My Addled Brain

I’ve been checking out some of the blogs from outside this area. Yes, I understand in the eyes of some, this might be viewed as heresy, but in the 21st century, being non-commital isn’t just a personality quirk, it’s a way of life. So, I am proud to introduce you to Dooce, the weblog of a now stay at home mom, who in 2002 was fired for her weblog. The short reason for reading it is - it’s well written and funny as hell. The longer version probably includes something about sticking it to the man and supporting those who stand up for what they believe in, but that really doesn’t apply here, so just go and enjoy reading words from quite possibly the most foul-mouthed woman on the web.

Update: Apparently, I hadn’t seen yesterday’s missive yet. Try this for a better idea of why I like this site. Not that the current post is bad, mind you, it’s just melancholy instead of manically hilarious.

So, I hear that John Elway has his own furniture collection. I’m a little disappointed - I would have thought no Elway collection would be complete without things like this.

I have discovered the joy of indie clothing shopping online. You couldn’t drag me into Hot Topic with a gun or the promise of five minutes with a oil-coated Natalie Portman in one of the changing rooms. (Although, I would probably stop and think about that one for a few minutes. In fact, why don’t we all stop and think about that for a couple minutes, right now?) However, I do like some of the shirts, even if the goth children who wear them frighten me. So, between my discovery of Threadless, Thinkgeek, and Gameskins, I give Teh One plenty of reasons to not be seen in public with me. A note to readers - I will pay good money for a t-shirt with a picture of Dr. Clayton Forrester on it. Perhaps with the words “Hello, Booby” underneath it. And I’m almost positive that Gax will be the only one to get that - although I’ll be happily surprised to be wrong.

From the You gotta be f’in with me dept.: Those wacky kids at FEMA have come up with a new webgame for kids: Tsunami Clean-Up Fun. Now, I’m the last person to consider themselves a PC wank - in fact, I’m fairly far from it - but that’s pretty damn classless. Funny - but classless.

It seems my saga with The Ashley Street Plaza Hotel isn’t over yet.

I looked over my recent credit card transactions last night, and noticed my bill was off by about three hundred bucks. ASPH is the culprit. Apparently, not only did they not refund my money, they double charged me. I guess it was too much for me to hope these twits could get something simple like a refund done properly, but then I’m assuming the intent wasn’t nearly as malicious as it was mind-shatteringly stupid. So, ASPH has done brought it. Well, it’s *on* now.

I do not enjoy being sick. This should go without saying, of course, but there are those whom misery is not only a constant companion, but something to look forward to. These people need serious psychiatric care, mind you, but they do exist, so I am forced to clarify my position. In fact, I will go so far as to state that I loathe being sick, and am grateful that I have a slightly better than average immune system. I do not have the same illness as Teh 1, nor do I have the soul-crushing disease that MCG contracted, something that was akin to having some dead relative strapped to his chin. Instead, I seem to have picked up some evil little critter, who’s sole purpose in life is to fill my head with wet concrete. He’s a rather industrious little fellow, and always has plenty of back up ready whenever I manage to remove even the slightest amount via constant snuffling and blowing. The Quil brothers, Ny and Day, have become my new best friends in my desire to continue breathing, and as a result I am still here amongst the living, albeit in a form that would really like to take a short lay down now, thank you very much. Despite that, I will somehow manage to get through this day, in a crazy, mixed-up world where today’s CEO will become tomorrow’s major Japanese film star. Ganbatte, Ron-san!

Our good friend Andy nearly had some bad news. You see, he was once tour manager for former pop sensation and pre-teen heartthrob Aaron Carter - yes, the younger brother of a slightly more famous yet still wretchedly awful Carter of a certain boy band that once held this nation firmly in it’s bland, formulated grasp. At any rate, it seems our young, demographically packaged lad avoided the scythe of death a bit better than he avoided the timer on his fifteen seconds of fame, when his SUV caught fire and exploded while driving to Orlando.

I mention this story for two reasons:

1. It’s a pretty wierd story.
2. It’s another opportunity to remind Andy about his two tours of duty with a little kid and his…erm…interesting family. Not that he would tell anyone about that, mind you.

You can view pictures from his touring days here, although by using that link, you pop out of his navagation frame, so you might want to use the front door, and click on My Touring Days on the left nav. And while I like to razz him about this a little, he did get to meet Bruce Willis and Donald Gibb while on tour, so that does make up for quite a bit.

Teh 1 signed us up for Blockbuster Online, a NetFlix clone, only it’s cheaper and you get two free game rentals from a local Blockbuster every month. Now, whether you can sleep with a clear conscience by forking over your hard earned cash to the monolithic company is something between you and your checkbook, but having received our first three movies (one just reviewed), I’d have to say I had no issues with it.

Actually, I initially thought the concept was kinda silly - but then The Gax has wittled away at me with his ongoing NetFlix list, and when the woman called up and mentioned this last week, the last of my will crumbled like a weak 12-stepper at a Jack Daniels distillery. I dunno if I’ll go as far as to post an upcoming list, because that almost looks like work, but I will tell you that beyond our current selection (the just-reviewed Garden State, Anchorman, and The Stepford Wives), the next disc is Aqua Teen Hunger Force Season 1, and I loves me some Carl something fierce. I should get to reviewing the ones I haven’t already as they are viewed.

Garden State

You would most likely
take lithium too if your
father was Bilbo.

I still maintain that Zach Braff wrote and directed this movie for the singular desire to make out with Natalie Portman. And more power to him. The fact that he made a really good movie to make out with her in is just icing on the cake.

The show, kids, was spectacular. That BNL puts on quite a performance, and Steven Page has a set of pipes that could kill a man, should he choose to use them for evil instead of good. Luckily for humanity, he instead decides to sing about breaking and entering and primates. And the world is, indeed, a better place.

Teh 1 and I decided to get a downtown hotel for after the show. This was more for my convenience and our safety than any real desire to ring in the new year our own little way without destroying our own home, and would allow me to get my drink on in style. So, after checking with our good friends at Travelocity, we discovered that the only hotel with any vacancies was the Ashley Plaza Hotel, a lovely little spot run down shithole right next to the TBPAC. I wholeheartedly recommend this hotel to those of you who, when you vacation, like your hotel room to be mostly uninhabitable. We proceeded to our room, past the out of order Coke machine, and around the corner to the room. Our first warning sign was that the room we were given had both AC units pulled out of the wall and placed almost haphazardly about the room - I might use the word “strewn”, but there could have been some sort of Feng Shui reason for the placement. A quick trip downstairs, on the elevator that was actually three inches below the floor when the doors opened, and I secured ourselves a new room, right after the couple that needed a new room because other people were already in the one they were given. This was warning sign #2. We proceed to our new room, passing the out of order ice machine, down the hall with gaping bleach wounds in the carpet, to our dank, musty double that looked straight out of the 50’s. You know, Psycho era type stuff. The toilet in our room had a plunger problem, so you had to manually turn the water on and off. Warning sign #3. By this point, we had pretty much decided it was still useful to us as a place for me to get over whatever I would drink that night, so we could get out as early as possible the next day. With that, we headed out to the show, taking the ever-so-convenient trolley-bus-thing that happened to run in front of the slum hotel.

Well, I didn’t really get tossed at the show. In fact, I think the words “barely buzzed” applied. And despite gorging myself on free delictables all night, I was riding an energy high after the show ended - BNL did a two and a half hour set, which is damn near amazing to me. So, we proceeded to walk back to our hotel, which was a little over a mile away. Despite the walking, we were growing uncomfortable with our choice of sleeping arrangements. And by the time we arrived at the hotel, we had decided to get our money back and go home. On our floor, we passed what I can only imagine to be a father and his pre-teen son engaged in some sort of wrestling/slap-fight thing (they were after the broken ice machine, but before the bleach incident). We snatched up our bag, and proceeded downstairs post-haste.

Teh 1 went to the car, and I got in line behind a gentleman with no shirt on, who had come downstairs because, apparently, his bed was totally bereft of blankets, soap, and shampoo. The security guard attempted to politely inform the rather large hispanic man with the eagle tattoed across his back that he shouldn’t come down without a shirt on, to which the man politely replied to him something about not having to if his room were prepared correctly. I almost told him of a couple rooms that I knew of that had all the sheets he wanted as long as he didn’t mind not having AC or a working toilet, but thought better of it. So, while the man and the guard exhanged pleasantries and, most likely, were having some sort of mental brawl communicated with icy glares, I proceeded to get my money back from the short lady with the lisp behind the counter.

The moral of this story? The Ashley Plaza Hotel, despite it’s best attempts at looking like a lovely hotel on the website, should be avoided by everyone at all costs. The end.

Happy New Year everyone.