24 Hours in ATL

Well, maybe it's been more like 26 or even 27, but who's counting?

Had a good meeting with our clients. I even upsold something, and I'm not a damn salesman! And I saw a revolving door try to eat a security guard.

Anyways, I bucked up and went to the Gladys Knight Chicken and Waffle house. Gotta' be completely honest - it was pretty damn good! I order the chicken waffle (was chicken and red onions and peppers in a waffle, sounded interesting) but instead ended up with a chicken omlet. The waiter offered to get me the waffle, but he was looking all nervous and junk and I had a feeling between my first waiter's height, my inability to annunciate worth a shit and the fact I have constant ringing in my ears with it filled with snot (still) and may not have heard him right when he double checked the order, I figured, what the hell, go with it. And I'm glad I did. The omlet part was only okay. But the chicken and onions and peppers inside? Fucking fantastic! BTW, jamie, there were finely-dressed people in suits. I was in an old Carhart jacket and my swassest t-shirt (yeah, like Sir Mix-A-Lot swass!) and looked like an under-dressed honkey. Oh well. I am what I am. Since I was being brave and going with omlets (I'm really not a big fan, but damn the chicken in it was sooooooooo delicious!) when the waiter asked me if I wanted dessert, I said sure. Between the monster Cokes and the omlet, I was pretty damn full, but figured what the hell. So I asked him what he recommended. He smiled and said the sweet potato cheesecake. And it was also delicious! A little salty (not gross, but still), but it was damn good! So would I recommend this place? Hell yeah. Plus one of the hostesses was from Oregon. She had no idea where I was from, but I knew where she was from. I'll be back. But it wasn't the place I was expecting. And I wish I had another clean button-up shirt to wear there. Next time I'll know.

Outside the place I ended up talking to this Puerto Rican guy who was pretty nice. A hustler? Perhaps. He seemed like a decent guy and I ended up bullshitting with him for 20 minutes or so. And I gave him some cash. But he might of saved my white ass from getting "cracker-jacked" (that term cracks me up!). Anyways, turns out he's quasi-homeless or something and had/has a ministry and God told him to come to Atlanta. So he did. Now here's the crazy part. He's doing a helluva' good job being the pious guy (which is why I suspect he's half hustler) and talking about God and ministry and stuff, he asks me if I'm looking for the strip clubs. And which one to go to if I want a lap dance. Now this is a church I could get into! But I'm not the biggest fans of strip clubs (perhaps I'll post about that some other time) so I said thanks but no thanks. But still! That shit cracked me up! After visiting with him, and he warning me where not to go, and me being an out of towner and not knowing where to go, I decided I'd better just head back to the hotel.

The funny thing is that I saw the news last night. Shit does not sound good. But it's so hard to believe because everyone here is so nice. Everyone. Maybe it's because I have dopey-ass out of towner tattooed on my forehead. I dunno. At any rate, I like your town, Jamie. Good people here. And I think next time I'll try finding Cartoon Network and go to the History Center. And to Gladys Knight's Chicken and Waffles place.

10 Observations of Atlanta/Georgia After Being Here for Five Hours

There are a lot of places to eat waffles.

The streets could be marked a little better.

The beer selection is better than Illinois, but not as good as my beloved Oregon.

The Mexican radio station is muy bien!

It's slicker than shit when it rains.

No toll roads are a damn good thing (you payin' attention, Illinois and Indiana?).

Though ATL is home of Cartoon Network, it doesn't come in worth a shit in my hotel room.

Did I see a snowflake flag while zooming around lost? Just seems odd in a place that isn't known for snowmobiling and skiing. But what the hell do I know? I've only been here for five hours!

No offense, O'Hare is a nicer airport. But I like it better than Newark!

Hey! There are fewer Starbucks here than in Seattle and NYC! Hooray!

Goddammit! When Did This Happen!

Some how in the last thirteen years of being away from the homeland, I became a Valley Person.

I don't think you quite grasp the consquenses of this. See, around here where you're from is your identity (hence the reason I couldn't move right over the border without having to live with California plates on my car. It's bad enough the missus put a damn "Tree Cheers for the Aboretum!" bumper sticker on it. It's so Valley it ain't even funny. Well, maybe it is, when you think about some log truck driver reading my bumper and riding my ass. I swear, if some asshole decides he's gonna' pick a fight with me over that goddamm bumper sticker, I'm gonna' shove a dictionary up his ass and tell him to look the fucking word up) and there are certain types of people who are appreciated than others. Living right on the border means you can't necessarily judge a car by its license plate. And the same with some bumper stickers. But outside of Californians, the most loathed people are Valley people.

Yes, the beloved green land of rolling hills and gray skies that I used to affectionately write about loving and missing once I moved back here. And I do love the land over there. But a large majority of the people I could do without. Which makes it all that more painful to realize I somehow became one of them.

It's not in the most obvious ways. I don't have a "Nader" sticker on my car (which most people with Arborteum stickers do) and I don't wear Patagonia fleeces. But little shit, like being amazed that stores close at seven in the small towns or at nine in the large ones, or not carrying cash because I have a debit card, or waiting to the last possible moment to put studs on my car, shit like that is stuff I've grown used to not dealing with and is making me more like my Valley bretheren.

Please make no mistake - there's no shortage of rednecks or hicks or hillbillies in the Valley. As a matter of fact, I've never seen such an assortment. But they still have this sensibility that has them adapted to the rainy season and warmer weather and open 'til midnightedness that you only have on that side of the hill. Over here, not so much.

I have to buy snowboots. Hell, I don't know the last time I had real for real snowboots. I hated the snow (and after the last two days I'm remembering why) and there was no way I was going skiing or anywhere in the mountains that had to do with snow. I have to buy a new ice scraper. I only used my old one in September when it was too cold and clear to snow but just right for frost. And I have to run to the bank (yeah, it's not open after five or on the weekends at all) and get some more cash.

*sigh* Well, I suppose there are worse things in life than becoming a Valley person. It's just sad to think all these years the one thing I felt made me different than all those assholes up there was where I came from. Now I suppse that's what's making me different than all these assholes down here.

Yeah, Another Post About the Awesomeness of DBT

Splurged on CD last night. One I've wanted for a while, well, since it was released. The Drive By Truckers "A Blessing and A Curse". If you haven't listened to them yet, you really ought to. Yeah, someone might try to classify it on ya and make it to where you might not want to listen to it. I've heard them called alt country, alternative, adult alternative, Southern rock, rock - think of something you'd call a band from the south that has twang mixed with the sound pouring from a flying V and you get the picture. All you need to know is they produce great fucking music. Bar none. They've got to be one of the best bands to come out in a helluva' long time.

Anyways, after dropping the girl off, I was listening to a song Patterson Hood wrote called "World of Pain". In it was this lyric/chunk of philosophy:

"To love is to feel pain" there ain't no way around it
The very nature of love is to grieve when it is over
The secret to a happy ending is knowing when to role the credits
Better role them now before something else goes wrong
No, it's a wonderful world, if you can put aside the sadness
And hang on to every ounce of beauty upon you
Better take the time to know it there ain't no way around it
If you feel anything at all

Go check them out. Drive By Truckers: Best Fucking Band Around. Period.

Right Now . . . . .

I wish I were drinking a beer. Or at least had a nice beer buzz.

I wish I had a smoke. For some reason a cigarette sounds good. Maybe it's because the rain is killing the snow.

I wish I had gotten regular coffee instead of the super sweet fake-ass crappacino mucka bullshit I got.

I could go for a V8 as well.

I wish the fucking VPN worked with my satellite broadband. If it did I wouldn't be sitting here babysitting a fucking report.

I wish I had brought a sketch pad and some pencils.

I wonder where the Sunflower is and if she's happy. I hope so.

I also wonder how Joelemite is doing. Crazy fucker.

I hate these fucking reports!!!!!! ARRGGHGGHGH!!!!!!!! If I had a gun . . . . . . I'd have to buy a new fucking computer.

I wonder how far out I have to make an appointment with Jeff Gogue? The guy's a fucking prophet for his craft.

I'm tired.

I wish I knew how to weld.

I wish I had time and money to dump into the Olds.

I wonder if I should dump the Olds and get a pickup? I need a fucking pickup. I'm so sick of having to borrow them. Especially when I have to be grateful to drive some POS with touchy brakes and windows that don't roll up. I hate fucking borrowing shit.

I wonder if I should have majored in art instead of advertising? Probably would still be a parts driver if I did.

I hope it's not slick out.

I wanna' hear Janie Jones over and over.

I wonder when they're gonna' cut me loose.

I hope they don't.

Speaking of the Clash . . . . . .

I really like the "London Calling" album. Out of the three I have, I think it's my favorite. Of course, if I were to pick a favorite song, it'd either have to be the Card Cheat, Janie Jones or Guns of Brixton.

It's funny though. Whenever someone asks me, I always tell them I hate '80's music. Then I start listening to this shit or Husker Du or the Replacements or some other band like that. Sure, they're not hair metal or any of that other poppy-bullshit. But they are something that spurred the movement in music today. And they are a product of their era.

This stupid-ass post is proof I need more meds and more sleep.

Thank you. Can I make a ten cuppa?

I Dunno . . . . .

You ever sit down in front of your computer, feel like writing something but all that comes to your head is shit?

The Card Cheat is playing in my earphones. I love this damn song. I can almost see it being a graphic novel about a time traveler. I've more or less written it in my head. If only I could get motivated to do more than just think about it.

And I bitch about that about myself all the time - my lack of follow through. Maybe it's because I'm lazy. Maybe it's because I don't know how to end it so I never begin it. Or maybe it's because I realize, honestly realize, that I'm a hack. If I never produce anything, no one will ever now how big of a hack I am.

I'm good at my job. But I'm not great. I've made myself valuable, but not so valuable they didn't want to hire a boss for me. I wanted help, I got supervision. And why? It boils down to that for all my try and pluck, I'm a hack. Perhaps if I took some classes about html and junk I'd be worth more, but we get to the lack of follow through again.

Please don't mistake this for some sort of pity party. I think it's good to realize one's faults. I'd hate to think I was great and find out I was just a hack. Instead of going down, I can only go up. Assuming I get the follow-through thing handled.

Note from the Homeland

Well, though life still feels all disconnected and I feel like I'm living in a floating world of sorts, all in all life is pretty good. I'm back where I (probably) belong, and, save a bum ankle, all are healthy and mostly happy.

Looks like there'll be more travel in my future as well: Atlanta. I gotta' admit, it's another city I've never had much interest in seeing, but it should be fun. Well, as fun as a flight and a night with a meeting can be. I've always wanted to see parts of the South, but the rural South. I guess urban areas are okay. But still, a city is a city, is it not? Please feel correct me if I'm wrong. And if there is something non-touristy that is a must-see while I'm in the ATL, DEFINITELY let me know. That's the stuff I really want to see.

It's supposed to snow any day now. I'm not all that eager for it; I have about 300 feet of fence to build before winter can start. I guess that's just the way it is. I just hope the ground doesn't freeze. Though snow is in the forecast, rain is here. And I love how it smells here when it rains. The wet juniper and sagebrush mix with the smell of loam and wafts off the hills in the most deliciously earthy scent. It smells so old and so familiar. The smell of wet firs and tall grass never smelled like home. This does, as does the smell of alfalfa at night and dry, stubborn heat. All of it familiar and ancient and welcoming.

Know Who Rocks?

Motorhead!!!!! They're so wrong they're right.