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Stunt Goldfish
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8/30/2005
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Writing about good restaurants in the Highlands-Midtown area is like writing about pointless violence at a rap video awards ceremony. I'm not a restaurant critic, nor do I even have much of a palate. I'm just a guy who enjoys good food, especially if it's cheap. Because of the abundance of great restaurants in my area I need a gimmick to keep me coming back. Not a stupid gimmick like a guy who throws searing hot stir fried shrimp at your face, naked waitresses, or a line of pissed off wait staff in matching overalls singing their very own brand of corporate birthday song...something good.
Like a Stunt Goldfish.
Yeah. Read it again. That's what it says.
The Skirt and I started going to Front Page News/Tijuana Garage (a Cajun Joint with a great Mexican restaurant next door, for those of you not from the area) in Little Five Points a few weeks ago. It started when we simultaneously said "I could go for a Bloody Mary" one Saturday afternoon, even though we both know the Bloody Mary is traditionally a breakfast cocktail. We were delighted to find that the drinks were very large, very good and very cheap, but I almost soiled myself when I saw the goldfish.
Front Page has this awesome patio with a big fountain in the middle. We were sitting at a table right next to it when an orange blur streaked past my arm, which had been resting on the edge of the fountain. Thinking you are being attacked by a goldfish is one of those things that scares you because it doesn't really compute. Like seeing a sparrow with the face of a shark.
I jumped, made my startled noise and stared at the water until I saw it again. A goldfish, probably 10 inches long, that gets his jollies by swimming around with his head out of the water. Not just idly swimming, either. He hauls ass and splashes and stuff.
Before you could say "Shamu", I had taken the banana pepper out of my beverage, clamped the stem between my teeth, put my hands behind my back, and leaned out as far as possible over the water. Hoping against all hope that the magical goldfish would Leap into the air and gently pluck the treat from my mouth, just like they do at Sea World. Then he would come to the surface and kiss my cheek and we'd make a movie about freeing him.
My girlfriend made me sit down pretty much immediately, so I can't say for sure that he wouldn't have done it if given enough time and assuming he likes peppers. I begged to try it again, but she kept using the clicker and threatened to push the button that activates my shock collar, so I had to stay down. That shock collar will drop me like a sack of wet towels.
I asked the waitress who their goldfish trainer was, and she looked at me like I had just asked who their goldfish trainer was. So I guess it's me- I can't let his talent go unnoticed. I have to begin marketing him, I thought. It all has to start with a name. Something that will at once conjure images of his majesty and remain true to his Cajun roots.
And just like that, Moby Thibodeaux was born. Say it. It's fun to say.
So go get yerself a gallon of some of the best Bloody Mary you have ever had for $5.50 and ask for Moby Thibodeaux. They won't know what the hell you are talking about.
Yet.
 Dusty
RELATED LINK: http://www.fpnnews.com/
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posted by Dusty at 5:03 AM |
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Man Reads Blog, Gets Brain Damage
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8/23/2005
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That's right bitches. I haven't even thought about this entry all week and I don't care. I'm like the devil. On the other hand, Atlanta Illustrated Head Ninja Nathan will soon be dropping me emails with only a subject line that reads "Blog?" until I do something.
Nathan's a dick, and one day he'll fire me again for calling him names in his own magazine. That day will be called "Mauve Tuesday".
I had another idea for when I am elected Governor of Georgia. I hope someone is writing all of this stuff down so I'll know what to talk about when I decide to run.
This all has to do with what seems to be the fad of climbing on top of something like you're going to jump and then getting half the cops in the state to come watch you while roads are blocked for three miles in every direction.
My first idea was to have a "Designated Pusher" on the state payroll for just such an event. Any time some guy is threatening to jump off of something, the Designated Pusher will run by (wearing a flowing cape, of course) and give him a healthy shove, simultaneously cutting down on police frustration and traffic congestion. We all know these people are more than just suicidal- they are indecisive.
Then I remembered that big cushion they put on the ground so if they jump they won't get hurt. My cushion is much better. It looks like a cushion from the top, but that's just a paper facade to hide the surprise. They guy might jump into a big pile of $100 bills, or it might be filled with hot tampons and a couple of wild hogs. Soon enough people would start betting on it, and there would be fantasy suicide leagues and everything.
Here's the best headline I have read in a while- "Man sues Dollywood for $20M, says roller coaster caused brain damage."
Rather than bore you with the entire article, I will pick out the good parts.
"A Mississippi electrician who brought his family to singer Dolly Parton's namesake amusement park for a vacation says his Smoky Mountain adventure ended in severe brain damage."
Actually sir, your and every other person's Smoky Mountain adventure actually began with brain damage. I hope someone brings that up in court.
How 'bout some lawyerspeak -
"It's a complicated case because of the medical injuries involved," said Mark Gratz, the plaintiff's attorney. "It took some heavy hitters to analyze the medical records.""
Translation- "Do you know how hard it is to find a doctor who would actually claim that a rollercoaster caused this guy to go retarded?" The doctor in question declined our request for an interview-
"Miller's lawyers say the aggressive twists and turns caused his neck to pop and are to blame for the vertigo and nausea that he developed immediately following the ride."
Naturally, the river of vomit next to the exit was no indicator that these rides make people sick. I'd sue the last ride that made me puke at the end, but I don't think she has any money.
And now for a lesson in misleading journalism-
"In Tennessee, where tourist-attracting businesses such as Dollywood have revitalized local economies and where a former amusement park manager was recently convicted of homicide for a visitor's death, State Rep. Richard Montgomery has been pushing for new safety legislation for years."
See how they cleverly placed the words in such a way as to lead the reader to believe that this murderous carnie worked at Dollywood? That kind of thing is the reason there are abortion clinic bombers and Scientologists living uncaged.
Then they asked the Dollywood spokesman to say a few words in their defense-
"On the Smoky Mountain train ride, we make adults sit on the outside seat and the kids on the inside, even though we are not required to," Owens said.
He went on to say that they don't make their walkways out of grease and razorblades, don't put cocaine on the funnel cakes, and don't shoot guests for sport. None of which is required under present amusement park regulations.
Damn, I feel better now.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 4:10 AM |
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Afraid of Widths
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8/16/2005
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Here's an interesting exercise, and one that gave me a new phobia. I was thinking about how people are by nature not vertically oriented- almost everyone is afraid of flying and heights and stuff. I was looking at a tree (everybody has to have a hobby), and I thought "That tree must be around thirty feet tall. That's huge. If I fell out of that tree I'd be dead or in a vegetative state until my brother pulled the plug for my insurance money." Then I called my insurance company and changed my beneficiary because ever since I listed my brother he's been acting all murdery.
Back to the tree...
What if that tree was lying on the ground? Not so intimidating now are you, Mr. Tree? I can walk thirty feet in a few seconds on a good day.
Then I looked at the far wall of my room. Ten or twelve feet away, otherwise known as 3 to 5 steps. I still wouldn't jump off of something that high because I have not yet completed the "falling from great heights" class in my ninja training. I came to the conclusion that I would jump off of something about as high as my desk, but not much higher. Ever since then, I imagine everything horizontal as being vertical and wonder if I'd be able to fall that far. Try it. Look at the far wall of wherever you are right now. For realism, run toward it, accelerating at 9.8 m/s2 and slam into it with your face or the top of your head.
To make a short story boring, I'm now afraid of horizontal distances, and I shared this fact with you because I didn't want to be the only one.
So last weekend I was at a softball fundraiser, idly slamming my nuts against the chainlink like I always do, when a voice behind me said "sir, I'm going to have to ask you to stop that."
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 12:54 PM |
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Breakin' 3- The Epileptic Boogaloo
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8/9/2005
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Has anyone written an original movie this year, or is remake the new black? I will watch about one movie every two years (I find it difficult to sit still that long, go figure), and consider very few of them worth the time. Lord of the Rings is a prime example- good effects and stuff, but it could have been three hours shorter. Also would have helped if it didn't have 400 characters with rhyming names.
What we need is remakes of movies in which dance changes lives.
"He's a big-city kid in a small town. They said he'd never win. He knew he had to."
Had to win...or else what? Move three miles down the road so he could finally dance unhindered by the law?
I wonder how many people went to this movie and got really pissed off when they found out that the tragic injustice against which he raged was the fact that dancing was illegal. I'd be happy to move to that town. Why doesn't he move to a place where it is illegal not to molest children? Because some things can't be cured by dance. It's the sad truth.
The remake of this movie should take place in a post-apocalyptic hell world in which people have to eat their babies to stay alive. Then Ren McCormack can bring forth the miracle of dance and no one will care. Just like in real life. It still has to end with the freeze frame though. That was cinema genius
The much anticipated sequel to "Breakin' 1- can you believe we made a fucking movie about breakdancing", it is known as the only sequel ever to be better than the original. Ozone, Turbo, and some broad join forces to keep the evil corporation from shutting down the youth center, adding a note of social responsibility to the plot of the first breakin' movie, which focused on the struggles of people who danced like robots.
"If you can't beat the system...BREAK IT!" I'm quitting my job to become a movie tagline writer. The remake will be "Three veteran breakdancers...inchworming their way to freedom. Only one man stands in their way." It will have a shadowy picture of the story's antagonist, the evil Dr. Two-step. The whole thing will culminate in a dancing death match in the octagon- Breakers vs. Line Dancers. The twist is that the effect of playing country music and electronic hip hop at the same time causes violent spasms of the colon, and the arena becomes a shit n' slide. If you can imagine a better movie scene than one in which a bunch of fat rednecks and breakdancers try to kill each other while covered in their own waste, I'm scared to hear it.
"Something happens when she hears the music. It's her freedom. It's her fire. It's her life."
Another astounding tagline that is only tarnished by the fact that they are talking about dancing and not something worthwhile. In the story, Alex is your typical metalworker by day- female, perfect body, dreams and aspirations for something bigger...by night she is a coked up stripper, who like all strippers thinks she will someday make it big or get her degree in quantum physics. She falls in love and some guy buys her way into a dance school and she fails out. The end.
The remake would probably be about an actual metalworker- a fat, balding, smelly heap of a man with a heart of gold. His dream is also to be a dancer. A breakdancer. The problem is that breakdancing is illegal in his city and the corrupt police are shutting down all of the unlawful dance dens. Ren McCormack comes out of retirement and teams up with Ozone and Turbo to form a staggeringly ridiculous dance trio. A staggeringly ridiculous dance trio that makes dreams come true.
This fall...a man who welds is also a man who dreams...big.
Not just to dance, but to breakdance. Only three people on earth can fight the forces that have conspired to crush his dreams-
THIS WEEKEND- Join me to watch some players from the Braves, The Falcons, The Thrashers, and The Hawks tear it up at a celebrity softball fundraiser. Proceeds from tickets and the silent auction will go to benefit the family of fallen Red Dog Officer Mark Cross and the Gold Shield Foundaton. Game is Saturday, August 13, 11 am at South Side Park- 3460 Jonesboro Road (Jonesboro road and 285)
Click for map
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 2:13 PM |
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Shitty Santa
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8/2/2005
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With Christmas just around the corner I have been doing some thinking...most of my friends are just like me as far as giving/receiving gifts- They have everything they need, and if they find something they want, they'll buy it themselves. Since we are all male, we usually just ignore the gift-giving holidays. If you get a gift from a male friend, it is because his wife bought it and made him sign the card.
I was wondering what I would do if someone bought me a gift certificate for a pedicure or something like that. I'd either throw it away, give it to my girlfriend, or fly to another city and redeem it for an afternoon of footy bliss...then come back and tell my girlfriend I was cheating on her so she wouldn't know the horrible truth. Believe me, she'd rather think I cheated on her. I'd probably have an easier time living with myself too.
So I bring you "Shitty Santa".
This Christmas my friends Dave, CRam, Josh, and I will be giving each other gifts that none of us wants (as of the writing of this entry, they have no idea they are doing this). The catch is that we have to use them. If I give Dave a 2006 My Little Pony calendar, he has to hang it in his office at work for twelve months.
Merry Christmas, Dave. Oh, look, the dipshits at the puppy calendar factory don't know how many months are in a year. You'll be enjoying puppies until April of 2007.
If Josh gets free interpretive dance lessons, he has to go pretend he's a dragon for six weeks. The key is to make sure it is something that requires a commitment, but not to take it too far.
For instance, I thought about buying a CD box set of Creed's greatest hits For CRam because I know that's his personal hell. The problem with this is that after three or four agonizing hours it would all be over. If they sent a CD every week for a year, I'd consider it.
Going too far would be anything invasive or potentially harmful like tattoos or drugs. If I know Dave (and I do), left to his own devices he would buy me a 27 part colonic treatment session and a spinal piercing. If I know me (and most of the time I do), I would respond by getting him a hooker from the Boulevard area of Atlanta. A large male hooker, horny and ripe with affliction.
That's going too far. Other examples of no-nos:
- Honey Baked Ham/suicide bomb kit for your Muslim friend
- Wall-mounted crucifix for a vampire
- Diseased needle for the recovering heroin addict in your life
- Funhouse fat mirror for your cousin with the eating disorder
Good ideas if you don't mind risking your friendship:
- Gift Certificate to Boi na Braza for your vegan friend
- Soap for your hippie friend (considered an act of social benevolence)
- Subscription to Penthouse for your mega religious buddy (even better if he lives with his parents or in a dorm at BYU)
- Free NetFlix DVD Membership to your luddite friend who still has a VCR
So start looking around. You know somebody who would love to have a Bumper Sticker on their car that says "I brake for butterflies" for a year. Oh, and you can't tell anyone that you basically lost a bet. When you show up at work sporting a festive holiday sweater vest with embroidered decorations for each holiday season, it has to look like you chose to do so.
Now that you have a reason to shop, go forth and do so.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 6:46 AM |
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