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.
--
Oh, I'm making plans. I'm a dedicated list-writer and plan-maker from
way back, and I've got a few things mapped out for the near future. It's
my way of coping.
For example, here are the proposed themes for each weekend in August:
8/5 & 8/6 Wallowing in self-pity
8/12 & 8/13 Political outrage/righteous anger
8/19 & 8/20 Steely Dan
8/26 & 8/27 Considering a transition to slacks
And these are just-added destinations to my ever-expanding list of dream
vacation spots:
There are other lists as well, plenty of others. What of it?
-- On Saturday, another hot and humid day from the same folks who
brought you hell, we decided to hit the Chinese buffet (where the
Secrets ingested a frightening amount of orange chicken), then make a
beeline for a movie theater.
We checked out Monster
House, and it was good fun. And only an hour and a half long:
the perfect length for a movie!
As I've said before, if a story can't be told in, say, a hundred
minutes, it's not a story worth telling. I like movies fine, but I'm not
willing to contract phantom ass syndrome watching one. Ya know? I'd
really like to know when the concept of editing went out of
style? Sweet sainted mother of Encyclopedia Brown!
But that's a subject
for the second weekend in September....
In the lobby of the theater was a large stand-up cardboard deal
advertising an upcoming Will Ferrell ridiculousness called Talladega
Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. It featured Ferrell dressed as a
race car driver, celebrating with another driver whose face was cut-out.
I handed Toney my cell phone and asked her to take a picture of me
"hanging" with Ricky Bobby. It didn't turn out very well, but here
it is. As you can see, I was trying to act excited (which sent the kids
scrambling in embarrassment). But it looks more like somebody snuck up
behind me with a vibrating butt plug. Oh well, I never claimed to be an
actor....
-- Speaking of the Secrets, the oldest is
taking tennis lessons at the Y. I have a feeling it's not going to take,
but he wanted to give it a try. And yesterday, as he was getting ready
to leave, I hollered, "I say, anyone for tennis?" a line from
the old Monty Python Sam Pekinpah sketch, Salad Days.
After I got past the deep, deep shame of actually making a nerdly Python
reference, following my recent long-winded rant about people who do
exactly that, I decided I wanted to see the sketch again. I wondered if
I could find it on the internet somewhere, and I believe it took me
roughly five seconds.
Here it is, one of my favorites. I love the part where Cleese is in
front of a black background, just bleeding to beat the band.
-- I'm blasting Izzy Stradlin as I type this morning. Just thought you'd
want to know. Is there any doubt, at this late date, that he was/is the
coolest and most talented Guns 'n' Roses member of them all? Yeah, I
didn't think so. Pass the fucking beer nuts.
-- Here are the numbers for Sunday's
under-performing Deadwood
episode. C'mon guys, give me a challenge! Shit.
-- This is the first Tuesday of the month, and by the end of business
today I will be a stockholder in Sirius Satellite Radio.
I opened an
account through Sharebuilder, and they extract a set (and very small)
amount of money from my checking account on the first Tuesday of every
month, then invest it anyway I tell them. Today will be my first
investment, and it's all going toward Sirius.
By November I'm hoping the
value of my portfolio will surpass three-figures(!). And for Christmas
I'm going to ask Santa for one of those Gomez Addams ticker tape
machines, and a box of fat-ass cigars.
-- Finally, since Clive doesn't seem to do topics anymore, I'm forced to
come up with a few on my own. So, let's try this one: At the age of ten
(or so) what did you want to be when you grew up? And what are you doing
now?
For the record, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was ten. Unfortunately for me,
NASA doesn't make a lunar module in a husky, so that's completely out
the window. I'm now a desk jockey, pencil-pusher in the distribution biz
(how's that for ambiguous?). What about you?
--
Oh, I'm making plans. I'm a dedicated list-writer and plan-maker from
way back, and I've got a few things mapped out for the near future. It's
my way of coping.