Eye For Composition

 

My 4-year-old son has got an eye for composition.

I saw him walking around with the digital camera this weekend but only today did I discover that he was actually taking pictures with it.

The Loners

 

Eddie Taylor of The Loners.

Two-piece garage rock from Raleigh.

Tooth

 

J-ME from Tooth.

Metal from Durham.

Dedicated to Satan.

This Weekend

Aftering barely surviving last weekend's shenanigans, I now have to pony up tomorrow and play punk rock dad.

Click headline for link...

Last Weekend

I went to a bachelor party in Hollywood.

It consisted of the bachelor dressed in a Batman costume, a booze bus, a midget dominatrix, golden showers, a stop at a Mexican lesbian bar, a trip to what appeared to be a gay porn set complete with tranny lap dances for the bachelor, and well, soo much more.

Pretty much what I expected from a bunch of

Jackasses

Goin' Crazy From The Heat

Seriously.

I can handle a couple of one hundred degree days a summer but this year it has proved to be just too much.

We've had the better part of the last three weeks with temperatures cresting the triple digits.

There's not much to do when it gets that hot in the Southeast. A few weeks back we were blessed to be at the beach (sorta) but even being on the sand with an ocean breeze the temperature was still be unbearable at times and chased us into AC.

The heat has pretty much killed our herb and vegetables gardens. I guess the plus side here is that my lawn is brown and hasn't needed to be mowed that much during the past two months.

80 degrees is going to feel downright chilly when it finally comes.

The BHH, Merv and Me

Unless you live under a rock you probably heard that Merv Griffin passed away this week. I worked for Merv for a few years in the early '90s.

Sort of.

I was a pool boy at the Beverly Hilton in Beverly Hills that Merv owned.

At the time, I had given up on the prospect of finding full-time employment in the film industry and had taken the age old task of working part-time shit jobs and working as a freelance journalist part-time.

I had spent the better part of two months working as a bicycle messenger in downtown Los Angeles ferrying documents back and forth between law offices and the district and superior courts. I loved being on my bike all day and loved the outcome of that: I had legs of steel and lungs the size of the Grand Canyon. But the company I worked for treated us messengers like pawns and paid a wage that was barely livable(I think I was making like $6.50 and hour - in 1993 - in LA!). So one day while waiting for a delivery I scanned the Help Wanted classifieds and saw that the Beverly Hilton was hiring for valet drivers. I had spent the better part of my college days working as a courier in DC so I knew how to drive a car. And I figured the tips would be good.

I called in work late the next day and then went to the hotel and filled out application before arriving at work several hours late. The next day I got a call saying that while I wasn't qualified to be a valet because I didn't have experience with models like Bentleys and Rolls Royces. No shit! But the girl in HR did say, "we are looking for a pool attendant."

A couple of weeks later I found myself poolside at the Beverly Hilton passing out towels to guests and cleaning the Olympci size pool in the mornings.

This was the hotel that had the storied Trader Vic's.

This was the hotel that held the Golden Globe Awards.

This was the hotel that Heidi Fleiss got busted running her prostitution ring in.

There we a lot of odd happenings going on around that place and many stories - too many to delve into at this moment.

But I will tell the Christmas Tree story...

One year during Christmas, there was a celebrity tree auction held in the hotel of the lobby. Essentially, this meant that famous people sent their assistants over to one of the several ballrooms designated for tree decoration to do their work. For two weeks the hotel ballrooms were filled with queeny bitches and uptight wenches all trying to "outdo" each other with their fashion sense.

Rosanne was currently bitch of all bitches at this time so she had her personal assistant cover her tree in black roses.

Whoopi Goldberg was currently in some Star Trek movie so hers was appropriately themed.

We pool boys were called in to help move the trees to the lobby since we were under the guidance of the Maintenance Dept. A few assistants made the blunder of not considering the fact that the doorway out of the ballroom was 8 feet so their 10 foot trees had to be leaned through resulting in ornaments and decorations taking the plunge.

One tree in particular caused us a great problem: it was Bob Hope's tree and it was decorated like Carmen Miranda and had all this fruit on top of it thus making it top heavy.

So me and my co-worker very carefully guided this tree down the hall into the lobby where our boss, Rick, Merv Griffin, and a photographer from somewhere were discussing placement of the said trees.

We stood and waited as they labored over something truly not worthy of laboring over and at some moment in the conversation I saw my co-worker place his leg on the dolly. Then in the kind of slow motion you only see in movies, we all watched helplessly as the Bob Hope tree started to slowly fall. I glanced at the faces around me, then back at the tree, then back at the faces.

Everything not only appeared to be happening in slow motion but in total silence as well. A silence broken by the loud pop of ceramic bulbs exploding on impact.

I laughed. Not a giggle laugh. But a hardy bellow and then immediately had to cup my mouth, turn my back and try not to let them see my shoulders shaking.

"Well don't just stand there boys!" screamed Rick. "Clean that up!"

The damage was too hard to overcome and Bob's tree ended up nestled in a corner because that was the only way it could stand up. We wondered how much it went for in the auction.

It was truly one of the funniest and most surreal moments of my life.

Arrggghhh!

For some reason Picasa isn't posting my pics to Blogger.

I fucking hate my PC. It is shit. it blinks and hums and fades and flcikers and has more viruses than a Shanghai whore.

Part of the problem could stenm from being laid up after hernia surgery and having two kids on the ol' Dell unsupervised.

An error prompt has just appeared as I type this and I have no desire to sit on my Internet provider's help line for two hours like my wife did before we left for the beach only to have nothing solved.

WiFi cafe/library access with my MacBook is just a few weeks away when the boys go back to school.

The Cream Of The Crop

 

Some of the 200 plus sharks teeth we found during our week's stay in North Topsail Island, North Carolina.

Beach Themes

 

The family spent the last week at the beach in North Carolina. This year my wife and I decided that we would have a theme - musically speaking - and that it would be metal. Specifically late '80s metal like Junkyard (picture above), Danzing II, Judas Priest, T.S.O.L. and of course liberal amounts of Dio...

Currently On Tap...

 

A few months back one of my catering gigs had me slinging food in the VIP tent at the World Beer Festival in Raleigh. As part of the VIP ticket, customers where treated to "exclusive" beers which weren't being tasted by the public in the two makeshift beer halls.

I had the smart sense to pull a double that day, working both the afternoon and evening sessions. This allowed for a one hour break in between to rest - and well - sample a few beers. I chatted up one of the volunteers who man'ed one of the beer stations asking him about the beer he was serving. This in turn led to a conversation with one of the master brewers who insisted I stop by his tent at some point.

"They can't fire you for drinking beer at a beer festival can they?" he said.

I told them that they could.

"Well that's not right man!" he said.

On the other hand, it's not unusual when working in fine dining that one has to sample or taste what you are serving. A lot of times tending bar, obscure wines will be served and you at least need to take a swallow just to be able to aptly describe said beverage to your guests.

So with an hour to kill and an empty VIP tent, I sampled a beer or two. I noticed Atlanta's Sweetwater Brewing's 420 Ale which I've had in the past and had half a glass. They don't distribute it around here but I did score a six pack in western NC when we rented a cabin in the mountains last spring.

The other beer I tried was from Bell's Brewery and it was called Two Hearted Ale.

It was yummy. Very yummy.

So the following week at band practice I told my fellow beer geek bandmates about the beer and how I met the publisher of All About Beer magazine at the beer fest and he told me about some other noteworthy brews to try which of course I couldn't remember nor did I have the chance. Practice was a good one and we felt we'd accomplished a great deal in a short period of time so we called practice and went to the local bar... which turned out to have Two Hearted Ale on tap!

Which was not only awesome news but also meant the beer was being distributed locally.

I've since found a few places that carrying it but it's not cheap. It $8.99 a six pack but well worth every penny. I don't get to drink it as often as I'd like because of that but then again if you drank good beer all the time it wouldn't be that special when you did have it right?

But I do plan on taking at least a 12 pack to the beach when we go next week.

Lord Of The Flies

 

We had one of those amazing summer thunderstorms the other night. You know the kind where you hear the thunder rumbling off in the distance but yet it seems like the storm is never going to come.

Well this one came with a vengence - chasing us inside from our vantage point of the roofed-side of the deck - after dime-sized hail started pelting the house.

Before you knew it, the storm was gone, the sun was up and the boys ran around barefoot in the backyard and rubbed mud all over their bodies Lord Of The Flies style.

I used to be incredibly anal when it came to things like this and my wife was quite shocked that I gave them the thumbs up.

Sometimes you just have to allow kids to be kids and sometimes I forget that as a parent.

The Walls Are Closing In On Me

I haven't left the house in a week.

Well there was that 2 hour chunk last Sunday where we went to a neighbor's house for a cookout but, for the most part, I've been on recovery lockdown.

It's kind of weird.

There's a truck out front but getting in and out of it would hurt not to mention its a five-speed and pushing in a clutch could be painful as well.

I've watched about all the movies I could possibly watch but I just can't find the focus to read or write which is something I should be doing during these past few days of solitary confinement.

It's awfully quiet without the bous around - they'd been shipped off to either friends' of the family or put in camp at the last minute to free me up for recovery purposes.

The bottom line is this: I am bored.

No One Told Me It Would Be Like This

 



















Notice the bruising, which goes from my balls all the way up my side clear on over the the bottom of my torso.

Think you move any of those muscles on a daily basis?

It's Tuesday and I'm starting to feel human again.

That is, I can actually poo without the help of Milk of Magnesia, I can walk from one end of the house to the other without feeling like my balls are going to explode, and I only say "ouch" every five minutes or so instead of saying it at every movement.

I guess if they told you what really was going to happen, most men would never have hernia surgery.

Our Overgrown Garden

 

The corn was sweet but the cobs were small and stunted.

The strawberries were a no-show.

The zuccini has taken over most of the plot.

The mixed greens salad already came and went.

We're still waiting on the tomatoes to really come to fruition.

The peppers never amounted to anything.

But the garden was a nice little experiment of sustainabilty for the family.

You live, you learn.

Sweet, Sweet Sunflower

 

We planted four sunflower seeds on the request of our youngest son.

Three fell victim to rodents, rabbits or the drought.

One survived.

It's almost as tall as the house.

Ouch!

 

Left inguinal hernia with a three-inch incision.

Open Letter To Bon Scott

Dear Mr. Scott,

In 1976 you wrote that you've got big balls.

"My balls are always bouncing, my ballrooms are always full," you said.

You also pointed out that some balls are held for charity and some for fancy dress but you confessed that the "one's held for pleasure" were the ones you liked the best.

You went on to proclaim, Mr. Scott, that you've got "the biggest balls of all."

But right now, dead or alive, I have got you beat Bon: I've got the biggest balls of all.

Prepping For Surgery

I have been trying to do all I can to distract myself from my impending hernia surgery tomorrow. And I have been getting plenty of help from my wife, as her return flight from a business trip which ended last night was cancelled due to the weather and she almost found herself stuck at JFK airport in NYC.

The weather is still bad on the East Coast and as of this moment fingers are still crossed that her flight won't be cancelled again. If that happens, she's going to have to rent a car and make a bee line to North Carolina in time for my noon procedure.

We like to keep things interesting around here.

Last night I made filet mignon with mash potatoes for dinner. Today I woke up and had banana pancakes and then for lunch tossed some cubed filet into a salad with just a dash of blue cheese dressing.

I feel like I need to stuff myself since I can't eat or drink anything after midnight tonight.

Childcare has been set up for the boys tomorrow and we just went to the video store and grocery store to make sure some of their needs are covered. We also made a list of things they can do because the teenage boy who is doing us a favor by watching the kids for several hours was concerned about what to do with them.

For his sake, I hope it doesn't rain all day tomorrow because if it does and he is force to spend five to six hours inside with the boys that could - and for most of the uninitiated - break him.

Christmas In July

I was talking to my brother about family vacations the other day and I got to thinking about how, for many years, my family would go to the Jersey Shore from the DC metro area for fun in the sun.

My parents both grew up in Philly so it was a logical destination - that's where their friends and family would congregate. It was either in Sea Isle City or Avalon. I believe there was the odd Stone Harbor rental thrown in there once or twice.

But besides the aunts, uncles and cousins; besides the sunburn, salt water taffy, swedish fish, and skee ball; besides the boardwalk, bodyboarding, and the buff lifeguards all the cute girls would gravitate to, there was the trip to the Christmas shop which would inevitably be having its "Xmas in July!" sale.

My mother loved Christmas. I say that like she still doesn't. There's an unwritten code in the family and that is that you go to mom's house for Christmas. She has taken to collecting Santas over the years. She has to take pictures of them displayed because otherwise she might forget she possesses them.

Anyway, my youngest son decided to rent some Nickelodeon compilation DVD of Nick Xmas shows.

"Christmas in July," I thought. Then I thought about how one of the reasons I hated living in Los Angeles was that, as I once proudly proclaimed in a poem, that in LA it is the same in July as it is in December. In other words, outside of the piped music and displays in drug stores, you may never know Christmas was upon you because you'd still be wearing a t-shirt, shorts and ride with your windows down. This was a huge mindfucked for a boy who grew up on the East Coast with a mom who made the most out of Christmas. Hell, I don't like scraping the ice off my windshield but at least I feel like time has passed, not like I'm stuck in some age-less Twilight Zone episode.

So today we had to return the Christmas DVD and my boys were talking in the back about to each other about what they wanted to ask Santa for Christmas this year and would alternately then ask me how long it would be until Christmas. And, as it is common with the post-modern world, I got blindsided by "questions I cannot answer."

The first was, "If people don't have chimneys, how does Santa get into there house?"

That was followed by, "Those people have two chimneys, which one does Santa use?"

And then, brace yourself, there was this: "What's Santa's email address?"

Ah, modern technology.

So Santa may have an email address but he rarely checks it because it gets so much spam and he's too busy getting his elves to make all those toys that he doesn't have time to go through all that junk email. Sorry kids.

Cell phone? Well when you live at the North Pole your signal tends to drop out a lot. I mean that aurora borealis can really throw off a signal.

They're gonna catch me in the lie soon. It almost happened last fall when we saw road killed deer on the side of the road with blood on its snout.

"Dad look!" said my son Spencer. "Something's dead on the side of the road."

His younger brother chimed in, "Is that Rudolph?"

Of course I had to stop, show them the corpse, explain it wasn't Rudolph.

Because showing them a dead deer was better than trying to explain the lore of a Red-Nosed Reindeer.