Specific Gravity

iKnow, iSuck

2006-02-01T19:54:00.000-08:00

I went the entirety of January without posting. Unacceptable. Forgive me. Please. (It's amazing how much dust collects when you don't keep updating.)

So, besides work (which I'm throroughly enjoying, by the way) keeping me busy, here's a graded run-down of what's been going on:

-Christmas: A+. Good stuff. I got a turkey frier and power tools. Seriously. Oh, and socks. I'm looking forward to using all three in a simultaneous free-for-all experience. It should be interesting to see what sock-stuffed cordless drill tastes like fried in peanut oil-- people say it's better than the traditional "oven-baked" kind.

(Brief aside: I found out that turkey friers are the #1 cause for house fires in the US. Great gift, by the way, for someone who has set HIMSELF on fire. Twice.)

-New Years: B. Hanging out with great people (my sister, my brother and sister-in-law, a couple of my sister-in-law's friends, my good buddy, Thad, and my wife), but points deducted for near fights, drunken waiters, and soliciting my wife for a Playboy golf tournament. Mmmmm Mmmmm Shitty.

-Visit with my brother at Wake Forest: A. Would be an A+ if I only would have stayed a day longer. Watched my first FULL college basketball of the season, played PS2 with my brother, ate WONDERFUL Vietnamese food, saw a great movie, and became hopelessly addicted to Lost.

-Writing: D. I had made some SIGNIFICANT progress on my novel (about a chapter and a half), with the intention of finishing by the end of January. I was completely on track until the data stick I saved it on failed and everything I had written (past the last entry on the blog) was erased. So I've been coming to terms with that and trying to bring myself to re-write the lost chapters. More on this in a second...

-Music: 750 math, 400 Verbal. Making some headway and should have it all recorded soon. Thad has been recording on some tracks and has really helped me out big time in bringing out some of the sound.

Anyway, the target completion for both of is: March 1st. Ideally, I'm going to set up a website and put both up for free distribution, which may happen a while after the finished date. But anyone who wants it (assuming it's done 3/1/06), let me know, and I'll get you a copy. I'm happy with how things are going... if you want to hear rough mixes of Chapters 4 and 5 ("Argos" and "Oddbodkins"), you can check out my spiffy myspace page.

I'm headed to the Bahamas this weekend for a wedding and much needed relaxation/drinking my face off. If I can get a connection down there, I'll blog at y'all from the beach.

-You guys: A + + + + + +.

The 2005 "Don't Stop Believin's"

2005-12-17T21:53:00.000-08:00

(For those of you who are interested, I've updated "Few and Far Between" as of this evening).

I've decided to do some "Don't Stop Believin'" awards for 2005.

You're going to get attacked by these lists over the next couple of weeks (if you haven't been already), so I thought I'd give out awards that matter.

2005's "I Don't Know What It Means But That's Effin' Hysterical!" Award
Over at Fark.com, they've got these forums next to the articles they post. When I see a ridiculous topic, I'll jump over and read some of the comments for a laugh. And there are some really smart, creative individuals on the site, but sometimes I'm just at a loss for words.

A couple of months ago, the "O Rly?" owl showed up. I'm not sure where it came from or why they used owls but... oh well, here's the owl.

I assume it means, "Oh, really?" in 1337 (leet) speak, and why they used an owl, I just dunno. I... I just... I dunno. But it got a giggle out of me. It still does. I mean, who knew that owls looked that ridiculous, right?

But it got worse.

I don't know how, but the "O Rly" owl merged into something even more surreal. The most hysterical non-sequitor that I've seen in years.

I can't give you guys warning enough to brace yourselves, but here ya go. The 2005 "I Don't Know What It Means But That's Effin' Hysterical!" award goes to...

The "Buttsecks?" owl. I don't get it, but every time I see it, I'm laughing. From the look of the owl's face to the spelling of the word "buttsecks", I'm laughing my ass off (pardon the pun) from the moment I see it. In fact, it's on my desktop right now. No joke.

Congratulations, "buttsecks owl".

=======

2005's "What the Fuck's That Smell?" Award

Probably the best story I've heard this year is when New York started smelling like pancakes. Only in a town like New York, a town that has a smell reminiscent of a decaying corpse, would the smell of hotcakes and maple syrup overtaking the city make news.

I thought it might have been some rogue, disallusioned pancake maker unleashing his vengance upon evil-doers across the isle of Manhattan. Some people thought it was a widespread case of MSUD, which would explain the disappearance of the regular "asparagus urine" smell New York usually touts. And of course, there were other theories

(via the brilliant minds over at Fark.com's maple syrup news forum).

Congratulations, Maple Syrup smell.

--To be continued--

It's official

2005-12-08T17:44:00.000-08:00

I have heard the worst song I've ever laid ears on. It has happened.

While hanging out with Andy and Rusty and a couple of Rusty's friends, the topic of bad music came about. And the song we discussed was mentioned a couple of times this week on the internets.

I thought the worst song of the year was a lock for "Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani. But it has been SOUNDLY beaten.

"My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I guess the Peas followed their own advice and "got retarded".

Really.
Fucking.
Retarded.

Even "Hollaback Girl", or "Jenny from the Block", or "Slave 4 U" (probably the top three BAD songs for the last five years) have some shred of musical integrity. They're all bad songs, sure, but they've got something else there once you get past the shitty concept. Good beats, a decent hook... what have you.

Once you get past the shitty concept with this song, you're still knee deep in shit.

Look, I know what they were going for. You've got a female singer that loves to gyrate around and shake her ass. You want to leverage off that? Okay, I'll buy that... It's not like songs haven't been written about such things before and done well (see Britney Spears' entire career aside from the few songs where she's talking about being a girl, not yet a woman).

But the lyrics of this song sound like they were written by a sixth grader.

"My Lovely Lady Lumps"? That's just disgusting.

Gravy has lumps. Mashed potatoes have lumps. When you talk about your "lady lumps", I don't want to take you home or buy you Dolce and Gabana, I want to take you to the doctor to get that shit checked out, girl.

You know what? The more time I spend on this song, the more popularity it gains. This song is not for good. It is for evil.

America needs an eight minute guitar solo right now, not "What you gonna do with all that ass / All that ass inside them jeans?".

So for the good of the children, stop thinking about it. (Although I know those of you who have heard it have it stuck in your head.) Stop talking about it. Nothing to see here...

=====

UPDATE (12/16/04)
As you may have found in the comments, "Wild Cherry Sara" has pointed out a ridiculous remix of a ridiculous song. Go get your asses love drunk of Fergie's hump.

And my boy over at Defective Yeti discussed the topic with his wife... almost the same conversation I had with my wife, K.

Seeing you in December

2005-12-01T15:11:00.000-08:00

So, I haven't finished Few and Far Between yet. I had hoped to finish it by last night (Nov. 30) to get it in for NaNoWriMo, but I got stuck with some big projects at work, and then got horribly sick over the past few days. Plus, I wanted to make sure I didn't rush the last couple of chapters.

But a promise is a promise-- I said "See You in December", and so I'm going to maintain my posting here while I post on FAFB. I should be done with the novel within a few days (a week and a half at most), and I've created links to the different chapters if you fell behind or the blog format was too hard for you guys to read.

Anyway, funny shit forthcoming. Hold tight.

See you in December

2005-11-01T19:48:00.000-08:00

I've started posting my story here:

http://fafb.blogspot.com

Hope you guys enjoy "Few and Far Between".

Some bad news... and maybe some good news.

2005-10-27T15:46:00.000-07:00

This is going to be a tough one.

I thought all the way home how I'd write this entry.

I hate to break it to you guys (all five of you), but I'm gonna need some time off. From November 1st through November 30th, this blog will become completely dormant.

I hate to do it, because I really enjoy writing here, but I've got another commitment that's gonna take all of my time for the next thirty days or so.

I'm just not going to have the time to write a blog entry here every couple of days. I'm really sorry.

Here's why.

That's right... this mofo is writing a novel.

50,000 words long (at least).

In thirty days (at most).

Remember a couple of months ago how I was talking about the album I was recording and how I wanted to write a "novella" to go along with it? Well, I found out about NaNoWriMo (I guess it's leet speak for National Novel Writing Month) this morning and mulled it over for an hour. And then I thought about how the hell I would do it if I decided that I was going to go through with it.

I came up with a tentative schedule and decided to go for it. I mean, I've got almost all of the songs for the album written, and while they themselves don't really tell the "story" of what's going on, it's about as good of an outline that I'd ever be able to come up with. So, I'm doing it.

I'm writing a novel called "Few and Far Between". It will be 13 chapters long with a prologue and an epilogue, and each chapter will be named after the songs that will appear on the album. And when I'm done with this thing, I'll get back to work on recording and you'll be able to hear the music behind the story (kind of the reverse of VH1, I guess...).

I know what you're thinking... "Pete, you've come up with ideas that you started and never finished. Why should we believe you when you say that you're going to have a finished novel, 50,000 words long, in a month?"

Why, you ask? Because I need your help. I'm going to write my novel here. You guys get to read the first draft, as it happens, day-by-day. I'm going to leave the comments open, so that when the story starts to suck or you have a suggestion, you can let me know.

But all I ask is for you guys to let me know what you think. Whether it's "you used 'their' instead of they're, dumbass" or it's "this is moving to slow" or it's "I read it", let me know.

'Cause I'm going to need some advice, a little feedback, and a lot of encouragement to get through this bad boy. And once I'm done with the novel, I'll finish the album (target date of 1/31/2006 for a rough draft), and you'll get both of them from me, completely pro bono. And you'll get shoutouts in the liner-notes of the CD booklet. And maybe some other cool stuff too...

But please be aware that this is going to be a first cut, very rough draft that will be full of typos and plot holes and will not be the best story you've ever read. But it'll be one hell of a serial that you'll be viewing real time.

So, who's with me?

Nothing tremendous... just a couple of links.

2005-10-25T17:59:00.000-07:00

But I did want to thank Sara for getting me hooked on the CRACK that is Lifehacker.com-- it's completely safe for work (and might actually help you do it better!).

I'm also working on getting a myspace music page together, but I've got to do some refining. I'll let you know when I've got something substantial up there.

Oh, and I thought I'd pass this along... funniest thing I've seen in a few days (via Screenhead)...

BWAHAHAHA!!! Totally gets me in the mood for Halloween.

Call me Ishmael

2005-10-20T18:03:00.000-07:00

I've spent my life enduring a myriad of nicknames-- some welcomed, some not.

My friends in pre-school dubbed me the inevitable "Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater".

My best friend in grade school called me "Peebee".

My mom used to call me "Peter-roo" (and if you know me personally and ever call me this, I will be royally pissed).

My fraternity brothers dubbed me "Petsey Fly".

My wife calls me all sorts of things from "Schmoopie" to "Honey-kins" to "Bunny", ad nauseum.

But the one nickname that I've never shaken was the one that was given to me in high school-- Tampson.

To this day, I am known in certain circles as Tampson. It all evolved from these two guys who I wasn't even really friends with (guys who named themselves "Larry Begina" and "T.T. Boyd") that got a kick out of calling me by my last name-- Thompson-- in a ridiculous Boston accent. "Hey Tampson, wanna get some chackolate and come cahfee? Maybe some sahsage?" (Think "Pahk Yah Cahr At Hahvahd Yahd" style Boston accent.) My friends picked up on this almost immediately... it made sense because I was one of two Pete's and this made it easier to differentiate.

While I have now gotten used to being called Tampson, I had reservations at first. Mainly, I was a bit concerned that a dyslexic might think people were calling me tampons. And plus, I wasn't really huge fans of Larry Begina and TT Boyd, but after a while, I got used to it.

And I'll be at the office or in a crowd of people calling one of my high school friends and refer to myself as "Tampson", and people will give me strange looks...

But I am not ashamed. Not at all.

I am Tampson.

Oh no you di'nt!

2005-10-19T17:53:00.000-07:00

I buzzed my head again.

I do this every year right around this time. People always ask me why I don't do it at the beginning of summer and I never really have a good reason. I just get bored with having long hair and having to make sure I don't have a huge freakin' cowlick sticking out the back of my head, which happens perpetually.

My sister came over for dinner on Saturday just a couple of hours after I dropped it down... she said I looked like I was going to kick some ass. Papa Bear said that he was glad to see I was ushering the "military look" back into fashion. And a couple of people I work with said it made me look older. Word.
=====
The Boy Who Lived...

The only downside to this haircut is the fact I've got an inch-long scar on the back of my head on the right hand side. People always notice this (usually they attempt to gently inform me that the barber screwed the pooch) and when I tell them that it's a scar, they always ask why...

Depending on the mood, I'll switch up the reason why... some of which are:

-The "I hit my head closing the trunk of my car" excuse
-The "Dark Alley/Knife fight" excuse
-The "Voldemort/Avada Kedavra Curse" excuse
-The "I was a brain donor" excuse
-The "Old High School Football injury" excuse
-K got pissed 'cause I didn't do the dishes (a.k.a. "Knife fight #2 excuse")

Or I'll just be straight with them and tell them the real reason why... when I was three years old, my mom was driving my brother, Robert, and I home from the doctor's office. Robert had an ear infection (one of the hundreds he had when he was a kid), and I was along for the ride. As my brother slept beside me in the back seat, I managed to houdini my way out of my car seat and climb into the front seat to sit shotgun as my mom turned into our subdivision.

Getting out of the car seat wasn't enough, I guess, because I started messing with the knobs and buttons in the front seat. I reached over and pulled the door handle (which was usually locked) and all the sudden the door flew open and out the car I went. My mom had fortunately just turned into our subdivision and was going no more than 20 miles per hour. But I flew out and hit my head on the concrete curb, splitting the back of my head open.

Explains a lot, right?

I ended up with a severe concussion, 17 stitches, and a completely guilt-ridden mother who sat with me that entire night and made sure I didn't fall asleep (supposedly if you fall asleep after a concussion, there's a high chance of entering a coma). I never told her how much I appreciate what she did for me that night or how sorry I am for worring her... But I'll make it a point to when I see her tomorrow night.

Oddly enough, I now live a block away from that spot, and every time I drive pass, I still get the chills.

The Battle of the Five-Day Hangover

2005-10-13T20:01:00.000-07:00

Good googly-moogly. I think my liver's broken. And I think I'm down to my last baker's dozen of braincells.

So, I went to Sewanee last weekend for homecoming and spent the last four days killing a hangover. I am just now back to feeling okay. (Not that I was really feeling "bad" per se-- no nausea, or headaches-- but I just didn't feel that it was really safe to rejoin society. You know, forming sentences, handling heavy machinery, carrying sharp objects... those types of things.) It used to be that I could bounce back from a night of drinking no problem... sure, I may feel like shit the next day (especially if I went a bit overboard), but this feeling never lasted one, MAYBE TWO, days max. But this time, I couldn't keep focused, I was in bed every night this week before 9:00, I was drinking coffee like I was Brazilian, and I haven't touched beer or a cigarette since Sunday.

Well, that is until tonight. But it was just a Heineken. And a Marlboro Ultra Light.

The journey I have dubbed "Project Emergency Detox" has made things a little less exciting than usual. In turn, I have very little to report. [But, in case you're wondering, I did try that Chaser stuff, so expect a thorough review on DTSRW?! in the next couple of days. I've written most of it, but I've got to go through a couple more "tests" in the interest of science.]

Have much great weekending, people.

Gumbo

2005-10-06T20:22:00.000-07:00

I changed the layout... got kinda tired of the same old stuff...

I'm headed to Sewanee tomorrow, so if, by the grace of God, I have access to the computer (assuming computers have made their way into Tennessee), I'll post an update while I'm up there.

If not, expect lots of embarrasing photos and a new post on "Does That Sh*t Really Work?!" next week.

So, K and Jorge and I are packing up the PT cruiser and headed up to Sewanee for the weekend. We're renting a house on campus with an older fraternity brother of mine, Brad, who is one of the nicest gentlemen I've ever met. Anyway, K decided that it'd be cool to be up on the mountain and have her gumbo. She's been cooking it all day, and I came home to the best smelling house I've ever come home to.

Some metaphors to tell you how good K's gumbo is...

-You know that point in romance movies when the cute, quirky couple kisses and the sappy music kicks in right before the credits? That's what it's like when you take the first bite of K's gumbo.

-You know when you eate something that tastes so good, you know that the instant you injest it, you're just taken 5 years off your life (or put yourself on the waiting list for a triple-bypass surgery)? That's like eating K's gumbo.

-You know that day in spring when the sun is finally warm enough that when you step into the sunlight it warms the back of your legs? That's like eating K's gumbo.

-You remember the songs your mom/dad used to sing you when you were a child? That's like eating K's gumbo.

-You know why I feel bad for vegetarians and vegans? K's muh-fuggin' gumbo.

This stuff is purely magical. K used to make it for my friends when they came over for the fantasy baseball draft. People used to join the league and come to the draft JUST FOR THE GUMBO. They wouldn't check the team for the rest of the season, but they'd walk out of that apartment feeling like they could conquer the world.

I'm gonna be eating that muh-fuggin' gumbo all weekend. And I'm gonna conquer the world.

Or at least a twelver of nattie light.

Nothing to see here, move along

2005-10-05T21:05:00.000-07:00

No post here. But a post here. "Does That Sh*t Really Work?!" has gone live, mofos.

Top ten

2005-10-03T20:45:00.000-07:00

Someone suggested that I do a top ten about myself. So here ya go...

Pete's top ten least known facts about me:

10) I come up with hot-as-hell freestyle rhymes while I'm mowing the lawn. But can never recreate their brilliance when not behind a lawn-mower.

9) If you calculate my year's intake of ketchup, I eat close to FOUR GALLONS of the stuff. Wow. That's a lotta fuckin' sauce.

8) I came up with one of the most brilliant ways to get screwed up on a Monday-- "Monday Night Football: The Drinking Game". And I played it tonight. And Tuesday isn't going to be much fun. Someday, I'll share the rules with you guys.

7) It wasn't until a year after I started dating K that I realized "yes, girls really do poop."

6) I have a miniature bust of Abe Lincoln that I'm especially fond of:

I bring him with me to every musical performance I have. I don't know why. Sometimes I put him on the amplifier, sometimes I leave him in my bag. But Abe is always with me at my shows.

5) I love Madonna. I saw Madonna at MSG. I don't think I'll ever see Madonna again.

4) I was talking with my sister tonight, and got on the conversation of really embarrassing things we've said to people we were interested in while at college. My freshman year, I called this senior up who I was ga-ga over... I asked her what she was doing and she said, "Ah, just watching the Miss America pageant." I said, "Really? Who's winning?" As soon as I said it, I realized how dumb of a question it was. I never got the gall to ask her to the university pub. And she never talked to me again.

3) It wasn't until two years after I started dating K that I realized "yes, girls really do fart."

2) I have RIDICULOUSLY vivid dreams. I have this one reoccurring dream where my left hand is cut off by terrorists/assassins/my first grade teacher. And I wake up suddenly and after sleeping on my left arm for a few hours, it's fallen asleep. And I freak out because I have no feeling in my hand and I can't move it at all and truly believe that my left arm has been cut off and I'm never going to play guitar again. And then I realize that it's 3:40 in the morning and I'm gonna be worthless at work the next day.

1) I always think about how I ended up at the age of 27 and where I pictured myself ending up when I was a boy. I find myself looking in the mirror every morning and wondering, if I was 10 and could see me as I am now, what I would think of myself and what I have become.

And while I didn't become an astronaut or a doctor, I sure hope I would have been happy.

Pop quiz, hot shot

2005-10-03T04:15:00.000-07:00

1) Compeltely out of character, Pete seems very happy this Monday morning as he sits and types out his morning entry. Why is Pete so happy this morning?

a) Because he got eight hours of sleep last night.

b) Because his fantasy baseball team, "The ATL En Fuego", finished in first place, netting him his first fantasy sports title ever.

c) Because he's eating a Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pie for Breakfast.

d) Because his fantasy football team vaulted him into second place in the laywer's "BIG MONEY" tournament that he was guilted into playing.

e) Because this Friday, Pete is going to be going to Sewanee for his five-year reunion.

Pass your answers to the front of the class. And yes, spelling does count.

Tales of Suburbia: Attack of The Joneses

2005-09-29T17:18:00.000-07:00

Back to clear out the cobwebs and see if anything funky has grown since I've been out... But lookin' around seems like everything's status quo. I didn't mean to be away from blogging for so long. I guess I took a week and a half vacation. Sorry folks-- it's nothing personal.

So things have been busy recently. Between K's birthday, Thad's birthday, and barbeques, the weekends seem to disappear as soon as they get here.

Another cool thing is K's brother, Jorge (left), has come to stay with us in the ATL. It's honestly been a blast having him here. He and I get along really well. At the very least he's someone to drink beer, tell stupid jokes and watch the game with... at the very best, he's one heck of a chef.

But he and K are going to Sewanee for the weekend to spend time with their youngest brother and their mother, "Silver Fox". So that means I'm gonna be hanging out in the ATL by my lonesome. Hopefully it'll be a nice, relaxing weekend. I plan on working on music with Thad (good stuff forthcoming... brace yo'selves) and doing a bunch of yardwork, weather permitting.

Speaking of yardwork, I've got a killer case of "keeping up with the Joneses". My next door neighbor has the nicest fucking lawn. It's this Bermuda grass that he cuts with this ridiculously complicated lawn mower that is designed to trim the putting greens on golf courses. I could seriously go out there and practice my putting on his yard, it's so damned beautiful.

And then you've got my grass, which is a combination of the grass from the neighbor's that has grown into my yard, some weeds, and some red creeping fescue. It's a truly horrible blend of turf that when, cut just right, looks like the Jolly Green Giant had a case of the shits.

So I've decided that I'm gonna turn that front yard under and replant the entire front yard. I'm gonna redo the sidewalk and plant a bunch of flowers in the front over the next few months. And one day I will win the neighborhood "Best Yard" prize, mark my words. And you better believe there will be pictures when the deed is done.

Anyway, apologies for the absence again... Next week, I'm gonna do a full week of updates now that things have settled down. And some new features will be added to this mofo.

Just keeping up with the Joneses.

Editorial: How music today is isolating the twenty-something liberatarian...

2005-09-18T15:26:00.000-07:00

The Dixie Chicks in 2002 said in a London Concert how they were ashamed of their President. Bruce Springsteen, Pearl Jam, REM, Bright Eyes, Death Cab for Cutie have all spoken out in shows (aside from their Moveon.org tour) discussing the political scene. The list goes on and on... Countless other political movements within rock shows have happened within the last few years, and to be quite honest, it's pissing me off.

Here's the thing-- I don't go to church expecting to hear a rock song. I don't go to shout at the top of my lungs as the preacher goes knee-deep into (to borrow Jack Black's term) a face-melting guitar solo. I don't go to church expecting to crowd surf or have too many beers.

But I don't go to a rock show expecting to hear a sermon either.

I don't disagree with people's political beliefs for the most part. Quite the opposite-- as a liberatarian, I believe that everyone is entitled to their opinions (as well as they believe them because they've done research, considered the options, and they feel that their's fits best). If you believe something that may differ from my beliefs and have thought about both sides of the argument and read up on the facts, I think that's great. I think that's one of the most beautiful things about the country, and as an idealist, believe that when everyone does their duty and votes, the greater good should prevail (in theory). It's a wonderful framework that the founders of our country believed in and has carried on strong for hundreds of years.

What I don't appreciate is going to a rock show and having someone on stage bitching about the US political situation. It straight-up sucks. If I want to hear about how people agree or disagree with the President, I'll watch C-Span or Meet the Press. But I don't want to go to a show and hear about how the band has a beef with Dubya or the Dubya-haters and endure crowd-popping banter about how we're right and the other group is wrong.

The sixties encapsulated some of the greatest music ever written. Dylan, Hendrix, the Dead, the Beatles, the Stones-- I mean these guys wrote some of the most politcally charged stuff that you'd ever hear. Maybe I'm just disassociating myself from the politics of the time and have grown up numb to the message behind some of the music. But man, politics played a big part in that music and I love the stuff that came out of that period. Did I agree with many of the policies the US had at the time? Probably not. Vietnam was an interesting time for this country. Thousands of people were in the Vietnam war against their will, drafted into a war they did not believe in. They didn't have a choice. And frankly, that scenario sucks.

But being a fan of music now is hard. I spent years when I was a kid listening to REM albums, thinking they were the best band on the planet. I spent countless hours trying to make my voice sound like Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder and trying to figure out the guitar solo on "Alive". I spent months and threw away countless drafts of lyrics trying to emulate the same vivid storytelling of Bruce Springsteen. But I don't know if I could ever go see anyone of them again. Why? Because I feel isolated.

Do I think Bush is the best President we've ever had? No. Do I agree with the war in Iraq? Not entirely. Do I feel safer knowing Saddam's out of power? I dunno... that's a tough one. But I'd rather sing along with the songs of the band that I'm there to see than to have a political diatribe thrust upon me, whether or not I agree with it.

And it sucks. I don't disagree with people writing songs about how the situation sucks right now, and I don't disagree with people believing whatever they want to. And writing about it, sure. Write about whatever you want. I'll probably sing along if you write a damn catchy song.

But I do disagree with bands getting cheap pops from the crowd talking about politics when they should be working for applause and accolades by performing well and playing up to the crowd. I'm not saying that I'm against artists getting involved in the political arena or other social issues. I mean, hell, look at what Bono's done in the last ten years for people.

But do me a favor-- keep politics outside of the rock arena, please.

I'm there to enjoy the music.

Photo Update 4: The WTF Update

2005-09-09T04:12:00.000-07:00

Sorry, guys... this is going to be a quick one. Gotta get to work pretty early this morning.

WTF made me so hungover for the entire weekend? Oh yeah, Tuppers' Hop Pocket and a ton of Marlboro Lights. Uggghhhh.... Good beer though. I originally purchased Tuppers' Hop Pocket on a whim, in the chance that it would taste somewhat like frozen Hot Pockets. But alas, no. But it was my-tee tas-tee!

Unfortunately, it also caused me to pick a second string running back (Tatum Bell) for my third pick in the "big money" fantasy football league draft. WTF? Worst pick ever.

WTF are these equals stickers for? I've been seeing them EVERYWHERE in Atlanta. I keep thinking that if I rub the sticker, I'll find out whether the car is an autobot or a decepticon? Is it some secret society like the Masons? What does it take to join (not that I want to, per se... just want to know what the requirements are for putting a yellow equals sign on the back of your car)?

WTF is this?! This was the infamous "Tupper Hop Pocket Night" at the Thompson House, and I was playing music with my buddy Thad. I plugged in my camera tonight, and I found a bunch of photos that I didn't take. I guess K came in and took them while we were working on stuff. But anyway, these are the founding members of the group tentitavely called "Project Thompson".

WTF?! I'm clicking during the game last night and I come across this on MTV. You know, that show...

And I'm trying to figure out what DirecTV is calling it under the description...

"No, DirecTV... just... no. Step away from the channel guide and put your hands behind your head."

I may be an adult, but I still get weirded out when "grown-ups" try to be cool.

Have a good weekend guys.

This morning: ****

2005-09-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

The most accurate hangover ranking system I've found:
(via about.com)

One Star Hangover
No pain. No real feeling of illness. Your sleep last night was a mere disco nap, which has given you a whole lot of misplaced energy. Be glad that you are able to function relatively well. However, you are still parched. You can drink 10 sodas and still feel this way. You are craving a steak bomb and a side of gravy fries.
Two Star Hangover
No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee you are chugging is only exacerbating your rumbling gut, which is craving a rootie tootie fresh and fruity pancake breakfast from IHOP. There is some definite havoc being wreaked upon your bowels.
Three Star Hangover
Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the random gin shots you did with your alcoholic friends after the bouncer 86'd you at 1:45 a.m. Life would be better right now if you were in your bed with a dozen donuts and a meatball hero watching the E! fashion awards. You've had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 3 Snapples and a liter of diet coke, yet you haven't peed once.
Four Star Hangover
Life sucks. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or else you might puke. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but that can't hide the fact that you missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving, (girls, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars.) Your eyes look like one big vein and your hair style makes you look like a reject from the class picture of Grover Cleveland HS, class of '84.
Five Star Hangover
AKA "Dante's 4th Circle of Hell."
You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee who sits in the next cube. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth in an attempt to get the remnants of the shit fairy out. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva, so your tongue is suffocating you. Death seems pretty good right now. You definitely don't remember who you were with, where you were, what you drank and why there is a stranger still sleeping in your bed at your otherwise empty house.
Six Star Hangover
Otherwise known as the "Infinite Nut smacker"
You wake up on your bathroom floor. For about 2 seconds you look at the ceiling, wondering if the cool refreshing feeling on your cheek is the bathroom tile or your vomit from 5 hours ago. It is amazing how your roommate was as drunk as you, but somehow managed to get up before you. You try to lift your head. Not an option. Then you inadvertently turn your head too quickly and smell the funk of 13 packs of cigarettes in your hair. Suddenly you realize you were smoking, but not ultra lights... some jackass handed you Marlboro reds, and you smoked them like it was your second full time job. You look in the mirror only to see remnants of the stamp "Ready to Rock" faintly atop your forehead... the stamp on the back of your hand that has magically appeared on your forehead by alcoholic osmosis. You have to be to work in t-minus 14 minutes and 32 seconds and the only thing you can think of wearing is your "hello kitty" pajamas and your slippers.

Atlanta's "Bridge and Tunnel": OTP

2005-08-30T20:50:00.000-07:00

While all this terrifying stuff is going on, I thought I'd take a break from my prayers for the people of the Southeast and all of those affected by the storm to discuss something far more trivial... but before I start, I can't even tell you how much my heart aches for those people on the Gulf Coast. I just pray that help will come swiftly.

Now, to my trivial diatribe...

Growing up in Sandy Springs, I never considered it lesser in comparison to other parts of the city. In fact, I thought of it as nicer than most parts of the city. It had a great school district, nice homes, and while outside the city, still retaining some semblance of culture. We definitely didn't live out in the "boonies" or the countryside (not that there's anything with living in the country, mind you-- I love the wide open spaces)... but we lived in what I thought was a well-respected area of Atlanta.

Granted, things change. But my town really didn't. Aside from the fact that it has become Georgia's newest city (and will be the seventh largest when it becomes official), and the recent influx of turtles (and, well, bats), there hasn't been much of a change. Sure, there are some new stores and some new houses, but nothing that you wouldn't expect from an "upscale" suburb close to the city of Atlanta...

So, I come to find out that there's a huge distinction between two types of people in Atlanta: OTP people and ITP people. Being OTP (Outside the Perimeter) and not ITP (Inside the Perimeter) has become a definite social faux pas in the city of Atlanta.

In New York City, they have the same type of delineation-- New Yorker or "Bridge and Tunnel". I lived on both sides of the NYer and the B&Ters and thought the labeling of those people who lived outside the Isle of Manhattan as lesser was extremely unfair. But honestly, I resigned myself to the fact it really didn't matter which side of the fence I was on-- everything was way too expensive either way.

I've found that this whole OTP vs. ITP has really pissed me off because it makes me feel that some ITPers believe that living outside the perimeter is for lesser people. And there are parts of Sandy Springs that are technically ITP but are still considered OTP because it's not Buckhead or Decatur or something. And in the end, the whole mess is truly bullshit.

I agree with this guy somewhat. I live a great life OTP and consider myself better off considering I don't have to cram myself three feet from my neighbors house with less than an 1/8th of an acre lot.

But instead of branding myself OTP or ITP, I consider myself one of the IDGAF people.

To those people who take pride in being ITP and think less of people living OTP-- GFY.

Photo Update 3: DON'T CALL IT A COMEBACK!!!

2005-08-25T18:30:00.000-07:00

So, yeah, I guess I've taken a blogger vacation... sorry about that. Next time I'll give you guys a heads up. But I needed some time away from the blog. Lotsa stuff been going on.

K and I went up to NYC for the weekend and stayed with our friend "The Bean" out in Astoria, Queens. Got there Friday night, and as soon as we get out of the cab, we have drinks in hand. We went to the neighborhood bar, Doyles, where I used to play music on a semi-regular basis. I ended up playing a quick 3-song set while there-- a guy was playing acoustic guitar and the bartender at the bar asked him if it was okay for me to play a couple of songs since I was in town for the night. Played a couple of quick ones, and went to meet up with my boy, Brad for his birthday.
Brad (the one with the "Blue Steel" look-- third from the left) is about the only person I know who is more intense about fantasy sports than I am. I think it's all my fault too... I was the one who introduced him to fantasy football. It's all been downhill from there. He's wearing a shirt that says, "I'm not dead yet". Best birthday shirt I can ever remember seeing. We had a killer time... while I was smoking outside, a couple of girls ridiculously tight dresses came up to ask me where some club I've never heard of was. I told them I didn't know. One of them says to the other, "Leave him alone, he doesn't want to have sex with you!!!" I laughed, said "Sorry I couldn't help you-- Happy Whoring!!!" and went back inside.

Saturday night: the real purpose of the trip. To see my buddy, Pete Wagner, who I've known since I was about 3, get married. It was really cool-- it was on the top of a building in Soho. Pete and his fiancee (now wife) are really sweet people, and I can't even describe how awesome they are together. It was really cool seeing them get married...

===
Pete's dad, The Doc, played an original song for them called "Don't Look Back". This dog's got chops, folks.

When talking to him later, he told me that he wrote the song about 30 years ago and played it at his sister's wedding. I thought that was really amazing.

The wedding was just a lot of fun... The DJ was playing some KICK-ASS hip-hop (a little out of character) and I danced harder than I have in a while. A lot of people from Hammertime's bachelor party in Vegas were there, and we did about as much damage to our lungs and livers at the wedding as we did in Vegas. God bless... I can't do this every weekend...

K and I were flying out of Newark at noon, and since we were flying standby, we needed to get there extra early. We wake up at 7:00 with MASSIVE hangovers and got out there in plenty of time. Except we got bumped from FOUR FLIGHTS. Not for nothing, New Jersey, but Newark Airport could use something... like more bathrooms in the terminal or slots like Vegas...

When K and I finally get home, we're relaxing and I decide that I'm gonna take a shower and wash New Jersey right out of my hair (again, no offense--seven hours in an airport will make you a bit bitter)... While I'm in the shower, I keep hearing this knocking sound... I'm looking around like, "What the hell?" And I look towards the window and see this black cpot in the window between the storm window and the glass...
...
..
..
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.
.
.
.
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AND IT'S A FREAKING BAT IN MY WINDOW! OM-FUCKING-G! I try knocking on the window and it doesn't move. I hope that it isn't dead and that I don't get rabies... It's gone and come back for the last couple of days. And now, K's kind of taken to it now... she's named it "Booger" (see, I'm not the only one that assigns names to animals and insects).

Anyway, I saw it fly in this morning from outside, so now I know how it got into the window. And tomorrow, it'll be out of here like Elian. Peace out, Booger!

So, aside from fighting off rabies-carrying flying mammals, I've been working on music... I'm making some really good progress, with 6 songs out of 14 already recorded, another 6 written, and two more I have to polish off lyrically.

I've had an entire album planned in my head for about a year now, and I'm JUST NOW getting to record some of the songs. I'm trying something a bit new-- not only will there be an album, but I'm writing an accompying novel (really a novella, but I don't like the way that sounds) to go along with it. I tend to make a lot of my lyrics a bit vague (sometimes intentionally, a lot of times unintentionally), but for this, I wanted to drive the point home. But we'll see how it all works out. While I'm hammering out the ideas I've found that I've got to scrap a couple of songs and write some new ones, but it adds to the strength of the overall theme and should make for a better album.

But I think that this is a unique concept-- not really a concept album, but more of a dual-work. And I guess if they ever make a movie out of the novella, there will already be an existing soundtrack...

Anyway, the first track of the album is named "On The Night In Question"... One of the lyrically complex songs I've written in a while. A sad, sad little tune. But as soon as I'm done with recording, I'll make sure you guys get a chance to listen.

And I'm spent... Have a great weekend folks.

Hammertime in Vegas

2005-08-15T19:27:00.000-07:00

My apologies for the lack of pictures-- there seems to be a bit of an issue with Blogger this evening. It's the best I can do for right now.

8/12/05 7:15 am EST

Woke up an hour ago. Didn’t sleep too well—it reminded me of how Christmas Eve used to be when I was little.

I’m at the Marta Station Now—K just dropped me off. While there isn’t any comparison, really, it’s nice to be back in a subway in the morning. But without the stench.

7:55 am EST

Approaching the Airport on Marta. The woman sitting next to me fell asleep and, on a sharp turn, proceeded to start falling into me. If it weren’t for my bag, her head would have ended up in my crotch. Fortunately my bag saved us both some unneeded embarrassment.

8:20 am EST

Made it through security in less than four minutes—a record for Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.

8:50 am EST
There’s a smoking lounge right next to my gate: not fair to my lungs or the unfortunate soul sitting next to me on the plane.

9:20 am EST
On the plane and will be taking off shortly. It’s a 3 ½ hour flight, but I came prepared with an arsenal of entertainment:

-my iPod

-today’s AJC

-two fantasy football mags

-several articles on playing roulette, craps and blackjack

-a pack o’ gum

9:20 am CST (over Alabama)

We took off about 20 minutes ago. It’s interesting to see the type of people on the way to Vegas. A strange dichotomy… there are two groups, really—the older, ragged, tired folk with seemingly bankrupt souls and purses full of quarters. The other: young twenty-somethings in tank tops and tight jeans. Both groups are heading to Vegas with hopes of a cheap buzz, untold fortunes and carnal pleasures. I’m finding myself strangely out of place, both identifying yet intolerant of both groups (I’m betting it’s the lack of constant nicotine flowing through my veins). But I’m definitely with them on the whole “cheap buzz, untold fortunes” thing.

9:40 am CST (over Mississippi)
The inflight movie is “Monster in Law”. Like passing a car crash, I’m horrified but drawn to watch. I feel dirty.

9:25 am (what fucking time zone is Vegas in??? Mountain? Pacific? Okay, PST)
That was torture. I can’t believe I watched that entire movie. I don’t know if it’s the plane or the movie, but I feel sick.

10:40 am PST
We just landed in Vegas. Rough landing, but we’re down. That’s all that matters.

When they say “prepare arrival for cross check”, what the fuck does that mean? Exactly what are they cross-checking against? I’ll have to check with the people at the office.

10:55 am PST

Holy shit. There are slots TWO STEPS from the gate.

And even better, slots in the smoking lounge. ATL airport’s got nuthin’ on Vegas.

11:20 am PST

On the shuttle to New York-New York casino. This airport is insane. Too much confusion here for my taste.

12:15 pm PST

Checked into the New York New York hotel. Requested a smoking room and Rusty and I were settled.

Nice room, hung up my clothes, having a smoke, and will be meeting the boys downstairs for lunch.

We can hear the screams of the people on the roller coaster. I hope that doesn’t go on all night.

12:55 pm PST

Just finished lunch with the guys. Unfortunately, one of the guys is missing. Hossein (Hose) was last heard from around 5:30 am after he won $350.

Theories running rampant on his whereabouts… hoping he’s not in jail.

1:56 pm PST

We just found Hose still at the table, $300 down AND WASTED. Met up with my boy Sommers, and we’re sitting here drinking, about to head over to the Excalibur for poker.

2:25 pm PST

After much protest, Hose finally agreed to go to bed. Met up with Josh and we’re on our way to play poker.

3:45 pm PST

I just won $60 at Texas Hold ‘Em. Kicked ass when I was down to my last three chips, went all-in and won all of my money back.

5:00 pm PST

My watch stopped in Excalibur. Luckily, I was able to get it working again…

Played two rounds of roulette—bet on black (always bet on black, they say) and broke even on the two bets. Now, sitting in the room with Travis and Rusty, drinking beer and watching the Braves.

5:25 pm PST

Got a really tasty beer buzz and Rusty and I are going to ride the roller coaster here. Gotta piss.

6:25 pm PST

Took a slight detour back to the room and stopped off at Nathan’s Hot Dogs… I haven’t had a NY dog in months—it was good.

Time to shower before Hammertime’s fancy bachelor party steak dinner.

6:40 pm PST

So fresh and so clean (clean)!

7:55 pm PST

At diner at BOA in Caesar’s Palace. Absolutely a huge place—it’s like a mall here.

Debauchery has begun to ensue.

We just saw Pete Rose here in Vegas… fitting.

8:45 pm PST

We just received our appetizers… I tried calamari for the first time and really enjoyed it. Squid bothers me, but fry it up and I’m happy, I guess.

9:35 pm PST

Saw my first Vegas hookers [sitting at a table a few yards away from us]. Definitely a liberating experience. [They kept going to the bathroom in pairs, we assumed to “coke up”.]

9:45 pm PST

As per Jonathan Sommers:

[Written by Jonathan] When I’m eating it, Hose can’t have any…

I’m not sure what he’s referring to…

11:40 pm PST

A brilliant two hours. Money is flying out of my wallet before I can think of spending it.

Recapping the events:

-We walked forever to find the taxi stand to take us to Jaguar (soon to be known as “Scores—Las Vegas”). 11 of us ended up cramming into a stretch limo and I, being the last person (besides Hose who demanded a window seat due to motion sickness/the thought of dropping a thousand to NYNY casino) had to sit crouched in an “in the woods, taking a shit” position while we made the 20 minute venture.

-We get out, pay the $30 cover, and walk in. I, the continual beer drinker, order a Miller Lite, and end up paying $7.00 for a beer. But definitely worth every cent to be hanging with Hammer on his bachelor party night. Although, it feels like New York City all over again.

-Hammertime is doing fine—a gentleman to his friends and to the ladies there. We sit down at the large table area reserved for us and I chain smoke while I watch people around me enjoying the “carnal pleasures” of Vegas.

[“Senator Center” and I left the Jaguar shortly after arriving, tired and wanting to conserve as much money as possible.]

8/13/05 12:12 am PST

I received a call from Travis, saying the boys are coming back from Jaguar. We’re headed to the tables, I’m sure.

Drinking MUST CEASE if I am to make my flight tomorrow.

1:47 am PST

I CLEANED UP DOWNSTAIRS. I hit blackjack on a couple of tables, doubled on roulette, and easily made back the money I spent earlier tonight.

Travis, who is coming over to hang out and smoke, convinced me to quit while I was ahead. God bless ‘em.

A good day in Vegas.

10:30 am PST

Been up for the last two hours. I’m terribly hungover.

I had packed everything the night before and gotten to sleep by about 3:00 am. Rusty came in around 3:45 I think, and we supposedly had a brief conversation.

I awoke with my lungs feeling like they’d had gone through a good “once over” with steel wool. I was to meet the shuttle out in front of NYNY at 9:30, so I crossed over Tropicana Blvd and walked into “Fatburger” for breakfast.

[End Journal--my pen runs out of ink]
Long story short, the flight back home wasn’t as nice as I had hoped. Weather in Atlanta delayed my arrival, and I was so hungover I couldn’t really even sleep. But I made it back in one piece, and I had a blast with my boys out there.

Fear and Loathing: The Vegas Project

2005-08-11T18:52:00.000-07:00

"8/11/05 9:30 PM EST
The Plan
Here is where I will catalog my experiences in Las Vegas. I leave in about 12 hours from Atlanta.

To Do:
- Celebrate w/ Hammertime

-Play Blackjack

-Take Pictures & Detailed Notes

-Win Big Bucks (see #2)

-Be Responsible."

=========

"8/11/05 9:30 PM (cont'd)

To Don't

- Lose Money

-Punch a sign/break hand

-Get kicked out of a casino

-Prostitute

-Illicit drugs

Wish me luck, Fuckers!!!"

This weekend...

2005-08-11T04:25:00.000-07:00

A quick post before I go to work this morning. I am going to be going to Las Vegas this Friday and Saturday for a bachelor party for my buddy, Hammertime. The trip will be fully documented and detailed here. Expect many tales of debauchery...

Freddy

2005-08-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

It's a busy time at work right now. Like many financial analysts, the first few days after the end of a month are extremely hectic, trying to figure out what last minute entries have hit the books. In an effort to curb stress, I've made a habit of going outside for a smoke about once every hour and a half or so.

(I know, "Smoking's bad for you! It'll kill you!" It's not a permanent thing-- just long enough to get me through this closing period and then I'm on the wagon again.)

So, my smoking location of choice is a little picnic area designated for people in need of Vitamin N, right outside one of the big-ass buildings on the campus. It's kind of ramshackled, but it suits everyone's purposes, I guess. It's basically shoved into this corner surrounded by a "trailer" used by the building maintenance people to store cleaning supplies and stuff.

A couple of days ago, I noticed this spider down in the corner of the smoking area. The body of the spider isn't any bigger than a Tic-Tac, but it's legs have to be about 4 inches long. Think of a fierce-as-hell-looking daddy-long-legs, but with a web. I'd say total length of this thing has to be about 5 inches or so, and it's this really creepy silvery-black color that would make anyone cringe.

Full disclosure-- I hate spiders. I'm not afraid of them or anything (my real fear is of bees-- a story for another time), but they still creep me out. If this guy was placed just right, I would have killed the thing, but of course it wasn't and I wouldn't be able to get at it without getting cobwebs all over myself.

So, I started fucking with it. Last week, I tried to flick an ash from my cigarette directly at the spider, but it landed in the heart of it's web. The spider, at lightning speed, dashed across the web, pounced upon the ash that I had deposited into its lair, tasted it (or tried to bite it) and then threw it a good foot and scurried back into the corner of its web.

WOW, I thought. That was really cool!!! So, for the remainder of the cigarette and for every cigarette for about three days after that, I kept doing the same thing. Once, he picked up the ash without tasting it and attempted to wrap it up in webbing... kind of funny to watch him do this, because as he started to wrap web around it, the ash fell apart, and he was left holding this ball of web and ash from his ass. Dejected, he snapped the web off, dropped it, and crawled back into the corner.

Anyway, this spider still creeps me out a bit, but I've stopped messing with it. And as creepy as I thought he once was, I think he's kind of cool looking now. I saw him catch a bug yesterday and kind of psyched for him. I watched him bite the head of a fly for about five seconds, watched the fly go limp, and Freddy started mummifying the thing. I've seen little mummified bugs in a web before, but I've never seen a spider actually consuming a bug (outside late night Discovery shows when I was in college).

I've even named him-- Freddy. [I wish I had a picture of Freddy... maybe I'll bring my camera tomorrow and post it up here.] It's kind of nice to come by every day and see if Freddy's still there and what he's doing... usually perched in his little corner of his web, waiting for a fly to bite the head off of.

Atlanta Scratch-itti

2005-08-01T19:12:00.000-07:00

This past week has driven me to drink. And what you're seeing is not iced tea, folks.

So, to start this off, The Squad Car is sadly falling apart.

The Squad Car doesn't have air conditioning. In Atlanta, that's like not having hands or something. I've spent the last two months with all four windows down while going 80 up I-75/85, unless of course when it's raining... then only the back two windows are down...

Last week, I was driving home, and the rain started coming down when I was about 3 miles from home. It wasn't just raining, it was POURING... literally sheets of rain. So I start to roll up all of the windows, and the front-passenger window is making this clicking sound and not rolling up. So I get three of the windows up, while the fourth is allowing gallons of water into the car.

I get home and at least get the window rolled up after removing the panel off the door and pushing it up through the metal frame. I admit defeat and decide not to mess with it anymore. So that left me with three windows. Ugh.

Then, Wednesday, during one of the hottest days of the summer, I get into the car and get halfway out of the parking lot when I realize there's NO REARVIEW MIRROR. The heat had melted the glue off the back of the mirror and it had fallen off the windshield. I get home (with considerably fewer lane changes than I'm typically used to), and get the trusty superglue. But for some reason, I can't get the freakin' mirror to stick back on the windshield. Again, I admitted defeat and decided not to mess with it anymore.

Friday, I drove to work, rearview-mirror-less and with only three windows down. It wasn't too bad in the morning, but when I got back in the car at 5:30 that afternoon, I caught the distinct smell of anti-freeze. No matter, I thought. It's probably just a one-off thing... Anti-freeze leaks during the summer, I guess.

I drop the car off at Papa Bear's for the weekend (he needed to pick up some fertilizer-- he still doesn't have his truck yet)... I get a call from Dad on Saturday morning asking if I smelled "ethyl-glycol" when I was in the car. I jokingly said, "What, you mean that 'ass-like' smell that's somewhat reminiscent of anti-freeze? Yeah, I noticed that on Friday." He laughed, and took a look under the hood. Turns out the thing has a leak in the heater and anti-freeze is being vaporized through the air vents into the car anytime the car runs.

...That couldn't be too hazardous to your health, could it?

Well, K and I agreed that I shouldn't chance it, so we went car shopping on Saturday before I took Mom, Dad and K to the Braves game (Papa Bear and my second game in a week-- huzzah!!!). There's a car dealership about two miles from my house, and they usually have an OBSCENE amount of used-car listings, so we trotted our asses over there.

Long story short, we found a 2003 Ford Focus (GREAT GAS MILEAGE, and surprisingly stacked full of toys for me to play with) and got a ridiculously good deal. It's blue-- almost the exact same color of the Cruiser. Seems that dark blue is the only color K and I can agree on...

I drive the Focus to work today, and when I take it over to my parents' house to show them the car, I noticed that SOMEONE HAD FUCKING KEYED MY CAR. The car that I've had for TWO DAYS. You can tell when it's just a scratch or a car door or something, but when it's someone keying it, you can tell that shit was intentional.

Bummer, man.

So who dunnit? I can't think of who would have a reason to. I haven't made any enemies at work (that I know about, at least)... however, there IS another car in the lot, however, that's the exact same color and make as mine. I hope it wasn't someone who thought I was stealing their thunder...

Anyway, if I hear anything, I'll pass it along. Otherwise, say your prayers, take your vitamins, and always believe in the power of Hulkamania.

Photo Update II

2005-07-27T20:27:00.000-07:00

I am just now getting back onto my computer for the first time in five days.

Man, my internet went down on Saturday, five minutes after I get home from my trip to NYC. After countless hours on the phone with people in a foreign land who couldn't understand my problem, they sent a technician over this afternoon to tell my wife that the problem wasn't my computer or my house, but that a squirrel had gotten in the DSL box on the main road right around the corner from our house.

The little fucker had decided to make a nest in the router and shut down our entire neighborhood. Bastard... Five days without internet access or e-mail has left me restless. I'd say that's grounds for a photo update...

(Preface: I did not get any pictures from my first trip back to New York, but let me tell you that I haven't been that wasted since leaving New York. Quick recap-- I met up with the wonderful people that I used to work with, and it was utterly fantastic to see them. We were joined by my brother, and shortly thereafter, Rob and I went off to have a family dinner with my sister, Beth, on the Upper West Side at "Ouest". I had rabbit for the first time... and I will have to say it was mighty tasty. My wife's brother, "Jorge", met up with the three of us at my favorite East Village dive bar, helped us out with a couple of pitchers of beer, and then proceded to buy us shots. Of tequila. I can't drink tequila. [I had one of those "tequila nights" and since then, I have not been able to stomach the shit.] Upon drinking said tequila, I puked on the curb outside my old bar, came back in and finished my beer. Went home to my brother's place at 3:30 am, woke up at 9:00 and headed back to the big ATL with a hangover that could have, if harnessed for good, prevented the World Wars.)

Now, for the photo update...

Last night, I took my dad, who you all know as "Papa Bear" to a Braves game for his Father's Day present. Papa Bear and I have spent countless nights listening and watching the Braves on TV and radio, but I think this was the first that we had been to together, just us. I specifically chose this game for two reasons:

1) because the Braves were playing the Washington Nationals, who have been leading the NL East for the last couple o' months; and

2) Dad had mentioned to me how he had seen the Washington Senators when he was younger and I thought it would be great for him to have the opportunity to see both Washington teams in person. And hopefully, the Braves would be whoopin' that ass.

Let me just say that it was hotter than BALLZ. We arrived at the stadium, and the temp was clocked in at 96 degrees (just two shy of a shitty boy band--wokka wokka wokka!!!).

I found out the day before that the Braves' marquee pitcher, John Smoltz (left), was going to be pitching against the Nationals' best pitcher, Livan Hernandez. Neither Papa Bear nor I had never seen Smoltz pitch live, and we were excited at the prospect. While things didn't heat up until the 7th, we got a free inning of baseball, and the home team pulled it out in the 10th with a bases-loaded walk.

The best part about the evening was talking with Papa Bear and us predicting move-by-move what Manager Bobby Cox was going to do. When you've been watching the Braves for as long as Dad and I have, you get to know what he's going to do.

The second best thing about the evening was seeing this big ass motherfucking plasma screen in the middle of center field. Holy crap, that thing is almost as tall as the stadium itself. I asked the super-friendly attendant at the top of our row how much that thing cost, and he quoted the figure of $6 million. While a staggering figure to pay for a TV (to say the least), it makes my dream of a wall-mounted 42" plasma for $4,000 sound much more reasonable. I've just got to take my wife to a Braves game and make the sales pitch there.

The morning after a ball game is always tough-- the amount of sweat you lost, the number of $7 beers you drank, etcetera, etcetera... So I was a bit off this morning at work and was looking forward to a quiet evening at home when I remembered my friend, Andy, was taking his final section of the Bar exam today and was planning (for the last month) to go out this evening with the old crew and get shitfaced. I, of course, was morally obligated to attend.

A good sized crowd was in attendance for the festivaties at the Little Five Points hamburger joint/dive bar. Andy isn't much of a drinker, so I was not only there to congratulate him, but was also in attendance as a specator. At 9:45 sharp, Andy proclaimed his shitiness and pronounced he was ready for bed. I did, however, manage to get my wife to take a picture with my buddy Rusty (left), myself (center), and future esquire, Andy before exodus. I'm extremely proud of and happy for him, and am convinced he's going to make one hell of an attorney.

Peace out, mofos. Bed time for Bonzo.

It may be closed on Sunday's, but it's the best restaurant any day of the week...

2005-07-14T20:08:00.000-07:00

Okay, today I found out something so freaking EARTH SHATTERING in my world that I have to share it with you folks. And those of you who know me will truly realize the severity of this issue.

But first, a bit of backstory...
-------
I grew up in Atlanta. It's a wonderful town, but after college I thought I'd go up north to NYC to investigate the Manhattan scene. I spent just under five years, and it took me getting away from Atlanta to realize what exactly the city, and the Southeast for that matter, had to offer.

I missed trees. I missed grass. I missed backyards. I know that all of these things are available in the suburbs of New York, but I didn't feel like moving out of Manhattan to have hints of those things. I mean, I came to New York and paid the huge premium to have the big city experience. Not poo-pooing on New Jersey or Long Island (or the ever enigmatic "Upstate") but commuting an hour-plus everyday (and even longer when you want to spend an evening in the city) and still having that high premium didn't make sense to me.

There were other things about the south that I missed. For instance, every time I came back to Atlanta, I would try to make what I called "The HatTrick"-- hitting the three restaurants in Atlanta that I didn't have access to in New York:

1) The Varsity
2) Waffle House
3) Chick-Fil-A

(A brief aside-- my love for fast food knows NO BOUNDS. It's kind of sick-- I actually was inspired by "Super Size Me". It struck a chord so deep in my soul that I thought I could have starred in the documentary. )

Until my last year of living in New York City, there were none of these restaurants in New York. It was only last year that I found out that Chick-Fil-A had opened up ONE location. It was located in the New York University food court.

Regardless, immediately upon finding out about the Chick-Fil-A in New York, I jumped on the subway with Carlton (one of my co-workers who shares the same passion for Chick-Fil-A sandwiches) and rode the 6-train fifty blocks down to locate it. I spent several lunch hours making that commute to get that sandwich.

I mentioned earlier in this weblog about how I stopped for breakfast at Chick-Fil-A on the way to work. After a five year drought, I went on somewhat of a "binge", but I had to curb that practice quickly, realizing I was close to regaining my all-time "heavyweight" status.

Anyway, this brings us to today... I work in a mammoth building just off the runways of Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta. Now, the place I would stop for breakfast is a five minute drive from the office and I would go there maybe once a week to enjoy the fine culinary experience. And from the abundance of Chick-Fil-A cups in the office, I thought everyone shared my sentiments.

I was talking with one of my co-workers, Wilson (name changed to protect the innocent), about places to eat around the office. Here's the conversation:

Pete: So, what's there to eat around here?
Wilson: Ah, there are a couple of restaurants in downtown Hapeville... Wendy's, Mickey D's, there's a good chinese buffet...
P: (intrigued) Really??? Man, all you can eat buffets aren't so much of a DEAL as they are a PERSONAL CHALLENGE.
W: Oh yeah. I've been known to do some damage there. But I don't get a chance to get out much. I usually just stick with the cafeteria here.
P: We have a cafeteria?!
W: Oh yeah... they've got a grill and salads and stuff. They've got good Philly Cheesesteaks.
P: Dude, I loves me some cheesesteaks.
W: They're good. But if there's nothing that really spikes your interest, you've always got Chick-Fil-A to fall back on.
P: Yeah, that restaurant in Hapeville is pretty good.
W: No, no... in the cafeteria.
P: What do you mean?
W: Uh, they've got Chick-Fil-A in the cafeteria...
P: You mean HERE? ON SIGHT?
W: Uhhhh, yeah.
P: In THIS building? In the cafeteria that's no more than 200 yards from my DESK?
W: Yeah, why?
P: [Giggles in ecstacy] Oh man... There goes my Christmas bonus-- my productivity just hit an all-time low.
[END SCENE]

So there you have it. There's a muhfuckin' Chick-Fil-A within skipping distance of my desk.

And I can't tell you how much I love this job. The perks kick serious ass.

Photo Update

2005-07-14T19:25:00.000-07:00

So, I've been M.I.A. for the last couple of weeks... here's a photo recap of what's been up...

K and I bought a car... A PT Cruiser... It's really K's car, but I love the muhfugga. We drove it to the second wedding in Tennessee...

Right when we got back from Tennessee, K's parents came to town with a ton of alcohol and the crazy desire to buy us appliances.

They bought us a stainless steel stove to match our stainless steel fridge. The old stove didn't look that nice, honestly. That and the fact that it decided to cook everything at 550 degrees (which we found out when K and I had both HER parents and MY parents over, and were trying to cook a pork loin roast for dinner)... Anyway, it's so new I haven't even used it yet...

K's parents also bought us a washing machine and dryer (not pictured because it's in a seperate room in the house)... I spent most of the day Saturday trying to level the muhfucka because the room that it's in has a slanted floor... It was shaking so bad during our inaugural load (because it wasn't leveled) that I could feel it on the other side of the house. It was a pain in the buttocks, but I ended up getting the thing straightened out.

...and the in-laws' spending spree didn't stop there. No sir. They took pity on my soul and bought me a hellafied grill. I have become worringly good at cooking burgers and steaks on this bad boy.

I had a good Saturday evening with my buddy Thad. I tried to grill out that night, but I don't think Hurricane Dennis likes my hamburgers.

Anyway, he and I are going to start working on our own music project, so expect to hear some tunes soon. He also asked me to audition for the band he's currently in, The Shut-Ups. Tough to classify their music (I guess you'd call them new wave), but they've got one of the best live shows I've ever seen. Their songs are well written. I think there are tunes on the website-- I'd recommend "What's a Booty?" and "Too Late for Disco".

So, we worked on that and I got about five of their songs down pretty well.

Well, unfortunately, I woke up the next morning with a horrible ear infection and sore throat. I don't know if it was all the drinking. Or the smoking. Or the fact that I had just cut the grass a couple of days ago. But regardless, I spent all Sunday slugging down Theraflu and sleeping on the couch. I went to the doctor and he said it was a sinus infection that was causing all of the problems. He prescribed me some Biaxin (which made me feel like I had Fallujah in my stomach).

Anyway, my audition was last night and I think I played pretty well. I kind of wish I had learned more songs for the audition, but I worked on stuff tonight and they're coming fast and furious.

Work's been hard (working 12 hour days this week) but that's just because we're still wrapping up financial statements. I'm loving it still, and feeling a great sense of enjoyment calculating variances again.

Yes, I'm so fucked in the head that I get a kick calculating variances.

Delay of Game

2005-07-08T04:19:00.000-07:00

Sorry everyone. I wholly expected to write about this weekend's wedding shenanigans and the week with the inlaws, but it was a hard week with the inlaws. I'll try to write this evening with the week in review.

(Oh, and in case you were worried, that shit REALLY DOES work.)

Hi, my name is Pete and I'm a coffeeholic.

2005-07-01T03:55:00.000-07:00

While I love working at my new office, there are some things about my old job that I truly miss.

For instance, at my old job, the office provided coffee in the form of these little packets that you would place in this contraption which would spit out some hot, brown, coffee-flavored liquid that, while maybe not technically coffee per se, it performed the function of keeping you awake. And it was free.

At my new job, however, we have no such perk. And surprisingly enough, the coffee was AWESOME at my old job compared to my new one. Coffee comes in two forms:

1) The Maxwell House instant coffee vending machine in the breakroom. For $0.25 (or if you're willing to splurge, $0.35 for the "venti" cup), you can get a steaming cup of something that for the life of me reminds me (in both taste and color) of hot sewage. Honestly, the worst coffee I have ever tasted. And at $0.35 a cup, and the amount of coffee I drink, I could pull the entire airline industry out of it's slump with the revenue generated by this crap.

2) There is a huge, industrial coffee maker in the copy room that is actually Maxwell House brewed coffee, but supposedly costs $0.15 a cup. There are big signs saying "THIS COFFEE IS NOT FREE. IT IS $0.15 A CUP. THIS APPLIES TO EVERYONE." The only problem is that I have no idea where to put the $0.15. There is no change slot on the machine. There isn't a change jar or a fabricated can to deposit the money. So I've just been leaving a dime and a nickel by the sugar and creamer. I have no idea if the money is going to the people facilitating the machine or to the cleaning people. But hey, my conscience is clean.

Now, while the second situation may sound ideal, this machine is circa 1983 and doesn't look like it has ever really been cleaned. So there's this black layer of coffee resin hanging on the machine. And while the coffee is only $0.15 a cup, it's still not all that good. I had to find a solution.

You know you have a serious coffee addiction when you actually have a coffee maker sitting on your desk at the office. I just bought a coffee maker for that purpose.

Hopefully people won't freak out too much when I bring this mofo in... I don't want to be "the guy who has the coffee maker on his desk".

(Honestly, if I had to be defined as such, I'd much rather be one of the following:
*"the guy who deserves to be promoted immediately"
*"the guy who has great taste in music"
*"the guy with the beautiful sports car"
*"the guy who is the Greatest American"
*"the guy with really great abs")

I'm off to Tennessee for another wedding, but look for "Does that shit really work?" part one to hit the weblog on Monday or Tuesday. I'm gonna do some field research that you guys can count on.

Adios.

Tennesee Wedding, Part I

2005-06-26T19:56:00.000-07:00

This weekend, K and I spent the weekend in Tennessee, celebrating the marriage of one of her closest friends from college. My wife was a bridesmaid in the wedding. One of the other bridesmaids is a close friend of K's, and happens to be married to a guy who I get along with amazingly well. So while our wives were out doing "bridesmaidsy shit", we spent the three days eating Waffle House hashbrowns, watching movies at the local movie theatre, drinking beer, and watching baseball.

Being the husband of a bridesmaid is a perfect arrangement, because you have no real obligations. Your only responsibilities are to be at the right place at the right time wearing the right attire and, occasionally, bringing the right supplies (e.g. beer, cigarettes, handkerchiefs, Advil, etc). And while you have no responsibilities, you still get to go to all of the events that are quintessential to the wedding culinary experience (sans, of course, the bridesmaid's luncheon the day of the wedding).

------
A small aside: If you want to liven up the wedding ceremony itself, gather a group of people together the night before the wedding and gamble on how long the wedding ceremony is going to last. For instance, write one or five minute increments down, depending on the number of participants, on individual sheets and draw from a hat. Whoever has the closest time from when the bride comes THROUGH the doors to when the bride's FEET cross back through the doors again wins the money.

There are several critical factors you must take into account. For example, in a Christian wedding scenario, you must consider:

1) The type of ceremony-- Episcopal ceremonies are notoriously short, while Catholic ceremonies can sometimes span several days.
2) Whether the priest is fast or slow talker
3) Is there communion served?
4) Is there a homily?
5) How big is the church? Will the bride have to
6) Is the bride Jennifer Wilbanks?
------

The wedding was short and sweet (delivering the cash to yours truly with a time of 22:00). And the reception was awesome. There was the obligatory "which bridesmaid is going to hook up with which groomsmen" debate, "when are we going to eat" discussion, and "I hope that the cop who was at the front of the party when we drove in isn't there when we drive out" comment.

K and I woke up this morning feeling awful. The nauseating smell of scotch seemed to be everywhere. Coffee was nowhere to be found, and it was a good couple of hours before I was even able to eat a greasy breakfast. K seemed to be taking it a bit harder than me-- she did the "Technicolor yawn" three times before we started our journey back down to Atlanta. But a good hearty breakfast, a cup of coffee, a dose of Advil Cold and Sinus, and a nice long drive seemed to cure everything for me.

However, while my wife hid underneath a blanket (a la Jennifer Wilbanks) and slept, I came up with a great idea for a segment here on Specific Gravity... I was thinking about how that stuff, Chaser, might have prevented the hangover I fiercely battled earlier this morning. And then I wondered, 'does that shit really work'? So I thought I could have an occasional experiment entitled, "Does That Shit Really Work?", that would be fully documented and hopefully informative. I've got a couple of ideas, but if you have suggestions, please let me know.

And look for the first installment of "Does That Shit Really Work?" soon.

This Weekend In Review.

2005-06-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

(My sincerest apologies for the lack of posts recently. I have been without the internet. More frequent posting will resume immediately.)
-----
Wednesday, 6.15.05
My wife and I closed on our new house. The closing process was drawn out and agonizing, and filled with legal jargon that I frankly didn't want to understand. At the end of the day, however, my wife and I became the owners of a house, a yard, and a metric fuckload of debt.

Thursday 6.16.05
Went refrigerator shopping. Somewhere knee-deep in the process, I had the realization that a lot of the things I was concerned about (especially the features) were things that, three months down the road, I wouldn't think twice about.

I ordered DirecTV. I ordered DSL. I refused to be stuck with analog cable and dial-up. That's right, mofos-- I was moving out of 1994.

That night, I packed up my stuff at Mom and Papa Bear's house. My dog, Rosie, knew something was up, and didn't like it. She usually sits in my lap while I'm watching the Braves with my Dad-- Thursday, she didn't come near me except for once. I thought maybe she's forgotten the suitcases that I had brought downstairs as she proceeded to jump on my chair. I was wrong-- she looked at me as she sat on my leg, farted on me, and then scurried into the kitchen.

Friday 6.17.05
Movers arrived with belongings from NYC. Every single box and piece of furniture was accounted for. They were in and out in less than 3 hours, and did this while I was at work.

I come home to find that Papa Bear has mowed my lawn. Most people would think this was a nice favor, but I see this as encroachment on my pissing grounds. Defeated, I started unpacking my stuff. I set up most of my office/studio and the bedroom, some of my stuff in the bedroom, and went to bed.

Saturday 6.18.05
Rented a Penske truck with my Mom to bring over furniture from my old house. Dad and I carried over a full truckload (fuckload?) of stuff that once belonged to either his or my Mom's parents. Kind of cool to be sitting in my Grandfather's desk chair.

Papa Bear and I decided that we'd move over the patio furniture he was giving to me on a seperate trip. He drove the truck this time, and didn't ask me how I wanted to unload it. He proceded to drive around to the back of the house, clipping the corner of the garage roof in the process, bending the gutter and causing a huge scrape down the side of the truck (which was rented in my name and was being paid for with my credit card). And while I was a bit miffed with Dad, I was more pissed with Mom-- these Penske's have a 10' 6" clearance... if Papa Bear had a pick up truck, this NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED.

Dad was kind of beating himself up about doing damage to my house, but I told him it wasn't that big of a deal-- a busted gutter for all of the furniture (with installation) was a fair enough exchange.

Sunday 6.19.05
Woke up at 7:00 and did some early morning yard work. K and I drove to several stores, doing final pricing on refrigerators, before deciding on a stainless steel model at Lowes. Nice piece of equipment, if you ask me.

That night, we went over to the parents' house for Father's Day dinner. Papa Bear was a bit timid around me, I think, because of the damage caused on the previous day. But I reassured him that I would be able to fix the gutter and that it wasn't all that big of a deal (considering he was able to fix the truck to the point where you'd never know there was a scrape there unless you were really looking for it).

I bought Dad and I Braves tickets for their first game with the Nationals at Turner field. He mentioned a while back that he and his father had seen the last Washington team (the Senators), and I thought it would be nice if my Dad and I got to see the new team from Washington. I told my Dad the reason for the tickets, and while he'll never admit it, I think I saw him getting a bit misty-eyed. The old softy...
-----

Speaking of baseball, I've realized something recently. One of the reasons I like baseball is that I see my life in terms of the game of baseball. I could draw out the metaphor, but I won't. Bottom line is this-- while most people think of progress as a linear path, I see it differently.

I've scored by coming back home.

How to give yourself an ulcer...

2005-06-14T04:06:00.000-07:00

(I just realized I missed ANOTHER Real World/Road Rules Inferno last night. Ah shucks!)

It's been a crazy past couple of days, and it looks like the hits keep coming:

The big news around the house is that on Friday, Papa Bear officially gave up his quest for his truck. Dad's master plan to procure a pick-up is theoretically over. He said that Mom was giving him too hard of a time about it... I felt this was bullshit, frankly, and if anyone on this planet deserves a truck, it's Dad. Saturday morning I went to talk to Mom to set things straight. Her view is that a pick-up isn't safe, and Papa Bear would drive it like a sports car. Plus, she contends that his hearing and sight aren't as good as they used to be. My response was short and to the point, which drove my Mom to tears.

Dad gets pissed off with me for sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. So, I go 0-for-2 with the parents on Saturday.

I spend most of the day outside the house. Saturday night, my wife has a meltdown (the stress finally catches up to her)... And in the 8 years we've been together, I've never seen her have a meltdown this big.

Living with the inlaws can be a bit stressful, I guess. Anyway, long story short, let's just say Pete goes 0-for-3.

I have discovered some amazing things during this moving process:

1) You're supposed to tip movers. Huh. Never knew that. But considering I've never had movers before, I guess it's not THAT big of a deal.
2) Getting the smell of smoke out of clothes is a pain in the ass.
3) Never let your parents negotiate buying your house (unless they're a real estate agent or something). Do it yourself. Trust me, you may end up paying a bit more for the place, but it'll make things easier in the end.
4) I have absolutely no idea where 99% of my possessions are. I know who has them (the moving company), and I assume they're SOMEWHERE along the eastern seaboard. Surprisingly enough, I'm about 1% as freaked out as I should be in this case...

Thankfully I'm closing on the house tomorrow. Unthankfully (???), I'm not moving in until Friday (when the movers get to town), but I'm still FREAKIN' psyched.

To cap it all of, this weekend we're going car shopping. I have been looking at car ads, and as much as I hate it, I might just have to cave and get a PT cruiser. I dunno, I've always said I hated those cars, but I saw one yesterday in this cobalt blue color that looked amazing. And my wife likes them too, so Saturday, we're off to test drive the mofo.

I want a pear...

2005-06-07T04:14:00.000-07:00

I got a call from my brother on Sunday, who is spending the summer in New York interning at a Hedge Fund in midtown. It's kind of funny to hear him ask questions like "Do you think I should walk the 45 blocks to work?" and "Is it safe to walk down Madison Avenue after dark?"

He's actually working a couple of blocks from the office where I worked in Manhattan. This has certainly played out to his advantage, considering my brother and I share our penchant for fine Pan-American delicacies (such as the spicy chicken sandwich at Wendys or the two-cheeseburger meal at Mickey D's). My three years of tested culinary research will prove invaluable to him.

For instance, my advice to him yesterday was, "Rob, first things first-- don't hit those deli sandwich shops like Pret a Manger, Hale and Hearty or PAX or whatever... those places will only kill your wallet. And you'll leave still feeling hungry anyway. Now, if you're hungry for McDonalds, you should really go to the one on 57th rather than the one at 52nd and 3rd... the one on 57th has better fries, and more seating. Plus, you can also change your mind and hit the Wendy's across the street. If you hit up Wendys, and if you can help it, try to avoid the register on the far right... the girl who has that register is pisssssssssssssed. Now, I'm sure you already know is no shortage of Subway's in your area, but if you're looking to switch it up a bit, there's a Taco Bell that no one really knows about, and you'd miss it if you didn't know where it was."

That's the beauty of my relationship with my brother... while most people would think this kind of knowledge is a complete waste of time, energy, and braincells, Rob was completely grateful. He was a bit discouraged, however, to hear that the Chick-fil-a was 6 subway stops from work (and three from his apartment), but said it wasn't that big of a deal when I told him about the unlimited use Metrocards.

I regret the fact that I'm not in New York at the same time as him. I would have enjoyed going to Yankees games with my brother (and wouldn't have to watch what I said about the Yankees, considering I would have "my own personal bodyguard" sitting next to me). I definitely believe there would have been some all-night Madden-Marathons, where either he or I would claim that the other was cheating or playing cheap in some shape or form. It would have been nice to know that I had someone from my family in the city, just a few subway stops away. And I think about all of the planned New York projects that I had always wanted to do (like doing the 2nd Avenue Bar Crawl or finding "New York's Best Wings"), and know that my brother would have been the best wingman on the planet (pardon the pun).

I guess we'll just have to eat a bunch of wings when I come visit this summer...

"And I feel so much depends on the weather... so is it raining in your bedroom?"

2005-06-04T17:23:00.000-07:00

I've been offline for a week due to my parents' phone line being down. We had a bout of rain this past week and for some reason the phone went out.

I never thought I'd be thankful for having a dial-up connection, but yeah, it sure feels good to be back in 1994... living with my folks again... getting lectured for staying out too late, not eating enough vegetables, and spending too much money.

And it looks like Atlanta radio has decided to join me on my 20th century vacation. I was listening to the radio one morning this week and was hit with the following line-up:

"Evenflow", Pearl Jam
"Creep", Radiohead
"Plush", Stone Temple Pilots
"All Apologies", Nirvana
(A brief respite courtesy of the rarely-appreciated Linkin Park-- some song about nothing matters or trying so hard or something)
"Would?" Alice in Chains
"Machinehead", Bush

Ah, it's good to be back in 1994. I'm surrounded by my Pearl Jam, STP and Crash Test Dummies posters I've proudly hung in my room. I'm really looking forward to the fact that I can pull out my old pair of jeans (with the big freakin holes in the knees) and wear my flannels from Britches, endure a horrible onslaught of acne, and discover a myriad of mind-expanding drugs.

But I may have to rejoin the 21st century soon... I'm starting to realize the unfortunate downsides of living. Being stuck in 1994 has caused me to miss the biggest day of 2005. Oh fuckity-fuck.

Finally Friday

2005-05-27T04:16:00.000-07:00

Only one week of work and I'm already psyched for a three-day weekend.

I like the people that I work with, but I'm definitely the youngest person in the group by far. And I'm a little tired of being the "new kid", with all of the introductions and the conversations about New York and what I did before. I'm eagerly awaiting the next hire so I don't have to wear a Visitor name tag anymore.

The house contract negotiations blow. It doesn't help when the person who is selling the house insists on telling you stories like how his pilot friend had a UFO experience while you're trying to figure out if the house sits two feet too close to the property line.

My wife's starting to get a little stir crazy. She is waiting to do any job searching until we've actually moved into a house, so she's sitting around all day with my mom and dad, which I'm sure is hard for her.

So, all-in-all, its extraordinarily stressful right now. But had a couple of beers last night and was in bed by 10:00.

But I woke up this morning feeling magnificent. I slept hard, had terrific dreams (the ones you don't want to wake from, not the usual surrealist "why the hell have my feet turned into pickles?!"), and for the first time in about a week, felt truly rested.

And it's Friday.

Week One: A Report In Numbers

2005-05-25T04:03:00.000-07:00

The morning of Day 8 in Atlanta. I'm about to brave I-75/85, but before I do, I thought I'd like to look back at the numbers that made up my first week back in Atlanta:

Number of days spent in Atlanta..........7
Average wake-up time.......... 7:12 AM
Average bed time.......... 10:40 PM
Average number of cups of coffee each morning.......... 2.5
Number of days spent negotiating sections of real estate contract for new house..........14
Number of stomach ulcers resulting from negotiations..........6
Average price of Heinz ketchup (24 oz. bottle) in Atlanta..........$0.89
Number of Waffle House Visits in the first week..........1
Number of Chick-Fil-A Visits in the first week..........4 (2 Lunch, 2 Breakfast)
Hours independantly spent with two year old nephew..........2
Number of Blues Clues episodes watched during visit with nephew..........4
Number of F-Bombs dropped during visit with nephew..........1
Number of times nephew repeated the F-Bomb..........26
Number of times sister heard my nephew drop the F-Bomb..........3
Average price of gas in Atlanta..........$1.96/gal
Number of car horns heard in past week..........0
Days spent at new job..........2
Average commute time..........20 minutes
Average hours spent work..........8.25
Number of conversations with the head of my division..........1
Number of times I called the head of my division the wrong name in conversation..........1
Number of work-related e-mails read in the last week..........0
Top speed of parent's internet access..........36.6KBps
High score on 3D Pinball for Windows.......... 1,954,300

"Papa Bear, this is Baby Bear. The porridge is hot and Goldylocks has come home."

2005-05-21T14:43:00.001-07:00

Day four in Atlanta.

Wow... things really do move a lot slower down here. The days are lazy and time seems to crawl by.

Nothing in Atlanta typifies this more than my mom and dad's dial-up internet connection. Holy balls, is this sucka slow. It's truly painful.

I've rediscovered the joys of Solitare, Hearts, and 3D Pinballs for Windows (high score of 1,808,750, mofos!) while waiting for pages to load. You know, I keep trying to explain the benefits to my mom and pop of faster loading times combined with the use of the phone while you're online ("Mom, you will never miss a gossip call from one of your buddies again!!!") but to no avail. Even my dad (affectionately known 'round these parts as "Papa Bear"), who hates long lines and needless waiting, says he has no need for that.

Another big development is Dad's current search for a pick-up truck. The "Pick-up Truck Debate" has been raging in our family ever since Dad retired from the army. And it's heated up in recent months.

Mom has pushed back on this for countless years, while Dad has lived with carrying fifteen 50-pound bags of lime in the back seat of a '92 Ford Crown Victoria (affectionately known as "The Squad Car" for its resemblance to police cars of the same era). This car was his father's, who passed of a stroke in late 1997, so there is definite attachment to this car. It's a great car, but now is run down a bit with several dings and a layer of dirt and pollen. It sometimes hiccups while accelerating and there's absolutely no air conditioning to speak of.

And the interior smells like gasoline and sweat. So much so that it makes my wife nauseated (or nauseous, depending on who you talk to).

Now, I can see where Mom is coming from-- Mom feels that owning a truck will label him (and more importantly, HER) a redneck. But I can see where Papa Bear is coming from-- most landscape engineers, which since retirement my Dad likes to refer to himself as, have trucks.

And honestly, God knows that someone that goes by "Papa Bear" deserves a muthafuckin' truck.

More recently, Mom's ultimatum has been that Papa Bear can get a truck if two conditions are met:
1) Papa Bear is no longer driving "The Squad Car"; and
2) Said purchase of truck does not include any of the following items:
a) gun rack
b) Confederate flag (ranging from bumper-sticker to ACTUAL Confederate flag)
c) a bumper-sticker of Calvin pissing on a Ford/Chevy emblem
d) a dixie horn, a la The Dukes of Hazard

Since Kate and I are in the market for a car, Dad concocted a plan so fool-proof, so brilliant, so amazing that it would grant him a truck...

Giving ME the Squad Car.

You know, Kate may raise her eyebrows at the prospect, and Mom may think that I may not want the Squad Car, but I'm all for it. Hell yes.

Three reasons:
1) Papa Bear gets his truck.
2) Kate and I get a secondary car which will be used to drive the three miles to and from the MARTA station which will take me to my office in the morning, for FREE.
3) The car has fucntionality and history. I can't let Dad get rid of it.

How many people can say they're driving an automobile that, in the middle of the night, causes people to pull over to let you pass?

How many people can say they've spent countless Friday nights on the road with their "Papa Bear" listening to their baseball team on the radio?

How many people get the opportunity to drive the car of not one, but TWO people you respect and admire the most in the world?

Well, at least one. This guy.

Livin' with ATLiens

2005-05-19T10:31:00.000-07:00

Day two in Atlanta.

I woke up yesterday morning, rubbing my eyes and wondering if I had made the right choice in leaving New York. When I looked out the front window of my parents house and saw TREES and GRASS, I knew everything was going to be fine.

Things are really nice down here.

Immediate upsides I've noticed:
-I haven't heard a single car horn in the last 48 hours.
-Heinz Ketchup is $.89. That's 89 FREAKIN' CENTS! (I can't believe that this amazes me like it does)
-My niece and nephew. Last night I had my niece laughing in hysterics (I was walking around her Big Bird stuffed animal), and I don't think a sweeter sound exists on the planet.
-My dad is almost as big of a baseball fanatic as I am. Just wait until I get him into fantasy baseball.
-The lack of fire and smoke.
-My new boss told me to come in around 10:00 on my first day of work. Eat it, NYC.

Immediate downsides I've noticed:
-Mosquitos. I'm not sure whether or not we've got West Nile Virus down here...
-Traffic blows. And everyone is driving their H2 or Ford Expeditions...
-Danny Kolb. Mofo blew another save and lost his "closer" job. Thanks, dude. You just screwed any chance of me maintaining 3rd place in fantasy baseball.

I'm off to go look at houses.

This Morning's Laundry (A Story in Haiku)

2005-05-15T09:58:00.000-07:00

This morning, laundered
what seemed like all of my clothes.
It took forever.

My clothes still smell like
I had been working in front
Of a barbeque.

As I was waiting
For my clothes to dry, someone
Had started yelling.

A woman entered
Asking who would take her clothes
Out of the dryer.

She yelled at the girl
Who works at the laundry joint,
"Fuck you, spanish bitch!

"Ugly little bitch!"
She continued. I stood there
Watching this unfold.

The little woman
Said her laundry had been there
Since seven o'clock.

As it was crowded
People were waiting to use
Any free machine.

"Fuck that bullshit, bitch!"
The aggitated woman
Told the spanish girl.

She tore out of there
Screaming several choice words,
Her laundry cold and creased.

I thought there would be
Fisticuffs or gunfire.
This bitch was crazy.

Just another sign
That maybe the decision
To move was correct.

I don't know if I
Will see a laundromat
In the ATL.

Personal safety--
Just another benefit
Of in-home laundry.

"It's the only time I've ever been to Staten Island."

2005-05-14T19:02:00.000-07:00

My wife and I are currently packing up our belonings and cleaning the apartment.

After just shy of five years, we have decided that we've had enough of New York and are moving to Atlanta. And it's far more difficult then I thought it was going to be. I'm taking apart my enterainment center and my computer table, and as I look down the length of my railroad apartment, it hits me that this isn't home anymore.

It's incredibly hard to say goodbye to such amazing people. And you couple all of this intensity with the realization that I'm about to be chin-deep in debt with a mortgage and a car payment, and I'm a freakin' mess.

I left work on Thursday. I had been working at the same firm for four and a half years, and leaving was much harder than I imagined. I really grew attached to the people I worked with, but that night's farewell drinking extravaganza was a wonderful way to wrap it up.

Getting home that night at around midnight, I wrote a poorly-worded, cheezy e-mail thanking my coworkers for making going to work a pleasure, and proceeded to immediately pass out.

I wake up at four in the morning with a pounding headache and my wife screaming, "PETE! I THINK THE BUILDING IS ON FIRE!!!" Shooting up, the blood rushes to my head. I stagger, nearly passing out, but grab the doorknob and inhale. There's definitely smoke.

I open the door to the bedroom, and there is a cloud of smoke in the apartment so thick that I can't breathe. I try to run into the kitchen so that I could find out where the fire was (if it was our apartment or even on our floor), but I can't breathe. The smoke is thick, smelling of burning plastic. I turn around, ripping the cords out of my laptop (which holds the only copy of all of the music I've been working on for the last year and a half), and yell for my wife to get on the fire escape.

Aside from minor smoke inhalation, we are fine and luckily no one in the building was hurt. We didn't have too much damage-- while our apartment smells like a barbeque pit, we only had to deal with the minor inconvenience of a layer of greasy soot on all of our stuff.

The fire was on the first floor apartment, and while no one will confirm it, the rumor is that the boyfriend of one of the two girls who rent the apartment had a cigarette they left lit as they went to walk the dog. The two girls, who I have passed several times in the hall and have always thought of as extremely nice people, lost everything. They had no insurance. The entire apartment was gutted.

I saw the other girl in the apartment outside as I walked my wife to work on her final day. She was trying to salvage anything she could, holding a half-burned copy of The Devil Wears Prada. I ask her how she's doing, if she is okay, and if she needs anything. I feel the overwhelming urge to give her a hug as she tells me how she wasn't even there, and she had just come back from spending the night with her grandmother in the hospital.

"It's the only time I've ever been to Staten Island," she says, barely holding back tears. "I go to Staten Island and I come home to find that I've lost everything."

And while I wanted to tell her that she shouldn't blame the boro, maybe it'll help her deal with the whole experience if Staten Island bucks up and takes the fall for this one.