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
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
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
Sunday, January 18, 2009
apollo 18
so this post is named after that album by They Might Be Giants.
they're a cool damn band that's been around for 20-something years, and i don't think they've ever really slacked on the quality of their albums. there are some that i prefer to others, obviously. but i think one of the hardest things to accomplish (you know, if i were some kind of artist or creative type) is to maintain your own voice without becoming a ripoff of yourself. they write songs in reeeally diverse styles but are never so weird that you can't listen to them. their song topics range from belgian painters to divorce to the science of solar themodynamics to snack food. and i think that's all on one album.
they just seem like a couple of really smart guys that never let themselves get bored with their songwriting or ever started giving a shit about what is necessarily popular. they just worry about being good.
basically what i'm saying is this: if the only songs you know by these boys is "Istanbul (not Constantinople)" and "Particle Man", because they were featured on Tiny Toons back in the day, you really need to get your shit together. if you can't find about 20 of their songs that you really like, that's probably an indication that you don't have a soul. or you are mexican.
if i can make this damn blogspot machine work, i'll include a video. now don't get me wrong, their videos are as old and dated as anything C&C Music Factory ever produced, so don't judge them by that. but it will be a nice visit to the early nineties for those of you who were like 7 or something back then, and probably don't remember it as clearly as you should. (trust me, there are those that walk among us that were only 7 in the early nineties. and they look just like you and me.)
i bought a couple of their albums for The Girl recently. (she's nine and i'm trying to get her some of the basics in at an early age, so she doesn't grow up to be a total ass-hat. you know, TMBG, Dave Matthews, Bjork, etc.) it occurred to me that i've been listening to them since farking middle school, which works out to like 18 years, if you're keeping score at home.
my best friend in seventh grade, Greg, introduced me to TMBG. Greg was an asthmatic band geek who was mostly terrible at sports and put up with a lot of shit from a lot of people that i mostly lost touch with after we moved my senior year. best fact about Greg? he briefly dated the daughter of Dan Piraro, the dude that draws the "Bizarro" comic strip in the Dallas Morning News. one of my great regrets is that i didn't realize what a cool motherfucker he was until we were both in college. i owe a lot of my musical tastes to him being a damn visionary when he was 12. he was like my Rain Man of indie music, except he didn't get to drive the car slow on the driveway on saturdays. (definitely on saturdays. never on a tuesday. he's definitely an excellent driver.)
he had picked up TMBG from his cousin shane. shane was a Stephen Malkmus lookalike, and probably the first person that i was ever aware smoked pot. apart from that, he was a big Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers fan, which was fine with me. but he also LOVED the Oklahoma Sooners. so there's a small part of me that would be ok if i somehow found out he was homeless.
ok! here's the video. i think.
let's get to some updates.
Union Baby Update:
Union Baby made it home from the hospital in one piece. unfortunately, she has not made it over to my house yet, so she is still waiting for her first sip of bourbon. and judging from the pictures i've seen of her, she is not at all happy about that fact. either that or she's trying to pass a kidney stone the size of a nickel.
when the time comes, though, i'll be ready. i think i'm going to go with Basil Hayden's which is a really nice, mellow, 80-proof whiskey that won't overload her baby palate like Bulleit or Baker's would, but it offers enough complexity to make it worth her time. or i may just give her a shot of Beam.
what i'm really excited about is getting her to call me Creepy Uncle Dave. the way i see it, that's the type of nickname that is better if it is self-applied.
The Middle One and Tiny Baby Update:
i swear to god, it's like i'm living with fucking raccoons.
but not normal raccoons that you can find at the river, being rascally or digging up clams or playing around with a shiny trinket.
i mean some very business-like and efficient raccoons with a detailed checklist that includes things like:
let the dog out of the house.
climb on top of the fridge to get the bag of double-stuf oreos that are hidden in the cabinet, and then consume them all. empty a bottle of nail polish onto the couch and spread it around with your stupid tiny babyhands.
leave little pieces of off-brand corn chips on every available horizontal surface.
smear yourself with Vicks Vapo-Rub.
taunt your parents with repeated diapers full of loose stools.
i'm sure that i am leaving something out here, but you get the idea. if you know a good gypsy that pays cash and is looking for a couple of healthy, white, blue-eyed male children to put on the black market, please contact Sweet Tits at her brand new email address - jesusrooseveltchristwhenwilltheyturn18@gmail.com
Cool New Stuff Update:
double sweetness at the mall. both the bookstore and the music store are closing up shop within the next week, so they both have almost everything at 50% off or better. the employees did not seem to be as happy about all the savings as i was for some reason. maybe they were all overdue for their cigarette breaks. or maybe they were sad because Barack Obama hasn't found them a new job yet, like he SAID he would, back when he needed our votes. (too soon?)
i don't really have time to go into detail on the superiority of any of these. a couple of them you will probably be familiar enough with already. the rest you can research on your own time. i can't spoon feed you all the time.
I Am America (and So Can You) - by Stephen Colbert
The Raconteurs - Consolers of the Lonely
Mogwai - Government Commissions
Led Zeppelin - Presence (which was recorded in 18 days back in the mid-70's, and has one of my favorite LZ songs, "Nobody's Fault but Mine")
More Information Than You Require - by John Hodgman (Daily Show/Colbert Report contributor)
The Fiery Furnaces - Rehearsing My Choir
Currently on the white board behind the bar: i am NOT going to Waco.
i'll try to do better next time. Mike and i are going to Little Rock briefly tomorrow for lunch with a friend/business partner of his, so maybe something cool will happen with that. or i might have some really cool sex or something. also, i only need five good emails to have enough to do a mailbag. i don't mean five MORE, just five. well, i guess technically i DO need five more.
hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. i'm just saying.
i'm on it.
dave
they're a cool damn band that's been around for 20-something years, and i don't think they've ever really slacked on the quality of their albums. there are some that i prefer to others, obviously. but i think one of the hardest things to accomplish (you know, if i were some kind of artist or creative type) is to maintain your own voice without becoming a ripoff of yourself. they write songs in reeeally diverse styles but are never so weird that you can't listen to them. their song topics range from belgian painters to divorce to the science of solar themodynamics to snack food. and i think that's all on one album.
they just seem like a couple of really smart guys that never let themselves get bored with their songwriting or ever started giving a shit about what is necessarily popular. they just worry about being good.
basically what i'm saying is this: if the only songs you know by these boys is "Istanbul (not Constantinople)" and "Particle Man", because they were featured on Tiny Toons back in the day, you really need to get your shit together. if you can't find about 20 of their songs that you really like, that's probably an indication that you don't have a soul. or you are mexican.
if i can make this damn blogspot machine work, i'll include a video. now don't get me wrong, their videos are as old and dated as anything C&C Music Factory ever produced, so don't judge them by that. but it will be a nice visit to the early nineties for those of you who were like 7 or something back then, and probably don't remember it as clearly as you should. (trust me, there are those that walk among us that were only 7 in the early nineties. and they look just like you and me.)
i bought a couple of their albums for The Girl recently. (she's nine and i'm trying to get her some of the basics in at an early age, so she doesn't grow up to be a total ass-hat. you know, TMBG, Dave Matthews, Bjork, etc.) it occurred to me that i've been listening to them since farking middle school, which works out to like 18 years, if you're keeping score at home.
my best friend in seventh grade, Greg, introduced me to TMBG. Greg was an asthmatic band geek who was mostly terrible at sports and put up with a lot of shit from a lot of people that i mostly lost touch with after we moved my senior year. best fact about Greg? he briefly dated the daughter of Dan Piraro, the dude that draws the "Bizarro" comic strip in the Dallas Morning News. one of my great regrets is that i didn't realize what a cool motherfucker he was until we were both in college. i owe a lot of my musical tastes to him being a damn visionary when he was 12. he was like my Rain Man of indie music, except he didn't get to drive the car slow on the driveway on saturdays. (definitely on saturdays. never on a tuesday. he's definitely an excellent driver.)
he had picked up TMBG from his cousin shane. shane was a Stephen Malkmus lookalike, and probably the first person that i was ever aware smoked pot. apart from that, he was a big Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers fan, which was fine with me. but he also LOVED the Oklahoma Sooners. so there's a small part of me that would be ok if i somehow found out he was homeless.
ok! here's the video. i think.
let's get to some updates.
Union Baby Update:
Union Baby made it home from the hospital in one piece. unfortunately, she has not made it over to my house yet, so she is still waiting for her first sip of bourbon. and judging from the pictures i've seen of her, she is not at all happy about that fact. either that or she's trying to pass a kidney stone the size of a nickel.
when the time comes, though, i'll be ready. i think i'm going to go with Basil Hayden's which is a really nice, mellow, 80-proof whiskey that won't overload her baby palate like Bulleit or Baker's would, but it offers enough complexity to make it worth her time. or i may just give her a shot of Beam.
what i'm really excited about is getting her to call me Creepy Uncle Dave. the way i see it, that's the type of nickname that is better if it is self-applied.
The Middle One and Tiny Baby Update:
i swear to god, it's like i'm living with fucking raccoons.
but not normal raccoons that you can find at the river, being rascally or digging up clams or playing around with a shiny trinket.
i mean some very business-like and efficient raccoons with a detailed checklist that includes things like:
let the dog out of the house.
climb on top of the fridge to get the bag of double-stuf oreos that are hidden in the cabinet, and then consume them all. empty a bottle of nail polish onto the couch and spread it around with your stupid tiny babyhands.
leave little pieces of off-brand corn chips on every available horizontal surface.
smear yourself with Vicks Vapo-Rub.
taunt your parents with repeated diapers full of loose stools.
i'm sure that i am leaving something out here, but you get the idea. if you know a good gypsy that pays cash and is looking for a couple of healthy, white, blue-eyed male children to put on the black market, please contact Sweet Tits at her brand new email address - jesusrooseveltchristwhenwilltheyturn18@gmail.com
Cool New Stuff Update:
double sweetness at the mall. both the bookstore and the music store are closing up shop within the next week, so they both have almost everything at 50% off or better. the employees did not seem to be as happy about all the savings as i was for some reason. maybe they were all overdue for their cigarette breaks. or maybe they were sad because Barack Obama hasn't found them a new job yet, like he SAID he would, back when he needed our votes. (too soon?)
i don't really have time to go into detail on the superiority of any of these. a couple of them you will probably be familiar enough with already. the rest you can research on your own time. i can't spoon feed you all the time.
I Am America (and So Can You) - by Stephen Colbert
The Raconteurs - Consolers of the Lonely
Mogwai - Government Commissions
Led Zeppelin - Presence (which was recorded in 18 days back in the mid-70's, and has one of my favorite LZ songs, "Nobody's Fault but Mine")
More Information Than You Require - by John Hodgman (Daily Show/Colbert Report contributor)
The Fiery Furnaces - Rehearsing My Choir
Currently on the white board behind the bar: i am NOT going to Waco.
i'll try to do better next time. Mike and i are going to Little Rock briefly tomorrow for lunch with a friend/business partner of his, so maybe something cool will happen with that. or i might have some really cool sex or something. also, i only need five good emails to have enough to do a mailbag. i don't mean five MORE, just five. well, i guess technically i DO need five more.
hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. i'm just saying.
i'm on it.
dave
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
neverender
just a quick shout-out to my friend yak, who spent either hours or a few minutes putting together the kickass new banner at the top of the page. anything he does is far cooler than this blog deserves. i owe him many blowjobs. we all owe him many blowjobs.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Milk me.
and yes, it is a blatant ripoff of the hot water music logo. that's what i requested. except that instead of "ripoff", i use the word "homage".
i'm on it.
dave
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Milk me.
and yes, it is a blatant ripoff of the hot water music logo. that's what i requested. except that instead of "ripoff", i use the word "homage".
i'm on it.
dave
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
come on, feel the illinois!
you always hear how people don't change.
like "a leopard can't change its spots" or "a bulgarian whore can't hide her penis," my grandfather would always tell me. true enough. it IS difficult to maintain the tuck at times. believe me, i've tried. i even watched the Chris Terrell instructional video this weekend for some friendly tips (no homo). it was shot at a recent punk-rock festival after party, while the band was in Gainesville, Florida last year.
during the course of this video, Chris Terrell proceeds to strip down completely naked with two TOTAL strangers in their motel room, all three tucking the old bratwurst and taters and enacting the creepy Buffalo Bill scene from Silence of the Lambs as well as several familiar Charles Atlas poses. unnerving.
someone should literally flip a coin to decide which was more grotesque - this scene or the one in which the boys are dipping (freshly unwrapped) tampons into a mixture of vodka and kool-aid powder, before lifting them out and up by the string and slurping out the, um, not-so-kool-aid. when the video comes out on youtube, please pay special attention to catch the phrases "vagina rat", "bloody pussy shot", and Gary laughing like an iced-out maniac in the background. there are also several instances where Andy is referred to as a "Vermonter", which he is inexplicably and irrationally angry about months later.
let's get to some updates.
Mike Update:
Mike's baby with the ex-girlfriend finally got here two days ago. (21 inches, 7 lbs and 11 oz, for those of you keeping score at home). for the record, that's not meant to sound like she had been on a whirlwind world tour or anything. i just mean that she was born. for the purposes of this blog, she will be referred to as Union Baby. i may never explain why.
having a child is an odd choice for someone that generally dislikes people, (and those that wet their pants in particular) but he was exhaustedly elated by the time she finally popped out. i dare say he was far LESS surly than usual. a tremendous accomplishment taking into account how much he enjoys both sleep and food, and most of the day had been sleepless and foodless.
there was an opportunity for an extremely uncomfortable situation in the waiting room. it was just him for most of the day (against 15-20 of the mother's friends and family) until i got there around 6 pm. unfortunately for me, there were no jerry springer moments. there was only one guy that was a little bit snarky towards him in the hallway right after the baby was born, but he didn't do enough to earn a dick punch or anything.
regardless of any disagreements, everyone is on Team Union Baby now. Mike and the mother are both good people, and good people work things out for what is best and most important. as long as i don't get stuck changing shitty diapers or have to watch Mike breastfeed, i'm on board with all of it.
what i am not on board with: the fact i think i heard Sweet Tits' uterus swell as she was looking at pictures of the newborn. i will clearly be witholding physical affection for the next 18 months. have i ever mentioned that we already have three kids? we have three goddam kids.
Football Gambling Update:
good god. i don't think i can talk about this yet.
Brown One/Sweetest Angry Cunt Update:
the Brown One had a birthday party the same night Union Baby went Jim Morrison on that womb. i was unfortunately unable to attend. not unfortunate in the sense that i really love birthday parties. unfortunate in the sense that the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World had several world-class drunken moments.
my personal favorite? beligerently telling the Brown One that she definitively does NOT have the keys to the Brown One's car. "i JUST handed them to somebody! a person! a HUMAN BEING! i DON'T have them! JESUS!"
to be fair, she was equally apologetic upon realizing that the keys were, in fact, in her hand the entire time. you have to love it.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Where's my owl cake?
i know it has been a week between posts (suck it, Smokey, i'm a busy sonuvabitch). i trust you all have used the time wisely and to your full advantage. if you feel you should thank me for not burning any of your precious time or to register a complaint about the quality of a post, you can reach me at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. or for pretty much anything else, really. just keep it close to reasonable.
i'm on it.
dave
like "a leopard can't change its spots" or "a bulgarian whore can't hide her penis," my grandfather would always tell me. true enough. it IS difficult to maintain the tuck at times. believe me, i've tried. i even watched the Chris Terrell instructional video this weekend for some friendly tips (no homo). it was shot at a recent punk-rock festival after party, while the band was in Gainesville, Florida last year.
during the course of this video, Chris Terrell proceeds to strip down completely naked with two TOTAL strangers in their motel room, all three tucking the old bratwurst and taters and enacting the creepy Buffalo Bill scene from Silence of the Lambs as well as several familiar Charles Atlas poses. unnerving.
someone should literally flip a coin to decide which was more grotesque - this scene or the one in which the boys are dipping (freshly unwrapped) tampons into a mixture of vodka and kool-aid powder, before lifting them out and up by the string and slurping out the, um, not-so-kool-aid. when the video comes out on youtube, please pay special attention to catch the phrases "vagina rat", "bloody pussy shot", and Gary laughing like an iced-out maniac in the background. there are also several instances where Andy is referred to as a "Vermonter", which he is inexplicably and irrationally angry about months later.
let's get to some updates.
Mike Update:
Mike's baby with the ex-girlfriend finally got here two days ago. (21 inches, 7 lbs and 11 oz, for those of you keeping score at home). for the record, that's not meant to sound like she had been on a whirlwind world tour or anything. i just mean that she was born. for the purposes of this blog, she will be referred to as Union Baby. i may never explain why.
having a child is an odd choice for someone that generally dislikes people, (and those that wet their pants in particular) but he was exhaustedly elated by the time she finally popped out. i dare say he was far LESS surly than usual. a tremendous accomplishment taking into account how much he enjoys both sleep and food, and most of the day had been sleepless and foodless.
there was an opportunity for an extremely uncomfortable situation in the waiting room. it was just him for most of the day (against 15-20 of the mother's friends and family) until i got there around 6 pm. unfortunately for me, there were no jerry springer moments. there was only one guy that was a little bit snarky towards him in the hallway right after the baby was born, but he didn't do enough to earn a dick punch or anything.
regardless of any disagreements, everyone is on Team Union Baby now. Mike and the mother are both good people, and good people work things out for what is best and most important. as long as i don't get stuck changing shitty diapers or have to watch Mike breastfeed, i'm on board with all of it.
what i am not on board with: the fact i think i heard Sweet Tits' uterus swell as she was looking at pictures of the newborn. i will clearly be witholding physical affection for the next 18 months. have i ever mentioned that we already have three kids? we have three goddam kids.
Football Gambling Update:
good god. i don't think i can talk about this yet.
Brown One/Sweetest Angry Cunt Update:
the Brown One had a birthday party the same night Union Baby went Jim Morrison on that womb. i was unfortunately unable to attend. not unfortunate in the sense that i really love birthday parties. unfortunate in the sense that the Sweetest Angry Cunt in the World had several world-class drunken moments.
my personal favorite? beligerently telling the Brown One that she definitively does NOT have the keys to the Brown One's car. "i JUST handed them to somebody! a person! a HUMAN BEING! i DON'T have them! JESUS!"
to be fair, she was equally apologetic upon realizing that the keys were, in fact, in her hand the entire time. you have to love it.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: Where's my owl cake?
i know it has been a week between posts (suck it, Smokey, i'm a busy sonuvabitch). i trust you all have used the time wisely and to your full advantage. if you feel you should thank me for not burning any of your precious time or to register a complaint about the quality of a post, you can reach me at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. or for pretty much anything else, really. just keep it close to reasonable.
i'm on it.
dave
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
our endless numbered days
so, i may have a revolutionary new blog idea.
by revolutionary, i mean piggy-backing someone else's good idea, changing it just a little bit, and calling it my own.
at this point, all four of my readers should have had time to have visited the "Fuck You, Penguin" blog i mentioned recently. if you have not done so, it indicates that you are either unwilling or unable to click the link to this blog that i have made available for you in the top right corner of this page. for the stupid, lazy, and/or armless (hi, mom!) members of the audience, the premise of the blog is the author telling "cute animals what's what".
for example, let's say they have a photo of some cuddly-looking blob of koala in a tree, eating some eucalyptus, or a tin can, or a bratwurst or whatever they eat. he's sitting there, looking innocent and adorable, and the blog-writer will post a brief paragraph that berates him, usually with violent threats and swearing. usually something like, "you think we don't see you in that tree, koala? we do. because you are a big, heinously obese ass-hat that should be FACE-RAPED LIKE A DEAF-MUTE BOSNIAN REFUGEE! you make me sick, koala, because i know you think you're so damn awesome just because i want to snuggle up with you. you think you're hot snot on a silver platter. but you're really just cold boogers on a paper plate. that's what we in america call a "sick burn", koala! live with it!"
and so on. this was for illustrative purposes only. obviously, the FYP blogger would come up with something funny and pointed, that would make his/her readers laugh... AND think.
but just ponder this - what if there were a similar blog dedicated to the sinister antics of a single child? isn't it safe to assume that if you like "Fuck You, Penguin", you will LOVE "Fuck You, Tiny Baby"?
just consider the possibilities. countless pictures of my adorable youngest child, each with a brief yet obscene paragraph that offers insults and threatens physical violence. it would give child protective services all the evidence they would ever need to take him from the home.
let me know what you think.
in other news, i have reconsidered my decision not to do a 2008 in review posting. screw my friend Yak, with his superior and stylish blog that features things i don't know anything about or could even begin to comprehend. who needs it? my readers love my bland and inferior style, and they probably don't even care about what's really cool or new. so suck it, Yak.
for the record, the following "awards" are in no particular order, nor do they follow any particular logic. they are just kind of as they come to me. also, if it happens to be a book or movie or album, it doesn't necessarily mean it was released in 2008. just that i read/saw/heard it in 2008, which is really all that's important here. just so we're clear. also, i don't have a cool name for the awards, like the "Cornbreadies" or anything. sorry. so, without further delay:
Best Rock-n-Roll Musical Concert Show (3-way tie):
Wilco and Dr. Dog @ the Robinson Theatre, Little Rock - mike and i went to this show way back in february (i think), before he and She That Shall Not Be Nicknamed got together and ruined what was left of my life. Dr. Dog is one of my current 10 favorite listens, and neither of us had any idea they would be opening that night. extremely solid band, and tighter than i would have guessed for a bunch of g-d longhair, barefoot, crunchy vermont hippies. highlight of the show for me, however, was Wilco playing "via chicago", where they do this thing during the chorus that is like a dick-punch of sound. tremendous.
The Sideshow Tragedy @ Whitewater Tavern, Little Rock - another outing for mike and i, just before he went hetero. my first time to go to a show at Whitewater, which may be the best bar in the south. at least the most oddly-situated. if you haven't seen the Sideshow Tragedy, and you live in the south or midwest, i can guarantee you two things: 1 - they will be playing somewhere near you within the next four months, and 2 - you will not be sorry you paid to see them. they are just one of those bands, that, if you don't like what they do, you probably just don't like music. anyway, i got exTREMEly drunk on jim beam and guinness and was into the show emotionally in a way that i hadn't been at a concert in a really long time. i threw my hat at the bass player during one song, while telling him what a "sick motherfucker" he was at the top of my lungs. an excellent night. oh! i almost forgot it was the same night that we stopped at another bar in LR called Midtown, where i proceeded to take a ginormous shit that stopped up the toilet in the women's room! sorry, ladies!
The Teeth @ the Jackrabbit Lounge, Shreveport - they were really close even before this, but they absolutely became my favorite band (at the time) after i saw them live. got to talk and do some shots with them pre- and post-show. just really great, genuine dudes that gave just about everything they had onstage. lots of energy, really fun, and the crowd knew all the songs, which made it spectacular, since it was a smaller venue. i don't know what else to say here, except that now they are broken up and two of them, peter and brian, are in a new project called The Purples. also, i hope they all get their clitorises bitten off for not putting out at least one more album.
Best Moment Involving One of the Children I Own:
The Middle One singing onstage with John Elliott, Memphis - Sweet Tits took The Middle One to see some friends of ours (John Elliott and Raina Rose) perform at some kind of unwashed hippie dope-smoke-a-thon in Memphis. John was playing his first song ("give me what i want") when he noticed The Middle One singing along in the front row, word-for-word. he stopped playing, told the Middle One to come up on stage, and they started the song over, singing together, and John letting him carry some of the chorus all by himself. of course, when they were finished, everyone applauded for him, which he loved. Sweet Tits got some really nice video of the whole thing. i guess you would have to know a little bit about The Middle One to have an idea why this meant as much to me as it did. but screw you.
Best Excuse to Acquire Salmonella:
speaking of that trip to Memphis, Sweet Tits brought me back a piece of fried chicken from this place called Gus's that's somewhere around downtown. holy moses. by the time i got it, the chicken was like 6 hours old and room temperature. and still might have been the best piece of fried chicken i've ever eaten. it was like deep-fried sex, seasoned with black tar heroin. yum.
Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for Me Personally:
this would clearly be the day that i found out that the proprietor of a particular locally-owned food establishment was either - a. dead as hell or b. incapacitated or in some kind of coma or something. "dammit," i said. " i guess we'll have to order some of that fucking papa john's bullshit." they had REALLY great handmade pizza there, you see, and i was perplexed as to why no one was answering the phone to take my order for a large sausage, mushroom, and basil. (for the record, he is/was a really great dude, and Sweet Tits and i had talked with him on a number of occasions. it was just in that particular instance, his well-being was completely overshadowed by my immense and pressing need for delicious pizza.)
Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for The Girl:
i would think that at some point, for every invested parent, there comes a time when you look at your child and see the indelible mark that you have left on them, be it good or bad. my moment with The Girl came after this completely ludicrous wind and hail storm last spring. we were leaving the car wash and we passed a lexus with a back windshield that had been completely cratered in. "dad! look at that!" she said. "i know, baby," i replied. "it probably got caved in from the big hailstorm last night." "BOOM! SICK BURN!" she yells. prouder moments have been few and far between. i just wish that we had had the windows rolled up, so that Jimmy Lexus-Owner would not have shot my favorite child that well-deserved go-to-hell look.
Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for The Tiny Baby:
that stupid bastard head-butted me right in the damn nose the other day. technically not in 2008, i know, but shit...
Favorite New Beverage (non-alcoholic):
those tasty little Starbucks Doubleshot cans! fast, totally delish, and they let me make lewd jokes to the Starbucks Cougar on occasion and pass it off as harmless banter. bwa-ha-ha, Starbucks Cougar. you are becoming ensnared in my web of charm.
Favorite New Beverage (alcoholic):
Baker's Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. mmmmmm. 7 years old. 107 proof. one of the Jim Beam small batch collection. a glass of Baker's is like a long, warm, painless coma that you don't want to wake up from. no ice, just the smallest splash of water to open it up some.
Best TV Show:
The Wire. not just the best for this year, but probably the best for any year. funny, tragic, sickeningly real, honest, intelligent, complex, well-written, and a minimum of bullshit. if you have never seen The Wire, i want you to quit your job, go buy seasons 1-5, and then sit down and watch the entire series beginning to end. you are allowed to get up to go to the bathroom and answer the door when the pizza dude gets there, and you had better pause the program when you do those things. there's just too much to keep up with to miss a minute or two while you are making a dookie. (dukey? dooky? how do you spell that?)
Most Disappointing Movie:
Burn After Reading by the Coen brothers. the only reason i didn't get up and leave in the middle is because it's the Coen brothers, and i kept expecting it to get good. the trailers looked good, and there were a couple of funny moments, but for the most part it just seemed like they were trying to remake Fargo or something. considering all their other fine films, though, i'm sure i'll get over it. i liked No Country For Old Men enough that they never have to make another good movie again.
Most Surprisingly Good Movie:
Batman Returns or Begins or whatever. the one with Heath Ledger they kept talking about all the time. i can't really say much that hasn't already been said about it, i'm sure. it was just really surprising that a movie that everyone said was so good was actually really fucking good. because everyone said those goddam spiderman movies were so awesome, but they mostly sucked cat labia.
Currently on the white board behind the bar - it's in the mog house, noob!
well, hell, i can't really think of anything else, but i'm sure there's quite a lot. my long-term memory is atrocious. if you are at all curious regarding my best or worst or whatever superlative for any given thing or circumstance, you should be able to reach me via electronic letter-writer-sender, which is hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com, and i will do my best to get to both emails. but time is in short supply, and there's always the chance that one of them will suck. so, you know.
i'm on it.
dave
by revolutionary, i mean piggy-backing someone else's good idea, changing it just a little bit, and calling it my own.
at this point, all four of my readers should have had time to have visited the "Fuck You, Penguin" blog i mentioned recently. if you have not done so, it indicates that you are either unwilling or unable to click the link to this blog that i have made available for you in the top right corner of this page. for the stupid, lazy, and/or armless (hi, mom!) members of the audience, the premise of the blog is the author telling "cute animals what's what".
for example, let's say they have a photo of some cuddly-looking blob of koala in a tree, eating some eucalyptus, or a tin can, or a bratwurst or whatever they eat. he's sitting there, looking innocent and adorable, and the blog-writer will post a brief paragraph that berates him, usually with violent threats and swearing. usually something like, "you think we don't see you in that tree, koala? we do. because you are a big, heinously obese ass-hat that should be FACE-RAPED LIKE A DEAF-MUTE BOSNIAN REFUGEE! you make me sick, koala, because i know you think you're so damn awesome just because i want to snuggle up with you. you think you're hot snot on a silver platter. but you're really just cold boogers on a paper plate. that's what we in america call a "sick burn", koala! live with it!"
and so on. this was for illustrative purposes only. obviously, the FYP blogger would come up with something funny and pointed, that would make his/her readers laugh... AND think.
but just ponder this - what if there were a similar blog dedicated to the sinister antics of a single child? isn't it safe to assume that if you like "Fuck You, Penguin", you will LOVE "Fuck You, Tiny Baby"?
just consider the possibilities. countless pictures of my adorable youngest child, each with a brief yet obscene paragraph that offers insults and threatens physical violence. it would give child protective services all the evidence they would ever need to take him from the home.
let me know what you think.
in other news, i have reconsidered my decision not to do a 2008 in review posting. screw my friend Yak, with his superior and stylish blog that features things i don't know anything about or could even begin to comprehend. who needs it? my readers love my bland and inferior style, and they probably don't even care about what's really cool or new. so suck it, Yak.
for the record, the following "awards" are in no particular order, nor do they follow any particular logic. they are just kind of as they come to me. also, if it happens to be a book or movie or album, it doesn't necessarily mean it was released in 2008. just that i read/saw/heard it in 2008, which is really all that's important here. just so we're clear. also, i don't have a cool name for the awards, like the "Cornbreadies" or anything. sorry. so, without further delay:
Best Rock-n-Roll Musical Concert Show (3-way tie):
Wilco and Dr. Dog @ the Robinson Theatre, Little Rock - mike and i went to this show way back in february (i think), before he and She That Shall Not Be Nicknamed got together and ruined what was left of my life. Dr. Dog is one of my current 10 favorite listens, and neither of us had any idea they would be opening that night. extremely solid band, and tighter than i would have guessed for a bunch of g-d longhair, barefoot, crunchy vermont hippies. highlight of the show for me, however, was Wilco playing "via chicago", where they do this thing during the chorus that is like a dick-punch of sound. tremendous.
The Sideshow Tragedy @ Whitewater Tavern, Little Rock - another outing for mike and i, just before he went hetero. my first time to go to a show at Whitewater, which may be the best bar in the south. at least the most oddly-situated. if you haven't seen the Sideshow Tragedy, and you live in the south or midwest, i can guarantee you two things: 1 - they will be playing somewhere near you within the next four months, and 2 - you will not be sorry you paid to see them. they are just one of those bands, that, if you don't like what they do, you probably just don't like music. anyway, i got exTREMEly drunk on jim beam and guinness and was into the show emotionally in a way that i hadn't been at a concert in a really long time. i threw my hat at the bass player during one song, while telling him what a "sick motherfucker" he was at the top of my lungs. an excellent night. oh! i almost forgot it was the same night that we stopped at another bar in LR called Midtown, where i proceeded to take a ginormous shit that stopped up the toilet in the women's room! sorry, ladies!
The Teeth @ the Jackrabbit Lounge, Shreveport - they were really close even before this, but they absolutely became my favorite band (at the time) after i saw them live. got to talk and do some shots with them pre- and post-show. just really great, genuine dudes that gave just about everything they had onstage. lots of energy, really fun, and the crowd knew all the songs, which made it spectacular, since it was a smaller venue. i don't know what else to say here, except that now they are broken up and two of them, peter and brian, are in a new project called The Purples. also, i hope they all get their clitorises bitten off for not putting out at least one more album.
Best Moment Involving One of the Children I Own:
The Middle One singing onstage with John Elliott, Memphis - Sweet Tits took The Middle One to see some friends of ours (John Elliott and Raina Rose) perform at some kind of unwashed hippie dope-smoke-a-thon in Memphis. John was playing his first song ("give me what i want") when he noticed The Middle One singing along in the front row, word-for-word. he stopped playing, told the Middle One to come up on stage, and they started the song over, singing together, and John letting him carry some of the chorus all by himself. of course, when they were finished, everyone applauded for him, which he loved. Sweet Tits got some really nice video of the whole thing. i guess you would have to know a little bit about The Middle One to have an idea why this meant as much to me as it did. but screw you.
Best Excuse to Acquire Salmonella:
speaking of that trip to Memphis, Sweet Tits brought me back a piece of fried chicken from this place called Gus's that's somewhere around downtown. holy moses. by the time i got it, the chicken was like 6 hours old and room temperature. and still might have been the best piece of fried chicken i've ever eaten. it was like deep-fried sex, seasoned with black tar heroin. yum.
Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for Me Personally:
this would clearly be the day that i found out that the proprietor of a particular locally-owned food establishment was either - a. dead as hell or b. incapacitated or in some kind of coma or something. "dammit," i said. " i guess we'll have to order some of that fucking papa john's bullshit." they had REALLY great handmade pizza there, you see, and i was perplexed as to why no one was answering the phone to take my order for a large sausage, mushroom, and basil. (for the record, he is/was a really great dude, and Sweet Tits and i had talked with him on a number of occasions. it was just in that particular instance, his well-being was completely overshadowed by my immense and pressing need for delicious pizza.)
Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for The Girl:
i would think that at some point, for every invested parent, there comes a time when you look at your child and see the indelible mark that you have left on them, be it good or bad. my moment with The Girl came after this completely ludicrous wind and hail storm last spring. we were leaving the car wash and we passed a lexus with a back windshield that had been completely cratered in. "dad! look at that!" she said. "i know, baby," i replied. "it probably got caved in from the big hailstorm last night." "BOOM! SICK BURN!" she yells. prouder moments have been few and far between. i just wish that we had had the windows rolled up, so that Jimmy Lexus-Owner would not have shot my favorite child that well-deserved go-to-hell look.
Most Heartless and Insensitive Moment for The Tiny Baby:
that stupid bastard head-butted me right in the damn nose the other day. technically not in 2008, i know, but shit...
Favorite New Beverage (non-alcoholic):
those tasty little Starbucks Doubleshot cans! fast, totally delish, and they let me make lewd jokes to the Starbucks Cougar on occasion and pass it off as harmless banter. bwa-ha-ha, Starbucks Cougar. you are becoming ensnared in my web of charm.
Favorite New Beverage (alcoholic):
Baker's Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. mmmmmm. 7 years old. 107 proof. one of the Jim Beam small batch collection. a glass of Baker's is like a long, warm, painless coma that you don't want to wake up from. no ice, just the smallest splash of water to open it up some.
Best TV Show:
The Wire. not just the best for this year, but probably the best for any year. funny, tragic, sickeningly real, honest, intelligent, complex, well-written, and a minimum of bullshit. if you have never seen The Wire, i want you to quit your job, go buy seasons 1-5, and then sit down and watch the entire series beginning to end. you are allowed to get up to go to the bathroom and answer the door when the pizza dude gets there, and you had better pause the program when you do those things. there's just too much to keep up with to miss a minute or two while you are making a dookie. (dukey? dooky? how do you spell that?)
Most Disappointing Movie:
Burn After Reading by the Coen brothers. the only reason i didn't get up and leave in the middle is because it's the Coen brothers, and i kept expecting it to get good. the trailers looked good, and there were a couple of funny moments, but for the most part it just seemed like they were trying to remake Fargo or something. considering all their other fine films, though, i'm sure i'll get over it. i liked No Country For Old Men enough that they never have to make another good movie again.
Most Surprisingly Good Movie:
Batman Returns or Begins or whatever. the one with Heath Ledger they kept talking about all the time. i can't really say much that hasn't already been said about it, i'm sure. it was just really surprising that a movie that everyone said was so good was actually really fucking good. because everyone said those goddam spiderman movies were so awesome, but they mostly sucked cat labia.
Currently on the white board behind the bar - it's in the mog house, noob!
well, hell, i can't really think of anything else, but i'm sure there's quite a lot. my long-term memory is atrocious. if you are at all curious regarding my best or worst or whatever superlative for any given thing or circumstance, you should be able to reach me via electronic letter-writer-sender, which is hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com, and i will do my best to get to both emails. but time is in short supply, and there's always the chance that one of them will suck. so, you know.
i'm on it.
dave
Monday, January 5, 2009
you're my lover now
unintended lack of posting for the last week. extraordinarly busy for the bar, with new year's eve and then the weekend following, of course. busy enough that i was unable to find time to write and post the "Hot Water Cornbread's Best of 2008" entry that i wanted to. but say-la-vee and shit. either way, it wouldn't have been as good or as good-looking as the similar column by my friend Yak (please see: blog, un-magical realism).
in addition, i have been fighting off what i believe to be either sars or the norwegian poon flu. i'm so jacked on Emergen-C, B-12 and Theraflu, there's a chance that i am technically unconscious as i write this (vegas currently has the odds on this at 12:1). i may also be floating in a very real, very Jimi Hendrix way.
can you overdose on things that aren't technically medicine? god, i hope so. i would love to find out what the treatment is for turning orange and being jittery enough to be employed at home depot as a paint mixer. as long as it doesn't affect my writing, i think that front porch kolache stonewall fencepost will speed limit banana mime vanilla gay mayor gorilla diaper.
let's get to some updates.
Live Music Update:
this past friday, three of my favorite people and Chris Terrell put on a rock-n-roll music show up at the bar. band is called the Infamous Jaguar Shark (www.myspace.com/thejaguarsharkband), and they have played there on a few occasions, most notably my birthday last may, which you probably missed. these boys always trick me into doing too many shots of whiskey (please see: Beam, Jim or Cock, Fighting) to properly do my job, but i don't hate them for it.
the Jag Shark brought with them a new jersey punk band called The Measure, made up of two upstanding young men (Tim and Mike) and another dude (Fid) and a chick (Lauren), both of questionable upbringing and eroding morals. i invited the new j-sians (pronounced to rhyme with "asians") to stay at the house, seeing has how we have ample couch space and fully-operational bathroom facilities. i personally love having bands stay at the house. it gives me the opportunity to wake them up FAR too early in the morning by blasting Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough", which is one of the regular highlights of my waking life.
the Infamous Chris Terrell somehow managed to make his way to the house with them at 2 am, after chatting up the singer (Lauren, just to be clear, who is in truth a very quiet and demure, non-judgmental vegan) for most of the night. i was still at work when i found out about this development, leaving Sweet Tits to deal with him on her own, completely unarmed. this was an issue.
Chris Terrell is the kind of drunk that has been known to break an entire cabinet full of dishes. and not notice. Chris Terril is the kind of drunk to start a fight with good friends while he is naked in their yard. and now, Chris Terrell (according to published reports from trusted sources) is apparently the kind of drunk to attempt making sweet, sweet love on the vegan lead singer of a new j-sian punk outfit in the middle of my hallway. this would have been less of an issue if Sweet Tits had been given the opportunity to place a moisture barrier between them and the carpet, so as to avoid leaving a ring.
to give something akin to equal time: Chris Terrell denies that his bare ass was seen bobbing up and down, and denies that there was any attempt on his part to, shall we say, "drill for vegetable oil". Chris Terrell is full of shit. we also found, during the course of conversation the next day, that he was unaware (or at least unclear) of the fact that a platypus is indeed a real animal. not, as he put it, "like a unicorn or something".
for the record, Chris Terrell is the kind of drunk that i could blog about every day, and never run out of material.
good god, good gravy. i love you so much, baby.
The Children I Own Update:
Tiny Baby has been eating most things that he can get his hands on. the rest of it (such as makeup, peanut butter, deodorant, cheese sauce, or paint) he has been smearing on his face and clothing. this has been an unpopular career move for the Tiny Baby.
however, his upcoming quarterly performance evaluation will be slightly better than the last one, when he still found it to be fashionable and amusing to flush non-disposable items down the toilet.
if you are reading this, please be aware that we have our eye on you, Tiny Baby. don't think you are too small to be punched out Soda Popinski-style. you have wobbly legs and poor motor control. you would not last much more than two full rounds with either one of us, sir.
One-Percenters Update:
there was a surprising lack of One-Percenters this new year's eve. people were strangely well-behaved and house-trained. last year, the amateur nature of our customers became very apparent, as i was asked insightful questions like, "do you guys carry Miller Lite?" "not sure," i replied. "i'll have to check with the manager. we don't carry a lot of specialties and imports. it's called Miller Lite, you say?"
there is an excellent chance it was the first night out of mom's basement for this particular gentleman. and maybe he had once seen an ad for Miller Lite when she let him watch "the talky-picture box" that one time for his birthday. and maybe thoughts of that beautiful fizzy yellow beer had stayed in his dreams since that moment, as yearned for the opportunity to drink one, just once. and maybe after i was an asshole about whether or not we carried it, he realized his whole life was a sham, and he went home and shot his mom, for keeping him sheltered and naive throughout his entire adult life, before turning the gun on himself.
sometimes, it feels really good to make a difference.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: let's hear it for sign language!
for the record, if anyone reading this did not understand the Soda Popinski reference above, do me a solid and ask another one of your friends about it. asking me would make me feel reeeeeally old. but if you can't find a better source, you can always email me at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. or with any other questions, for that matter.
i'm on it.
dave
in addition, i have been fighting off what i believe to be either sars or the norwegian poon flu. i'm so jacked on Emergen-C, B-12 and Theraflu, there's a chance that i am technically unconscious as i write this (vegas currently has the odds on this at 12:1). i may also be floating in a very real, very Jimi Hendrix way.
can you overdose on things that aren't technically medicine? god, i hope so. i would love to find out what the treatment is for turning orange and being jittery enough to be employed at home depot as a paint mixer. as long as it doesn't affect my writing, i think that front porch kolache stonewall fencepost will speed limit banana mime vanilla gay mayor gorilla diaper.
let's get to some updates.
Live Music Update:
this past friday, three of my favorite people and Chris Terrell put on a rock-n-roll music show up at the bar. band is called the Infamous Jaguar Shark (www.myspace.com/thejaguarsharkband), and they have played there on a few occasions, most notably my birthday last may, which you probably missed. these boys always trick me into doing too many shots of whiskey (please see: Beam, Jim or Cock, Fighting) to properly do my job, but i don't hate them for it.
the Jag Shark brought with them a new jersey punk band called The Measure, made up of two upstanding young men (Tim and Mike) and another dude (Fid) and a chick (Lauren), both of questionable upbringing and eroding morals. i invited the new j-sians (pronounced to rhyme with "asians") to stay at the house, seeing has how we have ample couch space and fully-operational bathroom facilities. i personally love having bands stay at the house. it gives me the opportunity to wake them up FAR too early in the morning by blasting Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough", which is one of the regular highlights of my waking life.
the Infamous Chris Terrell somehow managed to make his way to the house with them at 2 am, after chatting up the singer (Lauren, just to be clear, who is in truth a very quiet and demure, non-judgmental vegan) for most of the night. i was still at work when i found out about this development, leaving Sweet Tits to deal with him on her own, completely unarmed. this was an issue.
Chris Terrell is the kind of drunk that has been known to break an entire cabinet full of dishes. and not notice. Chris Terril is the kind of drunk to start a fight with good friends while he is naked in their yard. and now, Chris Terrell (according to published reports from trusted sources) is apparently the kind of drunk to attempt making sweet, sweet love on the vegan lead singer of a new j-sian punk outfit in the middle of my hallway. this would have been less of an issue if Sweet Tits had been given the opportunity to place a moisture barrier between them and the carpet, so as to avoid leaving a ring.
to give something akin to equal time: Chris Terrell denies that his bare ass was seen bobbing up and down, and denies that there was any attempt on his part to, shall we say, "drill for vegetable oil". Chris Terrell is full of shit. we also found, during the course of conversation the next day, that he was unaware (or at least unclear) of the fact that a platypus is indeed a real animal. not, as he put it, "like a unicorn or something".
for the record, Chris Terrell is the kind of drunk that i could blog about every day, and never run out of material.
good god, good gravy. i love you so much, baby.
The Children I Own Update:
Tiny Baby has been eating most things that he can get his hands on. the rest of it (such as makeup, peanut butter, deodorant, cheese sauce, or paint) he has been smearing on his face and clothing. this has been an unpopular career move for the Tiny Baby.
however, his upcoming quarterly performance evaluation will be slightly better than the last one, when he still found it to be fashionable and amusing to flush non-disposable items down the toilet.
if you are reading this, please be aware that we have our eye on you, Tiny Baby. don't think you are too small to be punched out Soda Popinski-style. you have wobbly legs and poor motor control. you would not last much more than two full rounds with either one of us, sir.
One-Percenters Update:
there was a surprising lack of One-Percenters this new year's eve. people were strangely well-behaved and house-trained. last year, the amateur nature of our customers became very apparent, as i was asked insightful questions like, "do you guys carry Miller Lite?" "not sure," i replied. "i'll have to check with the manager. we don't carry a lot of specialties and imports. it's called Miller Lite, you say?"
there is an excellent chance it was the first night out of mom's basement for this particular gentleman. and maybe he had once seen an ad for Miller Lite when she let him watch "the talky-picture box" that one time for his birthday. and maybe thoughts of that beautiful fizzy yellow beer had stayed in his dreams since that moment, as yearned for the opportunity to drink one, just once. and maybe after i was an asshole about whether or not we carried it, he realized his whole life was a sham, and he went home and shot his mom, for keeping him sheltered and naive throughout his entire adult life, before turning the gun on himself.
sometimes, it feels really good to make a difference.
Currently on the white board behind the bar: let's hear it for sign language!
for the record, if anyone reading this did not understand the Soda Popinski reference above, do me a solid and ask another one of your friends about it. asking me would make me feel reeeeeally old. but if you can't find a better source, you can always email me at hotwatercornbreadblog@gmail.com. or with any other questions, for that matter.
i'm on it.
dave
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