at my house.

Post-loss addendum: This is the first time since maybe 1987 when we lost a game to end the season and I was hopeful about next year rather than relieved this year was over.

* * * * *

Big: Topic! Meals you have been disappointed by, and why.

In order to distinguish “disappointing” restaurant meals from “bad” ones, I use the following rule: Without undue effort, can I remember anything I had to eat? Example: If you say “Hugo’s Cellar”, I can immediately say “NY strip with red wine reduction, tableside caesar, a bottle of Segura Viudas, and a plate of chocolate-dipped fruit.” But if you say “Aureole”, which is much more highly regarded by food snobs, I would still be — indeed, am — thinking “Now, was it venison, or elk? And there was something creamy. Polenta? Mashed potatoes?”

Using that standard, the five most disappointing meals of my life based on a prior-anticipation-to-eventual-memorableness ratio:

5) Arthur Bryant’s. Now, that doesn’t make it awful, but I had expected transcendence. The sauce, however, tasted like someone had spilled an awful lot of allspice in the mixing barrel. Turns out I prefer Memphis-style sauce. So, disappointing relative to buildup.

4) The muffuleta sandwich. Nothing but raves all around, and then I had one. (Yes, in New Orleans, at the Central Grocery.) Much too busy, and much too bready.

3) Prime, Las Vegas. The service was so, so, so bad that all else has been blocked from my memory. This is, without a doubt, the worst service I have had anywhere that I didn’t have to unwrap my food.

2) Aureole, Las Vegas. Everything was bland — the food, the decor, the service. Technically spectacular, but passionless and unmemorable. There is probably an excellent film-comparison to be made here. Maybe ‘Godzilla’. And I love Charlie Palmer’s steakhouse, so it’s not him personally.

1) Thai food. I keep trying, and people keep telling me the stuff is wonderful, but it just doesn’t do it for me. I’ve tried. I have. But it reminds me of Asian-influenced Kibbles ‘N’ Bits ‘N’ Bits ‘N’ Bits.

* * * * *

Nate, you’re next, and your humane solution to hunger will be accompanied by “Waiting For The Bus: A Play In One Act”

Countdown To A Letdown

“So I had to do everything a great many times, and of course all my jokes, which I thought were absolute killers when I wrote them in the privacy of my home, soon seemed, in this studio where I was telling them over and over…remarkably stupid, or even the opposite of jokes, anti-humor, somber remarks that you might make to somebody who had just lost his whole family in a boat explosion.”

-Dave Barry

The Keys Network is on the air.

And The Memes Just Keep On Coming

Tagged in by: Miami Tom.

Four jobs you’ve had in your life: Camp counselor, tax-dodging pizza delivery guy, Harry & Spike’s Jeremy-from-Sportsnight, freelance contributor

Four movies you could watch over and over: National Lampoon’s Vacation, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and L.A. Story.

Four places you’ve lived: Key West, Florida; Chicago, IL; Forest Park, IL; East Troy, WI

Four TV shows you love to watch: Assuming this question refers to presently-airing TV, Arrested Development, Pardon The Interruption, Scrubs, and Justice League Unlimited.

Four places you’ve been on vacation: Paris, Venice, Monte Carlo, and the Barbary Coast.

Four websites you visit daily: That aren’t on that grey sidebar? Florida Keys MLS, homes for sale south of Big Pine and >$500,000, I Shot Myself (NSFW), Intrepid Media, and Sportstalk 980’s stream, weekdays, for Mr. Tony..

Four of your favorite foods: Pain au chocolat, good warm bread, stuffed pizza — pizza generally — and salted tortilla chips with a hot but not thick salsa.

Four places you’d rather be: Aboard the space shuttle, attending ASSDEX, on a boat belonging to me, 1999.

Four albums you can’t live without: As of today: Cowboy Boots & Bathin’ Suits, Jerry Jeff Walker; He Got Game, Public Enemy; I Wish My Brother George Was Here, Del tha Funkee Homosapien; and a Johnny Cash CD my brother burned for me.

Okay, now we’ll see who really reads/doesn’t read this ragged lil’ blog- next four tagged: Whoever the top four are under “Better Blogs” on the left. Refresh the page if your writings aren’t among them.