The Smoking Gun

Me and little PacMan, right after we “made it rain” at Wonderdawg’s house.

I hope they don’t call me to testify…

You’re a Mean One, Tubby Smith!

You’re probably an unemployed one, too.

Go `Dores!

Happy Holidays!

No, I’m not taunting you, Grinchie. When I bought my sweetheart her Valentine’s Day card (year 17-no ring) at the Gold Crown Store, they snuck a free datebook calendar in the bag without my noticing.

This pamphlet is full of hints on how to celebrate all the holidays in 2007. All 57 holidays that they have delineated on inside front cover and throughout the calendar. Fifty-seven holidays.

I get eight paid holidays. State and federal workers probably get twice that many. Stacey Campfield should get 365. Eric Crafton should just take tomorrow off and then rinse. Repeat.

Regardless, I’ve obviously been missing out on some important Hallmark Holidays and the opportunity to pay $3.99 to wish someone a pleasant Purim. Or a dandy Doctors Day. Or an entertaining Earth Day. Or an acceptable Administrative Professionals Day. Or a nice National Day of Prayer or Nurses Day. Or a fabulous Flag Day or a fine Friendship Day. Don’t forget a passable Patriot Day. I’ll be expecting a crappy Citizenship Day card from Senor Crafton.

Eid-al-Fitr or Diwali? Not on my calendar. Sorry about that. I’m not intolerant, just ignorant. I did enjoy the tribute to Diwali on “The Office,” though.

Sweetest Day? I’m pretty sure that’s a midwestern thing practiced by the coven of Coble, Jag and B. Maybe if they sent me a carnation or something that day, I’d have a sunnier outlook about that particular holiday.

But what really chaps my buns is that among the 57 holidays, there is no mention of my blogiversary today. 400+ posts and innumerable embarrassing stories about myself and Hallmark doesn’t think I’m worthy of a folded piece of paper.

Fuggem. I’ll buy her flowers and make my own card next year.

Now I May Be a Bear of Very Little Brain*

…but will someone please explain to me why it’s ok to make a fur coat out of a racoon

but it is apparently unconscionable to make a coat out of one of these,

the Chinese Racoon Dog?

Now I don’t wear any fur, but I don’t throw paint on people who do.  I love dogs, but I understand that there are cultural differences between Peruvians who eat grilled guinea pig on a stick and the cage full of the smelly little bastidges I kept when I was twelve.

This controversy baffles me.

* I loves me some “Tao of Pooh.”

Well, Since Lynnster Asked…

RUABelle and I took a cooking class last night in the preparation of tapas. For those of you who have never been to Mirror or Rumba, tapas are a Spanish tradition of presenting a collection of small appetizer plates of very rich, heavily spiced and marinated foods to combine them all into a meal.

We ate all sorts of strange olives, mushrooms, caper berries, shrimp and goat cheese dishes, all drizzled with olive oil and exotic vinegars.

And already I’ve gone to the bathroom four small times this morning.

That’s right…I’ve got the crapas.

Thank you, folks! I’ll be here all week. Which is mercifully almost over!

Live-Blogging the Billy Joel Concert at the GEC

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

I’m sorry. I just took an $87.50 nap.

I remember going to Kuhn’s in Belle Meade in 1975 after “The Sting” was released to buy a 45 of “The Entertainer” by Scott Joplin. I screwed up and bought a Billy Joel song instead. Hey, I was eight. I could barely read. Thus began a lifetime of disappointment with Billy Joel.

Don’t get me wrong. Billy was in excellent form and voice tonight, and his band rocked! I especially liked the numbers where the horn section went tri-saxual. His banter between songs was witty and personable. He played almost every hit I could think of, plus some cool deeper album cuts.

But I like a Krispy Kreme donut every now and then…I just don’t want thirty of them.

Lest you think I slept through the show, here’s the set list:

Prelude/Angry Young Man
My Life
Everybody Loves You Now
The Entertainer
Ballad of Billy the Kid
Allentown
Stuck in Nevada
Zanzibar
New York State of Mind
Rootbeer Rag
Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)
Don’t Ask Me Why
Shameless
She’s Always A Woman
Keepin’ The Faith
The River of Dreams
Highway To Hell
We Didn’t Start The Fire
Big Shot
It’s Still Rock and Roll To Me
You May Be Right

Encores
Only The Good Die Young
Italian Restaurant
Piano Man

I’m glad I went, because it meant a lot to RUABelle, but for the cost of our two tickets I could have bought twenty, yes twenty!, of his albums on iTunes.

It was a late night because traffic was a bear and they delayed the start of the show. To pass the extra half hour, RUABelle and I played a couple of games. First we tried to find the youngest person in the crowd who wasn’t with their parents. We figured about 30 years old. Then we played count the black people in the arena that weren’t beer vendors. We stopped counting after 3. Cuz that’s all we saw. Oh well, I have to head to Birmingham at 6:30 tomorrow morning and back in the afternoon. So I guess it’s time to finish this nap in my own bed.

It’s Not “Smudgy Head Wednesday,” People!

I’m not Catholic, but RUABelle is.  I was baptised Episcopalian, and my grandfather was an Episcopalian minister.  So outside of marryin’ and buryin’, most of my trips to church have been to that denomination.  But I have to admit that I can probably count them with my shoes off.

Regardless of my heathenhood, I still usually give up lots of things for Lent as an act of self-denial in an attempt to better myself.  Some years I have given up throwing rocks at whales.  Once, I gave up my New Year’s resolutions for Lent.  But of late, I have tried to take it more seriously.  Usually the  sacrifices have been food-related and easy to substitute for: fried foods, Chinese food, beer, caffeine etc.

Giving up fried food probably helped my arteries for a month and a half, but I don’t eat a lot of it anyway.  Chinese buffets have been a weakness of mine for years,  but there’s always some other cholesterol buffet smorgasbord somewhere to overfill my tummy.  Giving up beer just led to a lot of George Dickel hangovers.  Lack of caffeine made me feel suicidal during the 3-4 day withdrawal period.

Plus, I’ve already given up caffeine in an attempt to get my blood pressure into the non-stroke range without the use of medication.  Now that I’m over the pounding headaches, it’s not that hard to manage.  (Anybody want a half case of Sundrop?)

So whatever I give up has to be good.  RUABelle and I thought about it and decided to bite the bullet.  We’re going vegetarian for 40 days.  Not vegan. We’re not that strong and we loves us some cheese.  But we’re gonna try going meatless.  The only out we’re offering ourselves is maybe some seafood since we’re going to New Orleans for three days during RUABelle’s spring break, and that would just be stupid to not eat seafood in that city.  To rationalize it, we just started Lent a few days early.

So I’m looking for support and sponsors.  Is there such a thing as a patch for vegetarians?  A pork patch?  Some chicken gum?  (Ugh.  I hate gum.)

RUABelle’s giving up sweets, so I guess I am too by extension.  I don’t ever eat them anyway unless she starts the process.   Plus, she’d kick my butt if I pulled out a chocolate bar or a dish of ice cream in fornt of her right now.

Did you notice I just typed “butt” in the last paragraph?  That’s because the other thing I’m giving up is swearing.  I’ve tried this before and it’s really hard.  I slip up occasionally, but I figure as long as I’m conscious of it and try to modify my behavior, it’s not worth quitting just because I let the occasional “f-bomb” fly.

So the ole Dry Spot might be a little less interesting until Easter.  Or at least a little less salty in the language department.  What think you?  The folks that use dingbat symblos to cover up their cussing for the front page of NiT-is that cheating?  F*ck if I know…

It Has Nothing to Do With Big Australian Birds

In the fifth century BC in the City State of Athens, once a year citizens would gather in the Agora. They would take shards of broken pottery, known as ostrako, and write the name of any citizen who they would like to see banished from the city for a period of ten years. He lost none of his status or any of his property or possessions. But the penalty for entering the city before the ten years was up was death.

From the name of the bits of pottery used as ballots, this procedure was known as ostracism.

According to the wikipedia:

“Ostracism (Greek ὀστρακισμός ostrakismos) was a procedure under the Athenian democracy in which a prominent citizen could be expelled from the city-state of Athens for ten years. While some instances clearly expressed popular anger at the victim, ostracism was often used pre-emptively. It was used as a way of defusing major confrontations between rival politicians (by removing one of them from the scene), neutralizing someone thought to be a threat to the state, or exiling a potential tyrant. Crucially, ostracism had no relation to the processes of justice. There was no charge or defence, and the exile was not in fact a penalty; it was simply a command from the Athenian people that one of their number be gone for ten years.”

I’m looking at you, Eric Crafton.

If you want to waste the time and resources of the Metro Government on your own tiny-minded attempt to undermine the reputation of our fair city, I think I might like to work on a little petition of my own. Check out Sec. 15.06.-Recall of metropolitan officers.

What I Have Learned This Weekend From my Front-Row Seat at the Miracle of Birth

You can drive 95 mph on I-24 westbound on a Friday night and you won’t necessarily get pulled over. You won’t even be the fastest car on the road.

Epidurals are a very good thing and should, in my opinion, be started at the beginning of the third trimester.

The process of determining how dialated a mom-to-be is reminds me a lot what I did at the end of dead end streets at night during high school. Not alone.

They mean centimeters, not inches. Duh.

Don’t even think about trying to figure out what your delivery-room doctor gets paid as an hourly basis. Figure it’s 1% for the labor, 80% for the education and the balance for malpractice insurance.

Little girls are a little harder to clean up during diaper changing time. But on the upside, they’re much less likely to surprise you with a firehose maneuver as soon as you remove the soiled Huggie.

If you get upgraded to a bigger room after recovery, you apparently get a younger, hotter nurse. Well done, DogDoc.

Baby toys look a lot like dog toys, but they are less likely to squeak when you squeeze them.

RUABelle really likes to shop for baby clothes. Especially pink ones. With pictures of Pooh bear on them.

If all goes well, they let you (make you) take the baby home with you after a few days. There is no longer a team of nurses to take care of you and the baby, and the training is minimal. Much less than the Driver’s Ed I had to take to get a license.

Luckily, people have been doing this forever in the bush, the desert and the tundra. I have no doubt that good people who are intelligent and loving will  be unbelievable parents!

But it may take a village. Private CeeElCee reporting for duty, ma’am.

Did I mention how beautiful she is?

I Believe That Children Are Our Future…

Now that I’ve actually seen the beautiful baby produced by the DogDog and Mrs. Dookie (she deserves a better name than that, but I don’t want to involve her more in the blogosphere than I already have) I can confidently state that they have had a beautiful baby girl.

In respect for their anonymity, I won’t mention any names or share any pictures. But imagine the most beautiful little girl you’ve ever seen. She’s beautifuler than that.

Did I mention how beautiful she is?

Break Out the Pom Poms

It’s a little girl!

20 hours of labor. 30 minutes of pushing. 10 fingers. 10 toes. 6 lbs. 13 oz. 19 inches. Sounds like a keeper to me!

Still no name, so Smokey Manhole is still in the running.

DogDoc Baby Watch

For those of you who know him, DogDoc is currently on pins and needles waiting for the arrival of his first offspring. Contrary to popular belief, despite the fact that both parents are veterinarians, they have not made a pile of sweaters in the closet to prepare for the birthing.

In fact, RUABelle and I had made it all the way to Sewanee and had one bottle of wine down when we got the phone call that they were on the way to the hospital. We had a wonderful visit with them last night, and were fortunate enough to arrive right after the epidural had been administered, so everybody was in great sprits. As of 9:00 am CST, still no baby; but we’re within a few hours. We’re all extremely excited!

The baby’s gender is still unknown, and they haven’t settled on a (or two) name yet. There is an extra layer of expectation as we all wait for these surprises to be revealed. After months of complaining that we didn’t know whether to buy a tiny Alabama football jersey or a tiny Duke cheerleader uniform, I’ve decided that they did absolutely the right thing by maintaining one of the only mysteries left in our over-informed society.

But about the name…I figured I would pitch in my suggestion based on the old Native American tradition of naming a newborn baby after something observed in nature at the time of the birth.

I propose…Smokey Manhole.

Good Reason#47 why CeeElCee is childless.

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?

 In amongst the spam emails written entirely in Cyrillic (what the hell do they think I’m gonna do with that?) and the subject lines insulting my manhood, (”How can she stand taking your limp 3 inches of man-meat?”) I received the most delightful email from a poor Russian girl who apparently needs my help.

It follows:

“Hello!
How are you? My name is Maria . I am 26 years old. I live in Russia, city Zelenodolsk . I am cheerful woman, and like to do many things as sport, camping, go to the cinema, theatre etc. In a word I like to do all what like all people. I work in marketing structure on sale of clock.
My dream this travel abroad. I know the english language well enough..
I began to study english language approximately one year ago.
I wish tell to you history which have pushed me write to you. 5 months ago I have got acquainted with the man from other country by name Shakir. During this time we had good relations. We have understood that our relations become serious and we have decided to meet in his country.
I wrote the application for reception the visa.
I waited reception of the visa approximately half of year. All time I kept in touch with Shakir through the internet and often called to each other. I and Shakir waited reception of the visa to our meeting. I have received the invitation from the ambassador for reception of the visa.
My director has given me long-term holiday from work and I have gone to Moscow to receive the visa. I informed good news to Shakir, but he has answered, that does not want our meeting.
He played with me. He has informed that has the wife with two children and at all has no plans to meet me. I was not ready to such turn of events. I could not think what even after 5 months of acquaintance he can so unscrupulously act with me. Now I am in Moscow trip to Moscow and reception of visa. I do not want that all was gone for nothing and will be glad if my visa will be useful to our meeting.
I could arrive already through 5-6 days, but a problem in that that now I have no man which would like my arrival. Probable it will silly sound but if you will be interested in a meeting with the good woman I shall like to meet you sometime soon. As Shakir was dishonest with me I have decided to find the man which is interested to meet the woman from Russia. I do not know your ideas about my letter, but it would be fine if we could meet and have some weeks or months together. On my trip I want to receive rest from my work and a life in Russia. Also the basic purpose for the future it is search good men for serious attitudes which go to a marriage. I have no children, but I want to have children in the future.
I am the mature woman and ready to creation of family with good man. I do not know what you really search in the future but if we could meet I shall be happy to discuss with you more about our meeting. What are you going to do this time? It would be fine if we could meet, do friendship or more than simply friendship. I shall be happy if you also have a free time and we could meet soon. I do not know your interests, but anyhow write to me back and I shall tell to you more about myself.
Write to me all that you want. Maybe we have similar plans and it will be interesting to us together.
You can write all that you want. Ask any questions which interest you.
Write to me back and I shall tell more about myself and send more my photos.
Please, write to me back on my regular e-mail: xxxxx@xx.xx Have a good day, Maria.”

You’ll notice I’ve x’ed out the email address she sent me.  She’s all mine, boys.

This Should Let You Know How My Week Has Gone…

The highlight of the week is that we got piss-mats under the urinals.  I was getting really tired of standing in a yellow ochre spot that never really went away even after the bathroom got its bi-weekly cleaning.

Ugh.

Remember This?

http://thedryspot.wordpress.com/2006/11/04/sorry-aunt-b/

Pitchers and catchers report to the Cubs spring training today.  So it’s on, bay-bee!  If you’d like to follow along with my decent into futility and alcoholism, join me over here at “The Born Again Cubs Fan.”

Adjust your blogrolls and feed-readers accordingly.

Heck’s Angel

RUABelle and I had a Saturday night to kill in Key West and very little plan other than a dinner reservation at a nice seafood restaurant called 7 Fish. So our intent was to just wander the streets of Old Town and ask for advice on the next venue from every service personnel we encountered. May I recommend this sort of plan the next time you have absoultely no clue what to do in a strange city.

We hit the stereotypical spots, the crazy joints, the locals hideaways and the best live music bars for 1-2 beers apiece and had a great time!

But about midway through the evening, I noticed a strange phenomenon happening. People were walking in a wide path around me and refusing to make eye contact. I’m not in any way a threatening guy. I’m the guy who, if there’s twenty-seven people waiting in line for a hot dog at a ball game and I’m number nineteen, the pass-through cut will invariably open up in front of me. Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons cross to the other side of the street when they see me coming because they figure somebody’s already gotten to me and my rap might be better than theirs. I once had somebody else’s cat back up to my foot and take a dump on my tennis shoe. I’m that kinda dude.

So the concept of people looking intimidated by me baffled me. Then I realized what I was wearing. Another one of the presenters at the conference I spoke at last week was the past-CEO of Harley Davidson. So all of us speakers got nice black long-sleeve Harley Shirts with a logo on the front and some flames on one of the sleeves. Nothing too aggressive. It was a little bit windy and just a bit on the chilly side, so I opted to wear my new shirt out since I didn’t have anything else clean with long sleeves.

But I wore it with khakis, ferchrissakes! What could be intimidating about that? Then I realized that most of the bars we were drinking in were in the 700-800 block of Duval Street, AKA “The Pink Triangle.” Not that you would have noticed in most of them, since all of the bars were full of an eclectic crowd anyway.

But that was it…your friend, CeeElCee, intimidator of the alternative lifestylers. Yeah, right.

For proof, here’s a picture of me leaning up against my hog.

Vroom, vroom. Ciao.

Now the Fun Part Begins

Speech is done. Nobody walked out. I didn’t bleed from any visible orifices. I’d call that a passing grade.

Now RUABelle and I are taking a hell-bent-for-leather trip down to the Keys to make by sunset. Then we fly home tomorrow.

Sometimes it’s just fun to burn some fossil fuels and throw off some greenhouse gases. Fuggabuncha Al Gore.

Trying Out This Mobile WordPress Thingie

Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? Testing, testing. 1-2-3. Check one. Check. CHECK!  Yeah I’ve done a little roadie work.

RUABelle is playing hooky for a few days so that she can join me at a convention here in Florida. It sure is nice not to have to sleep alone in a hotel bed.

There isn’t any soap in the shower. Just a grapefruit/mint bath gel. Great, now I’ll be hungry all day…

Grille-in’ and Chillin’

RUABelle and I had the best time last night at the Sportsman’s Grille sharing libations with Aunt B, NewsComa, the DogDoc, Badger and, in a suprise appearance, the Rodent Queen. (Wow, it does sound a bit like a trip to the circus.)

I wish I could remember everything we talked about, because I’m pretty sure we solved all the world’s problems. We need a live-blogger to follow us around because it’s too dark to write anything down in there.

When I woke up this morning, (no, that’s not the beginning of a blues song, B.) I took a two-minute, Tom Hanks in “A League of Their Own” pee and didn’t even change the color of the toilet water. So I’m pretty sure there was beer involved.

DogDoc hadn’t spent too much time talking, or rather listening and giggling, with my blogger friends. He was quite smitten. I’m sure he needed the mental break what with his life about to change imminently with the arrival of first baby DogDoc.

We all knew how great the Dresden mafia was, but decided that Ms. Badger by herself would be worth a 100 mile detour on any trip just to listen to her tell stories in her hilarious staccato style. And we will make that return trip soon.

Good times.

El Ingles No Es la Lengua Oficial del Punto Seco

Algunos días me desconciertan para vivir en Nashville.

Eric Crafton es un pendejo.