It's a Pisser....

…and I mean that quite literally. Let me explain: I work in a fairly small office: sixteen employees, thirteen women, three men. There’s an ongoing bathroom etiquette problem that never gets talked about, never addressed, and most certainly never resolved.

Somebody keeps pissing all over the toilet. Yeah, you heard me. Not just on the rim around the bowl, either. It’s on the floor and everything. Every day, several times a day.

It’s pretty obviously a male culprit. And there are only three of us. My fear is that the female majority may think I’m to blame. But what am I supposed to do? Approach each of them and proclaim proudly that I am not the reckless urinator? It already sucks being one of the only guys in this estrogen fishbowl, but this just makes it ten times worse.

So almost every day I saunter into the bathroom for my morning wee, and find myself faced with splotches of dark yellow piss sprinkled around like fucking fairy dust. Naaaaasty. So what do I do? I clean it up, naturally, because if somebody hits the bathroom right after me, they’re gonna think I did it, which is unacceptable. Talk about a rock and hard place.

I finally went to my supervisor about it, who basically laughed it and has no intention of doing anything about it. I even designed a sign we could hang above the toilets:

PLEASE REMEMBER….

ACCURACY
IS NEXT TO GODLINESS!

The answer was NO. I’m wondering if filing a hostile-work-environment grievance is the way to go. Somebody’s gotta do something. I’m not a janitor, fer chrissakes!

It’s one of the other two guys here. It could be either of them. It could be both, I dunno. But either way… it sucks. It’s most definitely a pisser of epic proportions.

Sounds like an episode of The Office just waiting to happen, doesn’t it? I’d write it myself, but I’m pretty sure they have a closed circle of writers on staff. And now that the writer’s strike is over, I imagine they’re writing like crazy over there.

Back in Black (and White and Red All Over)

Seriously, what the hell? It was friggin’ SNOWING this morning as I drove to work. Yeah, it’s almost April, and it’s snowing. Big wet flakes, probably went on for at least half an hour. And just a few minutes ago, we got hit with a big sideways blast of hail. And I’ve just been informed that it’s supposed to snow tonight. Should I bust out some Christmas songs? I think I still have some on my iPod….

Eccentric weather aside, it’s a typical boring-ass Friday afternoon here at work. On epic endless days like this, I find myself realizing things that normally wouldn’t occur to me. Example: I’ve worn black shirts three days out of five this week. Black polo, black button-up, and now black pullover. I have at least two other black shirts that are at least semi-work-appropriate, so I could’ve gone five for five. Damn, now I kinda wish I would have. Would they notice? They sure as hell didn’t notice early last year when I dyed my hair blonde. Seriously, how could they miss THAT? Fuckers. Yeah, okay, I get that I’m the only guy on a team of seven women. I get that the seven of them are best buddies and I’m the odd man out (literally). But Christ, a simple “hey, your hair looks different” would’ve been nice. I didn’t even need a compliment necessarily… just an acknowledgment would’ve sufficed. I swear I’m invisible around here.

Yeah, I hate my job. If I haven’t made that abundantly clear by now, there it is.

I don’t read enough. I don’t read the paper, I don’t read books. I do read stuff on the internet… does that count? I’d love to be one of those people who plows through one or two books a week, who are well-versed in multiple literary genres and are always voraciously devouring more books. I’m mean, I almost feel obligated to be that kinda guy. But damn it, I don’t wanna. I’d rather watch a movie. I will point out that my taste in films is quite eclectic and varied, and I generally don’t waste my time on the mindless dreck that comprises most modern cinema. But if you bookworms out there feel compelled to brand me a rube, so be it. Believe me, nobody knows more than I do that I probably should read more, if for no other reason than to inspire me to write more regularly.

Since my book was unceremoniously kicked out of the Amazon contest before the final rounds (just call me the William Hung of the literary world), I haven’t written a damn thing. Well, except blog entries. I haven’t touched any of the short stories I was working on. I haven’t done any further editing on my book. I haven’t even glanced at my many screenplays in development. It seems I’ve completely forsaken my writing and focused on my home theater instead….

…speaking of which, I got a Playstation 3 the other day. I ordered it on Saturday, and it arrived on Tuesday (way earlier than expected; thanks Dell!). I’d moved my existing Blu-ray player (Sony BDP-S300) from the office upstairs to the living room, so I needed something to replace it. The Playstation 3 is widely considered the best Blu-ray player currently on the market, so it made sense to go that route, even though I have zero (less than zero, actually) interest in videogames. The fact that it connects wirelessly to our network and can stream audio/video/pictures from our PCs is cool too (I haven’t even explored this yet). For my immediate purposes, it’s WAY faster than the other Blu-ray player, which typically takes a full minute or more just to load up a disc (I know, waiting one minute to watch a movie is hardly worth getting upset over; war in Iraq, starving kids in China, etc). And damn, the thing just looks sexy sitting there on my desk. Yeah, I’m really liking it. When Teresa heard about its web-browsing capabilities, and realized how cool it would be to sit on the couch and do internet stuff (with a Bluetooth keyboard), her eyes lit up. I hope she’s not expecting me put it upstairs and move the other Blu-ray player (aka the Molasses Machine) back into my office. See, that would just make me sad. The Bunny giveth… and the Bunny taketh away. Don’t make me do it, honey!

Heh, get it? Molasses Machine? ‘Cos it’s so slow! Oh man, I crack myself up.

The Hammerhead Diaries, Chapter 3

The Hammerhead Diaries
21 March 2008, 3:29 p.m.
McMenamins John Barleycorns (Tigard, OR)

Yesterday was the first day of Spring. Today brings another annual milestone: my beloved McMenamins makes available their sublime Workingman’s Red, a beer that’s only available during the Spring. I think this is the first time I’ve actually had it on "release day." I wonder if next year I’ll be camped outside the night before. Honestly, it’s delicious. And Teresa, who is most certainly not a beer lover, is quite enamored of it too. She’s probably a bit pissed that I’m enjoying it without her. I’ll also mention that this is something of a departure in these Hammerhead Diaries: this is the first time (so far) that I’ve had two glasses of the same thing. That’s right, folks: I’m already on my second glass. But I see from their handy list of Featured Ales that there are a few other items I’ve never tried, so I’ll be trying them before I’m done here.

*Sigh* I only wish that they’d bottle the Workingman’s Red and sell it year-round, like they do with their Hammerhead Ale, Sunflower IPA, Terminator Stout, and Ruby Ale. Christ, they could certainly ditch the Ruby Ale (which is clearly designed for little girls). Is that so much to ask?

I took today off (in fact, as I recall, I did the same thing almost a year ago, when I wrote the first Hammerhead Diaries entry; it’s a sad reflection of my unending laziness that this is only the third installment in eleven months). It’s Easter weekend, which means my Sunday is basically shot (going to Rainier for dinner with my parents), so the only way to attain a proper weekend is to take an extra day off. And since next week is Spring Break (which means the damn kids’ll be home), it had to be today. So here I am.

I woke up, took the kids to school, and started the laundry. See, I’m the laundry guy. I always have been. It’s a deal between Teresa and I: she cooks, and I do the laundry. So my weekends are generally filled with switching loads of clothes and folding like there’s no tomorrow. So any time I take a Friday off, I try to get a jump on the weekend laundry, and today was no exception. I got most of it done already, which should make the rest of the weekend fairly breezy. And hey, the weather’s supposed to be decent tomorrow, so maybe I’ll actually get some pre-summer hammock time in (hey, it’s Oregon; I’ll just dress warm and sway comfortably in the breeze despite the chilly early-spring air).

Anyway---- after I started the laundry, I made breakfast for myself. Three eggs, two pieces of toast, and ten slices of bacon. Yeah, ten. It was the cheap pre-cooked shit, so you’ve gotta eat a lot just to sate the bacon monkey. You know what I mean. That was about 8:30 this morning, and I haven’t eaten since. So yeah, two beers and I’m feelin’ ’em.

Next up: The Irish Stout. I know, St. Patrick’s Day is over. I still had to try it (actually, I think I DID try it, last St. Patrick’s Day, when Teresa and I spent the night at McMenamins’ Kennedy School Pub/Hotel. I dunno, it’s a pretty big blur. We drank a LOT that night). It’s, um…. Not bad, but not great. Unfortunate second cousin to the marvelous Terminator Stout.

Next up: Private IPA. What’s so private about it? I dunno… let’s find out together, shall we? Oh wait, you can’t taste it. Sucks to be you. Even at its worst (Ruby Ale, fer chrissakes), McMenamins trounces all challengers. In the vernacular of these modern times: McMenamins pawns noobs. God, I can’t believe I just typed that. Chalk it up to having three teenagers in the house, not to mention a brain that simply refuses to acknowledge that it’s approaching 40 years old. Parts of me still think they’re 17 (I’ll leave it to your imagination to decide which parts). Anyway--- the Private IPA. Oooh, not bad. Got some bite, which I like. My instinct is to compare it to their Sunflower IPA. It doesn’t win, sadly. It’s certainly not bad, but it’s nothing to get excited over.

Heh, an older lady just sat down near me, ordered a glass of water (!), then promptly moved to a different table. Apparently the sight of a mildly intoxicated fat guy typing furiously on a laptop made her uncomfortable. Oh well.

Tonight is family dinner night, and we’re going to Sushi Train. That’s right. What are YOU having? Something boring at home? You sad bastard. I’ll be cold-kickin’ it raw-fish style with my wife and shorties.

Oh look, the lady came back to the nearby table with a friend. I’m too disinterested to figure it out. I can see that they’re engaged in some inane conversation, which makes me doubly thankful that I’m wearing headphones and enjoying the new Radiohead album instead of listening to their post-menopausal nonsense. Christ, I am not a nice guy. Fuck, two more of ’em just showed up. They talk with their hands. I can’t hear them. I’m not a religious man, but THANK YOU JESUS for headphones. Oh, here comes #5. Holy hell, she’s got teeth like the Alien Queen in Aliens. And oh shit, I can hear her OVER my headphones. Why, Lord, why???

Hey, this new Radiohead album is really good. Hell, everything they do is really good.

What’s that, four beers? Can I still drive? I’ve gotta have one more. The Aces & Eights Porter sounds promising. I always like to end on a dark note. Wow, if that’s not a metaphor for my personality, I don’t know what is.

Here come the drinks at the Table of Ancient Women. Looks like two beers, a glass of wine, and a glass of water. Oh, and a toast. I wonder what they’re toasting. Botox?

Four beers in. I’m totally dissing these women. Why? Am I jealous of them? Maybe. I’m sitting here alone. Oh wait, my cell is vibrating. It’s my daughter Sierra. Oh, she wants to go see a movie with her new boyfriend tonight. Screeeeeeech! Left turn. Let’s talk about this.

I haven’t met this guy. Sierra knows that she can’t go out on dates unless I meet the guy. And she wants to go to a movie with him?

I told her yes. Hell, I even told her she could have an advance on her allowance, plus ten bucks. What the fuck is wrong with me? Is it the beer(s)? I’m fiercely protective of my girls. What did I just do? I just flashed the green light at her. Christ, I’m gonna be a grandparent before I know it.

Anyway, back to the Aces & Eights Porter. Um, not bad, but not great. It’s too mild. Not very interesting. Boo, McMenamins, boo.

The party of five next door is pigging out on appetizers. They smell good. I see hummus, and what appear to be deep fried chicken bites. And fuck, this place is loud now. I’m still headphonin’, but it can’t drown out the noise. I’m lucky I scored a roomy spot when I did. As I recall, my first Hammerhead Diaries visit found me stuck at a tiny table. Hard to believe it’s almost been a year since then. How does it happen? How does time pass so quickly, so stealthily?

I’ll be 40 next year. How the fuck did this happen? Aren’t I still 17? Aren’t I still a kid?

The mirror says no. The gray hairs say no.

This must be one of the darkest moments I’ve ever endured. I’m old, and getting older. My initial impulse is to drink more, but I can’t. I’ve gotta drive home. Any more and I won’t be able to.

Top 10 Favorite Films

Okay, so here are my Top 10 Favorite Films Of All Time. Unlike the previous Top 100 list, these are actually in order of preference.

01. Vertigo (1958, Alfred Hitchcock)
02. Portrait of Jennie (1948, William Dieterle)
03. The Seventh Seal (Det Sjunde Inseglet) (1957, Ingmar Bergman)
04. Orphee (Orpheus) (1950, Jean Cocteau)
05. Notorious (1946, Alfred Hitchcock)
06. The Third Man (1949, Carol Reed)
07. Rashomon (1950, Akira Kurosawa)
08. Blade Runner (1982, Ridley Scott)
09. Fantasia (1940, Walt Disney, various directors)
10. Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back (1980, Irvin Kershner)

Top 100 Favorite Films....

Okay, this was tough. I love so many films. How could I possibly settle on a mere 100 to call my favorites? And since I’m assembling this list from memory, how accurate could it possibly be? Yeah, this was tough. I’ve agonized over this all day, pouring over my DVD Profiler database and imdb.com, and I can (cautiously) say that, as of right now (3/18/2008, 3:10 p.m.), these are my top 100 favorite films of all time. But I also acknowledge that this list is by no means definitive. I’ll undoubtedly fall in love with new movies as well as previously undiscovered classics in the months and years to come. The next time I do this (maybe in five years), I imagine the list will look very different.

I tried to be brutally honest, including guilty pleasures (Better Off Dead, Happy Gilmore, Sixteen Candles) but ignoring undeniable masterpieces that I respect but don’t love (8 ½, Lawrence of Arabia, The Godfather). And I should mention the Five Year Rule: movies less than five years old were not allowed on the list, since my opinions of them may very well change over time (if I still love a film after five years, then it has officially proven its staying power; however, let me tell ya, it just about killed me leaving Good Night and Good Luck and Pan’s Labyrinth off the list).

The films are in alphabetical order, NOT in order of preference....

12 Angry Men (1957, Sidney Lumet)
12 Monkeys (1995, Terry Gilliam)
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968, Stanley Kubrick)
A.I. (Artificial Intelligence) (2001, Steven Spielberg)
Abyss, The (1989, James Cameron)
Alien (1979, Ridley Scott)
Anatomy of a Murder (1959, Otto Preminger)
Angel Face (1952, Otto Preminger)
Bambi (1942, Walt Disney, David Hand)
Beauty and the Beast (La Belle et la Bête) (1946, Jean Cocteau)
Better Off Dead (1985, Savage Steve Holland)
Blade Runner (1982, Ridley Scott)
Blow Out (1981, Brian De Palma)
Bride of Frankenstein, The (1935, James Whale)
Cape Fear (1962, J. Lee Thompson)
Carnival of Souls (1962, Herk Harvey)
Casablanca (1942, Michael Curtiz)
Christmas Story, A (1983, Bob Clark)
Citizen Kane (1941, Orson Welles)
Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977, Steven Spielberg)
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Wo Hu Cang Long )(2000, Ang Lee)
Dark City (1998, Alex Proyas)
Dark Passage (1947, Delmer Daves)
Day the Earth Stood Still, The (1951, Robert Wise)
Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid (1982, Carl Reiner)
Die Hard (1988, John McTiernan)
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (1988, Frank Oz)
Dogma (1999, Kevin Smith)
Double Indemnity (1944, Billy Wilder)
Eyes Wide Shut (1999, Stanley Kubrick)
Face/Off (1997, John Woo)
Fantasia (1940, Walt Disney, various directors)
Fight Club (1999, David Fincher)
Gattaca (1997, Andrew Niccol)
Happy Gilmore (1996, Dennis Dugan)
Hardware (1990, Richard Stanley)
Hero (Ying Xiong) (2002, Yimou Zhang)
High Fidelity (2000, Stephen Frears)
Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959, Alain Resnais)
Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956, Don Siegel)
It’s a Wonderful Life (1946, Frank Capra)
Jacob’s Ladder (1990, Adrian Lyne)
Jane Eyre (1944, Robert Stevenson)
Jaws (1975, Steven Spielberg)
Jerry Maguire (1996, Cameron Crowe)
Kill Bill, vol. 1 (2003, Quentin Tarantino)
Kiss Me Deadly (1955, Robert Aldrich)
L.A. Confidential (1997, Curtis Hanson)
Laura (1944, Otto Preminger)
Lost Weekend, The (1945, Billy Wilder)
Manchurian Candidate, The (1962, John Frankenheimer)
Matrix, The (1999, Andy and Larry Wachowski)
Memento (2000, Christopher Nolan)
Minority Report (2002, Steven Spielberg)
Murder, My Sweet (1944, Edward Dmytryk)
Naked Lunch (1991, David Cronenberg)
Night of the Living Dead (1968, George A. Romero)
Notorious (1946, Alfred Hitchcock)
Office Space (1999, Mike Judge)
On Dangerous Ground (1952, Nicholas Ray)
Orpheus (Orphée) (1950, Jean Cocteau)
Persona (1966, Ingmar Bergman)
Pi (1998, Darren Aronofsky)
Planet of the Apes (1968, Franklin J. Schaffner)
Portrait of Jennie (1948, William Dieterle)
Psycho (1960, Alfred Hitchcock)
Pulp Fiction (1994, Quentin Tarantino)
Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981, Steven Spielberg)
Raising Arizona (1987, Joel and Ethan Coen)
Rashômon (1950, Akira Kurosawa)
Reservoir Dogs (1992, Quentin Tarantino)
Say Anything (1989, Cameron Crowe)
Se7en (1995, David Fincher)
Shadow of a Doubt (1943, Alfred Hitchcock)
Shawshank Redemption, The (1994, Frank Darabont)
Shining, The (1980, Stanley Kubrick)
Silence of the Lambs, The (1991, Jonathan Demme)
Sixteen Candles (1984, John Hughes)
The Seventh Seal (Sjunde Inseglet, Det) (1957, Ingmar Bergman)
Snatch (2000, Guy Ritchie)
So I Married an Axe Murderer (1993, Thomas Schlamme)
Solaris (2002, Steven Soderbergh)
Spellbound (1945, Alfred Hitchcock)
Star Wars (1977, George Lucas)
Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back (1980, Irvin Kershner)
Starship Troopers (1997, Paul Verhoeven)
Strangers on a Train (1951, Alfred Hitchcock)
Swingers (1996, Doug Liman)
Talented Mr. Ripley, The (1999, Anthony Minghella)
Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991, James Cameron)
Third Man, The (1949, Carol Reed)
Throne of Blood (Kumonosu Jô) (1957, Akira Kurosawa)
Tingler, The (1959, William Castle)
To Kill a Mockingbird (1962, Robert Mulligan)
Touch of Evil (1958, Orson Welles)
Vanilla Sky (2001, Cameron Crowe)
Vertigo (1958, Alfred Hitchcock)
Virgin Spring, The (Jungfrukällan) (1960, Ingmar Bergman)
Wings of Desire (Himmel über Berlin, Der) (1987, Wim Wenders)
Wild Things (1998, John McNaughton)

HONORABLE MENTIONS (less than five years old)….

Batman Begins (2005, Christopher Nolan)
Fountain, The (2006, Darren Aronofsky)
Good Night, and Good Luck. (2005, George Clooney)
House of Flying Daggers (Shi Mian Mai Fu) (2004, Yimou Zhang)
Kill Bill, vol. 2 (2004, Quentin Tarantino)
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005, Shane Black)
Michael Clayton (2007, Tony Gilroy)
Pan’s Labyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno) (2006, Guillermo Del Toro)

Foods I Miss...

Since it seems I'm only blogging about food and drink these days, I'll keep it going with a meditation on foods that once brightened my life, but are now conspicuously absent. These are items that are no longer available, either through discontinuation or other unfortunate means.

The McDLT (McDonalds)

Remember this? It came in a dual-compartment Styrofoam container, designed to "keep the hot side hot and the cold side cold." I loved it, both the concept and the taste. It was refreshingly different from the other McStandbys, the Big Mac and the Quarter Pounder with Cheese. Honestly, it was too damned good for a lowbrow joint like McD's. The McDLT (which stood for McDonalds Lettuce and Tomato) was a casualty of society's move away from Styrofoam, so it was discontinued after a few short years (I think it vanished around 1989 or so). They currently offer something called a Big 'n Tasty, which is an approximation of the McDLT, but it doesn't come close (and it doesn't come in two separate halves). I'll occasionally get one when I'm feeling particularly nostalgic for the McDLT, but I'm always left disappointed.

Twigs snack crackers (Nabisco)

When I was a kid, Chicken in a Biskit crackers were the absolute shit. I could eat a whole box in one sitting (which I did once, which pissed my dad off). As I became an adult, my taste matured (well, sorta), and I discovered the glory of Twigs, which were basically cheese-flavored sesame sticks. Perfect for straight up snacking or dipping… oh so good. Well, the fuckholes over at Nabisco apparently decided that they needed shelf space for yet another flavor of Wheat Thins, so they stopped making them about two years ago. I remember it was a gradual thing: for a while I could find them at some stores but not others. I finally asked a Nabisco rep about it, and was horrified to hear that they'd been permanently pulled due to "low sales." Fuck, if I'd known that, I'd have bought WAY more to keep 'em alive. I still miss them. In fact, we made some Knorr vegetable dip at home recently, which was the PERFECT dip for Twigs, and I felt the loss all over again. A lot of times a product can get discontinued, but it's easy to find something to replace it. There's NOTHING out there like Twigs, or I'd be fucking eating them right now. Fuckin' Nabisco.

Fruit and Cream Twinkies (Hostess)

I'm not real big on sweets, but I loved these. Essentially it was a Twinkie with strawberry jelly mixed in with the cream filling. Gooey and moist, melt-in-your-mouth goodness. They were only around for a couple of years, as I recall, back in the late 80's. I have no idea why Hostess stopped making them. For that matter, whatever happened to Chocodiles.? Further, I haven't seen a Suzy-Q in a while… what the fuck, Hostess????

*I couldn't even find a picture, so I had to use a shot of regular
Twinkies. Fuck!

While all of these things are sad (at least to me), this next and final item is by far the saddest, because the unavailability of the item pales in comparison to the reason it's unavailable. The item is…. My gramma's pancakes. My gramma Joyce made the best pancakes ever. I couldn't even begin to guess what made them so good, but they were awesome. I've had many pancakes over the years, but none have even come close. She died… wow, I guess almost 17 years ago. I still miss her pancakes, but God knows I miss her even more. She was an amazing lady; infinitely kind, eternally patient, and perpetually sweet… the ultimate gramma. She died before my kids were born, so they never had the opportunity to know her, which still saddens me to this day. I'm not a religious man, and I certainly don't believe in any fundamentalist afterlife; however, she's the one person who even comes close to making me reconsider, because nobody could possibly deserve heaven more. I miss you, Gramma.

* Joyce Elaine Carr, died 6/01/1991, age 61.

Culinary Curiosities

I think I'm subconsciously trying to kill myself. Seriously, the abuse my body has suffered because of all the shit I eat (and drink) is just staggering. Honestly, why am I even still alive? The husband of a coworker of mine had a mild heart attack earlier this week. He's the same age as me. While this unfortunate event is certainly nothing near a "wake-up call" for me, it's certainly got me thinking.

On that note, let's have a look at some of the questionable things I've been consuming lately…

First up: Chelada, a joint venture between Budweiser and Clamato. I love Clamato, but Holy Mother Mary do I hate Budweiser. Teresa found it and brought it home, so of course I drank it (Christ, what WON'T I drink?). It, um, wasn't very good. However, the concept was intriguing enough for me to experiment with my own version: Clamato, Smithwick's Irish Ale, lime juice, and celery salt. Much, much better…. but still not great. I'm not really a fan of the whole "red beer" thing to begin with, so I guess this kinda thing just ain't for me. And no, I didn't go near the Bud Light version. Christ.

Okay, what the fuck? Burger King makes potato chips now? I spotted these at Plaid Pantry, so I had to get a bag. Let me clarify that they aren't actually potato CHIPS, but rather potato CRISPS (like Pringles). I went with the Flame Broiled variety (how exactly is "Flame Broiled" a flavor? I don't get it), and they tasted like ass: hairy, pimply, sweaty ass. Ugh. I'd rather chew on a turtle's wrinkly nutsack then eat these again. I didn't try the Ketchup and Fries flavor, and I have no plans to. BK is good for Whoppers and Chicken Fries, and that's about it. These things suck.

Okay, this is more like it. Two weekends ago my friend Donovan and I headed over to Giant Drive-In Burger in Lake Oswego for some lunch. It's called "Giant" for a reason… their legendary Filler Burger is a monster, dripping with grease and chock full o' goodies like bacon, ham, a fried egg, pickle spears (not slices), and just about anything else you can imagine. It's crazy huge, crazy messy, and it's fucking delicious. I can't recommend this place enough. Oh, and their corndogs are good too.

Stumptown Lunch Review: Giant Drive-In

As we trudged our way through these beautiful artery-clogging beasts, Donovan reminded me of a Carl's Jr. excursion from a couple of years back, in which we enjoyed their chili-cheese burgers and chili cheese fries (one of their "limited-time only" offerings). I lamented the fact that they weren't currently available….

Carl's Jr. must've heard us talking, because the chili-cheese goodness has returned! I saw a commercial on TV a few nights ago and practically leapt up from the couch with glee. I subsequently enjoyed a hearty breakfast of chili-cheese fries just yesterday here at work, rousing the attention of several coworkers. Who wouldn't covet such gooey goodness so early in the morning? They can keep their Starbucks and effete pastries. I'll stick with my man food, even if it kills me.

Will it really kill me? Let's be honest: I don't take care of myself at all. I did give up caffeine last year, and I do drink a fair amount of water every day, but that's about it. I have to wonder which will win the race to claim my life: my heart, or my liver. But then again, I underwent some fairly extensive medical poking and prodding about a year ago, and they looked pretty critically at my heart (my family history is riddled with both heart disease and diabetes), and I was given an essentially clean bill of health… which is just ridiculous, when you consider all the shit I eat. I'm a fatty, there's no doubt about it, but I'm apparently a semi-healthy fatty. However, even an idiot like me understands that the older I get, the less forgiving my body will be. I'm certainly on the path to grave consequences, but where on the path am I? Ah yes, grasshopper, that is the question. Is my inevitable heart attack five years down the road? Ten? Twenty?

What if I start being a little more careful? Nothing dramatic, nothing crazy. I'm not talking about going organic, or doing yoga, or whatever. But what if I cut out some of the really bad stuff (fast food, for example)? I'd probably prolong my life. In fact, I may have already started: my latest food obsession is (drum roll please)….

That's right, the Mack Dizzle has discovered the glories of sushi. I've gotta say, I never liked it before. While I've always thought it was beautiful to behold, it always sounded… well, gross. I tried some at a potluck here at work a couple of months ago, and actually enjoyed it. I had some more last weekend, and something clicked. I really liked it. I had some for lunch on Tuesday, and loved it. So now I'm a sushi lover. See? You CAN teach old dogs new tricks. And hell, sushi is WAY healthier than chili-cheese fries and Giant burgers. I'm not saying goodbye to those things completely, but I'll (hopefully) eat less of them in the future. I do, after all, have several reasons to live a long life.

Never Again...

This should have been a happy blog entry. This should have been an enthusiastic and glowing extolling of a newfound alcoholic love. It's not. It's a dizzy, fuzzy, uncomfortable morning-after blog entry. That's right, I'm hung over, and not just your standard 'I had a few too many and now I'm paying the price' hangover. Folks, I am FUCKING HUNG OVER. My head feels like a concrete watermelon. My stomach feels like a bloated pin cushion stuffed with gravel. I can't walk straight, and if I close my eyes I can see Technicolor rainbows swirling around like electric eels mating.

The culprit? Why, the ever-popular dirty martini.

Let me back up. A couple weeks back, Teresa and I went out for dinner and drinks at Hayden's Bar and Grill here in Tualatin. I've always wanted to explore the martini (I'd only had ONE before, on my 30^th birthday, and didn't like it), because hey, it's a cool drink. You can't be a wannabe secret agent if you don't do martinis. So yeah, I decided it was time to take the plunge. I had three dirty martinis that night with dinner and quite enjoyed them.

Fast forward to yesterday (Tuesday, 2/26)… I was twiddling my thumbs at work, bored as usual, and I got to thinking about those delightful dirty martinis. I hit the liquor store on my lunch hour and picked up some vodka, vermouth, and olive juice. When I got home after work, I immediately started mixing 'em up.

Everything got blurry pretty fast. Martinis, dirty or otherwise, are basically ALL alcohol; plus I didn't eat any dinner. By about 9:00 I was completely shit-faced and throwing up. I think I had eight dirty martinis total, but it may have been more (the vodka bottle, which was brand new when I started, was about 2/3rds empty afterwards).

And here we are… the morning after. I feel like hell. Jesus, "hell" doesn't even describe it. I actually think I'm still somewhat drunk. And I'll tell ya, I've NEVER gotten sick on vodka before. In fact, I've always called vodka my "happy drink" because I've always been able to drink a lot of it with no ill effects. Well, so much for that.

This just fucking sucks, because I love the concept of the dirty martini. I wanna be cool like dat, ya know? I don't want it to end this way. But the mere thought of having one at this point makes me nauseous. God, just the sight of the bottles (still sitting on the kitchen counter this morning) was sickening.

I'll probably feel differently in a few days, but for right now, I'm saying NEVER AGAIN. I'm getting too old for this shit.

Meaty, Chewy Goodness!

I love teriyaki beef jerky. Oh yes I do. Trouble is, most of the jerky out there sucks. Seriously, it tastes like Uncle Harry's ass *. However, as with any addiction, you'll settle for the nasty shit if necessary, and believe me, I need teriyaki jerky like a junkie needs heroin. Hence, I've suffered through more than my share of shitty jerky. In a particularly low moment a few years ago, I actually bought the K-mart store brand… and yes, it was truly awful.

The addiction started when I was a kid, probably no older than 8 or 9. I lived in Aloha, and I used to ride my bike to a tiny li'l place called Cook's Market to buy Star Wars trading cards (the store was a mile or two away, but back then a kid could just sorta come and go like that, without any adult supervision). They had a big jar at the checkout counter of these little flat brown discs, allegedly made of beef. They were 4 for a buck, so I bought one. It was dry, tough, and salty… just what a growing boy needed! I was instantly hooked.

Some years later, they (whoever "they" were) introduced "jerky chew," which was basically shredded beef jerky in a round plastic container. You were supposed to pinch a chunk and stuff it into your lower lip and suck on it…. basically like chewing tobacco, but with meat. Lame concept, but I totally jumped on it anyway. The benefit here was that you didn't need to floss afterwards (and hey, who doesn't want to floss less?).

In the ensuing years I've tried many different jerkys (jerkies?). Some have been decent. A couple have been great. Most, sadly, have been an insult to any self-respecting jerky connoisseur. I discovered that the best route was unfortunately the most expensive: Ye Olde Butcher. That's right, folks, most meat markets sell jerky that's actually freshly made, requiring refrigeration and everything. But it costs a LOT more than the jerky you'll find in the grocery stores. And sadly, I usually couldn't (still can't) afford such luxuries.

About a year or so ago I noticed a new jerky on the supermarket racks: Jack Link's. It looked decent enough, and it was on sale, so I grabbed a bag. And let me tell ya, it was YUMMO **. Chewy but not hard, nice meaty chunks, and the marinade was excellent. So there you go, problem solved. It wasn't very easy to find at first, but nowadays it can be found in almost any store. And while I generally stick to Teriyaki, there are a lot of choices: Regular, Peppered, A-1 (yeah, the steak sauce), Carne Asada, Turkey, Ham (!), and some others that escape me at the moment. Lots and lots o' choices. For me, it's almost always Teriyaki. Occasionally I go with the Peppered. If I'm feeling adventurous, I'll mix the two. Turns out Pepper and Teriyaki go well together. And yes, if you're wondering, Jack Link's also sells jerky chew!

Jack Link's also has a hilarious series of "Messin' with Sasquatch" TV commercials, in which a group of dumbass guys pull pranks on Bigfoot. Bigfoot always gets his revenge. I haven't seen any for a while, thought, but there's still a website up:

messinwithsasquatch.com

Funny little side story: our cat Misha LOVES Jack Link's Teriyaki Jerky. He won't eat any other kind. So whenever I get a bag, I've gotta share it. The mongrel Bijou will eat it too, but that dog will eat anything, so it's not as funny. Seriously, I could be putting lotion on my elbows and she'd beg for a bite. Crazy bitch.

* I don't have an Uncle Harry, and even if I did, I wouldn't know what his ass tastes like. Christ, even a depraved motherfucker like me has limits.

** Yeah, I know, I totally pulled a Rachel Ray there. In all seriousness, I don't normally use the word "Yummo" in conversation, in writing, inside my head, or anywhere else. I don't advocate its use. It's not a real word, for God's sake.

An Old Love Rediscovered...

Honey, it's not what you think! Honestly, I'm not hooking up with an ex-girlfriend. Put down that rolling pin and let me explain….

Five words: Mystery Science Theater 3000. Wait, that's four words. Okay, then: Mystery Science Fucking Theater 3000.

For those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about, Mystery Science Theater 3000 (MST3K) was a TV show in the 90's, first on Comedy Central and later on The Sci-Fi Channel. The premise was simple: a guy and his two robot friends are stranded on a satellite and forced to watch cheesy Z-grade movies. So you would basically watch them watch the movies (their silhouettes were seen at the bottom of the screen; as if you were sitting in a theater and they were down in the front row). As the movie played, they'd make snide comments and throw out random pop culture references. Pure hilarity. I think I enjoyed the show so much because I used to do exactly the same thing: make sarcastic comments about whatever I was watching (I still do it, actually). It hasn't been shown for years (as far as I know), so it kinda dropped off my radar.

As fate would have it, I was on YouTube yesterday, and stumbled across a selection of episodes. I clicked on one and, for the next fifteen minutes, found myself right back in 1995. Absolute hysterical bliss. I did some internet research, and discovered that several episodes have been released on DVD. Several more (hell, probably all of 'em) can be downloaded via Pirate Bay or Bittorrent or whatever (I'll have to look into this). Netflix has a bunch of 'em, so I loaded up my queue. It's safe to say I've got a new OCD obsession….

On the subject of old loves, I was delighted to learn that McDonalds now has DOUBLE Filet-O-Fishes (or is it Filets-O-Fish?). I generally find McDonalds to be pretty vile, but I've always harbored a love for the glorious Filet (and frankly, no other fast food joint has a decent fish sandwich, in my opinion). I grabbed a Double FOF for lunch today, and you know what? It tastes just like a single, only… well, there's more of it. Which is juuuuuuuuuust peachy. More of a good thing.

You know, I think I'll grab a couple Double FOFs this weekend and watch me a few MST3Ks. Ah, heaven.

$1.00 Lunch

Yessiree folks, it's entirely possible to eat lunch for $1.00. You needn't spend between five and eight dollars on fast food. You needn't spend upwards of $20.00 at an actual restaurant. Nay, dear reader, you too can quench your noontime hunger for a mere buck.

Four words: Banquet Fucking TV Dinners.

Yup, that's right. These babies are regularly on sale for a jaw-dropping $1.00 each. And variety! Let me tell ya, there must be 25 different dinners to choose from. Salisbury Steak? Check. Fried Chicken? Check, in two flavors (original and Southern fried). Beef Stroganoff? Check again.

My personal favorite? Turkey Meal, or as I like to call it, Fakesgiving Delight. You get a dollop of mashed potatoes, a scoop of peas, and then there's the mouth-watering centerpiece: three, count 'em, THREE slices of processed pseudo-turkey (hilariously, one slice is darker than the other two, presumably to imply actual dark meat), covered in gravy atop a bed of stuffing (or, as they say down south, dressing). I keep a loaf of bread at work (for toast in the mornings, which is a cheap breakfast alternative), so I usually add a piece into the mix… you know, for that "buttered roll" effect (sopping up the leftover gravy is a fun way to end the experience). I find myself missing the cranberry element (more expensive microwave turkey dinners do include it), but it's worth the sacrifice when you're only dropping a measly Washington. Beggars, as they say, can't be choosers.

For the truly famished, one shouldn't waste valuable cash on higher-priced "Hungry Man" dinners. Simply eat two regular TV dinners and you're good to go. In fact, the truly adventurous might just feel compelled to eat two DIFFERENT dinners in one meal. I've done this, so I can attest to the genius of this approach. Mix 'em and match 'em, find the best culinary combination to suit your tastes, and dive in.

I can hear the dissenters already. High fat content, you say. High sodium content, you cry. Bah. It's a fucking dollar, folks. You can't have your cake and eat it too. What's more important, your health or your wallet?

;-)

2008: A Shit Odyssey

As I sit here at my desk, drowning my sorrows in Teddy Grahams and Reese’s Pieces (two great tastes that taste great together), it occurs to me that I haven’t updated my blog since New Year’s Eve. Well, there’s a reason. To be blunt, 2008 has sucked balls so far. I can’t recall a worse month in my entire life.

2008 started off with a bang on New Year’s Eve. My 14 year-old son Isaac and I had a fight, and he moved out. I should mention that he was living with me half the time, and with his mother half the time. He’s now living with her full time. Christ, I never thought something like this would happen. I mean, you go through your life, and you take certain things for granted. I always assumed my kids would stay with me (in fact, I kinda thought they’d end up living with ME full time at some point). Isaac and I have had our clashes here and there, but I didn’t expect this. It’s been almost a month, and I still don’t quite believe it. I’ve talked to him a few times since, and he’s now expressing an interest in visiting me on weekends. Visiting! I’ll now be the “weekend dad” I swore I’d never be. It’s been a paramount goal of mine to always be there for my kids, and to be a good dad. Well, I’m clearly not the great dad I thought I was if my son only wants to “visit” me. This has been heartbreaking, to say the least. Nothing in my life has been worse.

And then there was the Amazon writing contest. Note that I said “was.” Yeah, my novel was rejected in the second round. So much for that. Seems inconsequential next to the Isaac situation. Everything does, actually.

So let’s recap: I’m not the great dad I thought I was, and I’m a failure as a writer. I’d drink to forget, but my goddamn gout acts up whenever I drink too much (I spent most of last week limping around like a fucking gimp). I put in 8 hours a day at a job in which I literally have twenty minutes worth of work to do each day (which therefore results in intolerable levels of chronic boredom). My convertible leaks, and it’s been raining like crazy. 2008: A Shit Odyssey, in spectacular Technicolor 3-D, now playing exclusively inside my head, over and over, darkening my moods, invading my thoughts, depressing the hell out of me. All I want to do is sleep, but I can’t even do that for more than a few hours at a time.

And hey, this is only the first MONTH of 2008. What other horrors await me over the next eleven months?

My 20-year high school reunion is this year. Oh Christ.

On Pins and Needles....

...is what I'm not. Seems odd, since by rights I should be climbing the walls, bug-eyed and twitching. But I'm not.

Let me explain: I entered my novel in Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Award contest a few months ago. The little 396-page bugger made it through the first round, so I was officially became of 5,000 qualified entrants. The next round will eliminate 4,000, leaving the top 1,000 to duke it out in further rounds, and this illustrious top 1,000 will be announced.... today.

But am I tripping? Am I freaking out with anticipation? No. It's just another boring-ass day here at work. In all honesty, I don't expect to win this competition, so it's not worth a bunch of nail-biting and frenzied pacing. If it's meant to be, it'll be. But hell, even if I'm NOT eliminated today, I'll still be up against 999 other wannabe writers. Still lousy odds. And that's the BEST case scenario.

Not worth stressing. If my novel gets eliminated, I'll just try getting it published the old-fashioned way: selling my soul to the devil and blowing whoever I have to. *Yawn* I'm on my lunch hour right now. I think I'll take a nap.

You Say You Want a Resolution?

New Year's Eve. I'm at work. Our systems are down for year-end updates. Our computers are intact, which is how I'm able to type this. Boredom doesn't even begin to describe this day. I didn't even have my usual miniscule amount of work to do this morning. I bought a magazine this morning, but I've already read the entire thing, cover to cover. I've still got two-and-a-half hours till I'm off.

In keeping with the holiday, I suppose I could kill some time by jotting down some potential New Year's resolutions…

1. Spend less money. Honestly, I blow way too much money (on food and DVDs, mostly). Now that we're planning a family trip to Disneyland next year, we've gotta start saving. I'll need to bring food from home instead of buying lunch, and I'll need to restrict my movie-buying to only must-have titles and rent the rest (Christ, we belong to both Netflix and Blockbuster!). Or hey, how about I actually watch the 600+ movies I already own? Or at the very least, the 38 Blu-Ray and HD-DVD movies I bought in December when I dove into the HD pool and bought into BOTH formats in one weekend? There's a resolution-within-a-resolution for ya: finally start watching all the movies I've collected over the years.

2. Lose a few pounds. I've already successfully cut out the caffeine; now I need to cut out the non-caffeinated soda entirely and drink more water. Once the weather warms up, I can go back to walking the dog every day, which will help too. I'm not trying to lose a ton of weight and get all ripped or anything crazy like that, but yeah… I could definitely drop some pounds.

3. Write every day. Even if it's just a blog entry. Ideally I'll be writing a new novel or screenplay, or maybe finishing some of the short stories I've started over the years, but in any case I should be writing daily…. Even when I don't want to. Emailing Donovan twenty times a day does NOT count.

4. Read more books. I read four books in 2007, and two of them were in the last week (and both were favorite books that I'd read before, so do they even count?). Pathetic. For a semi-intelligent adult (not to mention a wannabe writer), this is embarrassing.

Hmmm. These don't seem terribly difficult. Resolutions are seldom kept, but with a little discipline… well, let's revisit this in 365 days and see how it went. Maybe I'll surprise myself.

$12.04

There's exactly $12.04 in change in my desk drawer. I know because I counted it, coin by coin, making cute little $1.00 stacks. First it was the quarters, then the dimes, then the bastardized collections of various coins that equalled $1.00. Then there was the measley four cents at the end, sad and pathetic pennies that have no purpose anymore, except to smell like rust and blood and to take up space that could be better used by bigger, shinier coins. But hey, get enough of those little guys together and by god, you can actually buy something. Pack of gum, a newspaper, maybe even a two-liter bottle of soda (the cheap store brand, of course). My sisters and I used to buy gas with pennies, at Fred's Gas-For-Less in Hubbard, dirty ziploc bags full of the little buggers (pre-counted, of course; we weren't completely wicked). Poor old Fred always took them without objection, before time marched on and made his li'l one-pump operation obsolete. All it took was one BP Station, strategically placed about a quarter of a mile up the street, and Fred's was history. I imagine he went into his house and put a shotgun barrel into his mouth the day he closed up shop for good, but maybe I'm romanticizing things a bit. We never saw Fred again, let's leave it at that. I dunno, maybe he cashed in all those pennies and went on permanent holiday someplace warm.

I sometimes think of Fred and wonder who he was when he wasn't pumping gas into my ugly little white Ford Pinto (or later, my yellow Volkswagen Bug). Did he have hobbies? Did he have a wife? Did he have a fake leg from World War II? I seem to recall a bit of a limp…. In any case, who was he? And then, when my mind starts down that path, I start thinking of other people I've known throughout my life (or, more pointedly, haven't known), and realize how cursory my knowledge of them actually was. Teachers, coworkers, landlords, casual friends…. Who the hell were they? What did they do when they weren't crossing paths with me? What were their dreams, ambitions, tastes, fears? Did they rent or own? Did they like polka music (hopefully not)? Who was their favorite Beatle? Were they gay (statistics suggest one out of every ten of them were)? Did they harbor murderous thoughts about anyone? Me?

Dear God, did Fred hate me for paying for my gas in pennies? Would he have clubbed me with a tire iron, given half a chance?

Back to the here and now. I have nothing whatsoever to do today. I had about thirteen minutes worth of work when I started at 8:30. Then, at promptly 8:43, I took on the daunting task of rearranging my paperclips and binder clips. And then…. Nothing, nada, zip, zilch. And sadly, this is the normal state of affairs here. I'm one of a team of eight child support enforcement agents, and the other seven seem to stay relatively busy. All feedback indicates that I'm doing fine; all my work gets done, and my collections number range from satisfactory to excellent. So what the hell? Why am I perpetually caught up with everything? Am I really that efficient, that masterful? Or are the other seven just retarded?

I dunno. In any case, I'm bored outta my skull. Every. Single. Day.

I'm gonna go cash in my change during my lunch hour. If I don't, I'll just end up counting it again as soon as I add more change to it. Hell, I'll count it again even if I don't, just to fill time. Where's Fred with that tire iron when I really need him?

The Spoiling, 2007

Hoo boy. I got hella spoiled for Christmas this year. I mean, like ridiculously. Embarrassingly so. But am I too embarrassed to provide a list? Clearly not.

Twin Peaks: The Definitive God Box Edition DVD set
Planet Earth: The BBC Series Blu-Ray set
A bottle o' Pendleton Canadian Whiskey (smoothest whiskey ever)
A bottle o' Milagro silver tequila w/ matching glasses
A bottle o' Jagermeister (who needs Nyquil?)
A set of really cool McMenamins marble coasters
"Beer: It's What's For Dinner" metal sign (for my office)
Guinness pajamas
Various microbrews (from Isaac)
McMenamins gift card (from Sierra)
Homemade bookmark (from Kendyl)
Shaker/shot glass/glass rimmer set
Jack Skellington sweatshirt
Various jerkeys and snack mixes (stocking)
Steam cleaner thing (from my parents)

...plus lots of other cool stuff which I'm forgetting....

But my coolest gift? A card from my stepson Logan, stating the following: "If it's okay, I'd like to start calling you Dad." The moral of this story? Gifts become possessions, and possessions are just things. But the love of a child is something else altogether. Deeper, richer. Truer.

And then it snowed. On Christmas. Has that ever happened here before?

Best Christmas ever. My family rocks. I'm the happiest man alive.

The Book (Update)

Since a reader (wow, people actually read this shit?) asked, I'll post an update. Shockingly, my book was NOT rejected in the Amazon contest. Now I'm officially one of 5,000 qualified entrants. I won't find out if I make it to the semi-finals till January... hey great, three months of agonizing.

The Hammerhead Diaries, Chapter 2

11 November 2007, 4:17 p.m.
McMenamins John Barleycorns (Tigard, OR)

It's Sunday afternoon, a brisk autumn day. Teresa's off getting groceries, so she dropped me off here at the glorious John Barleycorns for a few well-deserved beers and some much-needed me-time. I'm starting with the Sleepy Hollow Nut Brown Ale. Quite good.

So you're asking yourself, "Self, why are his beers well-deserved, and why is his me-time much-needed?" Strap in, dear reader, and I'll fill you in. Teresa's mom has liver cancer, and she's been living with us for a few months. For the past three weeks or so, her dad has also been living with us. They're selling their house in Grants Pass, and they just scored an apartment right down the street from us (in Martinazzi Village, where my kids and I lived before Teresa and I bought our house (three years ago on the 27^th, which is also my birthday). They just moved out three days ago. It's been tough, if I'm being honest (and I am being honest, because what's the point of blogging if you're bullshitting?). Not because her parents are especially horrible to have around, but tough because I'm notoriously private and antisocial. Yeah, I'm the problem here, not them. But hey, I work a full-time job, I'm raising four kids, I'm under crazy amounts of financial pressure, and I just wanna come home and chill without having guests underfoot. I know, I sound like a complete asshole. A few days is one thing. We're talking weeks and months, and it's just worn on me. It's almost anti-climatic getting my house back, because I'm so tired that I'm not fully capable of enjoying it. So I took Friday off (they moved out on Thursday), plus I have tomorrow off due to Veteran's Day. Trouble is--- no school both days. So my much-needed day (or two) of solitude didn't happen. So here I am, stealing a couple o' hours at the JB. Unfortunately, it ain't nearly enough. I don't say that to be a bastard, but damn. I put up with a lot, I really do. I probably sound like a total whiner. Damn it, I put up with a lot! I'm a pretty selfless guy, all things considered, even though I bitch about it.

Ugh. That was unpleasant. These have been hard times. I think things are about to return to normal, and brighter times await. I hope, I hope, I hope. We all need it, not just me. Teresa's been under enormous amounts of stress (dealing with her mom's illness, her own MS symptoms, work-related crap, etc). I'm sure she feels a sense of disconnectedness from everything, just as I do. And hey, it's the fucking HOLIDAY SEASON now. Weeeeeeeee.

Okay, where was I? Oh yes. Enjoying the seasonal beers at my local McMenamins. Second beer: Seasonal Scarecrow ESB. Golden, kinda like Hammerhead. Haven't tasted it yet. I'm letting the anticipation build.

It's been seven months (almost to the day) since my first (and only) Hammerhead Diary entry. It was intended to be a regular thing, like every week or two. Funny how life so cavalierly tosses its monkey wrenches in our paths. So seven months later… well, this place is the same. Darkly lit, warm without being stuffy. Cute waitresses, good music in the background. They brew their own beers here, you know (and if you didn't know that, then you need to get educated. Put down that nasty Coors Light piss-water and check out mcmenamins.com.

The Scarecrow ESB… bitter, but not overpoweringly so (not that I mind overpowering bitterness). If I didn't know better, I'd suspect it has its roots in the Hammerhead Ale recipe (but more bitter). It's good.

I'd order something to eat, but we're having Panini sandwiches tonight, so I'm saving myself. We also got some gourmet salsas at Harry & David yesterday, so we'll be digging into those.

What else is new? I finally (sorta) submitted my novel for publication. Lisa the ex (of all people) alerted me to a contest on Amazon.com (the Amazon Breakthrough Award or somesuch). You basically e-submit your novel, and if you win, you get it published (plus a book deal with Penguin Publishing with a tasty $25,000 advance). Granted, there's no way in hell that I'll win (my novel has way too many f-words, methinks), but at least I finally submitted the damn thing. I'm expecting the NO WAY email any day now; in fact, they're supposed to notify me "no later than 11/12/07" if my entry is valid, so I guess tomorrow's the big day. After my official rejection, I'll send it to a different publisher. Can't stop now. I finally finished the fucking thing (see, another f-word!), so I've at least gotta try to make it pay off. We could use the cash. Daddy wants a BluRay player and a trip to San Francisco.

Next up: the Russian Lullaby Imperial Stout. It's really dark (especially in this lighting), with a nice brown head (sounds like some kinda 70's blaxploitation porn film; I'll bet Quentin Tarantino's got it in his private collection). Oh damn, that's good. Chocolately, with a hint of butterscotch. This is a dessert beer for discriminating dudes who wear their nuts outside their pantaloons. Oh shit, I'm clearly buzzing here.

Fuck, there's an annoying kid at the next booth over. If I had a complaint about McMenamins, it's that it's family-friendly (up to a certain time, I believe). Damn it, I'm getting my drink on, and I don't need to listen to some fucking brat singing and carrying on, being all precocious and me-centric. Fucking kid. I'd stab him with a fork, but then I'd be looking at jail time, and Daddy ain't about to get sent up the river. Man, I'm clenching my butt cheeks just thinking about it. Yikes.

My 20-year high school reunion is coming up next spring. I was adamant that I would NOT be attending, but suddenly I find myself back in touch with my three best friends from that period in my life (Nacho, Dave and Donovan, take a bow), so now I don't know. Just the thought of the four of us together in a room is enticing, not to mention the promise of free-flowin' alcohol and hours of hazy reminiscing. Okay, I'll say it here officially: if they go, I'll go. There, I said it. The gauntlet has been thrown down.

I don't want an iPod Touch anymore. Wait, let me explain. 16 measly gigabytes is BULLSHIT. Steve Jobs, if you're reading this (and let's face it, you totally aren't), you need to stop pissing me off and put AT LEAST 60 GB in that bitch. You will then get my money, and maybe even a handJOB. Heh, get it? Ah, never mind. Damn, I'm feeling these beers. Apparently grazing on snack mix for lunch five hours ago wasn't adequate, so it's all going straight to my head. Hah, get it? Head! Oh man.

Beer 4: Purple Haze. Um, it's made with boysenberries. I'm a bit apprehensive, but I'll drink anything (hey, it's true, ask anyone). If the serving wench would get her cute curvy butt over here, I'd order the damn thing and state an opinion.

Watched Blade Runner the other night. It was the Director's Cut, since that's the only option available at this point (the critically-acclaimed Final Cut played in Portland for two weeks, and wouldn't you know it, I missed it). A new multi-disc DVD set will be released next month, so the existing DVD had to tide me over. It didn't. Blade Runner has somehow become one of my favorite films over the years, so I'm dying to see Ridley Scott's final cut of it. One more month…. Maybe when I get it (because holy fucking hell, I WILL get it), I'll have Donovan over. It's his favorite movie, after all. He hasn't seen our 50" plasma TV yet. Yeah, I'm bragging. Sue me.

Wait, the serving wench's butt wasn't curvy AT ALL. Man. Okay, so the Purple Haze is before me, awaiting my judgment. It's kinda fizzy, and sorta fruity. Fuck, I'll never order this again. Ugh. Teresa would probably like it. She's a girl, you know. I miss the Workingman's Red, which is my favorite McMenamins beer that's NOT available year-round. I didn't drink nearly enough of it while it was available. Well, there's always next year…..

Fifth and final beer: the legendary Hammerhead Ale. Yeah, the old standby. I tend to focus on the seasonals, but ultimately I always come back home to this. Glorious. If you like beer and you've never tried it, you haven't lived.