I'm not a big drinker.  In fact, I really haven't been since my mid-20s.  Still, there are times that simply call for a large intake of alcohol.  For me, that time came today.  Over the weekend, I started to feel the promise of an impending cold and this morning, that promise was realized.  I reluctantly took a shot of DayQuil (I say "reluctantly", because, for all its claims of being non-drowsy, it still throws me for a real loop) and set about my work day. 

Cough syrup, to me, is like an opiate.  I don't know what this says about my physiology, but it causes me to walk around in a fog, much like I'm viewing footage shot by a video camera, rather than experiencing my own life.  It alters my mood--often drastically.  Sometimes, it causes me to hallucinate.  This may be great at home, where I can lay down on my bed and watch the colors, but it's not so great on the job.  After about an hour at work, it became abundantly clear that I wasn't going to hack it and I left after about 4 hours.  With a miserable cold hanging on and the DayQuil mercifully dissipating, I left work and headed to the liquor store.  Once upon a time, it was suggested to me that a certain libation called Joaquin's Rock 'n' Rye would "burn that cold out".  Well, it should have, I found out, since it was basically grain alcohol.  I later found out that R'n'R was so sickeningly, syrupy sweet, that It replaced my head cold with nausea.  This time, I thought I would go with something strong, but that I know I can stomach.  My choice: cherry liquer.  I love cherries--my favorite fruit, without a doubt.  Also, the bottle said 45% alcohol by volume.  That'll do.

The transaction at the counter was memorable:

Clerk: "Gonna have a big time, are ya?"

Me:     "Nah.  I'm going to use it for medicinal purposes."

Clerk: "Have you tried Rock 'n' Rye?"

Me;     "Yeah...Didn't really agree with me."

Clerk:  "It works;  just lettin' ya know."

Me:      "Thanks.  I'll see if this works."

Clerk:   "Okay.  Good luck with that."

Me:      "I'm sure it's just a minor viral thing..."

Clerk:  (Looking down at bottle)  "No.  Good luck with that."

                                                        ****

By the time I reached my house, I couldn't breathe through my nose.  To make things worse, I could barely breathe at all, and what breathing I could manage was belabored and very wheezy.  It was time to break out the 750 ml. liquid cough drop. 

By my estimation, there's no better time for me to to get righteously soused than when I'm woefully sick.  I mean, I'm already miserable.  What are the chances that getting drunk would make me feel any worse.  Often, it kind of makes it more bearable.  After getting a few in me, I'm more relaxed and better able to sleep through my sickness, plus, the alcohol does tend to cut through the congestion and open my airways.  I'm generally a happy drunk, too, which doesn't hurt. 

Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones described his inebriated state during his band's infamous interview on the British Today television show as "having a good ol' time".   By the time I was 3/4 through my bottle of hooch, I, too was having a "good ol' time", but I was strangely not in the disposition to sleep.  That was the main point of doing what I did.  At least my buzz took a bit of the edge off of the sickness.  I watched DVDs on the bed.  Oddly enough, in my state, the movies I watched were all Australian:  You and Your Stupid Mate, Wolf Creek and Danny Deckchair--nevermind what a bizarre triple feature that amounts to, especially in that order.  My awesome little cat, Iggy, recognized I was in ill sorts and dutifully stood guard over me in the bedroom.  That was pretty cool, I have to say.  He obviously thinks highly of me.  

As I post this, my buzz has faded and I'm still undeniably sick.  All that remains for me to do is drink some Gatorate, take a vitamin and half an aspirin and hope that I'm not sick for different reasons tomorrow.  Next time I decide to get waxed-down while I'm sick, I'm going to go for the Jaeger.  God help me.

With the 2008 Beijing Olympics winding to a halt like a Tiananmen Square protest after the Type 59 Armoured Tanks arrive, it seems only fitting to recap some of the more obscure events that, while somewhat overlooked, added to the overall flavor of the Games. 

1)     Deflecting attention from John Edwards' affair and potential love-child.
2)     Embittering Mark Spitz:

3)     Falun Gong Self-immolation (exhibition only; no medals)
4)     Smog Put Field Event
5)     State Suppression of Speech-athalon
6) Horrifying Compound Fractures Medley   Beanball!
7)    
7.5)  Lead-based Kiddie Toy Relay
8)     Confusing John McCain
9)     Women's Beach Volleyball ('Cuz deep down, I'm a pig.)

Kerri Walsh:  She can volley my serve any day.  R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R!!
10) Protester Head-crack Freestyle

Thanks for reading--see you at the 2010 Winter Games in sunny Vancouver, where the real sports will be played!  Curling, anyone?


 

With RationReality.com on an indefinite hiatus, I find myself with no real outlet for writings about anything other than popular music or hard news. This is probably as good of a time as any to pay some long-overdue attention to the ol' MySpace blog. Fitting, I suppose, that I should do this around the Fourth of July. Here are a few loosely-connected observations:

* Independence Day. Happy Birthday, America! Two-hundred and thirty-two years ago, some scrappy colonists gave the Crown the old middle finger and established my right to blow shit up, Will Smith-style and yell "Fire!" in a crowded theatre...or something like that. Anyway, Hellz, yeah!
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* North Carolina. My home state has an interesting relationship with Independence Day. In May or 1775, the governing council of Mecklenburg County passed the Charlottetown Resolves, which stated the county would only recognize the laws passed by the Continental Congress in Philadelpha; This nullfied the laws of Parliament and the Crown. Not exactly a full declaration of independence, but it started the ball rolling. (Ironically, Mecklenburg County and its seat, Charlotte, were named after the then Queen of England.)

* Fireworks. Now, you'd think that given North Carolina's prominence in the story of American Independence, you'd be able to buy some real pyrotechnics here...but you'd be so very wrong. The most powerful fireworks available for sale in the Old Line State are the wussy-assed Roman Candle and smoke bomb. Still, that doesn't stop many from driving sometimes hundreds of miles into the wilds of South Carolina, where you can buy M-80s like a man--with dignity and total lack of regard for safety or public welfare. The rednecks across the Interstate began setting 'em off around 3pm on Friday afternoon. (I don't see the point of setting off fireworks in broad daylight, but, hey...) My pets were going nutso for about 8 hours straight. Thanks, guys! When you mix intense heat with ridiculous alcohol consumption and obnoxiously-overpowered fireworks, you'd think someone would lose a hand or two, but I never heard the first siren over there.


My Family. I spent part of the weekend at my parents' lake house in the Eastern part of the state. My grandparents were there, too, but the real center of attention was my two year-old nephew. Looking at the little booger at times, it's like I've gone back to 1976 to see myself at 2 years--except that this little guy can get away with infinitely more bad deeds and ill will than I would ever have been allowed to do. I just stood there and watched him throw his hard, plastic toys down on my folks' $8,000 hardwood floor, while my parents smiled obliviously in his direction. Sonovabitch! My evil little 2 year-old ass would have gotten waylayed for that!

Matthew Good Band. Years ago, I was writing reviews for a now-defunct online music retailer. I got to hear the U. S. version of MGB's Beautiful Midnight and I wrote one of the most glowing reviews I've ever written about it. To this day, it remains one of my absolute favorite recordings. Given all the driving I'd be doing this weekend, it seemed like an opportune time to spend some quality time with some of my favorite CDs, also including Our Lady Peace's Clumsy, Otto's Daughter's Renew, A's Hi-Fi Serious.and Queensrÿche's Operation: Mindcrime.
(Speaking of which, has anybody figured out who killed Sister Mary?)





The 2008 Ford Escape Hybrid. I can't say enough good things about this righteous ride! Great ride, great handling, awesome sound system (featuring Sirius Satellite Radio) and leather seats made this surprisingly-roomy small SUV a pleasure to drive all over North Carolina this weekend. The fact that the truck has just short of the same horsepower as the non-hybrid Escape's V6 whilst getting MPG in the 40s is pretty darn cool, too!


Wal-Mart Bathrooms. For some reason, I've been in a lot of them this weekend. I usually try to avoid Wal-Mart for the good of the community, but not this time. I don't know about those of you on the other side (i.e: "women"), but guys know that Wal-Mart bathrooms rank just below those at Greyhound depots when it comes to the overall "Experience". For one, there's the copious amounts of mysterious fluids on the floor. Hey, I have a dribble-dick, myself, but the beauty of urinals is that you can stand as close as you want. (Almost as close as you want, I guess. I don't want to be the guy that tests the limit of how close one could theoretically get.) Of course, the actual use of the facilities is only a small part of the ordeal. The real Hell begins after the zip-up. At the ridiculously shallow sinks, a lesson in frustration will be yours. The faucet will ejaculate a short spurt of water as you move your hands underneath it. Constantly making big, erratic motions to trigger the motion sensor which will turn on the tap will ensure that your hands will touch every surface of the basin and faucet, essentially leaving your hands less sanitary than they were before you went to the sink. Half the time, I can't wash all the soap off and just wipe the rest on my clothes.

Well, I hope you all had a good weekend. If you live in the United States, I hope you had fun on the Fourth of July and gave yourself enough time to recover from it. Until next time...

The following blog contains crude attempts at humor which may not necessarily be factual.  If you're offended, get a life or something.

So, it was my birthday today.  After their early 20s, many adults' birthdays seem to lose any special excitement, and so it is with me.  My wife and I went out to a deli we enjoy and ate food that we would later regret eating.  We proceeded to a local big box bookstore (it was the only one open at the time) and read books we didn't intend to buy.  I won't complain about it; it was a nice day.  But, you'd be surprised to know how many better-known events happened on this date (06 January):

* Christians who recognize the Julian Calendar celebrate Christmas on January 6th; Christians who follow the Gregorian calendar celebrate Epiphany.  (Which begs the question: after 2,000 years, why can't we settle on something?)

* In 1497, the Jewish population of Graz, Syria was expelled.  In January 1498, the tax-time shortage of CPAs led to riots and mass-suicides.

* In 1773, slaves in the then-colony of  Massachusetts petitioned the legislature for freedom.  On the same date in 1988, the Boston Celtics petitioned coach Chris Ford for freedom from their lanky, mostly-white starting line-up.

* In 1838 Samuel, Morse made the first public demonstration of his telegraph system in Morristown, NJ.  His "code-logs" (shortened in the popular vernacular to "'clogs") were popular until the public got tired of his bad poetry and constant arguments for how Stephen Foster's songs are sooo much better than Geoge Frederick Root's.

* In 1912, the American state of New Mexico was admitted as the 47th state.  Yet-to-be-born hippies, peyote aficionados and new-agers rejoiced.

* In 1941, Pan American Airlines completed the history's first around-the-world commercial flight in New York.  (...but the luggage went to Cincinnati.  Pan Am apologized for any inconveniences that it may have caused.)

* In 1945, Future President of the United States George Bush married the former Barbara Pierce in Rye, NY.  Under a lunar eclipse with ceremonial candles lit and black-robed witnesses chanting backwards in Latin, they would conceive another future President.

* In 1955, AC/DC rhythm guitarist Malcom young was born in Glasgow, Scotland (and he knows just as many chords now as he did then). ..m/

* In 1957, Judaic school Yeshiva Kol Ya'ackov opened in Moscow, but one
Jewish joke per blog is usually my limit. 

* In 1958, Guitar maker Gibson introduced the first 'flying V' electric model.  Twenty-five years later, Jackson guitars perfected it.

* In 1977, the Sex Pistols were dropped by EMI Records after charming guitarist Steve Jones called sauced-up talk show host Bill Grundy a "dirty sod" and a "fucking rotter" on the air.  (Since I don't speak Brit-ese, I'm not clear on  what a "sod" or a "rotter" is, but I think the "f-word" got Opie and Anthony in trouble a few times.)

* In 1980, President Jimmy Carter and the Congress set a precedent for government-sanctioned corporate welfare by agreeing to bail Chrysler's bloated, cash-strapped ass out of the abyss of certain bankruptcy.  Thanks guys.  I mean, what would the world automotive market do without the rust-addled, gas-sucking, mechanically-challenged K-Cars, Lazers and LeBarons Chryslers would go on make in the 80s?

* In 1994, an "associate" of Goon Supreme Jeff Gillooly attacked horse-toothed figure-skater Nancy Kerrigan with a club, endangering her chance at making the Olympic trials.  Gillooly's "goil", trashy skater Tonya Harding, considered Kerrigan her biggest rival in the competition. 

and, in 2001, after nearly 2 months of recounts, the U. S. Congress certified the 2000 Presidential election, awarding the office to Texas Governor and product of George and Barbara's unholy copulation:  George W. Bush. 

Yes, there were some monumental events that occurred on the same date of my birth.  So, maybe nothing like the Magna Carta being signed or the Surrender of the Confederacy at Appomattox or the release of Metallica's Ride the Lightning album happened on my birthday, but I'll take what I can get!

If, at this point,  you haven't resorted to something drastic to make the hurting stop,  you can read more of my wit 'n' wisdom at http://rationreality.com

48 Hour Film Project: Throwing down the Celluloid Gauntlet

http://rationreality.com

You know, I'm not one to judge people who might come off as a bit eccentric, but generally don't harm anyone.  Live and let live and all that good stuff. 

Lately, there has been a bunch of exchanges in, erm..."ideas" between my blog, rationreality.com, and some "Real Life Superheroes" (their term), individuals who live the lives of comic book protagonists, replete with costumes, gadgetry, etc...  It has been a great experience for me, since I have learned a lot about this subculture.  It is really fascinating--and a lot of these flamboyant charachters like SlapJack, Superhero and many others are, from what I can tell, good-natured, evenly-balanced, well-intentioned citizens that wish to make a difference in their communities.  Though I prefer to do good considerably less-conspicuously, I sincerely wish them the best in their endeavours.

There are, however, some "Superheroes" that seem to be a little too into it.  Their objectives seem not ambitious, but downright delusional.  They get extremely defensive when criticized.  Some have even made what could be reasonably construed as threats against their critics.  It has made me question whether their communities are truly safer with them "on patrol".

The drama described above has been playing itself out at Ration Reality.  I gotta say it's been entertaining, enlightening and, at times, pretty damn creepy.  On the whole, I think that most of these individuals don't come off as your garden fariety DC Comics heroes.  I think they're aware of that, too.  In fact, to me,most of them seem to better resemble the characters from the comic/cartoon The Tick.    Beneath the capes, masks and utility items, they're just people who put their spandex on one leg at a time.  They're flawed, they're human and they try their best to be helpful.

(The following is an excerpt from my latest blog at http://rationreality.com.  To read the rest, just follow the link.  We really would like your support at Ration Reality.  You're encouraged to leave comments and remember, you don't have to register to read or comment.  Rock on!)

Hair 'em, Scare 'em

In case you're wondering, I'm in the process of changing my MySpace display name to Soylent Ape.   I'm doing this to match my ID on other blog sites in which I partcicipate.  Think of it as "harmonizing" to allow the free and open movement of people and goods among the members of my new "Weblog Union".  Speaking of which, I am proud to announce that I have recently joined forces with two brilliant individuals (my wife and LOLcats superstar, The Bagel of Everything and sci-fi cyberart outlaw JesseCuster) to form a new "superblog"--kinda like the Toto or Damn Yankees of blogs--called Ration Reality.  It's going to feature hilarious, fist-shaking, slurred-speech rants on music, politics, the digital domain and all manner of ill shit.  Also, an exclusive comic strip will be a regular feature, while merchandise and other special features will be added shortly.  Check it out (after you get your Charlton Heston fix).

I'm Spartacus, too.

Soylent Ape (formerly Matthew)

http://rationreality.com

Though I'm in my third decade on this earth, I basically live the same way that I did in college.  I don't say this as a point of pride--more like a resignation to the fact that my home is pretty messy, I tend to eat my meals off of napkins with plastic utensils hijacked from fast food eateries and view sleep as an enemy, using all available resources to cheat it.  Last night, when any normal person would have been slumbering, I was up chatting with a good friend , playing my bass guitar, annoying my wife, grooming my cat and laughing my ass off to some obscure British television Program--largely at the same time!  Do I realize that's abnormal?  Of course.  "Abnormal" pretty much describes my life as a whole, I suppose.

To complicate things (so to speak), my sloppy, mongrel ass has lived in a big, WASP-y suburban "planned community" for about 6 years now.  When I got married, my wife moved here with me.  For the sake of my family's privacy, I won't reveal the pretentious name of my subdivision.  Instead, I will substitute my own, more appropriate name.  How about "Aryan Acres", "Stuttgart West" or "Flight Path Estates"?  Whatever the name, one need only look at the big, honkin' SUVs and shiny German sedans parked in front of the townhomes here to see that my neighbors are living the suburban lifestyle they enjoy.  To their great credit, they've put up with our 10+ year-old, cosmetically-challenged vehicles, loudmouthed (if loveable) mutt of a dog and overall bohemian lifestyle.  These days, most neighbors don't even give a second glance when they see me sporting a dog chain collar and green hair while wheeling out a massive guitar cabinet to my truck.  As long as I don't actually play through that cabinet in my home, they don't mind. God bless them.

Well, for one new arrival, the welcome to our cozy suburban existence was a bit more jarring than my own.  As the sun was coming up this morning, my equally sleep-challenged soulmate suggested I go out for some breakfast from a local establishment.  Feeling a bit groggy from my overnight activities, I popped a green tea diet tablet and chased it with a can of cheap Thai iced coffee, then bounced out the door.  Driving down my street, I noticed a middle-aged woman I didn't recognize get out of her car and approach me with a flagging motion.  My well-worn Isuzu was dirty outside and strewn with CDs, newspapers and items from work inside.  (I have 3 offices: one at work, one at home, and one in my driveway.)  I hadn't thought to shave or comb my hair, which was a bit matted from laying on the couch earlier.  Mock-fascist industrial group Hanzel und Gretyl's "Third Reich from the Sun" was playing in my stereo and I turned it down just after the "Daß ist mein Reich, Daß ist Mein Blut..." part.  I could see her expression of concern become more prominent with each step.

I asked if she needed help.  She responded that she was just moving into the subdivision today and didn't know anyone here.  She said that she had noticed a man laying motionless on the ground by the entrance to the community and that she was afraid to check on him, being by herself.  I said I didn't blame her  She didn't want to call the police for a false alarm and asked if I would go and check to see if he needed help.  I obliged, but by the time I turned the corner by our community welcome sign, I saw that some other shocked suburbanite had decided to risk wasting the police's time.  Two units had responded and the guy was casually talking to the police at the side of the road.  I'm still curious about the situation.  Did the guy have some type of seizure?  Did he come out to watch the sunrise and fall asleep on the embankment? Did he have a bit too much fun last night and decide that the side of a busy street was as good of a place to crash as any?  Whatever happened, I knew it wasn't my business anymore and left it in the capable hands of our town's constabulary. I stopped, turned around and went back to the neighbor and told her that the cops were there and that our mystery man looked like he was okay.

At most, a new neighbor might expect to get a fruit basket and a visit from the home owners' association chairman.  I knew my poor new neighbor had gotten something a bit more akin to a kick in the temple from the home owners' association chairman.  I'm sure this was not what she bargained for when she was signing 20 or 30 papers at the bank last week. Instantly understanding I needed to do some psychic damage control, I smiled as wide as I could and said "I live just down the street. If I can help with anything else, just let me know."  She smiled...very cautiously.

 I've said it before and I'll say it again--I love living in Winston-Salem!  I've lived in some of the biggest cities in North America and I've lived in unincorporated areas where my nearest neighbor was more than a mile away, but I've never  felt more at home than I feel living here.  I enjoy the relatively low cost of living, which allows me a much more comfortable lifestyle than I'd have with the same job and income somewhere else.  Perhaps because of the low rents and cheap consumer goods, my hometown has a flourishing arts district and strong local music scene.  It's a nice feeling to know that I could go to a gallery or concert at almost any given time and witness some creativity on display.  For a city its size, Winston boasts a relatively low crime rate, so I feel secure about the safety of my wife and home when I'm away.  Also, there's so many recreational opportunities with dozens of city and county parks, lakes, greenways and even a dog park!  (The exclamation point comes courtesy of my fun-loving dog, Noble.)  To be sure, it's not perfect.  Reynolds Tobacco and Krispy Kreme are probably not enhancing the world's health with their products, and it costs a bloody fortune to fly out of Piedmont Triad International Airport.  (Still, it's only a couple of hours drive to Raleigh-Durham or Charlotte where much more reasonable fares reside.)



However, It wasn't  any of these factors that made me realize what kind of life I had here.  The incident that really drove things home for me happened last week at what is quickly becoming my second home, The Werehouse.  For those unfamiliar with the Camel City , The Werehouse is an artists' collective (once known as PS 211) fashioned from a former meat packing plant on the fringe of the city's industrial district.  The space includes an art gallery, performance space, recording studio, coffeehouse, residences, garden and farmers' market.  The collective has long been an advocate for the arts and for community outreach.  One of the community activities of which I partake is the weekly movie night.    Last week I attended and enjoyed the film, but I got a late start and after I finished ordering one of the fine coffees available, I had missed a few minutes of the film.  I enjoyed it, and after it was finished, I asked the fellow at the projector what the name of the movie was.  He  told me and then handed the DVD case to me, asking "are you interested?"  That was a stunning gesture to me, since this guy didn't know me from anyone.  He instructed me to return it "whenever I saw him again".  Certainly, it was a simple gesture.  It wasn't like he'd offered to donate a kidney to me, but it left a definite impression on me; it was a small inspiration for me to be a better neighbor.  

Mayberry is a fictitious place.  A town that utopian exists only in the imagination of people like Andy Griffith.  Even Griffith's real-life inspiration for his show's setting , which is only about 30 miles north on US Rt. 52, bears only a superficial resemblance to the idealized Mayberry.  Sure, it has a Mayberry Lunch and a Floyd's Barber Shop, just like Mayberry.  Still, I don't remember an episode with Barney Fife getting injured by a booby trap trying to bust Gomer Pyle's meth lab (although I'd definitely watch that one!)  However, there are shadows of that neighborly Southern Gothicism to be found if one were to look.  After  8 years of living here, I still don't get the whole NASCAR thing and barbecue (or Bar-B-Q, as locals hold it) is just way too pork-y for me. Still, I feel more at home here than anywhere else.  I have a few more miles to go before I can shake all the cynicism and have that complete trust in strangers.  However, it is becoming more and more clear to me that if we all put forth our own small efforts toward those ends, there'd be more of a sense of community in every locale.


Image courtesy of Winston-Salem Convention and Visitors Board (fair use with acknowledgement)