Rockstar Super-piece-of-crap

Seriously? Lukas??
Joe Escalante called him "Chaka" this morning, right before he played "Disproportionate Head" in his honor.

I'm disappointed.

Well, my day sucked

Cramps. Endless conference calls and speculation about the company. No lunch.

How about your day? Pour yourself a virtual cocktail and tell me all about it. I'd love to hear that it's not just me.

Apply directly to the forehead

I have a headache. It could be sinus. It could be allergies. It could be from the stupid handsfree headset I wore for three hours worth of conference calls today. The previous administrative assistant bought it for the office and as near as I can tell, she must have had ears like Prince Charles. That, or my ears are just close to my head, which, given all the years I've been tucking my hair behind them and what my mother always said would result from such action, isn't likely. It was painful. Come to think of it...it's probably allergies.

On my way to work this morning, I was listening to a Peter Gabriel CD and the song "Biko" came on. It reminded me of my nephew Roy. In 1994, when Roy was 12, I took him to see Peter Gabriel at the Stabler Arena in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. It was a great show. Peter ended with "Biko" and the fade out (oh oh ohhhhh) was an audience participation kind of thing. When the CD got to that part, I remembered the look on Roy's face--the exhilaration, singing along, fist in the air--and how much I love that kid, er, man. I was filled with this overwhelming sense of love and I missed him so much in that moment. And I'm sorry if I embarrass you, Roy, but I do love you and miss you, and it was such a thrill to watch you grow and learn and become the man you are today. Coincidentally, Roy ended up attending Lehigh University, the campus on which Stabler Arena is located.

On my way to school today, the CD changed over and I was listening to Crash Test Dummies. This then made me think of my brother Roy, the father of the nephew of the same name, because that song "MMM MMM MMM" drove him nuts. Every time it came on he'd rant about what a dumb song it was, but you know he knew every word.

It struck me how two vastly different pieces of music reminded me of my family and made me so homesick. When I loaded the disc changer last week, I didn't give much thought to the selections. I chose randomly from CDs I hadn't heard in a while and songs I can sing along to as I drive. The other four CDs haven't brought such nostalgia--although the Barry Manilow CD (don't you dare judge me) reminded me of 7th Grade. I need to go home to see my family. I need to see fall colors and hug my mommy and daddy. And I need to see the Roys and Michaels (another brother/ nephew combination).

Well, the boss was just hounding me about taking some vacation before I'm maxed out. Hmmm...

I know, they're just commercials

Before you say anything, I understand that they're commercials, and animation at that, but I find the Air Wick commercials disturbing. How on earth could an elephant be married to a centipede? Or an octopus and a walrus? And the latter couple had a baby. We know the baby has tenticles, but does it also have tusks and whiskers? What kind of ugly ass child is that?

Yes, I have given way too much thought to this subject. I do that sometimes.

On an unrelated note, I googled "jackolantern" with no spaces and was presented with the image of some guy's full frontal. Not sure of the connection.

The girl just invites smacking

There's a gal here (we'll call her Kooky McNutjob) who, while seemingly together, is a study in strangeness. She seems to eat healthily, and yet uses artificial sweeteners in her coffee. She is sloppy in her timeclock habits, but will blow a gasket if she's short an hour (are we supposed to just sense that she worked?) She seems to be a tidy person, overly concerned with shelving and drawers for things, yet she will think nothing of leaving her spilled food all over the toaster oven (which she uses instead of a microwave because of health concerns), and her work space is a mess. Some days I just can't take it and explode on her barely stopping before my hand reaches out to smack her upside the head. Yet other days, I simply shake my head in amusement. Today was the latter.

We went to lunch, a large group of us, to a fancy restaurant which Bossman frequents. I love this restaurant too, as they make an awesome Fish & Chips with sweet potato fries. After our meal, the owner of the restaurant came over to offer us desserts on the house. He does this because we eat here at least once a week and we, the boss and I, usually politely refuse. Kooky McNutjob jumps in with "YES!" before the offer is even off the owners lips. "Something chocolatey," she says. Our server shows us a list of desserts and Kooky immediately wants the brownie sundae. Yum. I agree. We also ordered a pineapple-carrot upside cake, a german chocolate cake, and a blueberry cobbler. George brings the desserts out in a trough, not even kidding, and we all grab our spoons to dig in--except Kooky. "Just dig in, Kook," I say.

"Oh, I don't eat sugar," she replies. "I just want to live vicariously through all of you."

Now, the only reason we even ordered the desserts was because she immediately answered when George made the offer. Bossman would have politely refused and thanked him for the service we receive had she not opened her big, non-sugar-ingesting mouth. While she deserved a smack, I just shook my head and laughed because, well, we were in public, and it was kind of amusing.

My last tether of sanity is leaving.

What do you mean, "what tether?" I have tethers.

There are four men who work in the store next to my office. One, we'll call him Shoeless Joe, is leaving in a week to go on location in Morocco (lucky bastard) to film The Hills Have Eyes 2. I'll miss him. He makes me laugh. The second, we'll call him Potential-Rifle-Toting-Mass-Murderer, has just given his two-week notice. Number Three, we'll call him Annoying McFriendly, says "hey, how you doing" to me every time he sees me, which would be okay if he didn't see me 15 times a day. Also, it's not an upbeat greeting; it's more the way you would greet someone you're visiting in the hospital or who has just lost a loved one--somber and concerned. The last guy, we'll call him Gaylien (draw your own conclusions), is just tolerable. He drops these non-sequitars designed to be funny, but they are NOT funny. Believe me, I know funny.

Those of you who know me will not be surprised when I say that PRTMM is my favorite. He doesn't speak much, but will glance askew with a bemused grin and a cocked eyebrow at the others when they say something stupid. For this, I adore him. But he's leaving me and I'll be stuck with Downer Boy and Not Funny. Do you know how hard it is to carry on a conversation with these guys? Even a simply work-related conversation is an exercise in futility.

I'll miss you, PRTMM, you crazy bastard.

A Day at The Races

Thursday was our annual trip to Del Mar for some fun in the sun where the "turf meets the surf," as Bing said.

There was some swearing and drinking and betting and no one got hurt--well, almost no one. It started on the train down. First, Rick, our resident poet, got things rolling with his "Ode To Del Mar," a poem he writes each year to inspire the trip. Someone, I won't mention any names (Greg), brought pre-mixed Jack & Coke. I tried to be good. Really. I brought some knitting. I was planning to avoid the alcohol until I got to the track. But I got bored. All the fun people were sitting a few seats ahead of me. I went to talk to Chris and Troll, and well, it was all downhill from there.

That's Chris in the hat, and Troll in the glasses. (and Scott doing the Gene Simmons imitation) You can see where I went wrong. Someone had to taste their drinks to assure they weren't being poisoned, right? And those drinks kicked like a mule. Damn, Greg.

After two Del Margaritas (seriously, they made them stronger this year) and a Kamikaze from Jamie (Thanks a lot), I was somewhat impaired. I had a HUGE hot dog with bun-o-plenty to try to soak up the alcohol and fries out the wazoo. It helped a little, but then I kept drinking.

I bet and won and bet and won on the same $20 all day. It's not really about the horse races, you know. One of the highlights was when the guys took over the Information booth and actually gave information to passersby. Also, I heard the best joke:

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel attached to his crotch. The bartender says, "hey, you have a steering wheel coming out of your crotch." The pirate replies, "Arrr, it's driving me nuts."

The train home is always the best part. First, it's packed because this is pretty much the last train to Clarksville. Well, there is one at 9:00, but after the races are over, what are you going to do until 9:00? Second, all the daytrippers and commuters from San Diego are already on the train when it gets to Solana Beach. What do we do? We bum-rush the cars knocking the slow and weak aside. Half of the group goes to the front to commandeer the first semi-empty car they see. The other half rushes the cafe car and wipes out the beer cooler. Here I must give props to one Becky from West Covina. Becky shamelessly used the "Oh, please let me ahead of you. I left my daughter alone at our seats and I have to get back to her," ploy to get to the front of the line where she then secured $110 worth of beer, as well as the scornful looks of everyone who now thinks she's a bad mother (and a drunk). No, Becky's daughter was not with us. The five of us who got the beer now had to do the old Bugs Bunny "pardon me, 'scuse me" all the way back to the seats. Kevin, a rookie, asked "When do we stop?" I told him, "When the people start to look familiar, stop."

Those poor people who got stuck sharing a train car with our group. There was singing, including the much-loved Neil Diamond sing-a-long featuring Steve "Don't call me Maurice" Miller on vocals. There was drinking. There was swearing. There was political arguments with some fellas who just wanted to get home (and who subsequently missed their stop because one of them was deep in discussion with Chris). And boobs were exposed.

The day was capped off with dinner at El Compadre (near Dodger's Stadium, not the one on Sunset). And someone (me) stole a glass. It was for Troll, I swear.