I'll never make a joke about West Virginia again. Tennessee is the most backward state in the Union. So I'm top of Monteagle at the most godforsaken Days Inn in the world, the cable's lousy, and there's nowhere to get a drink. Why is there a motel here at all?
I tried to get online earlier, but there's no local dialup, and anything outside of the parking lot is a long distance call. I looked in the phone book -- the telco, the ISP, the utils, it's all run by some co-op. Think Borg. Finally, in desperation, I got a phone card from a vending machine in the lobby and dialed out. Oh, sweet Internet. Let me suckle at your nourishing teat.
And now I'm older still.
So the basement is a total wreck. Instead of getting the carpet cleaned, it got ripped out. So I spent the afternoon disinfecting against germies and scraping wet carpet glue. And somewhere, our roof is leaking.
It's been nearly a year since we moved here, and our neighbor still has that damn dirt pile in the front yard. When's he going to realize that the only way it's going to "settle out" is if the earth cracks open and swallows his house? Ash Wednesday is tomorrow. Perhaps I will pray for divine geological intervention.
Divine intervention? You decide! But Jesus healed our roof!
Okay, actually it was a guy named Jesus Muñoz. I was at work, never met him. But he and his buddy scrambled up and patched the problem. Only $250. He was going to charge three times that, but Kathy told him I work for INS. I love my wife.
New week, new destruction. This time Homer and Jethro have excavated a trench in my basement to replace the cracked pipe that flooded us. They showed up early, smashed open the floor with sledgehammers, removed the broken pipe, and called it a day. So now if we flush, it all runs into our open trench. They said we can still use the toilet. Right.
The boys are back. They made the trench longer, smoked a few more Morleys, and called it a day. The days aren't bad, since I'm at work, but the nights are getting tougher. Dare we flush?
Later: Screw it. I don't have to climb into that trench.
We got the hookup, yo. I'm flush with excitement.
With all that done, time to catch up on this place. Welcome new Premium Members Resdog, ScreaminChekov and VPutin. Thanks for keepin the blog jammin'...your bumperstickers are in the mail as soon as I get a new ink cartridge.
Has it really been nearly a month? Sorry, I've been getting my war on.
Speaking of which, I'm ready to call in airstrikes on my neighbor. He figured out the dirt pile wasn't going away on its own, so now he's been watering it. Which makes a mud pile. And unless he's got something else in mind, just adding water ain't gonna do a damn thing.
I really need to cut my toenails. Would you people bid on them? Be honest. Because I need money for new carpet.
It's Easter weekend. Wife and kid are out of town. Nobody call me, please, I've got a lot of work to do.
Okay, this is the last straw. It's not enough that this guy's backyard is a nearly grass-free slab of sun-baked dirt, with a galvanized steel "pool" (empty, inverted) taking up most of its width. No, he's got his dog out there, leaving steaming mounds atop the already warm griddle of compacted clay that he calls a back yard. I first noticed it while I was out cutting the grass, but later I realized I could smell it all the way into our kitchen.
Something will be done about this. Oh, yes.
Doofus was out this weekend, marching around on his pile of mud. It's maybe not so tall now, it's just spread wider. He still has orange traffic cones around it, as if people might not notice there's a body-sized pile of mud in his yard.
Hm. Did I just say "body-sized"?
Afterthought: Does anyone else remember when Kibo was cool?
Cinco! If it wasn't for all the tequila, I'd probably been in city lockup by now. We're trying to have a nice grillfest on the patio and That Dog won't shut up. If I hadn't been preoccupied with choking on mesquite smoke at the time, I'd've done something. 'Cuz I saw X2 today and I'm ready to lay on some snikity snik Wolvie bizark style hurt. But the mango margaritas have me niiiiiiiice and mellow. And the blender's begging for more.
I don't remember much after last night's entry. But the shoes I had on are caked in mud. I think I may need a lawyer. Anyone?
My court appointed counsel has strongly urged me to stop posting to this blog, the archives of which, he said, are almost certain to be used as evidence. So, before the subpoena arrives, I'd just want to say how wonderful it's been sharing my life with you all. If you felt like your life has been made more interesting by my blog, please feel free to contribute to my legal defense or child support funds, both of which accept PayPal. And to all Premium members, one final wish: Please...don't testify against me!
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If the media is the eye on the world, Russ Carr is the finger in that eye. Tune in each month to see him dispersing the smoke and smashing the mirrors of modern mass communication. The world lost Russ on 2/7/12, but he lives on.
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IF YOU LIKED THIS COLUMN...
5.19.03 @ 9:18a
The Love Song of CGB Spender is one of the most hilarious things I've read in weeks.
I've "got a lot of work to do" also. Tripled my high score again.
5.19.03 @ 11:52a
What's a blog?
5.19.03 @ 12:06p
I think the term is a shortened form of "web-log" and it's a online diary. I'm sure other people could answer better, but Intrepid is a desert wasteland this morning.
5.19.03 @ 12:09p
Short for Web log. For some, it's an online diary. For others, it's a way to provide an alternative news source (some might call Drudge a blogger). The NYTimes, coincidentally, had an article yesterday about some of blogging's hazards.
5.19.03 @ 12:22p
"Divine intervention? You decide! But Jesus healed our roof!"
"dare we flush?"
holy hoppin' christ on a crutch! yew are jus' tew funny, boy!
5.19.03 @ 12:31p
The thought of putting my diary online is frightening at best. No one needs to hear the thoughts that are properly sequestered in my toiled mind.
5.19.03 @ 12:32p
I just saw that on the Media Bistro mail for the day, Travis. Good stuff... But I come to ridicule blogging, not to praise it.
Apparently there's some rancor between blog purists, who maintain that by 'logging the web' they are contributing to a greater project of mapping the whole thing and bringing the obscure to the forefront. That's in opposition to the journal-keeping (or even journalistic) bloggers who use their space to parse their manifestos of mundanity.
My intention was to skewer both.
Who has time to read all that regurgitated crap, let alone to click on the pointless links? Then there's the gall of folks like very successful SF author Bruce Sterling, begging for money to "Keep Bruce Blogging!"
5.19.03 @ 12:33p
Thanks bunches, beppy.
5.19.03 @ 12:57p
eeee! i've been outed!
hi, my name's "beppy" and i used to blog.
5.19.03 @ 12:59p
I, personally, find this whole blogging thing absurd.
"Hi, I'm too lazy to make my own webpage to tell you about my cat, so I'm going to sign up for a blog and just do that, instead. Besides! It has smileys and I can tell you what I listen to in my CD player!"
Oy. As if there weren't enough wasted space on the 'net, already.
5.19.03 @ 1:00p
Kibo was never cool.
5.19.03 @ 1:19p
I've only read one person's blog...
...and that's enough for me.
5.19.03 @ 1:43p
One woman who applied for a job here had an online diary. We found it, and found out that she constantly ragged on her then-boss, and also shared a number of, um, embarrassing female problems. We did not bring her in.
5.19.03 @ 2:48p
See? That's just silly. The only blog I read is site-related and runs along the lines of "hey, this is the new article up, I'm planning this for later, and by the way here's a funny story."
Why bother telling everyone on the web what you ate for breakfast?
5.19.03 @ 3:08p
"Who has time to read all that regurgitated crap, let alone to click on the pointless links?"
I was completely ignorant of "blogging" until I read this column, and I was vaccilating between giving you a scathingly bad critique and wondering if I'd just completely missed the point. Apparently it was the latter (which is what I suspected when I got to the 5/9 entry.) Color me clueless. People really do this sort of thing for REAL??
5.19.03 @ 3:39p
Yes. And 99 percent of it deserves scathing criticism. Google "blogs" sometime, Juli, and don't forget to put a pillow 'neath your jaw.
5.19.03 @ 3:41p
And sometimes it's even people you may have heard of.
5.19.03 @ 4:29p
I had a lemon-cream cheese-poppy muffin for breakfast. It was okay, but I still can't figure out the purpose of the poppy seeds. It was too sweet.
Tomorrow I think I'll stick with cereal. With bananas in it. Oh, ya know what, yesterday I discovered bananas and peanut butter. Life will never be the same again...
What?! That's not interesting to you.
5.19.03 @ 9:58p
Did yoga and pilates,
but my room wasn't full of hotties.
Had an egg-white/veggie omlet,
and you know I'm satisfied.
5.19.03 @ 11:12p
Hah. After strong advice received by phone - "read Russ's column!"; "you must follow the links - they're hilarious", I skipped the links. After all, who on earth has time to follow links these days?
Then I read the discussion.
Thanks, Russ, for de facto giving me permission to skip your links...
5.19.03 @ 11:51p
Foo. You're missing the fun. You got a recommendation on the phone? Tsk.
5.20.03 @ 12:50a
OK, I confess... I got up a little more procrastination energy later on... good links. And what's wrong with the phone?
5.20.03 @ 1:12a
I'm impressed that you got a phone recommendation! I was tsking that you would ignore that recommendation. But see... it was worth it, in a worthless sorta way.
5.20.03 @ 8:03a
I was tsking that you would ignore that recommendation.
As well you should tsk. Ignore me, indeed.
5.24.03 @ 8:44p
I'd like to announce that my neighbor spent two evenings this past week, shoveling dirt from The Pile into a wheelbarrow and carting it to whereabouts unknown (I'm guessing the back yard). It's now nearly level with the rest of the ground around it. The orange cones, however, remain, and he's still watering the thing like it'll never rain again. Still it's sudden progress. Did he read the column? I'm afraid to ask...