Rants & Ravings From an Aspiring Daydreamer

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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