Evil Uncle

I should post something, just to keep in the habit. So here's a little story.

My sister's family was up from the Flatlands picking out their new appliances for their new house in the Only Waunakee In The World. Naturally, I need to go over to my parents to harass my nephews. The youngest, William, is obsessed with the alphabet, spelling out any word he sees. That day, I was wearing my Furries shirt and he was busy spelling that out, although he substituted a "1" for the "I". It wasn't long before I had him jumping up and down, shouting "F! U! F! U!" over and over as I pointed to the first two letters. I love pulling things over on unsuspecting nephews.

Not a big story, but I need to post something.

Ok

I'm drunk, it's 2:30, and I have a shirt that says "Center For Cosmetic Surgery On". What doest that mean?

You wouldn't like him when he's angry.

About 9:30 last night, my roommate and I went for a bike ride around the isthmus. Nothing of note happened for a while. I saw that State Street was continuing its decline with more overture center crap and Muffy and Buffy types who have trouble looking both ways before crossing.

Things got interesting at the end. Shaun and I got separated, but I caught up to him on King Street. I shouted at him, but he ignored me. Then I caught up and heard him swearing. His rear tire was flat and his front brake was really squealing. To let out aggression, he was jumping over every curb, landing on that flat tire.

We made it to the bike path. I had to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing. Here's a guy riding the ghetto thumper complete with squeaky brakes and the "thumpata-thumpata" of the flat tire, cursing in a manor that would make the Barbary Pirates blush. Whenever he'd come up on unsuspecting pedestrians, swearing up a storm and jumping his bike over everything, they would slowly turn their heads and look at him in a that-boy-ain't-right manor.

I think he's going to get another bike.

This is how you *bleep* a roommate in the *bleep*!

Right now I'm supposed to be lounging at the Terrace, waiting for the free, outdoor screening of "The Big Lebowski" to start. Somehow, my roommate hasn't let me know the plan. I could go myself, but that wouldn't be much better than watching it here. With my luck, I'd sit next the dimmest kids in the land and have no one with which to laugh at them. I could create a little party in my head, with my brother-in-law, Crispin Glover, Junichiro Koizumi, and that guitar-playing, kid entertaining hippy couple who lived on the corner of Robert and Maynard Drive in Sun Prairie when I was a kid, but I doubt I could keep it up for long. Too many divergent voices to narrate.

Instead, I'm sitting on my deck, drinking a beer while staring at the Capitol Building and listening to the train go by. Not all bad, I guess.

I'll try calling Shari again.... busy.

Anyway, one little point of interest is that two blogs I read from people who haven't met wrote on the same thing today.

Funny. Small world.

Health Risk

George Carlin once said that somewhere, by process of elimination, there is the world's worst doctor and someone has an appointment to see him tomorrow! Well, it is a man, and here he is!

Hot Weather

I do not sleep so well when it's hot out. I also have aggressive, disturbing dreams. Last night I had one where all the young punks (punks as in little morons, not the music) were into some band that Mike Patton hung out with. They would get pissed off if you didn't like that band, surround you, and mosh with you, all while Mike Patton sung at you. That band really sucked and I wanted to listen to my own crap, so I was swarmed constantly. Damn music fascists.

The next part was some Home Depot/Warehouse/Factory setting and I was being chased. How and by what, I do not know. I don't think it was defined.

I have better dreams on the winter.

Smut, the Zoo, and 31

So I finally caught Smut ‘n Eggs at Bennett’s on Sunday. Really, it’s just like eating a greasy omelette in any hole-in-the-wall bar, but with a video of some gober sticking his stiffy in the bat cave of a skank in high heals. I did like the surroundings as they met the Henry’s Classic Wisconsin Tavern Seal of Approval. The wall behind the bar had many random things on the wall including a picture of moose fucking, a donation glass to collect money for the first fine levied under Madison’s smoking ban, and, fittingly, a framed Mark Chmura jersey. The service was very Wisconsin Tavernish and I did get called “hon” by the bartender, who was younger than I am.

After that, Shaun and I killed some time by catching the zoo. Of course, my favorite section are the amphibians and lizards. They have one tank with snakes and iguanas. One iguana was bigger than Melvyn (my last iguana) who passed the time by sitting on the largest stick and looking baked. The other iguana was a complete spaz who managed to fall in the water, which scared the snake. He then ran around the tank and jumped right back where he was. This prompted the other iguana to casually jump to the highest point in the cage and give a couple head bobs, telling the spaz to keep the fuck away. Iguanas rule.

And to close, I turned 31 yesterday. It’s a lot like being 30, which was a lot like being 29, which was a lot like being 28, etc. Things change in such small increments. One sister left a happy birthday song on my voice mail with the accompaniment of two of my nephews. The other sister left an inflatable cake and card behind while I was a lunch. A coworker made kick ass brownies, I was sung to at Friday’s (ugh) and had dinner at Fyfe’s. Not a bad birthday.

Anyway, I have to, uh, sit here and drool. More later.