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.
--
Have you ever felt so lazy that you'd really like to know what time it
is, but just can't bring yourself to expend the energy required to turn
your head and look at the clock? I'm not saying that this has ever
happened to me.... I'm just curious. Hello?
-- I keep seeing commercials for those fancy-ass gadgets that give you
directions while you drive: "TURN LEFT AT NEXT CORNER!" Pretty
cool, I guess. But don't you need the mailing address of every place
you're going, before it can help you? Who knows this information? I
barely know my own address, I sure as shit don't know the address of the
Frackville Cracker Barrel. Ya know?
I think it would be better if you could buy a special fast food model,
and it would alert you when you're approaching one of several
pre-determined restaurants: "DAIRY QUEEN IN FOUR MILES! AND IT'S
A BRAZIER!!" Now that's some technology I could get behind.
I'd also like to be able to adjust the voice that comes out of the
thing. On the ads it seems to always be a soothing female talking.
That's fine, but I have a feeling I'd be craving variety in short order.
I'd like a full package of regional accents, foreign accents, genders,
and races to choose from. Maybe a few wildcard selections as well, such
as "hick" or "brokeback." Perhaps celebrities could
even get involved, and Colonel Klink (or whatever) could tell us how to get
to the airport?
Yeah, I don't know much about it. For all I know, my concerns and wishes
are completely misplaced. Anything's possible. But I'll never find out,
one way or the other -- because I ain't clamping stuff to my dashboard.
That goes for GPS or satellite radio or whatever other outsize
signboards they're trying to convince us to erect in our vehicles. Years
ago I made a vow, and I'm sticking to it.
When I was a youngster there was an old man who lived near us, and he
drove a little station wagon. It was like a full-sized station wagon,
with wood paneling on the side and the whole nine yards, but it was
little. Did Ford ever make a Pinto wagon? For some reason I think this
ridiculous vehicle was Pinto-based....
In any case, when I was sixteen and had
just secured my driver's license, he asked me to move it for him. I
can't remember the details of it, but he was in my grandmother's kitchen
drinking coffee one day, and asked me to move his car from its regular
parking space beside the railroad tracks, to the street.
Um, OK.
I walked down there, a little nervous (what if I backed it into a pole
or something??), and climbed behind the wheel. And there was so much
crapola in that car, I could barely concentrate on the task at hand.
On the driver's seat was some sort of wooden bead affair that dug into
my back and was uncomfortable as fuck. He had a big fuzzy steering wheel
cover that was so thick you almost had to drive with the flat of your
hand. All over the glove compartment was a hundred or so refrigerator
magnets, or stickers, or somesuch. One, I remember, said "Archie
Bunker For President in '72"
And on the dashboard: all manner of apparatus. There was a crazy-large
compass, some sort of gauge that measured novelty-distances (I just
don't know), and a handle that controlled one of those extra-bright
police lights that was mounted near the driver's side mirror. There was
also a myriad of mysterious toggle switches and, I think, a section of
shag carpeting.
Shit! I could barely drive that thing. I had wooden balls eating into my
spinal column, the compass was spinning round and round, big
heat-generating floodlights kicked on when I put it into reverse.... It
was too much to take in.
I finally got it landed without incident, but my opinion of the old man
was changed forever. From that day forward I suspected that he was
probably some kind of mental case, one heartbeat away from the state
"hospital" in Spencer. A sane person just doesn't take things
so far....
I made a vow that day that I'd never indulge in such ridiculousness; I
would always keep it simple and clean. And twenty-seven years later I'm
sticking to my guns.
I've never had crap hanging off my rearview mirror, or
"comedy" signs in the windows, or stuffed animals, or wind
chimes, or crystals, or any of that stuff. Yeah, it's usually a little
rough around the edges (generally there are four or five crumpled Burger
King bags in the floor), but stripped down to the basics: no nonsense.
My car is the first Ramones album, and that Pinto wagon was something by
Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. What band is your car? What kind of crap do
you have in there? Do you have a baseball-sized compass clamped to the
dash? I'd like to know.
Hey, maybe I'm the one with the hang-up? Like I say, anything's
possible.
-- I don't have any idea how this update happened the way it did. I'd
meant to write two or three paragraphs about those direction gadgets,
and now look what's happened. Oh well, I'll get to the other stuff
tomorrow....
One reminder before I go, though. This is Phil
Hendrie's last week on the air, supposedly forever. After
Friday, no more new shows.
I hate that fact deep down in my groinal area, but he's been making it a
little easier on us by not showing up for work very often, and turning
in some weak (by his standards) performances. If he'd been hitting it
out of the park every night since he announced his retirement, all us
Phil phanatics would undoubtedly be in a fetal position right now.
So thanks Phil, for half-assing it over the last six week or so! It was
very thoughtful of you.
Anyway, this week is your last chance to check out a live radio
broadcast by, in my opinion, one of the funniest people who's ever
waddled the Earth. People throw around the word genius all the time,
diluting its meaning, but Phil Hendrie is a genius -- undiluted and
full-strength.
And that's that. More of this stupid shit tomorrow.
--
Have you ever felt so lazy that you'd really like to know what time it
is, but just can't bring yourself to expend the energy required to turn
your head and look at the clock? I'm not saying that this has ever
happened to me.... I'm just curious. Hello?