SwampLog 3.0

New Languagism In Their Veins

This weekend included, but was not limited to (in no particular order):

A 36-hour stretch with no sleep; a trip to Lake Palestine; writing four chapters for my book -- and long ones, too; jet-ski rides; bratwurst, brisket and bacon (though not at the same time); flirtatious seventeen-year-olds (don't worry, I did not partake, and there was very little reason to); a hardcore sunburn; Seamus, the Profane, Rude Irishman; friends I haven't seen in years welcoming me back into the fold as if only days had passed; a pirated copy of 'Sith'; pain in every muscle of my upper body; and three of the most restful days I've had since returning from Cancun.

More tomorrow, once the blisters subside.

17 June 2005 Is Up

The M in DAMradio shows up.  All over the map as usual, with music from Steve Forbert, Pink Floyd, Transplants, James Brown, TISM and more.  Listen, if you know what's good for ya.

If you haven't subscribed yet, or have subscribed to the old feed, allow me to point you to the Feedburner version... mostly because I'm an idiot, and didn't know about Feedburner until this week.  I suck.

Or, you can just right-click and save on this here link for the 55 MB file.  Dig it, daddy-o.

Revised: the direct link now points to the correct podcast.  (Thanks, Jen.  Maybe I should just have you check all the bloody links.)

One Grey T-Shirt

We met when she was dropping a job off at the Imaging Bureau, where I was a second shift technician in 1997. She was a regular customer, and knew the staff well. I thought she was attractive, and we had a good rapport.

After I left the Bureau, our spheres tapped a couple of times, and we were supposed to go out once. For whatever reason, it didn't happen, and I went on my way, and she went on hers.

We started talking again a couple of years ago. Both of us thought the other wasn't really interested, and when we figured out that we would have been phenomenal together, it was far too late. She had moved away, gotten married, had her own life.

We met at a Denny's once when she was driving through town on her way back from visiting her family. The dinner was all too brief, and so much promise was left on the table with the tip for the waitress on her first night.

Every now and then, we'll wistfully exchange e-mails, wondering how the other is doing, and dropping a little piece of code in to tell the other that there could have been something had our spheres aligned.

She sent me a care package once, that had a grey t-shirt which smelled of her favorite perfume. I'll wear it every now and then, look east, and wonder how she is.

When The World Is Running Down

Now that the initial lovefest over Live 8 has subsided, both press and musicians are now blasting Bob Geldof's attempt to get attention focused on third world debt relief. The lineup is being criticized for being too white, Geldof's getting yelled at for inviting Pope Benedict XVI, and anarchist groups who normally protest the G8 Summits are planning to subvert the concerts in the European countries where Live 8 will be held.

My memory is a little fuzzy, but was there any sort of ill will in 1985 aimed at Live Aid? All I know is that Geldof, once again, is following his conscience and trying to make the world a better place. This time around, it's almost as if the world is balking at the prospect.

Thrilling Tales of Mischief and Mayhem

Absolutely wiped out today. Not surprising, with the food poisoning bout I had yesterday afternoon and the full throttle nature of last night's show at City Streets. If all of my nights could be like last night, I wouldn't hate my job nearly as much. Not necessarily the crowd, which was whipping my ass with two hours of slow songs (I mean, Jebus, people, it's Saturday night. Quit being so fucking mopey!) but the way Ray and I worked together. There's a weird disconnect between us most nights, but we clicked from start to finish.

It's astonishing how much laundry I have to do today -- and, make no mistake, I have to do it all in the next two days. I really have nothing clean, other than some shirts that I would melt in given the ninety degree weather this week. I just started the first load, and from the looks of it, there will be at least five full loads to do over the next couple of days. The parents in the audience are shaking your heads, knowing that's a standard wash load for you, but this is just me. Alone. And yes, I'm a wimp.

When I saw that Game Show Network was running "Win Ben Stein's Money" repeats twice a day, I set the Swamp's DVR (a hopelessly outdated Ultimate TV box -- I really need a dual-tuner TiVo again) to record all of 'em... and hit paydirt on Friday. My episode of "WBSM" recorded almost completely (missed a couple of seconds of the intro), and I was watching myself from -- holy GOD -- seven years ago. Could it really have been that far back?

A couple of days ago, I was regaling someone random at work with one of my tales of yesteryear, and I was reminded of the deep need to sit down and document these tales for posterity, whether it's in the long-threatened book, weblog, or whatever. Those tales include, but are not limited to:

• The day I met God recovering from chemo
• The night I befriended a prostitute and her pimp at Texaco
• Meeting the founder of Celis Brewery with Marty
• Playing on the field at the Ballpark in Arlington
• My 48-hour marriage to a lesbian condom shop manager in Vegas
• Starting a newspaper with Marty
• How I got my first radio job using peanut butter cookies

There's more, obviously, but I need to just nut up and write.

Meanwhile, I think the first load of laundry is done.

10 June 2005 Is Up

A little funky in here, with doses of P-Funk, MC Frontalot, requested music from Dynomite Hack and Katalina. Queen finally makes the cut. Took long enough. Listen up! Subscribe to the PodCast in this manner.

Go Ask Your Mom

I had intended on finishing up the Hands Across America post in Fort Worth's Sundance Square.  There are several places with free Wi-Fi, and one of them is burger joint extraordinare Billy Miner's.  I was going to eat dinner leisurely, finish the tale of the spring of 1986, and catch the first hour or so of the Rangers / Phillies game before strolling into work.

Instead, I get into Miner's and unpacked, only to realize that I've left my Powerbook's power cable at home.  The battery is hosed (it's a five-year-old 'book, and the battery gave up the ghost about a year ago), so I was lugging around a useless case full of equipment I couldn't use.

Idiot!

Now, I'm in FedExKinkos, tapping away at a Dell keyboard because everyone here is afraid to figure out why the Mac design station is out of order (I don't think it's really out of order, but neither of the kids working here will let me try and fix the bloody thing).  Idiots!

The playlist for this week's DAMradio is done, and Marty & I will cut the show tomorrow.  He swears that he'll actually participate this time.  We'll see.

Fry Follow-Up

To be fair, I like WingStop's fries -- on occasion. I can't have 'em all the time, but they make a good diversion every now and then. (Nik, I think there must be something wrong with your digestive tract. But, then again, I have a cast-iron stomach, as you know from watching me order at Freebirds.)

Burger King's fries are better than McDonald's, but theirs is definitely toward the bottom of the list. Along with Jack-In-The-Box's fries (prepared the same way), they would get a C- at best. The McDonald's fries would get an F outright.

Snuffer's, Snookies, BJ's... all superior. My favorite fries in the D/FW area would have to be served at Buck N' Loon's in South Arlington.

Any other locals care to chime in?

Well, 'The Bible' Was Already Taken

Quick posts are easy. Something catches my fancy, and I end up grabbing the nearest keyboard and jotting it down. including the requisite link, and posting it. (Most of the time, the links are right. Hey, Jen -- that Samples link on the left works now. Cheers!)

Other times, I start writing a post, like the one where I detail the recent visit of Heather and the mini-reunion of Rocky Horror stalwarts from the late '80s / early '90s, and I get sidetracked. I try to include as much detail in the posts as I can to make it as robust as it needs to be, and it gets shelved when I need to go to work, or something shiny roves into my field of view.

There's a lengthy post on the aforementioned weekend, as well as a long post about Hands Across America memories, sitting in my Drafts folder. I hope to get at least one of them posted today.

Also, I need an opinion on something. Should I call the book I'm working on sporadically 'DJ: Confessions of a Media Whore,' or 'The Secret Life of Karaoke DJs'? I've stopped thinking the book should be called 'Morons on Parade,' but I would take that as an option as well, as long as people didn't think it was the next Michael Moore book.

McSalad? Fuck Off!

Today, McDonald's announced they would give Ronald McDonald a bit of a makeover, where they will have him in new ads juggling fruit and snowboarding.  He'll also be miles away from burgers, while the ads will feature salads and fruit.  Because, the first, second, and third thing people think of when asked about McDonald's aren't burgers.

Ever since the Hindu backlash against McDonald's forced the company to quit using beef tallow in their friers, the fries have not been nearly as good.  It's just that simple.  And, since then, I have not eaten at McDonald's more than a couple of times in five years.

And, besides, Whataburger, Wendy's and Burger King make better burgers and fries.  In addition, developments at Burger King might make them the only chain I will ever eat a burger at again.