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.
--
The weekend was about as uneventful as they come. The weather was a
little more tolerable than than usual, but we didn't take advantage of
it. Feel free to sue me in a court of law if you'd like.
I took the youngest Secret out to lunch on Saturday. Toney and I have
this on-again off-again plan to take one kid each to lunch on weekends,
on an alternating basis, so they can have a little alone-time with us
without distractions. We think it's a valuable exercise, but aren't real
consistent with it.
He said he wanted to go to Damon's
so that's where we went. I ordered some sort of bizarre sandwich called
a Steamboat. The menu picture made it look appealing, but in reality it
was like a house shoe full of pork and cheese. People are always raving
about that place, but I find myself walking away feeling a tad let-down
more often than not.
After lunch I took him to buy a lava lamp for his new bedroom. He and
his brother share a room now, but we're splitting 'em up before the new
school year begins -- because the time has come.
There are only two things he's requesting for his new space: a red lava
lamp, and a poster of A Nightmare Before Christmas. We already
took care of the latter, and now the former is handled as well. Once
Toney gets finished priming, spackling, and painting the rooms, and
moving all the furniture, we'll be good to go.
When we returned home the oldest Secret met us at the door waving a
Blockbuster DVD box in our faces. Wanna watch The
Benchwarmers?! he shouted. Um OK. It turned out to be ninety
minutes of farting, vomiting, bag-tagging, and cartoonish faggotry. In
short: great fun for the entire family!
On Sunday I mowed the lawn again. When exactly are they going to come
out with that special grass that only grows to a certain length, then
stops, like pubes? I saw a news piece on it at least a year ago.... Yet
I'm out there at least once every five weeks, mowing again. It's
ridiculous.
Then it was cocktail hour again, and before I knew it Deadwood
was on, and you're completely up to date on the weekend. Scintillating,
ain't it?
-- Our old house in California reportedly
sold last week for $495,000. We sold it to the sellers in early 2000 for
something like $185,000. Yet another of those things I try not to think
about....
Toney's network of spies tells us that the neighbors on the cul-de-sac
were monitoring closely the people who were looking at our old place,
and taking appropriate action. If they didn't like the looks of someone
they'd raise a ruckus, and try to discourage them from pursuing it.
One is apparently in a rock band, and if he'd see someone roll in with,
say, a bunch of potentially-screeching kids, he'd lift his garage door,
crank up his amplifiers, and start blasting Van Halen riffs off the
front of his house. Another of our ex-neighbors is into vintage cars,
and would go out and rev an ancient lead-fueled engine at calculated
times, for the same reasons.
Supposedly their strategy paid dividends, and they're completely happy
with the new buyers. Heh.
Toney also found out that one of the super-moms that lived near us has
gone the route of the full-blown drunkaholic. She supposedly starts
hitting the hard stuff around noon, and is down like a sack of taters by
the time her sexually ambiguous son arrives home from middle school at
3:30. I guess the pressures of keeping up with the Joneses has finally
taken its toll?
No word on the two kids that lived next door to us, who were banned for
life from Los Angeles County schools for plotting their own private
Columbine. Maybe the shock treatments worked?
Yeah, and it all looks so Norman Rockwell when you drive through
there.... David Lynch! Paging Mr. David Lynch!!
-- And speaking of Van Halen, how come there are no bands like that
anymore? Sure, I was there cheering, like everybody else, when Kurt
Cobain dropped a big fat atom bomb on the arena rockers. But now I kinda
miss it. I know it might be melodramatic to say, but it sometimes feels
like there is no rock music anymore.
I've tried to warm to the so-called garage rockers, like the Hives and
the Strokes, but they just don't do it for me. Maybe I'm old-fashioned,
but I seem to prefer a few actual good songs to go along with the
pose.... And anyway, I'm not talking about that sort of thing. I'm
talking about big, ridiculous party bands whose lyrics don't venture far
from boy meets girl, boy inserts penis.
Yes, I'm forty-three. What of it?
-- But, at least there's one thing to look forward to. Or back at. Or
something. Hello?
-- Last week I noticed a referral to TheWVSR from this
page. I have no
idea who set up the project, but it's pretty cool. I spent some time
exploring the site a few nights ago, picked up a little juicy zine-geek
gossip, and learned a few real things as well. I hope folks contribute to
it, and it thrives. Me? I'm a very busy man....
-- Here's a longish argument about the perceived assholistic attitudes
of the people in our current home of northeastern Pennsylvania, by
transplants like me. Personally, I haven't had too many problems with
the people here, since I'm every bit as standoffish as they are. But
over the years Toney has voiced many of the very same things the folks
in this thread are saying. In fact, parts of it read like a transcript
of our actual kitchen conversations.
-- And finally, I'll leave you with a classic blast from the past: the
German forklift training
film! If you haven't seen it, take the time.
It's worth the investment, I promise.
--
The weekend was about as uneventful as they come. The weather was a
little more tolerable than than usual, but we didn't take advantage of
it. Feel free to sue me in a court of law if you'd like.