(no subject)

Everyone at the press agrees that Willougbhy's brews some nasty coffee (it always tastes burned), but we sure as hell drink it when Cornell (vendor guy) brings a bunch of free cups over. I wish someone would tell him to start going to Koffee? but I guess you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

It's always surprised me that there's no coffee machine here; people are on their own when it comes to caffeine. I don't even think there's a pot you can use in the lunchroom. I think a couple of people have their own pots in their offices. I've thought about bringing one in, but I've resisted because I'd be drinking forty cups a day if I did. Most everyone just makes treks to a coffee shop, though. Is that weird? I always thought any office worth its salt would furnish coffee, but maybe that's a notion from a bygone era. Or maybe we're just not worth our salt.

Actually I'm mostly off coffee these days, but I'm drinking Coke like a fool again. Today I'm drinking both. This is not good.

Here's a goofy picture I found of my stepbrothers. That's Fool on the left and Grimmett on the right. They were some weird kids, man. They both grew up to be fairly handsome, but goddamn, they were funny-lookin' back in the day. Especially High Tide Mickey (Fool).

(no subject)

It's funny how random memories just pop into your brain all of a sudden. Just now I was thinking about one time in Dec. 1995 when I was going into work a closing shift at Burger King in Radford, VA. I was probably about half-crocked or at least hung over as hell. So as I got to the front door, I looked over at one of the plate-glass windows and saw this painted with that fake snow stuff:



I thought: "Who in the hell is Leon? I never know what the fuck is happening around here." I shook my head, kept walking, and went back in the office.

It was only about twenty minutes later that I stopped in the middle of counting the safe or whatever I was doing and thought, "Oh, wait . . . Noel."

(no subject)

Quick, someone help. WTF did I do with the Dyer jacket mechanical? I was supposed to take it downstairs, and now I have NO IDEA where it is. But I know I didn't take it downstairs.

update: Whew, I found it. Instead of taking it downstairs to Jonathan I took it upstairs to Nancy. I swear I'm losing my ever-loving mind.

they called each other "dude" and "man"

I was thinking about going home to MS in mid-July and going to the Hobstock festival while I was there. It was going to be a big-ass rock festival over in the Delta. It would have been really cool; Mississippi doesn't exactly get a lot of big-name artists. But of course it's cancelled. (Check the website; how's that for not giving much information?) I wonder what the deal was. Maybe the hippies were afraid of the summer heat. Damn, now that I think about it, it probably isn't that great an idea to get 100,000 of those smelly bastards in one place in 100-degree weather. Probably would have set off a major funk reaction, and not of the musical sort. I also wonder if law enforcement had anything to do with it. I can picture there being a really bad scene with hundreds of people getting busted. Widespread Panic, who I think was scheduled to play the event, has been having a lot of troubles of that sort in the South, especially Mississippi, so no telling what a huge, four-day event would unleash. (Remember this unfortunate debacle from my hometown?)

randomosity

I left a pot of chili simmering on the stove the other night and forgot all about it until I smelled the terrible von of smoldering meat coming from the kitchen. Three or four days later the apartment still smells like holy ass.

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People should just get over cilantro. I think I'm the only person in the world who makes fresh salsa and DOESN'T kill it with cilantro anymore. I hate it. For a while, right after people started using it a lot a few years ago, I was undecided about it. I really didn't like it, but I wanted to like it because it was showing up all over the goddamn place. But now I've made up my mind: I can't stand cilantro. Stop the madness, people! Salsa is just fine with some kick-ass tomatoes, onions, lime juice, and jalapenos. Why fuck it up with a foul herb that overpowers everything? And we're past the flavor-of-the-month point. Taco freaking Bell has been using cilantro for years now; that alone should say something.

Of course I realize that this is a matter of taste. But I'm right about this, got it? Thank you.

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Crap, I still haven't done laundry. I think I'm down to my last pair of clean boxers, something has to be done tonight. I wonder if I could hire someone to do it. I hate doing laundry on a work night.

Vice City has got me in a thrash-metal mood lately. Today in the car I was listening to Among the Living and quite enjoying it. It reminded me of the days when the members of Dry Heave would pack Wes's station wagon full of our equipment and head out in the country to our drummer Tom's house for practice. The White Stallion would be totally overloaded with five guys, Wes's humongous bass rig, several guitars and other amps, and god knows what else. And we'd be singing along to "I Am the Law" and having a grand old time. Good times.

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One time I was in a quick stop in Yazoo City, MS, with Fool and Grimmett. I had bought one of those Dolly Madison fruit pies and was just starting to eat it when some kid, probably about 12, sauntered over to me and asked, "Hey man, what kinda pie that is?"

"It's a shit pie," I answered nonchalantly.

"GODDAMN, that motherfucker's CRAZY!" the kid yelled. "He say he eatin' SHIT!"

I can still hear that kid's voice as plain as day. He didn't even wait half a second after I said "shit pie" before he went into "GODDAMN!!!" It was automatic.

I had a similar experience with a kid who called my house early in the morning one time. I'm not too fond of being awakened by wrong numbers, so when the kid asked for Dewayne, I said, "I'll rip your heart out." He said, "Huh?" I repeated myself very slowly and distinctly. And right then I could hear the phone being dropped and the kid yelling out to no one in particular, "He say 'I'll rip your hearrrrt out . . .'" I just love that kind of heartfelt, natural expression of emotion and surprise. It's so genuine, you know?

Yes, I'm aware that I'm deranged.

(no subject)

What do you call quickie marts? I always called them superettes, because in the town I grew up in there's a bunch of them all owned by one guy, and they're all called Northgate Superette or Green Oaks Superette or whatever. But several years ago I became aware that most people don't call them that, so it might just be a Starkville thing. Now I have to stop and think what to call it so people will know what I'm talking about. I guess I usually say "quick stop."

Speaking of that, I miss superettes. In the South, I always drove everywhere, and I used to stop in superettes at least a couple of times a day to get Cokes or smokes or Screw magazines or whatever. Oh yeah, and fucking BEER like a madman when I still drank. But up here I drive much less, get gas at the supermarket, and bring back several cartons of cigarettes from home when I go, so I never have to go. And if I have to get something quick, I usually stop in at a CVS or Walgreen's for some reason. Yep, I miss the B-Quik beat.