Highlander and the pirate

Arrrrrrr. There can be only one. Ouch my head.

I originally thought this wasn't well known, but a quick google search proved me wrong. Anyway, for people with a casual interest in Highlander, this caught my attention. The inspiration behind “Highlander” came from a historical event with a pirate dude I thought might have just been part of a lame Disney film.

I was reading David Cordingly’s “Under the Black Flag”, a history on pirates, and noticed the story on the death of Blackbeard had familiar details.

According to the documents, in 1718, British naval officer Robert Maynard cornered Blackbeard off the coast of North Carolina and boarded his ship.

Then:

"… One of Maynard’s men, being a Highlander, engaged Teach [Blackbeard] with his broad sword, who gave Teach a cut in the neck, Teach saying well done lad; the Highlander replied, If it be not well done, I’ll do it better. With that he gave him a second stroke, which cut off his head, laying it flat on his shoulder."

Local legend says the body of Blackbeard was then thrown overboard, where “the headless corpse swam around the sloop several times.”

I imagine he was celebrating the fact that he’d never have to sit through “Highlander Two: The Quickening.”

Also of note is that I found out, after I started reading the book, that “Under the Black Flag” is the same history that Texas Tech football coach Mike Leach read before coming up with the idea of a pirate theme for his team. I have nothing else to add here other than I think that’s cool.

Weekend fun/agony

In recovery mode after camping.

A quick summation of how this trip compared to the Segrist standard backpacking weekend:
 Put friends in life-threatening situation: CHECK.
 Discover new way to injure self: CHECK.
 Stink. Badly: CHECK.

I’ll post more about it after I get the pictures and my feet turn a lighter shade of black.

Not without my dog

Story in the New York Times Sunday thing:

Wagging the Dog, and a Finger

ON a sun-drenched weekend last month, cafes from TriBeCa to the Upper West Side were swelling with diners, many of whom left dogs tied to parking meters in deference to Health Department rules that prohibit pets in restaurants. At French Roast on upper Broadway, however, two women sat down to brunch with dogs in tow: a golden retriever and a Yorkie toted in a bag.

"They both said that their animals were emotional service dogs," said Gil Ohana, the manager, explaining why he let them in. "One of them actually carried a doctor's letter."
Health care professionals have recommended animals for psychological or emotional support for more than two decades, based on research showing many benefits, including longer lives and less stress for pet owners.
But recently a number of New York restaurateurs have noticed a surge in the number of diners seeking to bring dogs inside for emotional support, where previously restaurants had accommodated only dogs for the blind.

Let me just say this is good news, as it's no longer a question of if the dogs will be at the wedding, but how many.

Read the whole thing

Welcome

I'm probably scaring the neighbors with my habit of going shirtless around the house, but (a) when you see the sun as little as I do, you have to take advantage, and (b) I live in freakin’ Hico. I usually have to dodge one or two chickens during my daily commute through town. We’re not going to be the subject of scandalous whispers at the Opera, are we? Enjoy my back hair.

So, with that in mind, It’s

NEWS FROM HICO V

Folks:
This’ll be the last one I number, since most notes from now will just go up on this blog. They’ll also be shorter. Maybe. Thanks for stopping by.

Cowze!!
I drive up to the farm cabin one day and notice these fence posts (metal t-posts, for those who like to hammer) are stuck in the ground around the cabin. I come in to the cabin and notice that, once again, Dad has put some construction material on top of my pool table. Yes, I realize that “table” is part of the word that makes up the item, I just wish that Dad would realize that the other part of the word meant that I had to spend $2,750 to buy and bring that sucker here. It’s not a @$%$@$ damn workbench.

So, while angrily but neatly removing items from table and putting them on the floor, my cell rings. I forget exactly what Dad wanted, but I remember the conversation ended with me asking about the fence posts. “Oh, that’s just if we decide we want cattle sometime.”

Two days later, an electric fence has gone up, and a herd of about 50 angus and hereford are milling (frolicking) about their most recent home. And I stare at them for a while (worried about the addition of cows to our nuptials) before I finally ease up.

Cows add scenery, and the smell stinks but is also familiar and homey to all Texans, so I can live with it. Maybe we can put bows on them for the wedding. I’ll give the idea to Meredith and then laugh at her while she goes out and tries to catch them.

Wedding
I haven’t shared all the plans for my upcoming betrothalistment. We’re getting married in August at First Methodist in Hico, followed by a reception at the new house at the farm. There’s been plenty of concern about hosting anything at the new place: It’s got about 10,000 kinks (doors that don’t open, floors that aren’t done, etc.) But it’s done enough to where we can pull off something pretty successfully, or die trying. Better than renting some place for $1,000 bucks when the money could go toward barbecue and beer.

Random politics
While trying out the new barbecue place in town, the girl at the counter asked me if I had been following the local election. I averted my eyes and said I was doing everything that I could to avoid politics. She probably thought I was strange, but I’m steering clear. The political groups in town are divided into two camps: The "monied but incompetent," and the "completely insane."

For a small taste -- during one meeting a man speaking out of turn was told he was out of order. At which point, another man in the crowd stood up and yelled, “No! You’re out of order!” (According to news reports -- I sure the hell don’t go)

I’ve often thought that there should be a saint that makes occasional appearances when you descend into the level of absolute cliché. He could just run into the room, give you a high five, and disappear. Would be a good sign that you should at least be original if you’re going to make a full-blown spectacle of yourself.

Anyway, the recent election seems to be a minor victory for the completely insane camp. A side vote, and the only one I cared about, is a defeat for me. The decision was whether or not to allow a store in town to sell beer. That went down in flames, meaning I still have to take an hour trip if I want to have a beer while watching Battlestar Gallactica. Sheesh. Oh well, at least the barbecue was deelicious.

For Mom
A good thing about getting married is that many items you have to take care of for the wedding also make decent gifts. Hence, our engagement shot doubled as a Mother’s day present. The photographer did a good job with the pictures and the print, giving me and Meredith a nice lustrous Playboy sheen. (I’m talking about the lighting, perverts.)

My favorite touch is the box I sent the pictures in. I had to get something quick and this was the only thing I could find that fit:



Yeah, the Civilization box was available, but Nothing says “Happy Mother’s Day” like a demon from an accidentally opened portal to hell.

Adios.

Buzz killer

Not getting the Axe "Game Killers" campaign.
The problem is the ads look like they’re possibly going to be funny.
You introduce the premise: Guy tries to pick up on girl, jerk (to be categorized later) swoops in and begins to cause trouble. And then ... it dies.
The person gets in the way. The narrator tells you to keep your cool and the hero just sits there and glares at the camera, as if to say, "Just wait til they see how pretty I can smell!"
Where’s the comeuppance?
The "One-upper" could have been kicked in the crotch. The English guy could have been hit with a cricket bat ... in the crotch.
Besides, the campaign is leaving out what I’ve always considered the biggest game killer – reality.
Scene: A trendy bar. A loose-chinned, balding man is sitting on a couch when a smokin’ hot chick sits down next to him. She gives him a smouldering look.
Man: "Wow, I feel like Frodo seeing Arwen for the first time!"
Woman gets up, mutters something about checking on "the merpes" and walks away.
Man promises to "keep the seat warm", dribbles drink on shirt, spills potato salad in waitress’ hair.
End commercial.

Note: Was downloading this cheese photo from the website (which I'm sure some ad guru calls edgy) and noticed that there's just a bunch of sports stuff and no salsa. Lame.

Natalie Maines: Please, I must be hated more

I never got why the whole Natalie Maines thing was a big free speech deal: She can say whatever she wants, other people can tell her she's full of it and continue to refer to her as "the fat one." So what?

So now, full of umbrage over the whole controversy, she decides to attack her hometown and compare herself to Buddy Holly:

In "Lubbock or Leave It," Natalie Maines', a native of this West Texas city, sings: "I hear they hate me now/Just like they hated you./Maybe when I'm dead and gone/I'm gonna get a statue, too." (From the AP)

On the Dixie Chick's web site, she claims to be attacking all small, hypocritical towns, not "just Lubbock," which I'm sure makes it all better.

First off, as Holly's family says in the article, no one in Lubbock ever hated Holly. I imagine Maines made the statement based on the last trip that Holly made to Lubbock, right after he made it big. And, like a lot of people who make it big in a new art form, he discovered when he came home that people didn't really know what to make of him. Then he up and died before things could settle down.

So he didn't get the reception he deserved. He didn't face any hostility, either. (His wife, Maria Ellena, on the other hand, was ignored in several stores because she was hispanic, and hasn't really thought much of Lubbock since.) Holly had said several times that he wanted to come back to Lubbock one day and establish a recording center.

Anyway, comparing herself to Holly is a bit of stretch. As far as white guys who popularized Rock, Holly's second only to Elvis. The Dixie Chicks popularized a Texas/Nashville sound with a poppy, granola edge. There's a difference.

I doubt that this came up without the band knowing what they were doing: It's an attempt to appeal to a new audience by dissing the one that's already given up on you. I just wish they'd take a lesson from Willie. He probably has the same political views as Maines, but has managed to avoid repeatedly pissing off his hometown folks.

Ways to tell you're listening to lame country music

– The word "Butt Crack" is used nonironically.
– Singer was briefly married to Rene Zellweger
– He asked Rene Zellweger out, and was slapped down.
– The lyrics reference "Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason"
– He has a ridiculous feud with Natalie Maines
– From the CD's liner notes: "Natalie Maines killed less than eight cats during the recording of this album."
– His name begins with "Garth Brooks’ comeback album."
– It’s another song about how great Texas is, and your radio begins smoking. The smoke then heads directly to your posterior.
– Pan flute
– Garth Brooks on the pan flute.
– You think, "The disco version of this was much better."
– You realize that they didn’t write the song so much as read an old Jerry Springer script.
– I used to like Garth Brooks.
– The entire premise is based on a pun so bad it would get your grandma beaten up at the old folks home.
– You first heard it on the "Today" show.
– You first heard it on CMT.
– It’s on the radio.

XBox for the weary

Sent in March, last one before blogging began

Folks:

So it’s taken a couple of months since the last note, but things tend to come up when planning a wedding. Yeah, I know, who’d have thunk it?

Was trying to figure out the way I feel right now, and I was going to go for something simple, like at the bottom of a mountain looking up at an avalanche, but that’s not really it.
Mainly, I feel like this guy:


This is the soldier who was guarding the fort right before Lancelot attacked in Monty Python’s "Holy Grail." The wedding (Lancelot) seems to ominously approach, yet at the same time never actually moves forward. So I stand there, eating my apple and wondering how in God’s name freaking cake icing can be that important, only to take a sword in my gut out of nowhere.

OK, it’s a stretch.

Anyway, most other things have been pushed aside as we put this thing together, and I’m afraid most things will continue to be pushed aside as the date approaches. I therefore feel perfectly justified in getting fatter. You’ll see me waddling down the aisle soon enough, so long as my knees don’t give out.

Meredith, meantime, is in Italy visiting her sister. She says she bought me something I’m going to like and I have no idea. The only thing Italian I’m interested in is pizza and guns, and I’m doubtful she’ll get past customs with either.

But I am making the most of my time with her out of the country. You know, when the cat’s away, the mice will sit around, playing Xbox and seeing what kind of beard they can grow. Such is life for mice in their mid-30s.

Small town livin’:
I’ve spotted the two greatest campaign slogans ever both appearing on signs and in the newspaper:
– "Don’t be odd, vote for Todd."
– And the other, featuring a pair of children looking into the camera with puppy dog eyes, "Don’t make us sad, vote for our dad." (The rhythm isn’t as good as the first one, which in my mind makes it better.)

Anyway, I’m not sure how normal Stephenville is for the sake of Todd, but I do know that the Dad, one "Chilli" Davis, managed to make it into a runoff with the majority of the vote.

Back in Abilene:
Went back to A-town to attend a lunch for Alicia, who just got some big fancy job at the center at UT that houses the Watergate notes of Woodward and Bernstein. I hope she’s able to pull through, especially with the hardship of living within walking distance of downtown.

It was good to see folks from the time before my job included watching one hour of "South Park" reruns. I think the weirdest thing I noticed is that everyone on staff seems to have lost weight since I left. What the hell was I doing?

Random thoughts on 281:
Don’t know what this means: Stephenville manages to keep open two of the chain shops for Universal Tattoo. This is besides the I-don’t-know-how-many Mom and One-eyed Pop tattoo parlors the city of 14,000 boasts. Meanwhile, Stephenville’s first Starbucks opened less than a month ago.

Cleaning up and other announcements

Folks:
This month I began work on the second major project I had in mind when I done quit workin’ for the newspaper man.

Namely, the little house renovation project.

(The first project, which is to write crap that amuses me and then save it for later “publication,” is going well.)

Among the buildings we own in town is a small rock house with a garage porch. To my knowledge the house was built for guests sometime in the 1950s and, in the grandest of Segrist traditions, immediately filled up with so much junk as to make it useless. Tell you the truth, I was warned to stay away from there for my own safety well into my teen years. I think I finally took my first look inside the rotted-out, termite infested hovel when I was 13.

And it’s gone downhill since. My Dad has sporadically done some work on it, mainly to tear out the rotted drywall and expose the termite-infested wooden beams. This is where I come in.

The idea is to replace the beams, install plumbing and whatnot and make this into my own swinging Hico pad. Over the past two weeks I’ve started with phase one: Clean. I don’t care if I don’t know jack about plumbing or drywalling or cabineting, I can already say this is going to be the hardest part. One, there’s a freaking huge amount of junk; two, all of it has to be shifted through.

Going through what appeared to be a pile of dirt and rocks, I found that most of the rocks had labels on them, like “Pyrite Cambrian, Staten Island.” My two great aunts talked about taking some college courses in New York when they were teens, this was the first time I had seen anything from it. Had to save that.

And it’s not all sentimental junk. I found a publicity photo of Rin-Tin-Tin in great condition, and I could make a cool $5 if I sold it on e-bay, after I paid the registration fees, sukas.

But I realize I have to throw most of it away. I trashed what looked like a 40-year-old set of color pencils the first day. I realize they probably would mean something to somebody, but I must be hard. As hard as steel. As hard as cold steel on a morning so cold you can’t get the cat to go outside. Perhaps even as hard as the Marble Dolomite of Bronx, New York.

Here’s a picture of my future sweet home.

Yes, that’s after three days of cleaning.

Here’s a shot of Ginger and the broken-legged cat:

Ginger is on the left.

Societal intuition
Was reading a blog the other day when, out of nowhere, people started making random comments about Mystery Science Theater 3000. I realized it’s about time for some kind of reappearance of THE GREATEST THING ON TV EVER. You heard it here.

Sign of the Month: On an airplane banner: “Meredith, will you marry me?” Actually it wasn’t on an airplane banner, as I have neither the money nor the complete lack of self-respect. Anyway, she said yes.

Adios.