To the few, if any, Asswipers out there, Merry Christmas from the Asswipe Chronicles!
I hope it's a good Christmas for all of you. Spend time with family and friends, let them know that you love them. That's the important thing.
And because the Asswipe Chronicles is a culturally sensitive blog;
Happy Amaterasu, Beiwe, Brumalia, Choimus, Deuorius Riuri, Deygān, Goru, Hanukkah, Hogmanay, Inti Raymi, Junkanoo, Karachun, Koleda, Lucia, Meán Geimhridh, Midvinterblót, Modranicht, Shab-e Chelleh, Saturnalia, Şeva Zistanê, Sol Invictus Festival, Soyal, Wayeb, We Tripantu, Yule, Zagmuk, and Ziemassvētki.
25 December 2009
16 December 2009
The Bar Was Open But To Me The Bar Was Closing
How are you doing? I hope you're well. I haven't been here in a while. I hit town Friday night/Saturday morning after seeing Those Darlins and Lucero at Zydeco. I completely intended on staying in Birmingham after the show, but the person that I was going to stay with after the show left before I did. I ended up driving home only to find that my mother had locked the screen door and I didn't have a key. It was 4am and I didn't want to wake her, so I slept in a hotel. I woke up not drunk thinking "Where the fuck am I at?". You should all listen to Those Darlins, by the way. Speaking of the hotel room, if you're related to me and you happen to see any of my immediate family in the near future, please don't mention this. I'd rather not not hear the end of it.
I can't believe that Christmas is Friday. It's weird. When I was a kid, it always felt like it took forever for Christmas to get here. Now, well, it's fucking here. I didn't even realize that people had Christmas lights up until I drove down University Boulevard and Queen City Avenue tonight. When I was at home last week, I saw where the City of Attalla had put up their decorations, but they didn't put up the lanterns that I've seen my entire life. Instead, they put up plastic snowflakes covered in Christmas lights. It's like one of the few things about Christmas that I still enjoyed was gone. This is also going to be my very first Christmas that will be without any of my grandparents. We all know that it happens eventually, but it's still weird. I remember how weird it was last year, the first Christmas without Nanny. She always came over to eat breakfast with us Christmas morning and later in the day we would all go to her house for dinner. Instead, we went to my uncle's house last year and afterwards I started the new holiday tradition of sitting in a bar with my friends after we all did family things.
But tomorrow, tomorrow really starts the holiday for me. I'll be leaving Tuscaloosa after work, stopping in Birmingham to see some friends, then heading home. I'll be home for about two weeks this time. I haven't been home that long in a while. All I hope for out of these next two weeks is being able to sell my drumset and to not ring in 2010 like I did 2009; standing by myself in the middle of Antonelli's taking a drink from my pint while everyone around me paired off and kissed someone to welcome the new year. I told my mom about that the other day and I think it bummed her out.
Ah shit, this gets more and more depressing each time I post. I planned on driving somewhere over the break. Those Google Earth vacations just weren't cutting it. I finally did last week. It was me, my brother, Thomas, and Emily. We were originally going to go to Rome and buy 40s and lottery tickets and whatnot. Instead, we drove to Chattanooga (and I almost shit when I saw a huge goddamn railyard leading into the city and train shit all over the city), went to this really bitchin' restaurant called Big River Brewery that made their own beer in house, bought Tennessee lottery tickets, bought 40s in Georgia, I almost shit myself when I saw an actual case of Schlitz beer (not malt liquor, beer), drove back down Highway 11, and watched as my brother offered a cigarette to the bronze statues of Jeff Cook and Randy Owen in Fort Payne (much to our fears that the Fort Payne P.D. would arrest us for defacing their bronze idols or that the statues themselves would come alive and kill us). It seemed appropriate that the Alabama Museum and Fan Club is located next to a Tractor Supply. It was a really awesome night. It made me want to live in Chattanooga and I plan on going back sometime during the day so I can dick around a little longer.
Speaking of Alabama and Randy Owen, did you know that CMT does their own version of Cribs? No shit. Randy Owen was on it. They were in his bedroom and he pointed out that all of his kids were conceived in the same bed (thanks for the mental image, ass) and proceeded to bang the headboard against the wall, saying that that was what it sounded like when they were conceived. It was probably the funniest thing that's been on CMT in, well, ever.
There we go. That last paragraph wasn't a bummer. Finally. Maybe I can get this back to the foundation of sarcasm and smartassery that the Asswipe Chronicles was founded on.
I totally need to take a shower. I don't think I have since Thursday. It's officially Monday now. My ass is a tangled mess of ass hair and dingleberries (the screaming shits will do that to a man). And I itch. I'm itching all over. That's it, Asswipers, I'm taking a shower. I can't take this shit too much longer.
But before I go, be on the lookout. I might do some of that High Fidelity "End of the Year" list bullshit (If you don't get the High Fidelity part, Kevin Spacey pretty much does nothing but make lists and walk in the rain in the movie High Fidelity). Who knows?
I can't believe that Christmas is Friday. It's weird. When I was a kid, it always felt like it took forever for Christmas to get here. Now, well, it's fucking here. I didn't even realize that people had Christmas lights up until I drove down University Boulevard and Queen City Avenue tonight. When I was at home last week, I saw where the City of Attalla had put up their decorations, but they didn't put up the lanterns that I've seen my entire life. Instead, they put up plastic snowflakes covered in Christmas lights. It's like one of the few things about Christmas that I still enjoyed was gone. This is also going to be my very first Christmas that will be without any of my grandparents. We all know that it happens eventually, but it's still weird. I remember how weird it was last year, the first Christmas without Nanny. She always came over to eat breakfast with us Christmas morning and later in the day we would all go to her house for dinner. Instead, we went to my uncle's house last year and afterwards I started the new holiday tradition of sitting in a bar with my friends after we all did family things.
But tomorrow, tomorrow really starts the holiday for me. I'll be leaving Tuscaloosa after work, stopping in Birmingham to see some friends, then heading home. I'll be home for about two weeks this time. I haven't been home that long in a while. All I hope for out of these next two weeks is being able to sell my drumset and to not ring in 2010 like I did 2009; standing by myself in the middle of Antonelli's taking a drink from my pint while everyone around me paired off and kissed someone to welcome the new year. I told my mom about that the other day and I think it bummed her out.
Ah shit, this gets more and more depressing each time I post. I planned on driving somewhere over the break. Those Google Earth vacations just weren't cutting it. I finally did last week. It was me, my brother, Thomas, and Emily. We were originally going to go to Rome and buy 40s and lottery tickets and whatnot. Instead, we drove to Chattanooga (and I almost shit when I saw a huge goddamn railyard leading into the city and train shit all over the city), went to this really bitchin' restaurant called Big River Brewery that made their own beer in house, bought Tennessee lottery tickets, bought 40s in Georgia, I almost shit myself when I saw an actual case of Schlitz beer (not malt liquor, beer), drove back down Highway 11, and watched as my brother offered a cigarette to the bronze statues of Jeff Cook and Randy Owen in Fort Payne (much to our fears that the Fort Payne P.D. would arrest us for defacing their bronze idols or that the statues themselves would come alive and kill us). It seemed appropriate that the Alabama Museum and Fan Club is located next to a Tractor Supply. It was a really awesome night. It made me want to live in Chattanooga and I plan on going back sometime during the day so I can dick around a little longer.
Speaking of Alabama and Randy Owen, did you know that CMT does their own version of Cribs? No shit. Randy Owen was on it. They were in his bedroom and he pointed out that all of his kids were conceived in the same bed (thanks for the mental image, ass) and proceeded to bang the headboard against the wall, saying that that was what it sounded like when they were conceived. It was probably the funniest thing that's been on CMT in, well, ever.
There we go. That last paragraph wasn't a bummer. Finally. Maybe I can get this back to the foundation of sarcasm and smartassery that the Asswipe Chronicles was founded on.
I totally need to take a shower. I don't think I have since Thursday. It's officially Monday now. My ass is a tangled mess of ass hair and dingleberries (the screaming shits will do that to a man). And I itch. I'm itching all over. That's it, Asswipers, I'm taking a shower. I can't take this shit too much longer.
But before I go, be on the lookout. I might do some of that High Fidelity "End of the Year" list bullshit (If you don't get the High Fidelity part, Kevin Spacey pretty much does nothing but make lists and walk in the rain in the movie High Fidelity). Who knows?
03 December 2009
It's Black on Black and Red on Red
Guten nacht. I'm sorry that I haven't been here in a while. I've been, well, drunk.
I have on a pot of Seattle's Best coffee. I'll ad a bit of Best Yet heavy creamer and a bit of Bruno's brand sugar. It's probably Best Yet as well. Fuck, I don't remember. That's some corporate sloganeering if I've ever seen it on the Asswipe Chronicles. Too bad they don't pay me for it.
How was your Thanksgiving? Mine was alright. I ate too much, watched Alabama win the Iron Bowl (fuck you, Auburn fans, you were outscored 26-7 after the first quarter) and drank too much every night. Seriously, with the exception of Sunday (because Etowah County is dry on Sundays), I spent every night of the break at Antonelli's or Babe's. I'm glad that my mother and sister don't know about this blog. I'd rather them not know that I go to Babe's.
I hate this time of year, the span from after Halloween to the New Year. I really do. It makes me blue as hell. I'm going to be way more honest with you than I am being with anyone in this blog. I'm lonely as fuck. Seriously. I see all these people in town and at bars and they're together and happy and shit and I can't help but wonder, what the fuck am I doing wrong? This is way to personal for my own comfort, but I'm being serious. I may not be the best looking person on the planet, and I'm kind of a dildo, but c'mon. This sucks. Seriously. I don't even care about not getting any. I just want to be able to talk to someone at the end of the day that isn't some random person at a bar that I just met. Someone that doesn't give two shits about me being an asshole. That's all. That's all that I ask.
I'm fucked. I know I am. No one is going to put up with me. Who the fuck am I kidding? At least I'm not resorting to dating sites. I've seen how effective that is with my family.
This post is pretty pointless. Finals are next week. I'm really stoked for this semester to be over with. Lucero are playing in Birmingham again next Friday. SEC Championship this weekend. I really hope Alabama can beat Florida this year.
Before I came back to Tuscaloosa from the Thanksgiving break, I spent a while walking down the railroad tracks in Attalla. It was great. I always love getting between the cars, especially at home. I saw some open boxcars on the tracks and it reminded me of when I was a little boy, when my Paw Paw would take me and my brother down to the tracks and put us in the boxcars. We would just sit on the edge of the doors. I'd usually get scared that the train would take off, even though there never was a locomotive attached. I cherish that now. I saw some awesome tags on the cars. Tags that made me think that people that I want to know have been through Attalla before.
I've been thinking about hitting the road for a couple of days over the Christmas break. I don't know where I want to go. Maybe Tennessee. Maybe Georgia. Maybe Mississippi. I just want to see a place that I've never been before. Someone mentioned something to me earlier about going to Montana over spring break and I think that I'm going to take him up on it. I've never been that far west or north before and I want to go. I think it would be good for me.
Alright, I'm done now.
Until next time, goodnight all.
Not a music video this time, but this train is coming up the tracks that I grew up on and walk down when I'm home. On the other side of these tracks is my grandparents' house and the house that I lived in until I was 17. Norfolk and Western doesn't exist anymore, by the way. This was about a year or two before Norfolk and Western merged with Southern Railway to create Norfolk Southern.
I have on a pot of Seattle's Best coffee. I'll ad a bit of Best Yet heavy creamer and a bit of Bruno's brand sugar. It's probably Best Yet as well. Fuck, I don't remember. That's some corporate sloganeering if I've ever seen it on the Asswipe Chronicles. Too bad they don't pay me for it.
How was your Thanksgiving? Mine was alright. I ate too much, watched Alabama win the Iron Bowl (fuck you, Auburn fans, you were outscored 26-7 after the first quarter) and drank too much every night. Seriously, with the exception of Sunday (because Etowah County is dry on Sundays), I spent every night of the break at Antonelli's or Babe's. I'm glad that my mother and sister don't know about this blog. I'd rather them not know that I go to Babe's.
I hate this time of year, the span from after Halloween to the New Year. I really do. It makes me blue as hell. I'm going to be way more honest with you than I am being with anyone in this blog. I'm lonely as fuck. Seriously. I see all these people in town and at bars and they're together and happy and shit and I can't help but wonder, what the fuck am I doing wrong? This is way to personal for my own comfort, but I'm being serious. I may not be the best looking person on the planet, and I'm kind of a dildo, but c'mon. This sucks. Seriously. I don't even care about not getting any. I just want to be able to talk to someone at the end of the day that isn't some random person at a bar that I just met. Someone that doesn't give two shits about me being an asshole. That's all. That's all that I ask.
I'm fucked. I know I am. No one is going to put up with me. Who the fuck am I kidding? At least I'm not resorting to dating sites. I've seen how effective that is with my family.
This post is pretty pointless. Finals are next week. I'm really stoked for this semester to be over with. Lucero are playing in Birmingham again next Friday. SEC Championship this weekend. I really hope Alabama can beat Florida this year.
Before I came back to Tuscaloosa from the Thanksgiving break, I spent a while walking down the railroad tracks in Attalla. It was great. I always love getting between the cars, especially at home. I saw some open boxcars on the tracks and it reminded me of when I was a little boy, when my Paw Paw would take me and my brother down to the tracks and put us in the boxcars. We would just sit on the edge of the doors. I'd usually get scared that the train would take off, even though there never was a locomotive attached. I cherish that now. I saw some awesome tags on the cars. Tags that made me think that people that I want to know have been through Attalla before.
I've been thinking about hitting the road for a couple of days over the Christmas break. I don't know where I want to go. Maybe Tennessee. Maybe Georgia. Maybe Mississippi. I just want to see a place that I've never been before. Someone mentioned something to me earlier about going to Montana over spring break and I think that I'm going to take him up on it. I've never been that far west or north before and I want to go. I think it would be good for me.
Alright, I'm done now.
Until next time, goodnight all.
Not a music video this time, but this train is coming up the tracks that I grew up on and walk down when I'm home. On the other side of these tracks is my grandparents' house and the house that I lived in until I was 17. Norfolk and Western doesn't exist anymore, by the way. This was about a year or two before Norfolk and Western merged with Southern Railway to create Norfolk Southern.
19 November 2009
Evergreen
It was eerily similar. The phone call that let me know that one of my grandparents was put in the hospital. It was my Maw Maw this time. She's been sick as hell for a while now. But instead of frantically working on a 15 page paper about the Vietnam War and pulling an all-nighter, I was getting drunk and watching the Alabama-Mississippi State game.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of someone pounding away at my door and windows. I was sick with a cold, miserable with a hangover, and in no mood to get out of bed. I did, I put on a shirt, and answered the door. It was Morgan. What the fuck was he doing banging on my door at 8 in the morning? Some people use Sundays to sleep away hangovers. That's why they're there. He told me to call my brother. Apparently, he had been trying to call me all morning. The battery on my phone sucks more dick than a Jersey whore. When I stumbled in, I didn't bother to turn it back on. I just plugged it up and passed out. I turned it back on and once again, it was eerily similar. Missed calls and voicemails from my mom and sister. Text messages from my brother and sister. I knew what had happened. This is exactly how it played out when my Paw Paw died. I called my mom and she told me that Maw Maw died that morning (Sunday). I kept calm on the phone. As soon as I told Momma bye, I threw my phone across my bedroom, punched my wall, shouted the word fuck, and proceeded to sit on my bed and cry. Morgan sat there with me until I calmed down.
No one would admit it, but I think everyone in my family knew that this might happen this year. I mean, Maw Maw had lung cancer since I was in high school. I've spent the past couple of summers taking her to and from doctor's appointments and this summer, to chemo treatments. I guess about a month and a half or so ago, two of my aunts put her into a nursing home. She was miserable there. I could tell the last time that I was home and went to see her. I knew she hated it.
At the funeral Tuesday, I didn't cry. That may seem bad, but in all honesty, it was like a burden had been lifted. My Maw Maw wasn't sick anymore. No more struggling to breathe. No more being laid up in a nursing home. No more shuffling back and forth to the doctor. She's okay now, and I'm okay with that. I saw my dad wipe away a couple of tears. That's always hard to watch.
The last couple of times that I've been home, I've found a new favorite way to go. Hit the Oneonta exit on 59 North and go north on Highway 231 until you turn onto Gallant Road. In the spring and this time of year, it's so nice. Roll the windows down, put on a good driving album, and enjoy the northeast Alabama scenery. It's just hills rolling and trees alongside the road. The reds and the golds are amazing to look at.
Last night was the second edition of the Revival Tour in Birmingham. I bought my ticket last week. I got to the venue two hours before the show started. I ate dinner there though, so it's not like I was being a creeper. They all came out and played together to start it off, like last year. Audra May did her thing next. I had never heard her before last night, but I am definitely a fan now. She has a beautiful voice and some very excellent songs. The Zydepunks were something else. Two accordion players, a drummer that only used a snare, kick, crash, and brushes, and songs sung in French. If you couldn't guess by the name, they were a mix of zydeco and punk. Good stuff. Jim Ward played next. I was really stoked for this one. It's THAT Jim Ward, from At the Drive-In and Sparta. He played a Sparta song, but mostly did the stuff from his solo release and from the album with his other band, Sleepercar. Frank Turner played after Jim. I just started listening to Frank Turner in September or October and was instantly hooked. I wrote about him on a previous post. Jon Snodgrass and Chad Price came out next and played some Drag the River songs, including my two favorites, Me and Joe Drove Out to California and Medicine. I have them on my iPod doing a Misfits song. Jon kept asking what the crowd wanted to hear. I kept shouting Astro Zombies. He said they didn't know Astro Zombies. I insisted that they did (I was kinda drunk). I look on my iPod when I left and it wasn't Astro Zombies. It was Hybrid Moments. I felt like a dick, but they were cool about it. Chuck played next and almost melted my face off. Then the rest of them came out and they played a few more together. It was really cool when they did Will the Circle be Unbroken and Revival Road.
After the show, I offered to buy Chuck, Frank, Jim, and Jon a drink. Frank and Jim took me up on it and we did Jager bombs together. Gross, I know, but it was cool. I sat and talked to Jim for a bit. He was a really nice guy. Jon Snodgrass never took me up on the drink offer. I offered to buy Chuck a shot (though I think he may have been the reason that the Bottletree ran out of Jameson last night) but instead, he insisted on buying me one as a way of saying thanks for coming to the show and being supportive. We sat and talked for a bit and much like I said about Tim Barry last year, Chuck Ragan is an amazingly nice and awesome person. I told him about Megan being disappointed that she couldn't be there this year (attending a show in Alabama when you live in Massachusetts now poses a slight problem) and he called and talked to her. I'm pretty sure I bugged the shit out of Chad Price, but he was cool and sat there and talked for a bit. I gave my regards and well wishes to all of them before I left, and some girl gave me her phone number and said that we should hang out. For real, I didn't ask for it. I didn't even intend on asking for it.
As I was leaving from eating at Al's (because there's not better place to go when you're drunk), a homeless man outside told me that he was hungry. It broke my heart when he started what he was saying with "I know I'm a black man, but..." I told him that I didn't care what color he was. He was human and he was hungry and that was all that mattered. I didn't have a huge amount of food left, but I had enough to get someone by for a while, and I gave it to him. Say what you want about the homeless. I don't know how they ended up in their situation, but they're still human. People scoff and treat them like they're less than human, but they're people with feelings like all of us. Churches offer to help them, but when a man is hungry the last thing on his mind is someone praying for him. He wants to eat.
Whoa! The view is awfully high up here from my soapbox. I'll move away from the subject of the homeless now. Actually, I think I'm gonna go to bed. I'm tired and I have an awful headache and I have to work at 11:15. I couldn't find a video for the song that I'm leaving you with, mainly because when you search The Weight on Youtube, you don't get the kickass alt-country band from Brooklyn by way of Athens, Georgia at all. You just get The Band and a bunch of people covering The Band. Oh well.
Until next time, goodnight all.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of someone pounding away at my door and windows. I was sick with a cold, miserable with a hangover, and in no mood to get out of bed. I did, I put on a shirt, and answered the door. It was Morgan. What the fuck was he doing banging on my door at 8 in the morning? Some people use Sundays to sleep away hangovers. That's why they're there. He told me to call my brother. Apparently, he had been trying to call me all morning. The battery on my phone sucks more dick than a Jersey whore. When I stumbled in, I didn't bother to turn it back on. I just plugged it up and passed out. I turned it back on and once again, it was eerily similar. Missed calls and voicemails from my mom and sister. Text messages from my brother and sister. I knew what had happened. This is exactly how it played out when my Paw Paw died. I called my mom and she told me that Maw Maw died that morning (Sunday). I kept calm on the phone. As soon as I told Momma bye, I threw my phone across my bedroom, punched my wall, shouted the word fuck, and proceeded to sit on my bed and cry. Morgan sat there with me until I calmed down.
No one would admit it, but I think everyone in my family knew that this might happen this year. I mean, Maw Maw had lung cancer since I was in high school. I've spent the past couple of summers taking her to and from doctor's appointments and this summer, to chemo treatments. I guess about a month and a half or so ago, two of my aunts put her into a nursing home. She was miserable there. I could tell the last time that I was home and went to see her. I knew she hated it.
At the funeral Tuesday, I didn't cry. That may seem bad, but in all honesty, it was like a burden had been lifted. My Maw Maw wasn't sick anymore. No more struggling to breathe. No more being laid up in a nursing home. No more shuffling back and forth to the doctor. She's okay now, and I'm okay with that. I saw my dad wipe away a couple of tears. That's always hard to watch.
The last couple of times that I've been home, I've found a new favorite way to go. Hit the Oneonta exit on 59 North and go north on Highway 231 until you turn onto Gallant Road. In the spring and this time of year, it's so nice. Roll the windows down, put on a good driving album, and enjoy the northeast Alabama scenery. It's just hills rolling and trees alongside the road. The reds and the golds are amazing to look at.
Last night was the second edition of the Revival Tour in Birmingham. I bought my ticket last week. I got to the venue two hours before the show started. I ate dinner there though, so it's not like I was being a creeper. They all came out and played together to start it off, like last year. Audra May did her thing next. I had never heard her before last night, but I am definitely a fan now. She has a beautiful voice and some very excellent songs. The Zydepunks were something else. Two accordion players, a drummer that only used a snare, kick, crash, and brushes, and songs sung in French. If you couldn't guess by the name, they were a mix of zydeco and punk. Good stuff. Jim Ward played next. I was really stoked for this one. It's THAT Jim Ward, from At the Drive-In and Sparta. He played a Sparta song, but mostly did the stuff from his solo release and from the album with his other band, Sleepercar. Frank Turner played after Jim. I just started listening to Frank Turner in September or October and was instantly hooked. I wrote about him on a previous post. Jon Snodgrass and Chad Price came out next and played some Drag the River songs, including my two favorites, Me and Joe Drove Out to California and Medicine. I have them on my iPod doing a Misfits song. Jon kept asking what the crowd wanted to hear. I kept shouting Astro Zombies. He said they didn't know Astro Zombies. I insisted that they did (I was kinda drunk). I look on my iPod when I left and it wasn't Astro Zombies. It was Hybrid Moments. I felt like a dick, but they were cool about it. Chuck played next and almost melted my face off. Then the rest of them came out and they played a few more together. It was really cool when they did Will the Circle be Unbroken and Revival Road.
After the show, I offered to buy Chuck, Frank, Jim, and Jon a drink. Frank and Jim took me up on it and we did Jager bombs together. Gross, I know, but it was cool. I sat and talked to Jim for a bit. He was a really nice guy. Jon Snodgrass never took me up on the drink offer. I offered to buy Chuck a shot (though I think he may have been the reason that the Bottletree ran out of Jameson last night) but instead, he insisted on buying me one as a way of saying thanks for coming to the show and being supportive. We sat and talked for a bit and much like I said about Tim Barry last year, Chuck Ragan is an amazingly nice and awesome person. I told him about Megan being disappointed that she couldn't be there this year (attending a show in Alabama when you live in Massachusetts now poses a slight problem) and he called and talked to her. I'm pretty sure I bugged the shit out of Chad Price, but he was cool and sat there and talked for a bit. I gave my regards and well wishes to all of them before I left, and some girl gave me her phone number and said that we should hang out. For real, I didn't ask for it. I didn't even intend on asking for it.
As I was leaving from eating at Al's (because there's not better place to go when you're drunk), a homeless man outside told me that he was hungry. It broke my heart when he started what he was saying with "I know I'm a black man, but..." I told him that I didn't care what color he was. He was human and he was hungry and that was all that mattered. I didn't have a huge amount of food left, but I had enough to get someone by for a while, and I gave it to him. Say what you want about the homeless. I don't know how they ended up in their situation, but they're still human. People scoff and treat them like they're less than human, but they're people with feelings like all of us. Churches offer to help them, but when a man is hungry the last thing on his mind is someone praying for him. He wants to eat.
Whoa! The view is awfully high up here from my soapbox. I'll move away from the subject of the homeless now. Actually, I think I'm gonna go to bed. I'm tired and I have an awful headache and I have to work at 11:15. I couldn't find a video for the song that I'm leaving you with, mainly because when you search The Weight on Youtube, you don't get the kickass alt-country band from Brooklyn by way of Athens, Georgia at all. You just get The Band and a bunch of people covering The Band. Oh well.
Until next time, goodnight all.
 | Joseph Plunket & The Weight - Evergreen .mp3 |  |
 | ||
 | Found at bee mp3 search engine |  |
06 November 2009
A letter to someone that I used to be close to
*For the most part, Shithead is the affectionate nickname that I have for my brother. This is not about him.
Dear Shithead,
I still remember when we were close. Hell, you were one of my best friends. I think about all of the times that we just rode around in my old car or your old truck doing absolutely nothing. Do you remember when you, the long hairs, and me packed into that truck to put out flyers promoting our shows? I do. We drove all over Etowah County putting up flyers where ever they would let us, and a few places that they wouldn't. Those were good times. Or what about when one of the Long hairs threw bottle rockets at a bunch of rednecks in Rainbow City and they all thought I did it and the Long hair never owned up to it? I remember that too. That was a fun couple of days, even though some people wanted to beat me retarded for something that I didn't actually do. Do you remember when you shot your mouth off and pissed off every other person in every other band in Gadsden way more that I thought I ever could and I still stood up for you?
But I also still remember when I began to get fed up with you. The "Hurricane Katrina Benefit" that we did at Wallace Hall, the show we did at the old Performing Arts to get the money to play some shitty battle of the bands that I objected to. You remember> It was like $75 to sign up and it was only me and Long hair that had to shell out the rest of what was needed. The money that we made from that show was someone how just your contribution. What about our last show when you decided that it would be better to go rock climbing or canoeing or whatever douchey thing you've gotten into. What about after our last show when you started that other band and suggested writing new lyrics to the songs that I had written, assuming th at I wouldn't notice? Or what about after the other Long hair moved away and you almost missed the show to go to some American Idol shit? Or the Habitat for Humanity "benefit" that we played in Montevallo? I'm cool with helping people, but that thing was a joke. They didn't even charge a cover or take up a donation. How about when I let you borrow my cymbals, cymbals that weren't even cheap. You gave the ride and crash cymbal back, but I never saw my $200 hi-hats ever again. Where are they?
The thing that really did it was a few weeks back when I called you asking if you wanted to hang out and you didn't even know who you were talking to on the phone. That didn't just piss me off. That broke my heart. I was genuinely disappointed and saddened.
Fuck you. I'm done. I'm not going to try to be a friend anymore. Fuck it. If you don't value what was once a great friendship, then why the fuck should I?
Drew
On another, not so bitter note, I'm really fucking stoked to be going home tomorrow. I've been anxious all week for Friday. I want to see my mom and dad and brothers (this includes my brother-in-law) and sister. I want to go to First Friday for the first time since July or August. I want to sit at Antonelli's and drink a couple of pitchers. I want to go to Jefferson's and eat some lemon pepper wings. I want to watch the Alabama game with my dad and hope that they beat LSU. I need to get out of Tuscaloosa and this is the perfect weekend to do so.
The video below, I'm going to see this guy in at Bottletree in Birmingham in a couple of weeks with Chuck Ragan, John Snodgrass (Armchair Martian, Drag the River), Chad Price(ALL, Drag the River), Jim Ward (At the Drive-In, Sparta), and Zydepunks. Revival Tour 2009. I'm disappointed that Tim Barry or Joey Cape won't be there, but oh well. Frank Turner is a badass.
Dear Shithead,
I still remember when we were close. Hell, you were one of my best friends. I think about all of the times that we just rode around in my old car or your old truck doing absolutely nothing. Do you remember when you, the long hairs, and me packed into that truck to put out flyers promoting our shows? I do. We drove all over Etowah County putting up flyers where ever they would let us, and a few places that they wouldn't. Those were good times. Or what about when one of the Long hairs threw bottle rockets at a bunch of rednecks in Rainbow City and they all thought I did it and the Long hair never owned up to it? I remember that too. That was a fun couple of days, even though some people wanted to beat me retarded for something that I didn't actually do. Do you remember when you shot your mouth off and pissed off every other person in every other band in Gadsden way more that I thought I ever could and I still stood up for you?
But I also still remember when I began to get fed up with you. The "Hurricane Katrina Benefit" that we did at Wallace Hall, the show we did at the old Performing Arts to get the money to play some shitty battle of the bands that I objected to. You remember> It was like $75 to sign up and it was only me and Long hair that had to shell out the rest of what was needed. The money that we made from that show was someone how just your contribution. What about our last show when you decided that it would be better to go rock climbing or canoeing or whatever douchey thing you've gotten into. What about after our last show when you started that other band and suggested writing new lyrics to the songs that I had written, assuming th at I wouldn't notice? Or what about after the other Long hair moved away and you almost missed the show to go to some American Idol shit? Or the Habitat for Humanity "benefit" that we played in Montevallo? I'm cool with helping people, but that thing was a joke. They didn't even charge a cover or take up a donation. How about when I let you borrow my cymbals, cymbals that weren't even cheap. You gave the ride and crash cymbal back, but I never saw my $200 hi-hats ever again. Where are they?
The thing that really did it was a few weeks back when I called you asking if you wanted to hang out and you didn't even know who you were talking to on the phone. That didn't just piss me off. That broke my heart. I was genuinely disappointed and saddened.
Fuck you. I'm done. I'm not going to try to be a friend anymore. Fuck it. If you don't value what was once a great friendship, then why the fuck should I?
Drew
On another, not so bitter note, I'm really fucking stoked to be going home tomorrow. I've been anxious all week for Friday. I want to see my mom and dad and brothers (this includes my brother-in-law) and sister. I want to go to First Friday for the first time since July or August. I want to sit at Antonelli's and drink a couple of pitchers. I want to go to Jefferson's and eat some lemon pepper wings. I want to watch the Alabama game with my dad and hope that they beat LSU. I need to get out of Tuscaloosa and this is the perfect weekend to do so.
The video below, I'm going to see this guy in at Bottletree in Birmingham in a couple of weeks with Chuck Ragan, John Snodgrass (Armchair Martian, Drag the River), Chad Price(ALL, Drag the River), Jim Ward (At the Drive-In, Sparta), and Zydepunks. Revival Tour 2009. I'm disappointed that Tim Barry or Joey Cape won't be there, but oh well. Frank Turner is a badass.
03 November 2009
49 cent Horndog
Live, from a small, wood-paneled one-bedroom apartment in West Alabama town that may or may not be known for college football, it's the ASSWIPE CHRONICLES!!!
That's right, ladies and genitalia. The Asswipe Chronicles studios have moved from the friendly confines of whichever computer is available in the Gorgas Library to the friendlier, and more private (which means I can also watch porn while I do this) confines of my apartment!
I have to say, with the exception of failing a math test, last week was a pretty good week. I saw someone that I haven't seen in over a year and a half, a punk rock band from Tennessee crashed on my floor, and had a really awesome Halloween.
I was sitting in a class last Tuesday and got a text message from my friend Chelsea. The last time I saw her, I was working at Sears and it was Easter (see above). Anyways, she said that she was going to be in Birmingham that night (her feller was playing a show) and asked if I wanted to come up. I probably had other things to do (like study) but figured Birmingham would be more enjoyable. What started out as me going to a show and hanging out for a few ended up me not getting back to Tuscaloosa until 4:30 in the morning. It was really awesome to sit there, drink a few beers, play some songs with PJ (her feller), and just hang out. Some random guy walked into the place that they were crashing (which was also the venue where they played, Greencup Books) and started walking around. PJ was gonna do something, not knowing who it was. He got me to follow him upstairs (Great idea: An unidentified person walks in to where you're staying, follow him and leave your girlfriend alone downstairs) where he realized the guy was a friend of his. We were sitting around talking and the guy was talking about Ashes Fall (does anyone remember how awful they were) and I chimed in with the comment "Fuck Ashes Fall. Those guys were dicks." The dude looks at me, looks at one of the dudes in PJ's band, starts laughing, and then lets me known that both of them were in Ashes Fall. They had to find out eventually. Seriously, every time they played in Gadsden, those guys were dicks (and by those guys I really just mean their singer). This night, however, two of them were really cool.
New drinking game: Everytime I put something in parenthesis, take a drink.
Thursday night, this band was playing at Egan's. They were from Memphis and called the Angel Sluts. Judging by the name, I knew they had to be good. I walked in right as they were starting their second set. A Clash cover, two Stooges covers, and a James Brown cover, along with their own songs and I was sold. They were asking anyone there for a place to crash. I gave them floor space. Six dudes, my tiny apartment. Apparently, my carpet was the best thing that they had slept on in a few days. They were really gracious, left early enough for me to get to work on time, and even gave me a shirt, cd, button, and sticker. I gave them an open invitation to my floor whenever they were in Tuscaloosa again.
How was your Halloween? I listened to the Misfits, A.F.I. (old of course) and various psychobilly bands all day. I went as a junkie. Pretty much, I dressed like I normally dress and put makeup under my eyes to look tired and some on my arm to look like track marks and bruising, and fake blood on my face to look like I pick at it. Oh yeah, and a trucker hat that said "Breathe if yer Horny". After a couple of parties and shit-talking the Chicago Cubs, I saw the "8th Best Misfits cover band in Tuscaloosa" (Honestly, I didn't know that seven others existed.) It was awesome. My friend Steve did the singing and Egan's was rowdy. I also had some girl wanting to come hang out, but she left with some other dude. Story of my life.
But the above-mentioned Halloween listening brings me to the main point of this rambling (as if it wasn't long enough already [drink up]), bands/genres that I'm not into near as much as my friends. We have similar tastes for the most part (asshole tend to congregate with similar assholes), but there are differences, and here they are in somewhat shitty detail.
A.F.I. - The worst part of my day is when I plug the FM adapter to my iPod before I drive somewhere. A.F.I. is the first thing listed on my iPod and automatically plays first if I wasn't already listening to something. It's a frantic race to either pause it or find something else to listen to before Davey Havok starts doing whatever he calls what he does with the words of "Fall Children". I used to really like A.F.I., but it got really old really fast and now it feels like a chore to listen to, and I can't listen to it for more than about ten minutes before I want to stab something into my ears.
Psychobilly - Flat top haircut? Check. Creepers? Check. Upright bass that's slapped to get that clicking noise? Check. An extensive collection of B-grade horror movies to write all of your songs about? Check. Sorry guys, I remember a couple of years ago when everyone was really into psychobilly for some reason, but my interest really died after that summer. Seriously. I hate the constant playing with a chorus pedal on (I'm looking your way, Tiger Army), people that can't use a Bigsby without making the song sound like shit (once again, I'm looking at you, Tiger Army), and singing about some really bad horror movie that was made in the 50s. And really, get a different haircut.
Social Distortion - Okay, not mentioned above, but I'm pretty sure I'm the least interested in Social Distortion out of everyone that I hang out with. I really like old Social D, when it was still hardcore and Mike Ness was still hitting the spike. They lost me on the blues-punk thing. It was cool for a while. Not so much anymore.
Alright, now I've probably pissed off most of my friends.
I should probably clean my apartment. I was just standing over my kitchen sink and it smelled like asshole. Really, it smells like an asshole. It was gross.
For anyone at home that gives a shit, I'm coming home Friday. Someone is covering my closing shift at work, and I haven't been home in a month. I think I'm gonna go to First Friday and go to the EYO concert Sunday. Let's grab a drink.
I did an open mic last night at Innisfree. It was great. I did the Lawrence Arms/Sundowner's "100 Resolutions" and Against Me!'s "Reinventing Axl Rose" and "Walking is Still Honest". After I did Walking is Still Honest, someone told me that I was scaring them. It made my night.
That's right, ladies and genitalia. The Asswipe Chronicles studios have moved from the friendly confines of whichever computer is available in the Gorgas Library to the friendlier, and more private (which means I can also watch porn while I do this) confines of my apartment!
I have to say, with the exception of failing a math test, last week was a pretty good week. I saw someone that I haven't seen in over a year and a half, a punk rock band from Tennessee crashed on my floor, and had a really awesome Halloween.
I was sitting in a class last Tuesday and got a text message from my friend Chelsea. The last time I saw her, I was working at Sears and it was Easter (see above). Anyways, she said that she was going to be in Birmingham that night (her feller was playing a show) and asked if I wanted to come up. I probably had other things to do (like study) but figured Birmingham would be more enjoyable. What started out as me going to a show and hanging out for a few ended up me not getting back to Tuscaloosa until 4:30 in the morning. It was really awesome to sit there, drink a few beers, play some songs with PJ (her feller), and just hang out. Some random guy walked into the place that they were crashing (which was also the venue where they played, Greencup Books) and started walking around. PJ was gonna do something, not knowing who it was. He got me to follow him upstairs (Great idea: An unidentified person walks in to where you're staying, follow him and leave your girlfriend alone downstairs) where he realized the guy was a friend of his. We were sitting around talking and the guy was talking about Ashes Fall (does anyone remember how awful they were) and I chimed in with the comment "Fuck Ashes Fall. Those guys were dicks." The dude looks at me, looks at one of the dudes in PJ's band, starts laughing, and then lets me known that both of them were in Ashes Fall. They had to find out eventually. Seriously, every time they played in Gadsden, those guys were dicks (and by those guys I really just mean their singer). This night, however, two of them were really cool.
New drinking game: Everytime I put something in parenthesis, take a drink.
Thursday night, this band was playing at Egan's. They were from Memphis and called the Angel Sluts. Judging by the name, I knew they had to be good. I walked in right as they were starting their second set. A Clash cover, two Stooges covers, and a James Brown cover, along with their own songs and I was sold. They were asking anyone there for a place to crash. I gave them floor space. Six dudes, my tiny apartment. Apparently, my carpet was the best thing that they had slept on in a few days. They were really gracious, left early enough for me to get to work on time, and even gave me a shirt, cd, button, and sticker. I gave them an open invitation to my floor whenever they were in Tuscaloosa again.
How was your Halloween? I listened to the Misfits, A.F.I. (old of course) and various psychobilly bands all day. I went as a junkie. Pretty much, I dressed like I normally dress and put makeup under my eyes to look tired and some on my arm to look like track marks and bruising, and fake blood on my face to look like I pick at it. Oh yeah, and a trucker hat that said "Breathe if yer Horny". After a couple of parties and shit-talking the Chicago Cubs, I saw the "8th Best Misfits cover band in Tuscaloosa" (Honestly, I didn't know that seven others existed.) It was awesome. My friend Steve did the singing and Egan's was rowdy. I also had some girl wanting to come hang out, but she left with some other dude. Story of my life.
But the above-mentioned Halloween listening brings me to the main point of this rambling (as if it wasn't long enough already [drink up]), bands/genres that I'm not into near as much as my friends. We have similar tastes for the most part (asshole tend to congregate with similar assholes), but there are differences, and here they are in somewhat shitty detail.
A.F.I. - The worst part of my day is when I plug the FM adapter to my iPod before I drive somewhere. A.F.I. is the first thing listed on my iPod and automatically plays first if I wasn't already listening to something. It's a frantic race to either pause it or find something else to listen to before Davey Havok starts doing whatever he calls what he does with the words of "Fall Children". I used to really like A.F.I., but it got really old really fast and now it feels like a chore to listen to, and I can't listen to it for more than about ten minutes before I want to stab something into my ears.
Psychobilly - Flat top haircut? Check. Creepers? Check. Upright bass that's slapped to get that clicking noise? Check. An extensive collection of B-grade horror movies to write all of your songs about? Check. Sorry guys, I remember a couple of years ago when everyone was really into psychobilly for some reason, but my interest really died after that summer. Seriously. I hate the constant playing with a chorus pedal on (I'm looking your way, Tiger Army), people that can't use a Bigsby without making the song sound like shit (once again, I'm looking at you, Tiger Army), and singing about some really bad horror movie that was made in the 50s. And really, get a different haircut.
Social Distortion - Okay, not mentioned above, but I'm pretty sure I'm the least interested in Social Distortion out of everyone that I hang out with. I really like old Social D, when it was still hardcore and Mike Ness was still hitting the spike. They lost me on the blues-punk thing. It was cool for a while. Not so much anymore.
Alright, now I've probably pissed off most of my friends.
I should probably clean my apartment. I was just standing over my kitchen sink and it smelled like asshole. Really, it smells like an asshole. It was gross.
For anyone at home that gives a shit, I'm coming home Friday. Someone is covering my closing shift at work, and I haven't been home in a month. I think I'm gonna go to First Friday and go to the EYO concert Sunday. Let's grab a drink.
I did an open mic last night at Innisfree. It was great. I did the Lawrence Arms/Sundowner's "100 Resolutions" and Against Me!'s "Reinventing Axl Rose" and "Walking is Still Honest". After I did Walking is Still Honest, someone told me that I was scaring them. It made my night.
26 October 2009
Hell no, I ain't happy!
Killer weekend this weekend. Veitch came up from Mobile, Andrew and Brandy came down from Gadsden. We had some drinks, watched Alabama barely beat Tennessee, got Andrew and Brandy's car out of the impound, and went to a killer house party. Some girl was actually so excited to be at said party, she parked her car on the train tracks (true story) and came to me for comfort as she panicked at the thought of a freight train destroying her car.
Needless to say, I didn't get any from train tracks girl. Instead, I ended up listening to Thin Lizzy with a couple of other friends. Crunk, but it's not getting me laid.
Which brings me to what may or may not be my main topic of discussion: my lack of getting any. Either that, or my blatant apathy at trying to get any. I was at said party, the police showed up, people left, and some girl offered to do things to me for a Red Stripe tall boy. I have her the tall boy, tried to hold her to her end of the bargain (not forcefully, that's rape and rape is wrong), and she scurried away with one of my tall boys. My abilities at convincing people to do anything are lacking. I couldn't sell soap and water to that dirty kid from the Charlie Brown comics (not that he would buy it. That kid was always fucking nasty.)
And this isn't the first time. Let's not forget the time that I went home with someone 11 years older than me and she started doing coke and passed out before I could even consider possibly contracting herpes. Or what about the time I went home with the girl that decided doing pills would be more fun than doing me. Really, this is starting to be a problem.
Meh, fuck it. If porn could make me breakfast, I'd never go to a bar or party again. (OFFICIALLY THE VERY FIRST PORN JOKE OF THE ASSWIPE CHRONICLES! YAY!)
I was at work Friday night and hit a girl with my car. Not her car, but her. She walked behind me as I was backing up and ran over to my window and asked if I was okay. She weighed all of 100 pounds. Of course I was okay. I asked if she was, she said yes, said it was her fault, and wished me a pleasant evening of sandwich delivery.
Speaking of work, I found out today that people from the corporate office are in town and if we don't greet people when they walk in and tell them goodbye or something along those lines as they leave, we'll get fired. Crunk, huh?
Halloween is Saturday. This year's will be documented. Last year, I made a pretty kick ass Unknown Hinson costume and didn't have a single photo of it. Not one. I even did the sideburns (but not the teeth stuff. I almost puked as I put on.) This year, after much debate and much more apathy, I've decided to go as ARTIE! THE STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD! Of course, I'll be bearded Artie. I'm not shaving again until April.
Needless to say, I didn't get any from train tracks girl. Instead, I ended up listening to Thin Lizzy with a couple of other friends. Crunk, but it's not getting me laid.
Which brings me to what may or may not be my main topic of discussion: my lack of getting any. Either that, or my blatant apathy at trying to get any. I was at said party, the police showed up, people left, and some girl offered to do things to me for a Red Stripe tall boy. I have her the tall boy, tried to hold her to her end of the bargain (not forcefully, that's rape and rape is wrong), and she scurried away with one of my tall boys. My abilities at convincing people to do anything are lacking. I couldn't sell soap and water to that dirty kid from the Charlie Brown comics (not that he would buy it. That kid was always fucking nasty.)
And this isn't the first time. Let's not forget the time that I went home with someone 11 years older than me and she started doing coke and passed out before I could even consider possibly contracting herpes. Or what about the time I went home with the girl that decided doing pills would be more fun than doing me. Really, this is starting to be a problem.
Meh, fuck it. If porn could make me breakfast, I'd never go to a bar or party again. (OFFICIALLY THE VERY FIRST PORN JOKE OF THE ASSWIPE CHRONICLES! YAY!)
I was at work Friday night and hit a girl with my car. Not her car, but her. She walked behind me as I was backing up and ran over to my window and asked if I was okay. She weighed all of 100 pounds. Of course I was okay. I asked if she was, she said yes, said it was her fault, and wished me a pleasant evening of sandwich delivery.
Speaking of work, I found out today that people from the corporate office are in town and if we don't greet people when they walk in and tell them goodbye or something along those lines as they leave, we'll get fired. Crunk, huh?
Halloween is Saturday. This year's will be documented. Last year, I made a pretty kick ass Unknown Hinson costume and didn't have a single photo of it. Not one. I even did the sideburns (but not the teeth stuff. I almost puked as I put on.) This year, after much debate and much more apathy, I've decided to go as ARTIE! THE STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD! Of course, I'll be bearded Artie. I'm not shaving again until April.
19 October 2009
Good chance I'll be slobbering somewhere, probably passed out
I worked all weekend. Saturday, I went to work at 5pm and didn't get off work until around 4:30 in the morning. Eleven and a half hours. I made $140 in tips but just kept wanting to leave and go get drunk. Fuck, when I finally got off work, someone gave me a beer and I was so tired I couldn't even drink it.
I can already tell you that this post is going to be even more pointless than the rest of them. By you, I mean the zero people that read this. I'm just drunk and feel like rambling.
Fuck man, when I was working that eleven and a half Saturday, I was making a delivery and some cocksucker side swiped my car and sped off. I hope you die cocksucker. Speaking of fucked up cars, my car started smoking at work today. I know, right? It was only made in 2001. Eight years old is too young to start smoking. It has a pretty gnarly oil leak though, and that shit started burning on the engine block. As I was checking it out, I burned my hand on the engine and the asshole in the "my dick is so small I have to drive a giant truck to compensate" truck next to my started laughing. Asshole.
For the most part, this whole thing is about people that I hate for temporarily giving me a hard time.
I have to write a paper this week. Five to seven pages on a female anarchist revolutionary in 19th century tsarist Russia. I've spent the last few hours in the bowels of the Gorgas Library. Vera Figner is becoming more and more of an intriguing person to me. She married so she could move to Zurich, Switzerland and study medicine and along the way became a revolutionary who helped in the 1881 assassination of Tsar Alexander II, was arrested, and spent 25 years in prison. Interesting shit. The only time I walked away from the book was to get a cup of coffee, and post this piece of literary ejaculation on the Blogspot.
I was rambling through the library and found a goldmine of things that I would have shit myself for in high school. Books about the Soviet Union, books by Bakunin and Emma Goldman. Books by anarchists and socialists and communists and radicals and revolutionaries. I'm getting a chub just thinking about it.
The coffee shop in the library has organic, un-dyed, pure cane sugar with molasses. It's made my coffee taste much better. It's also Hawaiian sugar, so I'm doing good things for America.
Okay, I should probably stop rambling now and get back to the memoirs of Ms. Figner. I want to go in the the direction of her early education, radicalization, struggles with her upbringing as a member of the gentry against her new socialist and revolutionary ideals, eventual revolutionary work in Odessa and St. Petersburg and elsewhere, her involvement in the assassination of Alexander II, and eventual time in the clink. Here's to hoping that this saves my grade in Imperial Russian history.
Until next time, Cheers!
I can already tell you that this post is going to be even more pointless than the rest of them. By you, I mean the zero people that read this. I'm just drunk and feel like rambling.
Fuck man, when I was working that eleven and a half Saturday, I was making a delivery and some cocksucker side swiped my car and sped off. I hope you die cocksucker. Speaking of fucked up cars, my car started smoking at work today. I know, right? It was only made in 2001. Eight years old is too young to start smoking. It has a pretty gnarly oil leak though, and that shit started burning on the engine block. As I was checking it out, I burned my hand on the engine and the asshole in the "my dick is so small I have to drive a giant truck to compensate" truck next to my started laughing. Asshole.
For the most part, this whole thing is about people that I hate for temporarily giving me a hard time.
I have to write a paper this week. Five to seven pages on a female anarchist revolutionary in 19th century tsarist Russia. I've spent the last few hours in the bowels of the Gorgas Library. Vera Figner is becoming more and more of an intriguing person to me. She married so she could move to Zurich, Switzerland and study medicine and along the way became a revolutionary who helped in the 1881 assassination of Tsar Alexander II, was arrested, and spent 25 years in prison. Interesting shit. The only time I walked away from the book was to get a cup of coffee, and post this piece of literary ejaculation on the Blogspot.
I was rambling through the library and found a goldmine of things that I would have shit myself for in high school. Books about the Soviet Union, books by Bakunin and Emma Goldman. Books by anarchists and socialists and communists and radicals and revolutionaries. I'm getting a chub just thinking about it.
The coffee shop in the library has organic, un-dyed, pure cane sugar with molasses. It's made my coffee taste much better. It's also Hawaiian sugar, so I'm doing good things for America.
Okay, I should probably stop rambling now and get back to the memoirs of Ms. Figner. I want to go in the the direction of her early education, radicalization, struggles with her upbringing as a member of the gentry against her new socialist and revolutionary ideals, eventual revolutionary work in Odessa and St. Petersburg and elsewhere, her involvement in the assassination of Alexander II, and eventual time in the clink. Here's to hoping that this saves my grade in Imperial Russian history.
Until next time, Cheers!
14 October 2009
$2 drink specials make you strong
Welcome back to my mindless rambling. I don't really have anything to go on about. I'm just bored and avoiding what I should be doing. And by that, I mean reading this novel for my Russian History class. Oh Nikolai Gogol, you silly bastard.
Last week was fall break, which I feel was brilliantly timed. The University calls it a "study break", but it's the week AFTER midterms. I made good use of it though. Good use of course being spending all of the money that I had getting drunk. Okay, not every night. I did work a good bit. I voluntarily went to the Houndstooth last Wednesday night. $3 pitchers will do that to a man, or an asswipe for that matter. Thursday entailed working. A hangover, and working. Friday was more working. I got out of my closing shift and spent that evening in Birmingham and had what I thought was a really funny encounter with a waitress at a bar in Birmingham. Saturday, I bought some new records in Birmingham. I got the singles for the Kinks' "You Really Got Me" and "Lola" and a record that teaches you how to play along with the best of the Kingston Trio. The latter was free. After that, I managed to get lost in Jefferson County for about 45 minutes (don't ask), got a slight hard-on when I passed a train station in Bessemer (America's 9th most violent city!), slept until 7pm, and got drunk and watched football. I love going to Egan's and being the only person there that doesn't work there. Sunday was hungover for most of the day, and then working. Work kinda sucked when the T-Mobile network decided to be efficient and not work. Monday was the most fun. I worked, read, got drunk, and gave the last $20 that I had to an indie pop band from Louisiana.
More on the indie pop band. I don't even really like indie pop. It's funny what happens when you get drunk and a band has an attractive female member that not only has a sweet voice, but she also plays guitar, ukelele, percussion, and a mean damn tambourine. And she could move. Not like drunk girl at a party dance or like all the strippers that I've ever paid to entertain me. She was graceful and smooth and had a flow. That's probably why I liked them. Okay, it IS why I liked them, and gave them my last $20 so they could make it to the next show. They actually weren't bad though. I'll put a video up at the end of this tripe.
Fortunately, tomorrow is payday. I can pay my water and power bills and maybe have a couple of drinks (AFTER I finish being a good student and read the rest of Gogol's Dead Souls.)
Speaking of new music, a guy that I work with gave me the latest Frank Turner album. He just signed to Epitaph Records (the best band to sign to Epitaph in a LONG time. Really, Epitaph has gone to hell.) It's really good. The songs are really good and he sings like he's English (You know what I'm getting at, how guys like Eric Clapton sound American when they sing.)
I got a little panicky Sunday night at work because the T-Mobile network was down and I thought that my phone was cut off again. Let's just hope it doesn't get that far again. I think I've got it figured out though. I got the first "past due" text this morning. I'll get about 5 more and then they start calling and saying "Hey, this is T-Mobile, pay your goddamn phone bill!" Then, without fail, my phone will be cut off at an inconvenient time, like when I'm delivering to a dorm (to some dickhead or dumb cunt that probably won't tip) and I have to call them to come get their sandwich. Yeah, that's when it will happen.
Oh yeah, someone ordered Jimmy John's last week and had a cookie delivered. A cookie. One goddamn cookie. I delivered it, and got a $2 tip. Granted, the cookie was $2 (which makes the tip 100%), that's just goddamn lazy. Fuck you guy.
I just adjusted myself I think the girl next to me assumed that I'm playing with myself. No ma'am. That comes behind the locked privacy of my own apartment door. Unless the pest control guy shows up at 9am while I'm sleeping off a hangover, starts banging on my door, and somehow has a key and let's himself into my place. Fuck you pest control guy. I need my hangover sleep. And there's no way in hell I'm getting up with an erection and letting you into my place just to spray for bugs.
Well, that paragraph just sent this post downhill really quick. I guess I'm gonna call it a night with that. Maybe, if someone actually reads this thing, I'll do it again REAL soon.
Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt.
And now, here's Givers (the indie pop band with the pretty girl singer).
Last week was fall break, which I feel was brilliantly timed. The University calls it a "study break", but it's the week AFTER midterms. I made good use of it though. Good use of course being spending all of the money that I had getting drunk. Okay, not every night. I did work a good bit. I voluntarily went to the Houndstooth last Wednesday night. $3 pitchers will do that to a man, or an asswipe for that matter. Thursday entailed working. A hangover, and working. Friday was more working. I got out of my closing shift and spent that evening in Birmingham and had what I thought was a really funny encounter with a waitress at a bar in Birmingham. Saturday, I bought some new records in Birmingham. I got the singles for the Kinks' "You Really Got Me" and "Lola" and a record that teaches you how to play along with the best of the Kingston Trio. The latter was free. After that, I managed to get lost in Jefferson County for about 45 minutes (don't ask), got a slight hard-on when I passed a train station in Bessemer (America's 9th most violent city!), slept until 7pm, and got drunk and watched football. I love going to Egan's and being the only person there that doesn't work there. Sunday was hungover for most of the day, and then working. Work kinda sucked when the T-Mobile network decided to be efficient and not work. Monday was the most fun. I worked, read, got drunk, and gave the last $20 that I had to an indie pop band from Louisiana.
More on the indie pop band. I don't even really like indie pop. It's funny what happens when you get drunk and a band has an attractive female member that not only has a sweet voice, but she also plays guitar, ukelele, percussion, and a mean damn tambourine. And she could move. Not like drunk girl at a party dance or like all the strippers that I've ever paid to entertain me. She was graceful and smooth and had a flow. That's probably why I liked them. Okay, it IS why I liked them, and gave them my last $20 so they could make it to the next show. They actually weren't bad though. I'll put a video up at the end of this tripe.
Fortunately, tomorrow is payday. I can pay my water and power bills and maybe have a couple of drinks (AFTER I finish being a good student and read the rest of Gogol's Dead Souls.)
Speaking of new music, a guy that I work with gave me the latest Frank Turner album. He just signed to Epitaph Records (the best band to sign to Epitaph in a LONG time. Really, Epitaph has gone to hell.) It's really good. The songs are really good and he sings like he's English (You know what I'm getting at, how guys like Eric Clapton sound American when they sing.)
I got a little panicky Sunday night at work because the T-Mobile network was down and I thought that my phone was cut off again. Let's just hope it doesn't get that far again. I think I've got it figured out though. I got the first "past due" text this morning. I'll get about 5 more and then they start calling and saying "Hey, this is T-Mobile, pay your goddamn phone bill!" Then, without fail, my phone will be cut off at an inconvenient time, like when I'm delivering to a dorm (to some dickhead or dumb cunt that probably won't tip) and I have to call them to come get their sandwich. Yeah, that's when it will happen.
Oh yeah, someone ordered Jimmy John's last week and had a cookie delivered. A cookie. One goddamn cookie. I delivered it, and got a $2 tip. Granted, the cookie was $2 (which makes the tip 100%), that's just goddamn lazy. Fuck you guy.
I just adjusted myself I think the girl next to me assumed that I'm playing with myself. No ma'am. That comes behind the locked privacy of my own apartment door. Unless the pest control guy shows up at 9am while I'm sleeping off a hangover, starts banging on my door, and somehow has a key and let's himself into my place. Fuck you pest control guy. I need my hangover sleep. And there's no way in hell I'm getting up with an erection and letting you into my place just to spray for bugs.
Well, that paragraph just sent this post downhill really quick. I guess I'm gonna call it a night with that. Maybe, if someone actually reads this thing, I'll do it again REAL soon.
Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt.
And now, here's Givers (the indie pop band with the pretty girl singer).
27 September 2009
An open letter to anyone that has food delivered to their location
Dear hungry persons,
My name is Drew. I am a delivery driver. Specifically, I am a delivery driver for a sandwich place that stays open until 3 or 4 in the morning. Our store is located in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, which has a fairly large college. Our drivers deal with lots of things; trains, shitty traffic on game days, drunks, bad drivers, people that like to scream "JIMMY JOHN'S!" at us for no good goddamn reason, people that think we're a taxi cab service.
Now this letter won't apply to some of you. This letter is aimed at a specific group of people. Namely, shitty tippers. You know who you are; the person that has a $9.75 order and tells the driver to keep the change from a ten dollar bill, the person that has a $20 order and writes the largest possible zero on the gratuity line of the credit card receipt. You are the people that I have a problem with.
What you don't seem to understand is that me, and most other delivery drivers, make less than minimum wage. The tips that we receive make up that difference. Some days, I do pretty good. It's nice to leave work with $40 that I didn't have when I went to work. Other days, it's not so good. Shucks, the other day, I made 6 deliveries before I got as much as one dollar.
Tips are how delivery drivers, food servers, bartenders, etc. survive. It's how we pay our bills, pay our rent, buy our food. And in the case of drivers who work for companies that don't provide gasoline for their shifts, it's how we buy the gas so we can do our job. When you don't tip, we secretly hope that the fleas of 1,000 rabid animals attack your genitals (I do, anyway.)
So please, shitty tippers of the world, try to see where I'm coming from. I have to make a living just like you. Hell, I used to be one of you but I reformed my ways. Trust me, you'll feel better when you tip a fair amount.
Sincerely,
Drew
On a lighter note, it's been a while since I rambled on here. Not much has happened. This shitty tipper thing has been my biggest complaint. That and needing a new car battery. Yeah, I can't get my car to start without someone to jump me off. That's not good when you deliver food for a living. My brother and Livy came to town for the weekend. We all had a hoot and holler. I'm really enjoying how my Fridays and Saturdays have gone from sitting in a bar until 2 or 3 in the morning to sitting outside with friends and drinking with them. It's more fun, and much cheaper.
I've been working this fucked up schedule of closing one night and being back the next morning to work the lunch shift. I'm trying to pick up shifts that no one wants. I don't think I've slept more that 4 or 5 hours at a time. It's catching up to me. I'm tired all the time now. I don't want to leave my apartment. I just want to sleep. But I can't, because I have bills to pay and working 4 days a week won't cut it.
If anyone actually reads this, I'll be home this coming weekend. Let's have a couple of pints, play a few songs, or anything.
My name is Drew. I am a delivery driver. Specifically, I am a delivery driver for a sandwich place that stays open until 3 or 4 in the morning. Our store is located in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, which has a fairly large college. Our drivers deal with lots of things; trains, shitty traffic on game days, drunks, bad drivers, people that like to scream "JIMMY JOHN'S!" at us for no good goddamn reason, people that think we're a taxi cab service.
Now this letter won't apply to some of you. This letter is aimed at a specific group of people. Namely, shitty tippers. You know who you are; the person that has a $9.75 order and tells the driver to keep the change from a ten dollar bill, the person that has a $20 order and writes the largest possible zero on the gratuity line of the credit card receipt. You are the people that I have a problem with.
What you don't seem to understand is that me, and most other delivery drivers, make less than minimum wage. The tips that we receive make up that difference. Some days, I do pretty good. It's nice to leave work with $40 that I didn't have when I went to work. Other days, it's not so good. Shucks, the other day, I made 6 deliveries before I got as much as one dollar.
Tips are how delivery drivers, food servers, bartenders, etc. survive. It's how we pay our bills, pay our rent, buy our food. And in the case of drivers who work for companies that don't provide gasoline for their shifts, it's how we buy the gas so we can do our job. When you don't tip, we secretly hope that the fleas of 1,000 rabid animals attack your genitals (I do, anyway.)
So please, shitty tippers of the world, try to see where I'm coming from. I have to make a living just like you. Hell, I used to be one of you but I reformed my ways. Trust me, you'll feel better when you tip a fair amount.
Sincerely,
Drew
On a lighter note, it's been a while since I rambled on here. Not much has happened. This shitty tipper thing has been my biggest complaint. That and needing a new car battery. Yeah, I can't get my car to start without someone to jump me off. That's not good when you deliver food for a living. My brother and Livy came to town for the weekend. We all had a hoot and holler. I'm really enjoying how my Fridays and Saturdays have gone from sitting in a bar until 2 or 3 in the morning to sitting outside with friends and drinking with them. It's more fun, and much cheaper.
I've been working this fucked up schedule of closing one night and being back the next morning to work the lunch shift. I'm trying to pick up shifts that no one wants. I don't think I've slept more that 4 or 5 hours at a time. It's catching up to me. I'm tired all the time now. I don't want to leave my apartment. I just want to sleep. But I can't, because I have bills to pay and working 4 days a week won't cut it.
If anyone actually reads this, I'll be home this coming weekend. Let's have a couple of pints, play a few songs, or anything.
14 September 2009
Maybe sleep deprivation has its perks
So I'm typing this in the library and just saw a Chinese exchange student throw up what looked eerily similar to the Nazi salute to get a girl's attention.
Since I've started working at Jimmy John's, I'm pretty sure the earliest that I've left there on a night that I close was about 3:30 in the morning. It was 5:30 when I left this past Friday. Last night, it was 4:10ish. That's not too out of the ordinary for me, considering that's about the time my night usually ends. Hell, it has a perk. One single solitary perk.
City Cafe.
I have this thing for diners. I can't explain it. I love greasy food, unending cups of coffee, and waitresses that call me "hun" and "sweetie". Okay, I just explained it. Anyway. City Cafe is just across the river in Northport and opens before the sun comes up. The food is amazing and the people that work there are nice. I was sitting there as the sun was starting to come up this morning, drinking my coffee and eating my meal (2 eggs over-medium, grits, sausage, biscuits, and gravy.) My mind started to wander. The food reminded me of something that my mother would fix for breakfast.
The whole time that I was eating, my waitress kept insisting that I put Golden Eagle syrup on my biscuit. You know, it's the stuff that made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches good in high school. I don't even like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I think they're gross. Golden Eagle and peanut butter, however, is fucktacular. Anyway, she kept offering and I kept beating around the bush, you know, like every other time that I don't really want to do anything. (Happy 4th of July, wanna fuck? Maybe later.) I finally caved. Why the hell not? It was 5am at this point and I only had to be back at work in 6 hours and 15 minutes.
If you're not familiar with this culinary delight, you just pour this stuff on a biscuit and eat it. It's called soppin'. Since we're in the South, the "g" at the end of sopping is not used. I'm writing this like a bunch of people from up north are reading it or something. I dunno. I mixed it with butter. You know, to make it a little more unhealthy. Fried eggs, fried sausage, questionable sweet substance on my biscuit.
I was in there a couple of weeks ago eating breakfast and got a piece of fried bologna to eat. When I ordered it, I totally expected two pieces of Oscar Meyer bologna. You know, not very large and kinda thin. Nope. It was one piece, about the size of a 45rpm record and almost a half inch thick. I could feel my chest tighten as I stabbed my fork into it. As I put the first bite in my mouth I could hear my heart shouting "Fuck off asshole! Don't do it! Don't do it! Don't do it!" As I took the last bite, I heard my heart tell my to get fucked. Watching the grease drip off just made it even better.
Another good thing about working that damn late is the battery in my iPod usually dies after about an hour and a half. It forces me to listen to the radio. The University of Alabama public radio station is awesome. Saturday nights is bluegrass until 1am. Sunday nights is soul and the blues until 1am. At 1am, my favorite part kicks in. The BBC World Service. There's nothing like hearing the news in a British accent, or a Scottish or Irish accent.
I'm pretty sure I was the most obnoxious person at the football game Saturday. I actually think I may have offended the entire University of Alabama softball team. That's what happens when you go to football games drunk and shout profanity-laden insults at the opposing team. It's funny though, to get dirty stares from other people wearing crimson and white.
There's a lady next to me in the library that is coughing so hard I think she's about to lose her lungs. Not even covering her mouth. Eww. Doesn't she know that the television tells us that we're going to catch swine flu? Cunt.
I'm 3 posts into this and I can already tell that it's pointless. Maybe it's cool that no one reads this and I can just ramble on and clear my head.
First math test of the semester one hour from now and 700 years of Russian history to read tonight.
Here's Tim Barry.
Since I've started working at Jimmy John's, I'm pretty sure the earliest that I've left there on a night that I close was about 3:30 in the morning. It was 5:30 when I left this past Friday. Last night, it was 4:10ish. That's not too out of the ordinary for me, considering that's about the time my night usually ends. Hell, it has a perk. One single solitary perk.
City Cafe.
I have this thing for diners. I can't explain it. I love greasy food, unending cups of coffee, and waitresses that call me "hun" and "sweetie". Okay, I just explained it. Anyway. City Cafe is just across the river in Northport and opens before the sun comes up. The food is amazing and the people that work there are nice. I was sitting there as the sun was starting to come up this morning, drinking my coffee and eating my meal (2 eggs over-medium, grits, sausage, biscuits, and gravy.) My mind started to wander. The food reminded me of something that my mother would fix for breakfast.
The whole time that I was eating, my waitress kept insisting that I put Golden Eagle syrup on my biscuit. You know, it's the stuff that made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches good in high school. I don't even like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I think they're gross. Golden Eagle and peanut butter, however, is fucktacular. Anyway, she kept offering and I kept beating around the bush, you know, like every other time that I don't really want to do anything. (Happy 4th of July, wanna fuck? Maybe later.) I finally caved. Why the hell not? It was 5am at this point and I only had to be back at work in 6 hours and 15 minutes.
If you're not familiar with this culinary delight, you just pour this stuff on a biscuit and eat it. It's called soppin'. Since we're in the South, the "g" at the end of sopping is not used. I'm writing this like a bunch of people from up north are reading it or something. I dunno. I mixed it with butter. You know, to make it a little more unhealthy. Fried eggs, fried sausage, questionable sweet substance on my biscuit.
I was in there a couple of weeks ago eating breakfast and got a piece of fried bologna to eat. When I ordered it, I totally expected two pieces of Oscar Meyer bologna. You know, not very large and kinda thin. Nope. It was one piece, about the size of a 45rpm record and almost a half inch thick. I could feel my chest tighten as I stabbed my fork into it. As I put the first bite in my mouth I could hear my heart shouting "Fuck off asshole! Don't do it! Don't do it! Don't do it!" As I took the last bite, I heard my heart tell my to get fucked. Watching the grease drip off just made it even better.
Another good thing about working that damn late is the battery in my iPod usually dies after about an hour and a half. It forces me to listen to the radio. The University of Alabama public radio station is awesome. Saturday nights is bluegrass until 1am. Sunday nights is soul and the blues until 1am. At 1am, my favorite part kicks in. The BBC World Service. There's nothing like hearing the news in a British accent, or a Scottish or Irish accent.
I'm pretty sure I was the most obnoxious person at the football game Saturday. I actually think I may have offended the entire University of Alabama softball team. That's what happens when you go to football games drunk and shout profanity-laden insults at the opposing team. It's funny though, to get dirty stares from other people wearing crimson and white.
There's a lady next to me in the library that is coughing so hard I think she's about to lose her lungs. Not even covering her mouth. Eww. Doesn't she know that the television tells us that we're going to catch swine flu? Cunt.
I'm 3 posts into this and I can already tell that it's pointless. Maybe it's cool that no one reads this and I can just ramble on and clear my head.
First math test of the semester one hour from now and 700 years of Russian history to read tonight.
Here's Tim Barry.
08 September 2009
I'm almost certain that grabbing a train going 45mph would certainly kill me
If anyone has bothered to read this thing so far, the one pointless post that I have made, and you were entertained or whatever to the point that you came back for more, then welcome back.
This one was going to be about baseball, namely about how NOT STOKED I am that the season is nearing its end and how the Braves amazingly made it a little farther into the season before shooting themselves in the foot and dashing a possible playoff run. There's always 2010.
Jesus Christ, I sound like a Cubs fan. Eww....
Rather, I'm just going to ramble.
I've officially been a college student for 4 years now. For anyone keeping up, I'm only a sophomore. Four hours away from being a junior, but a 22 year-old sophomore nonetheless. I'm saying this because throughout my time at 4 year schools, I have had one major pain in my ass: student loans and the banks that make them. Okay, that's two. Fuck off. They're mainly a pain in my ass (and most other college students that don't have parents that can afford to put them through college) because I'm a chronic procrastinator. My high school guidance counselor told my mother that when I was 16 or 17, and it's still true 5 or 6 years later. I wait until the last minute to apply for the shit and never seem to understand that banks like to dick around and drag you around by the nutsack, making you fax all of this shit in and sign that and sacrifice your first born son to the gods of higher education and blow a goat and all of that horse shit.
After all of that, when the check arrives and clears the bank and tuition and books are paid and bought and rent and bills are paid and WAAAAAAYYYYYY too much of it is wasted on getting drunk six nights a week, you have nothing to look forward to but the panic caused by knowing you're in your twenties and tens of thousands of dollars in debt. Fortunately for me, I never intend on buying a house or very much else that requires good credit and monthly payments until the end of the world. Apartments and used cars suit me just fine.
What I'm getting at is, if you are an institute that is responsible for loaning ungodly amounts of money to people that shouldn't receive large amounts of money (much like myself,) please go to hell.
I love trains. I really do. I honestly love watching a freight train speeding up and down the tracks. Hell, I'll get up and go outside at 2 or 3 in the morning just to watch one pass. I love the sound of a train passing at 3 in the morning. I love knowing that the trains that pass behind my apartment here in Tuscaloosa run through Attalla and near my house everyday. The same train that made me late for school almost every morning that I was high school is the same one that runs through here everyday roughly 3 hours later.
A good night for me involves getting drunk (or at least having a couple of drinks) and wandering up and down the tracks, climbing on the cars that Norfolk Southern and CSX and KCS have left near my place. A good night involves walking down the tracks and jumping out of the way as a train with eight locomotives heads north through town. Being 20 feet from a speeding train is a feeling I can't explain.
My brother and his girlfriend are coming down to visit in a couple of weeks. We were talking about it last night and he said that he wants to get drunk and walk down the tracks with me. I don't have many memories of my grandfather on my mom's side. He died a week and a half after I turned 7. But one that is very clear in my mind is the one of him taking my brother and me down to the tracks when we were little, letting us climb on the cars and putting us in open boxcars. I think that's why I love trains so much.
Anyone want to pack up and steal a ride on one? It'd be fun as hell, even more dangerous, and we'll have a rad story to tell if we don't die (which is a very real possibility; being pulled under, falling through a suicide car, freezing to death in a freezer car, etc.) Dodging car knockers and bulls so we don't get thrown off. I'm willing to take the risks if someone is willing to do it with me.
Before I finish up, I need a new phone. If you use T-Mobile and have an old phone that isn't a total piece of shit, please send it my way. My phone has been continually fucking up and the phone that I'm using now, my brother's old one, has a pretty shitty battery.
Oh yeah, I apparently ask people to marry me when I get drunk.
On an unrelated note, would someone like to buy me a 4-pack of Yuengling tall boys? They're only $5.
Here's Sundowner with "Midsummer Classic".
This one was going to be about baseball, namely about how NOT STOKED I am that the season is nearing its end and how the Braves amazingly made it a little farther into the season before shooting themselves in the foot and dashing a possible playoff run. There's always 2010.
Jesus Christ, I sound like a Cubs fan. Eww....
Rather, I'm just going to ramble.
I've officially been a college student for 4 years now. For anyone keeping up, I'm only a sophomore. Four hours away from being a junior, but a 22 year-old sophomore nonetheless. I'm saying this because throughout my time at 4 year schools, I have had one major pain in my ass: student loans and the banks that make them. Okay, that's two. Fuck off. They're mainly a pain in my ass (and most other college students that don't have parents that can afford to put them through college) because I'm a chronic procrastinator. My high school guidance counselor told my mother that when I was 16 or 17, and it's still true 5 or 6 years later. I wait until the last minute to apply for the shit and never seem to understand that banks like to dick around and drag you around by the nutsack, making you fax all of this shit in and sign that and sacrifice your first born son to the gods of higher education and blow a goat and all of that horse shit.
After all of that, when the check arrives and clears the bank and tuition and books are paid and bought and rent and bills are paid and WAAAAAAYYYYYY too much of it is wasted on getting drunk six nights a week, you have nothing to look forward to but the panic caused by knowing you're in your twenties and tens of thousands of dollars in debt. Fortunately for me, I never intend on buying a house or very much else that requires good credit and monthly payments until the end of the world. Apartments and used cars suit me just fine.
What I'm getting at is, if you are an institute that is responsible for loaning ungodly amounts of money to people that shouldn't receive large amounts of money (much like myself,) please go to hell.
I love trains. I really do. I honestly love watching a freight train speeding up and down the tracks. Hell, I'll get up and go outside at 2 or 3 in the morning just to watch one pass. I love the sound of a train passing at 3 in the morning. I love knowing that the trains that pass behind my apartment here in Tuscaloosa run through Attalla and near my house everyday. The same train that made me late for school almost every morning that I was high school is the same one that runs through here everyday roughly 3 hours later.
A good night for me involves getting drunk (or at least having a couple of drinks) and wandering up and down the tracks, climbing on the cars that Norfolk Southern and CSX and KCS have left near my place. A good night involves walking down the tracks and jumping out of the way as a train with eight locomotives heads north through town. Being 20 feet from a speeding train is a feeling I can't explain.
My brother and his girlfriend are coming down to visit in a couple of weeks. We were talking about it last night and he said that he wants to get drunk and walk down the tracks with me. I don't have many memories of my grandfather on my mom's side. He died a week and a half after I turned 7. But one that is very clear in my mind is the one of him taking my brother and me down to the tracks when we were little, letting us climb on the cars and putting us in open boxcars. I think that's why I love trains so much.
Anyone want to pack up and steal a ride on one? It'd be fun as hell, even more dangerous, and we'll have a rad story to tell if we don't die (which is a very real possibility; being pulled under, falling through a suicide car, freezing to death in a freezer car, etc.) Dodging car knockers and bulls so we don't get thrown off. I'm willing to take the risks if someone is willing to do it with me.
Before I finish up, I need a new phone. If you use T-Mobile and have an old phone that isn't a total piece of shit, please send it my way. My phone has been continually fucking up and the phone that I'm using now, my brother's old one, has a pretty shitty battery.
Oh yeah, I apparently ask people to marry me when I get drunk.
On an unrelated note, would someone like to buy me a 4-pack of Yuengling tall boys? They're only $5.
Here's Sundowner with "Midsummer Classic".
05 September 2009
The pigskin is actually leather so Jews can play football
If you want to know why I've titled this load of crap that is nothing but me rambling The Asswipe Chronicles, ask me sometime and I'll tell you. Maybe.
Welcome back, least favorite time of the year! I'm gonna say it. Fuck college football. Hell, fuck football. Hell, just a year ago, I liked college football. I think it's almost obligatory considering I go to Alabama, the school with the most mascots in the SEC (a woman's menstrual cycle, an elephant, and a dead Bear.) I even went to a few games, cheered for my school, and cursed the Auburn football team so much at the Iron Bowl that the people around me in the UA student section were offended (apparently calling them "child-touching cocksuckers" goes too far, whatever.)
But I realized after a couple of weeks, and my close proximity to Bryant-Denny Stadium, that I would not be enjoying this for very long. I like to be able to get to places that only take me five minutes to get there in five minutes. Not 45 minutes, while some asshole and his drunk, ugly girlfriend try to get me to pay $25 to park in their yard (but they had free beer!). Fuckers. And don't get me started on the drunk white trash that show up and act like there is a desk at the city limits where they check their common decency, only to retrieve it on the way out of town. "Hey Joe Jack, I've got an empty beer can. Throw it in the trash for me!"
"Fuck that shit Billy, throw it on the ground!"
I hate Tuscaloosa. I hate college football. If you're going to come to the city where I live and trash the place, please die. Or suck a dog's dick. Either one will suffice.
But then again, I'll more than likely watch or try to get tickets to the games. Roll Goddamn Motherfuckin' Tide Roll.
I'm gonna post music videos at the end of this thing because I feel like my taste in music is better than yours. Here's a Fake Problems video.
Diamond Rings
Welcome back, least favorite time of the year! I'm gonna say it. Fuck college football. Hell, fuck football. Hell, just a year ago, I liked college football. I think it's almost obligatory considering I go to Alabama, the school with the most mascots in the SEC (a woman's menstrual cycle, an elephant, and a dead Bear.) I even went to a few games, cheered for my school, and cursed the Auburn football team so much at the Iron Bowl that the people around me in the UA student section were offended (apparently calling them "child-touching cocksuckers" goes too far, whatever.)
But I realized after a couple of weeks, and my close proximity to Bryant-Denny Stadium, that I would not be enjoying this for very long. I like to be able to get to places that only take me five minutes to get there in five minutes. Not 45 minutes, while some asshole and his drunk, ugly girlfriend try to get me to pay $25 to park in their yard (but they had free beer!). Fuckers. And don't get me started on the drunk white trash that show up and act like there is a desk at the city limits where they check their common decency, only to retrieve it on the way out of town. "Hey Joe Jack, I've got an empty beer can. Throw it in the trash for me!"
"Fuck that shit Billy, throw it on the ground!"
I hate Tuscaloosa. I hate college football. If you're going to come to the city where I live and trash the place, please die. Or suck a dog's dick. Either one will suffice.
But then again, I'll more than likely watch or try to get tickets to the games. Roll Goddamn Motherfuckin' Tide Roll.
I'm gonna post music videos at the end of this thing because I feel like my taste in music is better than yours. Here's a Fake Problems video.
Diamond Rings
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