it was either socrates or dane cook (editor's note: or dane cook stealing socrates's material) who said, "the unexamined life is not worth living", which i guess is true. i don't know. i haven't really thought about it. but it sounds fucking awesome.
a life that is most certainly not worth living is one that has not spent more than a few sleepless nights mentally wrestling over the inherent contradictions in the plotline of the movie Gremlins directed by a "Joe Dante" and written by Chris Columbus. for clarity's sake, this is not the Chris Columbus that raped all those indians back in the day. this Chris Columbus wrote ground-breaking movies in the eighties. his writing credits include The Goonies, The Goonies II, Gremlins, Gremlins II: The New Batch, Gremlins: Unleashed!, and Gremlins: Stripe vs. Gizmo. i swear i am not making those movies up. sadly, Gremlins: The Musical on Ice! never made it past the initial planning stages.
Specifically, my concern is the logic pretzel regarding the relationship between the rules for taking care of a mogwai (given to Billy by a young Jet Li in his first movie role) and the natural instincts of the mogwai. let's take a close look at each in detail. i will be addressing Chris Columbus directly as we go through the list, as i'm sure he is stumped for movie ideas and is probably surfing the web daily for new plot ideas, and will eventually stumble across this post. assuming he isn't already a regular reader.
1. keep him out of the sunlight - no problems here as far as i'm concerned. there are plenty of animals that prefer to stay out of the light. bats. moles. werewolves (editor's note: sigh). snakes, maybe. shit, probably even marmots and stuff would rather kick it indoors. so far, so good, Chris Columbus.
2. never get him wet - oh, really, Chris Columbus? you think it's cool to introduce a carbon-based life form that can't come into contact with water? it's water, man! water! it's pretty much the stuff that makes up every other known form of life. but not a mogwai, eh, Chris Columbus? who exactly do you think you are? do you think you are some kind of screenwriting Galileo, thumbing his nose at modern science? because i've asked around, Chris Columbus. and you aren't.
even more ridiculous, if you do happen moisten the mogwai (which is a potentially fantastic euphemism for female masturbation), it causes nearly instantaneous epidermal reproduction of offspring that are either mildly retarded or sociopathic or both.
quick question, Chris Columbus: in Gremlins-land, how in the hell are you supposed to get a normal, even-tempered mogwai offspring? because i have spent hours watching Gizmo's crotch parts in slow-motion, hoping against hope that i would catch a glimpse of his johnson, if only to put to rest this part of the controversy. but Gizmo does not, repeat: not have a johnson.
ugh. let's just move on.
3. never feed him after midnight - news flash, Chris Columbus. it's always after midnight. when can we start feeding our mogwai again? especially the retarded sociopath mogwai. i don't know much, but i do know that you don't want to be around when those little buggers have gone too long without food. even assuming an arbitrary time (let's say 6 am) when it's okay to feed them again, whose clock does it go off of? the bank's? your cellphone? it's just a headache waiting to happen, trying to figure out what time it REALLY is while your illegal exotic pet with the atrophied frontal lobe is gnawing through your fingers, trying to get at a box of Triscuits.
additionally, did Gizmo comprehend why the kibble train stops at midnight? does he understand the implications of late-night snacking for his species? or is it a constant struggle for him NOT to eat after hours, like he's a recovering heroine junkie? is there always a struggle with the dark part of his psyche that wants to gobble down a family-size can of the spaghetti-o's with the wieners and watch Scott van Pelt announce NHL highlights on the 1 am sportscenter? man, so many questions...
let's get to some updates.
Gambling Update:
my friend Yak and i have recently hypothesized, researched, and experimented with an intricate system of betting on nightly professional men's basketball games, in a league commonly referred to as the NBA. this system involves a careful analysis of each game, followed by the prudent and reasonable selection of only the most fitting underdogs on which to place our bets, which maximizes our value for each dollar bet in the event of an upset win by those select underdogs. it is failing miserably.
the good news is that the WNBA season starts in a scant 7 1/2 months, and we are already working on a completely separate and unrelated betting system to accomodate the intricacies of the ladies' professional basketball league. if you are considering wagering any sum of money on the WNBA in the upcoming season, you will want to be aware that the Minnesota Lynx, while mired in the bottom half of the league in this past year, will most likely show a considerable improvement in 2010, as they have two of the league's top four draft picks in april. just something to keep in mind.
on an unrelated note, at what point does gambling become a "problem"?
Puppetmaster Update:
we at HWC headquarters are currently making what promises to be an ill-fated attempt to form a band. i myself have no intention nor desire to be a performing member in this ensemble. the future official HWC cover band will be made of three local musicians doing alt-country (for lack of a better term. think Wilco's album A.M.) covers of various underrated songs and artists from all genres. for the sake of those who are haven't already stopped reading this part, some of the following tracks will be in the mix:
Squidbillies theme song - Billy Joe Shaver
Nobody's Fault But Mine - Blind Willie Johnson
Bad Days - Flaming Lips
How Can I Love You if You Won't Lie Down? - Silver Jews
Another One Goes By - the Walkmen
B.O.B. - Outkast
Beautiful Day - Eels
Where Is My Mind? - Pixies
i think that nature of my contribution to the band's efforts will be largely managerial. motivation and direction fall completely within my wheelhouse. i'll probably also be the one to have to pay to have t-shirts made, and i think i'm the only one with a vehicle large enough to carry a drum set. so there's that.
all i'm saying is keep an eye out for Ghost Meat, the official HWC cover band. because it promises to be a rollicking good time at a party near you, if we can ever get it off the ground.
currently on the white board behind the bar: you are.
i know that it's been a couple of weeks since i've posted anything. the rust is probably showing as you read through the present sub-par entry. i thank all of you for showing the patience, common decency, and good taste to not send even a single email demanding, begging, or politely inquiring to know when i would be writing again. i assure you that your restraint has not gone unnoticed. it will not, however, be rewarded in any measurable fashion.
if you do care to prove yourself to lack the house training and geometry of a reasonable, tax-paying member of society, you can direct your queries to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com or simply comment below.
i'm on it.
dave
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
american in love
good luck with this one.
the podcast went on MUCH longer than we had anticipated, so we were good enough to break it into three separate parts for you. because, honestly, who has a spare hour and a half all in a row to sit and listen to anything? this way, you don't ruin your whole day or your credibility with any friends or family by dedicating such a huge block of time to such an inane enterprise.
(editor's note - we had originally intended to include one song each from both John Elliott's and Johan Wagner's current albums, but were unable due to some minor technical difficulties. we trust they will forgive us, seeing as how they are all about free love, etc., etc.)
on this episode:
- Aaron gives me some pointers about mine and Sweet Tits' upcoming trip to Austin for SXSW. thankfully, none of these tips include the phrase "spit on it first".
- two hippies are introduced to the Star Trek-like world of microphones and computers.
- John Elliott and Johann Wagner aimlessly discuss their respective current albums while munching on fresh moss and tofu jerky.
- everyone misses the brilliance of a haiku about sex with trees.
- i find out that i've been overpaying musicians at the bar.
- Aaron fades in and out of consciousness, and sometimes manages to even participate.
- Sweet Tits and Aaron gush over each other to a sickening degree.
- we catch up on Britney Spears (!) and Paris Hilton. and i think another white chick.
- John and Johann somehow manage to cheat at Black History Month Trivia, despite being unwashed hippies in a mental fog of THC and shrooms.
- i'm a dick to John Elliott. my authority is also questioned, but i don't think the two are related.
- "Morgan Freeman" is not a correct answer to any of the trivia questions, but if you are looking for a drinking game, try taking a shot every time his name is said during this episode.
- each of us comes across as at least a LITTLE bit racist.
- we briefly touch on the topic of domestic violence at the HWC headquarters. i suggest that everyone shut up before i have to shut them up. they shut up.
"HWC episode 2, part 1""
HWC episode 2, part 2""
HWC episode 2, part 3""
currently on the white board behind the bar: wa. ta. ta.
many thanks again to John Elliott and Johann Wolf-Wagner. Please be sure to occasionally check their respective websites and go see them perform near you. they will accept most any form of payment, including tofu, macrame plant hangers, and/or adjustments to their auras. as always, send your questions, comments, and suggestions to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. may god have mercy on your souls.
i'm on it.
dave
the podcast went on MUCH longer than we had anticipated, so we were good enough to break it into three separate parts for you. because, honestly, who has a spare hour and a half all in a row to sit and listen to anything? this way, you don't ruin your whole day or your credibility with any friends or family by dedicating such a huge block of time to such an inane enterprise.
(editor's note - we had originally intended to include one song each from both John Elliott's and Johan Wagner's current albums, but were unable due to some minor technical difficulties. we trust they will forgive us, seeing as how they are all about free love, etc., etc.)
on this episode:
- Aaron gives me some pointers about mine and Sweet Tits' upcoming trip to Austin for SXSW. thankfully, none of these tips include the phrase "spit on it first".
- two hippies are introduced to the Star Trek-like world of microphones and computers.
- John Elliott and Johann Wagner aimlessly discuss their respective current albums while munching on fresh moss and tofu jerky.
- everyone misses the brilliance of a haiku about sex with trees.
- i find out that i've been overpaying musicians at the bar.
- Aaron fades in and out of consciousness, and sometimes manages to even participate.
- Sweet Tits and Aaron gush over each other to a sickening degree.
- we catch up on Britney Spears (!) and Paris Hilton. and i think another white chick.
- John and Johann somehow manage to cheat at Black History Month Trivia, despite being unwashed hippies in a mental fog of THC and shrooms.
- i'm a dick to John Elliott. my authority is also questioned, but i don't think the two are related.
- "Morgan Freeman" is not a correct answer to any of the trivia questions, but if you are looking for a drinking game, try taking a shot every time his name is said during this episode.
- each of us comes across as at least a LITTLE bit racist.
- we briefly touch on the topic of domestic violence at the HWC headquarters. i suggest that everyone shut up before i have to shut them up. they shut up.
"HWC episode 2, part 1""
HWC episode 2, part 2""
HWC episode 2, part 3""
currently on the white board behind the bar: wa. ta. ta.
many thanks again to John Elliott and Johann Wolf-Wagner. Please be sure to occasionally check their respective websites and go see them perform near you. they will accept most any form of payment, including tofu, macrame plant hangers, and/or adjustments to their auras. as always, send your questions, comments, and suggestions to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. may god have mercy on your souls.
i'm on it.
dave
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
grand drive
ok! i wish i had a really clever intro to write here, but since nobody has come to expect cleverness or originality from me, i don't really want to go against the overwhelming mediocrity that HWC has become synonymous with.
below is the first episode of the HWC podcast. hopefully the first of many, with them becoming more and more frequent as the weeks go on. i would like to eventually include some interviews, more guests, etc. i hope you like it, but if not, i won't be surprised.
this episode is all grassroots and shit, featuring only myself and co-host Aaron, and of course, Sweet Tits in what will be an unfortunate and debilitating recurring role.
the embedded player kept effing up, so you get a link. be forewarned that the podcast will start immediately, so you may not want to have your speakers up to full volume or anything.
god rest your soul.
Podcast Update:
Hot Water Cornbread Podcast
currently on the white board behind the bar: Mad Cow Disease was already taken.
i'm on it.
dave
below is the first episode of the HWC podcast. hopefully the first of many, with them becoming more and more frequent as the weeks go on. i would like to eventually include some interviews, more guests, etc. i hope you like it, but if not, i won't be surprised.
this episode is all grassroots and shit, featuring only myself and co-host Aaron, and of course, Sweet Tits in what will be an unfortunate and debilitating recurring role.
the embedded player kept effing up, so you get a link. be forewarned that the podcast will start immediately, so you may not want to have your speakers up to full volume or anything.
god rest your soul.
Podcast Update:
Hot Water Cornbread Podcast
currently on the white board behind the bar: Mad Cow Disease was already taken.
i'm on it.
dave
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
big doe rehab
Sweet Tits is slowly becoming an expert on the blogosphere (is that the right word?) and its inner workings.
she reads all these other blogs about dead babies or babies with their organs born on the outside or by stay-at-home mothers that eat their babies or whatever. they are probably all much better written than this one. but they are also all incredibly boring.
a month or so ago, i was trying to come up with a topic to write on for the day, and Sweet Tits told me about something called "wordless wednesdays", which is apparently participated in by many popular, well-established bloggers. what "wordless wednesday" boils down to is a bunch of authors taking the day off and posting photos or something instead of actually writing a damn blog.
i would love to say that i am embracing my blog brothers and sisters and participating in "wordless wednesday". but the truth is that HWC is sicker than an anemic Cambodian hooker, and i really just don't feel like writing anything. but i do feel like drinking four pots of coffee, eating a lot of donuts and popcorn, and watching a shit-ton of HWC-approved youtube videos to lift my spirits while i am at work. behold:
barats and bereta - the best thing to come out of Gonzaga since John Stockton.
i can't describe how funny this first scene is to me. ridiculous.
do yourself a favor and just go to this dude's website.
found this on accident.
funnier than the television show, i say.
the reason i can never be a standup comedian:
live Mike Tyson's Punch Out - #347 on the list of things i wish i had thought of.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Mucho worky.
that's all your time i'm taking up today. holla at ya boy!
i'm on it.
dave
she reads all these other blogs about dead babies or babies with their organs born on the outside or by stay-at-home mothers that eat their babies or whatever. they are probably all much better written than this one. but they are also all incredibly boring.
a month or so ago, i was trying to come up with a topic to write on for the day, and Sweet Tits told me about something called "wordless wednesdays", which is apparently participated in by many popular, well-established bloggers. what "wordless wednesday" boils down to is a bunch of authors taking the day off and posting photos or something instead of actually writing a damn blog.
i would love to say that i am embracing my blog brothers and sisters and participating in "wordless wednesday". but the truth is that HWC is sicker than an anemic Cambodian hooker, and i really just don't feel like writing anything. but i do feel like drinking four pots of coffee, eating a lot of donuts and popcorn, and watching a shit-ton of HWC-approved youtube videos to lift my spirits while i am at work. behold:
barats and bereta - the best thing to come out of Gonzaga since John Stockton.
i can't describe how funny this first scene is to me. ridiculous.
do yourself a favor and just go to this dude's website.
found this on accident.
funnier than the television show, i say.
the reason i can never be a standup comedian:
live Mike Tyson's Punch Out - #347 on the list of things i wish i had thought of.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Mucho worky.
that's all your time i'm taking up today. holla at ya boy!
i'm on it.
dave
Sunday, February 8, 2009
the metamorphons
is HWC a dracula or a werewolf?
i spent about an hour debating this topic with the three members of The Sideshow Tragedy friday night, well after the bar had closed, the One-Percenters had been swept out into the night, and the money had all been counted.
Nathan and one of his friends/co-workers/hetero(?)-life-partners Jack have recently come up with a system of classification whereby everyone on the planet can be pigeonholed (no homo) into one of two categories; either draculas or werewolfs. this conversation undoubtedly came at the end of a night that consisted mostly of strong drink, marijuana cigarettes, and wee hours.
despite being one of the game's founders, it soon became clear that Nathan is now unfit to participate. his logic and reason have been crippled by reading french philosophy, his history of severe concussions, and his tertiary syphilis. his judgement is skewed to the point that he somehow saw fit to classify me as a dracula. when it should be clear to anyone who knows me that i'm a werewolf.
understand that HWC is not making any value judgements between the two by implying that being a dracula is somehow unsavory or undesirable. also understand that there is not technically an official set of empirical characteristics that one can use to define an individual as one or the other. the process is a nebulous and largely intuitive endeavor. as everyone knows, classifying someone as either a dracula or a werewolf is art, not science.
regardless, anyone should have their judgement questioned when they say that HWC is more this guy:
than this guy:
i'm just saying.
and no, that entire introduction was not just an excuse to post a Teen Wolf video. well, kind of.
let's get to some updates.
Open Letter Update:
this open letter is clearly overdue, but i feel it still needs to be written.
"dear Katy Perry,
you kissed a girl? and you liked it? no shit?
well, check this out - i fucked a girl. and let me tell you, Katy Perry, THAT wasn't too goddam shabby, either.
are you in a room with a window right now, Katy Perry? look out that window. ALL those people have kissed a girl, Katy Perry. so unless we are bringing something substantial to the table, why don't we hold off on the lame pseudo-lesbian pop songs? at least until you get past first base with that insecure college freshman chick that had one too many Smirnoff Ices and let you write that song about her.
Katy Perry, it pains me to say it, but you are not on it.
disdainfully yours, dave"
The Children I Own Update:
we took the oldest two of our resident freeloaders to see that bullshit movie Coraline, directed by some ass gasket named Henry Selick, and starring some people that, quite frankly, should have known better. and, to be honest, WE should have known better. on a couple of levels.
number one, we regrettably forgot to bring with us a half pint of whiskey, or at least Grand Marnier or some other tasty liqueur that we could add to our movie soda, which would have actually made it close to being worth the $14 we paid for it.
number two, i should have made the children sit in the row in front of us. that way, i could have gotten some grown-up action-fun from Sweet Tits while Coraline was learning a valuable lesson about sharing or brushing your teeth or crossing the street or whatever on the big screen.
number three, the movie was shot in claymation. yes, you read that correctly. claymation. are you fucking kidding me, director Henry Selick? claymation? forgive me for assuming that in the year 2009, my $7 movie ticket will get me into something more than what amounts to a two-hour-long California Raisins commercial. unless i am mistaken and my $7 movie ticket also paid for a trip back in time to 1984, when that was still cutting-edge.
if we had been able to see the movie in 3D like it was intended to be, perhaps it wouldn't have come across like a Gumby biopic. but we got unlucky that the theater's only 3D projector was being used to show that My Bloody Valentine movie. another future multiple Oscar-winner, i'm sure.
currently on the white board behind the bar: Hump the wizard.
Aaron Dudley and i recorded our first trial run podcast today, graciously and aptly recorded by good friend Clifton von Smeltzer, who is one of those guys that i've actually known for a lot longer than it feels like i have. i think we got some decent stuff, so i hope it will all come out ok in the edit. it's been awhile since i heard my own voice. i sound shockingly gay. maybe i was just picking up on Aaron's lilt. if you'd care to comment on my latent homosexuality or contribute to the draculas/werewolfs argument, please do so below, or email us at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com.
(just an aside to Anna T. - don't think that i don't know that you loved every syllable of this particular post.)
i'm on it.
dave
i spent about an hour debating this topic with the three members of The Sideshow Tragedy friday night, well after the bar had closed, the One-Percenters had been swept out into the night, and the money had all been counted.
Nathan and one of his friends/co-workers/hetero(?)-life-partners Jack have recently come up with a system of classification whereby everyone on the planet can be pigeonholed (no homo) into one of two categories; either draculas or werewolfs. this conversation undoubtedly came at the end of a night that consisted mostly of strong drink, marijuana cigarettes, and wee hours.
despite being one of the game's founders, it soon became clear that Nathan is now unfit to participate. his logic and reason have been crippled by reading french philosophy, his history of severe concussions, and his tertiary syphilis. his judgement is skewed to the point that he somehow saw fit to classify me as a dracula. when it should be clear to anyone who knows me that i'm a werewolf.
understand that HWC is not making any value judgements between the two by implying that being a dracula is somehow unsavory or undesirable. also understand that there is not technically an official set of empirical characteristics that one can use to define an individual as one or the other. the process is a nebulous and largely intuitive endeavor. as everyone knows, classifying someone as either a dracula or a werewolf is art, not science.
regardless, anyone should have their judgement questioned when they say that HWC is more this guy:
than this guy:
i'm just saying.
and no, that entire introduction was not just an excuse to post a Teen Wolf video. well, kind of.
let's get to some updates.
Open Letter Update:
this open letter is clearly overdue, but i feel it still needs to be written.
"dear Katy Perry,
you kissed a girl? and you liked it? no shit?
well, check this out - i fucked a girl. and let me tell you, Katy Perry, THAT wasn't too goddam shabby, either.
are you in a room with a window right now, Katy Perry? look out that window. ALL those people have kissed a girl, Katy Perry. so unless we are bringing something substantial to the table, why don't we hold off on the lame pseudo-lesbian pop songs? at least until you get past first base with that insecure college freshman chick that had one too many Smirnoff Ices and let you write that song about her.
Katy Perry, it pains me to say it, but you are not on it.
disdainfully yours, dave"
The Children I Own Update:
we took the oldest two of our resident freeloaders to see that bullshit movie Coraline, directed by some ass gasket named Henry Selick, and starring some people that, quite frankly, should have known better. and, to be honest, WE should have known better. on a couple of levels.
number one, we regrettably forgot to bring with us a half pint of whiskey, or at least Grand Marnier or some other tasty liqueur that we could add to our movie soda, which would have actually made it close to being worth the $14 we paid for it.
number two, i should have made the children sit in the row in front of us. that way, i could have gotten some grown-up action-fun from Sweet Tits while Coraline was learning a valuable lesson about sharing or brushing your teeth or crossing the street or whatever on the big screen.
number three, the movie was shot in claymation. yes, you read that correctly. claymation. are you fucking kidding me, director Henry Selick? claymation? forgive me for assuming that in the year 2009, my $7 movie ticket will get me into something more than what amounts to a two-hour-long California Raisins commercial. unless i am mistaken and my $7 movie ticket also paid for a trip back in time to 1984, when that was still cutting-edge.
if we had been able to see the movie in 3D like it was intended to be, perhaps it wouldn't have come across like a Gumby biopic. but we got unlucky that the theater's only 3D projector was being used to show that My Bloody Valentine movie. another future multiple Oscar-winner, i'm sure.
currently on the white board behind the bar: Hump the wizard.
Aaron Dudley and i recorded our first trial run podcast today, graciously and aptly recorded by good friend Clifton von Smeltzer, who is one of those guys that i've actually known for a lot longer than it feels like i have. i think we got some decent stuff, so i hope it will all come out ok in the edit. it's been awhile since i heard my own voice. i sound shockingly gay. maybe i was just picking up on Aaron's lilt. if you'd care to comment on my latent homosexuality or contribute to the draculas/werewolfs argument, please do so below, or email us at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com.
(just an aside to Anna T. - don't think that i don't know that you loved every syllable of this particular post.)
i'm on it.
dave
Thursday, February 5, 2009
float
goddam Brickbreaker.
have you played this fucking game? it comes standard on whatever version of the blackberry cellphone that the cingular nazis gave me. it may come on other phones as well, i don't have any clue.
what i do know, is that it is a horrible modern rip-off of the classic arcade game "Arkanoid". basically, you control this little paddle at the bottom of the screen, and you have to bounce this metallic ball around and bust up all these different blocks without letting the ball slip past your stupid little paddle and into digital oblivion.
something else i know is that i don't even enjoy the stupid game. it's boring and repetitive and frustrating, namely because the game exists in a universe that does not follow the same laws of physics that you and i are familiar with. the rules don't follow a set logic, as the ball frequently passes through the corners of bricks, the edge of the paddle, etc. utterly ridiculous.
the ONLY other thing i know regarding Brickbreaker, is that Sweet Tits consistently exerts her dominance over my fat ass at that game and that i will not stop playing until i can beat her. mark it, dude.
lets get to some updates.
Live Music Update:
my friend jesse became my hero for a day when he was able to book a performer that i had intended to go see at the Whitewater Tavern in Little Rock. he goes by the name Reverend Deadeye, but after a thorough investigation, Hot Water Cornbread learned that his given name is Brent. i swear i'm not making that up.
the rev is the son of a couple of missionaries that spent a good portion of their lives in arizona with some of those desert indians that you hear so much about on the discovery channel or whatever. he got his start playing guitar at those old-timey big tent revivals, probably for a bunch of people dancing around with snakes and blabbering like they are speaking spanish pig latin.
apparently all the conservative practice paid off, because the show was really damn good. Reverend Brent played (all at once) an old-school resonator, a kick drum, a wash tub, a couple of cymbals, and (at times) a harmonica. to top it all off, he sang into a handmade microphone built out of an old Falstaff beer can. he played the really old-style gospel blues, like he was a white Blind Willie Johnson or something. tremendous.
he and his dog Hawk (as in the bird, not Hock as in at a pawn shop) stayed at the house after the show. it was very evident that he spends long hours on the road with his dog. i don't know if "socially awkward" is exactly the right phrase or not, but he certainly did not have much to say without being prompted with a direct question. i counted six times where he forgot what he was saying in the middle of a sentence when there was no interruption. i think he was just lost in another thought.
overall, a super nice dude. if you get a chance to see him play somewhere close to wherever the hell you live, you'll be sorry if you pass it up. his band page is myspace.com/reverenddeadeye if you want to check him out. if that seems like too much effort, you could just watch the video below.
currently on the white board behind the bar: I'm gonna period.
um, i guess that's all i have. i've been trying to finish this particular post for like two days. just no time, dudes. no time. emails? hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. mahalo.
i'm on it.
dave
have you played this fucking game? it comes standard on whatever version of the blackberry cellphone that the cingular nazis gave me. it may come on other phones as well, i don't have any clue.
what i do know, is that it is a horrible modern rip-off of the classic arcade game "Arkanoid". basically, you control this little paddle at the bottom of the screen, and you have to bounce this metallic ball around and bust up all these different blocks without letting the ball slip past your stupid little paddle and into digital oblivion.
something else i know is that i don't even enjoy the stupid game. it's boring and repetitive and frustrating, namely because the game exists in a universe that does not follow the same laws of physics that you and i are familiar with. the rules don't follow a set logic, as the ball frequently passes through the corners of bricks, the edge of the paddle, etc. utterly ridiculous.
the ONLY other thing i know regarding Brickbreaker, is that Sweet Tits consistently exerts her dominance over my fat ass at that game and that i will not stop playing until i can beat her. mark it, dude.
lets get to some updates.
Live Music Update:
my friend jesse became my hero for a day when he was able to book a performer that i had intended to go see at the Whitewater Tavern in Little Rock. he goes by the name Reverend Deadeye, but after a thorough investigation, Hot Water Cornbread learned that his given name is Brent. i swear i'm not making that up.
the rev is the son of a couple of missionaries that spent a good portion of their lives in arizona with some of those desert indians that you hear so much about on the discovery channel or whatever. he got his start playing guitar at those old-timey big tent revivals, probably for a bunch of people dancing around with snakes and blabbering like they are speaking spanish pig latin.
apparently all the conservative practice paid off, because the show was really damn good. Reverend Brent played (all at once) an old-school resonator, a kick drum, a wash tub, a couple of cymbals, and (at times) a harmonica. to top it all off, he sang into a handmade microphone built out of an old Falstaff beer can. he played the really old-style gospel blues, like he was a white Blind Willie Johnson or something. tremendous.
he and his dog Hawk (as in the bird, not Hock as in at a pawn shop) stayed at the house after the show. it was very evident that he spends long hours on the road with his dog. i don't know if "socially awkward" is exactly the right phrase or not, but he certainly did not have much to say without being prompted with a direct question. i counted six times where he forgot what he was saying in the middle of a sentence when there was no interruption. i think he was just lost in another thought.
overall, a super nice dude. if you get a chance to see him play somewhere close to wherever the hell you live, you'll be sorry if you pass it up. his band page is myspace.com/reverenddeadeye if you want to check him out. if that seems like too much effort, you could just watch the video below.
currently on the white board behind the bar: I'm gonna period.
um, i guess that's all i have. i've been trying to finish this particular post for like two days. just no time, dudes. no time. emails? hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. mahalo.
i'm on it.
dave
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
consolers of the lonely
to quote a famous evil baby, "victory is mine!"
if you enter the words hot, water, cornbread, and blog into the google search engine, the "apollo 18" entry of this humble weblog appears at a startling #38 on the list of over 56,000. while this may not seem initially impressive to the untrained eye, consider the fact that most of the results ahead of it are webpages with recipes, discussions, hints and tips, or other information about literal hot water cornbread.
by deduction, then, you are currently reading the world's foremost satirical blog with the words hot, water, and cornbread prominently involved, and i could probably be considered a leader in the field of blogs named after soul food. i'm pretty sure that i couldn't have done it without at least two of you. not any two in particular. it's just that i don't think most of the other hot water cornbread-related sites get a lot of traffic, really, so two people viewing this one once or twice a week is probably enough to jump this blog way up that list.
that said, i really don't have any concrete ideas about what else is left for me to accomplish. at #38 on google's search list, i've clearly reached the pinnacle of my chosen endeavor in just six short weeks.
rest assured, however, i'm not leaving the game with the championship ring on my finger. i'd rather fade away than burn out. i'm so committed to that principle, in fact, that i rarely use black tar heroin anymore.
let's get to some updates.
Uno Update:
Uno was intentionally, yet inappropriately referred to as "Library Chris" in my xmas haiku blog. the reasoning behind this was logical at the time, yet too tedious and mundane for even this blog, so i won't bore you with them.
some background - Uno is recently divorced from a girl who suddenly decided/realized/admitted to herself that she is a lesbian. much to my chagrin, i discovered that he is currently seeing (somewhat) a bisexual "lady". is lady the right word? i don't really know how that works. (editor's note: the author is confusing the term "bisexual" with the term "transsexual" here. "lady" is indeed appropriate.) regardless, i think it's tremendous that he is slowly easing himself into dating a heterosexual female.
i don't think he really likes her that much, but seeing as his only current mode of transportation is a motorized scooter (that, i swear to god, is called a "Ruckus") it probably works out pretty well for him on rainy days that she lives in the same apartment complex and owns a closed-top vehicle. i'm only saying that because a couple of months ago, he made a cardboard sign that says, "will give oral for a dry ride". that's gross on a lot of levels.
on sunday, Sweet Tits, the Brown One, the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World, and myself all piled into the Official SUV of Hot Water Cornbread and drove the hour and change to hang out with Uno and our mutual friend Cables. we met at a restaraunt called Trejo's, an overrated mexican joint whose only saving grace is the fact that there are video poker machines there, which helped me get rid of this $20 bill that had been giving me all kinds of trouble. oh, and the server/bartender lady was very nice, even though she was clearly infatuated with me and kept undressing me with her eyes. uncomfortable. plus, that role in my life is currently filled by the Starbuck Cougar. i'll let you know when i start taking applications again, Trejo's Kitten.
Casino Gambling Update:
from the mexican place, we hit one of the casinos in town. understand that Uno has given me volumes of shit in the past (and present) about my playing video poker. "the crack cocaine of gambling" he calls it. but i say that's just one man's opinion. well, his and several prominent gambling addiction experts. but that's a topic for another day.
what is important here, is that upon entering the gaming floor, this sonofabitch made an absolute fuckin beeline to the "Wheel of Fortune" slot machines, sat his happy ass down, and started pumping in twenties! to make a short story shorter, after lecturing me about the video poker (an undeniable game of skill) he got about six minutes of fun for his money (in a game with undeniably thin odds in his favor) and he didn't get to spin the wheel even once. suck it, Uno.
apart from that, nobody besides me and the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World cared too much about gambling, so after milling about for awhile, they all went to go drink at the casino bar while we played a couple of table games. blackjack for a little bit (no good) before we went over to a three-card poker table (reeeeally no good). she had never played before, and it's and easy enough game to learn, especially since it's completely about luck, and you really don't have many decisions to make. as it turned out, i really didn't have many decisions to make, seeing as how the best hand i had the whole time was a pair of tens. ridiculously poor luck this trip for everyone that gambled. although, the Sweetest Angry Cunt did seem to be very happy about the provision of several free whiskey drinks during the money-losing process.
Alcohol Drinking Update:
after losing our marijuana money at the tables, we joined the rest of the team briefly at the casino bar, before we headed back downtown to an underrated bar called Stray Cats. the place is always exceptionally clean, it's got perfect lighting, and a really cool pounded copper bartop. they have a decent whiskey and imported beer selection, especially for a place that isn't necessarily what would be considered an "upscale" bar. a couple of fun scotches like Glenfiddich and Balvenie, and some beers like Chimay and Duval that a lot of places don't carry. of course, i refuse to overpay for all that shit, so i just stuck with my Guinness, while Cables and Uno drank their various white trash beers, and the girls all killed Jim Beam whiskey drinks at an unreasonable pace.
i think we pumped about $50 into the damn jukebox while we were there, which unfortunately did not have the selection that we would have liked, but they obviously had enough acceptable choices to keep us sliding our dollars in. we rocked a bunch of old bluesy shit for awhile, Rolling stones and Leadbelly and The Band and whatever, before we really mixed it up with some Michael Jackson, Wu-Tang, and Modest Mouse. we stayed and drank and talked for a couple of hours before we decided to head back home, kissed everyone goodbye, and split. good damn times.
currently on the white board behind the bar: Mary Steenburgen ain't the boss of me.
i had really hoped to get to monday night in this post, too, but it's probably too long already. thanks to all of you that almost sent emails. since i requested them a week or so ago, i have received a total of zero, so i know that there must have been many of you that were brought to the brink of submitting a question or comment to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com, which i greatly appreciate. keep them almost coming, like a bad sexual partner. (ask a friend to explain what that means to you later, Brown One.)
i'm on it.
dave
if you enter the words hot, water, cornbread, and blog into the google search engine, the "apollo 18" entry of this humble weblog appears at a startling #38 on the list of over 56,000. while this may not seem initially impressive to the untrained eye, consider the fact that most of the results ahead of it are webpages with recipes, discussions, hints and tips, or other information about literal hot water cornbread.
by deduction, then, you are currently reading the world's foremost satirical blog with the words hot, water, and cornbread prominently involved, and i could probably be considered a leader in the field of blogs named after soul food. i'm pretty sure that i couldn't have done it without at least two of you. not any two in particular. it's just that i don't think most of the other hot water cornbread-related sites get a lot of traffic, really, so two people viewing this one once or twice a week is probably enough to jump this blog way up that list.
that said, i really don't have any concrete ideas about what else is left for me to accomplish. at #38 on google's search list, i've clearly reached the pinnacle of my chosen endeavor in just six short weeks.
rest assured, however, i'm not leaving the game with the championship ring on my finger. i'd rather fade away than burn out. i'm so committed to that principle, in fact, that i rarely use black tar heroin anymore.
let's get to some updates.
Uno Update:
Uno was intentionally, yet inappropriately referred to as "Library Chris" in my xmas haiku blog. the reasoning behind this was logical at the time, yet too tedious and mundane for even this blog, so i won't bore you with them.
some background - Uno is recently divorced from a girl who suddenly decided/realized/admitted to herself that she is a lesbian. much to my chagrin, i discovered that he is currently seeing (somewhat) a bisexual "lady". is lady the right word? i don't really know how that works. (editor's note: the author is confusing the term "bisexual" with the term "transsexual" here. "lady" is indeed appropriate.) regardless, i think it's tremendous that he is slowly easing himself into dating a heterosexual female.
i don't think he really likes her that much, but seeing as his only current mode of transportation is a motorized scooter (that, i swear to god, is called a "Ruckus") it probably works out pretty well for him on rainy days that she lives in the same apartment complex and owns a closed-top vehicle. i'm only saying that because a couple of months ago, he made a cardboard sign that says, "will give oral for a dry ride". that's gross on a lot of levels.
on sunday, Sweet Tits, the Brown One, the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World, and myself all piled into the Official SUV of Hot Water Cornbread and drove the hour and change to hang out with Uno and our mutual friend Cables. we met at a restaraunt called Trejo's, an overrated mexican joint whose only saving grace is the fact that there are video poker machines there, which helped me get rid of this $20 bill that had been giving me all kinds of trouble. oh, and the server/bartender lady was very nice, even though she was clearly infatuated with me and kept undressing me with her eyes. uncomfortable. plus, that role in my life is currently filled by the Starbuck Cougar. i'll let you know when i start taking applications again, Trejo's Kitten.
Casino Gambling Update:
from the mexican place, we hit one of the casinos in town. understand that Uno has given me volumes of shit in the past (and present) about my playing video poker. "the crack cocaine of gambling" he calls it. but i say that's just one man's opinion. well, his and several prominent gambling addiction experts. but that's a topic for another day.
what is important here, is that upon entering the gaming floor, this sonofabitch made an absolute fuckin beeline to the "Wheel of Fortune" slot machines, sat his happy ass down, and started pumping in twenties! to make a short story shorter, after lecturing me about the video poker (an undeniable game of skill) he got about six minutes of fun for his money (in a game with undeniably thin odds in his favor) and he didn't get to spin the wheel even once. suck it, Uno.
apart from that, nobody besides me and the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World cared too much about gambling, so after milling about for awhile, they all went to go drink at the casino bar while we played a couple of table games. blackjack for a little bit (no good) before we went over to a three-card poker table (reeeeally no good). she had never played before, and it's and easy enough game to learn, especially since it's completely about luck, and you really don't have many decisions to make. as it turned out, i really didn't have many decisions to make, seeing as how the best hand i had the whole time was a pair of tens. ridiculously poor luck this trip for everyone that gambled. although, the Sweetest Angry Cunt did seem to be very happy about the provision of several free whiskey drinks during the money-losing process.
Alcohol Drinking Update:
after losing our marijuana money at the tables, we joined the rest of the team briefly at the casino bar, before we headed back downtown to an underrated bar called Stray Cats. the place is always exceptionally clean, it's got perfect lighting, and a really cool pounded copper bartop. they have a decent whiskey and imported beer selection, especially for a place that isn't necessarily what would be considered an "upscale" bar. a couple of fun scotches like Glenfiddich and Balvenie, and some beers like Chimay and Duval that a lot of places don't carry. of course, i refuse to overpay for all that shit, so i just stuck with my Guinness, while Cables and Uno drank their various white trash beers, and the girls all killed Jim Beam whiskey drinks at an unreasonable pace.
i think we pumped about $50 into the damn jukebox while we were there, which unfortunately did not have the selection that we would have liked, but they obviously had enough acceptable choices to keep us sliding our dollars in. we rocked a bunch of old bluesy shit for awhile, Rolling stones and Leadbelly and The Band and whatever, before we really mixed it up with some Michael Jackson, Wu-Tang, and Modest Mouse. we stayed and drank and talked for a couple of hours before we decided to head back home, kissed everyone goodbye, and split. good damn times.
currently on the white board behind the bar: Mary Steenburgen ain't the boss of me.
i had really hoped to get to monday night in this post, too, but it's probably too long already. thanks to all of you that almost sent emails. since i requested them a week or so ago, i have received a total of zero, so i know that there must have been many of you that were brought to the brink of submitting a question or comment to hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com, which i greatly appreciate. keep them almost coming, like a bad sexual partner. (ask a friend to explain what that means to you later, Brown One.)
i'm on it.
dave
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
strawberry jam
so i just found out that my friend Daintch is going to be having a baby in eight months or so! exciting, right?
a few words for the father-to-be: welcome to hell, and in your face, you dumb bastard. didn't let me talk you out of getting married, so now you're suffering the consequences. i hope you choke on that newborn baby smell. and to top it all off, i swear that last night, getting into bed, i heard Sweet Tits' uterus growl, "feeeeeed meeee!". you make me sick, Daintch. congratulations.
let's get to some updates.
Starbucks Cougar Update:
o, Starbucks Cougar! where has the magic gone between us? things aren't the same as they used to be. your apron isn't tied tightly to accentuate your modest and understated cleavage ("skeeter bites" we called them in middle school) when i come in anymore. the days where you toss me a wink as you hand back my change are a distant memory. i don't think you were even wearing makeup yesterday! have you quit on what we once shared? was the depth of feeling between us a mirage? or are you just, like, on the rag or something?
Official Parents of Hot Water Cornbread Update:
i received one of the worst 10 phone calls in the history of Southwestern Bell the other day. my mother called me here at HWC headquarters last thursday. they were leaving for a short cruise and, as always, had waited until literally the last possible minute to let me know, so as they were talking, the ship's horn was blasting in the background. (for the record, HWC's genetic sponsors absoLUTEly love cruises. they go on one about every month and a half for the last four years. or so it seems to me, anyway. but i digress.)
if there were a transcript of the phone call, it would look something like this:
Official Mother of HWC: "hi, honey! i was just calling to let you know we're leaving for a four-day cruise! should be a good weekend, since we're going to be going to Pro-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-zumel for two days. just wanted to let you know in case y-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-and we didn't answer the phone. oh! here's your dad!:
Official Father of HWC: "hey, son! i guess your mom alre-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-but maybe the Cowboys will have a better season next year if they can ever repl-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-so that's probably the last time i ever deep-fry something in baby oil. okay! talk to you soon!"
HWC: hello?
Official Father of HWC: (indistinguishable chatter from what would have to be the ship's first mate [no homo] laying out all the cruise rules or what-the-hell-ever, followed by a click).
HWC Headquarters Update:
two things:
1. with much weeping and gnashing of teeth, we have finally tossed out the Official HWC 2008 Christmas Tree. it's a hard-fought battle every year. i'm a horrific procrastinator, and Sweet Tits loves christmas, so between her insistence that it stays, and my lack of willingness to really do anything about it, we tend to passively celebrate the birth of Jesus for an extra month every year. and just like every other year, it had to get to the point where the thing was a gd fire hazard before we took it our. i was 14% sure that it would crumble to powder when we tried to pick it up, but it somehow managed to stay mostly integrated on its way to the curb.
2. HWC should be going multimedia in the next two or three weeks, via the podcast. truth be told, HWC was originally supposed to be a podcast with myself and my friend Aaron. but things of course happen as they tend to, and it never got done, mostly because Aaron got busy touring around and i don't have the personality to carry something like that on my own. we will be drunk as shit and doing a couple of material-free recordings in a week or two, just to see how it all goes. if we like it, we'll post it. just be forewarned that it will not be any kind of finished product.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Black Toy of Doom
i actually have quite a bit more to update, but don't have the necessary time to do it now. really eventful weekend, and i'll try to catch it all up in the next day or two. and forgive the self-indulgence, but i just re-watched the movie Adaptation the other day, and there is a scene in the following clip that has been stuck in my head. it starts about 3:15 or so. i would also like to use this video to dispute the Bitter Little Lamb's claim about one Nicholas Cage and his acting abilities. Nic and i implore you to suck it.
i'm on it.
dave
a few words for the father-to-be: welcome to hell, and in your face, you dumb bastard. didn't let me talk you out of getting married, so now you're suffering the consequences. i hope you choke on that newborn baby smell. and to top it all off, i swear that last night, getting into bed, i heard Sweet Tits' uterus growl, "feeeeeed meeee!". you make me sick, Daintch. congratulations.
let's get to some updates.
Starbucks Cougar Update:
o, Starbucks Cougar! where has the magic gone between us? things aren't the same as they used to be. your apron isn't tied tightly to accentuate your modest and understated cleavage ("skeeter bites" we called them in middle school) when i come in anymore. the days where you toss me a wink as you hand back my change are a distant memory. i don't think you were even wearing makeup yesterday! have you quit on what we once shared? was the depth of feeling between us a mirage? or are you just, like, on the rag or something?
Official Parents of Hot Water Cornbread Update:
i received one of the worst 10 phone calls in the history of Southwestern Bell the other day. my mother called me here at HWC headquarters last thursday. they were leaving for a short cruise and, as always, had waited until literally the last possible minute to let me know, so as they were talking, the ship's horn was blasting in the background. (for the record, HWC's genetic sponsors absoLUTEly love cruises. they go on one about every month and a half for the last four years. or so it seems to me, anyway. but i digress.)
if there were a transcript of the phone call, it would look something like this:
Official Mother of HWC: "hi, honey! i was just calling to let you know we're leaving for a four-day cruise! should be a good weekend, since we're going to be going to Pro-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-zumel for two days. just wanted to let you know in case y-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-and we didn't answer the phone. oh! here's your dad!:
Official Father of HWC: "hey, son! i guess your mom alre-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-but maybe the Cowboys will have a better season next year if they can ever repl-WHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!-so that's probably the last time i ever deep-fry something in baby oil. okay! talk to you soon!"
HWC: hello?
Official Father of HWC: (indistinguishable chatter from what would have to be the ship's first mate [no homo] laying out all the cruise rules or what-the-hell-ever, followed by a click).
HWC Headquarters Update:
two things:
1. with much weeping and gnashing of teeth, we have finally tossed out the Official HWC 2008 Christmas Tree. it's a hard-fought battle every year. i'm a horrific procrastinator, and Sweet Tits loves christmas, so between her insistence that it stays, and my lack of willingness to really do anything about it, we tend to passively celebrate the birth of Jesus for an extra month every year. and just like every other year, it had to get to the point where the thing was a gd fire hazard before we took it our. i was 14% sure that it would crumble to powder when we tried to pick it up, but it somehow managed to stay mostly integrated on its way to the curb.
2. HWC should be going multimedia in the next two or three weeks, via the podcast. truth be told, HWC was originally supposed to be a podcast with myself and my friend Aaron. but things of course happen as they tend to, and it never got done, mostly because Aaron got busy touring around and i don't have the personality to carry something like that on my own. we will be drunk as shit and doing a couple of material-free recordings in a week or two, just to see how it all goes. if we like it, we'll post it. just be forewarned that it will not be any kind of finished product.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Black Toy of Doom
i actually have quite a bit more to update, but don't have the necessary time to do it now. really eventful weekend, and i'll try to catch it all up in the next day or two. and forgive the self-indulgence, but i just re-watched the movie Adaptation the other day, and there is a scene in the following clip that has been stuck in my head. it starts about 3:15 or so. i would also like to use this video to dispute the Bitter Little Lamb's claim about one Nicholas Cage and his acting abilities. Nic and i implore you to suck it.
i'm on it.
dave
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