When it rains, it blows . . . .

Just last Friday night, while sitting in a bar with friends, I made the astute connection between hurricanes in the gulf and the cooling of temperatures here. Think it was something along the sophisticated lines of “Fuck them. They can tread water as long as it brings me cooler weather.” I also seemed to be shouting a lot about going to a tittie bar but that’s probably not relevant to this story. Anyway, ask and you shall receive. Evidently karma can be a bit of a bitch at times, and a hurricane named Ike left us a little present.

At the bright and bushy-tailed time of 5:45 am, I heard a slight thump on the roof to go along with the howling wind I’d been hearing for a couple of hours. Thinking I was going to have to climb up on the roof during Hurricane Bubba to remove a large limb from the top of my house, I went outside to discover what you see in the picture above.  I immediately jumped into save-the-house mode which consisted of me walking around with my hands to my head saying “Fuck, fuck, fuck” over and over.

I then remember that we had a chainsaw in our storage building and I raced off to save the day.  A lightening quick 15 minutes later, I finally got the saw started and attacked the huge chunk of tree ensconced in the house.  In a matter of mere minutes, I had a fire log sized piece cutoff and the chainsaw perfectly stuck.  Apparently catching nearly all the episodes of Axe Men on the History Channel doesn’t make you proficient with a roaring chainsaw.   I was then joined by a neighbor from down the street who was wondering who the hell was running a chain saw at less than 6 am.  In the dark.  During a windstorm.   I was glad he was there so we could both stand witness to my stupidity.

Not knowing what else to do, I called 911 and asked for the fire department.  They made a quick response, looked at the house, asked if we had gas or were all electric, scratched their 3 collective heads, and split.  Next came a phone call to a tree trimmer who arrived, scratched his head, and left.  I finally called a friend of my Father’s who is a contractor to please come and take a look.  He showed up about 30 minutes later, looked, scratched his head, and said he’d take care of it.  Which he did after a couple of hours.  Somehow it was deemed highly necessary that I should man some chainsaws again.  I was more triumphant this time but lumberjakin’ ain’t easy.

Despite the attempted snark above, it was honestly a scary event.  My Father was out of town for the weekend, which in the beginning was a hassle.  You see, as The Ex recently pointed out, I’m fairly worthless.  That’s pretty much a paraphrase but that was her sentiment, which probably isn’t too far off.  I had no idea what to do, who to call, etc.  I just wanted to try to save the house.  It was an honorable thought but in retrospect, I could have done more damage than good.  But the scariest part of all this is that the parts of the tree crashed the ceiling of my Father’s bedroom.

Think that picture kind of speaks for itself but if it doesn’t, here is another view.

Just in case you can’t tell, that’s his bed in those two pictures.  The big pile of brown stuff in the second picture is insulation, which was piled high enough to completely bury him.  I’m not saying he would have been killed had he been sleeping there, but he would have been seriously injured.   It was a definite miracle that we was gone and that no one got hurt during the storm or during the clean up.

The contractor, with the help of myself and the neighbor, did a good job of getting the tree parts off the house.  It took a couple of chainsaws, a tractor, and a trip to the visibly rickety-assed roof for me to get it done but we did it.  This is the aftermath of the aftermath:

Both the insurance agent and an adjuster have both been by to asses the damage and I think everything will be ok.  The adjuster did not seem bent on low balling us and the agent seemed to genuinely concerned for our well being despite our just recently becoming customers of his.   Dad gets to sleep on the couch for unknown amount of time but the rest of the house is good and inhabitable.  I’m sure that one or both of us will take the adjuster’s offer of a hotel room once reconstruction starts, which should be within the week.

I would like to thank my neighbor (name withheld because I’m sure he wouldn’t want to be affiliated with some of the fine, upstanding discourse that takes place on this blog) for coming to help someone he had never met.  Also longtime friend Dolph who not only left preparations for his baby girl’s first birthday party to come help, he even offered to call in to work Monday to come and help shore up the house (to which I told him hell no).  And finally, to Gann for checking on me and offering me a couch to crash on if needed.  I may just take him up on that couch, and some of you others, you all just don’t know it yet.

And just so your information, it is currently an oh-so-cool 56 degrees with clear skies.  The stars look kind of pretty through the ceiling hole.

Stuper Tuesday . . . .

I know, it’s been a minute since my last post.  I’ve had a lot of stuff on my plate, biggest of which is my laziness.  Here a few things, one of which didn’t happen on Tuesday, that have me thinking, irritated, or really irritatedly thinking:

How the fuck is it one of the biggest upsets in history when a team beats, by three points, a team that it had lost to by . . . um, three points, six damn weeks ago?

Don’t even get me started on the idiocy that is the primary process (or for that matter the electoral) but why the hell is it a big surprise when a Baptist preacher wins a caucus and four primaries in states that are severely religious and, lets be honest, a bit backwards?  And before you start bitching, I happen to live in one ‘o them “backward” states and often visit another neighboring one.  I know what I speak type.

My gosh . . . when a tornado hits a shopping mall in a quiet, peaceful city, people start looting the stores and then shooting at each other to re-loot their loot.  Crazy.  Must be caused by all those strip clubs.  And yes, I am still bitter.

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Drizzle . . . .

Haven’t had a post in a good while.  Along with my usual laziness, there have been some health issues with my mother.  I’ll expand on those later when I get the mood to write about it.

Thursday, I made the drive to Memphis to see The Smashing Pumpkins with Gann.  I’m not sure who’s infinite wisdom it was to schedule a concert in an outdoor arena for the end of October, but his ‘”wisdom” needs to be revoked.  I know it’s the South, but the weather gets awful moody this time of year.   It was not only a bit chilly, but contained a little dampness as well.

Despite the shit weather, overall, the show was good.  The opening band was something called Explosions In the Sky.  Shoe-gazing instrumental rock that wasn’t my cup o’ tea.  It was like listening to one half-hour long song.  More accurately, with the exception of the heavy middle, it sounded like hearing the same little snippet of a song for 30 minutes.  I swear one guitar player played the same four notes the entire time.  Vocals consisted of one the guitarists stating the band’s name and giving their home as “Texas, U.S.A.” and then a “Thank You” at the end.  I wonder why they even bothered purchasing a microphone?  He could of just walked out and waved his “hello/goodbye”.  If we cared about it, we could have made the Texas inference from its state flag that was hanging of an amp.  Gann liked it a lot better than I did.  He said it would be cool to have playing in the background.  He was right, it would be cool for back ground music.  Just not for sitting outside along the banks of the muddy Mississippi in the cold with the threat of precipitation tapping me on the shoulder.

The Pumpkins rocked.  I went in a little skeptical since Billy Corgan had a past reputation of being a bit pissy.  He made a couple of comments on the cold but was in good spirits.  The stage show was cool and they were pretty tight as a band.  About a quarter way in was when the rain started but it never got more than a steady sprinkle.  Enough to make me put on the rain jacket I brought but not enough to be a pain.  My only complaint was that they didn’t play enough of the old stuff for my taste.  The new album is good but it would have been nice to hear some Gish or more from Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie.  All in all, it was great to see a band from the good old days still pull it together live.

9/11/07 . . . .

Below is a letter-to-the-editor that I wrote on the day following the events of September 11, 2001:

Just as it must have been after Pearl Harbor, our nation finds itself, perhaps irrevocably, changed.  I awoke Wednesday to air that, despite the 1186 miles between here and New York, no longer smells, feels, or even tastes the same.  And just as in 1941, our nation again stands at a crossroad, one that surely leads to war.  I have read Kurt Vonnegut, seen such movies as Platoon and Saving Private Ryan, and I have seen all episodes of M.A.S.H., all of which conclude war is horrific, devastating, and ruinous.  Simply, to quote General Sherman, “War is Hell.”  And it should be declared today.

Our Nation, the ideas and principles at its very core, as well as its people both as a whole nation and as individuals, has been attacked.  It’s an attack that should be returned ten-fold.  It has been reported that authorities are 99% sure that the man behind these tragic events is Osama bin Laden.  Excluding Tuesday’s attacks, Bin Laden is a man personally responsible for the death of and injury to at least 7000 people across the world since 1993.  The only punishment to follow these transgressions were a couple of indictments and trials and some missile attacks on various camps and facilities.  All basically amounting to the slapping of a pestering child’s hand.  It is time to stop slapping and start eradicating.

We must seek out and destroy terrorism, starting with Bin Laden, Afghanistan, and any nation that has helped or harbored him in any way.  America needs make a strong and decisive example to prevent this from occurring again.  We may be the only remaining super-power but years of pacifism and facile retaliation have revealed the cracks in our armor.  These times call for full-scale war, not just the impotent tossing of missiles.  If America does not take a stand now, we can expect more acts of terrorism in more ingenious ways and with even higher death tolls.  In the words of Senator John McCain, “God may have mercy on you, but we won’t.”

Six years later, I still stand by that sentiment.  My information may have been hastily gathered and may/may not be totally accurate, but I feel the point I was trying to make is a valid one.  And sadly, a forgotten one.  I hoped that in the wake of 9/11 that this nation would pull itself up by its bootstraps as it did in the months and years following the attack on Pearl Harbor but that wasn’t meant to be.  Our country is too caught up in ugly celebrity moments and the hot-missing-blonde-of-the-week to notice all the coming together we did that September day is gone.  9/11 is now a day for the networks to trot out the tear jerking specials for sweeps, the President to whip up a couple of percentage points for his approval rating, and now class action lawsuits.  I that says all it needs to about America when even in the face of a tremendous tragedy, we can still be litigious.

It’s in the air . . . .

I got the football pool sheet filled out with definite winners, my team in both fantasy football leagues built for a championship, and I’ve got 50 wings ready to be grilled to caribbean jerk perfection.  Let the geekness begin . . . .

Bang bang . . . .

Just finished watching Shoot ‘Em Up.  It didn’t suck but I think it was too ridiculous, too over-the-top.  The fact that the gaggle of under-21 boys that also watched loved it either drives home my point or proves that I’m just too old to get it.  Hollywood lies. Most hookers don’t look this hot.

The Weekend . . . .

I had five days off to memorialize my Memorial Day weekend.  What did I do? Basically nothing.  I watched a couple of movies.  Grilled some wings and watched the first big college football game of the year.  Got laid (yay, me).  That’s about it.  Well, there was one other thing.

The highpoint was when I went to visit The Ex Friday night.  I got there around 11 and the kids were still up.  MowHullet had a headache so I didn’t get to hang with him much.  Tried to convince him that me thumping him on the nose would cure his headache.  He was highly doubtful until I asked would I lie to him.  He didn’t figure I would.  They are so cute when they are young enough to still be naive.  I let it slide.

My Toes decided it was time to get my hair did again.  Despite my protests that I didn’t have enough hair for it, her inspiration that night was to make my do look like Elvis’s.  Evidently it took a big brush, 4 ponytail holders, a small clippy, and a barrette to get The King of Rock and Roll’s hair in shape.  Thankfully (Sadly?) there were no pictures this time.  I think I left with less hair than I came with.

I’m your boogieman. That’s what I am . . . .

Watched Rob Zombie’s version of Halloween.  I am a little conflicted as to whether I liked it or not.  First of all, John Carpenter’s original Halloween is one of my all-time favorite horror movies.  It’s not that it scared me, it’s just good.  That simple. I n addition to that, I generally don’t like re-makes.  Occasionally you get an Ocean’s 11 that is as good or better than the original but for the most part, I can do without them because they generally suck.  I basically went into this movie with a closed mind so you can probably take this review with a grain of salt.  Guess I’ll just point out the goods v. the bads.

Bad:  My biggest complaint (and I knew this going in) is that I feel Zombie took what was the fundamental element to what made the original a good story.  In the 2007 version, Michael is a mentally unstable child who has suffered the wrath of an abusive, alcoholic step-father, an uncaring older sister, school bullies, and the white trash indignity provided by a stripper mom.  Michael is evil because of his environment which basically reduces him to your typical serial killer.  In Carpenter’s original, Michael was evil simply because he was evil.  Evil without an explanation is not only more scary, but more compelling.  Second, I felt the movie got bogged down in the first half with all the back story.  And last, keep the fucking camera still.  This isn’t Blair Witch Project or NYPD Blue.  I know it’s supposed to add a sense of realism, which worked in Blair Witch, but I don’t believe there was someone following Micheal around with a camcorder to document his day.  This is a big budget Hollywood movie, quit trying to give me a headache.

Good:  It wasn’t as gory as his usual stuff.  There were a lot of titties.

I think the bad wins out.  The audience I watched it with sucked and probably affected my judgment.  There is an old joke about watching a scary movie with a theater full of black people.  Well they proved that stereotype this night.  Maybe I’ll give it another watch on a less crowded night and reassess my opinion.  Think I’ll go back to my usual style of movie reviews, they seem to make a better point.  There’ll be no “Hottness” in this one.  In the original, all the hot high school girls actually looked like hot college girls.  Despite the fact that the girls in the new one are old enough to be hot college girls, they really look like hot high school girls.  I just cling to the hope that they all the characters were seniors so I don’t regret typing the titty comment.

Movie time . . . .

Just finished watching Death Sentence.  In the beginning, it almost really didn’t suck.  But, thanks to going way over the top and the plot having so many holes that I almost had to break out the colander again, it ended with just slightly not sucking.  She has some definite MILF qualities, though.

Ma mère . . . .

Took Moms to Little Rock for what only turned out to be tests and a conversation with the surgeon.  I worked a 12-hour shift, ending at 7am, hopped in the car for the 40-minute drive (in the opposite direction) to pick her up, then back to go to my house for a shower, and then, finally, started the two-hour drive to Little Rock.  We had to be at the hospital at 12:30 for a 1:00 appointment for the tests, followed by an appointment with the surgeon.  About a year ago, I went to get her for some tests and I got hung up in traffic and was too late for us to make the appointment.  We had to wait another week to get the tests, which made her pain last a week longer, which made me feel like a complete failure as a son.  Well thanks to my paranoia of that happening again and to the fact that I tend to peddle my little Hyundai over the speed limit, we got there at a slightly early 11:30.  The receptionist gave us a slight hint of shit for getting there early.  She said that we had time to go eat or whatever because it WOULD be no earlier than 1 before they could see us.  After which she promptly gathered her stuff and waddled out to pack an hour’s worth of eating into the 45 minutes she was taking for her 30-minute lunch break.  They finally started at the prompt time of 1:20pm for tests that would last at least an hour, making us late for the appointment we had to see the surgeon at 2pm.  On top of that, I got to hear the receptionist be rude to everyone who had the nerve to trespass her office, even those she had told to come in.

After finally getting to see the surgeon, the news was pretty much the usual rhetoric.  “Yep, you got some blockage.”  “Yep, we gonna operate.”  “Won’t know what we got til we get in there and root around.”  Of course he prettied it up with some fancy doctor talkin’ but that’s the gist.  They had ran some kind of something-of-a-gram to take a look at her left leg.  Can’t remember the name but it did involve Doppler because i could hear it from outside the room.  The man administering the test told Mom that her leg looked like a puzzle inside.  That’s cheery.  They also said that she had 85% blood pressure in her right foot (the somewhat good leg) and 34% in the left which, according to the surgeon, sucks (his exact word).  But, she had better color in the left foot than he thought she would have under those circumstances so I guess that’s a kind of plus.  We go back September 12 for another kind of something-a-gram that involves the blue dye and then he will perform some kind of bypass the next day.

After we left the hospital, I decided to take Mom to PF Chang’s, figuring she deserved a really nice dinner.  By this time, I had been up for 24 hours.  Stuffing myself with Chinese food wasn’t the most well thought out plan.  Dinner was long and filled with food, especially considering the cook made me orange peel shrimp instead of the orange peel beef I ordered so we got to keep it free of charge and Mom promptly tore into it.  I tried to pay the check but my Mom snapped at me, telling me to give her the check before she gets pissed.  You have to see what my mother looks like to truly get the humor in that.  Needless to say, both the waiter and I were shocked.

Just as we got outside Little Rock on the drive home, sleepiness started tapping me on the shoulder.  I toughed it out but after another 50 miles, sleep was smacking me around hard.  I pulled over and got Mom to drive.  My Mom is 69 years-old, 5’2″, maybe 95 pounds (most likely after all the PF Chang’s she had put away), and most of that weight must be in her right foot.  I had exited off the interstate and then stopped on the on-ramp to go back on the interstate for us to perform the Chinese fire drill.  After we were both buckled in, Mom launched the Hyundai (as much as you can launch a Hyundai) back onto the on-ramp, which had a major curve.  My head literally bounced off the headrest.  Her heavy-footness continued on the interstate.  I was almost too scared to nap.  I alternated between dozing and grabbing the oh-shit-handle above the door for about 30 minutes until we turned off and I took the reins again, driving home still jittered up from her mad wheel skills.