Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Day Out With Thomas

On Saturday we ventured out to Edaville Railroad for a Day Out With Thomas., just KG, TKJr and I.

Of course, it was pouring rain. But, we managed to have a good time in spite of the weather. TKJr was so thrilled to see a real, live Thomas. When he first saw him chugging along the track, he yelled out “I love Thomas!”

They had a lot of merchandise for sale. And TKJr spent most of his time running around looking at all of it. Thankfully, he’s pretty good about putting stuff back and not expecting to take it home. We did buy a comemorative “Day Out With Thomas” wooden coal car, a T shirt for TKJr and a T shirt for me.

I’m pretty fond of Thomas as well.

The rain managed to let up for a bit, and KG and TKJr got their picture taken with Thomas. After that we got to ride on him, and Nick really enjoyed that. I brought along the video camera, and we’ve watched that about 20 times now.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Brother, my cup is empty

Anyone else sick of the rain yet? I've finally reached a point where I really don't care. I don't even bother trying to stay dry. Being aquatic isn't really all that bad.

In fact, I'm so over it, I can't even muster the enegry to bitch about it.

I heard today that the NEG will be taking a Duck Tour on July 22nd. I'm so there! Just thinking about one of those duck boats tooling around Boston filled with stormtroopers cracks me up.

KG and I just finished watching "Airplane!" Now we're half watching some History Channel thing about the Klan. White people are pretty fucked up, yo.

So, I've bitched at length about my ass numbing, brain damaging commute. I've found a way to combat the soul crushing tedium, and tonight it is causing me angst.

Most days, if you happen to be stuck next to me in a traffic jam, you'll be treated to The Residents. Every so often, though, I'll pick one of my other favorite artists, and I'll spend as many days as it takes to make my way through their entire catalog, a day at a time.

The past weeks have been Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I love Nick Cave. How much do I love him? I named my fucking kid after him! Anyhow... I'm in to the third week of this little project, and I'm in trouble. I can't find Murder Ballads anywhere!

So, not only is my whole chronological order thing screwed up, I also can't listen to one of my favorite albums of all times. That, incidently, includes the best line ever written in any song anywhere...

"I'm a bad motherfucker, don't you know
and I'd climb over 50 pussies just to get to one fat boy's asshole."

Not for everyone, me thinks.

Friday, June 23, 2006

A few things...

The TV remote is on the fritz. It only works when I smack it violently against my hand. That trick rarely actually works on anything else.

KG and Izzy came home today. It's a nice feeling to have the family all back together. Izzy has been all smiles. I think she's happy to be back home in a familiar setting.

We're going to Edaville Railroad tomorrow to meet Thomas the Tank Engine. Of course, it's going to be fucking pouring with severe thunderstorms all day. I can only hope this leads to a smaller crowd, as the event is rain or shine.

For some reason the space bar on my laptop is acting hinkey. It only seems to stop working when I'm entering a post on this site.

I left work at 4:05 today. I arrived in North Quincy (10 miles away) at 6:35.

TKJr's daycare closes at 6. He was there all alone with a Chinese grandma who speaks no English. He handled it pretty well.

I just finished watching The Birds . I couldn't stop thinking about Crazy LM from work. I laughed.

I really, really hate traffic. I here by swear, as witnessed by the hapless few who read this, that I will personally ass rape any motherfucker that tands in the way of either flying cars for the masses or tube technology. I swear I will. That includes Dubya. Lead me to him, I'll ram it right up his brown eye.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Baby Update

I just got back from the hospital, and mom and baby are doing fine. Isabel has a urinary tract infection. Not normal for a 2 month old, but not life threatening.

We're still waiting on the results from the spinal tap, we won't have that until tomorrow night. So, KG and Isabel will be staying at the hospital until Friday.

Isabel was all smiles when I went to see her this morning, and she's trying hard to wiggle out of the splint on her arm. They are going to do an ultrasouns to take a look at her kidneys, and then she'll have to go back later for a more involved dye and x-ray to make sure eveything is normal and functional.

All in all a little scary, but everything seems to be OK.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Oh fuck

Well, KG and Izzy are at the hospital. The baby had a fever today, so KG took her to the doctor. They sent her to the hospital for a spinal tap. They will be staying there for 48 hours while we wait to see if Izzy has meningitis.

Fuck me sideways.

Where are my T storms?

It's tough this time of year when you're a big fan of thunderstorms. Every day I get a severe weather alert with the promise of damaging thunderstorms. Yet again and again the day goes by without even a single lightning bolt.

I want some scary weather, dammit!

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Happy Sperm Donor Day

Seriously, to all you dad's out there... hat's off.

I had a pleasant day. Got to sleep in until 8, which is late in this house. KG made me eggs and bacon for breakfast, and brewed my coffee! I got a couple of cards, ans then my parents came over with toys for the boy.

They brought us a new air conditioner and a sand box for TKJr, which then necessitated a trip to Lowe's for "play sand."

We went out for dinner (fried clams!), and had ice cream at Peaceful Meadows. Came home, and I put TKJr to bed.

Now it's time for a beer. That'll make the day complete.

I finally broke down and bought myself a pair of flip flops for around the house. I've had a life long adversion to sandals... so for those who have known me a long time, that's big news. I figured I end up spending a lot of time poolside, at the beach, or just kicking around in a sweltering apartment, so it made sense. If I can get used to it, I'll graduate to a pair of real sandals. Woohoo for me.

I don't know what the big deal has been. I was a strange little kid, and some of those strange mindsets have clung around. I remember the one and only time my parents tried to buy me sandals. I was maybe 4 or 5. We went to a little shoe shop in town. The salesman told me to take off my socks. I refused, freaked out, and tried to run away. Never did wear those sandals.

So.. almost 30 years later, I'm finally getting over it. My feet thank me.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Headed for the smallest state in the union

The State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations.

Huh, I learned something new today. I had no idea that was RI's full name. Hey, James Woods is from there!

Yup. That's pretty much all I have to say. Auntie AM is throwing a party for Izzy. Thankfully, it's a nice hot day, and we're taking KG's car. Which means I can drink.


Thursday, June 15, 2006

Basset Wisdom

At lunch today I was recounting a tale from my pothead days. Amusing anecdote, for sure. Driving home, though, I recalled the occasion a tad more vividly and thought I'd share.
Lucky you.
A quick set up: The year was 1993. I was living in an affluent neighborhood just outside of Bridgeport, CT. I was living with my father and stepmother. My father was the rector of the local Episcopalian church, and they lived in the rectory. Right next to the church.
I worked at a scenic shop in Bridgeport. Building stage sets for Broadway and stuff like that. Cool job. I was a non-union shophand.
Anyhow... this particular occasion, my parents were out of town and I was staying home alone. Just me and Barney, the basset hound.

It was a nice, sunny summer day. The work day had just ended. One of my work buddies asked me if I wanted to take a spin with him and smoke a spliff. Sure, I thought. Why not?
I had been getting some pretty decent weed whenever I made the trek up to Boston. In CT, I didn't really have a connection. So, I wasn't about to pass up the chance to toke.
So, we hopped in his car and went for a drive. He handed me a joint and I sparked. I remember that it was made with this really cool wrapping paper that had a wire glued into it. As you smoked the joint, you pushed down the wire, and you ended up with a nice handle to keep from burning your fingers. No need for a roach clip.
Now this guy had seemed pretty cool. We talked a lot, and I had known he was a fellow smoker for a while, so we had that in common. As we drove around the neighborhood, I started to get a slightly different feeling.
He remained cool, but he started talking about getting together with me and selling pot. He knew I used to work for a funeral home, and he wanted me to get some embalming fluid to spike the pot with. Apparently that gives you a pretty intense, hallucinogenic high. All well and good, except for the fact that embalming fluid also kills you. It's some seriously bad shit. One time when I was working in the prep room , the old guy who was doing the embalming dropped a glass bottle of cavity fluid on the floor. Cavity fluid is concentrated embalming fluid. I was clear across the room, a good 15 feet away from him. Not even a second elapsed between the bottle breaking and me suddenly being unable to breathe or see. Thankfully, the other guy made a run for the door and grabbed me as well. It was like being hit with pepper mace. It was a good half hour before my eyes stopped tearing.
Besides that, embalming fluid causes cancer like kitties cause smiles. Bad shit.
I did my best to disabuse him of the notion.
Anyway... as we drove on I realized I was getting pretty damn fucked up. Not the normal pot high. We drove back to the shop and tried to play it cool, as some people were still there. As I walked through the parking lot, everything started slowing down. I could feel the asphalt under my feet melting. As I walked, it seemed I was on a treadmill, walking and walking but not moving. I was tripping my balls off.
I got in my own car and drove home. I managed to drive OK, but there were several times when I suddenly realized I had no idea where I was or how I got there. Thankfully, my autopilot had kicked in, and I managed to make it back home without incident.
Barney was waiting at the door, barking with excitment. I let him out into the yard, and sat down outside with a bag of chips and a soda I didn't remember buying. Barney, being a dog, was very interested in my chips.
And that's when it happened. Suddenly, I heard barney's thoughts. I could understand his barks and whines, the expressions on his face, and the gestures of his tail. We began to communicate.
It was weird, and very real. I had a momentary insight, a connection with this canine. I'm pretty sure he understood me as well. We talked about people food and squirrels. I watched him run around the yard, barking at people walking by. But he kept coming back, begging for more Doritos.
It was then that I saw the duality of a domesticated canine. He ran on instinct, hence the barking at strangers and running around the yard like dogs do. But this instinct kept getting subverted by conditioning. People food. Begging. Acting like a pet. I saw the struggle in his eyes. The struggle between being a dog and being a pet.
I felt pity for him.
I spent probably a good hour outside with Barney, talking rather loudly. It was only after a bit that I noticed parishoners coming in and out of the church. I figured it was probably in my best interest to go inside and ride out my buzz in private.

So, what is the point of this missive? Look, I've smoked a lot of pot in my day. There are a number of positive things about it, and there are a number of negative things about it. I'm not going to take a stance one way or another. It is what it is. On occasion though, I have altered my consciousness, and there is something to be said for that. Seeing things from a new perspective. The trick is holding on to that perspective once the high wears off. It's not easy. But it does happen.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

When Gulls Go Bad

What is wrong with the world when this is the biggest news story going? Maybe we need a terrorist attack to shake things up a bit. The media has gotten so lazy they can't even spell "allegedly" correctly.

To make matters worse, I work with this guy's wife. That there is a story in of it's self.

Monday, June 12, 2006

She lay open like a road

Well, as promised, I've quit bitching about my miserable ride home from work every day. Funny, I have yet to complain about my morning commute.

Most days, it is what it is. The day is just starting, and although I don't like being late to work, I'm not in any particular rush to get there.

That said, this morning's ride in was a real crotch biter. I guess there was a big accident on the Zakim Bridge. By the time I got there, it was long gone. All I know is I popped in The Resident's "Warner Brothers Album" as I pulled out of the driveway at my son's daycare. From there, it's half a mile to the highway. The album is approx. 40 minutes long. Just as I managed to get my car onto the highway, the album was starting over.

Oh well, it was a slow day at work anyhow.

The weekend was entertaining. KG's father came up from North Carolina to see the baby. We all trooped in to the Children's Museum in Boston. That was cool. It was pouring out, and we took the T in. That was a bit of a shock. Both KG and I used to ride the Red Line every day, and I could fill notebooks with all the bitching and oaning about how much that fucking sucked.

Anyhow, the last time I rode the T (which was a while ago), you gave the guy in the window some cash, he gave you some tokens. You put said tokens in the gate, and pushed your way through the turnstile. Well... we arrived at the T station to discover no guy. Just a machine that only took debit or credit cards, and issued you a ticket instead of tokens. A Charlie Pass. Cute. I too always wondered why the stupid bitch didn't just give the poor guy a nickel.

Also, the turnstiles have been replaced with some new fangled electronic saloon doors. Pretty cool. The highlight was seeing South Station finally completed. It was like a whole new station!

The boy enjoyed the train ride. He's big in to Thomas the Tank Engine, so his first train ride was very exciting. Even if it was just the T. The baby... she slept for the entire trip.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Hoarse and Frosty Words

Last Friday's commute: 93 minutes
Monday's commute: 95 minutes
Tueday's commute: 35 minutes
Wednesday's commute: 55 minutes
Thursday's commute: 55 minutes

So, I've managed to presume this much about the ride home based on 5 day's travel: Normal, everyday commute with clear weather is 35 minutes. Twice what it should be, but par for the course. If it's raining out, add 20 minutes. If there's an accident or heavy rain, add an hour.

So why does a little rain make for more traffic? Sure, in theory people drive a little slower due to the conditions. But this doesn't explain the serious delays I encounter. Reduced speeds should not bring the highway to a grinding halt. Molius has theorized that subconsciously people think if they can't see the city due to low clouds, it might not be there, and they drive slower to prevent themselves from driving into oblivion. I'll buy into that. The amphibian part of the human brain has strange powers, and can make people do funny things. But, as far as my ride home goes, we're all driving away from the city... so I'm not sure that is as much a factor. I've thought sometimes that commuters who usually take the T opt to drive in bad weather. That would help explain the increased amount of cars, but it doesn't make a lot of sense.

Whatever the case may be, it fills me with anger and rage. A 90 minute ride home leaves me so pissed I could shit pure bile. You know it's bad when you're hoping that whatever accident is holding you up was really bad, and you're hoping people died to make your suffering worth while. That ain't good for the old soul.

Speaking of shitting, poor RB was suffering today. He had a colonoscopy yesterday, and apparently all the barium in his GI tract turned to cement over night, and he was badly bound up and in pain today. Poor bastard. Nothing worse than being so constipated your back hurts.

Here's hoping he manages to drop his company off at the pool tonight.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Sit me down with Ezra Pound

Today's 9.4 mile drive to my afternoon large regular coffee: 35 minutes.

Not perfect, but better.

Happy 666 Day!

{Edit} Just as I published this, I caught an ad for, of all things... The Davinci Code video game. Give me a freaking break!

Monday, June 05, 2006

Idle Thoughts, the Sequel

Take 2:

500 Rutherford Ave Charlestown, MA (work) to 125 Hancock St North Quincy, MA (Dunkin Donuts)
Distance: 9.4 miles
Approximate Driving Time: 14 minutes
Actual Driving Time: 95 minutes

Today there was no rain. There were no accidents or breakdowns. There was no tornado, tsunami, Godzilla or locust. Just a couple 100,000 dim witted, tail pipe fucking, shit sucking assholes all driving in the same direction as me.

Fuck Boston. Fuck the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority. Fuck the Tip O'Neill Tunnel.

And a big old special, hearty fuck to the stretch of Interstate 93 South between exit 28 and exit 12.

Oh, and fuck all you commuters. All I wanted to do was take my damn kid to the park before going home. Thanks for shitting on that.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Idle Thoughts

There's a bit of a disconnect between what is and what should be.

500 Rutherford Ave Charlestown, MA (work) to 125 Hancock St North Quincy, MA (Dunkin Donuts)
Distance: 9.4 miles
Approximate Driving Time: 14 minutes
Actual Driving Time: 92 minutes

I've been living with the hellish 93S commute for some time now, and for the most part I am resigned to it. But seriously, an hour and a half to drive less than 10 miles? Fuck me sideways.

There was a bit of a weather situation today that, while not the sole cause of this mind numbing drive, certainly exacerbated the situation. We had torrential downpours this afternoon. Weymouth wasn't too bad, and it was drizzling in C-town when I left. But Quincy got a friggin drenching. Raining cats and dogs? Only if we're talking about panthers and Newfoundlands. The flooding was insane. At one point I had to drive through over a foot of water.

Additionally, my sanity was saved thanks to Molius. For the record, the album ended just as I reached the gas tanks. Santa Dog 2000 was pretty damn cool.

I had actually started off the day by opening a word file so I could write out a nice long entry about my painful interactions with the staff of my neighborhood QwikiMart. That'll have to wait for a later date.