Sometimes, being hidden is difficult. I mean, we live in Charlotte, so hiding is not really something we place a lot of emphasis on. I mean, we have a giant light up penis in the middle of our city and radiant pink towers. We left subtle behind years ago. But sometimes, being hidden is to be desired. A few examples of how not to hide.
I only noticed the kid hiding underneath because he is not paisley-colored. And yes, I realize paisley is not a color. It’s a colour. There is a difference.
I realize sometimes a call center has to stay hidden for security reasons. I mean, if I ever find out where Time Warner hides their employees… Or those fuckers at the Butterball Turkey Hotline who think they’re better than me… But seriously… Putting ‘Call Center’ up on the doors doesn’t help. Your employees know where you are. Other people don’t. Put up something like Premier Worldwide Advantage, Inc LLC. No one knows what that shit means.
And ye shall know the Anti-Chhrist by the mark of the beast. And ye shall know where he doth park by the mark of the beast and the reasonable rates and affordable long-term options (call for details).
Lets get the boring bit out the way up front. We have a new show this weekend. It’s going to be awesome. Seriously, if you don’t know what an awesome show we put on, you really have no reason to be reading this blog (unless you’re my mom, in which case you’re doing this to make sure I haven’t become completely homeless or so degenerate that my prostitute-induced diseases have finally driven me so mad that I can’t read any more). Come to the show. It will complete you.
That being said, I do not get what some people do with their car stickers. You’ve seen them. The kidnapper to-do list that soccer moms and poetry major fathers put on the back of their minivans.
What the heck does this even mean?
This I can appreciate. This person tells other people not only are they lazy, they are an advocate of laziness, perhaps having written a blog about their endurance training up to an 18 hour long couch-riding binge TV watching marathon.
Or they are handicapped.
Sure, it could be an Autobot… or it could be a Decepticon claiming to be an Autobot. That is exactly the sort of thing a Decepticon would do. Because that’s what they do. They Decept. Its right there in the name.
I’ve got nothing.
Come on out to the show this weekend at Upstage people. We look forward to seeing you.
I try not to do the lazy man’s blog post with just photos too often, especially not ones of my own, but today I explore Fair Use by posting a couple of pictures from the Carolina Night Life folks. I like looking at their photos because they make me happy I don’t drink at the bars they photograph. Any place you have to dress up for that doesn’t also come with a steak dinner is not a place I want to drink.
I presume the theme of this party was space and that the girl is a sexy astronaut, but I have to say that there is an imbalance of costuming. All of the nerds I know would also point out that even as a space activity suit, her outfit is wanting. Lady, what you need is a cuff with an airtight seal.
I don’t even know what to say to this one. Do I point out that the guy looks like a young Fred Willard and that he appears to be getting into what I’m sure is an awesome Limbo pose? Do I point out that the girl looks far too sober to be tolerating grinding from an off-duty old west impersonator at Carowinds this early in the evening? Or that the girl in the pink dress purchased it after she tested to make sure that there was at least an angels breath of space between the bottom of her dress and the start of a lingerie show?
PS – If you drink too much at an outer space party and need to know how to throw up in space… An astronaut explains.
PPS – If you do decide to wear a space suit in a very warm climate while performing on stage, make sure you know what you’re doing.
This is a piece I’d written way back in December that I couldn’t sell for beer money, so I’m putting it up now.
I’m running away from something that happened several weeks ago. It has followed me all the way to this New Orleans police station and now I know there is no escape. I will have to face it sooner or later, so let it be now.
What has been following me, you ask? Monday.
Not just any Monday, though. No. This Monday is the sort that hides behind other names like ‘Tuesday’ and ‘Saturday’ and its been after me for weeks. In its wake? Financial issues, destruction, death and even a botched order at Taco Bell.
I’m not even safe here inside the Rampart police station as twenty police officers rush outside to protect me (and presumably the citizenry of New Orleans) from a gun-wielding nut-job that is shooting at people right next door to a police station. They said it was a nut-job, but I know it is actually a Monday in disguise.
Now, I’m not talking about the Office Space ‘case of the Mondays’ or the inconvenience you feel at the weekend being over. No, I’m talking about a real, predatory force of nature that wants to see you suffer. Suffering on the order or Job, Hamlet or my girlfriend in high school who knew me during my haircut experiment phase.
A real Monday will hunt you down like the sun during a true summer heat wave. It will come for you like a scorned woman. A scorned ugly woman.
This all started two and a half weeks ago (on a Monday) with a rather simple but obnoxious event: a piece of gravel fell off a truck and cracked my windshield. I think the truck was with Overloaded, Precariously Secured Gravel Transport Co. of The Carolinas, LLC. I was practically begging for a cracked windshield being a lane over and 10 car lengths behind and my car was practically smug with its recently replaced windshield-itude. That’s right. With the way my windshield was dressed it was asking for it.
The thought of having to spend an extra $200 two months after having done the same to replace it before? It kind of funked up my Monday. Then work turned sideways. Then I had to sign up for identity theft protection because the state of SC can’t secure their tax returns from hackers. I eventually gave up on Monday, went home and slept. I woke up expecting Tuesday to be waiting for me when I woke up, but no… I wake up to Monday, staring at me, well rested and eating a very nutritious breakfast so it can go the distance in screwing me over.
Monday Redux held an astonishly unoriginal series of events. More obnoxious customer service. Family arguments. Stupid twitter trending. Remembering case numbers to call an 800 number and sit on hold.
Screw this I thought. I’m opting out of Tuesday, I am going to my happy place: the bar at Wild Wing Cafe. I know, its not exactly the most inspirational place. I should have said a park with a fountain or a meadow with frolicking horses, but if those things made me happy in the way that beer and wings did, I’d probably be far thinner and constantly toting around Emily Dickinson books.
So that day ended on a high (though cholesterol-filled) note. Because I don’t write a column about optimism or heart-warming tales of humanity, you can figure that the series of low-level traumas continued in a clown car like fashion for several miserable weeks. When I grew numb to the irritation, Monday upped its game and started in on the killing people. Yes, full stop. Death. I’d write in more detail about that and throw in some amazing life-altering revelations for you, but I don’t have the emotional depth to deal with it yet or the literary talent to impress you while I write about it. And to top that off, the next day, they screwed up my Taco Bell order at the drive through. Excuse me, where is my Doritos Tacos Locos, you cruel, inhuman monster?
And so it was then that I ran from Charlotte to New Orleans. Much like in sports, business and dating, sometimes you need an easy win, so why not go for a Big Easy win? I was coming here for a friend’s wedding on the Mayan Apocalypse, no less (for the curious, the couple was dressed for the apocalypse as the lead characters of Clockwork Orange and Hitchhiker’s Guide).
“’This must be [Monday],’ said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer, ‘I never could get the hang of [Mondays].’”
– Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (dates changed to protect the innocent)
In true horror movie form, Monday started trying to take down my friends one by one. It arranged for one of my friends new smartphone to be stolen on the first day in New Orleans and killed a member of her family on the second day (helpful Monday body-count: 2). It also struck my other friend with unmanageable hair. Yes, Monday can be wildly uneven in its cruelty.
It has been a few hours since anyone saw Monday. It could be a trick. It could be a trap. It could be a tricky trap. Like life after the apocalypse, you can’t think too far ahead. You can only think about today and about staying alive.
And Garfield? I’m sorry for mocking you as a morbidly obese sociopathic cat; You were just trying to survive Mondays. If kicking Odie off the table is what it takes for you to get by, you do it.