Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Not For All the Cars in Hollywood

It's been raining here in Austin. It's been raining a lot. Everyday for about the past week. Some folks have taken to complaining about it (I seem to get a regular IM from Ken griping about the weather) while others seem to enjoy it. Manzoor tells me, "it's better than the alternative. I mean, you don't actually want it to be like 100 degrees outside, do you?" Ain't that the truth.

I've decide that I like the rain. I mean, I usually don't but this semi-annual swap with Seattle has had it's advantages. It just sort of feels right this time around. It's not too hot. It hasn't been too stormy. We've just gone through a period of time where we had a lot of water dumped onto our heads courtesy of the clouds above. I can deal with that. I mean, it's not often we get rained upon, we usually share the sunlight with the late afternoon sky, so I've taken to looking upon the rain in a favorable light. At this point, I wouldn't trade the past week of rain for all the cars in Hollywood. I mean, come on, could you actually see me driving a used Lexus or something? Nah, didn't think so.

On an entirely different topic, or maybe not, I was talking with Steve last night, telling him my woes. I feel sorry now for doing it, but sometimes it just feels good to get things off your chest. This is how, I suppose, shrinks make their living. It's an oddly curious way of life. Who does a shrink talk to when he needs to vent? Steve did ask for a nickel a la Lucy from Peanuts. I responded by saying, "dude, here's a quarter. I'm stockpiling." Not stockpiling cars in Hollywood, mind you, but stockpiling none the less.

Until next time...

Monday, June 28, 2004

"Take the Spiderman Bowling, Take him Bowling"

We went bowling this weekend. Reed the Weed bowled something that was like 6 pins shy of 200. Funny part was it was like the third game and he started out with nothing but strikes. I told him his score was "starting to look like South Austin, what with nothing but XXX next to each other." He blew past double, through turkey, by four by four and into the fivers. Whew. Also preluded the bowling with a trip to Trudy's for...drum roll please...migas. Yeah right, like you couldn't have seen that one coming (or, at least, breathing heavily.) They were a little less fluffy than the norm but still quite good, despite their best attempts at aggravating our senses with REALLY BAD DISCO MUSIC PLAYED AT HIGH VOLUMN. Geesh, what's up with that? I told Ken and company that, "if they played Ring my Bell I was out of there." Luckily they didn't and my dinner stayed down. Migas are always better on the inside. I don't know why I was so anti-Ring My Bell on Saturday evening, maybe I just have bad memories from the 70's and the disco era. I don't know and I'd probably need the help of a shrink to find out. But then, don't we all have bad memories of the disco era? I mean, this was the time and place that gave us exposed chest hair, gold chains, and white jumpsuits. Eeek.

As we're bowling, there's a tribe of kids at the lane next door, one of whom was dressed up in Spiderman PJ's. I checked, there were no buggers, no pubes, no bras in the ladies room (I couldn't check the men's room, but I'll take Ken at his word when he says it was, "clean, automated, bugger and pube free." Wow, how's that for a toilet?) Spidey seemed to bowl better too, after he put his little mask on. The kiddies were kind of cute, despite the fact that many of them had to bowl with the bumpers up. If I ever do decide to bowl, and not just sit there like a bump in Spidy's web, I'll have to remember to use the bumpers. Gotta get me some bumpers.

Don't you wish you could have bumpers in real life? Ooops, sorry, didn't mean to run over your children, depress your vagina and all, I'll just bouce off this here bumper and the world will be a better place. Ah, if only I could make it so. What's that they say, "if wishes were horses..."

On a more mundane note (as if bowling wasn't exciting enough) it's been raining Biblical proportions as of late. Dang. I've never seen so much water in River City (how's that for an oxymoron?) I seriously would not be surprised to see some dude float by in an ark. And I wouldn't even shake my head (twice) if he were wearing a Spiderman mask. Yes, Virginia, there really is a Spiderman and, lucky for you, he knows how to swim. What's the Spidy's doing the backstroke while towing an ark? You laugh but it could happen. As long as he can squeeze two cabana boys on that ark, I'd be ready for the floodwaters to rise up and overtake the levee. And I don't even know how to swim.

Until next time...

Friday, June 25, 2004

Cast of Characters

It dawned upon me the other day that, while I continue to talk of several folks, probably some of the folks reading this don't know everybody here. While it's true that not all that many people read this website, I thought it would be interesting to introduce the regular odd lot of folks I blog about.

Most of the folks in my little world can trace their origins back to where I first encountered them at work. You could, if you were ambitious, even divide folks up along these lines. Let's see, there's the X-Arrowsmith people, the X-Tivoli people, the X-Ci2i-ers, and even some (although few) current-Sun folks. Some folks (Mohinder, for example) cross these boundaries (he's X-Arrowsmith, X-Tivoli and Sun) while others just don't fall into the "work-related" pool, but this is still a good place to start.

Arrowsmith gave us: HIM (of course), Kalim, Mohninder (1st of many, you could say), one and a half Bills, Mark (mad Russian friend), Matt, Adi, and a few others.

Tivoli gave me: Steve, not even the Steve in "it's a Steve-friendly place", Mohinder (again), Manzoor, Medway, Sully, Adi (again), Oliver, Carolyn, Sam, and Billy (the other half of the one in Arrowsmith.)

Bill, Billy, and William really confuses things a bit, as I have picked up more than my fair share. There's Bill from Kerberos-land, Bill from Arrowsmith, Billy Gee, who thankfully prefers "Billy," and I think I've even added a new Bill from Sun. Very confusing, thankfully it's your job to keep them straight. (At Tivoli, house rules were that no "John's were allowed" therefore, Medway became Medway and Sully became "Sully" despite both bearing the first name "John" This rather handy little practice has also spilled over into Carol's Little World. Now if only we could do something about the Bills. But then, I guess that's what most people say and the end of the month, right?)

Ci2i has probably landed the most "fodder" in Carol's Little World, including:
Ken - Mr. Kiss-Army fan aka bowling organizer aka person most likely to marry Kanchan if she ever got divorced.
Reed - Mr. Graphics aka "I hate Kanchan"
Medway - an X-Tivoli re-run who also falls into the category of "I hate Kanchan" having once asked her, "didn't they deport you yet?"
Ted- Mr. I hate Medway (although, I'm told, there's a truce in the works) and the used car salesman everybody loves to hate.
Kanchan - AKA "everybody hates me except for Ken and he wants to marry me. Gulp." Also known as Kanch-a-roni, Ken's Girl, the Kanch, or just K in some circles.

There's a few others from Ci2i: Luke (AKA "Luka my friend") Phil, Cat, Jennifer, Robert, and others.

Current Sun folks include:

Manzoor (again), Jonathan, Bill (there's another one) Paul, Kalim (again) and Gregg.

From outside of work, there's Kathy, my photographer friend, Karen, my neighbor, and several other folks from the photo group who sometimes get a nod. There's also some family, most noteably Ellen (my sister), Terry and Peter, my cousins, and, if you haven't been completely baffled by now, I also have an Aunt Carol (two actually, one from my father and one from my mother's side of the family.) That should be enough Carol's to stack the deck, right?

Apologies to anybody I may have left out. Except for some folks about the house including the alians, who keep promising to land in my front yard and play cannasta, and the neekid man in the back who, in case you could not guess, was intentionally left out (with good reason too!)

"Hey, you, yeah, you, Bill #49. Put yer pants on and go play cards with the alians on the front lawn. I think one of them is named Kanchan and she has the hots for you."

Until next time...

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

It's that old Cliche of Summer

Today I was talking with somebody and I said, "it's like he cut off his nose to spite his face." We all resort to cliches. We can't help it. We should just accept that it's a part of our nature to use them in our speaking, but we don't. We use them but don't accept it. Kind of like verbal guilty pleasures. Some folks, like me, even make comments about this. We start off conversations by saying things like, "I hate to use that old cliche but..."

Sometimes old cliches grow so old, they become new again. Like bellbottom pants hippy ponchos, or brightly colored tights, they come back into style ever 20 years or so. I used one of those today too, "it's like he bought his own coffin nails." I'm just so full of cliches today. Like I've chosen to accept my guilty pleasure, sit down, and actually enjoy my verbal bon bon.

On an entirely less boring, no, hackneyed theme, today's question of the day is: Is romance really dead?

Yes, it's true, I've been watching too much Sex and the City. Yes, it's true that the Sex Girls (as I call them, since I don't really quite know their names yet) are preoccupied with romance, but I still want to ask the question, as they did, in the first episode.

Is romance really dead? Are we all so tired and busy and boring that we don't spend any time taking those moonlit walks? Do we forgo the picnics on the comfy blankets in the park for crappy take out so often we've forgotten how to pack the picnic basket? Has it really been all that long since we've strolled barefoot on the beach with the "significant other?"

Perhaps romance is just not politically correct anymore. There used to be a time when we could make jokes, make smalltalk, or just talk to each other without the fear of a lawsuit. Now, it seems, there are so many minorities and everybody's so easily offended, it's made us all so afraid to say anything to anybody. But, don't you wonder what we're missing? Don't we all have a yearning for the "good old days" when we could crack a joke?

So this guy walks into a bar....

Until next time...

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

It's the Fear of Blogging

The other day, I was talking with somebody and he said he would email me a response. A few hours later, I got an email that started out, "At the risk of ended up on your weblog..." I was rather surprised that he even knew I had a weblog, let alone I would consider blogging about the topic at hand (although, I guess, in hindsight, I just did, didn't I?)

Yesterday, we were playing a new (well, new to us) game called Starfarers of Catan. The game itself is like Settlers of Catan only it appears to be set in space, which each player getting a rocket ship to act as a "mother ship" and several pieces and parts you can either add to your "mother ship" or move around the board. The parts were items like boosters, rings, and cannons. As we're playing, one of my co-workers commented that, aside from the pieces all looking quite phallic, "I can see a blog about this. How men like to play board games with phallic parts and pieces."

Has everybody around me gotten so afraid of my seldom read weblog that they won't actually talk to me anymore? Is everybody really destined to end up "blogger fodder" in Carol's Little World? This is a strange side effect I had not considered. Truth be told, my weblog isn't really read all that often and most of the folks who read it are probably the same set of folks I write about (maybe, apart from HIM who, I suspect, doesn't really know he's HIM.)

It reminds me of that old Carly Simon song, "You're so vein, you probably think this song is about you..." or perhaps that old wise saying, "I have no fear of falling, I just hate hitting the ground." You should have no fear of landing in any kind of web infamy because that sort of presupposes there's a certain amount of "fame" involved here and, well, I just don't think it's all that. Somehow, I can't see mother's hiding their children's faces from the likes of anybody on this website. In the grand scheme of things, with the war in Iraq, people being beheaded, Usama Bin Laden, late night TV, Brittney Spears, heck even that guy who fell out of American Idol, William Hung, this website just isn't up there on the scale of pop cultural icons.

At least, I hope it isn't.

Until next time...

Friday, June 18, 2004

It's on that part of the World that Passed me by

Imagine, if you will, a giant spinning blue ball. It's spinning out in space, with a moon rotating around it, revolving around a sun, rotating once a day around an axis. There are things on this big, spinning, blue ball that get noticed. There are things that make you stand up, take notice, and go "hey, look at that." Then there are other things on the ball that just sort of wiz by without you paying them much mind. Today's blogger entry is for all of these things.

Until recently, I'd never seen an episode of Sex and the City. I've still never seen an episode of Friends. I've never read or seen a Harry Potter book or movie. I've never seen the entire Godfather series. I've never heard Britney Spears sing in person. I couldn't even tell you what she's wearing today. I've never slept under a Tuscan Sun, never seen the oil fields at first light, never experienced a crazed Boudin man riding across the desert on a camel. I've never seen the Great Wall of China nor have I been salmon fishing in Alaska.

I'm not saying I don't want to do these things or I should do these things. I'm just saying these are some of the things which reside on that part of the world that passed me by. There's only so much of the blue ball you can claim as your own, only so much you can do with one lifetime, only so much that can happen. Every choice you take forgoes another.

In the spirit of all things passed over, you have to sometimes step back and wonder, did I make the right choice? Did I choose wisely? What if, instead, I had chosen....

But, then you have to stop and realize that the blue ball just keeps on spinning. That's the great thing about it. The choices may be in the past, but there's a spinning world of opportunity right there that makes up the present. And it really is a present to have the great, spinning, blue ball keep going. Even if you sometimes slow down and just let it swirl on by youself.

Until next time...

Thursday, June 17, 2004

Skip the Shoes and Go Barefoot

Sex and the City was as much about the shoes and clothing as it was about the women sitting around, sipping martinis, and talking about men. I mean, they even mention famous brand names and the like. Which gets you to wonder, what is it women really like? I mean, if they sit around talking about men and shoes, but they talk about how much they hate men, they must really like shoes, right? The mind boggles.

I was reading this link about the new film festival in Maui. No, Sarah Jessica Parker was not there, but it got me to thinking. Would I rather have a closet of leftover shoes from Sex and the City or a week on the beach where I could kickoff any footware at all and enjoy myself. I think, if given the choice, I'd definately opt for the shoe-less experience in the tropics. I mean, you can cramp your poor dogs into torture devices anytime but, spending a week with a cabana boy and not even a flip flop sounds more like fun to me. Of course, the determining factor may very well be the cabana boy. But, it still makes for an interesting challenge.

There's something romantic about going barefoot on the beach. We have these vignettes of lovers walking amidst the palms, leaving two sets of footprints, rolling up our pants and dipping our toes into the surf. The reality of it is that it's hot and wet and there's lots of seaweed and broken bottles. Much like Sex and the City, sometimes the fantasy is so far off, it's better to just close the entire book.

Even so, I bet the cabana boy would leave a nice set of tracks.

Until next time...

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

My Vagina is Depressed

The most memorable line from Sex and the City last night had to be the entire deal surrounding one woman's "vaginal depression." I mean, could you imagine going through life getting to use this as a lame excuse?

"Why, I'd love to help you move tomorrow but, you see, I absolutely cannot. My vagina's depressed."
"What's that? You need a ride to the store? I'd love to help but, you see, sweetie, my vagina's depressed today."

It is a dirty show but, hey, somebody has to say it, I suppose. And it was on HBO, so it's not like you can't pretend it was ever intended for the kiddies. I have mixed feelings about watching something so dirty. I mean, on the one hand, it was quite funny and well written but, on the other, I could do without all that smut.

It's also very NYC. It reminded me of growing up, and made me feel almost lucky that I'm not still in that environment. Somehow, I just don't think I would have made a good man-eater and that's probably what I would have turned into had I stayed in NY and never left for upstate (or Texas for that matter.)

Another great one-liner was the scene where they had an obviously "gay" man (we're talking flaming here, ok) talking on the phone, saying something along the lines of, "My Mother's so cheap. I've had to go shopping and get every frigging thing at Bed Bath and Frigging Beyond." Just the way he said it, his mannerisms, his accent, it was so NY it made me stop in my tracks.

I think it's safe to say now. I'm, officially, no longer a New Yorker. Sure, I was born there. Sure, I grew up there. But there's just something not so NY about me anymore. It's like I've been tamed by the western sunset. I can look at that environment, appreciate it for what it's worth and all, but it's no longer me. To tell the truth, I'm not sure if I miss it or not. I mean, there is something to be said for living in that wild, crazy, vibrant place but then, the tango NY has also run over it's share of pedestrians who were merely trying to get out of the way.

Until next time...

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Tonight It's Time for Sex

Tonight they are going to start the re-runs of Sex in the City and I've decided that I want to watch at least one of these shows, so I can find out what the fuss is all about. I know, I know, it's not like real sex, but then, how can I say I know what it's like if I've never seen it?

I think I need to watch more than just Law and Order re-runs with the occassional Trading Spaces thrown in for good measure. I think I should expand my horizons and reach for something out of my range. I think Sex in the City might be just my cup of tea. I mean, I grew up in NY and the promos look rather funny so, why not?

"It's all about the shoes," they tell me. Hey, that's all that much more reason to like it. I mean, I have more than my fair share of shoes. I just love the shoes. I love having a host of shoes and enjoying collecting different pairs. I can't wait to watch and check out their wardrobes too. I'm really looking forward to this if, for nothing more than, it's a divergence for me. It's something completely different for me to latch onto and enjoy. Kind of like cooking, only I don't have to get flour on my chin.

Would you watch it again if you could? Did you watch it the first time at all? Do you think dating in NYC is really like that? How many shoes do YOU have in the back of YOUR closet? Do they have a HIM on this show?

And finally, the most important question...

Was it as good for you as it will be for me?

Until next time...

Monday, June 14, 2004

Women Never Buy Red Lingerie and Other Civilities

I got the Victoria's Secret catalog last week, indicating that they are having their semi-annual "everything's on sale" sale. Interesting reading and even better to use as birdcage liner. But I digress...

Some interesting factoids about lingerie that you possibly didn't know and probably don't care about anyway. Women never buy red lingerie. Women buy lingerie in white, beige, black, and soft pink. Men love red lingerie. They also like electric blue, hot pink, and bright green. Women prefer cotton undies, while men like silk or polyester. Sorry to burst your fantasy but women prefer to sleep in sweats or a T-shirt. Men would love it if all women slept in sexy lingerie. Woman always have cold feet so they sometimes sleep with socks on. Usually brightly colored socks with holes in them, you know the kind, the funky knee-high variety, but they prefer to wear them scrunched down below the knee. Men don't like socks like this at all. I'm sure men would just love it if women could figure out a way to sleep in nine inch stiletto heals.

What's that? You say stiletto's don't come in nine inches? Here's another secret for you: women know exactly how long nine inches really is. We just pretend it's smaller to be nice, just as you pretend, "a B cup is really not all that flat" or "no, honey, that dress doesn't make you look fat." If we were courteous, we wouldn't get along. Oh wait, I forgot, we don't. We just have to share the same space for eons and like, occassionaly, reproduce together.

Sigh. Done in by the facts of life.

But I'm still not going to get any red lingerie and you're not taking my socks. (I don't even let Charlie eat my socks.)

Until next time...

Friday, June 11, 2004

Zen and the Art of Zen Mastery

I was reading today and happened across an article on Zen and the Art of Software Testing. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of Zen and all things Zen Buddhist but it strikes me as odd that everybody's always going around proclaiming themselves to be some kind of Zen masters, when most don't even understand the basics of the religion. The Zen way of life was intended to make sense of the universe, to provide hope to the hopeless, to help end suffering (or deal with it,) it wasn't put forth for us to misconstrue, to tangle into some sort of catch phrase that we can use to sell self-help books. I find it irritating that everybody's always going around discussing Zen and the Art of... without having any knowledge of Zen basics or giving any mind to the fact that they have just insulted probably more than a million Asian folks by exploiting their religious belief system. How would you feel if some Asian guy went around saying, "Christ and the Art of Software Testing?" Wouldn't you be more than a bit offended? Sure, maybe you can chalk it up to "political correctness" but I find it just a tad annoying.

On an entirely more serious note, my neighbor's dog, Penny, had to be put down yesterday. Coupled with the recent deaths of Ray Charles and Ronald Reagan, this makes a lot of dying and suffering. I'm almost starting to think I'm some kind of "kiss of death" except for the fact that I didn't actually know Ray Charles or Ronald Reagan. Charlie will, however, miss Penny. She used to come outside when we were sitting in the front yard and sort of sit on him. He didn't mind though, as he loved to smell her, get in her face, and otherwise aggravate her. He just didn't understand when she was sick and now, I'm certain, he'll be confused by her disappearance. The front lawn just won't be the same without dear Penny.

The true Zen masters would probably console me by saying that her suffering has ended, she's moved onto bigger and better things in the great cosmos of life, death, and rebirth, and that it was a lucky happenstance that I knew her at all.

In keep with the true Zen spirit of today's entry, I've just been informed that the Texas Lotto is up to 100 million dollars. That's a lot of smack-a-roos for one Zen master. I think I could buy an island off the coasof Tahiti and wax very philosophical with all that dough, don't you? That's a lot of money to become one with, but I'm sure I could give it a shot.

Until next time...

Thursday, June 10, 2004

I Miss Brother Ray

Found out today some sad news. Seems Ray Charles has passed away. He was one of the greatest and he will be missed. I had the pleasure of hearing him sing live Hoagy Carmichael's "Georgia on My Mind" and it was one of those magical moments I will cherish. You can study music, you can read over books, and formulate chord changes until you are blue in the face but, until you really feel it, experience it the way he did, it's just not the same. To hear somebody like Ray Charles sing live makes you completely forget about all the book knowledge music entails and just go with your heart.

I had lunch with Steve today. He looks good. He's happy. Not working for IBM, heck, not even working, but happy. Sometimes you just need the down time, I suppose. I've been very slackerly in my studies and need to get back to them. Steve has reminded me of this. Steve reminds me of a lot but neither of us seem fit to do anything about our reminders.

I was talking with somebody else the other day about men, my life, and the general state of being. Seems everybody (except for maybe me) is in agreement that I need to prepare standard issue clubs to give out to potential dating material. I just don't play very well with others, don't pickup on the subtle hints when somebody wants to go out with me. I don't place the dance very well, I can't even find the down beat. So, we've collectively decided that I need to hand out standard issue clubs and, should a man happen to want to go out with me on something that closely resembles an actual "date," he could, rather than try to coyly ask, just club me over the head. It'd be easier, less painful, and I'd know for certain that he were interested. Don't you think it a wonderful idea (except for the part that it might actually physically hurt, but he could be kind of gentle if he were nice?) Gives a whole new meaning to the term "clubbing," doesn't it?

Until next time...

Tuesday, June 08, 2004


Yesterday's entry about pursie leads me to wonder. Since I've revealed the contents of pursie, what's next? Will I divulge the true reason women always go to the bathroom in groups?

I Had it All Along

In the penultimate point of stupidity yesterday, I realized that, all along mind you, I actually had my purse. It was left in the back seat of my car. I know, I know, it sounds crazy ("how could you do that?") but, there is some kind of (ever so slight) logic behind it. You see, pursie is black, jacket is black, both were in back seat, which is (no not black but close) dark grey. So this goes a long way to explaining a lot (or maybe not.) Sigh. I had it all along and never knew. Kind of like a talent for knotting cherry stems in your mouth, it's just one of those "little things" that defies explanation yet seems so irreverently poignant at the time.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I can't tie cherries either. I must be content with just sucking on those little red stems.

Found this little gem about Reagan giving Hamilton the boot on the ten spot. Not quite sure what to make of this. Few today even remember enough history to know who Hamilton was but, that Reagan ten, that has got to be the most goofy assed looking ten dollar bill I've ever seen.

The entire issue raises a question for me. Until this point, "success," and I mean true SUCCESS with a capital S, in the field of photography probably was defined as obtaining a Pulitzer or some such award. Having a prez's face on the greenbacks adds an entirely new spin to the whole pinnacle of success doesn't it? I mean, imagine the claim to fame the photog has? "See that ten in yer wallet? Why, I took that!"

Nice shot, buddy, nice shot. Congats, man, you're the one who grabbed the shot of the prez who looks as goofy as a crossed eyed cat in oncoming traffic. Just what the world needs. More photographs of straight white men and the lemmings who love them.

Until next time...

Monday, June 07, 2004

Curses, No Purses!

Did you ever get the feeling that you forgot something? Kind of like that old proverbial iron that we always leave on as we are departing for vacation or parts unknown, this morning, while puttering about the house, I just couldn't help but feel that I was forgetting something. I checked the windows, checked the doors, let the doggie out (several times) and then decided it was time to fly so I bolted. About half way to work, I realized I had forgotten my purse.

For those male or perhaps, to be more specific, purse-less, readers, let me explain the significance of this to you. There's nothing really important in my purse. It's not like my world is going to come crashing into some twisted, mangled horror flick style ending. I just simply forgot my purse. Now, I can write this, I can type this all day, until I'm blue in the face, I can tell myself over and over and over again, but it still doesn't help. You can tell a girl she "doesn't need" her purse right now, you can try to convince her there's nothing in it that's critical path to her day, it just doesn't work. For some, probably deeply embedded psychological reasoning beyond my grasp, I cannot accept the fact that my purse is home and I am here. I keep looking at where it's supposed to be and feeling lost.

Sure, I like to think of myself as a logical person, probably even more so than the next chick. I tend to be a maximizer, try to make the most of the cards I've been dealt or travel the longest path on which I tread. But, being "purse-less" defies any kind of logic and reason. I can sit here and justify it all day long, it doesn't help. "I don't need it," I keep telling myself, "there's nothing in there that I need RIGHT NOW. RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT." Nope, doesn't work. "All it really has is my wallet, and I've got money in my pocket, what do I need the big purse for?" Nice try but, sorry, doesn't fly.

It's got my driver's license, insurance card, and medical card in it. That and some pills I sometimes take. Lots of old store coupons (which have long since expired,) an old map of Cedar Park (yeah right, like I need that now,) several pens which don't write (and probably stopped sometime around 1972,) and some literature from the bank. "Nobody needs literature from the bank, you fool. People go there to get one thing and one thing alone: money." Sure, I can try to keep telling myself this, but it won't help. I still feel oh so discombobulated. All that and it's only Monday to boot.

It's also got my checking book and credit cards. Heh, come to think of it, maybe it's a good thing we're separated. As long as I drive carefully and don't get arrested for that pesky insurance card issue, maybe I'm actually better off with it being squirreled away in a dark hovel somewhere out of reach. Yeah right. Nice try but it's still not working. I want pursie back.

Until next time...

Friday, June 04, 2004

It's Flat, Flatter than a Squashed Atkins Pancake

On the radio today, I'm listening to the song Levelland. It's about that oh-so-flat city in the Texas panhandle. Very descriptive, actually, I almost get the feeling I'm out there. The song is quite negative, despite the fact that it paints a detailed picture of things further west (and slightly north). Along the lines of "Lubbock or leave it" folks there love to hate the place.

There's a few lines in that song that make me crack up every time I hear them. "Makes you wonder why they stopped here/wagon must have lost a wheel or they lacked ambition once..." Also the crack about "Momma hasn't seen the stars/since we got the sattelite dish..." It's amusing but then, I suppose, I'm easily amused.

I was actually out that way before (in real life.) One time, I caught a connecting flight and landed just about sunset time. They always have the most beautiful sunsets on account of all the dust and dirt. Because they grow mostly cotten, they lack significant "tall" trees, and it's so flat and open, the dust blows around quite a bit, but it makes for some of the best sunsets you've seen, on account of the fact that the light gets diffused in all the dirt. Now there's a case of turning something bad on it's ear and making lemonaide from lemons if I've ever heard one.

Still, everytime I hear that song I get this mental picture of some lady standing next to a broken down wagon, cussing the west Texas sunset. Just kind of makes me laugh but then, as you know, I probably never should get mental pictures, as mine are a little more than disturbing.

Onto an entirely less flat topic, I've been told recently that, I really shouldn't hate my job, since I'm "supposed to be a photographer anyway." I guess it's true if you think about it. Although I feel as if I'm trapped in a crappy job, any job could qualify as crappy if it's not photography and photography is out of the picture (excuse the pun) right now. Kind of interesting, although it's far too serious a topic for a Friday afternoon.

Today I'm drinking a Pepsi with my bagel rather than a Coke. Not earth-shattering news but it's something different, a small change in the form of a hidden protest. Actually, it was just a case of enjoying what's on hand. The soda least it's not flat, I'll give it that much. And, dang, I wish I had a sattelite dish. I'd watch court TV and yell "guilty!" at all the commercials.

Until next time...

Thursday, June 03, 2004

It's Bass-ACKwards

Ok, ok, I probably should have given more thought to posting my angry backwards blog about Elvis and all things male yesterday but, hey 200 was approaching and I just couldn't think of anything better.

Yesterday, Steve IMed me to tell me that he had an interview around the way, near where I work. He said he waved at me as he went by. I told him, "drats! If I had know, I would have waved back" to which he responded, "too late. I already stuck my tongue out at you because you didn't wave." It's been that kind of week.

We did manage to squeeze in an interesting conversation about men and the state of being. Yesterday's blog was indicative of the fact that, lately anyway, I've been very frustrated with the male half of the species. I think I shall open my mayonnaise jars and unclog my own toilets for the rest of my natural born lifetime. At least, that's how it's starting to look anyway. I'm so fed up, I could scream but then, drats! I don't have enough energy to even let out a good bellow. It's like the story of my life, only longer and more painful. Steve tells me that, sometimes anyway, the men in my life are "goofy as a cross-eyed cat in oncoming traffic" and that's pretty apropos. I'm so spent, I don't even have $20 on my bedside table.

Today's question of the day: What's the same, only different? Interesting and open-ended one for you.

I still need to email Billy about having the ex-Tivoli happy hour. I'm actually looking forward to it but have yet to schedule it. I really need to get off my butt and get in gear because, well, I have to do it while I'm actually happy or it doesn't count.

Ken thinks I should watch "Surviving Nugent" and go on some low-carb diet consisting of only foodstuff obtained from vending machines. Yeah right. As soon as you run away, join the circus, and take Kanchan to be your bride.

Until next time...

PS Yesterday marked, in case you did not know, my 200th web log entry. Dang! What fun I've been having while you were away.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004


I've told you before, and I'll tell you again. I HATE ELVIS. He's just not my type. I don't even like sideburns. There's just something about him. He almost reminds me of Tedemundo when he laughs. They are playing an Eric Clapton song on the radio and I'm really digging it. It's actually an old Bo Diddly song, Before you accuse me, which is pretty cool. I'm sure Ken would HATE it because he HATES everything Eric Clapton, especially the old remixes.

If you're going to listen to old music, you might as well listen to something that's legit, something with teeth, something that stands up and bites you in the ass. None of this sudo-Elvii, I'm fat but still wearing a jumpsuit kind of crap that passed for pop ditties back when Elvis was "King." Sorry, but gyrating hips is just not enough to make me love a song. You have to do it right, play it once more, with feeling. Put some chomp into your bite, if you know what I mean.

Same kind of feelings I have for Cabana Boys, Trent Reznor, and guys who are about six feet two and have dirty blonde hair. Guys named Scott or John or Bob who drive little sports cars and have white scarves flying in the breeze as they zoom down Mopac. Guys who aren't afraid to cut their sideburns. Guys who don't have to act cool, it just oozes from their very being. Guys who play chess or golf or, crap, even shoot pool.

Give me a REAL MAN over a DEAD ELVIS anyday. I'm sure Billy would agree. Next happy hour, we'll get together and toast to all things that have feeling, all things that breath new live into old blood, and all things that keep Elvis dead and buried (where he belongs) and not roaming around being spotted in seven-elevens all over the world.

ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING. Have you? Did you go outside and smell the flowers today? Aren't they blooming just for you?

Maybe you should.

Until next time...


It's been a while since I've posted about "the coolness factor." You know what the "coolness factor" is, it's that little something that makes us want to stand up and take notice, makes us want to pay attention, makes us want something, gives it that little extra edge of IT if you will. Well, here's my coolness factor ratings:

Blogging over 200 posts? Cool. Definately cool.
Blogger eating my posts: UnCool.
Eating Tex-Mex at Jardin Corona's (JC's): Cool. So cool, it's HOT. It's my favorite place as of late.
Patting Charlie on the head after he's stolen all the covers: Cool. Everything about Charlie is Cool. Even when the pooch poaches my covers.
Shooting pool at work: Cool. I'm becoming a fan of billiards again.
Running out of coffee at work when I've had three hours sleep in the past two days: Not cool.
Hockey playoffs: Way Cool. So cool, they are played on ice.
Baseball Season: Not Cool. Sorry but, I don't do sports with balls.
Cabana Boys who give good backrubs: Um, did you even have to ask? (In case you did, the breeze in the palm trees keeps us both COOL.)
Not Having Time to Go Shooting: Not Cool.
Having to makeup pictures because people want to buy them: Cool.
Hot days of Summer? Not Cool. It's like fricking 100 degrees in the shade. Not cool 'round these parts as of late.

It's been a long time since we've had an X-Tivoli happy hour and I've been summoned to round up the troops. I think ex-Tivoli happy hours are cool, actually. I get to enjoy a cocktail with some old friends and catch up on recent events, goings on about town, and other unimportant gossip.

I heard a song about Romeo and Juliette today. That old Dire Straights song, it's actually pretty good. Question for the day is, what do you think about Romeo and Juliette? Were they foolish kids? Hopeless romantics? Entangled lovers? Mindless fools-for-love? Or just cought up in happenstance? I think maybe they were just characters who were too cool for their time but, then, that's me.

Until next time...

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

Weekend in New York (well almost)

This weekend, actually, late Saturday, I got a call from an old friend from NYC. He's living in Dallas and he came down for the weekend. It was kind of fun seeing folks from the old neighborhood around Cedar Park, and it was really funny talking about old times. I still remember some of the old streets, although I'm convinced I would get completely lost in the Bronx if I were there now.

For some reason, whenever I think of NYC, I always think of it in the summertime. I just get this mental picture of the heat waves we had when I was a kid, with people sleeping on the fire escapes and breaking into the fire hydrants to get some relief. It seems too far away now but, back then anyway, it was life as I knew it. New York gets pretty sweltering in the summertime sometimes, and there's little a/c in sight. Texas gets hot, that's true, but there's something about a New York heatwave. I think on account of the ocean, NYC gets very muggy and it just feels hotter there. Maybe, because of the humidity, I get the feeling that my clothing is stuck to me, and that just makes me feel hotter. I don't know why but, somehow, NY just gets unbearable in the heat. Maybe in Texas we expect it to be hot; we have this mental image of someplace with a lot of sun, a desert landscape peppered with cactus and cowboys so the heat is more expected. In NY heat, sun, or humidity is a bit unexpected, at least to the outsider. I suppose this makes it just all that much more mentally untolerable. That and everybody always just wants to get out of the city.

Overall, I had a great weekend. It was hot, I worked a bit, I didn't spend all that much money, and I saw some old friends. I wish all my weekends could be that good.

One interesting development that came out of this is that my old friends want to help me market some photography. One of my friends has asked to act as my agent, which I think is a really good idea. I could use rep, actually, I had been looking for a while, but then I stopped because it was too hard to find somebody and I just don't trust anybody. An old friend would really fit the bill (in more ways then one.) All this really means to you though is that I am one step closer to forcing myself to start using the new photoblog. It's one my list of things to do without delay.

Until next time...