This is today’s tough guy look. You can’t tell from the picture but I’m purring on the inside.
I’ve had the sniffles for the past couple of days. Everyone is hacking and coughing at school but I’m ahead of the curve by hacking and coughing only on the weekends. Perhaps I shouldn’t make out with my classmates in the bathroom, then I wouldn’t get sick.
It’s been a surprisingly good Monday. I probably could be classified more super than tomorrow’s Super Tuesday.
So I’m busying myself around the house working on various projects: editing video for Earl’s workplace, editing music for Greg and the Connecticut Gay Men’s Chorus, tweaking computers, playing with wires.
As I busy myself around the basement I have a streaming radio station on courtesy of LiveIreland.com. I’m listening to Channel 2, which is contemporary music from Irish artists. LiveIreland.com broadcasts live from Dublin City along the River Liffey.
Listening to the music, the talk of Dublin and the delicious accent easily transports me to our all-too brief (but overwhelmingly enjoyable) trip there last October. I can almost feel the energy of the city. The key word is “almost”.
During my rant the other day I mentioned that few understand my desire to move to Dublin, as I’ve only spent 48 hours in the city (out of seven days in the Republic of Ireland) and have only seen the city through the eyes of a tourist. Since that trip in October, I’ve done a huge amount of reading on Ireland and nothing that I’ve read has deterred my feelings on the subject. Practicality tells me it’s a dream.
It’s a good thing that I believe in dreams. In the meantime, technology allows me to experience the city from afar.
Being back in the swing of weekly DJ gigs again, after a successful night last night Earl and I decided to head to our local Denny’s after the bar closed last night for a quick bite to eat. Most areas of the northeast have a wide selection of all-night diners, here we only have Denny’s as the locally owned diners are only open until 8 p.m. at the very latest. Even our IHOP closes at 11.
This area is a disappointment to diner fans worldwide.
Earl reminded me that I had been to the local Denny’s once before for after hours, as I had insisted on eating breakfast after hanging out with friends at the bar. Quite frankly I don’t remember much of the experience as I was under the influence of alcohol at the time. No worries, he was driving during that excursion. My mandatory breakfast consisted of a chicken sandwich and french fries. Because of my minimal memories of that experience, I was not aware of what our Denny’s is like after hours.
It’s a mess.
They have bouncers/fake security guards at the entrances and at the restroom doors. These thugabes (tough guy wannabes, I just made that up) are there to help keep the drunks under control and the food fights contained. They’re also there to assure that everyone pays for their meal before leaving.
They’re failing miserably on that last point. Two liquored up parties left the diner without paying during the 45 minutes that Earl and I were there. The resulted in shouting from the hostess who was also cooking and the waitress who apparently had to pay for their food even though the thugabes weren’t doing their job and the hostess, who also collects the money, was cooking. One of the ladies from the liquored up party fell into my lap on her way out. I set her upright and pushed her in the right direction.
Our service was pretty good. Earl and I sat for no more than five minutes before we had our drinks and our orders submitted to the harried server. Since we try to fit as many calories as possible into the wee-hours of dining, our appetizer of chicken strips was out within five minutes of our request. This prompted one of the lesbians from a nearby table (I know she was a lesbian because she was making out with her girlfriend earlier in the evening) to come over to our table and glare at us for eating. She stood at the table and looked like she was ready to pounce. I didn’t offer her any food. Apparently they had been waiting quite a while for their food. This prompted more shouting behind the counter. The customers were yelling at the servers who were yelling at the hostess that was cooking while the thugabes talked on their cell phones while another customer escaped with an unpaid check.
All in all, the harried server was doing her best, the food was mediocre and the experience was frightful.
Next time I’ll be sure to be drunk.
I’m like a little kid. The list of school closings is huge this morning. The announcer goes through each one, alphabetically, like all radio announcers do.
K…. L…. M… “Mohawk Valley Community College, All campuses closed”
w00t!
Time to go back to sleep.
I guess I’m in a little bit of a ranty mood today. Am I the only one that is sick and tired of hearing the antics of Britney Spears and her clan of idiots? I’ve never found her to be exceptionally talented and back when her first song came out I was very hesitant to play it on the radio. I believe my comment was “Wow, technology can do wondrous things!”
I realise1 that a good chunk of the American sheep have become obsessed with all things Hollywood. I know that it’s apparently very important to know which celebrity showed her cooley as she staggered out of the limo last night. Personally I believe that Paris Hilton is the anti-Christ that the wingnuts are always shrieking about.
Here’s my take on this Britney thing. Who cares if she shaved her head months ago. Did the country go whacko years ago when Tyne Daly did the same thing? Of course not. Is Britney a responsible mother? Probably not. Neither is a good chunk of mothers out there today but we don’t see everyone losing2 their mind over it. There’s always going to be good mothers and there’s always going to be bad mothers. It’s just the way it is. Crimminy.
The newest five alarm fire is that she’s speaking in a British accent. Big whoopin’ doopin’ doo. Has anyone thought that she might have wanted to reboot her life or even just a change of pace? I know that if I grew up with that southern accent that she’s had all her life I’d be out making a change too. Truth be known if I could pull of a believable Irish accent I’d do it full-time. “The British accent shows that she has a personality disorder.” Give me a fscking break. Maybe she was just sick of sounding like a hick.
I realise1 that the media wants us to pretend that there’s no war and all is rosy in the United States. Celebrity deconstruction sells ad time much better than world annihilation. But enough already with the Britney talk. Let her be.
Bollocks!
1 Since I can’t speak with a convincing Irish accent, I type with one.
2 As long as I’m ranting, for the love of god please note that ‘lose’ is spelled with one ‘o’. “I’m losing weight so my jeans will be loose.” Loose as in “loose change” = two ‘o’s. Lose as in “lose the sidekick” = one ‘o’. Thank you.
Moby gets credit for inspiring me to superscript my numbered notes.
Before starting this blog entry I briefly wondered how many times I can write about the fact that I’m not a morning person and then I decided that I don’t really give a shit, it’s my blog and I can write about whatever I damn well please.
This should be an indication of my mood this morning.
There is nothing responsible for putting me in a less-than-sunny mood this morning other than the fact that it’s not even 7 a.m. and here I am up and about. This idea of offering only one section of a required course at 8 a.m. is ridiculous. I wonder what the folks that work during the day and go to night school are suppose to do about getting this class onto their schedule.
I wrote a letter to the president of the college asking him to have someone please fix the clocks. None of the clocks in the creatively named “Academic Building” work properly. The time displayed in the hallways is nothing close to what we consider real time in these parts, but I do know what time it is in Guam, Halifax and Moscow in case you’re wondering. None of the classrooms have clocks because it depresses the students. I’ve heard that theory from a couple of folks but I believe it’s because the school is cheap and they didn’t want to go to the expense. I get depressed when the instructor starts on time and people come wandering in for the next ten minutes because they don’t know what time it is.
Earl was out of town last night and that has me somewhat cranky as well. As I burrow under the covers I think about the fact that It’s cold in our house because our energy costs have gone through the roof again. I think I’m ready for winter to be over. I’m ready for warmer weather and wearing as little clothes as socially acceptable. I hate bundling up. I wish I could wear shorts all year ’round.
I am so tired of this presidential election I could scream. People are rampantly hating Hillary and few know why they hate her, they just know they have to hate her so they do. I guess I can’t really complain though because I have no basis for my complete distrust for Obama but there’s something that just doesn’t add up right for me when I listen to his speeches and his other plans for a better tomorrow. And don’t even get me started on the other side of the fence, all I see are cranky old men doing cranky old things that will at the very least undoubtedly cost Earl and I more money to prove that we are still human beings because after all, if it ain’t fear sanctioned love, it’s not love. If the truth were to be known, none of the presidential candidates really do anything for me and this is all going to boil down to the less sucky choice.
I know no one takes me seriously when I declare that I want to move to Ireland but it still holds true. It’s my own fault for voicing my dreams out loud for most of my life. If you dream it and don’t follow through with it, people think you have no sense of direction.
Truth be known, my direction is usually different than everyone else’s. And that doesn’t bother me in the least. They tell me look at the big picture. They don’t get that I’m looking at a completely different painting.
Back when I was in elementary school, I was one of the first selected to be in the “Enrichment Program”. I was the only one in my fourth grade class to be selected for the pilot program, which was designed to inspire students that showed an interest in the less-traditional elementary scholastic subjects such as math, social studies and spelling. My interests included maps, roads, power lines, clocks, cash registers and acting.
Yes, I’ve been a square peg in a world of round holes.
“Enrichment” took us out of the ordinary classroom and into a seldom used alcove off the library where we were encouraged to explore our interests with the guidance of teachers that were trained to handle geeks like us. I guess the job didn’t pay well though, because in the three years that I participated in the program we had three different teachers. The first was Mr. Hazard who organised a tour of the local nuclear power plants. Other than that I don’t remember much about him, though I thought his field trip was nifty and a glowing success. The second teacher, Mr. Rayburn, was my first crush and I suppose there’s a hidden side of me that wonders what that bear of a teacher looks like today. (He was 6′ 2″, had a crooked smile and auburn hair and a bushy beard to match). My crush went to crushed when I discovered that he wasn’t around my third year of the program. The name of the third teacher escapes me, but I remember him being somewhat of a hippy with his long hair, liberal attitude and out-of-the ordinary beard/goatee combo.
I decided to give that last teacher’s beard style a whirl today. I’m liking the look, it’ll probably stay around for a while.
Just a guy with a husband. We’ve been together 28 years and he still makes me see fireworks on a daily basis. Hiker. Storm Chaser. Private Pilot. Tech Guy. Hackerish.
Weird? Eccentric!
