Day 121:Stupid Is As Stupid Does

For the record, I do not, nor have I ever, consider myself the best driver. Really, I'm sure my driving abilities are passable at best. I've never been in an accident where I've been the cause; the only one I've been in involved a driver making a very illegal turn. Ass hat.....totaled my car, bitched to the cops, I got the ticket, and he got off without a problem. Fucker even smelled like some low-shelf Jim Bean or something.

All that acknowledged, I am good at the fine, subtle art of parallel parking. Not sure when I developed this skill. I only did it the bare minimum number of times in driver's training in order not to fail. When the need arises, I jump on it, and I find that I'm quite good at it. Even to the point where I feel proud of my talents and I even inspect the fruits of my labor (albeit a simple labor 'cuz I'm that good) before I walk away from my auto.

It's true I suppose, that I know my car well, given it's smaller size. However, it's really not that much smaller than most normal sedans. Doesn't matter really, I was good at parking friend's trucks down south. Full size trucks mind you, not these piddly little, can't commit to a real truck, Ford Ranger buying mother fuckers. No....I'm talking Ford F series beasts.

Not that I enjoyed parallel parking them, but I was good at it and admired my skillz all the same.

This particular shot, like another in this project, is an example of one moron's inability to park like he or she has a brain. In fact, I'm on a mission. I want to find as many shots of these as I can, collect them in an album, and maybe create a collage of them for others to see. Not sure how it will work out, but as much as it infuriates me, I take a small amount of pleasure in such idiocy.

Tune in next time....Same Bat Time.....

Day 120: The Budding Photographer

My niece Madison attends some after school art program near the Armory Arts building, I think. Truth be told, I'm not absolutely sure of the location. Doesn't matter I guess, it's cool that she has such interesting activities to do.

Couple years ago she took part in an acting class, which I though she did very well in. I mean...look at her! She does a great job acting sweet and well behaved :D

This shot is of her displaying her winning photo from her photography class. She took the photo, they selected it, did a matte job on it and framed it. Madison was so very proud of it, and so were we, most of the family I mean.

Day 119: Fat Kids Are You With Me?!?!

Olive Garden, however a mix of high and low class it is will always be a loved place to get my grub on. I say low class because it's a fuckin' chain of restaurants. High class because it is considerably cleaner than most other places in town; not all, but most.

The shot here is of their chicken alfredo pizza, which is very bombastic! Seriously, if you've never sampled said dish, you either need to run out and try it....now. Sell a kidney, a child or an ingot of gold if you must, but for God's sake go do it!

In all reality, this shot, while making me very hungry and a perfect reflection of my fat-kid-ness, I'm not fond of this shot, because throughout a stressful day this was the only time I remembered the camera in my pocket. Which is okay I guess, because it lets you know what I really love on stressful days...

Day 118: Seven Ninjas Are Hiding In This Pic

Okay, maybe there aren't any ninjas in this pic, but there is someone just chilling in an out of the ordinary place. I feel like I should get a Waldo outfit for him for shits and giggles.

Speaking of which, I've wanted a "Waldo" tattoo for some time. Location undecided, and also undecided is whether or not I'll ever get it. It would be a hilarious tattoo, but I try to keep the goofy tattoos to a bare minimum.

I know that several of the people who read this will think or say, "but you have a damn 'Kool-Aid Man' tattoo!"

And they're right, I do have Kool-Aid Man on my skin. Which is funny as shit to me.

Most of my tattoos are though out processes. Several that have yet to be started/completed, but have been in the works for upwards of six years. Some will remain "in the works" for longer still. Some are conditional pieces, meaning I won't get them 'til I achieve some goal.

Ah well.....I'm dry for thoughts. 'Til next time boppers.

Day 117: Which wallet is yours?

"It's the one that says 'Bad Mother Fucker.'"

Yes, I own one and now I am one. Eat it!

Day 116: Happy Easter!!!

In all seriousness, I have such an intense sense of faith, and the entire mystery of the Passion of the Christ. It's some hardcore shit, and causes me to really feel empty inside that I'll never compare to that greatness.

Jesus aside, I laugh at Easter and how it has become somewhat commercial, like Christmas. One cousin's Facebook status read that the Easter Bunny "went a little bit ape shit" for their child this year. Kinda made me laugh at first, then sad. Why can't we just celebrate a Holy with a bit less revelry? Why do I feel as if this commercial bastardization of Jesus' most holy days is comparable to the orgy scene in the Ten Commandments? In my heart, it reeks of disrespect.

Oh well, on to the photo.

As a child I regularly received Easter baskets. At some point they stopped, but there was still a small amount of affection from the Bunny* to be had. Of course, the Bunny knows that I'm perfectly okay with a few treats inside of a Meijer's bag. Pretty class, eh?

Day 115: Rated "P" for Perverse

Video games are part of my life, have been since I was very young and all there was to play was an Intellivision (which I still own). There was also Pong on some Magnavox built system, but it was all about the Intellivision for me.

While in Kentucky visiting my big sis and her hubby there were two significant events: during the road trip down there we had an in-car jacuzzi (a busted ass fiesta carrying three kids in the back that was collecting water during the torrential El Niño downpours) and I was introduced to the Nintendo Entertainment System, more affectionately known as the NES (each letter spoken). It was love at first sight.

At the time it was only Mario, but eventually I began a video game love affair with Samus Aran, the entire Belmont family, the Battletoads (hardest fucking game in history) and many others. Can't forget Mega Man, Ducktales (a hell of a game), Dragon Warrior, and Final Fantasy. So many games, so much fun, so many fond memories.

NES gave way to the SNES, though my first love will always be the standard to which all others are compared. SNES gave way to N64 & Playstation. The evolution from simple to complex was filled with a great deal of fun and awesome time wasted when I could have been out getting into trouble and maybe losing my virginity.

Speaking of things sexual, I want to point out that I did in fact get a mild thrill - very mild - when I discovered that you could play Metroid with Samus out of her armor. Mortal Kombat came along and I, as well as the multitudes of horny teenage boys destined to be gynecologists, sought after the fabled, elusive, and very non-existent "nudalities" so we could get a glimpse of Sonya Blade in her birthday suit. Let's not even talk about Leisure Suit Larry games.... funny.... but not "hot" and a story for another time. Can't forget the innovations pioneered by the Grand Theft Auto games either. *nods*

In the course of my sexual awakenings, however, I quickly realized the unhealthiness of playing video games with the purpose of seeing in-game nudity. Moreover, I began looking down on games that touted overt sexual content. Usually, this sexual advertising became a selling point for an otherwise lame game.

Now, this game photo above will go unidentified; to test either the real fans or the perverts out there. I will acknowledge that it is (and the games prior) a great game. Incredible fun and amazing story. Also to point out is that I had no idea such gratuitous skin was in the game. The games weren't even advertised with the nudity in mind. I know, however, that the inclusion of such visuals in the game is the work of either someone who is very perverse, someone who knows the game will sell due to the nudity, or both. Maybe the person just wanted to see naked tits, which is cool I guess. I like boobs as much as the next person (right Kakes? Dicks are for chicks, but titties are for everybody), but I don't really see a purpose to them being in this game. Do they add to the game? No. Do they detract from the game? Negative on that count too.

Thoughts? I mean, I love these games, but is it sick for this to be part of the gaming industry? First amendment be damned; just because we can, doesn't mean we should. I may protect that right of ours, but I wonder.....

Day 114: Vernie Goes to JCo!!

There really is no concrete evidence that we're actually at JCo, just a window with odd lights and a coffee cup to the right of her left ear. Can you see the sleeve on it?

She (Vernie) was wonderful too. Being a little dog, I was nervous that she'd have an accident somewhere inside the place. Thankfully, she had no problems of the sort. She did get antsy on several occasions, though I think that was more in part to the multitudes there for the brew and music.

Speaking of the people, she was a hit. More than a few people had to play with her. The Miss Courtney at the front slipper her a snack. She got more than a few repeat customers who just had to say "hi" more than once.

I'd even venture a guess there was a potential gay joke directed at me having such a tiny, non-masculine dog. I don't really care if there was to be honest. Whether her a monstrous St. Bernard or the nine pound, white fur-ball that she is, the end result is the same: I love her personality, and she dotes on me.

The conversations are a little one sided, but she does bring a lot to the table :D

I really, really want to go into how much I enjoy her company more than I do any child I know, how I value her more than most people on Earf', and how I see her as a sort of model on how simply I should live my own existence. She's content to sleep when she needs it, eat when she's hungry, gives out love in abundance, and she all she needs (other than a place to sleep, food to eat, and water to drink) is attention. Throw the toy around or run your hand down her back. Very minimalist; more so than anyone of us lives, that's for damn sure.

Day 113: Feels Like Angelic Kittens Licking....

A Drill Sgt in the Army once said, "put a bit of this in your briefs on a ruck march, and it's like a thousand lil' angelic kittens licking your....."

Can you guess what the missing word is? Hmm? Hmmm?

Day 112: Tacky Shit, I know....

Most beverages taste better from glass, but that's only my humble opinion. I know some guys who love slamming their drinks from giant-ass 7-11 slurpee cups. Though it makes my teeth hurt thinking about drinking nearly two liters of stuff from one giant-ass cup. *gag*

Keeping it short, because I don't want to get bogged down with this general tackiness. This however was the glass I chose to pour my wonderful Bareman's into that particular day. Tacky looking, but it didn't matter. What mattered was at that time, I was drinking Bareman's and all was right in the world.

Sadly, I also felt the urge to listen to some Christmas music, which I did for the next hour or so. Now...that's pathetically sad.

Day 111: Damn It Bobby!!!

Okay, this save a few photos and then post at the end of the week shit has to stop. Deciding to count up my days/photos not wanting to post too many, I found I already did. Early February, I posted a pic/blog that throws off my entire count. So now, I'll have 366 days of this in total, unless I decide to skip a day so my numbers match.

What sayest thou? Just ignore my OCD or skip a day? I think I'll keep it going and just use it as a reminder to keep better track of my days.

Oh, this photos was during class on Tuesday when during a presentation, we were being instructed to pray as a Muslim would. Interesting stuff, but man...for such a young class, a lot of knees were popping.

Day 110: Kinda beautiful, ain't it?

The only problem about my ammunition is that I have far too much. I really need to let off some steam.

Day 109 - 365 - What the shit is this?!?!

WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS SHIT DOING HERE ON THE 18TH OF APRIL?!?!?!?

Day 108: Mean Dog

Vernie is a snuggle lovin' dog, that's for damn sure. More than a few times I've rolled over on top of her during the night because she was so close to me (and I wasn't aware). With kids too and with other dogs. Well...most dogs. The one dog she isn't a fan of is "Cutie," named by my highly unimaginative nephew. His first dog was named "Boy Dog;" you read that right, "Boy Dog."

I'm laying in a reclining chair in this shot, taking a POV pic of the two dogs. Vernie was the first in the chair with me, as sometimes I have to floss my ass cheeks to get her away from me. When she realized that the other dog was planning on jumping up after her, she worked her way up to lay on my chest. She even buried her face under the fold of my robe, for protection from Cutie or just warmth I have no idea. Seeing this I decided to wrap her up as snug as a bug in a rug :P

Always wanted to use that in a good context!

Makes me sad, because she's not mean to Cutie, but she won't play with her. Not one bit. Other dogs she'll curl up with and snooze as if they're best buds. Granted, Cutie is a bit rough, but this past couple days she's been mellow as hell. Vernie is merely tolerating her, I think.

Day 107: Where's the Russian?

"Know what I do when I feel like that?"

"What?"

"I fire a gun."

My first time firing a firearm was at Boy Scout summer camp; at Camp Teetonkah to be exact. I couldn't even remember the exact spelling of the camp name (thanks Google), so it's highly unlikely that I'll remember the gun itself nor the round it fired. It was a rifle, but beyond that I remember very little about the experience.

I was 12 years old, I think. 11 years would pass before I lifted another firearm and took aim at anything.

Week three of basic training, we began marksmanship training with some high quality M16A2 semi-automatic rifles. That rifle popped off 5.56mm rounds at a blazing speed of 12-16 rounds per minute; 45-60 rounds per minute on three round burst. Easy to field strip and throw back together. Was fairly easy to clean, and wasn't nearly as boring looking as many older rifles I commonly noticed in films (though I have an intense respect for less militant rifles these days).

Working with that bad boy (the M16A2) was fun. Additional experiences had were the pleasures of shooting an M249, or the SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon), an M4 (mini M16 basically), an M203, which was an M16 with an underbelly mounted grenade launcher. Also got to pop off a mounted 50cal, which had nicedly packed some heat.

While I didn't really appreciate the whole Army package, I was rather fond of the range experiences. I appreciated the stillness I had to maintain, the calm necessary to be an ace marksman. Not that I was, but I tried. And largely, I found the experience meditative. Steady breathing, stillness and calm, both components one exhibits while in a more traditional meditative form.

Several years after discharging from active dute, I picked up my first gun: a 91/30 Mosin Nagant. The Mosin Nagant is a pretty bad ass Russian rifle used throughout the first half of the century by the Russians and many others. It has a hell of a kick to it, and it feels like I'm shooting a piece of history, which I really am.

Next down the line was my opting to go for a pistol. The pistol I decided on was the Beretta 92FS 9mm. It fires beautifully and smoothly. Easy operation, and easy cleaning. It's more a test of stillness and calm than either the Mosin or the M16, because I'm not firing from a supported position. In fact, I'm pretty lousy with it, but I like it.

Most recent, and certainly not the last, is a very inexpensive Hi-Point 9mm carbine. Not that absolute best baby on the market, but it's cool, fun to shoot, cheap at $25o, comes with a lifetime, no questions asked warranty, and is highly rated on all forums I've come across.

Coming to a close, though I'm sure I'll have more firearm related pics and blogs later on, I want to point out that the Hi-Point and Beretta are pictured above. The Mosin Nagant, or "The Russian" as a friend and I like to say, is currently sitting at a friend's place.

I sort of want to paint the Mosin white, so I can call it the "White Russian."

Day 106: A Jackson Icon

The exact age escapes me, but at one point in my life I discovered of what the Coney meat on a Jackson Coney hot dog consisted . Years passed before I had another. Years passed before I overcame the distaste of the Coney meat ingredient and remembered, "those fuckers taste awesome!"

My favorite Coney Dogs come from Jaxon Pizza Factory, but Jackson Coney Island is the next best thing. A major bonus of the Jackson Coney Island is from Friday morning to Sunday evening, they remain open the whole damn time. SCORE! So this means that at 1am, should I get a hunger for a Coney Dog walking out of the Gentleman's club next door, I can roll right over and order up a few. Not that I really would be at the titty bar, but hey.....it's that the option exists.

Day 105: You Know You Love It!! Jews & Muslims Exempt...

It should be an interview process when I meat* new people:

"Do you like bacon?"

"No."

"No? Are you Jewish or Muslim or vegetarian?"

"No."

"GET OUT! GET AWAY FROM ME!!! AND NEVER, EVER CROSS MY SIGHTS AGAIN OR THAT TIME WILL END FAR WORSE THAN THIS MEATING HAS!"

By the way, yes, I did write "meet" as "meat" twice now; just to affirm my love of flesh-food (When I say Hillshire, you say....?).

Seriously, I understand people not being fans of certain variety of meats, but bacon? God it tastes so damn good. Bacon is one of those things that crosses my lips and and just tastes so damn good. Nearly equal with Bareman's chocolate milk (nearly, but not quite). When people say they don't care for bacon, it's something that I can't even begin to fathom. The taste overrides any of the horrid conditions suffered by those swine that contributed to baconatory delight. Sorry pigs of the world....you just taste too good to care.

So far, bacon has made everything I've combined it with even better. Chocolate covered bacon? Beautiful tasting enough to make you want to slap yo' mama. Beer battered, deep fried bacon? Nom-to-the-mother-fuckin'-Nom! Bacon wrapped hot dogs? Only thing to make hot dogs better is Coney meat; a travesty to say bacon isn't better than coney meat, but in this case coney meat wins out. Bacon and pancakes/french toast/waffles? Just wonderful....'specially when they're in the syrup. Bacon on sandwiches is damn near essential to living. Hell.....just a piece of bacon by itself is as close to Nirvana as sometimes I care to be. Bareman's chocolate milk and bacon from AA Meat Market is....well....sorta makes me feel like a god. A chubby, well-fed, arteries 'bout to shut down d/t to massive thrombus forming god, but a god nonetheless.

My love of bacon has even made good friends of fellow bacon lovers. Dustin from JCo is my bacon brother. Madeline, also from JCo is my bacon sister. Annay is yet another bacon sister. There are more than a few of you out there, but it's down to those three I think most often of when bacon related foods/news/topics finds it's way across my grease loving gaze.

Bacon is just plain sexy and awesome!

Day 104: Will Accept Blood

Not the most clear photo, but you can see how much it cost to fill up my car the other day. It's getting so bothersome I'm waiting for signs to pop up saying "Will Accept Blood, Limbs, Livelihood, First Born Children, Fillings Out Of Your Fuckin' Teeth, and Anything Else You Value, Just So This Gas Will Make You So Resentful You Hate Everything."

Seriously, I'm not into pointing fingers on who or what is at fault. I hear too many conflicting and not-so-definitive reasons explaining the costs of gas to be convinced anyway. Either way it's a burden in the way our society works, which might be a bigger problem than gas prices.

From what I understand, gas prices in countries outside of the U.S. are two or three times as high, so we should be thankful, right? I suppose I am when I look at it like that.

Rather than constantly try and find ways to thwart the powers that be (OPEC though even their influence has diminished somewhat), shouldn't we find alternate methods to get around? Motorcycles and scooters, even if they still depend on individual gas use. Buses? Car pooling? Allowing cars on highways only if they're filled to 3/4 seating capacity or start taking up trains and buses. Bicycles in the city? More walking to places? Using any and all mass transit the city has to offer, however inconvenient.

One idea I had, regardless how fascist or communist this might sound to some, is limiting the number of vehicles to one per household. Sure, it'd be a pain in the ass, but it would certainly make a difference.

Not that I really have the answer, but something needs to change. If we can all stop being pissed that Obama said something about it's time to trade up (regarding someone's plea about gas prices) and get fuel friendly cars, maybe we'd see a bit of wisdom in the statement.

Americans, of course, don't want to change lifestyle; they, we, want a magic pill. Gas prices high? Lower gas prices at all costs, rather than change our consumption. Have heartburn? Forget eating better and just take a pill. Embarrassed because an airline charged you two seats for your fat ass? Forget taking the hint and losing weight, which not only saves you money on those plane seats, but would enhance your quality of life, lower your risk of so many diseases/conditions.

*sigh*

Day 103: I love this Stunna!!

Never do we have enough time to fully catch up, but it amazes me that this girl is one of those
people who days, weeks, months and years can go by and conversations pick up as if there was barely a pause. And she looks quite devastating in those stunna shades, as opposed to how goofy as hell I look, so badly in need of a hair cut. Just know her name is Carlyn. I have a more fun, expletive infused name that I pulled off her profile info a couple years ago, and it really works for her. Really fits her bad bitch personality, though she was self admittedly afraid of having her ass walloped by a couple of bigger, heaving women at Cascades.

Day 102: He's Famous!

Working on a paper, I noticed the background change to my earliest shot of PB. True to form, I've been carrying him around for odd lil' photo opportunities and I thought this would be funny.

Day 101: Stay Classy Jackson!

Made a short trip to Wal-Mart the other day (Sunday), and saw this window decal. First thought was to zoom in to protect the innocent (though are any Texans innocent), but no....

When did we all become so witty? When did everyone become so funny at all costs? Why do people think it's funny to make a derogatory statement?

Now, I like Lenny Bruce as much as the next guy, and I'm never short of a joke that makes light of someone and their characteristics, but really? When did it become acceptable? Even worse that it's so blatant; so out in the open.

Not that I'm completely hating on anyone specific, but when did we, as a society, become so crass?

Day 100: Wow.....100 Days Already?!

This posting marks 100 days of holding true to this project. You might think that I've have a really bomb ass couple of photos to throw up here, but nope. I do, however, have more than one photo to post, so let's get movin'.

Outside of one of our finer local establishments - Jacksonian Cuisine if you will - a guy rolled up in his Honda to run and get a few Coney dogs. You'd think he'd have noticed that he was equal distance from either car on the sides, but that would be an incorrect assumption. You think he'd have moved his car when he noticed that he parked directly on the yellow divider line. Again, that would be an incorrect assumption. Maybe he just wanted to walk in, grab an order and leave. Nope; he sat down for the long haul.

Douche...

Fortunately for said douche, a good friend was next to me, which directly contributed to me NOT keying the guy's car. I so wanted to key his car, and I would have too. Thanks Billy Reuben, for saving this guy's paint job. However, the cop who walked not from his car and didn't notice can choke on his damn Coney dog. Were "I" to have parked like that, there is little chance it would have gone unnoticed.

Oh well.......NEXT PHOTO!!!!

The below shot was taken around 2am upon arriving home, as I was frying up some Spam.

Made me wonder, how many people actually think about something simple as applying mustard to a bun. Whether it be a bun or slice of bread, I have a tendency to squirt it on the bun in the shape of an "M" or a "W". Some people do circles, some in the shape of an "X." Others something I can't right now imagine.

Just an oddball thought.

Day 99: A Creeper In Our Midst!

What's wrong with this pic? Can you see da' kweeper?!? Huh? Can ya'?!

I could really run with this, and write a saga of childish humor, but it shall remain as is. Purely visual humor, and the next one shall have further explanation.

Day 98: Ugly, Ain't She?

Meant to post this yesterday, but I was a lazy turd.

She's ugly ain't she? Her name is Melina June, and before you all get in a twist over the fact that I just called her ugly, hear me out.

I make it a point to say all babies are ugly. Not that all are, mind you, but some are ugly. In the case of most, fortunately, they're all very cute lil' creatures. It even amazes you that some people can even claim ownership of such a beautiful spawn from their loins.

That being said.....there are those that are less appealing to the eye. Some are just downright hideous looking. The sort of ugly that would get rejected by Ripley and his "Believe It Or Not" displays. Yeah....they're just that not good looking. Even worse when they're parents give them big names to live up to; a name like "Denzel", for example, or "Halle." How about a girl named "Porscha" and you know she destined to end up resembling a busted ass, rusted out, ole' Buick.

My strategy in calling all babies ugly lies in familiarity of the term. The more often I use it, the less someone might be offended by it. That way....if I actually bust it out to an ugly baby, the parent really has no clue of my true thoughts. To them, I'm just being bogue (sp?) like I am always am.

Mind you, if you have a baby, and I've called it ugly, then you can worry if you want. Anyway....my opinion shouldn't really matter to you; who am I after all? I will give you this piece of advice, however, regarding verbal descriptions of babies.

If anyone ever (upon first sighting of your baby) refers to your baby as "precious," punch them in the damn mouth. That or just feel sorry. Even if your baby is precious, it's not a good thing to be called upon first sighting. Precious is a term used, in my opinion, when people are stopped in their tracks by an ugly baby, and can't think of a complimentary term to use for your baby. It sounds crazy, but it's how I see it.

So......are you now wondering if I really think your baby is ugly? :D

Day 97: CREEPER INCOMING!!!

Okay, I'm not really a creeper, but I was flipping the camera around the other day, and this shot gave me a kick. My hair was supposed to be skwerly lookin', but it didn't really come across as such. Not that I don't look a bit skwerly, but it's more along the lines of a silly MySpace self shot.

Day 96: Voodoo Child....

Okay, she's not really into Voodoo. You'd wonder sometimes...she won't let anyone take these little containers filled with teeth. At least their her teeth and not someone else's. She won't even let her mother trade them into the toof thairy!

At least they aren't lips or fingers hangin' from that string. Or worse :/

Day 95: Doughboy!

Found this toy floating around the 'rent's house after the brats left their mark....and mess. Tickled for many reason, the least of which is that it's just plain cool! It also potential "traveling gnome" project. I could see Doughboy chillin' next to PBR bottle, or next to my coffee at JCo. How about Doughboy in a photo with myself and friends at a pub in Ireland? Hmm? India? It could work :D

Day 94: A Swift Boot the Arse!!

Growing up our Pops was a bit short and to the point; gruff even. Some days, his worse days, he was a straight up ass turd. On his best days, he was Superman with a belly.

This particular shot reminds me of all the times he'd snap at us - us being my sisters and me - whenever he'd open the oven. Immediately prior to opening the oven, he'd give us a sharp warning to back, sometimes giving us a shove to make sure we got back fast enough. Then after closing the oven he'd stand up, back up, and, in rare cases, trip over someone, he'd yell at whoever it was in the way. Heh...

In this shot, he didn't yell or snap at anyone, but it didn't stop a sister and I from doing what we'd do under the same circumstances all those years ago. Make jokes and gestures behind his back. :D

Day 93: Leeeeet's go tooooo the movieeeees!!

Leeeeet's go seeee the staaarrrs!!

Now that I've started it, I'm really in the mood to see "Annie." Not a film I'd have thought I'd ever love, at least not when I first took notice of it. Over the years, however, I've really began to appreciate stage work and musicals. Even the films of musicals or just the films if not a stage production yet.

I really give the credit to "Jesus Christ Superstar" (JCS) and "Rocky Horror Picture Show" for igniting my current love of musicals and rock operas. A person who might get credit would be Courtney Klatt (nee Wiggins). We once even sang along to JCS together....over the phone! God....what dorks..., but we're still awesome like that.

Nowadays I can really get down to many different musicals. "The Sound of Music," once hated and now loved. "The Fiddler on the Roof" dances upon the cockles of my heart. The Who's "Tommy," "Miss Saigon," "Phantom of the Opera," "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat," "Little Shop of Horrors," "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street," and so on. The list really could go on.

I suppose I respect the talent involved. There is usually obvious talents on behalf of the performers, not to mention the background work of stage hands and costume designers and musicians. The respect for this talent even pushed me to love opera with it's amazing level of talent and ability with regard to the vocalists.

Referencing "Annie" again, I think often of the scene where they go to the movies. The particular theater they go to is an elaborately decorated period theater. The Michigan Theater reminds me of that scene. Not that there is enough room for the various theater employees to dance around and turn cartwheels over the burgundy ropes, but still. The place has incredible visual appeal, however, and so much character.

The place is a nostalgic cry back to a time when downtown was booming. When the sound of trains was a more common sound. When people walked to separate stores for trinkets needed or desired. Shoes here and a suit there. Stop off at the drug store and get a fountain pop. Sit at a restaurant window and watch a car with tail fins roll by. Listening to the "Bells of Saint Mary's" just a few blocks away.

Not that I've experience any of this myself, but I like to dream of a different time, often with the help of my wonderful parents who have a number of wonderful stories.

Day 92: Why did Jesus weep?

Jesus wept because he had an Andy's Extra Special Wet Edition Chunk Frappe, courtesy of the Jackson Coffee Co. This particular Chunky Frappe was concocted at the masterful hands of Laura; who is as delicious as the creations she serves to me.

Frequently, I don't even have to tell them what I want. Not just Laura, but all of the wonderful peeps in there know that I'm a Chunky Frappe addict. Furthermore, they're aware that I never order anything specific. Well, aside from saying don't use this or that (basically any kind of mint or Ghiradelli chocolate bars), I let them have free rein with the drink. Which is really cool, because it's always different. The only real parameter I give them is that I "want to weep" when I taste it.

Nom, nom, nom...I could kill for one right now. Now that I think about it, I hate seeing "nom, nom, nom" written out. Not sure why, it just does.

Often, at restaurants, I do a similar thing to the waitress (or waiter). Instead of ordering a dish straight out, I give them several options and ask that they surprise me. Same thing with sauces on chicken wings. Just bring it to me...as long as it isn't buffalo spit. That shit isn't even funny.

Not that I'm trying to be an asshole, but sometimes I just can't decide. I have a taste for several different things. And if I choose one dish, I will inevitably be ticked that I didn't select the other dish. The decision being taken out of my hands not only removes the possibility of me being angry (with myself), it also adds an interesting element of surprise. It also has the effect of bothering the server, because they're very nervous about selecting the wrong thing.