Tech ... wins?

Lordy, to be in Bleacher's Sports Bar sometime within the next week. They'll be playing the game, over and over, and it's not like people have something better to do during the winter break.

Merry Christmas

It's kind of strange that the older I get, the more Christmas eves I spend on the road. Y'all take care.

Notes:

• Dropped Meredith off at the airport today. Will eventually follow. But for a few days, I'm home alone, and you know what that means: Uninhibited paperwork and watching Battlestar Gallactica on DVD until my eyes close of their own volition. I may even hook up the X-Box. Stand back and let the party roll. And otherwise try to keep my life from falling apart.
• My car insurance agent has sent me the calendar of "Beautiful America." (The Onion's list of top-selling calendars included the It'll Do Scenes of Wildlife, 2005.) And I'm not too impressed with this effort. It has a snow-capped mountain reflected on a lake, a picture that I could have taken. A sunset on the beach. Another mountain reflected on a lake. Really, I think we've all reached a level of sophistication that requires more than "Ain't that rock pretty" kind of photo. On the plus side, it does have a shot of Palo Duro State Park near Amarillo, which reminds me that I want to go backpacking either there or at Caprock Canyons.
• Got new tires yesterday. Right now I'm in the odd phase where they stick to the road like glue, so much so that it's tempting to take stupid chances. Let's hope that doesn't last.
• Hmmmm ... Christmas shopping. Gotta do that sometime. I'll ponder that with a cookie.

X-Mas music

I work a good deal of the day in a refrigerator. A refrigerator that has music piped in.

It obviously isn't music of our choice, as such a thing would probably have the kitchen staff at each other's throats the moment someone demanded conceptual jazz.

No, the music we hear has the typical, "Relax-don't-steal" kind of mentality to it. Easy listening (surely someone's pointed out that contradiction) stuff by artists you've never heard of but remain familiar.

And at this time of the year, it's Christmas music time.

I should qualify this by saying I grew up in a church choir.

What time is it?

(Fortissimo) Game time!

I like Christmas music. Or at least the traditional hymns that you can imagine coming out of someone in a Dickens-era costume.

That being said, the vast majority of modern Christmas music would have made the baby Jesus have second thoughts about the whole saving-of-mankind mission.

I speak, in general, of the two main types of recent Christmas music: Chistmas is cool, dude, and My boyfriend just left me and I'm so lonely that the pumpkin pie will taste a bit off this year.

Christmas is cool, dude, had it's highlight with Nat King Cole's "The Christmas Song." It should have ended there. Instead, we have 150 versions of "The Christmas Song" and 1,500 songs that talk about how great Nat King Cole was whenever he sang "The Christmas Song."

"Rockin' around the Christmas Tree," and "Jingle Bell Rock" also get played five times an hour just because they have the words "rock" in them. And, for the first time this year, I've discovered that Bon Jovi wishes it could be Christmas forever, and that Metallica saw mommy kissing Santa Claus. (Yes, I made that one up.)

Meanwhile: The I'm so lonely type especially grates because, while everybody else is having a good time, somebody's gotta dump their depression in the middle of the annual office bacchanalia.

Hence, George Michael sings:

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart.

The very next day, we went cruisin' the park.

Or something like that.

And really, the sickest thing I've heard is a song called "Santa Baby", about a woman who seems to have sexual fixation on Mr. Claus. "Hurry down my chimney tonight," she sings. It's supposed to be tongue-in-cheek, but after you've listened to something 300 times, the tongue has worn through the cheek and is sticking out at you in a sick raspberry.

I don't have some conclusion here, just complaining.

Breaking: Truck That Does Not Move Moves

I got a call on my phone when this happened:

You may recall several postings I did over this hunk of garbage directly across a dangerously narrow street from our driveway.

Well, here's the scene today:

The Truck That Does Not Move did not move, of course, under its own power. A tow truck came to take it to it's proper resting place, perhaps as a case of Busch beer. I don't know why they finally gave up on the poor sucker. Maybe they realized the time had come at last.

Now if they can do something about the damn boat ...

Roasting wieners after 35

Got Thursday off, took the chance to take an overnight trip to the farm.

I still have some unfinished business to take care of out here, thanks to the fact that I will always be personally disorganized – There’s mail, bank accounts I gotta close, and I have no idea how I’m going to move all of my stuff to Fort Worth, especially considering that 3 1/2 of the closets we have are already crammed with my wife’s junk.

But what the hell, it’s not like I can spend all of my time thinking about it, and I’m not going to while I’m out here.

I take the dogs down to the tanks near the front of the place. They’re both empty, except for mud, which the dogs get all over themselves. I walk along the dry bottoms for a bit, picking up garbage and throwing it toward the shore. One pond has an old steel barrel buried halfway in mud. I’ll get that one day. It isn’t today, though.

Dinner is hot dogs of indeterminate age, eaten on heat to eat yeast rolls that never got heated or eaten at Thanksgiving. A man on a budget does what he can. And they’re quite tasty.

After that, I allow myself one Shinerbock, and then head outside to alternate staring at the fire and the sky.

Clear, bright night. No moon out but the stars are enough to see by.

The fire burns down to coals, except for one log that stubbornly holds its shape. A coyote starts howling from what seems like 50 yards away, and is joined by others along the Bosque valley.

My dogs start whining, I go back inside.

Last Sunday was my 35th birthday. For all intents and purposes, middle age. (I don’t think there’s going to be a whole lot of big important stuff left for me to do after age 70, barring a medical miracle that staves off old age.

Starting at 26, I really hated birthdays. But that feeling has started to fade.

Looking back, I don’t feel that longing to return. I was awkward as a teenager and stupid in my twenties. There’s always the "If I’d have known then ..." aspect, but there’s a reason you didn’t know it.

Looking back over this year: I managed to scrimp by in Hico; I haven’t had to take a job I hate (yet) to make ends meet; I still feel pretty good about finding a career I like; and I got married and haven’t managed to screw it up in almost four months.

All things considered, it’s been a damn good year.

Don't get started

This pattern tends to repeat itself a lot for me:

• Person makes some general statement on subject.
• I chime in with some half-assed, generally accepted opinion.
• Person proceeds to go on 15-minute harangue about subject, going into details so tedious it feels like chalk being scraped across the inside of my skull.

Why no, I didn't know that about Beyoncé, thanks.

Newsprint, RIP

We all know the death of newspapers is coming. Here's a pretty good guess as to how it happens. (It's out of date a bit, but still worth watching for the interested.)

Coaching call

So:

• Tech coach Mike Leach is staying.
• Todd Dodge, coach of high school powerhouse Southlake Carroll, is going to my alma mater North Texas.
• Dennis Franchioonnee is staying at A&M.

Once again, Christmas is coming early.

Some quick differences between Southlake Carroll and North Texas.

• Value ratio for cars in parking lot (Carroll/UNT): 10/1
• Carroll has more players able to play in the NFL next season
• North Texas band far superior to Carroll's, but Carroll's could probably beat the crap out of UNT's in a cage fight.

Blog change

I went ahead and converted to the new format Blogpot was pushing on me. No big changes to speak of, but I will point out the blog roll, now on the right side of the page. These are all the people I know who are blogging. If you have something started, let me know.

If we pool our resources, we may someday surpass the 20-hits a day mark.

By the way, I'll be screwing around with the template and other stuff, just to see what I can do. It's still me.

Work blah

It's amazing what work takes from your life. I've been punch-drunk now for a week, and it's difficult to remember when I started doing this thing and when's the last time I had a full weekend off. (Quick answers: 12 days ago, and weekends are meaningless when you're unemployed.)

I do not have a complicated job. It involves taking food out and putting it in front of people who I otherwise avoid eye contact with. Easy, save for the times when the people are lined up around the counter, three deep, all wanting to get something before the Cowboy game begins. Many also want to know where the soda pop is.

Otherwise, I'll spare the details. It's too tedious to describe beyond that. Still, you just come home and the head throbs, and you dream about getting the grilled asparagus and wilted spinach mixed up. And that you take them out before you realized your pants were missing.

Notes:

• I'm thinking maybe the Cowboys got a dose of normalcy there. I didn't see getting hammered by the Saints as a "message" the way ESPN had it labeled. All streaks come to an end, might as well be now.
• Some of you may be getting some strange Christmas cards. Mer demanded that we share the responsibility, I told her there are some things, like a pregnancy, that men and women can't really share. That did not go over well. So I did the cards. Best wishes to all.
• I get the feeling I'm missing something by never having read "Dune."

I'm either going to have to drink more coffee or stop blogging at 2 a.m.

Just saying.

Women: Not as funny, but in tune with other stuff

Christopher Hitchens, in an article that exists solely to piss people off, says that woman aren't as funny as men, and lists some theories behind it. I basically agree with the gist of it, though, of course, I've met plenty of women who stack up at the far end of the bell curve.

Two things:

1. It's strange that a guy who doesn't spend a great deal of time trying to make people laugh would write the article. Then again, most people who do humor also know that one of the most unfunny things possible is to analyze humor, or even talk about funny as a subject. Case in point, I recall one writer once talking about himself. (He was (is) a good writer.) But he also said, point-blank, "You know, I'm a funny guy." After that, I couldn't laugh at him. Don't know, that remark just made me wretch. Plenty of women, however, thought him clever. The other guys in the office just looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
2. Women are much better than men at picking up on the depression of pets. I've heard "You're dog seems sad" many times. I'm usually thinking, "He seemed happy enough when he was eating whatever dead animal he just dug up."

Leave him alone

So, the Star-Telegram has a picture today of a smiling Tony Romo and an inside story on "D-FW's No. 1 Sports Bachelor".

Sheesh. Typical. A man is doing great things with his life and the only thing women can think about is getting laid.

Store

Grand Opening today at Central Market. I just got back from my shift. People out there really love chicken salad. At a level I had never fathomed before. Man.

Notes

I've a had a cold that has wiped me out over the last week, so sorry if I haven't been that responsive on the e-mail. It's just about over, so I should get back to a normal schedule soon.

Leaching me
So Texas Tech coach Mike Leach is looking at the Miami job. I think most Tech fans would be sorry to see him go. Though at the same time, it's good to see someone you cheered for going to a place where they have a legitimate shot (as opposed to an outside snowball's chance in hell) of winning a national championship in the near future.

On the downside, you have to wonder whether the atmosphere in Miami would suit Leach. Lubbock was happy for him to be a free spirit who didn't give a crap about coaching politics, so long as his teams kept getting better. I doubt they'd be as openminded in Miami. (Yes, I realize the irony, thanks.)

My first choice of a replacement is Art Briles, who's doing a good job at Houston and has West Texas ties.

Working

Folks:

In the interest of being bored with censoring myself every time I write about finding a job, here's the current situation:

I'm now a platterer at the new H-E-B Central Market in Southlake.

For those of you unfamiliar with Central Market, it's a place that sells itself as the store for gourmets. And it has some great food, so long as you don't mind spending $3 on a tomato.

As a platterer, I work in the store's kitchen, which makes gourmet food you can take right home to your family. If you don't tell them you didn't make it, we won't! (wink).

Yawn.

My job is to take the finished dishes from the walk-in cooler, make them look aesthetically pleasing, and put them in the display case out in the front. I then refill as people buy.

There's plenty of other stuff involved, but that's it in a nutshell. I spend about half the day in a refrigerator. It's wired so that a klaxon alarm goes off if the temperature goes over 40 degrees. You make think this would be the perfect job for the sweatiest man alive, but he'd like to point out that summer is six months away.

And while I have had a lifelong passion about making food look pretty, $10.50 an hour does not make for a merry Christmas at the Segrist house. I have a couple of irons in the fire, we'll see how those turn out.

Mighty, mighty Plainsmen

So, tonight my old Monterey high school will be taking on Colleyville in the third round of the 5A, Div. II playoffs.

They're playing in Abilene at Shotwell Stadium. Which, while not being a great stadium, has the best name of any high school football stadium anywhere.

If it wasn't for the fact that I wasn't already making myself late for work by typing this, I'd be getting ready for a road trip so I could enjoy some Perini's Steak House and freeze my ass off.

Then again, my presence never did much to help Lubbock Monterey win, even when I was a very dedicated second-string placekicker.

Dixie Chicks exposed. Again.

The headline at the top of the Star-Telegram's front ("skyboxes" for people who know): "How the Dixie Chicks can make '07 brighter and win their fans back."

I don't like the Dixie Chicks. Perhaps you do. Perhaps you saw "Dixie Chicks" and immediately thought about not listening to music. But really, there's something here that we can all agree on. And that's, for God's sakes, don't let Natalie Maines take career advice from whoever is telling Britney Spears to expose her parts of the most girlishishness.

Thinking along those lines, here are some people whose career could probably benefit from an exposed crotch shot:
Danny DeVito
Yoda and/or Grover
The Little Mermaid
Bob Stoops
That announcer guy who partners with Troy Aikman
Rachel Ray, or maybe Emeril
K-Fed's Lawyer
The entire cast of next season's Dancin' with the Stars
Clint Howard

Also, in the next interation of Star Wars, Yoda and Grover should have a light saber battle. That'd be awesome.

A new version of blogger, just 'cause

Every time I go to the blogspot sign-in spot, I get a message urging me to switch to the new version. The requests are becoming more insistent.

Really, I'm happy with this version. It works, and new versions are always tremendous screw-ups I have to spend hours trying to figure out. They also want me to set up a Google account, and while I use them all the time, Google, Inc., also tends to cheese me off.

The only answer: I will continue to procrastinate. Take that!

Snow ... kinda

Here's what it looks like here this morning:
See the snow? There's a bit on the ground to the left and on the chair. Though it's not really snow, so much as raining ice, which some people call "sleet", I believe.

While this is a joke to anyone who lives up north, all the local TV stations have their reporters out at various intersections, all talking about the rain that is ice. The official motto for Channel 5 is "Arctic blast," complete with art of a storm cloud and snow flake. Every public building has either closed or will close early.

Meanwhile, I'm just hoping that I can commute to work today without dying. Hell, I'm hoping my wife can pull out of our inclined driveway without going into a skid across the street, thereby causing the the Truck That Doesn't Move to move, at least a little.

Reader response

First off. As there has been a fair amount of commentary on the Truck That Does Not Move, I thought some visualization was in order:
There she is. Kind of beautiful, in a way. You'll notice the trash bags in the back I mentioned earlier are gone. Don't know where they went, but I can safely rule out at least one mode of transport.

And I got this question last night:

Should you change the name of the blog now that you are no longer living in Hico? Or are you in a "Hico state of mind" while trapped in one of The Big City's suburban rings of hell?

I have given a little thought to this, going so far to come up with alternative names: "820 & 35W", "Eight blocks from Watauga", and, my favorite, "Buttonwood!!" (You have to say it like the Pilsbury Doughboy.)

But I'm keeping the original name. Mainly because it's easy for people, especially myself, to remember, and it does carry the higher meaning that Hico's on my mind. And the hope that, someday, I'll return to Hico -- I just have to work out the details of coming into a large amount of money very quickly. And finding a steady, well-paying job that doesn't involve teaching, in a rural area.

So for now, the state of my dream of a Hico return parallels the state of the Truck That Does Not Move.

She looks kind of sad in this one.

Notes

I hope you fools who like 80-degree days in December are enjoying yourselves. I'm looking forward to the cold front on Thursday like an early Christmas. These bouts of warm weather ub the wrong place make me feel sick. I've been fighting off a cold today, which is bad as I begin work on Tuesday.

Job? I'd write more about the fact that I have a job, save for the fact that the situation is a bit complicated and not settled, and I got tired after describing it to the family for the 47th time. Will write more. And no, it doesn't involve stripping, though I'm happy that's the third thing you guessed.

Why 30 Rock works: It's funny. Why Studio 60 doesn't: It's not.

For a more long-winded take that no one is interested in: Studio 60 acts like a serious drama about talented people giving their goshdarn all, week in/week out, despite the fact that the world is so unfair to them. 30 Rock acts like a comedy about a bunch of lazy-assed, semi-functional dimwits who succeed despite their idiocy.

I'm still watching Studio 60. I don't know. It's interesting to watch massive failures struggle along, sometimes doing something good but ultimately collapsing under their own weight. Also, Amanda Peat: She's highly educated.

Speaking of TV: My current job situation will have me working nights. I lose my TV viewing time. I'll miss it. I was just catching up on this crap that copy editing and a night shift has kept me from for four years.

Turkey Day Surprise

Yes, this rat in a formal dress was running around the house all during Thanksgiving. On the plus side, she really did go well with giblet gravy.

Thanksgiving

So Meredith's family is on the way from Corpus. The house is in various states of readiness, as there's only so much you can do with a place in a given amount of time with a limited amount of money.

I might come by tomorrow, just in case the place begins to feel a little crowded.

Happy Thanksgiving. Eat much.

Update: The Truck That Never Moves: Just yesterday, our neighbors across the street got into a cleaning fit, and brought a lot of garbage out. They then deposited this into the bed of the Truck That Never Moves. So it's farther away from the house, I guess, but closer to us. My best guess: They want to turn the whole thing into a compost pile.

You know nothing's going on ...

When radio's second news story is Frye Street gets torn down. The narrator talked about a muted protest, even though someone vandalized a bulldozer by writing "Satan" on its backside.

Background: Fry Street is to the University of North Texas what any other university's party street is to it. The buildings on the street were recently sold to a developer, who's going to put up your basic strip mall stuff, anchored by a drug store.

I had great times there, but the places were usually a combination of fire hazards and dumps that couldn't make a decent french fry. (The exception being the excellent pizza at the Flying Mater.) We all had a bad story about coming back to class to take a test, suffering from a two-and-a-half-beer buzz and covered with State Club.

The report quoted one guy, who was watching the demolition work. He said basically, "I'm not all worked up, but I wanted to be here just to say goodbye. Someone needs to."

I'm right behind him.

I'm also awaiting word from the cockroaches.

The flippin' bird at the window

I'm figuring it's mating season. For the last four days, this small pecker has been hanging out in front of our kitchen window, flying into his reflection.

He's about as angry as a bird the size of your thumb can be. Has this red comb on his head that sticks up when he swoops in to attack himself. (Not a good picture, but it's the best I can do.) At first it was cute, now we're just waiting for him to kill himself out of stupidity. What was the Jerry Jeff Walker song about the little bird? Ah, thanks Google. The song is called "Little Bird."

Little bird come sit upon my window sill,

Sat there through the falling rain,

I Watched that little bird upon my window sill

Saw my thoughts of you go by again.

...

And then it gets depressing. Here's Kibby, thinking evil thoughts about the little bird that would free her stomach from depression.

Other animal news:

Jimbo the dog has not been eating since Saturday. Found out today that the reason is most likely from complications due to stress from the move. Great. My dog misses Hico as much as I do. Why the hell am I gaining weight?

The neighbors across the street with the dead pick-up that never moves are going for some kind of record:

1. The truck that was dead in front of the house remains there, in the street, never worked on.
2. Today, there was a group of about eight kids in the house's front yard, all on bikes, all watching some dudes work on a motorcycle.
3. The oldest person there, who seemed to be in charge, was passing around a shotgun like some kind of trophy.
4. And at this moment, they've decided they've worked on the motorcycle enough and are trying to kick-start it. The sound is akin to the bass beat you hear from a really stupid car, only completely out of rhythm.

The week that otherwise was the one that just happened

Since I didn't post much recently, here's a very short take on the recent interesting bits:

• Knight hits a kid: You can take a very quick guess as to where my sympathies lie on this one. The most hilarious part -- All of the sports columnists outraged that Knight had taken the kid's self esteem. Because self esteem is freaking sacrosanct to sports columnists.
• O.J.: I never registered more than a shrug.
• Scientology freaks get married: The thought hit me in the grocery store -- Exactly what floats to the top of the milk jug of pop culture? You had magazine covers for Cruise and the girl who's so dumb she thinks this is a wise career move. You had a shot of Brad and Angelina in some third world country, trying to raise our awareness of their awareness. And Cosmo announced eight new sex positions that they had never before printed. Because we've all had the thought recently -- while feeding the dog or debating if five pieces of pumpkin pie is too much too soon -- is "Gee, I could really expand the number of sex positions in my repertoire by eight."
• Job hunt: Still sucks.

Bleg: Any of my computer-knowledgeable buds: My computer is set to do some kind of quick-key search whenever I type e-mails or blog entries. What this means: When I press "S" when I'm typing an e-mail, the "Shopping" option on hotmail menu is highlighted. If I then press "Enter" to go to then next line, I'm immediately taken to the MSN Shopping site, and whatever I've been typing is cleared. Really annoying.

A small truth

The comic Barney Google and Snuffy Smith is actually quite funny ... So long as you do the voices.

Caveat: It's freakin' hysterical if you do the voices on the bus.

"Friday Night Lights" Liveblog

OK. TV running. Me sitting too close. Bourbon and Coke on the right hand. We're ready.

7:01: "I don't hate you Lila, that makes it harder." This line right after a slutty cheerleader dance.
The stupid thing is that they obviously shot this scene right by a lake in Austin, and the skyline just jumped into the picture.

7:05: Homecoming kind of looked like the ACL festival. Sheesh. Oh well. Ah, the beginning sequence finally. The shots of middle America and the soulful guitar. I gotta say it's the best entry sequence on TV.

Old Navy. It's a swimming pool but it's winter and full of snow.

7:10: "Abilene, city of opportunity." Oh God, it's gonna take me a bit to get over that.

7:13: Car scene. They show the car from behind, climbing a hill with a cliff on the left. Cut to scene inside the car: Flat country with a barbed wire fence. Sloppy. And distracting. I'm going to stop worrying about this.

7:18: Interesting. The Ex-QB great comes back with his hat in his hands. Realistic enough. I don't know where they're taking this. I'd guess that they've already figured the plot is too complicated to bring someone else in, so they'll get rid of him by the end of the show.
And where are they eating? There's no place in West Texas like that: New and yet with a cool vibe. It's either old with a great collection of doo-dads and new and serving drinks in plastic glasses. Or a chain.

7:25: Is that Lone Star Beer? Oh, no, National Beer. What the hell is that? Hmmm... Something bad is going down at theis party they're planning. Football players and strippers. What could go bad?

7:30: I'm going to be real, real happy when this injured QB and doting cheerleader thing crashes and burns. Maybe he'll bust out with the accusation of cheating, during homecoming, at the 50-yard line. He will, if he's a real man.

There is nothing inside of me that wants to see the latest Bond film. The movie trailers could be two bald fat guys playing checkers, and my pulse would quicken more.

7:35: Ex-star is refused. I guess he'll provide some dramatics later. Also: "We're three games into the season and ..." They've made several references to the season being over if they lose this. No high school in Texas is playing district games that early. Another detail screwed.

7:39: Well that was touching. (The team motto is lame, though.)

Drink refll.

7:45: So the game is on. And once again, it's shaping up to be a last-second contest. Every game they've had so far has come down to the last minute. They can't order lunch at the cafeteria without it coming down to the last minute.

7:50: Actually, they're getting better at the football matchups. OK.
Now the tough guy is getting all sensitive. Hmmm ... 10 minutes left. Bad things at the party. Bad things.

That nurse chick from Scrubs has made more "More You Know" spots than Morris did commercials.

7:55: Ah. The parties with strippers. Yeah. Have no idea. Sure wasn't part of my high school experience.

7:59: Steroids enters the pictures. That leads to no good. Look what it did to Dolph Lundgren.

Good night. A decent show. Could've been better. Again.

Notes:

• Barring some kind of delay or something weird happening here, I'll be liveblogging "Friday Night Lights" tonight. It comes on at 7 p.m. Don't feel obligated. It won't be special, as I become too engrossed in anything I'm watching to have much attention for anything else. Still, I've wanted to try this for some time, and that time is NOW. (Or about four hours, 19 minutes from NOW.)
• Watched "Heroes" for the first time last night. A relatively interesting plot, but they've made things so complicated that the overall plot maybe advanced by all of five minutes. These shows suck unless something happens, dudes. It's like a soap opera when a cocktail party lasts an entire week, or the "Wheel of Time" series, enjoyed by geeks the world over. I'm moving on now.
• Remember the good old days when I lived in Hico and had no idea what the hell was on TV? (Tear, shudder, turn head away.)
• Got a call from a telemarketer today. They've been non-stop since we moved in, even though we're on the Do-Not-Call list. The interesting thing with this one is that they sidestepped the rule by saying part of the money that you paid for their magazines would go towards a children's hospital. Annoying, annoying, annoying.

Sandy, the silly one

He's just silly. Thought you should know.

Strangest question on a job application (so far):

Tell about your "Favorite Food Experience."

Yeah. This is for a place where I’m hoping to stock cans of tuna after the customers have gone home. The annoying part here: I realize that what they want is some kind of cheerleadery answer with a sprinkling of Martha Stewart – "We had butter scones while antiquing in Provence and it was SO AWESOME!!!" What’s worse is that I have to hand-write it. I can type quick, but handwriting a paragraph of B.S. is strict drudgework. Blech.

I think I’m going to just write-up Thanksgiving at Gran-ma’s, only the part of Gran-ma will be played by Emeril.

And then Grandma, wearing the same glasses she always wore and with her hair in the fresh beehive hairdo she’d had forever, put down the green beans flavored with bacon. "Bam!" she yelled, as the legumes found a spot right next to the honey ham. The macaroni and cheese appeared. "Now I’m gonna turn this up!" she said, flinging pats of margarine the size of golf balls onto our traditional favorite. The whole family hooted and hollered, like utter morons.

Eye candy/Industrial accident

Driving home from the latest round of job applications. On Keller Parkway, just north of Fort Worth.

I notice this truck is pulling into a construction site, up and to the right of me. I've never seen this before, but the top of the trailer is covered by a mesh tarp, which apparently extends like a convertable rooftop.

Like I said, I've never seen this before, but I'm seeing it now because the mesh tarp is extended up over the cab, like a convertable with it's roof stuck between open and closed.

Apparently the driver doesn't know this, as he begins to pull under power lines that are too low.

You can guess what happens: The power lines get caught in the tarp thing, and are pulled tighter and tighter until ... thwap ... the tarp comes unhinged and the power line twangs like bow.

The coolest part: The power line bounces up and hits the line on top of it. This results in a "POP" and a flash as the surrounding air converts immediately to ozone. Cars are pulling over to the side of the road in shock. Telephone poles are vibrating wildly for a quarter-mile down the line.

Sweet. (And no one was hurt.)

Jaret living large

Anybody else notice that Subway's Jaret (sp?) is packing on the weight? Mer pointed this out during the latest commercial. He's wearing a white shirt against a white background, but he's definitely getting a pouch there.

Why do I care? Because, we are all Jaret (sp?).

And now for a short rant ...

My grandmother, half Cherokee and an elementary teacher, devoted a large part of her history teachings to American indians. Her kit included some of the stereotypical stuff: Feather headdresses, gourd rattlers, etc. To be authentic, she could have focused on the Cherokee and any other tribe -- talking on and on about how different they were so that no one would leave the class with misperceptions.

Or she could have attempted to open up the small amount of space in her students' minds that they would have actually set aside for stuff like this. Give them the basics, let them incorporate it, let the interested ones study the specifics later.

The Fort Worth Star-Telegram had a story today about the struggles of McMurry University as the school failed to get the NCAA to change the new rule barring Indian mascots.

I realize that I'm getting hacked about this issue about two years after the fact, but it's difficult to believe it's still happening.

After losing two appeals, the Div. III school in Abilene decided "to hell with it" and dropped the "Indian" nickname and image from all uniforms and scoreboards. They also refused to come up with another mascot. So, for right now, it's just McMurry. (I feel sorry for sports writers having to work their way around this, but that's something else.)

The ridiculous part: in the early 1900s, McMurry's founder was huge admirer of Indian culture and turned the mascot into a way for students to learn about American indian history.

Every year students set up an Indian village, beat a war drum all night, etc. My sister, was one of McMurry's last "Reservation Princesses" -- what they then called their homecoming queens. (Now they call them "homecoming queens.")

Yes, "reservation princess" is kitschy. But a lot of Indians spent a lot of time on reservations, making the best of it. Is there really something humongously offensive about pointing that out?

Why this sucks on a national note: Something that was once a part of everyone's national heritage has been taken away, so that a bunch of morally vain preeners with their head up their ass can decide the proper way to celebrate something.

While they could have just gotten rid of the worst offenders, they instead made the gutless move of telling everyone they had to drop Indian nicknames, and then made another gutless move by allowing Florida State to keep theirs.

The end result here is not that anyone will turn out to be really keen on celebrating Indians the "right" way. People will decide to drop all of it just to avoid trouble, and something that was a distinct part of Americana will be relegated to university library stacks and tourists with nothing better to do.

The "angry" key is pulling me in.

And that ends the rant for now. Thanks for coming!

On a side note: Expresso coffee grounds give a pretty kick the second time around. Something tells me I shouldn't go for a third.

New school = Old School

Reading a review for Will Farrell's latest movie. At the end comes the standard warnings:

Stranger Than Fiction (105 minutes, at area theaters) is rated PG-13 for some disturbing images, sexual content, brief profanity and nudity.

And it hits me. In any other review, I take nudity to mean shirtless women. But not in a Ferrell movie. When Will steps up to the plate, "nudity" translates as "Get ready for another double spoonful of Ferrell's bright white backside."

On Borat

Haven't seen it yet. Really, these days I'm interested in going to the movie theater only if it has a massive battlescene.

But I already feel like I'm going to be disappointed with Borat once it comes out on Netflix. First off, I never thought Ali G was all that hilarious. Second: I distrust comedies that critics love.

"Roger Ebert said it was hilarious? I'm going."

Friday Night Lights, 90210

Thanks to NBC's decision to make this show available via the internet, I've been able to keep track of things over the past two weeks.

As a refresher: This show (or the idea of this show) has been dear to my hear, despite the fact that I wasn't able to watch it until recently. Set in West Texas and about football.

Basically: I'm having a good time watching it. I don't know about every damn critic calling it art. An average episode of BattleStar Gallactica or Deadwood kicks its ass.

The Good:

• The coach. Comes off as intense and believable. You end up rooting for him.
• The student plotlines. The players aren’t a bunch of cliches. (Except for the pretty boy with nice hair who's also the toughest kid on the team. Right.)
• The music. The producers do a decent job getting Texas music onto the soundtrack. I don't say great job, but hell, what other show is playing Texas music right now?

The Bad:

• The coach. His character is always doing the right thing. Any coach on any level out there knows that success depends on massaging the rules. Period. (It’s too easy to pick on football as being the only place where this happens. Sheesh, any band director is aware of it, but whatever.) I’m curious if they’ll explore that next season. If there is one.
• The overdramatic plotlines. The events that happen are real enough, but they play the hell out of them. Hence, you can’t just watch a play during a early game in the season. You have to hear the announcers screaming at their fictitional audience: "I CAN’T BELIEVE THE COACH IS GOING TO GO FOR TWO. THE WHOLE SEASON – HIS WHOLE CAREER!!! – IS COMING DOWN TO THE NEXT PLAY. GOODNESS GRACIOUS!!! WOW!!! ETC!!!"
  Really. High school radio announcers are either fathers of the players or DJs with nothing better to do. They don’t talk like that.
• The constant re-enforcement of the fact that football is really really important. As in, a player’s academic eligibility comes in over the school's P.A. system. During a passing period. Or, the wild celebration in the school when the announcement is made. C'mon, the folks of Dillon do have other things to do with their time. We live in the age of X-box, for crying out loud.
• The actual football. Or the filming thereof. It doesn’t look real. The actors are jogging around at half speed and no offensive or defensive schemes are discernable. Sheesh.

More to come.

The road that isn't as traveled as much upon as the other road

This is a late post. I've had these pictures on my computer for more than two weeks, but never got around to posting them because of the move/job search/nearness of Braum's/etc.

The story is that I spent my last Sunday in Hico looking for some of the area's touristy stuff that I'd always planned on stopping by to see, but of course never got around to it. My overall goal was to go to Clifton, the Norwegian Capitol of Texas, or something. It's about half an hour away from Hico on Highway 6, but the idea was to get there via the backroads.

I started off going South, then made a turn at Hamilton. This is a direction familiar to everyone in the area, as it's the quickest route to beer and whiskey. I had always seen the sign in the picture above while making my beer runs, and was curious as to what a Lutheran Church out in the middle of nowhere would look like.

Basically like this:
That the thing is still active is pretty cool. People were coming in, and there was a pretty good mix of old folks and children. Had I thought about what the picture would look like, I'd have gotten more of the area around it. Nothing else is out there. It's a sentimental image I've always liked: The church in the middle of nowhere. Buy my photography skillz were on display for this trip, unfortunately. I shot about four churches, all at the same damn angle.


The primary direction-finding device I used was strange names for the old hamlets that are all over the area. (Best name I saw all day: "Pancake.")

This sign was a doozy. Ohio, or the mysterious confines of Purmela?

Purmela. Obviously.

There wasn't much there, but I got another shot of a church. Yes, fascinating.

After some more stumbling around some more country roads, I eventually came into Gatesville. It's a town I'd heard of before, but had no idea where it was or how to get to it. I still don't, come to think of it.

But it had some interesting stuff.

This is a bridge built in 1904 over the Leon river. Wooden slats make up the surface. This pass over the river featured heavily in the old Georgetown trade route, which was established in 1854. Neat.

And this is a detail from the courthouse in the middle of town. They were pretty ornate with this thing, I can only figure someone in this place had some serious money at some point. The statuary on the other side was for Liberty. It was a pretty good illustration of two symbols I'd never bothered to put together. Justice has the scales, a sword, and wears a blindfold. Liberty carries a torch. And maybe some other stuff, but she was high up.

Also, both women tend to wear greek robes and look really hot, so long as they're appearing in an illustration for a story in Maxim. Those are the rules, generally.

On to Clifton. (I was beginning to get bored.) But before I got there I reached the highlight of my trip. Following a small road, I noticed a sign for "St. Olaf's Kirke". I eventually came across this:

It was built in 1878 by Norwegian immigrants, out of hand hewed-rock. No services were going on, so I drove up for a closer look:
The yard was empty. No cars were moving on the road in front of the place. The only house I could see looked deserted. So I tested the door for the hell of it: Unlocked.

There was nothing modern about the place. The wood floor was rough cut, and the pews looked like they were made out of the same material. I walked around for a bit, nervous that someone was about to show up and arrest me.
This was the church's sole source of temperature control.

After enough of looksee, I grabbed a donation envelope and took off, finally arriving in Clifton about 20 minutes later. And sorry, no more pictures. The camera was full and I was bored with taking them.

Anyway, Clifton was bit of a disappointment. I did manage to find the Bosque County Museum, where they have a 10,000-year-old man on display. And a whole lot of early ninteenth century Norwegian stuff. I just happened to walk in on a Sunday when they happened to be open. It was random, because they usually aren't.

But the most interesting thing at the museum was the guy who ran the place. He was obviously of Norwegian descent. Stocky build, pale complexion and this shock of ultra blond hair. I was tempted to ask him about his Norwegianness (Norwegiannicity? Swedish?) background but never did. In my experience Nordish folks are friendly but get way sarcastic with the "Where y'all from?" questions.

I thought about looking for authentic Norway food but stumbled upon a recipe book at the museum. The first dish I thumbed to was called "Asparagus Sauce." So I bought a T-shirt with the word "Bosque" on it and headed for home.

Checking out the kit

Spent Friday applying for all of one job (I had planned to hit four). I ended up in Grapevine, filling out an interminably long application to work for the city. Among the questions: Fill out all felonies and misdemeanors you have ever pled guilty or no contest to, including traffic tickets.

Traffic tickets? Going back to when I was 17 and got too much mousse on the steering wheel? Screw you guys.

But I didn't go home. I filled out what I could and got back on the road. Traffic was crawling on route 114. The cars, two by two, crawled down the hill in front of me, over the next hill and over the next. I really started to miss Hico.

I headed out for a bit of therapy. "Therapy" being defined as going to Cabela's and checking out camping equipment and guns. Happiness is turning on the animatronic camping dude and hearing him talk about shooting elk. Another good thing about where I live: Cabela's is only 10 minutes away.

Another good thing about my neighborhood: The high school students of nearby Fossil Creek refer to my area as "Slummerfields." I am one with the people.

The world wise children in the neighborhood:
Three 9-year-olds walking down the street.
First kid: My girlfriend said it was stupid.
Second kid: You are in a world of hurt, my friend!

Movin' movin' movin'

I haven't been able to think of much these past few days. Everything is either about the house or looking for a job. Too busy and monotonous, and I don't want the posts to be like this, one after the other:

Today my wife opened her fourth cargo box full of shoes. Somebody stab me with a Zulu spear.

Oh well. Needed to update a few things around here. How do I get to the profile thing? It's a been a while since I've taken the lid off this box.

And the meeting got going when I pulled out my +3 battle ax

Sometimes I really miss Dungeons and Dragons. I think I'll ask for an XBox 360 and Everquest for my B-day/Christmas, so I can spend about an hour a day in a drooling cocoon, trying to figure out how to break the lock to the Temple of Cocoluchia.

I'd organize a playing group, but few people above 25 can play without laughing at themselves.

Notes:

• I'll be watching Friday Night Lights tonight, but I won't be live blogging. I now have NBC, but I also have a fear that the thing will just blow, and I'll feel obligated to keep watching. ("Find out what the critics are raving about!!" Usually translates into "Jump on the bandwagon of societal fluff disguised as serious blah-blah!!") Maybe next week.
• Losing sucks, sucks, sucks. But, while unhappy about the Tech-Texas game, I can at least take some solace that this team is getting better, not worse.
• Castor bean plants and elephant ears are poisonous, but try telling that to your dog.

In house

The locksmith, who came over to re-key the doors, was an Israeli immigrant in a woefully beat-up car. He immediately started making fun of our color scheme.

So, three days of moving, and we still gots a hellacious amount of work to do. On top of things like finding a job, doing about 20 different emergency house projects. And now we're broke.

Anyway ...

We're happy with the house. It was owned by a couple of gay men who wanted some place bigger to live, and is in more or less decent shape. They did some good things with the house: Pirgo on the kitchen floor, a nifty painted concrete floor instead of carpet. They also did some bad things. Some very bad things, as you'll see.

Here's our street.

We're out of view, but we're right across from the beat-up pickup truck, which does not move, ever. I've seen some people come out and work on it, but with much the same expression as someone playing solitaire. Progress doesn't seem to be a goal.

Here's the house.

A front-on shot isn't practical, as there's too much bushes and junk in the way. Daddy needs a chainsaw.

Everything's in but we've still got a lot of unpacking.

And for the most visually arresting aspect:

I was warned seven times before I saw it. "It has a purple fireplace." At the time, I didn't care so much, I was desperate to move. Now, it pretty much sucks all your attention to it. It's a living thing. Man.

So just to go over the house:

Yellow walls, purple fireplace, and a surprisingly subtle burgundy curtain.

Here's Kibby checking out the backyard, and wishing for something evil to happen.

How do I know she's hoping for evil? Because she's a cat.

The dudes who used to live here were heavy into gardening ...

I mean heavy. It's probably the best thing about the place, so far.

The only concern is trying to keep enough stuff alive for the time being, until we know what we're doing.

And for my favorite part. They left this behind in the garage. My geek blood started pounding into my brain when I saw this.

I just gotta figure out which end to look through.

No bloggy bloggy

Folks:

Me and the wife will own a house within the next 24 hours, and the moving preparations are taking up most of our time. I won't be able to do much here for the rest of the week. Until then, enjoy life. It's fun.

The Metaphorical Football League

Lead-in music queues, camera zooms into two men seated at desk. "MFL" logo behind them on TV Screen.

Announcer One: Hello and welcome back to the Metaphorical Football League. We have an early kickoff, so we’re taking you right to the first game of the day: the Vikings versus the Dolphins.

Cut to a field with a lot of obviously puppet dolphins lying there making precious squeaky noises. The horde of Vikings storms onto the field and proceeds to chop the dolphins to pieces with various pieces of medieval weaponry.

Announcer One: That was a fast game.
Color One: You know, I went out to Sea World this week, and saw a couple of dolphins tossing a little rubber football around. I gotta tell you I thought they would do better.
Announcer One: And we have an interview on the field.

Cut to field. A reporter is standing there with a Viking, who is holding a large ax, jovially talking to some other vikings.

Reporter One: Coach Skullbiter
Coach Skullbiter (Nordic accent): Yah
Reporter One: We notice that Thorn Lunderssongaaard, son of Broskander, sister-son of Hrothkin, was really tearing it up out there today. I mean, he killed a lot of helpless dolphins.
Coach Skullbiter: Yah, vell, you can always count on Thorny to play in every fight to the death like it could be his last.
Reporter One: Thanks coach. And congratulations.

Coach Skullbiter lifts ax above his head and moves to attack reporter one.

Skullbiter: AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!
Reporter (cringing in terror): AAAEEEEIIII!!!

Cut back to studio.

Announcer One: And for some highlights around the league: The Jets/Seahawks game came to a tragic end for both teams today.

Graphic shows a picture of a bird and a plane engine.

The Seahawks’ next opponents plan to change up their offense and buy one of those loud birdcall speaker thingies.

And another game, the three-team contest between the Lions, Bengal Tigers and Bears was cancelled when it was hit by what some forecasters are calling a monster-sized tornado.

Graphic pops up showing Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, both hands hitting cheeks in gesture of surprise.

Color One: Oh my.
Announcer One: And now we’ll take you to another game already in progress, the Saints versus the Cowboys ...

Cut to scene of a bunch of dudes in hats and boots shooting their guns in the air, yelling yeehaw and kicking the crap out of a bunch of guys in monks robes.

Play-by-play One: And we’d like to welcome you to the Saints and Cowboys game, and what you’re seeing has been going on for thirty minutes.
Color Two: Not a pretty sight, Bob.
Play-by-play One: You’d think that ... (Lightning flashes) Oh, it seems that the Cowboys have earned the wrath of God ...

One cowboy bursts into flame. Maybe another one is hit by a meteor or eaten by some guy in a cheap lion suit. But most of them simply grab their hearts and fall over. The monks get back up and dust themselves off.

Play-by-play One: And they’re dead.
Color Two: That keeps happening.
Play-by-play One: I think the big question is, What happens in the post season, Dan? The Saints tend to fade, and by "fade" I mean get burnt at the stake or torn apart by horses running in opposite directions.

Cut to studio.

Announcer One: Thanks guys. And before we go to our feature game of the day we have a report from the Patriots game. Last week the Texans were able to dominate the Falcons, ... (Graphic shows a bunch of big men in cowboy hats and construction gear and motorcycle jackets) ... but it seems that this week’s team ... (Graphic changes to a group including a cheerleader, an extremely fat person, and dude with a surly look and "Keep Austin Weird" T-shirt) ... has not been that strong.
Color One: Yeah, the suburbs just aren’t pulling their weight down there.
Announcer One: And now we have some footage to show you of the Browns/Charges game. (Holds hand to ear) Wait, OK, we don’t have any footage. I’ve been told the stench hospitalized our entire crew.
Color One: Shoo-eee.
Announcer One: And now we’ll take you to our featured game of the day - the Buccaneers versus the Pirates. These seem to be two evenly matched teams that have posted similar records. So it should be a real fight. Let’s go there now.

Cut to scene showing two mobs dressed like pirates rushing towards each other on a football field, screaming and brandishing knives. When they meet at the 50-yard line, they began to aggressively make out with each other, though a few pair off to admire each others’ outfits. Cut back to studio.

Announcer One: Yeah, I think we all saw that coming.
Color One: Thank God they aren’t playing the Bronchos.
Announcer One: And thanks for watching this week’s edition of the MFL, we’ll see you next week.

PBS at 3 a.m.: Watching black people farm

Stumbled across this show last night. It's like when you see something from a strange culture that doesn't translate. In this case, the strange culture was Britain:

Can the countryside offer a way out of dead-end urban life?

Young Black Farmers, a three-part series, follows Wilfred Emmanuel-Jones, one of Britain's few black farmers, as he takes a group of nine inner-city school leavers from ethnic minorities on a life-transforming journey on his farm in Devon.

In a bid to reverse the segregation in the countryside that has prevented ethnic minorities from settling outside of urban Britain, Wilfred is launching a Rural Scholarship. Young Black Farmers documents the first of his 'rural rookies' during a summer living in a converted barn on Wilfred's remote 30-acre farm and embarking on work experience placements in the local community.

Wilfred has prepared a packed schedule for his students, including 4am starts, buying and selling cattle, sausage making, farmers' markets, tractor driving and a host of other strenuous activities that make up his daily routine. And the stakes are high – if they make the grade, two of the lucky students will be offered a job working for Wilfred.

I don't know if taking poor folks and making them farm in a country where acres are bought by the square foot is a good idea.

Some other observations:

• A black farmer is so rare in Britain that the subject gets its own TV show.
• Considering the state of agriculture in developed nations today, I'm thinking there's probably some other way "school leavers" can use their time to find a job that actually exists.
• England takes kids out of the city and tries to train them to be black farmers. Meanwhile, millions of already trained and struggling black farmers remain unemployed in Africa because Europe, and to a lesser extent the U.S., subsidizes the wazoo out of agriculture.
• "Sausage making." Heh.

And I'm done here.

(Sorry about the political nature of the last two posts. The upcoming move has me stressed and I'm in a wierd mood.)

Quick review: Thank You for Smoking

I randomly picked this flick as a time waster for a rain day, and had a great time.

Not because it's a great movie: It more or less isn't because the story, which purports to be a polemic on Washington lobbying culture, likes to take turns into la-la land. Some examples:

• It assumes that everyone reads the Washington papers. In my experience, the only people who read the Post are politicians and other journalists.
• The lobbyist star of the show often sounds like someone sincerely telling it as it is. As a professional courtesy, you'd think they'd come up with something else.
• Senators in the show are often so stunned by the things said to them that they are left speechless. Yeah, right.

Now, if you're thinking, "But I don't want to see a Senator give his usual full of B.S. response," you'll probably enjoy Thank You for Smoking.

Despite its faults, the show moves fast and makes the points it's trying to make with nice and easy, blatant obviousness.

And it also deserves a libertarian high-five for making a big tobacco lobbyist a sympathetic character, while not shying away from the aspect of his job that is pure evil.

I thought later that the point of this film might have been to make you realize, in horror, that you supported the hero. If so, it's over my head, which isn't a hard place to get to.

Anyway, decent, often funny movie.

State Fair

With Mer wrapping up negotiations for the house and me tired of looking for jobs, we took a break on Friday and headed for the State Fair in Dallas.

I took a few shots, and they sucked, by and large. This camera is useless for night pictures, plain and simple. Still, I've got my two favorites.

The Magum ride. Yes, it is a ride based on (decorated with?) the 1980s TV series "Magnum P.I."

Seleck seems to have added some baby fat here. Perhaps he's smiling that Harrison Ford's career has finally stalled. He also seems content, as if accepting the fact that the next biggest thing Magnum's ever going to do is date Courtney Cox on "Friends." Also, I see no presence of T.C. -- Which is lame, considering they have some whiney-looking white guy to Seleck's right.

I then looked in vain for the "Simon and Simon" ride, but no luck.

Still, I did find:

"Indiago," which is apparently Indiana Jones in a horrible shirt. That shade of purple would not have escaped God's wrath at the end of "Raiders."

Some rides I'd like to see

The Archie Bunker: You sit in your chair, making racist and sexist remarks to the delight of millions. You then throw stuff at Rob Reiner.

The Love Boat: Becomes monotonous after the first spin. The actor who played Gopher occasionally provides comic relief, if he's not too busy running the ride.

The Happy Days: You're given a hydraulic-powered black leather jacket, which you use to beat up Scott Baio.

The Silver Spoons: You get to pilot your own miniature train. Damn that thing looked fun.

The Diff’rent Strokes: Parents demand you ride, then take all your money. Spooky "Katy" mirror transforms you from cute to dead in seconds.

The Gilligan: Based on that episode where they almost got off the island.

Battle of the Network Stars: You’re given a headband and short-shorts, then you beat up Scott Baio.

Feel free to add your own.

Comment response:

To Dave:

I'm not saying Lone Star Beer has no honor. I'm just saying it has no taste.

Also, I realize what alma mater your wife lays claim too. But I personally think Mizzou's in for a TCU-style letdown this weekend. I'll add that it's possible I'm wrong, solely to cover my ass.

As far as to what Texas Tech will do this weekend -- I don't know. You'll have to call her.

To anonymous lawyer dude (heh):

Feel free to move down any time. You can live in here:

You can fix it up as you like, but you have to keep the '70s-era polyester vibra-chair there on the right.

And I don't know if Hico has any attorneys. There's an law office downtown, but it's always closed and the names on the door haven't changed in decades. I've started to think that if you walked in, you would find two skeletons, sitting at their desks, trying to figure out how to sue Studebaker.

Rain

Here's a couple of pictures, taken during a lull in this morning's storm. Damn I'm gonna miss this place.

Note: I'll probably not liveblog tonight's "Friday Night Lights" at 7 p.m. For some reason, NBC is dead on the TV here.

This isn't a big deal. I have just seen others liveblog and wanted to try. Still, I'd like to at least see an episode. I hear this thing probably won't last that long.

I only think about this football season on days that end in "Y"

Tech loses focus, game 38-21

Miami loses, again
Cowboys beaten to death by Eagles

United Supermarkets falls to Dave's Texaco

Folks:

I have an awkward announcement to make. Me and this football season are breaking things off.

She has broken my heart one too many times. I'm left picking up the many, many pieces of what's left my dignity. Don't get me wrong. We're both good people, but sometimes the mix, like a sophomore quarterback and his attention span, just can't hold together.

Here are the rules I'll be living with for the time being:

• I will no longer initiate contact with this football season. If this football season wants to send me an e-mail from time to time, fine. It's better if she writes about how life is sucking.
• I will accept no 3:30 a.m., Wednesday night phone calls from this football season. We both know it'll be incoherent blubbering for an hour, and the next day this football season will act like nothing happened. No more.
• Absolutely no booty calls. Unless it's bowl time and I'm really, really lonely.

I wish this football season the best of luck, but we'll just have to be strong.

Now, excuse me, I'm going to my room. I'll be in my bed, pillow over my head, listening to the Texas Tech fight song over and over and over.

Fight Raiders fight,

Fight Raiders fight,

Fight for the school we love so dearly.

Sigh.

Friday Night Light on bad memories

Speaking of song lyrics, the radio station I listen to at work has been playing "The Great Joe Bob."

At least it has been during the late, late night rotation when you're aware that everyone else listening is either stoned or coming down from a post-armed-robbery high.

Anyway, chances are you've never heard it. It's not a great song. The tune is very ohhm-pa-pa driven, and the subject itself is obscure. But the wierd thing is that the subject is close to my heart.

Here's the chorus:

He was the pride of the backfield,
Ahhh the hero of his day.
Yeah, he carried the ball for the red and blue,
They won District Triple-A.
An' his name made all the papers
As the best they'd ever had.
Yeah, so nobody understood it
When the Great Joe Bob went bad.

The song tells of the downfall of Joe Bob. I don't really care.

What's cool is that it's Lubbock-centric. He goes to Texas Tech. And the "Red and Blue" refers to Monterey's colors, my high school.

The tune even ends with a portion of the Monterey school song, played in a minor chord. It's enough to send me into a fetal position under a table, unable to contain my old, old shame.

For those curious, the song lyrics I found on the net were listed under Terry Allen. I have no idea if what I've heard lately is his version or what. It's an old song that I first heard at a high school assembly. I remember it well.

(Shudder/dive under desk).

A small truth

Lone Star Beer would cease to exist if it wasn't so handy for song lyrics.

Ramble ramble ramble

I feel like I'm going off into nowhere lately with this blog. What's with saying I'd liveblog something only to sleep through the show? I realize most of you probably didn't see that, as I was talking about football. And I always promised myself I wouldn't ramble on about football. And I don't even know where "Living in Sin" came from, other than an old Bon Jovi tune.

Too many distractions right now.

I'm pulling back for a bit. Will be back within a day.

Notes

Living in sin:
Me and Meredith have found a house. In Fort Worth, in the Keller School District. I’ll write more on this as I feel more and more confident about the deal. Tho I will say the fireplace is purple. (Not for long, that’s for freakin’ damn sure.)

The show begins tonight:

I have huge amounts of doubts about Friday Night Lights. (Or, as Conan O'Brian referred to it: The show where teenage boys stand out in a field and pose.)
Still, not a whole lot of shows are based in West Texas these days. I can only think of five off the top of my head.

I think I’ll live blog it tonight just for the hell of it.

Poooor Aggies:
Really, to a certain extent, I have sympathy. Losing like that is tough. Their fans are typically good folk. They aren’t scum, like those deranged lunatics of Baylor (cursed be their name!).

I was the only Tech fan in the bar, and the A&M people asked me to join them. I refused, as I hadn’t slept for about 24 hours, had had about two beers, and had no idea what might come out of my mouth.

It’s been fairly interesting to watch the reactions of Aggie fans this week. I still think Fran could save his job with wins over UT and OU, which is like saying, “Fran is toast.” It’s funny. My first reaction when they hired him was “Oh crap.” The man was hot. In every way.

To do some armchair psychoanalysis, he came to A&M thinking that he had landed a sweet cushy job that wouldn’t be as hard as his days at Alabama. Tech fans still remember a press conference, when, asked about the difference between the SEC and the Big 12, Fran responded that the SEC had no easy teams to beat. “There are no Texas Techs in the SEC.”

Nope, I guess not.

Still, I owe the guy a debt of gratitude. I was in Abilene while Fran and A&M were in negotiations. A sports writer at the paper wrote this mind bogglingly arrogant column telling A&M fans that Fran was playing them for a fool: He was just trying to get a bigger salary from Alabama and they were stupid for not seeing that. The column appeared the same day A&M announced they had reached a deal. The writer said that he didn’t go a week without someone bringing that up. Sweetness.

Morning walk

I haven't hiked around the farm for months. Planning for the wedding took too much of my mind, and walking around in the rough in the middle of August is not something that the sweatiest man alive really looks forward to.

The weather has cooled down, tho, and I recently figured out how to work this digital camera thing. It isn't a great camera, but I wanted to take it out and play with it. First lesson I learned: Wait until there is light.

Still, here are some of the shots, with a few explanations.

I mainly took this one so that I could show the red flowers on the pomegranate bush (in the front, left). We recently discovered the plant while clearing an area close to where a cabin used to be, meaning the plant has somehow managed to live on its own for at least 70 years. Now we can eat pomegrantes all the time. Hooray.

The dead cow.

We have several landmark areas on the farm: The island. The Big Oak. The Camp. This is the Dead Cow. It's been there now for about four years.

We had a guy leasing the property for cattle grazing. A cow died right next to our cabin. She was there for about a month, before my Dad ordered the guy to get rid of it. The dude responded by dragging the corpse about a quarter-mile down the road, where she has been to this day. She's gone from a pile of hide and bones to a slowly spreading out group of bones, according to God's plan.

Here, Ginger takes a nibble.

It's been a dry year. This is the Bosque River. Usually this section at least has a trickle. Now, nothing but rock on the river bed.

Animal tracks

Swimming at the river

The dogs react differently to water. When I first got her, Ginger would take off and then mysteriously show up later soaking wet. She was that determined to swim. Jimbo's always been more cautious.

Base of the old railroad bridge

About the time I got here, Ginger managed to burrow completely into a hole along the bank. I'd been letting her swim without a leash, against my better judgment.

After a bit I hear some barking, and a bit later two critters come flying out of the hole and dive into a pool of water. They were moving too fast for me to be sure what the were. I'm guessing nutrias. Ginger burrows out of the hole and jumps into the water after them.

After much yelling, I manage to get Ginger back on shore, back in her leash. We start walking back. Later I notice she's got a red spot on her side. Somehow, she's managed to get a series of holes on her left belly, in the shape of either a clawmark or a really big bite.

I've been cleaning it and keeping an eye out for infection. So far, it looks OK. Just another mass of future scar tissue that'll make people think I torture my pets with battery acid.

Damn dog.