Winter jazz, Summer blues

After enduring the torment of the recent hurricane season, I have decided to release an official statement welcoming winter (seeing as how there is no autumn to speak of in this subtropical climate, I’ve decided to leave that salutation to the nerds up north who collect leaves or whatever it is they do). But the question arises: when, if ever, will Mother Nature bestow upon us the refreshing cool air?

You know it’s here when you wake up in the morning and, upon stepping on the tile floor in the bathroom, the frigid ceramic appeases your fiery soul, fueled by months of heat and/or humidity. The night before, you’re none the wiser, but in that fleeting moment – that blip of existence that otherwise would be meaningless – you are rejuvenated for another whole year; rejuvenated enough to start complaining about the cold and impatiently waiting for summer to arrive.

In the past, the cooler October airs have come in just in time to welcome the Clearwater Jazz Holiday, but I’ve never been. So, I made the decision today to bring in the cold months at Coachman Park from 14 – 17 October while hearing some stellar music. You may join if you’d like.

Say yes to crack

Some people are down-pushers. Others are yankers. Me? I’m a side-cracker.

If ever I realize that I indeed have feet, and protruding from their central mass are these little appendages called toes, I have the urge to do it. First, though, one must tenderize the muscle by way of backward stretching against a hard floor. Then, to get the little buggers in the mood, one has to massage the mutual skin shared in the trenches between each individual podiatric battlefield. Only then, my friends, can the cracking commence.

Granted, it can’t be done too regularly. And most of the time I don’t manage to even consider it. But when the urge comes and I am in a position inclined to crackage, it remains one of the few joys left in this world for me.

Therefore, like the radicals that have cultivated the human paradigm in the past, I propose that all persons wishing to live happy, healthy lives crack their toes. By whatever means possible, if people hear the joyous little snap of the socket a few times per week, I believe that the human experience in this world can be made more bearable, if not enjoyable for those in dire, crackless states.

Moscow girls make me sing and shout

Today at school, there were a couple of foreign exchange students from Russia. After meeting them and welcoming them to our humble little country, I urged them to go eat some high quality American cuisine.

And what do they do? They go eat cookies for lunch; cookies that could just as easily been eaten in Kaliningrad. I find that to be a highly innutritious and un-American lunch choice. It’s not everywhere you can get overpriced turkey tetrazini with a fifty cent dinner roll.

But I forgive them for two reasons. First, this is a strange, new land to them. Second, they were a couple of lovely ladies. And everyone knows there is no lovelier lady folk than can be found in Russia and all of her U.S.S.R. buddies from way back when.

Therefore, they are absolved so long as I have my Eastern European eye candy.

Free Ride

My parents don’t let me drive to school. It’s some sort of crazy plan to save my life while saving on gas. The safety aspect of their rules is understandable, but it only costs seven dollars to fill my tank. No matter.

But here comes the nerdy part. Rather than let me drive the nine miles up County Road One, my parents allow me to drive to the bus stop, park, ride the bus to school, and do it all in reverse in the afternoon. I’ve caught so much criticism from my friends for this, but as long as it’s my only option, I’ll keep doing it.

However, tomorrow morning I break free. Yes, for the first time in my life, I am exercising my freedom as a licensed driver and riding the Beetle to school because the ensuing yearbook deadline will have me leaving far later than 1:35.

Aren’t you jealous?

My spoon is too big

In pondering what the greatest eating utensil is (barring the spork, which isn’t a true instrument of consumption in that it is a hybrid first created in a laboratory), I’ve considered them all. I thought about forks, knives, and chop sticks; but I’ve decided that the MVP of the dinner table is most decidedly the spoon.

They’re useful for most any purpose under the sun: scooping, stirring, and even the occasional cutting of especially tender delights.

Most mashed and soft foods that I consider to be in the “mounded” category are perfect for the spoon. From ice cream to mashed potatoes, the spoon shows them who’s boss by shoveling them from their temporary housing on the good china to the acidic realm of your mouth.

Lemonade and iced tea which lack the cavity fuel necessary to make our human bodies go can be stirred with a healthy dosage of sugar by the spoon. There are even spoons with long handles for that sort of thing. How thoughtful of the spoon manufacturers to make such entities as to not force moist stirring hands.

And when spoons can be use din unconventional ways, they truly show their necessity. Cheesecake is no match for the edge of a spoon, which can act as a replacement knife if it was accidentally taken away with your entree plate. Spoons can oft times be used in the place of forks, as well. When there is no fork readily available, the spoon comes to the rescue and, while not poking to grasp (which, by the way, can be an impediment to retaining the natural juice and flavor in some meats), the spoon shovels the food to the warm recesses of within your pie hole. Yes, spoons truly shine when given seemingly impossible eating situations that otherwise would not be achieved without them.

In conclusion, I salute you, spoon. You are this year’s recipient of the Most Valuable Eating Utensil Award. May your days from now on be long and prosperous, and may you keep up the good work concerning all things food. Thank you.

Now that’s entertainment!

The other day I noticed that I allotted 28kbps per user for up to 32 users on my Winamp stream. Figuring I would never have 32 listeners, I cut that number down to a maximum of 10 users listening at 48 kbps.

I realize that this means nothing to you, but if you ever find enjoyment in my streaming audio, your sound quality isn’t all that sucky anymore.

Edit (2/13/2011): Of course this isn’t still active. You can access my last.fm profile here, though.

Monster Mash

When my psychology teacher compared that Zimbardo fellow’s voice to the guy who sang the “Monster Mash,” somehow there was planted in my brain a repeating record of that song, except in Mr. Valdez’s eerie voice.

It was the mooonstah mosh…

Kyle is the straightest guy I know

Bluddvayne: Casey like a hurricane just blows my heart away
every time he comes around again,
leadin’ me just far enough to hope that he might stay,
then he’s gone just like the wind.
I met him when the world began, or was it last July
down on the Corpus Christi Bay?
He left me in the drivin’ rain, and Casey like a hurricane
just blows my heart away.

Casey like the summer stars that shine on Port Aransas,
with him calypso cowgirl eyes,
when he dances on the sand the stars dance all around him,
you can hear them sizzle in the sky.
I’ve loved him like a baby girl and like a woman too,
I’ve loved him more than words can say.
He leaves me in the drivin’ rain, and Casey like a hurricane
just blows my heart away.

Hurricane Casey blows in and out of my life
like a summer cold and a winter warm.
Hurricane Casey knows just how to turn me
and lead me into the eye of the storm.

Casey like a fast train leavin’ town on Sunday mornin’,
he just leaves you standin’ thime
wonderin’ which way to go to get out of the storm
that is surely gathimin’ somewhime.
I try hard to forget him but I just can’t go to sleep
with him perfume on the pillow whime I lay.
He leaves me in the drivin’ rain, and Casey like a hurricane
just blows my heart away.

He leaves me in the drivin’ rain, and Casey like a hurricane
just blows my heart away.

BathingInEggnog: thanks

Bluddvayne: np

Riding the storm out

Dear Hurricane Frances,

While I know that you’re wreaking havoc and destroying much that lies in your path, I would like to extend a warm welcome to Florida. I know that you’re getting a bad wrap about all the damage you cause; I understand that it’s your nature to spin and release fury upon all who dare to build their lives upon the feeble sands in the tropics, and I respect that you have the inalienable right to remain a hurricane, even in the midst of such animosity against you influenced by the biased media.

This letter is probably different than others you’ve received as of late, in that its intent is neither to disgrace your very nature nor to beg your mercy, but to thank you for all you do for us. Only you would have the genius to strike at such an opportune time for Pinellas County schoolchildren. Your welcome party coupled with Labor Day awards us with a four day weekend. You, my friend, are an asset to societal schedules, and for this, I thank you. Hurricane Frances, you are my friend.

Love,
Casey

P.S. While I respect your power, I don’t particularly want to be negatively affected by it. May I suggest Cuba? Nobody likes Cuba.

Crass Commercialism

I’m sick and tired of it all. Note that this is not some melodramatic wane of teenage angst that is so common in blogging these days. What I’m upset about is being pummeled constantly for about a month every two years with political ads – on television, on the radio, and in print. It’s almost too much to bear. Tomorrow is the Republican Primary, where GOP candidates will be weeded out to make for probable Republican victory in November.

I don’t consider myself to be a Republican, but if I were, this guy would be my choice for Senate.

All the other commercials say pretty much the same thing:
“I am a conservative. President Bush likes me. I hate the terrorists. Don’t you? You don’t? Then you must be a terrorist. Here, you can absolve yourself by putting one of these nifty ‘God Bless America’ bumper stickers on your fender.”

But this fellow, he knows how to appeal to me aesthetically: Lawyers dropping into an endless watery abyss, his two major opponents in M&M form bouncing onto the screen, and a well made-up face to boot. (Listen closely when his opponents come onscreen and you can hear a squishy, bouncy noise. Brilliant!)

In closing, this Web site would like to officially support Doug Gallagher for one of Florida’s Senate seats in the Republican Primary election tomorrow. Now won’t that be print worthy on future ads?