|
They Have a Centrifuge
|
6/28/2005
|
Last Thursday night I went with my better looking half to watch game nine of the world series of basketball- a deadly face off between the Minnesota Pistons and the North Mexico Faggots. You probably can't tell, but I don't pay much attention to sports. In fact, I would wager that I know less about sports in general than any heterosexual man in the United States. Girlfriend loves the Pistons, though, so we went. They had food and beer, and she smells good, so I was happy. I actually started getting involved in the game toward the end. Don't tell anybody.
One cool thing about basketball (and sports in general) is that every time a point is scored, everybody freaks the hell out. The reason it's especially good for basketball is that someone scores every fifteen seconds. Exactly unlike my dating career in college. So scream your balls off a few times a minute for seven hours and you are a basketball fan. Some kind of weird time-warp thing happens in sports on television- a basketball game is played in two halves, each equal in time (or so one would infer by use of the word "half"). The first half was over in 45 minutes including commercial breaks, and the second half lasted an additional 3 hours. Explain.
Sports bars have trivia, so it's sort of fun to try to play along for the hell of it. Being a sports bar they ask mostly sports questions and the occasional literature, history, or science question.
The sport questions are insanely difficult (even if you aren't a sports retard like me), and the science and history questions were taken directly from a box of pop-tarts.
Announcer- "okaaayyyeverybody, answers innnn...and leading the pack with 93 points is 'Anita Johnson and the race cows' (what is with the trivia team names?)...Next question is sporrrttssss...who was the second female after Petrouvka Marenkajevik to win the Mesonomic Open on artificial brick in a leap year?"
And five teams get it right. Seriously.
Then the guy asks what dinosaur's name rhymes with "Kyrannosaurus Dex" and all you can hear is drink orders being placed. By crickets.
If anyone ever opens up a science bar with trivia, I'm going to destroy all who come to challenge me and aren't smarter than I am. Unfortunately, I just don't think it's a good business model.
"We're going to Tesla's Imbibery on 10th. You in? It's trivia night, focus on meteorology."
"Uhhh...what kind of place is that?"
"A science bar. They run the beer through a centrifuge. It's really...cool...ish."
"...are there any girls there?"
"Any what?"
"Girls. Are there any girls there?"
"They have a centrifuge."
I suppose if you are going to be a non-sports fan in any major city in the United States, it might as well be Atlanta. All of our teams suck anyway except the Braves. They only suck intermittently.
I know that statement won't garner the same flurry of commentia as the entry about unlabored capitalists did (scroll down if you missed it), but I figured I'd give you a break. Plus, some drunk guy just read that the Braves sort of suck and he's not even reading this part- he's busy composing a scathing rebuttal.
Five points if you were offended by the team name "North Mexico Faggots". Ten if you were just jealous you didn't think of it first.
 Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
|
posted by Dusty at 4:12 AM |
|
|
|
Panscandal
|
6/22/2005
|
If it is okay for every smelly urban outdoorsman in the city to follow me around asking me for money, why is it considered mean for me to hand them a job application from McDonald's?
"But Dusty" some may whine, "Those afflicted with homelessness (as if it's a disorder) are mentally unstable and can't help it."
NEWSFLASH- If you are well enough to support yourself by asking people for money every day, you are well enough to get a job. Maybe not a job as CEO of a corporation (you have to work a little harder for that), but a job that doesn't involve telling the same stupid lie about losing your bus ticket day in and day out.
It happens all the time, but it never gets much play on the news because it's not depressing or indicative of society's fictitious downward spiral- Homeless guy grows some self-worth and suddenly offers to provide a service in exchange for money- give directions to tourists, mow lawns, play a saxophone, write a blog, shine shoes, whatever. Eventually, he does something worthwhile with the money, gets his act together, and becomes a productive member of society. Don't say it doesn't happen, either, because it does. Believe it or not, people are capable of succeeding without government intervention. Try offering someone a job sometime. Pay the homeless guy in your neighborhood $30 to mow your lawn. You can afford it. Then give him your lawn mower and tell him to mow your neighbors' lawns. They can afford it too.
Giving someone the opportunity to work for their money is the ultimate form of charity. Handing out money is the root of the problem.
It may shock you to know this, but I am opposed to the "No Panhandling Zone" proposed by the City of Atlanta.
First of all, the name is deceiving. People will still be allowed to sit quietly with a cup and a sign (or a pan with a handle, for that matter), just not allowed to approach people or do any begging within a certain distance of ATMs, pay phones, and other structures. Add to that the ACLU lawsuit that will surely follow to protect those who choose a non-taxpaying lifestyle, and the rest of us are suddenly paying for a government program to provide special Gore-tex bum uniforms for Atlanta's homeless, complete with credit card swipers and those stupid government issue blue boxes.
If you are going to make a no panhandling zone, make it effective. Preferably the exact size and shape of Georgia, and enforce it. Make them provide a service (not spitting on your windshield and wiping it off, a real service), and tax them at 30-40% like the rest of us. Make entry into a soup kitchen contingent on passing a test about basic finance, reading, or whatever they need. Make them responsible for getting what they want.
I bet about half of you want to see my head on a pike right now. Usually use of the word "responsible" pushes people right over the edge- "The nerve of that jackass, thinking that people should work for what they get. Why I oughta'..."
Once we have the majority of them paying into the system, the remaining few who are actually mentally or physically incapable of holding a job (the ones who actually need free money) will have more funds allocated to helping them.
And believe it or not, I do believe that they all should be helped. My idea of help is the real kind, not the nice warm fuzzy handout kind. The warm fuzzy shit happens when the person succeeds under his or her own power. If you have ever really helped someone do well for themselves, you know what I am talking about.
Remember when your parents told you, "I know you screwed up. Now figure a way out of it"? What if they had said "It's not your fault. Here. I'll fix it"? Which one helps you more?
Yeah. That's what I thought.
"Build a man a fire, keep him warm for a night. Set a man on fire, keep him warm for the rest of his life." At least I think that's how I heard it...
Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
|
posted by Dusty at 7:12 AM |
|
|
|
Music Blogtown
|
6/14/2005
|
I'm not much of a music festival kind of guy. I'm not a fan of crowds, loud noises, rednecks, hippies, port-o-johns, hypothermia, heatstroke, or overpriced beer. Those are all ingredients of a music festival, so as a rule, you won't find me there.
However, this year I got the super hookup to music midtown with cheap/free tickets, free parking, a friend that lives within 40 yards of the main gate, and someone who flew in from out of town to go to the show. So I was more or less committed.
Plus I got to drink beer and hang out with these two all weekend.
Color me awesome. The one on the left is married to a giant of a man who can kill all of you with one hand, and the other one is my ladyfriend, so don't ask.
Saturday night the weather was crap, as it traditionally is on the weekend of Music Midtown. We killed time at my friend's house waiting for a break in the rain, and luckily there was a trauma nurse there. Not because we had any trauma, but because anyone who works in the E.R. at Grady has the most hands down kickass stories you have ever heard. For example, try being overheard saying the following-
"...with a knife sticking out of her face. Oh, she was seizing, but it's nice to know there is somewhere to go when you have a fucking shiv up in your gullet."
Yeah. Everyone starts listening to you right about then.
We decided to go see Tom Petty play since it didn't seem to be raining. About thirty minutes later we were trying to find arkbuilding materials and gathering two of every animal, but for some reason when you are with a billion other wet people all having a pretty good time it doesn't matter. The only part that sucked even remotely was the toilet situation.
This guy wanted no part of it, and in a feat of balance and coordination that has never before been seen, he stood inebriated in the mud and pouring rain and took a leak while balancing a full can of beer on his head.
I have a shy bladder and can't make water in public, so I ventured in. The smell of sauteed assholes in Windex is to be expected, but the degree to which people can miss the mark with their excretions is mind boggling. Yeah, just crap in your hand and fling it into the open door of the port-o-potty like a damn monkey, you retard. I don't mind standing in it while I urinate. The bright side? I finally thought of an application for my line of crotchless hazmat suits, so look for them to be on sale at next year's festival. Patent pending.
Sunday afternoon it stopped raining and one of the guys at my friend Barret's house went all savant on us and all he could talk about was Def Leppard. We were all going to see Def Leppard, and it didn't matter if it was 400 degrees outside and our faces were on fire. I'm glad we did, because if nothing else America owes the mullet to that band, and that haircut did for our society what the concept of tattooing everyone's IQ on their forehead couldn't.
After Def and the Leppards went home, we waited for Kid Rock. I can personally take or leave the guy, as I am in no way an American badass, nor do I ascribe to their traditional customs or dress. If he softens his image to more of an American mediochreass, we'll talk. Until then, he's just another rock star to me. However, both of the ladies accompanying me were from Detroit, so there we waited. And waited.
Kid Rock needs to get a watchity watch biddang biddang boogey woogie watchey watchey tell the time don't be late drop the whatever because he was an hour late.
I was surprised to find that Mr. Rock can put on one hell of a show. More to the point, he completely owned the place in a way I haven't seen since they put Family Guy back on FOX. I went through my checklist-
Fire and explosions? Check
Awesome six year old with a mowhawk throwing up the horns? Check
Pole dancing stripper chicks? I didn't take pictures, but check.
Detroit boy pretty much blowing the asses out of everyone within earshot? Check.
Fat chick raping some dude against a fence? What the hell...check.
Yeah, think twice before you do stupid shit at a concert. You never know who's walking by with a camera.
Next week- "Speaking of stupid shit..."
Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
|
posted by Dusty at 4:39 AM |
|
|
|
Dang ol' Blarg
|
6/7/2005
|
Behold...the floating cliche- A pontoon boat with four passengers. I could have reached out and touched them from where I was on the dock, but didn't want to. Two men and two women- both men had moustaches and mullets; a combination that renders women weak in the knees. One was wearing a shirt that said "The ONLY fish in the sea" with one of those Jesus fish you see on the backs of cars parked in strip club parking lots and liquor stores. As if to drive home the depth of his faithful Christianity, he was clutching a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, muttering something about the goddamn (insert slang term for any non-white ethnic group) and how they're taking our jobs. The other guy had a NASCAR ad on his shirt and was wearing Oakley Blades. Needless to say, neither of the men had any time for frivolous things like sleeves. The cut off denim shorts completed the ensemble nicely by triggering my gag reflex. The women on the boat were dressed identically to the men, right down to the moustaches. "Sweet Home Alabama" blared through blown out speakers and a rebel flag flapped in the breeze as they stared back at me. I was agape...fumbling in my pockets for a camera that was inside, missing the photo of a lifetime...
For Memorial Day weekend I herded up my brother, myself, and our respective girlfriends (yes I'm now a spoken for man, so back off and shut up about it), and we headed up north to Lake Arrowhead ridiculous fancypants golf community to stay at a friend's lake house.
Usually I have found that when someone says they have a lake house, you arrive to find that it is something with wheels...which is technically a house, so they aren't lying or anything, and if they're letting you stay there it kicks just as much ass as any other form of domicile. Just call it a double wide if that's what it is.
This, however, was truly a house on a lake- couldn't have been more beautiful if I had designed it myself, except it would have had a waterslide going from the roof to the water and full-time breakdancers on the dock.
We had a great time. The first night we were there we overheard a loud conversation among a bunch of drunken rednecks (probably the ones from the S.S. Southern Stereotype). I kind of figured anyone with an IQ that was lower than their shoe size would have been turned away at the gate, but apparently they crawled under the fence or something.
I have long thought that racism in its true form (actually believing that one race is naturally superior to another) was more or less a dead practice. Once again, I was shocked at my own naivete. Racism is alive and sliding around in its own mucous. We sat on the back porch and listened to some of the most astoundingly ignorant verbal diarrhea that any of us had ever heard. I noticed that we all stifled laughter when something particularly retarded was said, but it wasn't a "wow, that's hilarious" laughter. More of a "holy shit I can't believe someone actually said that" laugh. We had to stifle the laughter it because a) we didn't want to encourage them, and b) they were dumb rednecks who probably had guns with them, and if there's one thing you have to do when someone laughs at you, it's start a fight.
The only thing more amusing than a dumb redneck is a good oxymoron.
A few minutes later we heard some splashing and screaming, but none of us made a move toward any heroic acts. I know, the proverb goes "hate the sin, not the sinner", but we all wanted to play it safe just in case you were really supposed to hate them both.
I'm kidding. No one drowned. It was just a scenario we came up with while sitting around the table.
"If we heard one of those morons drowning, who would go save him?"
*crickets*
*cough*
"...uh...anyone want another beer?"
The rest of our time there was spent drinking, laughing, and relaxing so much that it almost made us tired. Exactly the way Memorial Day weekend was meant to be spent.
On the way home, the girlfriend and I were cruising through Waleska in a fancy convertible roadster, all sunglasses and shirts with sleeves, non-country music blaring on the stereo, when she turned to me and said, "I bet we look like the quintessential rolling cliche or whatever you called the hillbillies on the boat." If rednecks weren't afraid of computers, I bet there'd be a dang ol' blarg about it-
DEAR MAGICAL COMPUTER THANG WHAT BEEPS AND CLICKS AND TALKS TA' JESUS,
THIS WEEKEND I SEEN THE DANGDEST SIGHT I EVER SEEN- TWO CITY SLICKERS IN MY TOWN, LISTENING TO SOME KINDA' FAGGOT MUSIC WITH GIT-TARS AND SOME FAIRY ASS GUY DRIVIN' WHO PROBABLY NEVER KILLED AND ATE A SQUIRREL IN HIS LIFE...
Dusty
RELATED LINK:
|
|
posted by Dusty at 6:15 PM |
|
|
|
