Jeff Kay's Blog, page 35

Iggy in the Buff, Millennials in the Workplace, Giant Food, and How Was Your Easter?

Have you seen this?? It’s Iggy Pop posing nude for artists at the New York Academy of Art. I read a headline about it several days ago, and thought, “Yeah, OK.” All my emotion sensors are burned out by now, and this is my reaction to most “amazing” things.  Then I saw the photo above… Good god! Clearly, a couple of the sensors are still functioning.

Why that pose? You know his balls are resting on the surface of that ping-pong table, or whatever it is. Somebody probably had to Mr. Clean the smudge away, after he left. The scrotal elongation must be approaching critical mass by now. The man is nearly 70 years old! Talk about your low-hanging fruit. Unless, of course, he’s had a nut-lift or a scrote-pleat, or something similar.

And I love the serious expressions on the faces of the artists. I’d be shouting in protest, and probably covering my mouth and nose with my hand. I don’t know… I just assumed he was standing on a box, naked. This “splayed like he fell off a fire escape” pose actually managed to surprise me, which isn’t an easy thing to do.

They’re going to feature the drawings at a museum in Brooklyn, and then send them out on tour? I guess I know what I’ll be getting my mom for Mother’s Day this year!

Toney sent me a link to this video, and I ended up watching it three or four times, because it’s so accurate and perfect. What in the world is going on?! The delicate flowers have, quite literally, never heard a discouraging word.

And it appears the generation after the Millennials is even worse. Somebody wrote ‘Trump 2016’ on sidewalks in chalk on the campus of Emory University recently, and the student body was plunged into crisis. I assume they had to retreat to their “safe space” and watch Spongebob, do some therapeutic coloring, and down a few juice boxes? Diversity is extremely important to these kids, until it comes to ideas and opinions. Then, not so much. Even Bill Maher is disgusted.

Every few decades those delightful Germans decide it might be a good idea to take over the entire world by force. Next time they’ll likely be able to accomplish it by simply shouting unsanctioned phrases, and leaving the guns at home. Wotta a grand gang of pusslets.

Over the weekend Toney and I had two restaurant meals that featured outrageous serving sizes. This one is an appetizer called the Nachos Pile, from JJ Bridjes, a restaurant/bar near our house. I don’t like that extra J in their name, but am willing to give it a pass. I’m not happy about it, mind you, but they do a lot of stuff right there. In any case… when they brought this thing out, heads were turning. I’m not sure why they felt the need to incorporate an elevation device, but that made it even more ludicrous.

The shit was fantastic, though. The price? $10.95. The beer is a Dogfish Head 60 Minute Ale, which were five bucks per pint. We each had two. So, it was one of those deals where I asked Toney, “Wanna go get a beer somewhere?” and it ended up costing us 40 dollars.

The other craziness was our first visit to Primanti Brothers. It’s a Pittsburgh institution, now with a location here, famous for their enormous sandwiches. I just got ham and cheese, and almost had to unlatch my jaw like a snake. They put french fries on the sandwiches, which is interesting, I guess. But that was the only questionable part of it. Next time I might ask them to hold the fries. I realize that’s probably blasphemy, but there was something slightly off about the whole affair. And I think it was the fries on the sandwich. Not so much the taste, but the texture. Or maybe the temperature? I’m not sure, but I’m going to have to tinker with it a bit.

Finally, this is a picture of me, my grandmother, and Aunt Pam. It was taken on Easter, a few years back. I feel a little weird including a photo of my sainted grandmother — one of the finest people I’ve ever known — alongside Iggy Pop and his gaping anus. But they’re adequately separated, I think.

For the record, I didn’t wear a hat this year. In fact, Easter 2016 was about as low-key as it gets. Toney worked part of the day, and I wallowed around on couches in a disgraceful manner. After she was finished with her shift, we went looking at new cars. You know, when the dealerships are closed and the mustachioed and divorced salesman aren’t around? It was fun, but dangerous. If we start doing stuff like that, it’s only a matter of time before we’re in the small room signing papers again.

How was your holiday? We spent Easter 2008 in London, I recall, and it snowed. This one was a lot less memorable. What about yours? Tell us about it — or share your thoughts about any of the other stuff above — in the comments section.

And I’m going to call it a day, my friends.

I’ll see you again soon!

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Have You Been The Victim Of Vandalism? Me Too! Let’s Share Our Stories

Somebody threw an egg at my car. And that’s some level-three bullshit, right there. What the crap, man? It apparently happened overnight, Saturday into Sunday, while the car was parked in our driveway.

I assume it was local hooligans, out marauding and working off pent-up ball energy, or whatever. But what if it wasn’t? What if I was… targeted? Oh, this is the kind of thing that can mess with your head, if you let it.

I immediately started concocting conspiracy theories, and a list of people who might have a grievance with your corpulent correspondent.

Just a few days ago I kinda sorta got into it with a guy who was doing some work for us in the yard. But it wasn’t that bad, just a few seconds of conflict, quickly resolved. Surely, he didn’t come back and egg my car, did he? When I mentioned this to Toney she told me I’m insane. “It was kids,” she assured me.

She’s probably right, but I did some research on that guy, and he doesn’t have the best reputation. On the Facebook page of his so-called landscaping business, people left several comments about his combativeness and assholish tendencies. But throwing an egg at my car? Probably not. He seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to take a swing at somebody, not the type to do stuff on the sly. He seemed more hands-on, and can-do.

Of course, Poppa Half-Shirt hates my guts. But we’ve co-existed for almost sixteen years now, and he’s never done anything like that before. And I’m sure there are people at my job who wouldn’t mind vandalizing my car, but would they travel 40 miles to do it? I don’t see that happening. I make people 20 miles-mad, not 40.

So, I’m sure Toney’s right. It was just young shitheads, living up to their shithead destinies. Grrr… It was funny when I was on the other side of that equation, but not so amusing on this side of it. Oh well.

Do you guys have any victims o’ vandalism stories to tell? Like I say, I could write a book about all the crazy-ass destruction my friends and I perpetrated years ago. But I don’t have much on the receiving end, thankfully.

When I lived in a terrible neighborhood in Atlanta my car was repeatedly violated, like an altar boy. And one time somebody stole a basket of my just-washed laundry off the backseat of my Hyundai Excel. Yeah, that one took the cake, right there. Who steals laundry? Every time I passed some junkie derelict on the street there, for the next year, I wondered if he was wearing my saggy Hanes briefs underneath his bum uniform. Incredible!

But, overall, I’d say I’ve gotten off pretty easy in that regard. What about you? Do you have any stories to tell? Use the comments section to get it off your chest.

And I’ll see you guys again soon. I’m going to try to up the number of weekly updates here. We’ll see how it goes.

Have a great day, my friends!

Support us by doing your shopping at Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you guys!

Random Notes and Pathetic Excuse-Making, Straight from the Bunker!

Hello Surf Reporters! Sorry I disappeared again. I won’t bore you with the reasons, but it’s mostly work-related. Plus, it took me a long time to get over that weeks-long yuck I found myself trapped inside. I’m not a fan of the weeks-long yuck. In any case, I’m back at the helm. And feeling about as good as it gets at this point.

Yesterday I was off from work, but dragging massive ass for some reason. So, last night I went to bed around 9:30. I’m a fully-vested night owl, so that shit was outrageous. But I fell asleep immediately, and was clear-cutting timber for several hours. Then, around 3:15 am, I was wide awake. I realized I’d made a tactical error… If I got up for the day, I’d be destroyed at work later.

So, I read the Replacements book for almost two hours, and was out like a bastard again. Toney had to shake me awake at 9:30.

What the hell’s going on with me?? Is this just standard old man stuff? I had a health screening about two weeks ago, and everything except my enormous weight checked out. When they showed me my BMI they had to fold the paper out like a gas station map so I could see the entire line chart. But other than that… big green check marks.

I know it makes me sound like a Nostrildamus-caliber precious snowflake pussling, but I think it’s the unpredictable schedule I’m now working. Some days I’m going in early, other days I have to stay until 2 am, there are random days off here and there, yet I’m working my usual days off. I think it’s just kicking my ass. It’s a sad state of affairs. Holy hell.

Over the weekend I commissioned some small website tweaks, and think the Surf Report is looking mighty fine these days. I need to do some work on the new Read The Books! page, and a few other odds and ends. But I’m happy with the site, aesthetically speaking. It’s fun to shake it up every once in a while, and keep things fresh. Any opinions about the changes? Did you even notice them? It’s nothing too major, but all are improvements, I think.

Speaking of improvements… We’re finally having some work done to our deck. It was built during the late 1990s, during a time (we’re told) when it was the fashion to go concrete-free, or somesuch. I don’t really understand it, but supposedly there was a ten year, or so, period when decks were routinely erected without using concrete underneath the posts. Who came up with that brilliant idea, I do not know. But it happened before we owned the house.

And so, one corner of the deck was sinking into the ground. At first it was subtle enough that we could convince ourselves it wasn’t happening. But, eventually, it became both undeniable and ridiculous. It was also disturbingly shaky.

By last summer I didn’t even want to walk on the thing, much less sit out there with an adult beverage, or whatever. I was convinced it would lead to a TV news story that began “What started as a festive beer and nachos session ended in tragedy Saturday night, leaving a Clarks Summit man fighting for his life with a wooden plank through his fucking neck…”

But, we didn’t have the funds to fix it, so it just kept sinking and sinking and sinking. Until last week, when the deck reclamation project kicked off! Within two days a team of strangers brought that bitch back to life, and it’s now solid as a rock. All the posts have been replaced, one was added, and there are concrete footers in the ground. They also pressure-washed it, and will return to seal it as soon as there are three-in-a-row dry weather days predicted.

Man, this living like a normal human being feels like the lap of luxury to me. It also makes me mildly nervous. It’s been a long time.

Of course, it means we won’t be taking any vacations this year. Again. But we’re used to it. We haven’t done anything since the London trip in 2008. You know, the year of severance pay? The year I made more money than I ever have, and ever will, but didn’t have to show up for work? And the year I was an emotional basket-case nearly ‘round the clock, despite having what sounds like a pretty sweet situation on my hands? Yes, those were good times.

Any plans for the summer? Trips? Home improvements? Whoring? Please tell us about it in the comments. That’s your Question of the Day.

I need to get ready for work now. I haven’t shaved in several days, and look like a homeless man. Some people get that cool Jack-on-LOST scruffiness going, but I look like a person who would break into your tool shed, hunting for something to steal and turn into liquor money. Wotta rip-off.

I’ll be back soon, with more of this nonsense.

Thanks for reading, my friends!

Support us by doing your shopping at Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you guys!

The State Of My Fat Ass, vol. 42

I’m suffering a mopey low-grade yuck. It’s been hanging on for more than two weeks now, and enough is officially enough. It’s one of those annoying situations where you don’t feel horrible, but you certainly don’t feel good. For a long time.

I’m not a fan of the lingering. I’d prefer a couple days of full-on sickness over this long, drawn-out diluted affair. It’s bullshit, I tell ya. Wonder if it has anything to do with lack of beer? Hey, maybe that’s it?! Somebody get Dick Yuengling on the blower, stat!

Yesterday I approved yet another long-ass comment on this ancient Mockable article. The piece was uploaded in 2009, and still makes people angry and compelled to tap out hundreds of words of protest (or sometimes even agreement). I love it. The original premise of that website was outrageous articles with provocative titles, designed to inflame. And this super-obscure post, lodged in the anal canal of the internet itself, is proof that it could’ve worked. It feels like one person per week reads it, and simply MUST respond.

But… we almost immediately lost our way. Here’s something else I posted there, around the same time. I think it’s funny, but it doesn’t adhere to the original concept. And by the end I was posting short stories at that site. It was ludicrous. Also, Metten and I were far too ambitious. Five posts per week?! Man, that’s rich.

It’s still one of my favorite failures, though. We screwed it up, but there’s enough evidence to suggest our original instincts were sound. Of all the crazy crap I’ve begun and abandoned (the internet is littered with ’em) Mockable is the one I feel the most regret about. Oh well.

What’s your favorite failure?

Toney and I had lunch at Chipotle again on Saturday, and there was a big hair in my food. I bit down, pulled the burrito away from my mouth, and immediately realized I was still tethered to the thing. I yanked the intruder out, and it was at least a foot long. And it had a big hunk of chicken dangling off of it.

Toney was about to dry-heave, but I don’t know what it is… Hair in my food doesn’t bother me all that much. Oh, I’d prefer it not be there, but I don’t have the usual reaction to it. I think most people are reasonably clean, right? …Hello? In any case, it feels like an overrated revulsion to me. What are your thoughts on the subject?

Something that bothers me way more: men wearing loads of cologne. Or even a small amount, for that matter. That genuinely disgusts me, and not because I’m allergic, or anything like that. It just makes me sick… you know, smelling a man. Blecch.

Oh, and here’s another one…  I took my son to one of those walk-in clinics a few days ago, because he had a sinus infection or somesuch. And they had a touch screen sign-in kiosk. A touch screen! At a clinic full of people with ebola and SARS and the full lineup of hepatitises. I used my right pinky, for some reason believing that would limit my exposure to the nastiness, and ran scalding hot water over it as soon as I had the chance. What high-wage genius came up with that scheme? Seriously? Humanity is a shithouse.

I didn’t watch one minute of the Oscars last night. Who needs all that pomposity, and high-horsery? I will not be lectured by a parade of know-nothings with fortunate bone structure. Fuck off. Apparently, though… Hollywood is a hotbed of hardened racists. Klansmen, essentially. But aren’t they the same people who drive wind-up cars and wear “I’m better than you” ribbons and choke up while discussing the LGBTLMNOP community? It’s confusing. Every year they remind us they’re the best and most sophisticated among us, yet they’re also white supremacists? Who knew?

Speaking of high-horsery, I saw this obnoxious shirt at the mall yesterday. The interesting thing about it? It’s priced at $24.99. Ha! It’s basically a thin white Hanes undershirt, which cost about three bucks at Wal-Mart. It’s a good thing lack of self-awareness doesn’t kill.

I’d like to conduct an experiment here, which will probably fail miserably. Who’s with me?! I asked Toney to do it, and also the older boy, and got some interesting results. If you have a smart phone, open the texting app and type the words “People are.” Then… tell us what your phone predicts will be the next word. For me it’s “goddamn,” “gross,” and “stupid.” That should give you an indicator of… something. Toney’s results were similar, but the boy had stuff like “awesome,” etc. How?? Does the phone just default to shit like that? It makes me sad. Anyway, if you’d like to share, please do. And yes, I know… some of you don’t text because you’re heroes. Got it.

What are your feelings on household coffee mugs? Toney and I never discussed it, or laid down a formal plan, or anything. But we basically have my mugs and her mugs, and proceed accordingly. It’s worked for 25 years, or however long we’ve been drinking coffee together. But when it comes to the kids it’s just full-on mug anarchy. A few days ago I saw the older boy (people are awesome!) drinking from a mug with JEFF on the side. My mother bought it for me, back in the ’70s, I think. That just blows my mind. I guess I can understand the anarchy from their perspective; they’re just going for whatever happens to be in the cabinet. But I’d never use a mug with another person’s name on it. Is that strange? How do you handle this situation? Anything goes, or is there an unwritten rule like Toney and I have? And does it drive you absolutely insane when a visitor is manhandling one of your favorite mugs? Not treating it with the care it deserves? Asking for a friend…

I need to go now. Another high-stress week beckons. I sprinkled a few few half-assed questions throughout this update, so please do with them what you will. And I’ll be back soon.

Have a great day, my friends!

Support us by doing your shopping at Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you guys!

Say Again?! Welcome To My Big Fat Muffled Week

My sound-catchers have shit the bed, my friends. My dad has had trouble with his ears all his life, and passed that gift along to his oldest son. Yes, it’s nothing short of fantastic. So, I’m an old pro at this crap, but it’s not usually this bad. I often wake up and one of my ears is sealed off like a nuclear submarine, but this week… it’s both ears. And that’s no good, no good at all.

The worst part is how it throws off my equilibrium. Not being able to hear is bad, but feeling disoriented and out-of-it is worse. A couple of days ago at work I was talking to a big shot in the hallway, about some job boolshit, and began babbling like an idiot. I couldn’t form sentences, and once I was off-track… wasn’t able to find my way back. It was disturbing. For both of us. I mean, what the hell? Speaking is now a bridge too far?

And yes, I couldn’t hear jack shit for a while. I was constantly saying, “What?” And who wants to be around that all the time? I certainly don’t. I was annoying myself. My counterpart at work came to my desk a couple of days ago, and started to tell me something in confidence. You know, speaking in hushed tones, etc.? And I’m not kidding… I could see his lips moving, but couldn’t hear a thing. Nothing at all. It was scary. I told him to just send me an instant message. Fuck it. In fact, I probably shouted it, because I no longer possessed the ability to modulate.

But, it’s getting better. Yesterday morning I came downstairs — with both ears still sealed off — and Toney started giving me grief about the TV in the living room. “I keep the volume at 8 or 9,” she said. “And when I turned it on this morning it was at 52.” Incredulous, I said, “I can’t hear!! I’ve been telling you this all week! Do you think I’m exaggerating–” And right then, my left ear popped open and everything was clear as a bell on the left side. It was glorious. An eargasm.

The right one is still not hitting on all cylinders, though. It’s improved slightly, but I’m still a bit slap-happy. In fact, I’m having trouble writing this update. The words just aren’t flowing (and I’m using phrases like slap-happy). But, when I got home from work last night I noticed I set the volume at 24. So, there you go. A measurable improvement.

Another thing that irritates me about these episodes? Everybody’s unsolicited medical advice. Suddenly the whole world is made up of ear, nose, and throat specialists… I’ve been through this dozens of times, and seen ACTUAL doctors about it. The the only thing there is to do is ride it out. It has nothing to do with wax, thank you very much (always with the wax!), and decongestants don’t help. Oh god. I’m getting irritated just thinking about it. Everybody’s an expert, on every subject. And the more stupid the person, the more they know.

So, I’m not a fan of all the advice. I’ll offer some, though. If you’re experiencing this kind of thing, leave your ears alone. Oh, you’ll feel a powerful urge to mess with them, and try to break the seal. But it’s a fool’s errand. Every time you stick your pinky in there, and wiggle it around… you’ve added another 12 hours to the ordeal. Or thereabouts. It’s almost like poison ivy. It itches like a bastard, but if you scratch it, you’re just spreading it around. Be strong and don’t touch your ears. It’ll greatly shorten the suffering.

And I’m going to work now. Sorry I’m so grouchy, but this has been one shitty-ass week. And there are still two days left. How is it possible?!

For a Question, let’s just go with a classic. If you were forced to give up one of the five senses (XTC taught me they are ‘see, hear, smell, touch, taste’), which would you choose? And why? Use the comments link.

And I’ll see you guys again soon.

Have a great day!

Support us by doing your shopping at Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you guys!

A Few Quick Things, Vol. 19

While the Super Bowl was underway last night I watched the latest episode of Hell’s Kitchen (that obnoxious Jackie needs to go), two episodes of Restaurant Startup (why??), and two hours of The Killing (starting to lose me a bit). I did see about 30 minutes of the game, and it was 10-0 Denver when I jumped ship on account o’ the boredom.

I drank a few beers last night, too. It was the first time I had alcohol in 2016, and regret it. It cost me $20 for a case, and I didn’t even enjoy it all that much. Oh, it was fine, but not worth 20 bucks. Today I invited Toney to finish ’em off during the next week or two. And I’m going back on the wagon. Fukkit. I’m sleeping better, and making progress on the ridiculous novel I’m slowly (very slowly) writing. So… somebody should alert Dick Yuengling that his profits are going to continue to slide for a while.

Yesterday I had to be at work at 5 am, which nearly killed me. I’ve worked nights since 2007, and whenever I have to shake it up a bit… I find myself one step away from a hospital stay. When I got home yesterday, around 2 pm, I could barely function. I reportedly downed a footlong BMT from Subway, and don’t really even remember buying or ingesting the thing. Then I slipped into a mini-coma, while sitting upright on the couch, and woke in complete darkness. My head was ratcheted off to the right, like I was hanging from a rope. Hours had passed, and everything except my tiny Hawking head was in exactly the same position.

Can somebody please pass the hot water bottle? Sheesh. I’m starting to give Nostrils a run for the money over here. Cooking shows instead of football and beer? Absolute emotional and physical collapse because I had to get up early? It’s sad.

But let’s move on… I just rebooted this computer, because it was acting all sluggish and bogged-down. I hit restart at 3:36, and it was usable again at 4:04. It shouldn’t take 28 minutes to reboot a desktop computer, right? I didn’t think so. And my laptop isn’t much better. Both are running Windows Vista, which should give you an idea about their age.

I’m thinking about replacing the laptop soon, but need some advice. I use Microsoft Word a lot, and need to upgrade that shit too. I’m using Office 2003 on the laptop, my desktop, and Toney’s desktop. What’s the best (cheapest) way to get a newer version on all three machines? It’s gotten complicated, with subscription models and PC Key Cards, etc. What in the tight-fisted hell? I’d just like to have the same version across all three computers, without having to send a pallet of cash to Redmond, WA. Ya know?

Help me out, won’t you? Sure, I could do some research, and educate myself, but it would require a level of effort I’m not willing to put forth at the moment. Thank you in advance for enabling my half-assery.

A few days ago I went into a public men’s room, and there was a pair of jeans stuffed into the trash can. Please help me understand what happened… I can come up with a couple of scenarios, without too much trouble, but there’s a fundamental problem with both of them. What are your thoughts? Use the comments link.

Wanna see something mind-boggling? Check out this “news” item about Sammy Hagar (gasp!) wishing Eddie Van Halen a happy birthday on Twitter. Then Sammy (are you ready for this??) thanked him. That’s it. That’s the whole story. And it’s generated more than 1200 comments and 6000 social media shares. I don’t know or understand such a level of nerdery. I sometimes wish I had that much passion about something, but don’t. I wonder if anyone had to call off work because of this?

On Sunday Toney and I went to Chipotle for lunch and the thought of contracting E.coli jumped to mind. Oh, they’ve had their troubles… But, damn, their chicken bowls are so freakin’ good, I’m willing to risk it. While standing in line, I told Toney I was going to lighten the mood a bit, and ask the guy at the counter to give me “an extra shot of that Mexican shit water” with my meal. But she advised me to play it straight, and I did. Maybe next time?

In addition to the questions, I’ve already asked… here’s another one for ya: Do you think anybody is pissed at you right now, or at least annoyed? If so, why? Tell us about it, won’t you?

And I need to go now. I’m still not hitting on all cylinders, and feel like burrowing into a couch or chair, and maybe watching some mediocre-at-best television.

I’ll see you guys again soon.

Have yourselves a great day!

Support us by doing your shopping at Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you guys!

A Few Quick Things, vol. 20

Yesterday I had to piss to like Man o’ War, and stopped at a Sheetz to find sweet relief. The place was pandemonium, and I walked in with two doucheketeers approximately 19 years of age. If John Hughes were still alive and making teen comedies, these guys could’ve easily been slotted into “rich prick” roles. They had that air about them: a kind of deep-seated arrogance that comes from a life of privilege. At least that’s how I sized them up during our 10 second encounter.

I navigated through a sea of people pouring themselves coffees and adding a little of this, and a little of that. Sip sip… add some more, stir…  It’s convenience store coffee, assholes! Jesus. My bladder was stretched to its fullest capacity, and now that the end was near the anguish intensified for some reason.

And as the bathroom entrance came into view, I saw those two guys go in. Great! I’m not a fan of communal elimination of any kind, especially shoulder-to-shoulder with two snarky teenagers with high self-esteem. So, I went to the ATM to give them a little lead time. Finally, I entered the men’s room with not much time to spare.

Yeah, both those guys were in there shitting. There were two stalls, and they occupied both of them, and were apparently engaged in some kind of ass-blasting contest. They were putting their whole diaphragms behind it, making as much noise as possible, and laughing and laughing and laughing. I stood at a urinal peeing one of those kinds of pees that had been pent up for so long it kinda burned. And those two idiots were creating something that sounded like the first 25 minutes of Saving Private Ryan. With their anuses.

I just don’t understand any of it. I know women like to go to the bathroom together, but what I endured yesterday just doesn’t compute with me. Are dudes crapping together now? How did they synchronize it? Did they discuss it on the way over, and decide to turn into sport? Why so much sustained flatulence? Doesn’t it usually taper off a bit? What the hell’s going on with our society?? I’m near tears.

Speaking of sports, the woman who was cutting my hair yesterday asked who I was pulling for in “the big game” next weekend. Has the NFL successfully intimidated everyone, including hair stylists, into never using the phrase “Super Bowl,” for fear of being sued? It felt like an odd choice of words. In any case, I told her I don’t know anything about it. I’m not even sure who’s playing. Boston? Do they have a team? I have no idea. And that abruptly ended our conversation. She was clearly taken aback by my strangeness. I probably should do a better job of faking it, huh? Like I do with adulthood.

Just wondering… Have you EVER owned a coffee maker with a carafe that doesn’t leak when you’re pouring water into it? I’m a very old man, with an inordinate amount of coffee maker exposure, and they all leak. I try to pour very slowly, thinking that will help. But it only takes longer, with the exact same results: water all over the counter. It’s 2016. We all carry around computers in our pockets. Why no corresponding leap forward in carafe technology?? I’ve about had it.

We bought a new TV around Christmastime, that’s modern and connects to the internet, etc. Our previous living room TV was a throwback to the 1990s: a big-ass tube set. But this new one allows us to watch Netflix upstairs, and not just in the family room downstairs — which the boys dominate. Oh, it’s opened up a whole new set of bad habits. I’m now watching Too Much Television… Last night, for instance, Toney and I watched three episodes of House of Cards. We’re almost finished with Season 3, and will have to move on to something new. And then, after she went to bed, I watched ANOTHER three episodes of The Killing. I’ve become mildly fixated on that show, and rush home from work and watch one or two episodes every night. But last night was ridiculous. I’m disgusted with myself. I really am.

Question of the Day: What do you think should be taught in high school, that’s not? What real-life skills are people lacking these days? What are your thoughts on this? Use the comments link above or below.

And I’m late for work. Gotta go. I’ll see you again soon.

Have a great day!

Support us by doing your shopping at Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you guys!

A Few Quick Things, vol. 71

We got roughly a half-inch of snow here at Chez Kay from the Storm of the Century(tm). Apparently we were literally on the outer edge of that thing, because everyone was clobbered just a few miles south of us. In fact, there were nine inches on the ground where I work, 36 miles from our house. And some of my co-workers had over a foot. It’s weird, but I’ll take it. We “shoveled” with a broom.

On Friday night I worked until 1:30 am, and as I approached my exit… saw what must have been twenty emergency vehicles with flashing lights in the southbound lanes of I-81. It looked like a carnival of tragedy over there. I was heading north, but could see two cars in a mangled mess as I passed, and it didn’t look good. Not at all. It caused a chill to go up my spine, relieved only by the sack of cheeseburgers I purchased at McDonald’s a few minutes later.

The next morning I shuffled downstairs, and Toney said, “Did you see that big wreck on 81 last night??” Turns out it was caused by a wrong-way driver, and four people died. The newspaper article said it happened at 1:16 am, and I probably passed by there at 2:00 am. Freaky, man.

Check out these two articles about the accident, and pay special attention to the comments at the bottom. We’re very near the end of civilization, right? I sometimes blame all the rage and kneejerk conspiracy theories on the local assholes, but Facebook makes it clear it’s everywhere now. People are goddamn stupid, and CONVINCED they’re smart. It’s not a great combination.

In any case, have you ever happened upon recent carnage on a roadway? Please tell us about it, if you’re so inclined. How many burgers did it take to shake it?

We sent our oldest son to Florida, to spend some time with my parents. He needs a change of scenery, and some time to think. He’s not in trouble, or anything. He’s just 19 and… adrift. Just like I was at 19. Well, actually he’s got his shit together better than I did, but it’s similar. A week away from his friends and normal routine might give him an opportunity for reflection. At least that’s the hope.

I took him to the airport yesterday, gave him a hug, and told him I’d see him soon. And… this morning I spoke with him, and they were getting ready to go on an air boat ride through the Everglades. So, it’s just turning into a vacation. NOT what I had in mind, but whatever.

At what age do you think you truly grew up? I’m still a work in progress, and that’s not really a joke. Toney keeps me from coming completely off the rails, but if it weren’t for her… I think I’d probably still be neck-deep in dumbass. I’ve always been able to maintain a job, and think I’m a decent dad, but am still nowhere near a full-time adult. Oh, I can fake it fairly well, and turn it off and on, but I’m not even in the same hemisphere as the adults of my youth. Do you think they were faking it too? Somehow I doubt it.

Speaking of faking it, I need to go now. The workplace beckons.

Have yourselves a great day, my friends!

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Do You Own Every Episode Of Any TV Shows? And Do You Still Buy DVDs At All?

I know, better than most, that DVDs (including Blu-ray) are pretty much yesterday’s news. I worked in that industry for many years, and it’s quickly going the way of the Fotomat. Not that it makes me happy, mind you. I like to own things. Streaming is fine, but I prefer to POSSESS the stuff I truly love. Is that weird?

Here are the complete TV series I’ve procured through the years:

The Sopranos

Deadwood

Homicide: Life on the Streets

LOST

Monty Python’s Flying Circus

The Young Ones

My So-Called Life

Seinfeld

Curb Your Enthusiasm

Get A Life

The Andy Griffith Show (B&W episodes only)

Saturday Night Live (original cast seasons only)

There might be others, but I think that about covers it. I’d like to add a few more to the list, including Freaks and Geeks, King of the Hill, I Love Lucy, The Honeymooners, The Twilight Zone, and The Fugitive. Maybe even Perry Mason and Mannix. Also, I’d like to own every episode of Fernwood 2 Night, but it’s not available yet. At least not legitimately. And Green Acres! They only released the first three seasons. What in the pearl-handled hell??

Do you POSSESS any complete TV series? Which ones would you like to add to your collection? Are there any you wish they’d release, and haven’t? Tell us about it in the comments.

Also, do you still buy movies on DVD? I don’t. Not really. I have a few on my Amazon Wishlist, including Over the Edge, Falling Down, and this Jacques Tati collection. But I almost never buy movies. Maybe one per year? In fact, that might be overstating it. What about you? Bring us up to date on your DVD-buying habits.

And I know this one is quarter-assed, at best. But I live a life of sustained chaos. Give me a break. Sheesh.

I’ll see you guys again soon.

Have a great day!

Support us by doing your shopping at Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you guys!

Toney Bought A New Bathroom Scale, And Nothing’s Been The Same Since

The way it started should’ve been an indicator. Last Thursday, I think, I was backing out the front door, leaving for work. After I got everything locked up tight, I took a step backward to allow the storm door to close, and tripped over a big-ass Amazon box. It’s a wonder I didn’t go fully-inverted into the bushes. What the hell, man? Right in front of the door??

I shouted profanity, as required by international law, unlocked the door, and shoved the box inside. Then I locked it again, and was on my way.

Later, I asked Toney what in God’s name she’d ordered. It was a big box, and I couldn’t remember her mentioning anything to me. “Oh, just a new bathroom scale,” she said. “The old one is a piece of junk.” A scale in a box that huge? Hey, whatever.

The next morning I saw it in the downstairs bathroom, and it’s very fancy indeed. I think it connects to a satellite, or the international space station, or somesuch. I’m almost certain it has a hard drive. I decided to try that puppy out…

And that’s when things took a dark turn. I stepped onto the scale, and it came instantly to life. After it finished all its flashing and calculating, a number was displayed that made me gasp. No way that can be accurate, right? Something must be askew. “Toney!” I hollered. And after she assured me it didn’t need to be calibrated, or connected to a water line or anything, I was plunged into a despair that has not yet lifted.

I mean, I know I’m fat. There’s no delusion at play here. But I’d plateaued a long time ago, and never fully crossed into comic book store territory. Ya know? There’s fat, and then there’s fat. I was merely fat. But now I’ve apparently broken loose from that 10-year plateau, and am hurtling end-over-end toward a world where I’ll eventually have chest pains and will need to be transported to the hospital via fiberglass pallet hanging underneath a helicopter. I have visions of me bloated, crying, and bouncing off church steeples.

It’s very upsetting, and I haven’t really stopped talking about it. Toney has long ago given me the “Enough!” speech. “Do something about it,” she shouted. “Talking and talking and talking does nothing.” Yes, it’s important to have a strong support network. I know she’s right, of course, but can’t I be allowed the traditional two or three-week whine? Sheesh.

Then we went to Philadelphia on Saturday, completely unplanned. Both of us were off from work, and didn’t want to just hang around and wallow in the local sadness again. So, one of us suggested we drive down to Philly, have lunch, and walk around for a few hours.

We ended up at Reading Market, which is basically an extreme food court featuring local folks and no chain restaurants. It was pandemonium in that place, just packed to the rafters. We ended up eating at a joint called The Original Turkey. We both had a reasonable facsimile of Thanksgiving dinner for lunch, and it was an ENORMOUS amount of food. I mean, it was insanity. Even I had trouble making it all disappear, and that’s saying something. The price? Thirteen dollars per plate.

I announced that I’d probably not be hungry again until sometime Sunday afternoon, and within fifteen minutes… found myself buying a cannoli for Toney and a comically-oversized eclair for myself. It was so crowded, I suggested we go outside to feast on our bounty.

We crossed the street, and stood in front of a hotel. I handed Toney her dainty little package, and I ripped into my heavy-ass sack. Oh man… it was impossibly good. I think my eyes were rolling back in my head as I savored every bite of that huge thing.

Then I turned and saw my reflection in the hotel glass.

“Oh my God!” I screamed. “Look at me!! Standing on a street corner in Philadelphia, fat as hell, stuffing an eclair the size of a goddamn headrest into my face. I’ve officially hit rock bottom. I’m a freaking sow!!”

Toney made it clear she didn’t want to hear it, so I kept it all bottled up. But that vision will never leave my memory. I hope I don’t develop Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The thing I saw on Saturday… no human should be forced to endure.

I don’t have time to go into it right now, but the next day I went shopping for shirts and it touched off  yet another emotional meltdown. Holy shit! I’ve got to do something, and quick. It feels like I’m only about two months away from developing the Walk o’ the Fatty. You know, where you have to swing your legs out and around, instead of just forward and backward?

I’m off the beer, and am planning to get back onto the daily four-mile walks. I did it for a while, had a bad experience one day, and stopped. Loser! I have one soda per day, with dinner at work, and could easily jettison that bullshit. All that’s gotta help, right? I’m not going on some stupid diet where I eat nothing but slimy lettuce.

Anyway, that’s what’s on my mind at the moment. I’m freaking out, man. I can’t have this. I mean, seriously.

What’s on your mind? Unburden yourself, if you’d like. Also, have you ever dropped, say, 70 pounds or thereabouts? How’d you do it? Did you have to go full-slime with it? Help me out, won’t you?

I’m going to work now. Fuck it.

I’ll see you guys again soon.

Support us by doing your shopping at Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you guys!