Friday, October 31, 2003
Tech support, Halloween
I've been trying to get a reader comments option on this site but I have failed. Blogger doesn't have the option yet so I tried using a third party (Blogspeak). Despite relatively simple directions, I seemed to have fucked it up. If anyone has suggestions for a program to use, let me know. Anyway, happy Halloween (or "that pagan holiday" as its referred to by many of the good people of Baton Rouge). I hope to have a great Halloween story for you tomorrow: I envision it including a lot of alcohol, New Orleans, a mask and a transgender mix-up we can all laugh about in the morning.
Wal-Mart, grits
On the outskirts of Baton Rouge, down I-12 and just past the second "Choose Life" billboard (the one with the babies waving American flags, not the one with a babies hand that says, "care for me, don't kill me") I had an important cultural experience: splitting time between the combination Wal-Mart Superstore/Sonic Burger and a Waffle House restaurant. The Wal-Mart Superstore is truly amazing. It's like Costco without the class and snooty member-only policy, and I like it. The people watching alone makes a trip to Wal-Mart/Sonic worth it down here. Overheard from an elderly woman waiting for her car to be serviced while watching disdainfully as a mechanic punched some numbers into a computer (presumably for the benefit of her car and not the viewing of pornography):
"Sometimes they make me sick with these damn computers."
Makes you miss the good ol' days when they fucked up your car and ripped you off all low-tech like, as God intended.
Well, while I waited for them thar damn mechanics to finish up with my car their new fangled technology, I took a trip across the street to a Waffle House restaurant. For the uninitiated, Waffle House is a large chain of Denny's-like food (but cheaper, which worries me) and proud recipient of thirteen separate racial discrimination lawsuits. However, this white boy received a delicious $4 meal and some rivetting conversation from the waitresses and a regular (I was clearly the only person there other than the cook who didn't fall into one of those two categories). After a 10-minute tirade about a friend of hers who was, apparently, a real slut with "who knows how many children running around" and the slut's mother, who says she 48 but is really 62 and dresses like a teenager "with her fat hanging out all over the place" my waitress added, with a straight face, "but I'm not one to gossip."
On top of the conversation and healthful grits, eggs and side of congealed bacon grease breakfast you also get a little slice of America at Waffle House: they have custom made signs adorning the restaurant with Lady Liberty herself superimposed over the Waffle House logo. So, do your part for the troops and white America and stop by your local Waffle House. And God bless America.
"Sometimes they make me sick with these damn computers."
Makes you miss the good ol' days when they fucked up your car and ripped you off all low-tech like, as God intended.
Well, while I waited for them thar damn mechanics to finish up with my car their new fangled technology, I took a trip across the street to a Waffle House restaurant. For the uninitiated, Waffle House is a large chain of Denny's-like food (but cheaper, which worries me) and proud recipient of thirteen separate racial discrimination lawsuits. However, this white boy received a delicious $4 meal and some rivetting conversation from the waitresses and a regular (I was clearly the only person there other than the cook who didn't fall into one of those two categories). After a 10-minute tirade about a friend of hers who was, apparently, a real slut with "who knows how many children running around" and the slut's mother, who says she 48 but is really 62 and dresses like a teenager "with her fat hanging out all over the place" my waitress added, with a straight face, "but I'm not one to gossip."
On top of the conversation and healthful grits, eggs and side of congealed bacon grease breakfast you also get a little slice of America at Waffle House: they have custom made signs adorning the restaurant with Lady Liberty herself superimposed over the Waffle House logo. So, do your part for the troops and white America and stop by your local Waffle House. And God bless America.
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
Jesus, will no one stop copying me? For those of you who know him, the illustrious Andy Delfino - one time Aggie humor columnist, current corrupter of young Catholic minds in Atlanta - has started a blog. Find out all you need to know about rednecks, why the Braves suck, and the issues facing a young married couple (is every sperm really sacred?) at http://idler103.diaryland.com.
Washing in the hood
Due to my strange schedule today was my Sunday (I work Wed - Sun 1:30-10:30) and I decided to do some laundry. I went to a place a co-worker suggested which turned out to be right in the heart of the hood (which is a few blocks from my house). More importantly it was right across from Brother's BBQ, which is really just a family with a big ol' outdoor barbeque surrounded by a wood and chickenwire structure. Anyway, at one point I found myself sitting in the laundromat with a copy of the Economist in one hand, my Brother's sausage plate in the other and a large, muscular guy sporting a black tank top, black do-rag, earring and gold teeth kindly offering me the remaining minutes on his dryer. So much fun to be had at the laundromat.
Velveeta fudge
So I was hanging out at the Red Star bar tonight with an Alabama fisherman who gave me this recipe for fudge:
Vanilla, Baker's chocolate, sugar, butter and VELVEETA CHEESE.
I am not kidding, he swears by it. Welcome to the South. Oh, and last year he was an alternate for a Fullbright scholarship, go figure. Well, gotta go y'all, my pork lips creme brulee awaits.
Vanilla, Baker's chocolate, sugar, butter and VELVEETA CHEESE.
I am not kidding, he swears by it. Welcome to the South. Oh, and last year he was an alternate for a Fullbright scholarship, go figure. Well, gotta go y'all, my pork lips creme brulee awaits.
Monday, October 27, 2003
By the way, jumping on the dork band-wagon like the trendy frontrunner he is, Joe Jaszewski has started a photo web log (or phlog as he calls it) which will bring you the scoop in a visually appealing manner from the great state of Idaho. I've added the link to my page for easy access, since he picked a really shitty, hard to remember url.
A-rabs
Excerpt from an actual conversation dealing with Middle Easterners in post-9/11 America as heard in a Baton Rouge barbershop today:
The traditionalist (in real raspy, post-tracheotomy voice): Yeah, well look, if you come hear you better learn English and dress appropriately (tugging on his blue, button-down collared shirt). If you're going to wear robes and shit, then you need to go back to where you came from.
The open-minded friend: Now I don't know about that, but if you're going to wear robes you should expect to be ridiculed.
Those cotton-pickin' A-rabs and their robes. Really, who do they think they are?
A key part I left out earlier: later on the traditionalist lamented not getting a job he had recently interviewed for, cursing fate for a prior felony conviction. You beat up a couple of Arabs after 9/11 and the man just doesn't understand...
The traditionalist (in real raspy, post-tracheotomy voice): Yeah, well look, if you come hear you better learn English and dress appropriately (tugging on his blue, button-down collared shirt). If you're going to wear robes and shit, then you need to go back to where you came from.
The open-minded friend: Now I don't know about that, but if you're going to wear robes you should expect to be ridiculed.
Those cotton-pickin' A-rabs and their robes. Really, who do they think they are?
A key part I left out earlier: later on the traditionalist lamented not getting a job he had recently interviewed for, cursing fate for a prior felony conviction. You beat up a couple of Arabs after 9/11 and the man just doesn't understand...
3 days in America's heartland - and by heartland I mean crotch
At long last my blog is back and up to date. I know you missed me greatly, but now that my cross-country trek is complete The Other Jewish Elvis in Cajun Country (TOJECC for readers who know) is back online. While en-route to Baton Rouge I got to see a part of the country that really makes America special and I would like to share that journey with you.
From my home base of Palo Alto I swung south down I-5 taking in the breathtaking scenery in towns like Los Banos and Coalinga before leaving I-5 for Bakersfield which is stunning this time of year. From there it was just a hop, skip and a seven hour fucking jump through the desert to my first night's stop - Flagstaff, AZ, home of the illustrious Northern Arizona University.
Ignoring the claims of "no train noise" by some hotels in my guide book, I instead chose the cheapest digs I could find (a motel which made no such claim). Don't let the name fool you, I doubt anything wholesome has ever gone on in the "The Family Inn." I think I fell asleep around the 25th train that rumbled through my room only to wake up to a conversation directly outside my door.
"Oh my God, it's been so crazy today. I've been drinking since, like, 8," said the portly NAU student.
All right, now I am certainly not one to look down on drinking, but she meant 8 PM and I refuse to be kept up on account of 6 hours worth of drinking - that's like a Tuesday's worth.
Fortunately the lack of sleep was more than made up for by the continental breakfast: "coffee," cold french toast sticks and - no need to splurge - Tampico in lieu of orange juice. After that I had about 750 miles of scrubby wasteland to cover before my next stop, Wichita Falls, TX. Luckily, however, the good people of northern Arizona, northern New Mexico and the Texas panhandle know that everyone on their highways would rather be somewhere else and provide a 75 mph speed limit to expedite that goal.
My luck improved in Wichita Falls, TX and I can now recommend anyone who goes there stay at the Towne Crest Inn, a great, cheap motel that includes a continental breakfast with real orange juice and, most importantly, Coco-crisps cereal. However, I must add a caveat: I also recommend that nobody go to Wichita Falls - ever.
The final leg of my journey took me through northern Louisiana before swinging south through western Mississipi and finally into Baton Rouge itself. I was very excited to drive through and get look at the Deep South, but apparently these states are not real eager to show off and neatly arranged trees along the highway pretty much block everything from view.
Well, that was a few days ago and since then I've been working on my y'all and knowledge of LSU football and hanging out at The Thirsty Tiger with my new co-workers while marveling at the superiority of a po' boy to a piddling Yankee "sandwich."
From my home base of Palo Alto I swung south down I-5 taking in the breathtaking scenery in towns like Los Banos and Coalinga before leaving I-5 for Bakersfield which is stunning this time of year. From there it was just a hop, skip and a seven hour fucking jump through the desert to my first night's stop - Flagstaff, AZ, home of the illustrious Northern Arizona University.
Ignoring the claims of "no train noise" by some hotels in my guide book, I instead chose the cheapest digs I could find (a motel which made no such claim). Don't let the name fool you, I doubt anything wholesome has ever gone on in the "The Family Inn." I think I fell asleep around the 25th train that rumbled through my room only to wake up to a conversation directly outside my door.
"Oh my God, it's been so crazy today. I've been drinking since, like, 8," said the portly NAU student.
All right, now I am certainly not one to look down on drinking, but she meant 8 PM and I refuse to be kept up on account of 6 hours worth of drinking - that's like a Tuesday's worth.
Fortunately the lack of sleep was more than made up for by the continental breakfast: "coffee," cold french toast sticks and - no need to splurge - Tampico in lieu of orange juice. After that I had about 750 miles of scrubby wasteland to cover before my next stop, Wichita Falls, TX. Luckily, however, the good people of northern Arizona, northern New Mexico and the Texas panhandle know that everyone on their highways would rather be somewhere else and provide a 75 mph speed limit to expedite that goal.
My luck improved in Wichita Falls, TX and I can now recommend anyone who goes there stay at the Towne Crest Inn, a great, cheap motel that includes a continental breakfast with real orange juice and, most importantly, Coco-crisps cereal. However, I must add a caveat: I also recommend that nobody go to Wichita Falls - ever.
The final leg of my journey took me through northern Louisiana before swinging south through western Mississipi and finally into Baton Rouge itself. I was very excited to drive through and get look at the Deep South, but apparently these states are not real eager to show off and neatly arranged trees along the highway pretty much block everything from view.
Well, that was a few days ago and since then I've been working on my y'all and knowledge of LSU football and hanging out at The Thirsty Tiger with my new co-workers while marveling at the superiority of a po' boy to a piddling Yankee "sandwich."
Saturday, October 25, 2003
I know I promised daily updates and thrilling news about my thrilling life and I apologize for my absenteeism the past few days. But fear not, I will have a full recap of my riveting three day cross-country trip that took me through the cultural Meccas that are Flagstaff, AZ, Wichita Falls, TX and, of course, the holy grail of my trip, Baton Rouge, LA. I'm at work right now so I've got to go, but I get my internet service at home on Monday so I should have some new entries then.
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
For those of you dorky enough to notice, as of this posting The Other Jewish Elvis in Cajun Country has moved to Central Standard Time. Since that is the time zone in which I will be publicly beginning my slow downward spiral, I figure it makes sense. Plus, it's a cheap way to stick another posting on my site and beef up the archives.
File under, "Things to Get Used to in Louisiana":
What we in the Bay Area call "Tuesday in the Castro" the Louisiana Penal Code, Section 740-89 (and the state Supreme Court which upheld the law) calls a "crime against nature":
LOUISIANA 740-89 Crime against nature. Crime against nature is the unnatural carnal copulation by a human being with another of the same or opposite sex or with an animal. Emission is not necessary, and when committed by a human being with another, the use of the genital organ of one of the offenders of whatever sex is sufficient to constitute the crime. Whoever commits the crime against nature shall be fined not more than two thousand dollars, or imprisoned, with or without hard labor, for not more than five years, or both.
In other words, the pooper = the slammer.
And they enforce it:
http://www.sodomylaws.org/usa/louisiana/lanews22.htm
Boy, guess I'll really have to cut back on my public gay sex. Um, I mean...yeah.
What we in the Bay Area call "Tuesday in the Castro" the Louisiana Penal Code, Section 740-89 (and the state Supreme Court which upheld the law) calls a "crime against nature":
LOUISIANA 740-89 Crime against nature. Crime against nature is the unnatural carnal copulation by a human being with another of the same or opposite sex or with an animal. Emission is not necessary, and when committed by a human being with another, the use of the genital organ of one of the offenders of whatever sex is sufficient to constitute the crime. Whoever commits the crime against nature shall be fined not more than two thousand dollars, or imprisoned, with or without hard labor, for not more than five years, or both.
In other words, the pooper = the slammer.
And they enforce it:
http://www.sodomylaws.org/usa/louisiana/lanews22.htm
Boy, guess I'll really have to cut back on my public gay sex. Um, I mean...yeah.
Monday, October 13, 2003
OK, had a slight problem with my Modern Drunkard link. If you were, say, sent to a Satanic porn site, I apologize. All is well now and instead of ritual bondage you should be able to find out the benefits of blacking out and exactly why MADD is an evil organization. On that note, check out the Ben in China link. It's a blog from my former roommate and Modern Drunkard contributor Ben Rohrbaugh, who is heading to China for four months to work for a language education company. What do they drink in China, you ask? We will all soon know. Ben, who likes Chinese, is a 6' 4'' Aryan posterchild and a loud juicer, so "blend" is the word. Rohrbaugh in an authoritarian country that officially says Mao was right "7 out of 10 times" is about as good an idea as, say, SARS, so wish him luck.
Well it's t-minus nine days until I leave Northern California for southern Louisiana and I do have one regret: I missed gator huntin' season. Sadly, through poor planning and an illiterate hunting guide I missed the one month of the year (September) where Louisianans get to hook and shoot the chicken of the swamp.
So yes, due to a filing error and a well placed rufi, I managed to land a job in Baton Rouge, LA and will be heading out in my trusty Subaru shortly. After twelve years in the land of hi tech, sourdough and hot-tubbing, wine swilling complainers I'm headed to a state that has government issued "Choose Life" license plates and where housing location is sometimes measured by proximity to church (you do go to church, right?).
So yes, due to a filing error and a well placed rufi, I managed to land a job in Baton Rouge, LA and will be heading out in my trusty Subaru shortly. After twelve years in the land of hi tech, sourdough and hot-tubbing, wine swilling complainers I'm headed to a state that has government issued "Choose Life" license plates and where housing location is sometimes measured by proximity to church (you do go to church, right?).
