My Favorite Time of Year

Between the changing leaves, horror movie marathons, and cool night, this is my favorite time of year. Granted the leaves will need to be raked, the movies aren't that good, and well cool becomes cold, but I still can't help but like it. AMC has shown horror flicks for about 8 days now, and they still aren't done. Liz and I have managed to watch the first three Exorcist films, a few Friday the 13ths, a Halloween (the odd third one that didn't have Michael Myers), and there's more to come. There has also been an abundance of shows about haunted locals. Sometimes different series will go to the same place. Hopefully there will be plenty of leftover candy. Mmmmmmm yum!

I Don't Mean to be Insensitive ...

Over the years I've seen an increasing amount of attention being paid to cancer, cancer causes, and cancer charities. Of these, it's impossible not to notice the often singular focus on one particular cause: breast cancer. Perhaps I'm not the right person to point this out, as men have a much smaller likelihood of contracting the disease, but many of the people I care most about are women. It's not that I'm not supportive of those with the disease, those who have to constantly worry about contracting it, and those who have lost loved ones to it--far from it. It's just odd that with so many forms of cancer, many others that strongly impact women (and men), it seems odd to only draw attention to one.

October is breast cancer awareness month. I see many companies supporting the cause with pink merchandise, charitable donations, and other means of support. What about ovarian cancer? What about prostate cancer (what color is that ribbon)? What about the dudes who have breast cancer--do they like being associated with a pink ribbon? Why do we ask consumers/donors/supporters to choose between different forms of cancer? Lance Armstrong (a dude that I don't have a whole lot of respect for, but follow along with me) didn't just support those with nut cancer. Anyway, I just think it's ridiculous that it has gotten this far. I love my mom, my girlfriend, and I generally like breasts. I just don't breasts are more important than ovaries, skin, pancreases, lungs, brains, etc ...

Can someone explain this to me? Am I an ass?

An Odd Sorta Deja Vu (part two--sad but true)

I've come to the conclusion that the two best movies I've seen in theaters this year are Victorian era magician flicks. As I wrote earlier they were so similar I and many others in the theater saw the preview for the one while watching the other and thought we were somehow in the wrong theater. Anyway, these two films, The Illusionist and The Prestige are very good, and this seems to be quite the exception these days. If I had to choose one, I'd go for The Prestige though.

Then again, we saw The Prestige for $4!!! Apparently the theater at Crosswoods only charges $4 for the first showing of the day (12:45 in this case), and I'm a sucker for a deal. The $6 normal price there is pretty good, but the $4 is a steal.

My First Act as a Dim Wit

I still don't feel too dim-witted, but the loss of my wisdom teeth has made me nauseous and unhappy. I can't help but think of that song by the Verve--The Drugs Don't Work. Drat! At least I have the greatest nurse in the world to bring me back to health. Honestly it hasn't been too bad (she may tell a diff story having put up with me). When I woke up from the anaesthesia, I checked for scars in my chest to see if I had my kidneys or other shit boosted, and fortunately everything seems there (and my pants were still on). I resisted the temptation to dig around my mouth, as the hollow craters were my once mighty teeth stood would be a sad reminder of my decision, and I may regret my choice (not as much as I regret putting Being Bobby Brown on the TV--I'm trapped. That was my first dim witted move).

Fortunately I was able to keep the teeth, so I can make something out of them. Shit, in fifty years they may be the only teeth I have left.

A Blast from the Past

Every now and then I have nothing better to do than look back at some previous part of my life, and I usually end up laughing. I suppose that's a good thing, but some times I'm not so sure, anyway ...

Someone mentioned going to gay clubs, and I recalled some of my coworkers I used to hang out with down in Gainesville, and where we'd go. Gainesville is an odd town. It's a big town, but hardly a city, and the plethora of students and generally progressively minded folk made it rather open to all sorts of people (sadly with all sorts of smells, but that's another blog). Anyway, me and my friends/coworkers would often go to this establishment known as the University Club, or simply UC.

If you've clicked on the hyperlink, well, you know what type of establishment it is. If not, let's just say they were proud of the fact that the entrance was in the back. Depending on what night you'd show up, you could see a real eyeful, but if you stuck to Thursdays it was rather heterosexual friendly, plus that's when all the drag queens performed. More than a few actually worked at the same company as me. What's odd is looking back to how many times I went to an un-air-conditioned gay bar in Gainesville, Florida (arguably the hottest sweatiest place in the US). On top of it all, I'd drag (maybe not the best word choice) back to work, only to see many of the people I saw the night before (sometimes they were expressing a different gender).

I honestly think I went out more on Wednesday and Thursday than Friday and Saturday (Friday was house party night and Saturday was pretty much the same). Wednesdays I'd either go to a coffee bar for open mic night at a Common Grounds, a coffee bar that also had good beer--cheep! or if I was hangin' with a posse, 80s night at the rotator. The place was called that because the bar rotated. Well one of them did. Since the place was owned by ABC liquors, it had like 5 bars in a small venue, and everything was cheap house brand stuff ($3 long islands--big ones!). The dance floor was a crazy Saturday Night Fever-style light up affair. What really topped it all was the reality that the other six nights a week the place was a redneck bar (it was 10 miles outside of town).

Oh, speaking of cheap long islands--there was Ashley's Mexican Pub (yeah, what a concept), which featured long islands and margaritas in goldfish bowls. The best part was they were $4. The worst part--you needed to alcohol to cleanse your mouth from their less than stellar food. After a few, you wouldn't give a shit.

Ah, those were the days. I don't miss them, but I do think about them every now and then.

I'm Surrounded by Lazy Wusses

I'm no water cooler etiquette scholar, though I suppose writing about this puts me among the more contemplative water cooler users, but I suppose it should be a common courtesy to refill the water cooler if you've depleted it. I know I'm a big strapping young lad, able to curl 5 gallon water tanks in each hand, but is it too much to ask the average dude to replace an empty water jug with a full one? I suppose the previous drinkers may have been ladies or perhaps elderly, but in two of the three (yes 3!) times today where I was greeted with an empty water cooler, I saw men departing the scene of the crime (the third time saw a solitary water cooler free of clues). Granted I guzzle a lot of water (I drink a shitload of hot tea--black in the morning, oolong midday, and green in the afternoon/evening--maybe jasmine every now and then), but changing that water cooler five times in two days is crazy. I imagine Han changes the water cooler in the Millennium Falcon every now and then. Chewie may owe him a life debt, but a bitch he is not.

The Dream is Over

For at least a decade I've resisted the persistent efforts of many people to give in and join the dim witted masses. I've always looked forward to the opportunity to one day be a wise old man, kinda like a slightly taller and less green Yoda, and I knew to give in would shatter those dreams. Temptation has come and gone, with many 'professionals' seeking to crack my armor.

Tomorrow I will give in. Adios wisdom teeth. I will miss you: from the challenges of brushing you, to the odd aches and pains, I never quite forgot you were there. I'll wake from my slumber, and I'll poke around to make sure I wasn't toothjacked while I was asleep, and for once, I'll not reassuringly find them. RIP

My Odd Hobby (continued)

Last month I wrote about my odd hobby of wandering through the Wikipedia, getting lost in articles about interesting topics, which likely only interest me (and whoever put so much effort into writing that article). At the time I used some articles regarding death metal, death grunts, cookie monstering, etc.. as examples of my readings. Yesterday I discovered the greatest hidden treasure of interesting crap. The holy grail of time wasting. Articles regarding pro wrestling.

While I'm not the wrestling aficionado my girlfriend is, I've watched more than a little wrestling, and I've had friends who are more than willing to suspend disbelief (I've found that some refer to these types as smarks) in the whole show (which is known as Kayfabe). I can still remember the good ole days (rather Monday nights) of watching Raw and Nitro simultaneously either at my friend Mark (the dude who believe it all way too much) or better yet Hungry Howies, where all you can eat pizza met two different wrestling programs at once--a perfect storm of white trash euphoria. It almost brings a tear to my eye.

Anyway, I've read up on the Montreal Screwjob, which some people really seem bothered by, the Freebird Rule, the Dusty Finish, and the fact I wasn't the only one grossed out by X-Pac. Histories on The New World Order, the Four Horsemen, and Legion of Doom, D-Generation X are more complete than much of the crap I learned in school. I know more about Ric Flair, Gorilla Monsoon, and Sgt Slaughter (did you know he recorded a whole album--complete with a Niel Diamond cover!)

Some Fond Memories of Old

Being football season and the best part of football season (that period before the Gators lose), I'm a little nostalgic for some of the memories I've had attending games. I started going to UF games back when I was in high school with both my brother and a friend of mine procuring tickets. I would go to an occasional home game (especially against shitty teams) or even the SEC championship (my friend's parents really saw me as a positive influence in his life, so they would take me on trips to Atlanta and shit). Anyway, it all was rather fun, but the real fun started when I got to college. From watching colossal Peyton Manning chokes to ungodly scores against mediocre teams I saw a lot.

1996 was cool, as I went to 10 games, got to meet Rick Flair--whew!, taunt Kirk Herbstriet, see police dogs and mace get used (all the same game), and I got to wait in line for tickets for over a day. Boy that was quite a scene, as people brought couches, TVs, Playstations, and an insane amount of junk food to hold them over. We all camped out in the stadium, and the athletic department even pitched in for pizza. That led up to being able to watch the Gators win their only national title (and my revulsion for how nasty New Orleans was--it has since bathed). Also in there was an unfortunate incident in Atlanta where I strained my groin yelling real loud. Fuck that hurt.

Speaking of yelling loud, I once had someone get the cops on me for making too much noise. I used to go to all the Jacksonville Jaguars games, and the dude in the seat in front of me claimed I was harming him by cheering a little. The cops laughed at him, the rest of the seating section taunted him, and he never returned. That seat remained unoccupied the rest of the year. Perhaps the most eventful happening at a Jacksonville game was watching a drunk guy swing and miss hitting some guy he was pissed at and hit his own daughter. Poor girl. Oh, we sat in the 'no drinking, no cussin' section of the stadium--lot of good that did.

I suppose I'll go to more games sometime in my life, but it was quite a blast then, and it will likely never be the same.

It's Official, I'm Getting Old

It all started six months ago, I parked where I should have known I'd get towed, and I left my debit card at the bar. Neither mistake worked out to well for me, but at least I found out real cool that my girlfriend would come through for me (the next day was our first encounter, and she helped me get it all straightened out). Twice in the past few months I've left the water running in the sink in the middle of the night (at least this icky boy washes his hands)--not a good sign. Yesterday I left my headlights on, and owing to the place I park, only the graces of one of those portable jump starters (likely designed for blonds in distress), saved the day.

Today I'm 30. It's a good age, and so far it's been a good year (check back with me in a few months for a more detailed assessment). I suppose I should expect to leave stuff in the microwave and maybe encounter a forgotten Thanksgiving turkey in the oven when I go to bake Christmas cookies. Now if only I could remember to take ginko biloba.

My Luck has Run Out

Who the fuck invented the Pot Luck? It must have been someone who is a lot more lucky than me, as I never seem to see fortune smile on me when these dreaded events are thrust upon me.

Right now I'm being assaulted by the symphony of stench generated by six, yes six, crock pots bubbling mysterious ooze, deviled eggs that the devil himself would torture only the worst inhabitants of hell with, and countless festering trays of odd concoctions. Nothing is remotely healthy, and if you can't tell, it all scares me. Why should I trust the culinary exploits of would be strangers purely based on the fact that I work with them?

Today is a big pot luck day at work, so it's not just my department bringing out the 'old family recipes' (which seem more like the secret ingredient is a long departed old family member--poor Fido), but rather a whole building with crock pots churning on all corners of all floors. I'm quite surprised the lights haven't dimmed. What's even more odd is that it started in the parking lot, as one group of 'hard working' associates had set up a tailgate outside with a TV, grill, coolers, etc... Kinda hard to get much work done. Then again, to be honest, it's hard to work while being inundated with whiffs of nausea inducing fumes in here.

Gotta go find some place to barf.