Restaurant Review: The Complex: El Pollo Grille and Mexican Cantina
For the past two weeks we have hit up the Complex on Madison (in The Edge District) for breakfast after our trip to the Farmers' Market. We were drawn in by my appetite for a mexican breakfast (I have California to thank for my chili verde addiction). I really love this place. The menu is comprable to any other greasy spoon breakfast. Ham, steak, egg, bacon, omlettes. Then there is the mexican breakfast. Chile verde, huevos rancheros, huevos mexicanos. They have a copy of their menu on the website here. Everything comes with your choice of bean/hashbrowns and tortillas (corn or flour)/toast. The prices are super cheap too. We get away with breakfast for two for $15. Best part, the chile verde is to die for. Something about eating a plate of beans, eggs and tortillas smothered (and I do mean smothered) with spicy green chile sauce makes me smile. I only wish they had breakfast burritos.
If you sit inside you might get lucky enough to watch a spanish music television channel which is pure entertainment. Your cook is your server and he is super nice and never lets you run out of water or coffee. It is empty on Saturday mornings which makes it a great low-key place to recover from Friday night. If the coffe doesn't wake you up, the salsa will. Its hot.
We give The Complex: El Pollo Grille and Mexican Cantina a 4/5.
posted by Collin C.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
From: Art Butcher
Artmemphis.net Interviews
here is a list
of the newest
artmemphis.net interviews
i started doing
mini-interviews
witht the artists
that have signed up
which
i am sure
you already knew that
jed jackson
nancy white
mel spillman
emily walls
elizabeth alley
don estes
posted by dwayne
here is a list
of the newest
artmemphis.net interviews
i started doing
mini-interviews
witht the artists
that have signed up
which
i am sure
you already knew that
jed jackson
nancy white
mel spillman
emily walls
elizabeth alley
don estes
posted by dwayne
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
From: Dining With Monkeys
Sadly, I bring you the final installment of the Monkey Convergence at Pete & Sam’s from Andria. Thanks for humoring us! Unless we hear some complaints, we may do it again soon. But invote more people, like the Chockleys.
As the last person to weigh in on the Monkey Convergence (assuming Warren and Admiral Jeff are still in their stress-induced comas), I feel it's my duty to make sure the record is accurate and complete. It's my pleasure to bring you ...
The DWM True Monkeywood Story!
[cue ominous voiceover guy]
Thursday, June 15, 3:38 pm, downtown Memphis: in a tobacco-fueled moment of delirium, RJA suggests that Stacey and several guest bloggers, all go to the same restaurant at the same time. Those still capable of basic math smile patronizingly and say, "sure, sure ... sometime."
Sunday, July 9, 2:47 pm, JP's birthday party, Kristy & RJA's front porch: suffering the effects of moonbounce-induced heat exhaustion, a small gaggle of DWM bloggers discusses possible locations for this purely theoretical monkey convergence. The exceedingly brilliant idea of visiting The Blue Monkey is shot down by one (roller)blogger who seems to think bars are inappropriate venues for large gatherings of children. The field is narrowed to two finalists: Jasmine and Pete & Sam's.
Wednesday, July 12, 1:19 pm-Friday, July 14, 4:59 pm, various Memphis workplaces: no fewer than 27 emails are sent in an effort to finalize the convergence. Jasmine is the winner. And then not. A last-minute audible is called and reservations are made at Pete & Sam’s. For 12. But what the DWM bloggers didn't know is that ... one of them had a secret.
[interior: dimly lit room, a female form in silhouette speaks in a privacy-protected distorted voice]
Anonymous Blogger: "Look, I ... I just don't really like Pete & Sam's. I never have. Maybe it's the peppers in the gravy, I don't know. But after all the debating back and forth, I was just too tired to object. And Je ... I mean, my husband was all excited about the tiny pizzas, so I figured maybe it would be better this time."
Friday, July 12, 6:34 pm, Pete & Sam's parking lot: [interior: anonymous Toyota] "Holy crap, that's Stacey's car ... and that's Kristy's car. Everyone's actually here already!? Man, the multi-breeders are going to give us crap for being late."
Friday: July 12, 6:36 pm, Pete & Sam's secluded back dining room: crap ensues.
6:39 pm: in an amazing stunt of accidental convenience, each family is seated at their own table, making the separation of checks 14% less annoying for the waitress. Drinks are ordered.
6:41 pm: Drinks are spilled.
6:42-7:01 pm: Monkey level reaches a steady 4 on the Cornelius Scale (10=damn dirty
apes). Most monkeys are still seated, but the restlessness is palpable. As the youngest walking member of Team Monkey, Jiro breaks the tension by trying to wiggle/fall/negotiate out of his high chair. On the south end of the table, a saintly almost-3-year-old sits quietly on her mother's lap while said mother pretends that this uncharacteristic display of shyness-related calm is actually the result of excellent parenting.
7:02-7:13 pm: The adults grow increasingly unnerved by the monkeys' collective reserve. The children are chattering pleasantly, fewer than 3 objects have become airborne, and there have even been smatterings of grown-up conversation.
7:14 pm: Food arrives, accompanied by a side order of monkey sauce. The table is suddenly aflurry with activity, very little of which seems related to eating. This is when two DWM myths are exposed. 1) Stacey's children really aren't as pinball-esque as we've been led to believe; she just likes writing every single little infraction down in her teeny notebook while she urges Warren to contain them, and 2) RJA's children aren't quite as angelic as assumed; he just drinks over the chaos. And Andria's monkey? Still sitting like a parochial school librarian, eating a bowl of black olives.
7:15 pm: Andria remembers too late that she dislikes the chicken parmesano, which is basically just an over-steamed chicken breast covered in sauce with a slice of mozzarella on top. By the time she recalls that she sort of likes the ravioli and tries that instead, it's cold. Her monkey is consuming a reasonable amount of mini-pizza and secretly plotting her monkey debut.
7:24 pm: In between bathroom trips and sub-table child extractions, the adults have finished their meals. The Monkey Level is approaching 9 when the checks arrive. Even Andria's cherubic child has dismounted her mother's lap and is joining the nerve-fraying fray. Amidst bribes involving lollipops, gumballs and monkey bars, the entire crew is slowly relocated to the lobby and then toward their own cars.
7:33 pm, Peabody Park: All three families rendezvous, as much to let the adults work out their tensed up shoulders by pushing swings as to get the kids unwound before bed.
7:42 pm: Somewhere in the humid Memphis dusk, a voice is heard saying, "That wasn't
so bad. We should do it again." Followed by various mutterings such as, "yeah," "maybe," "more liquor."
[interior: back to dimly lit room, a female form and a hopscotching toddler in silhouette]
Anonymous Blogger: "I'm actually glad we ended up at Pete & Sam's, because I think the real point of the trip was to show that families can still have social lives. We don't have to be terrified of going out in groups. It even makes it a little easier to have more kids around, because they entertain each other and the adults can play zone defense if needed. There's really nothing to be afraid of. Except the damn chicken parmesano."
posted by Stacey Greenberg
As the last person to weigh in on the Monkey Convergence (assuming Warren and Admiral Jeff are still in their stress-induced comas), I feel it's my duty to make sure the record is accurate and complete. It's my pleasure to bring you ...
The DWM True Monkeywood Story!
[cue ominous voiceover guy]
Thursday, June 15, 3:38 pm, downtown Memphis: in a tobacco-fueled moment of delirium, RJA suggests that Stacey and several guest bloggers, all go to the same restaurant at the same time. Those still capable of basic math smile patronizingly and say, "sure, sure ... sometime."
Sunday, July 9, 2:47 pm, JP's birthday party, Kristy & RJA's front porch: suffering the effects of moonbounce-induced heat exhaustion, a small gaggle of DWM bloggers discusses possible locations for this purely theoretical monkey convergence. The exceedingly brilliant idea of visiting The Blue Monkey is shot down by one (roller)blogger who seems to think bars are inappropriate venues for large gatherings of children. The field is narrowed to two finalists: Jasmine and Pete & Sam's.
Wednesday, July 12, 1:19 pm-Friday, July 14, 4:59 pm, various Memphis workplaces: no fewer than 27 emails are sent in an effort to finalize the convergence. Jasmine is the winner. And then not. A last-minute audible is called and reservations are made at Pete & Sam’s. For 12. But what the DWM bloggers didn't know is that ... one of them had a secret.
[interior: dimly lit room, a female form in silhouette speaks in a privacy-protected distorted voice]
Anonymous Blogger: "Look, I ... I just don't really like Pete & Sam's. I never have. Maybe it's the peppers in the gravy, I don't know. But after all the debating back and forth, I was just too tired to object. And Je ... I mean, my husband was all excited about the tiny pizzas, so I figured maybe it would be better this time."
Friday, July 12, 6:34 pm, Pete & Sam's parking lot: [interior: anonymous Toyota] "Holy crap, that's Stacey's car ... and that's Kristy's car. Everyone's actually here already!? Man, the multi-breeders are going to give us crap for being late."
Friday: July 12, 6:36 pm, Pete & Sam's secluded back dining room: crap ensues.
6:39 pm: in an amazing stunt of accidental convenience, each family is seated at their own table, making the separation of checks 14% less annoying for the waitress. Drinks are ordered.
6:41 pm: Drinks are spilled.
6:42-7:01 pm: Monkey level reaches a steady 4 on the Cornelius Scale (10=damn dirty
apes). Most monkeys are still seated, but the restlessness is palpable. As the youngest walking member of Team Monkey, Jiro breaks the tension by trying to wiggle/fall/negotiate out of his high chair. On the south end of the table, a saintly almost-3-year-old sits quietly on her mother's lap while said mother pretends that this uncharacteristic display of shyness-related calm is actually the result of excellent parenting.
7:02-7:13 pm: The adults grow increasingly unnerved by the monkeys' collective reserve. The children are chattering pleasantly, fewer than 3 objects have become airborne, and there have even been smatterings of grown-up conversation.
7:14 pm: Food arrives, accompanied by a side order of monkey sauce. The table is suddenly aflurry with activity, very little of which seems related to eating. This is when two DWM myths are exposed. 1) Stacey's children really aren't as pinball-esque as we've been led to believe; she just likes writing every single little infraction down in her teeny notebook while she urges Warren to contain them, and 2) RJA's children aren't quite as angelic as assumed; he just drinks over the chaos. And Andria's monkey? Still sitting like a parochial school librarian, eating a bowl of black olives.
7:15 pm: Andria remembers too late that she dislikes the chicken parmesano, which is basically just an over-steamed chicken breast covered in sauce with a slice of mozzarella on top. By the time she recalls that she sort of likes the ravioli and tries that instead, it's cold. Her monkey is consuming a reasonable amount of mini-pizza and secretly plotting her monkey debut.
7:24 pm: In between bathroom trips and sub-table child extractions, the adults have finished their meals. The Monkey Level is approaching 9 when the checks arrive. Even Andria's cherubic child has dismounted her mother's lap and is joining the nerve-fraying fray. Amidst bribes involving lollipops, gumballs and monkey bars, the entire crew is slowly relocated to the lobby and then toward their own cars.
7:33 pm, Peabody Park: All three families rendezvous, as much to let the adults work out their tensed up shoulders by pushing swings as to get the kids unwound before bed.
7:42 pm: Somewhere in the humid Memphis dusk, a voice is heard saying, "That wasn't
so bad. We should do it again." Followed by various mutterings such as, "yeah," "maybe," "more liquor."
[interior: back to dimly lit room, a female form and a hopscotching toddler in silhouette]
Anonymous Blogger: "I'm actually glad we ended up at Pete & Sam's, because I think the real point of the trip was to show that families can still have social lives. We don't have to be terrified of going out in groups. It even makes it a little easier to have more kids around, because they entertain each other and the adults can play zone defense if needed. There's really nothing to be afraid of. Except the damn chicken parmesano."
posted by Stacey Greenberg
From: The Pesky Fly
What are You Offering, Harold?
I've not been blogging for some time because I was moving to a new home and generally being overwhelmed with political activism here in DC Metro Area. But, I'm back with a question, and I fully expect the female blogging trolls who love Harold Ford to start flaming when I ask this question?
What are you offering as a U. S. Senator, Harold?
Given that Chris Jackson came on this board and has graciously asked us to put aside our differences and throw our support behind Harold, I have to ask "What's he offering?" And, given the fact that our own Autoegocrat (formerly Autoegocrat-Ford)has responded to Mr. Jackson in succinct and factual manner, should we start looking for Harold to throw a "Hail Mary" pass soon in an attempt to woo more progressive voters who know about the voting record he can't defend, even if he presented it in front of a rigged jury?
His interview to Black Enterprise Magazine is telling me that Harold is still offering more of the same. Which is nothing, unless you like getting screwed over on your interests, concerns and issues.
You don't engage in outreach to your opposition unless you have something to offer that your opponents might be interested in. I want to know what is Harold offering that could persuade any of us to change our minds about him.
Is he offering to vote like a real Democrat? Is he offering not to act ashamed of being affiliated with the Democratic party?
Is he offering to change his mind on issues that matter like school vouchers, infant mortality rates, affordable housing, improving the environment and sponsoring legislation to offset the effects of global warming, and advocate for social justice issues?
Is he offering to apologize for voting like a well-trained ReThug?
Is he offering to quit insulting our intelligence and explain his voting record without sounding like the second coming of Joe Lieberman? Is he offering to start listining to us, his base? (Lest you think because I don't live in Memphis, I have family that do live in Memphis, and I can truthfully say, they want to spit on what Harold's offering these days. My relatives are elderly, and they are concerned that Harold's support for elimination of Social Security and creating an option for investment, is a repeat of the Stock Market crash of 1929 - they are that elderly. So, I have a stake in this, because his vote on the Senate floor carries a hell of a lot more weight than his votes as a House Congress Critter).
Harold Ford may kiss the asses of many a redneck outside of Memphis to get that Senate seat. Yet he is also starting to realize that while he can pull some people who wouldn't vote for an African-American to be dog-catcher to vote for him, he still needs the progressive, leftist base to put him over Corker in the general election.
But he has alienated that base with his legislative votes, and African-Americans in particular, with the claim of a Caucasian grandmother, who didn't even bother to identify herself as Caucasian when she was alive. The attempt to claim a bond and common ground with White voters has left a very nasty taste in the mouths of African-Americans who know about this. Even those who blindly support Harold couldn't swallow that one.
Harold, via political gadfly Chris D. Jackson, is sending the message that he needs our vote and our support in his Senate race. This, after basically pissing on our concerns and telling us to "not allow a few votes" to keep away our support. How can you go to the base you've spent ten years screwing over and asking them to help you unless you're promising something in return? You know you can't go empty-handed, nor can you go to them with a straight face and tell them to ignore how you screwed them over for ten years while in Congress.
So, I have to ask this question: "What are you offering, Harold?"
posted by The Christian Progressive Liberal
I've not been blogging for some time because I was moving to a new home and generally being overwhelmed with political activism here in DC Metro Area. But, I'm back with a question, and I fully expect the female blogging trolls who love Harold Ford to start flaming when I ask this question?
What are you offering as a U. S. Senator, Harold?
Given that Chris Jackson came on this board and has graciously asked us to put aside our differences and throw our support behind Harold, I have to ask "What's he offering?" And, given the fact that our own Autoegocrat (formerly Autoegocrat-Ford)has responded to Mr. Jackson in succinct and factual manner, should we start looking for Harold to throw a "Hail Mary" pass soon in an attempt to woo more progressive voters who know about the voting record he can't defend, even if he presented it in front of a rigged jury?
His interview to Black Enterprise Magazine is telling me that Harold is still offering more of the same. Which is nothing, unless you like getting screwed over on your interests, concerns and issues.
You don't engage in outreach to your opposition unless you have something to offer that your opponents might be interested in. I want to know what is Harold offering that could persuade any of us to change our minds about him.
Is he offering to vote like a real Democrat? Is he offering not to act ashamed of being affiliated with the Democratic party?
Is he offering to change his mind on issues that matter like school vouchers, infant mortality rates, affordable housing, improving the environment and sponsoring legislation to offset the effects of global warming, and advocate for social justice issues?
Is he offering to apologize for voting like a well-trained ReThug?
Is he offering to quit insulting our intelligence and explain his voting record without sounding like the second coming of Joe Lieberman? Is he offering to start listining to us, his base? (Lest you think because I don't live in Memphis, I have family that do live in Memphis, and I can truthfully say, they want to spit on what Harold's offering these days. My relatives are elderly, and they are concerned that Harold's support for elimination of Social Security and creating an option for investment, is a repeat of the Stock Market crash of 1929 - they are that elderly. So, I have a stake in this, because his vote on the Senate floor carries a hell of a lot more weight than his votes as a House Congress Critter).
Harold Ford may kiss the asses of many a redneck outside of Memphis to get that Senate seat. Yet he is also starting to realize that while he can pull some people who wouldn't vote for an African-American to be dog-catcher to vote for him, he still needs the progressive, leftist base to put him over Corker in the general election.
But he has alienated that base with his legislative votes, and African-Americans in particular, with the claim of a Caucasian grandmother, who didn't even bother to identify herself as Caucasian when she was alive. The attempt to claim a bond and common ground with White voters has left a very nasty taste in the mouths of African-Americans who know about this. Even those who blindly support Harold couldn't swallow that one.
Harold, via political gadfly Chris D. Jackson, is sending the message that he needs our vote and our support in his Senate race. This, after basically pissing on our concerns and telling us to "not allow a few votes" to keep away our support. How can you go to the base you've spent ten years screwing over and asking them to help you unless you're promising something in return? You know you can't go empty-handed, nor can you go to them with a straight face and tell them to ignore how you screwed them over for ten years while in Congress.
So, I have to ask this question: "What are you offering, Harold?"
posted by The Christian Progressive Liberal
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
From: Blake's Blog
Keeping the zombies at bay
Could the dead rise again in Shelby County during the Aug. 3 election?
Bill Giannini, the local chairman of the Republican Party, apparently thinks so.
He sent out an e-mail to his troops today, seeking Republicans who are willing to serve as registrars or poll watchers on Election Day. The motivation he used? A reminder of the, um, irregularities in last year's state Senate District 29 election, in which at least two dead people were recorded as voting.
The attention-getting header on his e-mail reads: "Help stop dead voters in their tracks!"
With proper (read: Republican) oversight at voting precincts, Giannini believes similar problems could be avoided this time around. And maybe, just maybe, he's trying to send out a subtle message about how close that election was and how every vote really does count.
Say this much for the Republicans: Like their elephant mascot, some of them seem to have pretty good memories.
Posted by Blake Fontenay
Could the dead rise again in Shelby County during the Aug. 3 election?
Bill Giannini, the local chairman of the Republican Party, apparently thinks so.
He sent out an e-mail to his troops today, seeking Republicans who are willing to serve as registrars or poll watchers on Election Day. The motivation he used? A reminder of the, um, irregularities in last year's state Senate District 29 election, in which at least two dead people were recorded as voting.
The attention-getting header on his e-mail reads: "Help stop dead voters in their tracks!"
With proper (read: Republican) oversight at voting precincts, Giannini believes similar problems could be avoided this time around. And maybe, just maybe, he's trying to send out a subtle message about how close that election was and how every vote really does count.
Say this much for the Republicans: Like their elephant mascot, some of them seem to have pretty good memories.
Posted by Blake Fontenay
Monday, July 24, 2006
From: Daily Diversion
IF YOU'RE HERE... THEN WHO'S TENDING TO HELL?
That's kind of what I was thinking about last week, with the weather. Now, it doesn't really relate to any single person, but I'd almost swear that Satan, himself, came down to Memphis, just so he could warm up a little bit. Supposedly Hell's kind of cold this time of year?
Well, we got a reprieve from the scorching temperatures. I wasn't here in Memphis over the weekend, but, instead, was up in a little town called Salem, in Missouri. I'm not sure what the population is, but it's a little hole in the wall. Some of my family still lives there, namely both of my Grandmothers, which is reason enough to go back occasionally. This weekend, however, was our annual family reunion.
Most years the temperature is usually pushing the century mark, and the way it felt on Friday when we left, I assumed the same. We got a very nice surprise when we woke up Saturday morning and it was still in the 70's. The peak temperature for the day was 83 degrees, and there was a nice little breeze blowing. Absolutely perfect weather for a family reunion.
I spent most of my time with my cousins, playing softball. We don't have quite enough to get a full game going, so we altered things a little bit. I haven't played softball since I moved to Memphis, and I used to be a pretty decent player. Well, that's all gone! I was lucky to hit the ball out of the infield, and usually I just popped it up. I'm really going to have to get back into playing some sports around here! Otherwise, when Adrianne and I finally have a rookie or two, I won't be able to help them learn the game. That would suck!
Okay, so that's my update for today. I'm actually working away, again, this week. I've officially started my "project", and I'll be pretty busy for, oh, say the next three months! You'll be lucky to hear from me everyday, but I'll try!
That's kind of what I was thinking about last week, with the weather. Now, it doesn't really relate to any single person, but I'd almost swear that Satan, himself, came down to Memphis, just so he could warm up a little bit. Supposedly Hell's kind of cold this time of year?
Well, we got a reprieve from the scorching temperatures. I wasn't here in Memphis over the weekend, but, instead, was up in a little town called Salem, in Missouri. I'm not sure what the population is, but it's a little hole in the wall. Some of my family still lives there, namely both of my Grandmothers, which is reason enough to go back occasionally. This weekend, however, was our annual family reunion.
Most years the temperature is usually pushing the century mark, and the way it felt on Friday when we left, I assumed the same. We got a very nice surprise when we woke up Saturday morning and it was still in the 70's. The peak temperature for the day was 83 degrees, and there was a nice little breeze blowing. Absolutely perfect weather for a family reunion.
I spent most of my time with my cousins, playing softball. We don't have quite enough to get a full game going, so we altered things a little bit. I haven't played softball since I moved to Memphis, and I used to be a pretty decent player. Well, that's all gone! I was lucky to hit the ball out of the infield, and usually I just popped it up. I'm really going to have to get back into playing some sports around here! Otherwise, when Adrianne and I finally have a rookie or two, I won't be able to help them learn the game. That would suck!
Okay, so that's my update for today. I'm actually working away, again, this week. I've officially started my "project", and I'll be pretty busy for, oh, say the next three months! You'll be lucky to hear from me everyday, but I'll try!
Friday, July 07, 2006
From: a pulp faction
Red Rooster
I'm working on writing an album of songs with a working title of "Sociohipster Blues" featuring works such as "Gentrification Blues," "My Pabst's All Gone," and a nouveau "Working Man Blues" with a twist on the classic condition highlighting the difficulties hipsters have with maintaining real jobs while having a vibrant social life and paying for their drinking habits.
My own personal "Working Man Blues", however, has little to do with that problem. Mine focuses on the fact that I just don't seem to have an attention span and/or any particular talent at the things I end up doing.
For example, the latest casualty of my resume is construction work. Yes, little ol' me has been trying her hand at physical labor. And to tell you the truth, I don't think I'm really bad at it. My problem is, well, 1) I'm not very experienced so I tend to have too heightened an attention to detail and 2) I'm not very experienced so things take me forever and I have to ask a lot of questions. Easy, you say. You'll get it, you just need to stick with it for a while more is all. But here's where problem number three comes into play, which is the fact that I'm easily discouraged. Easily frusterated. Prone to throwing up my hands and biting my thumb at the world if I'm not great at what I do the first time I try it. (This is in part because I'm great at a lot of things the first time I try them.)
And when some old bat with unrealistic expectations and poor capability to express what she wants tells my boss (who is a very close friend of mine,) that she doesn't want me on the job anymore, I become a defeatist.
Which is where I'm at now, so indulge me:
I am bad at everything I do. I am slow. I am unreliable. I suck at life except when I'm drunk. I'll never pay off my debt to MLG&W. I'll never move out of my parent's house. I'll never be able to meet a man. I'll live with my parents forever. I'll be a fucking spinster in a rocking chair on the front porch in Mississippi, except I'll be the sort of eccentric spinster who's drunk on gin & tonics by 10:00am and has 16 cats living in her bedroom. The kind with lipstick twelve shades to dark circling her mouth because her perception has long-been altered and, to her, it is beautiful.
Great.
When I started this I was only looking for work again. Now I'm looking for a shrink and a husband. I better stop before I'm buying shotguns off eBay.
posted by pulpfaction
I'm working on writing an album of songs with a working title of "Sociohipster Blues" featuring works such as "Gentrification Blues," "My Pabst's All Gone," and a nouveau "Working Man Blues" with a twist on the classic condition highlighting the difficulties hipsters have with maintaining real jobs while having a vibrant social life and paying for their drinking habits.
My own personal "Working Man Blues", however, has little to do with that problem. Mine focuses on the fact that I just don't seem to have an attention span and/or any particular talent at the things I end up doing.
For example, the latest casualty of my resume is construction work. Yes, little ol' me has been trying her hand at physical labor. And to tell you the truth, I don't think I'm really bad at it. My problem is, well, 1) I'm not very experienced so I tend to have too heightened an attention to detail and 2) I'm not very experienced so things take me forever and I have to ask a lot of questions. Easy, you say. You'll get it, you just need to stick with it for a while more is all. But here's where problem number three comes into play, which is the fact that I'm easily discouraged. Easily frusterated. Prone to throwing up my hands and biting my thumb at the world if I'm not great at what I do the first time I try it. (This is in part because I'm great at a lot of things the first time I try them.)
And when some old bat with unrealistic expectations and poor capability to express what she wants tells my boss (who is a very close friend of mine,) that she doesn't want me on the job anymore, I become a defeatist.
Which is where I'm at now, so indulge me:
I am bad at everything I do. I am slow. I am unreliable. I suck at life except when I'm drunk. I'll never pay off my debt to MLG&W. I'll never move out of my parent's house. I'll never be able to meet a man. I'll live with my parents forever. I'll be a fucking spinster in a rocking chair on the front porch in Mississippi, except I'll be the sort of eccentric spinster who's drunk on gin & tonics by 10:00am and has 16 cats living in her bedroom. The kind with lipstick twelve shades to dark circling her mouth because her perception has long-been altered and, to her, it is beautiful.
Great.
When I started this I was only looking for work again. Now I'm looking for a shrink and a husband. I better stop before I'm buying shotguns off eBay.
posted by pulpfaction
Thursday, July 06, 2006
From: Rock'n'Roll Minor Planets
I want a new drug
I just found the antidote to blogging. It is called happiness.
I wish there were a drug to simulate the way I feel now. That way it would be easily replicated, not to mention instantly accessible. Hell, there probably are some drugs that do the same thing. I do know that antidepressants make you feel like you're on a very even keel, which is not necessarily a good thing for everyone. I remember reading a statistic in a sociology class that fully 55% of American women have been on antidepressants at one time in their lives. What, my professor asked, does that say about our society? It's certainly not a good commentary.
My life continues to be good, making me more & more suspicious every day. Where did I get this dark, pessimistic nature? Of course it's not really great enough to bring fire raining down on my head in some sort of cosmic attempt to balance the universe... but I'm content. I really enjoy my life as it is---I like my friends, I have some fun stuff to look forward to this summer, and I was able to see some family this weekend for the first time in too long. To top it all off, fireworks greeted me at the end of my drive last night. Awesome. (That is one fun thing about living in flat lands as opposed to the TN hills. Miles and miles of sky each way you turn.)
My point is this: Mucking around in all of this contentment makes for a boring blog. I could tell you about my holiday weekend (it was great) or the punk band I made brownies for (they were all sweet) or some other personal story, but it would just feel like rubbing it in your invisible faces, so I won't. I just hope your shortened holiday week is as fun as mine should be. I've been filling in for a coworker this weekn & now have to give a presentation on Monday that I'm not really prepared for, if that makes all this bliss a little easier to swallow.
posted by Serrabee
I just found the antidote to blogging. It is called happiness.
I wish there were a drug to simulate the way I feel now. That way it would be easily replicated, not to mention instantly accessible. Hell, there probably are some drugs that do the same thing. I do know that antidepressants make you feel like you're on a very even keel, which is not necessarily a good thing for everyone. I remember reading a statistic in a sociology class that fully 55% of American women have been on antidepressants at one time in their lives. What, my professor asked, does that say about our society? It's certainly not a good commentary.
My life continues to be good, making me more & more suspicious every day. Where did I get this dark, pessimistic nature? Of course it's not really great enough to bring fire raining down on my head in some sort of cosmic attempt to balance the universe... but I'm content. I really enjoy my life as it is---I like my friends, I have some fun stuff to look forward to this summer, and I was able to see some family this weekend for the first time in too long. To top it all off, fireworks greeted me at the end of my drive last night. Awesome. (That is one fun thing about living in flat lands as opposed to the TN hills. Miles and miles of sky each way you turn.)
My point is this: Mucking around in all of this contentment makes for a boring blog. I could tell you about my holiday weekend (it was great) or the punk band I made brownies for (they were all sweet) or some other personal story, but it would just feel like rubbing it in your invisible faces, so I won't. I just hope your shortened holiday week is as fun as mine should be. I've been filling in for a coworker this weekn & now have to give a presentation on Monday that I'm not really prepared for, if that makes all this bliss a little easier to swallow.
posted by Serrabee
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
From: Life In & Around Memphis
Friday Recap
As I started writing this in the Philly airport, moe.’s “Plane Crash" came on my iPod. How messed up is that? Brings up a flashback to Friday morning. On the first plane from Memphis to Charlotte, I was bored during the preflight instructions. You know the clichés that we don’t need to hear anymore:
Exits are at the rear, middle, and front
Your seat is a floatation device
This is how you use the seat belt (seriously, who the hell does not know how to use a seatbelt?)
So I actually took the “in case of…” pamphlet out and looked through it. Immediately my mind jumped to that scene in Fight Club where Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) and Edward Norton’s character are seated next to each other on a plane. Tyler is talking about how the people in the brochure look like Hindu cows: blank faces without emotion. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, just watch Fight Club. After replaying this in my mind, my stream of consciousness takes me to the TV show Lost. So there I was sitting on a plane before takeoff Friday morning and all that was going through my mind was plane crashes in pop culture. That’s messed up.
So I had a great trip. It was a great wedding. Here’s what went down. I’m going to apologize now, because this is going to be really long. Go ahead and go to the bathroom or get a drink.
Way before I started thinking about Fight Club or Lost, I was peacefully sleeping in my bed. I was rudely awoken at 3:45 AM by my alarm. That was rough. I don’t even get up that early anymore to go hunting. The last time I saw 3:45 AM I had been out drinking and I was already home. In a haze I found my bathroom and jumped into a cold ass shower to jumpstart my batteries. Yeah, that worked. I raced to the airport and got on my plane to Charlotte. This was the view just before we pulled away from the gate (yeah, after the plane crash thoughts):
That was pretty, but it was an omen of trouble on the horizon. For those of you who haven’t ever heard this, there’s an old nautical saying about the weather:
RED SKY AT NIGHT, SAILOR’S DELIGHT,
RED SKY AT MORNING, SAILOR TAKE WARNING.
In other words if the sky is red at sunrise, that means there are clouds and/or a front headed your way (from the west). It means a storm is coming or at least a significant change in the weather. The metaphorical meaning is there’s trouble headed your way). So I’m looking out the window at the beginning of my trip and I see this bad omen. I know at that moment that I was in for a fun weekend.
The flight from Memphis to Charlotte was uneventful. I’ll spare you the boring details. I boarded my second plane in Charlotte and this is what I saw out the window on the wing:
So what did I do? I waited until the drink cart came by. I looked at my watch. It was 10AM local (eastern) time. That meant it was 9AM Memphis time (body clock time). I ordered a bloody mary. I enjoyed my cocktail and finished it just before we descended into Philadelphia, the city of Brotherly Love. Here’s a pic of the skyline and the Eagle’s ridiculously huge stadium:
I also got pics of it driving by later:
Now as I left the plane my partner in crime was waiting there with a big ol’ smile on his face. Mike (I call him Mikey) was my pledge brother back in college. We used to get in a bit of trouble. He was a bartender at a restaurant/bar called Dan Fax and later the Sanctuary. We called it Skanktuary because of the “high” quality of ladies that came there. The owner was a bad businessman and an even bigger drunk (I was told) who was driven home by the wait staff every day around 7PM. So after he would leave, we’d all show up, drink a ton of beer, have small tabs, and leave HUGE cash tips for the bartenders. You do the math. Pay your waiters and bartenders poorly, and they in turn will have to live off the tips they earn.
So when I saw Mikey at the gate, I said “Hey Mikey, let’s go get some beer and rent a car.” I had my first beer of the day around 11:15 eastern. And it was a nice followup to my previous bloody mary. We left the airport and Mikey rented a brand new Chevy Impala. It only had 1200 miles on it. We start driving and Mikey peels off the no smoking sticker on the dashboard. A little while later he lights up a cigarette. Say goodbye to the new car smell. It was still a sweet ride though.
We eventually got to Princeton, New Jersey. Beautiful area. Definitely quaint. We checked into the hotel. I asked the young lady behind the counter what was the best place to get a Philly Cheese steak even though we were in Jersey. She sent us over to Chuck’s. It was a great. I was about to take a bite when I decided to take a picture:
Can you say heartburn? I haven’t eaten so many onions, red peppers, bell peppers and yellow peppers in one weekend EVER. After that we had to go to the local mall for Mikey to try on his tux (he was in the wedding. I wasn’t). We went to a place called Chazmatazz. Yeah, you read that right. I still didn’t see any Jersey hair though. But I did see a Jersey tube top for Paul. He’s got this thing on his blog about June being tube top month. I figured a pic of a Yankee in a tube top on June 31 would be a nice way to end the 2006 TUBE TOP MONTH. So here ya go Paul, a Jersey tube top:
I wasn’t in the wedding so I didn’t have to go to the rehearsal, but I was invited to the rehearsal dinner since I was a pledge brother of the groom AND I had traveled so far. I didn’t give a speech, but I did get plenty of wine and vodka tonics. So I’m glad I didn’t have to speak. After the speeches and dinner were over we hung out at the bar for a few more rounds. We were then invited to meet up with everyone (besides the bride and groom who went to separate homes) at a bar called Meditteranea or something. We were just drunk enough to rename it the Greek Bar. Sounded good. I walked in and ordered a red bull and vodka. They didn’t have Red Bull or any energy drinks. Damn Yankee bars. But I realized that this is a nice, upscale bar AND I remembered that Mikey said he was going to buy my drinks at this bar. I said, “Excuse me bartender, can you make a mojito?” He said yes and we were in business. These weren’t mojitos in little cocktail glasses. We’re talking highball glasses. And he put in the fresh mint and crushed it in the glass. Perfect. Everyone in the wedding group was asking what the hell I was drinking. Everyone wanted a sip, and I was happy to oblige. Apparently they never had mojitos before. Most had said that it was the best cocktail they had had. Then one of the bridesmaids Tiffany said that it looked like a chick drink. I asked if she wanted a taste. She said that unlike me, she didn’t drink chick drinks. That sounded like a challenge to me:
“You know what? Why don’t you stop trying to look like Carmen Electra, and let’s make this interesting. I’m going to drink you under the table, darlin’.”
Yeah, I threw down the gauntlet. I asked what kind of shot she wanted. She wanted whiskey. I don’t drink whiskey (it’s bad news). I suggested a Golden Tornado (half Goldschlagger and half Jagermeister). She said no. We compromised with Lemon Drops. Lots of Lemon Drops. No one knows who won the challenge. I think we both woke up in pain with fuzzy memories. Don’t believe me? I don’t remember taking this pic and it was at the first bar:
Tiffany wasn’t in that pic though. She’s in pics from Saturday night. I hung out with everyone until the bar closed at (I think) 11:45. Now all the bars close at 1AM for some reason there. I thought the South only had blue laws. Well after that bar closed, the parents of the groom and the rest of the older generation went back to the hotel. We, the stupid generation, kept drinking. We found another bar called Mulberry or Woodberry or something. We still don’t know the name of it and this place was 100 feet from our hotel. HA! We walked in to find a college bar full of Princeton kids. I needed a recharge for my batteries so I went to the bar. I ordered a Red Bull and Vodka. They didn’t have it there either! WFT! So I asked the bartender if “this glorified TGIFridays at least has Bud Light?” He got me a beer.
We were standing around the bar talking amongst ourselves when this girl made a comment to me which started trouble:
Her (HUGE NEW JERSEY ACCENT): Oooh my gad, I love your accent.
Me to her: No you don’t. You’re just attracted to me.
Me to her boyfriend: Hey Dude, what’s going on?
Me to her: Hehe, you’re funny.
Me: Hey, are those fries?!?
Her: Yeah, you want some?
Me: Hell yeah (I grabbed a hand full and shoved them in my mouth.)
Me: Oh Damn! These are the best fries I’ve ever had. Hey Mikey! I just made new friends who have food! Hey yall, this is Mikey.
Mikey walks over and grabs a handful of friens too. He shoves them in his mouth and says hi at the same time. We hung out with them until the bar closed or we were done drinking. I’m not sure.
Mikey and I walked out of the bar and started stumbling back to the hotel when I had a wonderful idea: “Hey Mikey, let’s get some food!” We stopped folks on the street and asked what everyone there did for late night grub. Everyone said Hoagie Haven or Hoagie Heaven (still not sure which), but no one could give us directions. We ran into some old professor dude and his old lady. They gave us directions: “Go to that corner, take a right and then take your next left. Go 7 or 8 blocks.” We said thanks and stumbled off. We got lost and ended up running into him again in like 15 minutes. I said, “now where do I go?” He said “do you see that corner 10 feet away?” “Yessir I do.” “Go there and take a left. Go 9 blocks and you’ll see it.” We thanked him, then Mikey said “screw that I’m going to bed.” At this point my stomach had taken all the blood away from my brain or something because I said “Mikey, I’ll go get the hoagies.”
Now I need to explain something here. We are in New Jersey so it isn’t pronounced “ho-gie”. It is pronounced “hooooa-gie” with a lot of o’s. Real funny sounding. So in my drunken stooper, I took that pronunciation and ran with it. I said “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAGIEEEEEEE!” Yeah it was really obnoxious, I know.
So I hoofed it solo for 9 blocks in dress shoes. A little uncomfortable, but bearable. After what seemed like 300 blocks, I decided it was time to drunk dial. But who should I drunk dial from Yankee land? I decided to call my sister who was stuck in Memphis. I talked to her again the next morning and she said that I was being such a fool that she put me on speaker so her friends could hear me while I was getting the hoagies. Apparently not ten seconds after she answered I walked into Hoagie Haven. These were a few of my comments (I really need to start carrying a tape recorder on nights like these):
“Hello from the Garden State!”
“I totally saw Adriana’s body in the woods by Princeton.” (that was a Sopranos reference)
“I’m getting a HOOOOOOOOOOOAGIEEEEEE!!! I think it’s like a sub, but the Yankee version.”
“Oh my God, you have to help me. I’m in a Blue State.”
“There are four girls staring at me like I’m crazy. Either they think I’m really hot, they want my HOOOOAGIEEEE, or they’ve never seen a drunk Southern man. Hey, yeah yall, which is it?”
“No dude, I don’t know how to order a HOOOOAGIEEEE. Just give me two of whatever everyone else gets. I’m not from around here. Can’t you tell?”
I did manage to get out of there before I sang Dixie though. I walked all the way back to the hotel. I got into the room and saw Mikey on his bed passed out. I said “Hey Mikey! Wake Up! We’ve got HOOOOAGIEEEES!!!” He could barely sit up straight, but he ate that hoagie like a champ. He said he needed water, but he couldn’t even walk to the bathroom. I got him a glass. When he was done with it, he tried to toss it onto the table. Unfortunately his toss was going to be more like a pitcher throwing a fastball. I grabbed that glass, told him I’d handle it, and placed it on the table. He had two more bites and said “no more hoagie.” He handed the hoagie to me, fell back on the bed, and passed out. I laughed my ass off. I took off my clothes and climbed into my bed. I immediately passed out.
About 9 AM Saturday morning, I woke up with the worst hangover I’ve had in a while. Mikey was pretty hungover too. We were pretty bad off, but we weren’t the worst. The groom’s cousin Sam later told us that he woke up naked in his bathtub in a few inches of ice cold water. That’s pretty bad, but the other cousin wins for the worst wake up of the entire Princeton area. Here’s his story as we later pieced it together.
Somehow our entire group at the second bar staggered out in small groups (i.e. Mikey and I went looking for the Great Hoagie Haven). Well the other cousin we’ll call RS. He walked out without anyone else. He tried to find our hotel but never could. Remember our hotel was less than 100 feet from our hotel. I walked out of our hotel and saw the bar at the end of the street. Not that hard to find. Anyway after an undermined amount of time walking around, RS stumbled onto the Princeton campus and found a ditch to sleep in. He woke up the next morning with a HUGE bruise on his forehead, dressed in a suit, and in a ditch at an Ivy League school. How badass is that? I don’t think the majority of the wedding party new about it even after the weekend was over. Pretty cool huh?
Ok, that’s all for now. I’ll recap Saturday and the flight home later.
Have a good one and don’t get none on ya.
posted by Philip at 11:43 AM
[photos and links at original site]
As I started writing this in the Philly airport, moe.’s “Plane Crash" came on my iPod. How messed up is that? Brings up a flashback to Friday morning. On the first plane from Memphis to Charlotte, I was bored during the preflight instructions. You know the clichés that we don’t need to hear anymore:
Exits are at the rear, middle, and front
Your seat is a floatation device
This is how you use the seat belt (seriously, who the hell does not know how to use a seatbelt?)
So I actually took the “in case of…” pamphlet out and looked through it. Immediately my mind jumped to that scene in Fight Club where Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) and Edward Norton’s character are seated next to each other on a plane. Tyler is talking about how the people in the brochure look like Hindu cows: blank faces without emotion. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, just watch Fight Club. After replaying this in my mind, my stream of consciousness takes me to the TV show Lost. So there I was sitting on a plane before takeoff Friday morning and all that was going through my mind was plane crashes in pop culture. That’s messed up.
So I had a great trip. It was a great wedding. Here’s what went down. I’m going to apologize now, because this is going to be really long. Go ahead and go to the bathroom or get a drink.
Way before I started thinking about Fight Club or Lost, I was peacefully sleeping in my bed. I was rudely awoken at 3:45 AM by my alarm. That was rough. I don’t even get up that early anymore to go hunting. The last time I saw 3:45 AM I had been out drinking and I was already home. In a haze I found my bathroom and jumped into a cold ass shower to jumpstart my batteries. Yeah, that worked. I raced to the airport and got on my plane to Charlotte. This was the view just before we pulled away from the gate (yeah, after the plane crash thoughts):
That was pretty, but it was an omen of trouble on the horizon. For those of you who haven’t ever heard this, there’s an old nautical saying about the weather:
RED SKY AT NIGHT, SAILOR’S DELIGHT,
RED SKY AT MORNING, SAILOR TAKE WARNING.
In other words if the sky is red at sunrise, that means there are clouds and/or a front headed your way (from the west). It means a storm is coming or at least a significant change in the weather. The metaphorical meaning is there’s trouble headed your way). So I’m looking out the window at the beginning of my trip and I see this bad omen. I know at that moment that I was in for a fun weekend.
The flight from Memphis to Charlotte was uneventful. I’ll spare you the boring details. I boarded my second plane in Charlotte and this is what I saw out the window on the wing:
So what did I do? I waited until the drink cart came by. I looked at my watch. It was 10AM local (eastern) time. That meant it was 9AM Memphis time (body clock time). I ordered a bloody mary. I enjoyed my cocktail and finished it just before we descended into Philadelphia, the city of Brotherly Love. Here’s a pic of the skyline and the Eagle’s ridiculously huge stadium:
I also got pics of it driving by later:
Now as I left the plane my partner in crime was waiting there with a big ol’ smile on his face. Mike (I call him Mikey) was my pledge brother back in college. We used to get in a bit of trouble. He was a bartender at a restaurant/bar called Dan Fax and later the Sanctuary. We called it Skanktuary because of the “high” quality of ladies that came there. The owner was a bad businessman and an even bigger drunk (I was told) who was driven home by the wait staff every day around 7PM. So after he would leave, we’d all show up, drink a ton of beer, have small tabs, and leave HUGE cash tips for the bartenders. You do the math. Pay your waiters and bartenders poorly, and they in turn will have to live off the tips they earn.
So when I saw Mikey at the gate, I said “Hey Mikey, let’s go get some beer and rent a car.” I had my first beer of the day around 11:15 eastern. And it was a nice followup to my previous bloody mary. We left the airport and Mikey rented a brand new Chevy Impala. It only had 1200 miles on it. We start driving and Mikey peels off the no smoking sticker on the dashboard. A little while later he lights up a cigarette. Say goodbye to the new car smell. It was still a sweet ride though.
We eventually got to Princeton, New Jersey. Beautiful area. Definitely quaint. We checked into the hotel. I asked the young lady behind the counter what was the best place to get a Philly Cheese steak even though we were in Jersey. She sent us over to Chuck’s. It was a great. I was about to take a bite when I decided to take a picture:
Can you say heartburn? I haven’t eaten so many onions, red peppers, bell peppers and yellow peppers in one weekend EVER. After that we had to go to the local mall for Mikey to try on his tux (he was in the wedding. I wasn’t). We went to a place called Chazmatazz. Yeah, you read that right. I still didn’t see any Jersey hair though. But I did see a Jersey tube top for Paul. He’s got this thing on his blog about June being tube top month. I figured a pic of a Yankee in a tube top on June 31 would be a nice way to end the 2006 TUBE TOP MONTH. So here ya go Paul, a Jersey tube top:
I wasn’t in the wedding so I didn’t have to go to the rehearsal, but I was invited to the rehearsal dinner since I was a pledge brother of the groom AND I had traveled so far. I didn’t give a speech, but I did get plenty of wine and vodka tonics. So I’m glad I didn’t have to speak. After the speeches and dinner were over we hung out at the bar for a few more rounds. We were then invited to meet up with everyone (besides the bride and groom who went to separate homes) at a bar called Meditteranea or something. We were just drunk enough to rename it the Greek Bar. Sounded good. I walked in and ordered a red bull and vodka. They didn’t have Red Bull or any energy drinks. Damn Yankee bars. But I realized that this is a nice, upscale bar AND I remembered that Mikey said he was going to buy my drinks at this bar. I said, “Excuse me bartender, can you make a mojito?” He said yes and we were in business. These weren’t mojitos in little cocktail glasses. We’re talking highball glasses. And he put in the fresh mint and crushed it in the glass. Perfect. Everyone in the wedding group was asking what the hell I was drinking. Everyone wanted a sip, and I was happy to oblige. Apparently they never had mojitos before. Most had said that it was the best cocktail they had had. Then one of the bridesmaids Tiffany said that it looked like a chick drink. I asked if she wanted a taste. She said that unlike me, she didn’t drink chick drinks. That sounded like a challenge to me:
“You know what? Why don’t you stop trying to look like Carmen Electra, and let’s make this interesting. I’m going to drink you under the table, darlin’.”
Yeah, I threw down the gauntlet. I asked what kind of shot she wanted. She wanted whiskey. I don’t drink whiskey (it’s bad news). I suggested a Golden Tornado (half Goldschlagger and half Jagermeister). She said no. We compromised with Lemon Drops. Lots of Lemon Drops. No one knows who won the challenge. I think we both woke up in pain with fuzzy memories. Don’t believe me? I don’t remember taking this pic and it was at the first bar:
Tiffany wasn’t in that pic though. She’s in pics from Saturday night. I hung out with everyone until the bar closed at (I think) 11:45. Now all the bars close at 1AM for some reason there. I thought the South only had blue laws. Well after that bar closed, the parents of the groom and the rest of the older generation went back to the hotel. We, the stupid generation, kept drinking. We found another bar called Mulberry or Woodberry or something. We still don’t know the name of it and this place was 100 feet from our hotel. HA! We walked in to find a college bar full of Princeton kids. I needed a recharge for my batteries so I went to the bar. I ordered a Red Bull and Vodka. They didn’t have it there either! WFT! So I asked the bartender if “this glorified TGIFridays at least has Bud Light?” He got me a beer.
We were standing around the bar talking amongst ourselves when this girl made a comment to me which started trouble:
Her (HUGE NEW JERSEY ACCENT): Oooh my gad, I love your accent.
Me to her: No you don’t. You’re just attracted to me.
Me to her boyfriend: Hey Dude, what’s going on?
Me to her: Hehe, you’re funny.
Me: Hey, are those fries?!?
Her: Yeah, you want some?
Me: Hell yeah (I grabbed a hand full and shoved them in my mouth.)
Me: Oh Damn! These are the best fries I’ve ever had. Hey Mikey! I just made new friends who have food! Hey yall, this is Mikey.
Mikey walks over and grabs a handful of friens too. He shoves them in his mouth and says hi at the same time. We hung out with them until the bar closed or we were done drinking. I’m not sure.
Mikey and I walked out of the bar and started stumbling back to the hotel when I had a wonderful idea: “Hey Mikey, let’s get some food!” We stopped folks on the street and asked what everyone there did for late night grub. Everyone said Hoagie Haven or Hoagie Heaven (still not sure which), but no one could give us directions. We ran into some old professor dude and his old lady. They gave us directions: “Go to that corner, take a right and then take your next left. Go 7 or 8 blocks.” We said thanks and stumbled off. We got lost and ended up running into him again in like 15 minutes. I said, “now where do I go?” He said “do you see that corner 10 feet away?” “Yessir I do.” “Go there and take a left. Go 9 blocks and you’ll see it.” We thanked him, then Mikey said “screw that I’m going to bed.” At this point my stomach had taken all the blood away from my brain or something because I said “Mikey, I’ll go get the hoagies.”
Now I need to explain something here. We are in New Jersey so it isn’t pronounced “ho-gie”. It is pronounced “hooooa-gie” with a lot of o’s. Real funny sounding. So in my drunken stooper, I took that pronunciation and ran with it. I said “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAGIEEEEEEE!” Yeah it was really obnoxious, I know.
So I hoofed it solo for 9 blocks in dress shoes. A little uncomfortable, but bearable. After what seemed like 300 blocks, I decided it was time to drunk dial. But who should I drunk dial from Yankee land? I decided to call my sister who was stuck in Memphis. I talked to her again the next morning and she said that I was being such a fool that she put me on speaker so her friends could hear me while I was getting the hoagies. Apparently not ten seconds after she answered I walked into Hoagie Haven. These were a few of my comments (I really need to start carrying a tape recorder on nights like these):
“Hello from the Garden State!”
“I totally saw Adriana’s body in the woods by Princeton.” (that was a Sopranos reference)
“I’m getting a HOOOOOOOOOOOAGIEEEEEE!!! I think it’s like a sub, but the Yankee version.”
“Oh my God, you have to help me. I’m in a Blue State.”
“There are four girls staring at me like I’m crazy. Either they think I’m really hot, they want my HOOOOAGIEEEE, or they’ve never seen a drunk Southern man. Hey, yeah yall, which is it?”
“No dude, I don’t know how to order a HOOOOAGIEEEE. Just give me two of whatever everyone else gets. I’m not from around here. Can’t you tell?”
I did manage to get out of there before I sang Dixie though. I walked all the way back to the hotel. I got into the room and saw Mikey on his bed passed out. I said “Hey Mikey! Wake Up! We’ve got HOOOOAGIEEEES!!!” He could barely sit up straight, but he ate that hoagie like a champ. He said he needed water, but he couldn’t even walk to the bathroom. I got him a glass. When he was done with it, he tried to toss it onto the table. Unfortunately his toss was going to be more like a pitcher throwing a fastball. I grabbed that glass, told him I’d handle it, and placed it on the table. He had two more bites and said “no more hoagie.” He handed the hoagie to me, fell back on the bed, and passed out. I laughed my ass off. I took off my clothes and climbed into my bed. I immediately passed out.
About 9 AM Saturday morning, I woke up with the worst hangover I’ve had in a while. Mikey was pretty hungover too. We were pretty bad off, but we weren’t the worst. The groom’s cousin Sam later told us that he woke up naked in his bathtub in a few inches of ice cold water. That’s pretty bad, but the other cousin wins for the worst wake up of the entire Princeton area. Here’s his story as we later pieced it together.
Somehow our entire group at the second bar staggered out in small groups (i.e. Mikey and I went looking for the Great Hoagie Haven). Well the other cousin we’ll call RS. He walked out without anyone else. He tried to find our hotel but never could. Remember our hotel was less than 100 feet from our hotel. I walked out of our hotel and saw the bar at the end of the street. Not that hard to find. Anyway after an undermined amount of time walking around, RS stumbled onto the Princeton campus and found a ditch to sleep in. He woke up the next morning with a HUGE bruise on his forehead, dressed in a suit, and in a ditch at an Ivy League school. How badass is that? I don’t think the majority of the wedding party new about it even after the weekend was over. Pretty cool huh?
Ok, that’s all for now. I’ll recap Saturday and the flight home later.
Have a good one and don’t get none on ya.
posted by Philip at 11:43 AM
[photos and links at original site]
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
From: memphis.cool.movies
How to help make "Scooter"
From Amber O'Daniels:
I am in the beginning stage of shooting my first feature film. The film is "Scooter" and is set to start shooting in August. It is a collaboration among some of the greatest film talents in Memphis.
--Morgan Jon Fox (award winning, director, writer etc.) will be behind the camera. He's the lead cameraman and editor of the film. (Sawedoff Collaboratory)
--Chris McCoy (writer and director of such great films as "Automusik" and "Eat") will direct and also write for the lead male character. (Oddly Buoyant Productions)
--Laura Hocking (Writer, assistant director, producer) will write for the female character of the film as well as keeping all of us organized. (Oddly Buoyant Productions)
--John Fuess (writer, director, camera guy) will be the second camera and map genius.
--David Merill is the location mastermind.
--Sean O'Daniels (DJ genius, music God) will be in charge of music. (Sawedoff Collaboratory)
--Tal Fields is lead male actor. (Oddly Buoyant Productions)
--Amber O'Daniels is lead female actor. (Sawedoff Collaboratory)
This experimental film takes two characters on a journey through America as they ride a Vespa. They will actually ride the scooter and be forced to deal with the environment as it comes. All sets and extras will be true to life. If you see the actors in a diner ordering from a waitress, the diner is real and the waitress really works there. The other aspect of the film that is interesting is that neither actor will know what will be taking place until the writers present it to them 10 minutes before shooting. Each character will improvise the entire film with direction from that character's writer. While the two lead characters are on the Vespa, the writers, director and camera crew will be in a van giving the characters direction. Each feeling that is portrayed is organic and true to the moment.
Why did I want to make such a film? I wanted to work with some of the best minds in Memphis before I left for New York and I wanted to make a pure love story. So many times I feel that love stories need to have someone die who comes back as a ghost who kills the bad man and needs to repent for all his or her wrongdoings. What ever happened to love, just simple falling in love? This film is about falling in love with someone, with yourself, with your environment and with a Vespa scooter.
What I need from you:
Funds. This film is completely independent but we need your help to make it. Here are a few ways that you can help:
1. Go here (sawedoff.net and click on Meisner). You will see section that says "Make a donation to the film." This is a Paypal account set up just for the film. When you fill out your information for the transaction we will send you an invoice. In the event the film makes an abundance of money, you will get back every penny that you paid into the film. Also, you will have your name in the credits regardless of the film making a big big profit or not.
2. Take my class. If you take my last class in Memphis you will get a great experience as well as assist in funding of the film. Each student will get an invoice so that if the movie makes an abundance of money he or she will receive what was paid for the class. How do you sign up for my class, and where can you learn more? Go here (sawedoff.net and click on Meisner) and all the information is there for your enjoyment.
3. Come to our first fundraiser July 29th at 8 pm at Otherlands coffee shop. Amy LaVere will be performing as well as other guests to be announced. We will also have art to auction off.
4. Make art for us to auction off at our fundraiser. Please! If you make art and it gets bought we will give you an invoice of the amount you would have sold it for and in the event the film makes a lot of money you will be paid the amount of the art you donated. Also your name will be in the credits.
5. Make a short film or a trailer for the Indie Memphis Film Festival and we will show it at our fundraiser.
6. Tell someone about the film, the fundraiser, the class.
: ) Amber O'Daniels
posted by Jon W. Sparks
From Amber O'Daniels:
I am in the beginning stage of shooting my first feature film. The film is "Scooter" and is set to start shooting in August. It is a collaboration among some of the greatest film talents in Memphis.
--Morgan Jon Fox (award winning, director, writer etc.) will be behind the camera. He's the lead cameraman and editor of the film. (Sawedoff Collaboratory)
--Chris McCoy (writer and director of such great films as "Automusik" and "Eat") will direct and also write for the lead male character. (Oddly Buoyant Productions)
--Laura Hocking (Writer, assistant director, producer) will write for the female character of the film as well as keeping all of us organized. (Oddly Buoyant Productions)
--John Fuess (writer, director, camera guy) will be the second camera and map genius.
--David Merill is the location mastermind.
--Sean O'Daniels (DJ genius, music God) will be in charge of music. (Sawedoff Collaboratory)
--Tal Fields is lead male actor. (Oddly Buoyant Productions)
--Amber O'Daniels is lead female actor. (Sawedoff Collaboratory)
This experimental film takes two characters on a journey through America as they ride a Vespa. They will actually ride the scooter and be forced to deal with the environment as it comes. All sets and extras will be true to life. If you see the actors in a diner ordering from a waitress, the diner is real and the waitress really works there. The other aspect of the film that is interesting is that neither actor will know what will be taking place until the writers present it to them 10 minutes before shooting. Each character will improvise the entire film with direction from that character's writer. While the two lead characters are on the Vespa, the writers, director and camera crew will be in a van giving the characters direction. Each feeling that is portrayed is organic and true to the moment.
Why did I want to make such a film? I wanted to work with some of the best minds in Memphis before I left for New York and I wanted to make a pure love story. So many times I feel that love stories need to have someone die who comes back as a ghost who kills the bad man and needs to repent for all his or her wrongdoings. What ever happened to love, just simple falling in love? This film is about falling in love with someone, with yourself, with your environment and with a Vespa scooter.
What I need from you:
Funds. This film is completely independent but we need your help to make it. Here are a few ways that you can help:
1. Go here (sawedoff.net and click on Meisner). You will see section that says "Make a donation to the film." This is a Paypal account set up just for the film. When you fill out your information for the transaction we will send you an invoice. In the event the film makes an abundance of money, you will get back every penny that you paid into the film. Also, you will have your name in the credits regardless of the film making a big big profit or not.
2. Take my class. If you take my last class in Memphis you will get a great experience as well as assist in funding of the film. Each student will get an invoice so that if the movie makes an abundance of money he or she will receive what was paid for the class. How do you sign up for my class, and where can you learn more? Go here (sawedoff.net and click on Meisner) and all the information is there for your enjoyment.
3. Come to our first fundraiser July 29th at 8 pm at Otherlands coffee shop. Amy LaVere will be performing as well as other guests to be announced. We will also have art to auction off.
4. Make art for us to auction off at our fundraiser. Please! If you make art and it gets bought we will give you an invoice of the amount you would have sold it for and in the event the film makes a lot of money you will be paid the amount of the art you donated. Also your name will be in the credits.
5. Make a short film or a trailer for the Indie Memphis Film Festival and we will show it at our fundraiser.
6. Tell someone about the film, the fundraiser, the class.
: ) Amber O'Daniels
posted by Jon W. Sparks
Monday, July 03, 2006
From: Steve's Nude Memphis Blog
Memphis Monday Mush
All night long I dreamed weird dreams. That only one I remember is my last dream. A man was in the hospital for some reason. I was there to see him. He wasn't concious so I was just bored. I wandered around looking for a bathroom. Instead of using the stairs or elevator I was apparently an expert burglar or something because I would go up through the ceiling to reach the next floor above. No one in the hospital ever seemed to notice, even when I emerged in the middle of the hallway.
I'm dead tired. I'd like to think that something funny will eventually come out if I just keep writing, but I'm doubtful. I'm just dead tired. Plus, I need to poop and get some coffee. How can a man be expected to be funny when he hasn't pooped or had his coffee?
So, nothing happened in traffic this morning. And by nothing I mean that aside from seeing 2 reasonably attractive women jogging as I drove in to work I don't think I passed another person or car anywhere. It was a weird feeling, with the morning sun shining at that unique summer angle that it does and me not having the radio on. It reminded me of when I was a little kid riding my bike to school. It was always a weird feeling. I don't know how to explain that any better.
Apparently President Bush and the Prime Minister of Japan didn't do anything else exciting while they were in Memphis because I haven't heard anything more about it. I guarantee Priscilla and Lisa Marie are long gone already. They probably left the minute the President turned his back. Who stays in Memphis when you can go home to L.A.?
Well, I guess it's time to poo.
posted by Memphis Steve at 8:31 AM
All night long I dreamed weird dreams. That only one I remember is my last dream. A man was in the hospital for some reason. I was there to see him. He wasn't concious so I was just bored. I wandered around looking for a bathroom. Instead of using the stairs or elevator I was apparently an expert burglar or something because I would go up through the ceiling to reach the next floor above. No one in the hospital ever seemed to notice, even when I emerged in the middle of the hallway.
I'm dead tired. I'd like to think that something funny will eventually come out if I just keep writing, but I'm doubtful. I'm just dead tired. Plus, I need to poop and get some coffee. How can a man be expected to be funny when he hasn't pooped or had his coffee?
So, nothing happened in traffic this morning. And by nothing I mean that aside from seeing 2 reasonably attractive women jogging as I drove in to work I don't think I passed another person or car anywhere. It was a weird feeling, with the morning sun shining at that unique summer angle that it does and me not having the radio on. It reminded me of when I was a little kid riding my bike to school. It was always a weird feeling. I don't know how to explain that any better.
Apparently President Bush and the Prime Minister of Japan didn't do anything else exciting while they were in Memphis because I haven't heard anything more about it. I guarantee Priscilla and Lisa Marie are long gone already. They probably left the minute the President turned his back. Who stays in Memphis when you can go home to L.A.?
Well, I guess it's time to poo.
posted by Memphis Steve at 8:31 AM
Saturday, July 01, 2006
From: Fore Left!
The Graceland adventure certainly got it's share of coverage, and rightfully so. It's not everyday a head of state can be seen deliberately crooning a classic rock and roll song in a place as gaudy as Graceland.
But leave it to the mainstream press to tell us the "real meaning" behind the event. Why else would anyone come here, right?
The Washington Post weighed in and somewhat snarkily opined:
It was one thing to take his friend, Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi, to Memphis to visit what evidently is now the nation's most important tourist site.
"It was one thing"? As if coming to Memphis for anything else would have been a joke.
Our local waggers also weighed in and proclaimed it a stunt, quoting a Vanderbilt Prof:
"I don't think he's doing this because he likes ... music and he and Bush get along," said James Auer, director of Vanderbilt University's Center for U.S.-Japan Studies and Cooperation. "He's doing this because it's in Japan's best interests."
Funny, I never saw Mr. Koizumi gritting his teeth. Oh well, back to the WaPo a sec. Bush didn't join in song Friday, but no matter--the Post reporter ascribed some vocals to him anyway:
The image of the politically struggling president lamenting his own heartbreak hotel might have left his advisers all shook up.
Way to get that loser tag in there, guys.
But maybe I'm just too sensitive. We southerners can get that way about the homeland sometimes. So, in the spirit of togetherness I'm posting the following, which is going around the net right now. Read in the spirit of diversity!
One morning, three Southerners and three Yankees were in a ticket counter line at a train station. The three Northerners each bought a ticket while the three southerners just bought one.
"How are the three of you going to travel on only one ticket?" asked one of the Yankees. "Watch and learn," answered one of the boys from the South.
All six boarded the train where the three Yankees sat down, but the three Southerners crammed into a toilet together and closed the door. Shortly after the train departed, the conductor came around to collect tickets. He knocked on the toilet door and said, "Ticket, please. The door opened just a crack and a single arm emerged with a ticket in hand. The conductor took it and moved on.
The Yankees saw this happen and agreed it was quite a clever idea. Indeed, so clever they decided to do the same thing on the return trip and save some money. That afternoon when they got back to the station, they bought a single ticket for the return trip and watched to their astonishment as the three Southerners didn't buy even one ticket.
"How are you going to travel without a ticket?" asked a perplexed Yankee. "Watch and learn," answered the three Southern boys in unison. When they boarded the train, the three Northerners crammed themselves into a toilet and the three Southerners crammed into another toilet just down the way.
Shortly after the train began to move, one of the Southerners left their toilet and walked over to the toilet in which the Yankees were hiding. The Southerner knocked on the door and said, "Ticket, please."
Thank you. Thank you very much.
posted by A.C.
[links found in original post]
But leave it to the mainstream press to tell us the "real meaning" behind the event. Why else would anyone come here, right?
The Washington Post weighed in and somewhat snarkily opined:
It was one thing to take his friend, Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi, to Memphis to visit what evidently is now the nation's most important tourist site.
"It was one thing"? As if coming to Memphis for anything else would have been a joke.
Our local waggers also weighed in and proclaimed it a stunt, quoting a Vanderbilt Prof:
"I don't think he's doing this because he likes ... music and he and Bush get along," said James Auer, director of Vanderbilt University's Center for U.S.-Japan Studies and Cooperation. "He's doing this because it's in Japan's best interests."
Funny, I never saw Mr. Koizumi gritting his teeth. Oh well, back to the WaPo a sec. Bush didn't join in song Friday, but no matter--the Post reporter ascribed some vocals to him anyway:
The image of the politically struggling president lamenting his own heartbreak hotel might have left his advisers all shook up.
Way to get that loser tag in there, guys.
But maybe I'm just too sensitive. We southerners can get that way about the homeland sometimes. So, in the spirit of togetherness I'm posting the following, which is going around the net right now. Read in the spirit of diversity!
One morning, three Southerners and three Yankees were in a ticket counter line at a train station. The three Northerners each bought a ticket while the three southerners just bought one.
"How are the three of you going to travel on only one ticket?" asked one of the Yankees. "Watch and learn," answered one of the boys from the South.
All six boarded the train where the three Yankees sat down, but the three Southerners crammed into a toilet together and closed the door. Shortly after the train departed, the conductor came around to collect tickets. He knocked on the toilet door and said, "Ticket, please. The door opened just a crack and a single arm emerged with a ticket in hand. The conductor took it and moved on.
The Yankees saw this happen and agreed it was quite a clever idea. Indeed, so clever they decided to do the same thing on the return trip and save some money. That afternoon when they got back to the station, they bought a single ticket for the return trip and watched to their astonishment as the three Southerners didn't buy even one ticket.
"How are you going to travel without a ticket?" asked a perplexed Yankee. "Watch and learn," answered the three Southern boys in unison. When they boarded the train, the three Northerners crammed themselves into a toilet and the three Southerners crammed into another toilet just down the way.
Shortly after the train began to move, one of the Southerners left their toilet and walked over to the toilet in which the Yankees were hiding. The Southerner knocked on the door and said, "Ticket, please."
Thank you. Thank you very much.
posted by A.C.
[links found in original post]
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