Yearly Archive: 2010

Tales from a Repo Man

Thursday night when my phone rang and a friend asked me if I could do a favor, I said yes. But I had no idea it would make for such an interesting weekend, and with so many stories. Of course, some of those stories are better told in person than in writing, so they won’t be mentioned here, but overall, it made for a very entertaining and interesting weekend. Will you allow me to tell you about it? Good. And there’s your opening paragraph.

So the call I got from a friend, who shall remain nameless (and genderless) called to ask if I would run up and repossess a vehicle for him/her. Well, I’ve never been called the Repo Man. And the only experience I have with repossessing a vehicle is when my truck got stolen when I was in the service. I came back home for a weekend, discovered my pickup had been stolen out of my dad’s driveway, and went and got it back. I happened to know where it was, who was likely to have stolen it, and so I got it back. But I’m not really much of a repo man. Well, I wasn’t… until yesterday.

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Open-Source My Life

Here in the last several months, I have begun to embrace the open-source. I have gone off the corporate teet, one might say. I no longer support the big boys just because they come standard and they’re the most well known and popular. Just because they’re the most well known does not always necessarily mean they are the best. And since I have stopped supporting the big guys, my life has gotten markedly better. Allow me to explain.

You see, there are some products out there whose brands have become synonymous with the product they’re selling. Kind of like how everyone says, “Hey, I have some chunky green snot with some hard furry flakes in it, can you pass me a Kleenex?” Facial tissue would be the proper term for it, without applying the brand name. Another popular one is “Hey guys, let’s set up some plastic cups on the Ping-Pong table so we can see them chicks’ boobs!” Table tennis is the brand-detached term for the game.

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Area Man Refuses To Grow Up

So I had a birthday party Friday night. This isn’t very peculiar. However, there were a few items of interest that do make that list labeled peculiar. First of all, as most of you know, I’m almost thirty now. So let’s just for ease of conversation, say that I am “twenty-seven” now. And then allow me to elaborate on those items I found peculiar.

First of all, I had a birthday party. That in and of itself should not be viewed as out of the ordinary. I wanted to have a few friends over, listen to some music, stand around and drink beer and tell each other war stories, and compare tattoos. Without necessarily taking our shirts off. It’s not even really all that odd that there would be a cake for me. I mean, well, actually I specifically told Haycomet not to make me a cake. But she wouldn’t have any of that. “If I make one for everyone else, of course I’m going to make one for my partner in rhyme.” She does have a valid point. So thus, I had a cake at my party. No candles, of course. But there was a cake. A ridiculously extravagant cake, no less. A Cake. Capitalized. One that someone might have paid perhaps upwards of a couple hundred dollars for. So what was so odd?

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Bacon Talk: Thanksgiving

Welcome back, SpaceBrewers. We know none of you are reading this on Friday because you’re all out shopping at Best Buy, Kohl’s, Target and The Great American Cookie Company. But you will read this at some point. Thanksgiving has came and went, and we missed a great opportunity with Halloween – so we didn’t want to miss a Bacon Talk for Thanksgiving. So what did we give thanks for? Crrrrrringe… Okay, I thought I could live with the “has came and went” and I think I could have… But ending that sentence with “for”? Nuh uh. Grammar talk should be another weekly special here. So I can beat the hell out of you with sentences like “For what did you give thanks?” and the like.
Anyway, Haycomet, we traditionally mention our thanksgivings on this one day every year. And while that’s a good thing, don’t you think we should be thankful every day of the year – not just on that one day? I do. So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I’ll just go ahead and ask you: who were you rooting for in the football game yesterday?
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Space Vs. The Heater Bot

I’ve just ended my weeks-long battle with my heater bot. And while it might not be an interesting story to some, I feel like I should write about it in case anyone else ever runs into the same problem and needs some ideas for a fix.

You see, I’m of the opinion that if I can pay someone to come out and fix something in my home, I can darn sure fix it myself. Or I can at least try. I am not afraid to enlist the experience of my buddies and neighbors if they know something I don’t. But so far I’ve found I’ve been able to repair everything myself, and the only detriment to doing it myself is that it takes a little longer. Since I’m not an expert in any of these things that typically go wrong, I just have to use common sense and work backwards on the issue, troubleshooting and just figuring out what it could possibly be. Which, if you don’t know the system, takes a little longer. But it’s a lot cheaper than calling someone out and paying a trip fee and their marked-up parts cost and whatnot.

So you remember when my cooler bot went out during the summer. Well, my cooler bot and heater bot are part of the same physical unit. And in repairing the cooler bot part of it, I disabled part of the heater portion. So here’s what I did, how I eventually came to repair it, and why it took so damn long.

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What is a reunion without first a union?

It’s that time of year again. You know, that time after Halloween when you begin taking down the sheety ghosts and throwing away the rotten, moldy, blackened, gnat-infested carcasses of the pumpkins on your porch and prepare to replace them with Christmas decorations. It’s that time when we begin winding down the year and getting ready to board up the tree houses for the winter, and start migrating inside where we can convene around fireplaces and football games. We also tend to have a lot more family reunions this time of year.

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SpaceBrew Review: Slash’s Slash

Occasionally, I like to review things for you. Since SpaceBrew has become a trusted household name when it comes to consumer reviews and reports, I know you guys probably swing by here most times before you make a purchase. I, therefore, like to make sure and keep you posted on the latest, greatest and lamest. I have another of these today. Enter Slash.

Saul Hudson, better known as ‘Slash’ was a popular metal guitarist in the 80s when he played the guitar for Guns ‘N Roses. Seriously? Could they not have spelled out ‘and’ or at least used the ampersand? Come on guys. Anyway, he was a great guitarist, performing memorable and catchy licks to some of our favorite songs like Mr Brownstone and Sweet Child O’ Mine. Wait. Really guys? Too lazy to write one more letter? Good grief. Well, his popularity kind of diminished when GNR broke up.

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Bacon Talk: Toys

Good morning and happy Friday, SpaceBrewers! It’s been an interesting week here with all that has happened. Wade Phillips got fired, the Cowboys lost another game – anyone surprised by that anymore, really? – and Celine Dion did another two shows at Caesars Palace. Wait. That’s not out of the ordinary. Anyway, we’ve pulled up our stuffed Argentinian Whale Bladder recliners and filled our favorite mugs with SpaceBrew. And there’s a plate of hot, greasy bacon in front of us. So you know what that means!
Bacon Talk! Woot woot! Hooray! Woo hoo! :D :) :| :what:
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A Visit to the Toys Store

Welcome to Thursday, SpaceBrewers. On this historic Veteran’s Day, I’d like to salute all of you who served our country in war and at peace, past and present. Thank you all for your time, service and selflessness. God bless you and your families.

I’d also like to remind you that this is National Toy and Breast Appreciation Week, so every column this week has been about toys. We figure we cover breasts enough here on the site. They don’t need a special week devoted to them. Actually, I… Never mind. So Monday I wrote about the new toys with which I find myself playing. I wrote Tuesday about the age of growing out of playing with toys (which I haven’t apparently reached yet), and Haycomet wrote yesterday about her daughter and how she doesn’t play with toys anymore either.

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The End of the Toy Age

Today is my daughter’s birthday. In fact as of 8:05am this morning, twelve years ago, I became a mom. We had a small party so she could celebrate with her friends this past weekend. There’s nothing like having five hormonal “tween” girls all sugared-up on cake and orange soda in your living room. I’m surprised I didn’t have my hair pulled out and blood dripping from my ears by the time I reached Space’s house that night. Back to my story… since it is her birthday, that means I had to shop for presents last week. Now that she is almost a teenager, it wasn’t as easy as it used to be.

With earlier birthdays, I would head to the toy section and just start grabbing toys. She preferred play sets because she loved pretending and making up stories to go with her Hamtaro, and Littlest Pet Shop toys. She could play by herself or with friends and family for hours with those little plastic things.

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The New Age of Toys

As you no doubt noticed, this is National Toy And Breast Appreciation Week here on SpaceBrew. And since we spend plenty of time already appreciating breasts around here, we’re dedicating every column to Toy Talk this week. Even our Bacon Talk is gonna be full of toyful awesomeness. We’ll talk about what toys we like and which ones we played with as children – and maybe even which ones we play with as adults.

My daughters love toys. They play with the pink, girly things like Barbies, Polly Pocket, Disney Princess, and everything that is pink and girly looking – even if it isn’t supposed to be a girly toy. They are your basic standard American kids: suckers for good toys that fit their age and gender. Now my boy, on the other hand…

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Silly Kid, Toys Are For Adults

Good morning and happy Veteran’s Day week, friends and family of the Brew. This Thursday, of course, is Vet’s day, and I’d like to welcome you to another edition of the soon-to-be-award-winning segment here on SpaceBrew, called the Monday-Morning Magic. It’s basically where I write a column on Monday morning that magically changes your mood, and your day. It is sure to either make you laugh, make you angry, or make you bored. Studies have not shown that this segment actually posesses any sort of magical ability, or that it changes your mood at all, in fact. But it completes that alliterative title, so we’re sticking with it.

But I wanted to talk today a little about a new hobby of mine. We’ll go into this a little more on this week’s Bacon Talk, but I thought this was interesting enough to mention this Monday morning. My friends and I – all being intellectuals – have taken to a new hobby. And before you laugh and point your fingers at us and call us immature and gay, just finish the column. Yes, the being intellectuals has something to do with the new hobby. We like to find new and interesting things in which we can get involved. Most of these revolve around drinking and spending time standing around the diner table or the bar in the Space Bar. So what’s this new freak time-waster we’ve found?

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Bacon Talk: Friends

Hey, Space! It’s a beautiful cool crisp day. I brought the pumpkin pie flavored coffee, and I see you have brought my favorite meat candy. Uh, I better clarify- I’m talking about your giant sack of bacon.

I love Autumn. The leaves are changing, it gets darker earlier, the air has a slight chill, and Halloween has just passed. That gives me a great idea for today’s topic… friends!

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Second Gun Not Necessary

I was awakened abruptly by the sound of the front door being closed forcefully. You have to slam my front door for it to close all the way. Someone had slammed it. Many times I’ve been awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of something that could have been a door, but this time, I knew. You know how they say when it happens, you’ll know? Well, this time I knew. My eyes had popped open as the sound of the door in the otherwise quiet house echoed in my head.

I jumped out of bed where I had been sleeping hard. I had been asleep for around forty minutes. I slung my headlamp over my shoulder because it was the first light I was able to find in the darkness. I also don’t want to be wearing a target around my forehead when I’m clearing the house. Then I grabbed my pistol and turned on my bedside lamp. As I’m standing there naked by the bed, my red-haired wife rolls over and says, “What’s going on?”

“It’s go-time, babe.”

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Baseball and Politics Don’t Mix

There are a few things I wish to discuss with you under the topic of ‘baseball’. I know we’re all excited that the Rangers were in the World Series for the first time ever, even though they got their asses handed to them for all intensive porpoises. It was still exciting. Irregardless, I’m not really here to talk about the Rangers. Or the Dallas Cowboys. Ahem. One and six? Seriously? Yeah. Let’s move on.

Let’s talk about little league! My son plays for the Local Ball Club Association for Baseball Playing Children of the Local City Ball Club Academy. It’s not a school team, but a select registration team. Anyway, I’m not sure any of that is relevant except to say that it’s not a school team. Which is important for several reasons, which I will list here:

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Judge Not Thy Chili

I guess I have entirely missed the point of a chili cook-off. You see, growing up, I – wait. No, never mind. This has nothing to do with growing up. But I’ve always sort of been of the opinion that when you had a food contest, the goal for each contestant would be to cook the best tasting food. Chili included. Should not the goal for each contestant to be to produce the absolute best chili anyone has ever had? Well apparently not. Now the point is to see who can set someone’s mouth on fire the fastest. And there’s your opening paragraph.

Seriously though, did I miss some sort of memo? Here at work the other day, there was a small, unannounced chili cook-off hosted by the ladies in marketing. And of course, out of the seven or so women there, only like two of them made the chili. The rest of the entries were actually cooked and prepared by the husbands. I need not finish this paragraph, but I will anyway – if for no other reason than to hit my word quota. But yeah, you guessed it: women cannot cook chili. My red-haired wife not included.

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Here’s Your Sign

You always hear people asking, “Why do drive-up ATMs have Braille on the buttons? Do they think blind people will be driving? LOL”. But my question is far more simple. Why do ATMs have Braille on them? Do they think blind people will be pulling out cash? The buttons don’t have assigned functions and values, and their purpose changes with every option you select. So how would a blind person know when to hit which button?

It seems we as humans are advancing technologically into areas our parents’ generation only dreamed of. There’s that damn preposition at the end of my sentence again. But at the same time, we’re getting dumber and dumber. Think about it. Do you know any rocket scientists, personally? Do you know anyone who actually has contributed something to the technology revolution? It’s sort of just something that happens when we put our minds together. Yet, I don’t know any single individual who isn’t susceptible to being an idiot sometimes.

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I’m not real proud of myself right now.

For one who considers himself on top of the technology game, I sure did just pull a major blunder. Now I don’t purport to know everything about everything, or everything about all the new tech coming out, but I do keep up with it fairly well. I stay abreast (God I love that word) of all the latest schlit coming out and I’m pretty well aware of the value of technology. I guess maybe I just lost a little of my touch. Or went dumb for a minute.

You remember my talking about getting rid of my iPhone, right? Yeah. I wanted to sell it. Then I decided to keep it. Then I thought maybe I should sell it. I went back and forth like a bi-curious virgin trying to decide which orientation to break chastity with. I know, that was a poorly worded sentence, and I ended on a preposition – but I thought the analogy was worth it. And speaking of analogies… Well, let’s just stick with the story.

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Bacon Talk: Pirates

Good morning fans of the bacon! Let’s talk about pirates! Well, I guess I need to specify since there seems to be so many different definitions for the word these days. One, for instance, means ‘someone who copies and resells media for a profit’. Another means, literally, ‘someone who climbs on board and takes someone’s ship by force’. But the kind of pirates we want to talk about today are the third definition in Merriam Webster’s Seriously Revised Dictionary of Words for 2011’s New Edition of Vocabulary. Yes, that definition is ‘someone who has a peg-leg, a hook for a hand, and quite possibly an eyepatch’. That’s the cool kind of pirate.

My wife and I, for the last two years on our Florida trips, have gone on the pirate ship cruise down at John’s Pass. See, I say that my wife and I went on it. Well, of course the kids went too, but we really just took them because we couldn’t find a babysitter. And no one gets more into the pirate talk and grabbing the ladies’ booty than me.
But what else is there to do? My town has Pirate Days once a year. Is there anything going on in your town to pay homage and respect to the good old-fashioned pirate?

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The Dumbest Animals at the Zoo

The Fort Worth zoo is a very big place. It’s full of animals. If your goal is to see every exhibit, you really have to haul ass. If you monkey around at the aquarium, you won’t have time for the elephants. I mean, it’s a zoo out there. But really, I think the dumbest animals in the park are – well, you guessed it: humans.

There should be certain rulesets to which we all adhere when in a public place. For instance, when there’s a path that everyone is to follow, and one direction has, say five feet, then you don’t stretch your party across the entire five-foot path. There are other people who are interested in seeing exhibits, and might possibly be traveling faster than you and your party of hambeasts. Sorry, women, the beached whale exhibit is back by the entrance.

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SpaceBrew in Hibernation Mode

Good morning, SpaceBrewers! Just a quick note to let you all know that we’re coming into the winter season here at the Brew. It sort of lines up with the winter season the weather patterns follow. But what that means is that we spend less time in front of the computers and more time in front of a fireplace, or wrapped in the stinky, rotting carcass of a Tauntaun.

In the end, and in the interest of sparing you all from minutae and random hogwashical white noise, we will be cutting back our writing to once a week apiece. I’ll be writing on Mondays, Haycomet will write on Wednesdays, and we’ll continue to write our award-winning collaborative column, Bacon Talk, on Fridays. So just basically cutting out Tuesdays and Thursdays gives us, well, something like two days we can relax.

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You Can’t Trust the System

I’d like to tell you that this story is true, and that you need to believe it because I’m telling the truth here. This is not a work of fiction! But how do you say that at the beginning of a column, when the entire purpose of the site upon which you write is entertainment? A lot of what I write here is fiction. Heck, everything Haycomet writes is fiction. But this, my friends, is real. This is true. And it really happened. And I have witnesses.

So I’d like to tell you the ridiculous story of how my pals and I ran into a series of events governed by Murphy’s Law, and were unable to get out from under his oppresive thumb. If I ever meet Harvey Murphy, I have a few words for him, I assure you. And alls we were doing was trying to have a little lunch.

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Bacon Talk: Dream Houses

Good morning, and happy Friday to you all, oh seekers of the bacon! Welcome to another edition of Bacon Talk, the weekly SpaceBrew feature John Goodman mentioned in his recent interview with Conan O’Brien! This week, we’re sitting inside the cozy confines of our office living room, by a crackling fire. It’s cold out there! And after last week’s episode, the new balcony collapsed, killing several birds and a nest of baby kittens. I assure you, this was not Butch’s or Bruno’s fault, though they are on administrative leave, pending the outcome of the investigation. We’re just thankful no one was out on the balcony when it collapsed. Well, the window cleaning guy was, but no one will even miss him.
So how do you feel today, Hay Hay? Word around the campfire is that you’ve got your cake site all set up now. Is that so?

Why yes, Space, that is so… thanks to you. I just need to start adding pictures of the crazy cakes I’ve made in the last eight years. I’ve made everything from guitar and drum cakes to a teddy bear pirate cake. Maybe the site will launch my career as a cakist and then I can quit my day job.

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Would it kill you to smile?

I am not a pessimist, well not completely… yet. I try to have a positive attitude at all times. Especially times that involve people who do not know me. I like to make a good first impression. With that said, there are some actions that just deserve reciprocation. Actions that try to promote a positive setting like a friendly wave or saying hello. My major expectation? If I smile at you, please do me the courtesy of smiling back.

I was very shy when I was younger, and I would keep my eyes pointed down when I was in public. I would never make eye contact. I would walk past friends in a mall and never know it until they yelled my name. Now that I’m older and I have a job where I work around hundreds of people, I try to be more personable. I work in a warehouse that has been converted into office space, and I work in the very back of that huge building. Every morning I walk from the middle of the large parking lot to my desk; it’s about the equivalent of two and a half blocks. I pass quite a few people while walking and I look at each one, in the eyes, and smile. Heck, sometimes I even say, “Good morning!” or “How are you doing?”

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More Ways to Screw the Customer

I’ve long been of the opinion that companies should listen to their customers. I know you all remember my column about Coca-Cola changing their formula. Well, I highly doubt a consumer requested that. Companies that listen to their consumers though, are the ones that will last. Like Dodge, when they listened to Dodge drivers and installed a step in the tailgates of their pickups. Who doesn’t want a tailgate step? Another example would be Microsoft, when they listened to consumers and made Windows 7.

Ahem. To a lesser extent.

But what about those companies (like Coca-Cola) that don’t listen to their customers and consumers? The ones that make changes that cause all kinds of havoc and ill schlit to happen? Those are the ones I want to talk about this morning. And one of them just happens to be a company I’ve already mentioned.

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More Great Ideas From Space

We all know I was the one who introduced the world to the idea that we could solve the global warming crisis with National Leave Your Refrigerator Open Today day. So, clearly, I’m a pretty smart guy. Apparently, no one has taken this idea and run with it, but that doesn’t really mean the idea isn’t genius. You know? I think the government is trying to get rid of me so that they can claim the idea for themselves, then we’ll start seeing the idea put into practice. But I just wanted to bring that up – not to rub it in your face that I’m a lot smarter than you, but rather just to remind you that I am, in fact, pretty smart.

So anyway, as I always do, I was sitting around yesterday thinking of more ways I could change the world and make it better for people. Like when I came up with the idea of how to run cars on water… Well, they won’t start using that until we run out of gas. Because you’d put all the gas station employees out of a job. See? But just like that, I came up with a few more ideas that will really help the world become a better place. And I’d like to tell you about a couple of these ideas. You can tell me how awesome they are and how smart I am in the comments section below, because I know you’re going to get your socks blown off.

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Bacon Talk: Music

Good morning Bacon Talk fans, today is a beautiful day. I know this because Space and I are sitting on our new balcony. Wow, Space, Butch and Bruno did a great job! I’m not even concerned that we paid them with beer. I just hope they didn’t drink their pay while building it. I did see a few screws rolling around on the floor out here. They’re just extras… right? That’s what I’m going to tell myself at least. Anyway, let’s turn on some music to drown out the creaking. And since I’m too freaked out to really think of a complex topic, let’s talk about music too. Space, I know you can’t live without music, so it’s obvious that you love it.
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Don’t Give Me The Bird

I’m not just now beginning to believe the birds are conspiring in some manner against humans. Now I’m not sure of their intentions, but my best estimates are that they’re either planning to take over the world by killing all humans, or plotting some massive attack in order to acquire more birdseed. Either of those scenarios is as realistic as the other. So it’s hard to tell. But for a long time, I’ve thought birds had some sinister plan. Remember, I mentioned it in my column about how people are becoming more like birds.

So what spurred this train of thought, you say? Well, hear this, friends. Grab a cup of coffee, maybe a napkin with a couple of strips of cold bacon on it, and a chair. Then pull up close to your monitor, put your elbows on the desk and prepare to read possibly the greatest tale ever of how a bird tried to assassinate and possibly take over the life of a human being. It’s about to get scary in here.

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Can you feel yourself getting dumber?

Why is reality television so popular? I guess I should put quotes around “reality”, because, as we all know, almost none of it is really real, realistically. But “reality television” has become the standard for all programming on broadcast television now. It’s become so popular that Fox, in the extra cable packages, even offers an ‘All Reality – All The Time’ channel. Is this seriously what people want over drama?

See, to me, television has always been about being entertained. And what scares me is that people really are being entertained by this low-brow programming. Women competing to see who gets to be some dude’s next wife. Men competing to be the next ex-husband of some woman who’s not really even all that pretty. Why did I say pretty, instead of mentioning her personality? Well, obviously, that’s all it’s about, because it’s television! Lowest common denominator. Have you seen Idiocracy? Yeah. Think just like that. And that’s not the worst of it.

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Bacon Talk: Breasts

Good morning, friends. Welcome to Bacon Talk: our award-winning weekly segment, where we get together and discuss whatever’s on our minds, over a hot pot of coffee and a greasy plate of bacon. Really, can you think of anything more perfect? I think – excuse me. Uh, Haycomet, please make a note to remind me to get with Butch and Bruno after our talk. I want to go ahead and have a balcony built outside the 23rd floor conference room windows. I’d like to have bacon outside next week.

Sigh. Okay. Sorry about that, readers. Anyway, here on Bacon Talk we’ve been covering some really ground-breaking topics that are both newsworthy and relevant to your lives in a way you and I can’t really begin to express. Yes, friends, we do listen to our readers. And we do talk about the very things that make you happy. Because making you happy makes us happy. And when SpaceBrew is – okay, I’ll shut up.

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A Spacey Definition of Fashion

Have you ever gone through your closet and just looked at some of the clothing you have in there, realizing that some of it is actually quite old? Well I did this the other day. I looked through all my nice clothing, all the Structure and Z Cavaricci fashion I have hanging on my closet poles, and realized that I haven’t bought new clothing in quite some time. Now I have plenty of new t-shirts. Seriously. But yeah, my double-belted purple slacks and other fine couture articles have been hanging in my closet now for close to fifteen years. I clearly needed to go shopping.

I mean, don’t get me wrong – I’m not wasteful. I will still wear my purple Z Cavs on occasion, because they still look really good. I only wear them on special occasions – not when I’m changing my oil or digging French drains in the backyard. So there’s no point in getting rid of them. But I felt like I could treat myself to some new fashion. It’s been a long time. It’s time for a trip to the shopping mall.

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Phone Call Gets Area Man Laid

Have I ever told you about how I lost my virginity? Well, it’s not the actual misplacement of my chastity that makes for an interesting story. Obviously, I could go into details about what happened in my pickup that night down by the lake, but really – you’ve probably heard very similar stories already. And heck, you may even have one of your own! Suffice it to say that it happened, and certain parts went certain places just like you imagine, certain motions were made (as were certain faces), then I very kindly told her she needed to get out of the vehicle and find a way home. I also explained to her that if I did indeed find her undergarments somewhere in the vehicle, I would mail them to her at a later date. See, you’ve all heard the story, and I’m not really interested in trying to prove to you that I actually did, in fact, get laid. Trust me. I’ve got two kids. I’ve done it a couple of times. :haw:

Anyway, the interesting story here is the events that led up to the main event, so to speak. How did you meet your first lover? (cheap date, one-night stander, whatever you want to call him/her) Well here’s how I met mine.

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Bacon Talk: Dancing

Wow, Space! It’s my favorite time of the week already! I thought I would change things up a little this beautiful Friday morning, so I brought maple bacon. Did you bring the gallon carafe of coffee? Mmmm, you sure did! So we’re all set. Sometimes, Space, I eat something that is so delicious, I have to do a little happy dance. Much like this maple bacon is going to make me do right now.
:slick:
This gives me a great idea, Space! Let’s talk about dancing. I love to dance. In general, I’m shy about doing physical activity in public, because I’m tall, lanky, and not always as coordinated as I would like. Now if you put me on a crowded dance floor and blast some 80s music, I’ll dance. My husband says I dance like there is a pole in front of me. Of course, due to that description, he says his favorite dance move is “the pole”. Yeah, he just stands there, but it works for him.
Space, do you like to dance?
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Old People Like Applebee’s

There’s an old man who lives in my neighborhood, right across the street. He and his wife are probably in their late 70s, early 80s, possibly late 80s. I’m not very good at judging ages on old people. But yeah, they’re old. He’s a cool old dude. He was a sailor back in his day, so I know he’s got some guns in that house. I’m trying to get on his good side so maybe he’ll put me in his will, because I like guns too.

Anyway, he has this tree in front of his house that is notorious for losing branches. I mean, they’re easily found – it’s like it loses one, we look for a brief period, and say, “Oh, there it is, right beneath the tree from where it fell. How about that.” So it’s not really losing them as such… maybe not even really misplacing them. We’ll just say that branches have a tendency to fall off that damn tree quite often. More than the rest of the trees in the neighborhood.

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The Heisenberg Handbag

Are any of you married? I don’t know if that really matters. I think the more relevant question is, “Do you know a woman?” This question is really only aimed at the men though. So, men, do you know a woman? And secondly, does she have a purse? Because OH MY GOD. My wife does. And I’m not talking about the two-hundred-dollar job she bought from some online French retailer. It cost sixty bucks to ship the damn thing. And when it got here it looked like a nylon bag to me. I mean, props for the orange rubber handle, but dude – seriously? It looked like a ten-dollar cheap-ass Target job.

Well, I guess I sort of am talking about it. See, I’m actually going to talk about all of her purses. She has several thousand, I’m sure. It’s ridiculous. I actually had to build an add-on to our closet just to house all her fine luxury purses. And we’re not talking Target job shit here. She only buys the finest handbags made from the finest material. Like Indonesian Batwing Silk, South African Lion Mane Weave, Alaskan Malimute Pelt and Egyptian Dung Beetle Chiton. And she always tells me how great of a deal she got on them. “Oh but honey, this Hungarian Elephant Scrotum Silk one was on sale for half off!” Oh, that’s great, babe. So how much was it? “Three hundred and sixty dollars. Can you believe that deal?” she says, wrinkling her nose. No. I can’t believe it. How could anyone pass that up? Why didn’t you get four of them, sugar?

:what:

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Bacon Talk: Tree Houses

Good morning, friends, family and – well, good morning to you too, enemies. Welcome to a special edition of Bacon Talk. That’s right, folks, tomorrow is International Bacon Day! But aside from being knee-deep in all that hoopla, I really just have one word to say right now. TREE HOUSES. HELL YES, TREE HOUSES! Sorry. I got a little carried away there. Almost choked on my bacon. See, you know that nostalgic feeling you get in your tummy sometimes when you think of something cool, like opening a pack of Topps baseball cards back in 1984 and pulling out the stick of gum, popping it in your mouth, and then sorting through them to see who you got? Hoping it was a Jim Sundberg or a Bobby Valentine? Yeah. I get that same feeling every time I think of tree houses. Because son of a bitch!
I get so excited thinking about tree houses that it makes me just want to quit my job, go plant some bad ass oaks in my yard, and start construction on one tomorrow. I’m talking like a three-level freakin’ mansion in the trees here, friends. Every time I Google Image search for tree houses, I start squirming in my seat getting excited. I love me some tree houses!
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Can the 1300s get a little love?

Haycomet just wrote a very nice piece about living in the middle ages, and it sort of touched a soft spot in my emotions. Because like her, I too have always wanted to visit a different time period. I actually wrote an essay about my time machine in the SpaceBrew Scroll. You can read it here if you’re interested. You probably didn’t even know that existed, did you? Yeah? Well it does. You should go check it out. It’s a small series of collaborative efforts by the entire writing staff at the time. Anyway, I’ve gone off on a tangent, and there’s your opening paragraph.

But I have to admit something, friends. I mentioned where I had gone and what I had done with my time machine in that post, but it wasn’t really true. I don’t really own a time machine. I know, I know, I’m a bastard for misleading you and everything, but it was fun to pretend for a while. I really want one though, if that’s any consolation. I like to think I could go back and meet some of those really cool, influential people in history. Albert Einstein. Seka (when she was younger)… Adolf Hitler. You know, just those people you really kind of want to get to know. Find out what made them tick. Well, I know what made Seka tick, if you know what I mean. :perv:

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I just got my FACE rocked off.

Seriously, dudes, I have to tell you about our night Friday night! Okay, well – okay, well hang on. Let me catch my breath. It’s Saturday morning here – well, feels like morning, it’s actually well after noon – but I got my damn face (and most of my ass, neck, thighs, back and arms) rocked the hell off last night. Son of a bitch. Okay, let me back up a little though.

I was sitting at my damn desk at work when the HR director came up to my desk and said, “Hey, yo, Space. I got these tickets, dude,” and gave me four tickets to Nickelodeon Storytime at Verizon Theatre. And yes, they spell it with the tre instead of the ter. Idiots obviously don’t know the difference in the definitions. Anyway, yeah, we took the girls to the theater to see the Backyardigans and Dora the Explorer on stage and all that. They loved it, of course.

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Bacon Talk: Space Travel

Hey Space! Look at this huge silver tray full of bacon and that gigantic pot of hot coffee- what a beautiful sight! It’s nice to see you too Space, but for as awesome as you are, you really can’t compete with bacon. Who can? So anyway, how are you doing, Space? What would you like to discuss this morning, Space? I’m a little spaced-out, so I’ll give you some space to talk about whatever you want. Anything in particular come to mind?

Good morning, Haycomet. I’m great, thank you. Well, I’ve been thinking about that, and I think I’d like to ask you a few questions about something very dear to me, and that I someday hope to make near to me. Space Travel! Yes, I went there. I capitalized both words. Because Space Travel – from what I hear – is awesome. Well, not really. The traveling through space part of Space Travel is probably very boring and very slow.
So do you ever spend any time thinking about Space Travel? Where would you go if you could just hop in your HayShip and take off? (See, I’d call mine my SpaceShip…)

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Retirement Party: This Weekend

So when I heard the news that Brett Farve was finally retiring, I sighed and shook my head, then went to sit on the sofa with a beer. As I was in motion dropping into sitting position, a news flash came on saying he had changed his mind. Again. Now I don’t actually have television service of any kind, and the radio was not on. But a news flash surely did happen, and – well, I just knew he wasn’t really retiring. And now I’m kind of getting a little tired of his Barbra Streisand-like retirement hoopla. Dude, I don’t care how many times you “retire”, you’re only getting one party.

Seriously, how many times can one really ‘retire’ anyway? Take the Eagles, for instance. When Don Henley said, “We’ll get back together when hell freezes over…” everyone believed him. But does anyone believe you can get a snowcone in hell right now? From what I hear they’re touring again, and they’ve even got a new quarterback. Wait. Not that the Eagles. It’s like the ‘in’ thing to do right now is to retire, take a few months off, and come back acting like it’s a whole new gig. Sorry though, Poison. No one wants to hear your new stuff. They only want to hear Unskinny Bop and Talk Dirty to Me.

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The Time Traveler Convention

We had a little get-together the other night with a few friends, and I think some of the things that happened that night are worth mentioning. It was a hot summer night, just like every other night has been this year, here in Texas. It’s so hot that when my wife and I sit outside and just enjoy the cool night air after the kids are in bed, it’s actually still over 100 degrees. And we’re talking about after nine o’clock. But there is one good thing about it. At least we’re not in Oklahoma.

So Haycomet and Byronic came over and brought their tinycomet – who (and this is another story, but) installed Open Solaris on one of my print servers and re-allocated a slash 28 from my DHCP scope to serve as her science lab, then delved into some hard coding time, whereupon she ran all six of my computers at 98% CPU usage for over two hours grinding out application for her theory about relativistic dimensional vacillation. So in short, we spent a few hours sipping cognac in a fine 17th century hall surrounded by warpainted women in loincloths and pasties who thought we were Norse gods. Thanks, tinycomet!

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Bacon Talk: Video Games

Dude. It’s time we talk about video games. Seriously. Why haven’t we covered this yet, Haycomet? We’ve had how many Bacon Talks now? Welcome, friends, fans and enemies, to this week’s edition of the award-winning feature we call Bacon Talk. For those of you wondering what we mean by Award-Winning, let me give you a list of the awards this feature has won:

  • SpaceBrew’s Best Features of 2010 presented by SpaceBrew
  • Brandon Spacey’s Favorite Blogs presented monthly
  • Haycomet’s Recommended Reading a very prestigious award
  • Jessica Simpson’s “You Gotta Have Someone Read This To You!” presented by Space

So there are a few of the many awards this feature has won. I mean, we’re not trying to brag or anything. Trust me, friends, the Bacon Talk is not near as good as the Bacon we eat while talking! Ain’t that right, Hay?

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Coming Out of the Closet

During the Great Robot Fiasco of 2010 a couple of months ago, where my Pusher and Shover Robots malfunctioned and tried to push my red-haired wife down the stairs (instead of my grandmother), I spent a lot of time in my closets. I spent time in my water closet testing and replacing parts on my air handler. I spent time in my master closet testing and replacing circuit breakers. I even spent time in some of my neighbors’ closets looking through their clothing and enjoying the various scents attached to the legs of their slacks and dresses. But now, my friends, it’s finally time to come out of the closet.

Yeah, see, I really just wanted to say that. It feels good to say it. But it feels even better to finally be out of the closet. See, after several long hours spent in all these closets around my house performing repairs, I realized some of those closets could use a good once-over cleaning. I realized I had junk on my shelves in the master closet that had been sitting there for years. Just shit like picture frames and curtain rod holders, cabinet knobs and stacks of important papers, electron shufflers and relastics diodes. You know, the stuff you find in just about every closet in America.

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Wait. What birds? What bees?

A few years ago, when my nephew was still just a little shaver, we found ourselves faced with an uncomfortable confrontation when my sister mentioned something about sex. Now it wasn’t something inappropriate, to be sure, but rather something along the lines of “sex in a movie” or something equally as innocuous. So all she did was basically say the word sex. It might even have been something like, “what sex is the child?” or whatever.

Anyway, my nephew, hearing the unfamiliar word, piped up with this little gem: “What are secks?” Well, seeing that a possibly uncomfortable situation might abound, I went ahead and stepped up to the plate with a perfectly delivered response, when I said, “Well, son, let me tell you what secks are.” So as the boy sat on the couch and looked at me, I told him that secks were like different categories into which women are grouped to determine their eligibility. I said, “For example, your mother would be in Seck A. Grandma over there? Well, she’s in seck B. Now Step, my red-haired wife? Yeah. Hi-five. She’s Seck C.

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Yes I saw The Notebook. No, I didn’t cry.

Weren’t you one of the ones who told me to watch this movie, and that when I did watch it, I would cry? Well, if it wasn’t you, it was everyone else. Every single person I’ve talked to who’s seen it, has told me they cried. Oh my God, it was so sad! I just LOST it at the end. OMG. :yawn:

Now let me back up and make two points before I continue with this. Point one: no, this is not a SpaceBrew Review of The Notebook. I will not be talking about the plot, the acting, spoilers, plot devices and how they could have made this movie better. Hence the title. I don’t feel the need to review this movie. Notice how most of the Brew Reviews I write always get good stars? Well I think they do, I don’t really recall. See, that’s because I really only like to review the good movies.

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Bacon Talk: Nicknames

Hi Space!  How’s it it going?  And hello out there in blogland!  This is yours truly, Haycomet, and I hope all of you have a big plate of meat candy and a cup o’ Joe in hand, because today we are talking about nicknames.

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Universal Solvents

Have you ever heard of the universal solvent? Well basically it’s a solvent that will eat through anything. Or rather, everything. You pour it on the concrete and it will just fizzle away until it all burns up eating stuff. See that’s the thing, it won’t eat its way all the way through the earth. Think about it. As it eats away at whatever it’s eating away, it uses itself up. So if you pour some on a steel table, it will eat through it, then whatever drips to the floor beneath will be a little less. It then eats through the tile, then the concrete, then some soil, and it’s pretty much down to nothing left at that point. But you do have a nice little hole through your table, foundation and the ground beneath.

So, of course, the question at the end of the riddle is, “What do you put it in?” The old anecdote mentions a guy walking into his boss’s office and saying, “Hey, boss, I finally did it! I finally created the universal solvent!” And his boss looks him up and down and says, “Why isn’t it eating through the beaker?”

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Talking Pillows with Jessica Simpson

Greetings, SpaceBrewers, and welcome back to another edition of the Daily Brew, with Space. You know sometimes we have celebrities stop by the offices here at corporate, and we are usually very cordial with them; invite them in, sit and talk with them, give them bacon and coffee, you know, the usual. Other times we’re simply too busy to accomodate them, and have to turn them away at the door. We just don’t have time to see every single fan of the site personally, you know? It makes us sad, and in a perfect world, we would. But this isn’t a perfect world, is it?

Anyway, occasionally, some of our Hollywood friends will stop in and say hi, and we’ll set up our recording device and interview them as a courtesy to give them some momentum on whatever they’re currently promoting. Remember, for instance, when Michael Crichton stopped by the Brew to promote his new book? And the times Stephen Cannell did the same thing? Those were nice instances of when they stopped by and we made them feel accommodated. There have been others, of course, like when Charlize Theron stopped by and I interviewed her, but it got a little out of hand, she crawled over the table and we started making out right there. I had only asked her a few questions when the interview was suddenly over, and we’re suddenly naked right there in the front conference room, just going at it. Obviously, that’s not very appropriate for the site.

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You Ruined My Friday

Just so you have a frame of reference, you need to know I am lying in bed right now writing this on my SpaceBook. It is Friday night, 18:05 and I’m lying in bed on my laptop. You’re probably out painting the town, tearing it up, getting some trim, drinking some Cold Ones, and I’m lying here in bed. On my computer. On a Friday night. Have I emphasized that enough yet? Well allow me to pour a little salt in the wound. Even though it’s just after 1800 hours – six for you non-military types – my evening is already set in stone. There won’t be a break. I’ll be doing the same thing in two hours, and in six hours. My night is ruined.

Last night my red-haired wife and I were sitting out on the back patio just enjoying the cool summer breeze and a couple of Ones that were – at least to the best of my recollection – pretty Cold. When all of a sudden, from out of the corner of the backyard, I spotted something terrible and sinister. And before I could gather my senses and react appropriately (which would be to grab my Browning from the deep-conceal holster in the small of my back and put two in dead center mass), it was on me. I’ve never been attacked and overcome with such rapid efficiency or tactical precision in my life. My defenses were useless.

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Bacon Talk: Cell Phones

Good morning, Haycomet. That’s a very nice bonnet you have on! How’s your bacon? I’ve been really enjoying these little Friday-morning Bacon Talk get-togethers. It’s a great way to start the day, and I always know my weekend will get a little bit better jump start.

Well this morning, I’ve been thinking about connectedness… again… And I started getting a little uncomfortable. Again. Yes, every time I think about how connected we are as a society and as a people, I get a little sad inside. And it’s not because I fear technology, but rather, I fear our dependence on it. Gone are the days when I could leave the house without a phone and access to my six email accounts, facebook, my website, my bank account and my stock portfolio. And just being sad or uncomfortable about it doesn’t seem to be enough. It won’t spur me into changing my ways and leaving the house technologically naked. And for good cause, too. I’m expected to be connected for work as well.  So how connected are you?

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I have the beat wife ever.

The title of this column was based upon a Facebook message my wife left me yesterday, for our anniversary. You know how hard it is to type messages on a cellphone when there is no real keyboard? Yeah. Well perhaps tomorrow when Haycomet and I get together for our Bacon Talk, we’ll have something to say about cellphones. Anyway, yesterday, as a lot of you may or may not know, was my red-haired wife’s and my first anniversary. Yes, friends, what that means is that we have been married for most of a year. Or close to a year. Something having to do with a year. And, as the title suggests, she is the beat wife ever.

You see, she says some things like that sometimes, when there are not even any keyboards around. She misspeaks and they become terms of endearment, naturally, for me. Like how she says, “Chipolte” instead of Chipotle. Or she’ll call me her “Knight and shining armor”. You know, cute things that red-haired wives do that make us smile. But yesterday, for our anniversary, she did what was perhaps to go down in history as one of the awesomest things anyone has ever done for me. She got me a lunchbox.

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The The Bacon Paradox

Have you ever heard of the Bacon Paradox? Actually, I think the The is capitalized, so it would technically read, The Bacon Paradox. And since the The is capitalized and part of the title, it would be appropriate in its proper noun sense to refer to it as the The Bacon Paradox. In which case, you should then go ahead and capitalize the first the, e.g. The The Bacon Paradox. You obviously then add another the, it becomes capitalized, and so on, ad nauseum.

Yeah. Sort of like the TTR report, in which the acronym formally stands for “The TTR Report”. Figure that one out.

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The Law of Averages

I can’t recall how well I did in statistics class, most likely because of one of the few following reasons: I a) didn’t take statistics class in college, b) spent way too much time between the sheets with girls and not near enough between the pages of schoolbooks, or c) didn’t actually go to college. I can’t even recall which of the answers would be closest to correct, so I shall not bother. And there’s your opening paragraph.

But let’s just say that the odds of some things happening are almost statistically impossible. Like that time when my dad and I were at the driving range hitting golf balls, and we both hit at the same time, and our golf balls hit each other in mid-air about fifty yards out. Un-effing-believable. Seriously, we couldn’t do that again in seven hundred years. But it did happen. I wonder if that has ever even happened before to anyone out there at driving ranges all over the world. Surely it has…

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Bacon Talk: Toilets

A great thing about having a huge group of writers on staff is that Space always has hundreds of articles to choose from daily. I’m just so darn talented, so that’s why he picks at least one of my pieces every week. Okay, seriously though, I almost didn’t get that all typed before I started laughing. Space and I are the two main writers and sometimes we get “blocked” or just plain busy and need to come up with anything at all to fill a day. We don’t want our faithful readers sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth, saying, “I need my SpaceBrew, I need my SpaceBrew, I need my SpaceBrew…” So today Space and I have collaborated to write this amazing article- one worthy of a Pulitzer! It’s about toilets. Why not? We can only post so many stories about bacon, any more and Space said he is going to rename the site SpaceBacon. So here we go…
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Do these genes make me look fat?

I hear people all the time saying obesity is a disease. They talk like it’s something people get infected with, and there’s nothing they can do about it. Like cancer. Oh no, you got the fat? So sorry to hear that. Did the doctor say how long you have? I’ve also heard people say it’s genetic and there’s nothing they can do about it. My dad was fat so I have to accept that I’m fat too, and there’s not much point in trying to change it. What?

I’ve known people who go through phases where they gain a bunch of weight, then get busy, bust their ass, and lose it. Is that genetic too? See I think our problem here in America is the fact that we want to be lazy. Whether or not we’re lazy seems to be irrelevant. We want to be lazy. We don’t want to do anything about it. We’d rather sit around eating twinkies, getting fatter and bitching about how we’re fat. I say be fat and happy, or lose weight. No excuses for being fat and pissed off about it.

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Bra Cups and Batteries

Here’s a list of stuff that’s been occupying at least a small portion of my small mind over the last few days. I want to break them down and share them with you. Tell me what you think.

Have you noticed that both bras and batteries have a lettering system that kind of defies logic? Why is A the smallest bra size, but in batteries there is no A? There’s an AA and an AAA, but no A, and no B. And the AAA is smaller than the AA. In bras, there is a B, C and D. But instead of jumping up to E, it goes to Double D. Hell yeah. All you women wearing Double D out there reprazent! Let’s see ’em! Just kidding. But not really. Even though I kind of am, I kind of ain’t too. Know what I mean? I mean, like, if you want to sh– okay, okay, sorry. I went off on a tangent.

But why is there a Double D? Why not just make the Double D be the new E? And they should have AA as well. For the smaller chested women, you know. And maybe even a AAA. And why the hell are there no B batteries? I love the B size. I think it’s my favorite. So it would probably be my favorite battery too. All you women out there with Bs on your chest, lemme hear you say “YEAH!” Hell yeah. Send your pics here. Okay, okay, I’ll calm down. I don’t really even like boobs that much. Seriously. I’ve just been kidding with y’all.

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Things sure have changed around here.

Welcome back, friends, family and – well, and I guess you too, foes. Welcome to another edition of the Daily Brew. Or at least Weekdaily. Unless I get lazy and don’t write anything, which most of the time, someone else steps up and knocks one out real fast, in which case you don’t (hopefully even notice anyway), wait, where was I going with this? Oh yeah. Welcome back. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.

CatinaThis here is Catina. Say hi to Ca- — wait. Where the hell did she go? Well actually, I’ve never met her, you see. But I’ve known her for almost twelve years. And what makes Catina so important that she should be introduced here? Well, she’s been here a lot, lot longer than you. Catina has been reading this site since 1999.

When Catina started reading the site, it was still Moon’s Crater. That was the first domain name under which we all wrote. And this site has been through many phases, changes, color schemes and domain names. Well, she’s been here through all of it. And I think that’s pretty damn cool.

So what is your earliest memory of the site, Catina?

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Bacon Talk: Marriage

Happy Friday, SpaceBrewers! For this special day, we thought we’d do a special co-authored column for you with your favorite two writers. And we’d like to dive into a subject that’s seldom touched upon here: marriage. Yes, we’re going there. See, Haycomet and I are married. Well, not to each other. But we are both married to other people. The point is that we both know what it’s like to be married. We’ve both been married a long time, and we both have the same core values and outlooks on the big M word. So what’s it like to be asked the same questions?
So that’s what we’ll get into here. We believe that ‘on the rocks’ is a good thing, as it refers to a special way of drinking bourbon. So keeping your marriage on the rocks is always desirable: it represents success and prosperity. If someone were to approach a man and a woman and ask them both the same questions about marriage, how different would their answers be? If the most important thing in a married man’s life is sitting on the couch drinking beer, what then, would be most important to the woman? Well, obviously it should be cooking and cleaning, but we’re going to find out!
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Meal Ticket for a Bad Meal

We were talking last night about the concept of the discount coupon, the refund and the free meal ticket. So say you go into a restaurant, you order a nice big meal, you eat it, then you get sick and end up spending the next nine hours pinwheeling in your bathtub. For those of you who don’t know what pinwheeling is, imagine you’re spraying out of both ends. If you were to take a spear and stick it through your side into the wall, the force of the liquids coming out of you would propel you to spin, doing backflips on the spear.

After you spend all night in the shitter, you call the restaurant, or even better – go back up there, and they give you a free meal ticket to make it up to you. Ahem. Like you really want to eat there again? That was one shitty cookie! Can I have a discount on my next shitty cookie? Yeah it really doesn’t make much sense. Same thing with shitty haircuts. You might get a coupon for a free haircut since they effed your head up this time. Uh huh. That is one valuable coupon. I know I don’t keep going back to places that don’t do their job right.

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End Stupid Construction

As I was driving back from the clinic today, I came across a few things that made me frown a little, tilt my head to the side, wrinkle my nose, and quite possibly quote the phrase that started the now world-famous acronym you all know as WTF. You see, I have to go to the clinic an average of two to three times a week. That’s how bad my genital centipedes have gotten. Oh wait. No, no, you see, I work for a company that has 22 clinics. Phew. Thank God it’s that. So maybe I don’t have genital centipedes after all.

Anyway, as I was driving I saw a couple of things that I thought I should let you guys know about, and see if you have the same reactions I do. Since I’m what some call an ‘intellectual’, and I’m terribly smart, I catch some things most people don’t. For instance, you know those concrete barriers they line up beside highways? They’re about 20 feet long and weigh like 40 tons. Yeah. Well, I thought about something, guys. Before they rebar those things together on the side of the highway, they just leave them all stacked in grids over on the grass, usually near the starting section of where they’re going to install them. I mean, no fence, no guard dog, no security cameras… Dude, we could totally just walk away with a couple of those. And who couldn’t use a twenty-foot concrete barrier to toss in his driveway? See? Told you I was smart, guys.

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Life Lessons From Space: Driving

Well I didn’t finish the video I promised you yet. I got a little busy last evening with some other issues. Oh and get this: I found out that the back door on the pickup rebroke itself. I guess the nuclear putty didn’t hold after all. I’ll have to try some SolaGlue. Meh. Anyway, I’ll put some work into it this weekend amidst all the pool time and beer drinking we have planned. I hope to get it done soon though because it’s gonna be good.

So I realized the other day that when Moonshine did her columns about Life Lessons from a Good Girl (here, here, and here), I started my own series here. But I never finished them. And what’s more, the only topic I wrote about, fighting, is not something with which I am even well versed. I mean, I’ve been in a ton of fights in my life, and I’ve faired pretty well, but I’m not really what anyone would call a fighter. I’m more of a “writer”. You like that? And today there’s sort of a new age of fighters. Dudes have gotten really big and really mean. So I just avoid it at all costs and let my friend Mr Browning handle my confrontations for me.

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Space’s Shuttle Repair and Bacon Shop

I had to open two car doors yesterday. It’s unusual to have to open even just one in a given day. But two? Yes, friends, I’m as serious as a bowl full of mustard-covered lion feces. The crazy thing about opening car doors is that they all open differently. So you have to find the right way to do it. And yesterday, I actually had to get inside the pickup to be able to figure out how to open the back door. Well how about I just tell you what the hell I’m talking about?

My red-haired wife, Two-Step, Protector of the Grapefruits, somehow managed to break the back door of the pickup a few days ago. She said she broke a nail on the handle, because it just snapped back and wouldn’t open. I tried explaining to her, “Honey, the door handles aren’t held on by nails. It’s usually a torx screw or some very small bolts. But never nails.” I know. Isn’t it adorable when women talk about cars and shit? I patted her on the bottom and went outside to figure out what the problem was. I grabbed my toolbox, my iPod (yes I still have the damn iPhone), and one of those big ass 24-ounce cans of Schlitz and climbed into the truck.

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The Sunset Beach Diaries, 2010

We made it back. It took twenty-four straight hours on the road, but we did indeed make it back. Man, that’s a lot of driving. We never stop into hotels or anything, what with having several drivers to switch out, we can just catch up on sleep a couple at a time while the others are pulling shifts. We even let the kids drive for a while when we all got too tired to carry on. The closest we came to actual stopping down was this morning around 04:30, we pulled into a rest stop and just leaned the seats back for a few hours. Tampa Bay to North Dallas is just under 1200 miles though. And like I say every year, next year we’re flying.

We had a great time. We got rained out the first few days, so a lot of our time was spent up on the deck at mom and dad’s, or at Ka’Tiki Bar, where you’re basically outside, just covered with palm fronds. It’s nice, the Ones are Cold and there’s always live music. Not all of it is great, but it’s all at least tolerable. Not like the guy who plays the keytar at Caddy’s.

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Humanity’s Weird Beliefs

Have you ever wondered why some people latch onto certain things that make absolutely no sense, defy all logic and, furthermore, are most likely fake and gay? Here’s where you insert your own noun or quirky belief – mostly having to do with religions. But I prefer not delve into that here. I don’t want to offend anyone with talk about h- –SEVEN VIRGINS? SERIOUSLY? Sorry. That sort of slipped out. But no, I’m not really talking about religions. That’s just too easy. Sort of like traffic rants. Ahem.

No, what I’m more referring to is stuff like lore. Legend, rumor and hearsay. Like bigfoot. We’ve spent so many years looking for (and never finding any evidence of) this supposed big apish hairy monster that lives in the woods. Why? Well forget I asked that. People are humans. But the funny thing is that no one has ever seen bigfoot in real life. (Because he doesn’t exist…) No one. Has seen bigfoot. Yet some people still believe in him. Huh? It’s okay to want to believe. Hell, I’d love to think there are some crazy animals and monsters and shit living in the woods. That would make it that much more interesting. And that’s fine. I could invest my life in searching for them. That’s fine too. Maybe a little gay, but okay, at least you’re hanging out in the woods while you look for it. I would say don’t make that your primary focus – at least be doing something productive, like studying flowers or the elusive spotted humpback bumble wasp… But yeah, I could dedicate part of my life to the search for an awesome monster. But seriously? Believe in it before you find evidence?

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SpaceBrew Review: District 9

I finally watched District 9 a couple of weeks ago. It was nothing like I thought it would be. When I originally dropped it in my queue I was only vaguely aware of the plot. Here’s the plot summary from IMDB:

In 1982, a massive star ship bearing a bedraggled alien population, nicknamed “The Prawns,” appeared over Johannesburg, South Africa. Twenty-eight years later, the initial welcome by the human population has faded. The refugee camp where the aliens were located has deteriorated into a militarized ghetto called District 9, where they are confined and exploited in squalor. In 2010, the munitions corporation, Multi-National United, is contracted to forcibly evict the population with operative Wikus van der Merwe in charge. In this operation, Wikus is exposed to a strange alien chemical and must rely on the help of his only two new ‘Prawn’ friends.

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The Men The Women Can’t Avoid

I’ve often found myself considering the stars, the planets, space and the harmonic oscillation produced by a pair of bouncing breasts. I also spend a lot of time in thought about beers, breasts, buddies… So we’ve established that I’m a very considerate and thoughtful person. But am I a nice guy?

Most women I’ve dated in the past have said they thought I was an asshole when they first met me. I will admit that I’m very forward, I speak my mind, and I don’t really pull any punches. I sort of always just tell it like it is. If there’s something I don’t like about you (well, that actually involves me in some respect), I will let you know about it. If you don’t like it, I guess you’ll think I’m an asshole. I don’t deny that. Some people just don’t like my forwardity. (You like that noun?) And that’s fine. I’m not for everyone. But women are (at least in my experience) attracted to it.

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Another Week at Sunset Beach

Welcome back, everyone, from what was hopefully a glorious and wonderful Independence Day weekend. I, for one, can tell you that I was on the road for most of the weekend. That’s right, folks, I am NOT writing this live as of Monday morning. I’m writing it on Tuesday morning of last week, the day you all knew as June 29. I know, it seems crazy, but all writing is sort of like time traveling for the reader anyway. You read something that happened in your past, but was the writer’s present tense. It is a very powerful tool.

But yes, I am now (I hope, and by all means should be) in sunny Treasure Island, Florida for our Third Annual Watch Fireworks and Drink Beer On the Beach All Day While Women Bounce Around In Skimpy Bikinis Festival. The festival lasts about a week, and typically happens right around Independence Day weekend. Last year I attended and ended up married to a redhead. So some crazy stuff is known to happen during these soirees.

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Pusher Robot No Longer Moves Air

Part 2 of the Shover Robot Saga

After many calls to my father-in-law, I am now a certified Master Electrician. I’m also a certified Master Air Conditioner Repair technician. Siege is now also certified in these departments. So when I left you at the end of the last column, my air conditioner was not turning on and my microwave was out. It works fine, it just has that extra feature now that my red-haired wife found to be pretty shocking. Our new status here is this: my microwave is still out, my water heater is out, but my air conditioner is blowing cold mountain air, fresh from the Rockies.

I won’t go into details about how we got to that status, but – wait. Who am I kidding? Of course I will. That’s what I do here. I called an air conditioner company here in SpaceTown, and the dude told me I had either blown a fuse or a transformer on the air handler. I know how much a fuse is. But how much does a transformer cost? And I don’t mean one of the gay autobot types, but rather a Decepticon, like Megatron, Shockwave or Thundercracker. “Well we charge about 200 bucks for it.” Whew! You guys are proud of them puppies! I wasn’t happy about that, but I was determined to find out what was wrong myself. And not pay someone else to come out here and fix this shit for me. I like to be handy, you know. Just ask my red-haired wife how handy I get under the covers. :perv: Oh wait. That’s handsy

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Shover Robot No Longer Cooks Bacon

It’s funny how you never realize how much you count on your electric appliances until one finally comes alive, says, “PAK CHOOIE” and pushes your grandma down the stairs to protect her from the Terrible Secret of Space. Allow me to explain.

Saturday, 26 June 2010

Step, my red-haired wife, had decided that she needed to clean out the microwave oven, which is I guess what red-haired wives all over the world do. I don’t ever really pay much attention to it, so long as it reheats my bacon and my bacon-bacon burgers. Though lately it has begun to take on some of the physical properties of a cave, what with the brown rock stalactites that cling to its ceiling, and the rocky crevasses and stalagmites all over the walls and floor. The plates still fit in there, though they sort of sat at an awkward angle on the rocky surface… But I digress.

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Truth in Advertising

I’d like to talk with you about radio commercials. Well, I don’t really want to, but rather, I think we need to talk about it. Specifically, I think a message needs to be sent out to these radio advertisers. And the message doesn’t need to be long or complex, or deep. I just want to say a couple of words. Namely, “I don’t give a flying AIDS-infested skunk’s ass what your damn name is!”

Wow, it feels really good to get that off my chest.

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A New Forum for Old Taste

I’d like to draw everyone’s attention to the links over there on the right side of your screen. The little orange ones in the box titled ‘Navigate’. If you haven’t noticed, there are two new links there. Stories takes you to the short stories page, which is something I will be concentrating on pretty heavily over the next few weeks. And Forums is a brand new project. I opened up the SpaceBrew forums so people have a — well, a forum in which they can rant, rave or just read. When the comments section of a column isn’t enough, go open a new thread in the forums.

There are two categories right now on the board; one is the Discussion area, and the other is tentatively titled Media. I may or may not keep that one in place. But for now, it’s there. Inside the Discussion, there are three forums. Your Dose of Humanity is the main one. This is a place where you can post a new topic about anything you want, and get your own responses and interaction going. It’s pretty much an open forum to post whatever topics you want. The SpaceBrew Review is a home for site discussion. If you have something to say about a column someone wrote, or about the technical and design aspects of the main website, this is where you post. The third is Your Chance To Shine, which is a place for those who would like to try their hand at writing.

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Team-Building Events That Work

The other night, while sitting outside with Siege, our discussion rounded upon the topic of women at work. We work with some cute women. Don’t know how many of them are “chicks” by Haycomet’s definition, but there are probably eleven women to every one man in our building. I’d say that’s pretty good odds if you’re single. Which he is. Ahem, ladies. So anyway, I came up with what I think is an excellent idea to break the ice a little and get things moving if you’re wanting to meet some people and find out more about them.

This also applies to building that “team feeling” you get at one of them really good jobs. A lot of companies out there are really suffering in the trust and teamwork departments. Now don’t go looking for the “teamwork department”. It’s just a phrase, dude. But if you work in one of these unfortunate places where the sexual tension is just through the roof and the executives oppress your right to free love in the bathroom stalls and network closets, you should definitely read on.

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A Newfound Fear of the Wind

Once upon a time, I stumbled upon an opportunity that put me within reach of complete and utter insanity. The promise of excitement and adventure also lurked quietly nearby, but when you start adding and multiplying fear with terror and a little bit of horror, the insanity looms much larger. And that’s ultimately what I only just avoided, while merrily breezing through the adventure. For I had found a cave.

And I’m not talking about the Carlsbad Caverns. That shit is artificial and bi-curious at best. I mean, really? Hand rails? Yeah so what for tourists; I think they should have to crawl and climb through there like Harvey Carlsbad when he discovered the damn thing. There are lights drilled into the ceiling for Elephant’s sake. No, I’m talking about the cave in West Texas where we found the skulls. Oh, I haven’t told you about that? Well allow me to elaborate.

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The Beer CANundrum

My friends and I have this hobby we like to refer to as “Sitting Out On The Patio Drinking Beer”, which involves sitting out on the patio, drinking beer. We do this quite frequently. And we, being men who drink beer frequently, can drink a lot. So that you’ll know what a lot is, let me tell you what a lot is. When Siege shows up with a 30-pack, he sets it next to the 30-pack Two-Step brought home when she went by the Target’s earlier. So we have sixty beers in the SpaceFridge, which is a pretty good amount. Between the four of us – that’s Two-Step, Stout, Siege and me – that’s about fifteen beers apiece. I’m not saying we drink all sixty in one night. But I’m also not saying we don’t.

See, sometimes, Haycomet and Byron, Fletcher and Julie, Rines and TL, Bill and Amanda – sometimes they come by too. And sometimes they all come over. Sometimes Captain McRight will even come by. What I’m getting at here is that when that many people come over, sixty beers split twelve ways suddenly isn’t that much beer. We’re talking somewhere around five apiece. You know what that means? It means someone’s making a beer run. We’ve been known to drink as many as two 30-packs and a case in one night between our group. On a typical weekend, we go through an average of around 130 beers or so. That’s a lot of damn beer.

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No More Nuts On My Elbows

Well I hope you all enjoyed the last two days, with our two newest writers. What a delightful treat, yeah? Now if we can get them to keep writing, that will be the trick. But you know what encourages them? What motivates them? Responses. Keep posting your comments and letting us know how we’re doing here. I know, I know, Siege ranted about a traffic incident. It’s long been an unspoken law around here that we don’t talk about traffic. But I quite like his perspective on it, not actually coming out and calling the guy a douchebag, but rather implying he is one by saying his helicopter is in the shop. I see those every morning. And they’re usually driving H2s or H3s. Yeah, I said it. You drive a Hummer, you’re a douche. Simple math.

Stout and I were talking last night about the haircut, and how it costs so much damn money. You know, the price of the haircut is going up every year. And I should know, because I only get mine cut twice a year. I despise going to the barber shop. Again, I don’t mind a male barber, or necessarily prefer a female barber… It all comes down to the one question you face when you’re about to have to choose though: “Do I want nuts on the elbow, or boobs on the shoulder?” And of course, at that point, I always have to swing toward the she-barber’s chair. But the nuts on the elbow isn’t why I hate getting my hair cut. I think it’s the act of sitting there for fifteen minutes, paying fifteen dollars for a shitty haircut that I could have done myself, better. Seriously. No, really. I really do cut my own hair most of the time. I don’t do a great job on the fade in the back, but the top part with the scissors? Man I got that shit down.

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Techmophobia

Have you ever had to provide technical support to anyone? Namely someone in their 40s or 50s? Well, if you have, you have probably noticed they had what I like to refer to as ‘Technophobia’. The root word of that is ‘tech’, which comes from the Latin word ‘teach’, which means to show someone how to do something. The ‘phobia’ part comes from the ancient Korean word ‘phear’ which means you’re afraid of something. So basically they’re afraid to teach something. Wait. I messed that up. You know what? Forget it.

What I’m saying is that most 40- and 50-year-olds are “afraid” of “techmology”. And I don’t mean they think the computer is going to wake up at night, start saying “PAK CHOOIE” and push grandma down the stairs. What they’re afraid of is that they will mess something up if they even dare click the Tools menu with the mouse button. And what this results in is technical support calls, wherein I am called upon to perform a rudimentary service on a machine to which I have no physical access. Usually when I’m sitting on a beach with a can of Corona in my hand and several pretty ladies dancing in their bikinis (or out of them) for me. Or when I’m on the back patio with a can of Bart’s Backyard Brew in my hand with my wife and all her hot friends dancing for me in their bikinis.

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Malt Liquor for my Truckers

I never told you about the time I was coming back from Abilene and a truck driver road my ass, did I? It was late at night, I was heading to Dallas and it was dark. Mainly because it was late at night. But it was also raining. And I was driving a shitty little four-cylinder Chevy Cavalier. And I had a truck driver riding my ass. So I will tell you all about it now.

He was riding my ass, kind of like someone would ‘ride your ass’ if you were giving them a piggy-back ride. Basically, this big ass semi was drafting off me. I don’t remember what had set him off, if anything, but something made him decide he was too cool for school, and he owned the road. And for some reason, he got on my ass. I think he was just screwing with the small car on the highway, because there was no other traffic that late at night. Maybe he was looking for something to do to keep him awake between jerking off in his sleeper at truck stops.

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Remember Memorial Day

So how was your Memorial Day? Did you remember? I know most of you did. And most of us remember by drinking beer and grilling out. Any kind of meat seems to be appropriate. Any kind of beer seems to be appropriate. And as long as a swimming pool is involved, people are enjoying the hell out of their Memorial Day. But are we really remembering why it’s even called Memorial Day? I hope so.

I know Siege dressed in his full Class-A Marines dress uniform and visited the Dallas Memorial Cemetery. He went to pay his respects to those who have fallen in the line of duty. Stout and I were going to go as well, but it was too short notice, and we found ourselves lacking parts of our uniforms. But that won’t happen again. Next holiday we will be ready.

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Why SpaceBrew Was Down

Another good title for this column would be “Why You Should Never Host With HostMonster”. Or even another good one might be something like “HostMonster And The Incredible Display Of Incompetence, And How They Are So Disinterested In Their Customers That They Would Rather Cancel Their Accounts Than To Make Money, So I Don’t Know How They Even Stay In Business, But They Should Probably Be Shut Down, Bombed, Or Both”. That would be a pretty long title, but it gets the point across. So let me tell you what happened.

Now this is pretty high-tech stuff, and I have to admit, I wouldn’t understand it if I hadn’t been in IT for fifteen years, and spent four years as an Internet Systems Engineer. So I don’t expect you to get it all, but I’ll try to use some awesome analogies. But I absolutely must write about this, because they pissed me off so bad I almost went postal on them. Through Live Chat. Yeah. It was that bad. Read on, dear friends, loved ones and enemies. Come with me on a little journey of customer disservice, ridiculous policy and guarantees of dissatisfaction.

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iPhone, it’s over between us.

First of all, I’d like to take a moment to stop down and say happy birthday to my insanely, ridiculously gorgeous wife. She’s officially a cougar as of today. Aside from that, yes, we’ve already had her birthday party. We had a combined party yesterday and killed one bird with three stones when we celebrated Stout’s, my sister Lisa’s and Two-Step’s all at once. That’s how we do.

So an update on the iPhone front: yes, it’s really over this time. I finally got fed up with the Kin. It was too much like a toy, or a child’s phone. I mean, seriously, no calendar? Even my old junk ass flip-phone had a shitty calendar on it. I tried, guys. I really did. I tried so hard to like this phone. I lied to people. I lied to my wife. “Ah, no, honey, I love this phone! Come on now! Look at how cool it is!” But it was all just lies. I always hated it. I like the way it looks and the way it puts your Facebook and your Twitter all right there on the home screen. I like – well, I guess those are about the only two things. I couldn’t take it anymore.

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Happy Birthday Hard to Come By

Wednesday was Stout’s birthday. So Siege and I took him out to the Works to have a few drinks, look at some girls, have a few laughs – you know, the usual birthday celebration that real men do. Real men. And we had a good time. That’s one of the main reasons we like going to GameWorks is because it’s typically totally douche-free. They only allow 21 and up in the bar itself, so there’re no 17- and 18-year-olds hanging out being retarded and thinking they belong at all. It’s a cool place, and it’s got some soul. They serve good cold beer and the bartenders are pretty.

So anyway, we hung out there and closed the bar down (they close at 11. I know. Gay.) so we rolled out to Nick’s to maybe shoot some pool and have a couple more Cold Ones before we called it a night. And that was where we made our mistake.

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I’m sorry, iPhone. I want you back.

I haven’t been using the phone part of the iPhone for the last six months or so. So I guess I’ve basically been carrying around an i. Heh. I got tired of AT&T’s bullsh, so I switched to someone with a more reliable network, and an altogether more affordable calling plan. Paying 200 bucks a month just so I can look cool carrying around my iPhone is ridiculous. Because I still didn’t look that cool. Not once did some hot chick with big boobs come bouncing up to me and say, “OMG you are so hot with that there iPhone, space.” So I dumped them.

So this other company, which starts with a V and rhymes with ‘horizon’ charges me 15 bucks a month to do all this great shit. Well, the phone was just a flip phone though, and – well, it didn’t have apps and all that glorious iPhoney stuff on it. Sniff. So I’ve been carrying around my iPhone and my phone. There’s just no service on my iPhone, so it’s like in permanent airplane mode. Which is cool. I mean, it’s like an iPod touch with a camera on it. Zing! So I’ve been pretty happy. Then came last week, when I made the mistake of my ife. (Get it? Ife? Like the beginning of iPhone… Yeah? No? Okay. Sorry, read on.)

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I don’t believe in the Goat Man.

After a weekend like I just had, you want to write about it. And the funny thing is, I happen to have a website, so I think I will. Saturday, Byron and Hayley and Step and I went to the horse races out in Grand Prairie. And now I can say with a cute little smirk on my face that yes, dear readers, I did bet on the Preakness. They had nine other races there at the Lone Star Park, but the Preakness was simulcast. You know, shown on the big screen across the track. It wasn’t near as exciting as the local races.

But we had good beer, great fun, and placed a few bets on the races themselves. I only won a few hundred thousand dollars, so it’s not that interesting, and I won’t go into details. Just suffice it to say, the Ones were Cold and the Sun was Hot. Whatever. The point is that we went to the damn horse races and that was the first time I’ve ever bet on them.

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Here’s To Tradition

Well we did our annual remembrance of Doug Adams on Tuesday night, with a few minor changes. Now the tradition is to setup six pint glasses and fill them all, then you drink them all. Not much to the drinking part. You can slug them if you want, or you can savor them. Either way is fine, because in the book, Ford Prefect slammed his and Arthur Dent sort of just sipped on it. Hell, he didn’t even finish his three before his house got knocked down.

Well we’ve got some new blood in our crew now. Stout and I have been practicing this ritual since the year after Douglas passed away. Well now we have Two-Step and Siege in the group. Two-Step sort of has to be there since she’s my wife and all, and I really sort of don’t like doing anything without her these days. The whole “existing” part of existence gets pretty shitty when she’s not around. And Siege, my newest partner in crime, has decided to become a member of the Brotherhood. Well, that is after we invited him to. Not just anyone can decide to get in, you see. Anyway, yeah, so there you have it. Our two newest members of the group.

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Seriously, dudes. Save the trees.

Does anyone read the yellow pages? Okay, that’s not what I mean. I know no one reads it! Haha! That would be a boring ass read, amirite? Yeah. Seriously. But yeah, no, see, yeah what I meant to say was, does anyone use the yellow pages? Yeah, see that’s what I thought.

I used to use them all the time. I’d pop one in Callie’s seat so she could reach the table. But I haven’t actually opened the yellow pages since – well, shit, I don’t think I ever have. Why would I? I have an iPhone. I have google 411. I have the Internets. That’s all free. And faster. And last I checked, no trees had to die to support the internet. So please, Southwestern Bell, save the paper. Save the trees. And stop sending me the stupid yellow pages.

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The Best Acting. Ever.

Good morning, Brewers. Today I’d like to list out my top three favorite acting scenes of all time. Too often (like once a year) we see the grammy awards or oscars or whatever the hell award show it is that hands out awards for movies… I guess that lends proof that I don’t watch them… and we always see Best Actor, Best Picture, etc. And yeah, while I agree that Phillip Seymour Hoffman was masterful in Truman Capote, there just wasn’t really one scene that stuck out in my head as being just insanely awesome acting.

This might be hard to get across with flat text but I’ll try. There’s that one scene in that one movie that you’re probably thinking about right now. That one that just sends chills up your spine and makes you say, “Oh my word. That was effing brilliant.” And it might even bring tears to your eyes. Well that’s the scene I’m talking about. Here are my top three.

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Back to Our Roots

Happy Cinco de Mayo, friends! This year, it happened to fall on May 5th, which happens to be a hump day. Couldn’t have asked for better timing! And you can’t ask for a better topic than what I have for you today: music. I like music. In fact, some have said that I even “like it a lot”. I listen to all types of music, and don’t really tie myself down to one genre. Heck, I’m not even one of those guys who says, “I listen to everything except rap,” or “country”. I listen to it all – as long as it doesn’t sound like a bunch of untalented bullsh. There are some rap and even some R&B songs that I dig quite well. I’m very open-minded. Now one thing I cannot stand is that assy sounding crap where the R&B singer just holds out a syllable and tries to hit every note in the scale. You know what I’m talking about? Listen to the Fugees’ Killing Me Softly cover if you’re not sure. That crap makes me want to murder music in the face.

But other than that, yeah, I think I’ve made my point. I like music quite well. But here’s what this column is about: sometimes I like to break into a certain style reminiscent of times gone by. You know. Something like that. And here’s how I really explain it: I am not one who takes a radio with me when I go camping – even though I love and live and breathe music. I go camping to get away from techmology. I don’t want to be bothered by radio waves. But there is a growing list of music I would be okay with hearing while I sit round a campfire drinking Cold Ones and enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. Let me show you this list.

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Where-Fi?

I’m sitting here writing this column on Friday night. I will schedule it for publication as soon as I finish it, for Tuesday morning, the 4th of May. Why, you may ask, am I sitting here writing a column on Friday night when I could be out slipping warm ones into garters and Cold Ones down my gullet? Well, like I told you on Friday’s column, I’m in the hospital with my recovering wife. No, that wasn’t a joke. She really did get surgery. No, it wasn’t really a whoopie cushion. But wouldn’t that be bad ass?

She’s doing well, I guess, or as well as well can be after getting gutted like a fish. She just went for her first walk and made it like twenty feet before having to turn around. She’s hurting pretty bad. And I know you guys probably think I’m an asshole for not tying her gown up in the back for her, and – in fact – telling her it was tied in the back. But I just figured I could give a little back to humanity. And that’s a good way to do it. The Hispanic family in the hallway sure appreciated it.

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The Art of Taxism

Happy Friday Morning, Brewists. Today is not only the last Friday of the month, it’s also Arbor Day. And my sources are also telling me that it happens to be National Oatmeal Cookie Day. I hope it’s a good day for all of you. For me, it’s one of those mixed emotion days. For today, as you’re sitting here reading this, I am in the hospital by my wife’s bedside as she undergoes surgery. She’s having her bladder replaced by a whoopie cushion (so she can hold more pee) and she’s finally having a computer chip put in like the one I got. That way we can text each other, keep track of where we are in the supermarket (what’s so super about the market, anyway, amirite?) and various other important tasks so many of you take for granted. But yes, she’s getting some new stuff put in and some maintenance done on her CPU, so keep her in your prayers.

In other news, it is indeed April 30. The Last Day of April. How many of you just had to touch your knuckles to verify that? I sure did. Thank God our knuckles were made like they are so they line up with the months. But being April 30, you know what that means. It means it’s time to start getting all of our stuff together to get ready to file our taxes. Because tax day is coming up soon. Now we’ve discussed several holidays here on the Brew here lately. Trash Day Eve, Camping Day, National Period Awareness Week, International 14″ Monitor Appreciation Day, etc. You remember them. But notice I did not capitalize tax day. Number 1, it is NOT a holiday. And B, the IRS is the only group who celebrates it. The rest of us hate it. (The IRS, not tax day.)

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Top Five Camping Must-Haves

My wife and I (and most of my close personal friends) are avid campers, as most of you who aren’t my close personal friends probably know. And those who are close but are not personal might know as well. But definitely not those of you who are personal but not close. Wait. Let me go through that again. Those of – you know what? Forget it. Let’s move on.

But yeah, anyway, as I was saying, we are pretty serious when it comes to camping. We like to be prepared. Now I say we, actually here I probably mean “me” or “I”. I like to be prepared. And of course, my wife and buddies tag along. I know they like to be prepared too, but not to the extent where people would laugh at them. Like they laugh at me. Yes, they mock me for having a shower box full of shower supplies, toothpaste, medicines, soap, Q-tips®, tampons, razors and everything else you could ever need in the medicine and bathroom department. This also includes the first-aid kit. Bandages, snake bite kit, water purifiers, needle and thread for Rambo-style arm sewings, fingernail clippers, triple antibiotic ointment, anti-diarrheal pills and, well, you get the idea. They laugh at me that I carry a convenient box with all this stuff in it, neatly organized, but then who’s laughing when they get bit by a snake? Or need good clean shave? Or have to sew up a wound on their arm? Huh? Who’s number one now, bitches?

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No More Goodbyes

I promise – no more farewell letters. I do think it’s important to let you all know when I plan to take a hiatus. But if you look back through the history of this site, you’ll find several ‘goodbye, this is it, no more columns’ type columns. It’s getting to be like the little boy who cried. A very relevant imageAm I rite? I have never lost the passion for writing. I just sort of go through seasons. It’s actually quite annoying, because that’s the way I am with all of my hobbies. Camping is conveniently appropriate, because I don’t like to do much camping in the winter. But I find myself going through periods lasting months where I don’t even pick up my guitar.

I do plan on writing some more here. Maybe even frequently. We shall see. I am presently contacting several people I think would fit in well here among the pages of the Brew. I think you’ll be hearing some more from Captain McRight and maybe even Stout. But I’m also lining up some new writers from whom you’ve not yet heard. We’ll see what happens. I’m not counting my wolves yet. We will have some good fresh content up here though, you can take that to the eggs.

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Keep On The Grass

Well for the last two months I’ve been away from Geek Squad, settling into my new job, and loving it. No more people approaching the counter demanding refunds for the laptop that just “stopped working” with the promise that there’s “no way in hell” they dropped it, and oh, what’s this crack in the LCD? Well that stuff just happens. Or it came like that. Or software did that. :rolleyes:

Anyway, it’s nice not to have to deal with the brunt of society’s idiots on a daily basis. Now I provide desktop and server support to all the clinics for the company for which I work, but really there are no stupid people here. There are those who have no idea what’s what in the world of techmology, but they’re sensible people. This is, after all, the medical industry. And I love it. So why am I writing? Ah, you know me. I don’t write about things when I’m happy about them.

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Introducing SpaceBrew Radio

Well, it finally happened. I finally branched out into the final facet of media into which I had not yet tapped: radio broadcasting. I’ve been on television, I’ve made records, I’ve written books, and I’ve been writing my life on this here site for some ten years now. But I’ve never had my own radio show. Well, now I do.

I don’t expect it to be anything big. I’d like to think we’ll get ten or fifteen listeners a week, but we’re really just here to have fun. So here’s the format: talk/rock. Nothing fancy. See, I don’t have an ASCAP or BMI broadcast license to play other people’s music. At least not yet. I don’t know if I’ll go there. I don’t need to get licensed so I can play music you can hear everywhere else. But I wouldn’t mind being able to play a song or two if we’re talking about it or something. Anyway, I may or may not grow into that.

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