Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--Before I took the Secret to school this morning, I put on a pot
of good ol’ Eight O’clock bean coffee, so it would be ready to go
when I got home.It’s part of
the unemployment ritual I find myself settling into.
Toney usually comes upstairs and prods my back fat around 6:45,
and tells me to get up.I
wallow around in heavy fabrics for the next ten minutes or so, then
finally hoist myself off the dormancy platform.After an urgent visit to the Smallest Room, I go downstairs and
sit around for a while, grunting reactions to whatever is being said at
the time.
I usually have a cup or two of the coffee Toney brewed when she came
downstairs, hours earlier, and it’s pretty much like something from a
1970s Esso station by the time I get to it.But it’s there, and it’s hot, so screw it.
When I can’t take anymore Danny
Phantom at Cheap Trick volume, I shuffle down to the bunker and
check my email and see if there’s anything exciting happening in the
world.Like, you know,
celebrity death.
Then I click over to my special “employment search” mailbox, hoping
for the best, and finding instead a computer-generated message from
CareerBuilder:“We have
two new hand-picked, specially-selected opportunities for you today,
Jeff!Nuclear physicist, and
assistant key-person at Lids.”
I sigh with deep, deep sadness, take a shower, pop in my contacts, and
all that crapola.Then
it’s time to start the real
pot of coffee, the one that will fuel my Surf Report update that day.
I drive the Secret to school, and sometimes allow our dog Andy (Black
Lips Houlihan) to ride shotgun.As
we wait for the aides inside the building to finish their honeybuns,
wipe the glaze off their lips, and lick their hotdog fingers clean, we
concoct elaborate stories featuring the other people waiting in line
there.This morning High
Neck was hit with a powerful diarrhea ray, and comedy ensued.
Then I come home, pour myself a freshly-brewed cup of good ol’ Eight
O’clock,
and we’re off and running.
But not this morning.Today I pressed my Baseball Hall of Fame mug against the
dispenser button on the front of our fancy-ass coffeemaker, and hot
water came out.Nothing but
clear water, heated.
The shit?!I’d forgotten
to put the basket with the coffee in there.It was still sitting on the counter, over by the toaster.Grrr…
So, needless to say, my whole day’s shot.
--Our neighbors have
apparently purchased some sort of ridiculous dog.I keep seeing the thing walking around down there, and find
myself doing repeated double-takes.
I can’t begin to tell you the breed of this animal, since I’ve never
seen anything like it before in my entire life.In fact, I’m not even 100% certain it is a dog.But I think it
is.I think it is, in fact,
a dog.
It has tall skinny legs, like a greyhound, but there are rings of fur
around its body.It seems to
walk on tip-toes and has, I’m almost sure, a mane.It’s a real high-stepper, and possesses a tail that looks like
a single Arby’s curly fry sticking out of its ass.
At least that’s the way I’m remembering it.I could be slightly off….But
believe me, it’s full-blown Dr. Seuss down there these days.I’m fully expecting to be walking to my car soon, and seeing that
thing spinning plates on a stick.
Those folks obviously don’t believe in having just a regular ol’
mutt from the pound.Their
previous dog was some sort of designer deal as well, completely white
and as big as a Shetland pony.He
could walk up to our house and look in the front windows, literally.
He was almost exactly the same age as Andy, but contracted a
neurological disorder when he was four and began walking on a slant.Eventually the owners were forced to put him down.It was really sad, because that dog was big, dumb, and eager to
please.It seemed like he
was smiling all the time, and you couldn’t get mad even when he ripped
open every single one of your trash bags, and dragged the contents
halfway to Dunmore.
Andy hasn’t had the opportunity to interact with the exotic new
pipe-cleaner dog yet, and it’ll be interesting to see how it goes.I’m not sure he’ll know how to react to something so delicate
and hilarious.But, of
course, I’ll let you know.
--I’m listening to the
latest CD by John Wesley
Harding.His
voice reminds me of Atlanta.Because, you see, I was a big fan of his when I lived there.And, if I’m not mistaken, he lived there as well.
His early albums sound exactly
like Elvis Costello. But they’re also really good, so he got away with
it.He used to play around town all the time, and I probably saw him
five or six times.He’s
one of those guys who talk as much as they sing in concert, and is
completely hilarious.
I actually shot a game of pool with him once, back during the record
weasel years.It was
upstairs at the Variety Playhouse, and I think the Judybats had just
finished performing.He
kicked my ass, all up and down.
So anyway…I’d kinda
lost track of the guy over the years.Then I read a
gushing review of his latest, and picked it up at
half dotcom.It’s really
good, and his voice reminds me of Atlanta,
in case I hadn’t mentioned it. Are there any voices that remind you of
a city? Or am I the weird one, again?
And that’s about all I can muster today, my friends.The coffee situation has me all out of sorts….
--