Mardis Gras Madness

Last night was loads o' fun! It's really great to work every damned holiday in the universe, and your friends all have fun, and you get to sell alcoholic beverages to people who have had more than enough alcoholic beverages to feel better than you feel tired of working. The only parades I have seen this Mardis Gras are the parades of loons, drunks, fools and thieves that pass by, and they don't throw me something, mister.

Bridget sent me a money order for $100. She still owes me $330, but she is claiming that she only owes me $150. perhaps, in her alcohol and drug be-sotted brain, she actually believes her own bullshit, but I am cognizant enough of her ability to remember what other people owe her under such circumstances to doubt such an assumption. I think she just doesn't want to pay me what she owes me, and is trying to get off as cheaply as she can. Too bad: I used to think of her as one of my best friends. Selfish people are the bane of society. I think I shall attempt, in future, to recognise them, early on, and avoid them. I have been, after all, through the annealing fire.

A skanky black guy shoved a bottle of Bacardi 151 in his stinking pants and walked out last night. He got into a trashy car with the right rear window broken out and taped up with visqueen, and several of us watched them drive away. We are not allowed to stop thieves. They had taken the license plate off of the vehicle, so they were down to thieve. I called Perkins Rd. and told them to watch out for him. I hate a thief.

Almost got killed last night, going home. There is this weird guy who haunts the store all the time, and comes in just about every day for a can of beer. I think he is homeless, because I pass the bus stop over by Perkins and Acadian and see him crashed out there sometimes. He rides a bike, albeit slowly, wears an helmet with reflective tape on it, and has a myriad of things hanging around his neck: a radio, a lighter, a compass, and several other things (I don't have any idea what the hell they are). He's strange, but okay. One of the people I don't really mind seeing in my store; actually look forwards to seeing him.

Well, O Best Beloved, I was pumping my way home on Perkins Rd. about 10:20 PM or so, and had just passed him, and waved and yelled hello, as he was going the same way I was. I had got about 30m ahead of him, approaching the inlet to the car park in front of a local tavern called “The Caterie”, where, apparently, local denizens were gathering to celebrate the holiday. Two vehicles turned left as I approached. As I reached the driveway, a third vehicle, a monstrous silver Suburban, cut left, directly in my path.

I was doing about 20 mph, so it was too late to brake. I cut right about 45 degrees, as far as I could, without losing control, and dropped two gears and hit it as hard as I could. He braked, but not in time. He missed my leg by a scant foot. Thank God, the kerb I hit was one of the old slanty ones, and not at a right angle (that would have pranged my wheel to hell and thrown me over the horns). I wound up skidding to a stop in the grass about 2 m from the driveway.

Of course, he just drove on, as if nothing happened. I had had a split-second when I imagined my left leg cracking like a twig, under the onslaught of his bumper. Having had my right leg broken in an accident before, I cannot recommend the feeling to you. The sound is like a dulled pop, like a firecracker under water, but you feel it all the way up into your groin. When I skidded to a stop, that memory was quite vivid in my brain. I unleashed a chain of invective that would make my sainted Irish mother proud. I considered going back, dragging out of his fucking gas-guzzler and beating him into a bloody pulp, but then cold reason stepped in. I stopped at the signal at Acadian Thruway, the next block.

Well, the weird guy stopped right behind me. I yelled, “Didi you see that stupid motherfucker? I almost got killed!” He said, “Yeah. I didn't think you were going to make it.” If he had broken my leg, I would be in hospital now. I would be off work for at least a month. I would lose my job. I would lose my apartment. My cats would be homeless, and I would be sleeping behind buildings again, as I was when Bridget first fucked me out of the money she owes me.

Which brings me back to the theme of this post: I will, never again, ever, in my life, put others' fortunes ahead of my own. Not to say that I am not a good and generous man: I am. Not just tooting my own whistle, either: ask anyone (besides Bridget and her trained Chihuahua). One small accident, one slip, one tiny interference with my daily routine of work, and I can be right back where I was before, sleeping behind buildings. I know that. I cannot allow that to happen.

Which is why I will get what I am owed, or the Devil will get his due.


HBCG Stats: 2 KOCs, 1 QT, 0 Mhs, 2 CHK and 0 C-10s. What a bust!

Some Goofy Shit

Got home last night and took a shower. A friend came by and brought some food with him, so I cooked it for him on the stove and then tutored him in French, which he is taking and having trouble with, especially the pronunciation. He asked me if I would tutor him on a regular basis and I said okay. He told me he would pay me in food, which I said was just fine, as I really have nothing at home right now except a few oranges and a bunch of damned MREs that I really don't want to tap into unless I have to (especially after living off them while I was homeless).

Of course, should Bridget come through with what she owes me, as she promised to, then I can afford to get something to take home and cook tonight and I will be able to go down to the Bet-R store on Kahlurah first thing tomorrow and pay my utility bill, which means that by the time I get home tomorrow night, I shall have electricity again (yay). Of course, this all depends upon Bridget doing as she promised she would, which is problematic. I am not holding my breath.

Travis texted me from New Orleans: they are going to watch Endymion tonight. I am at work. I don't get a day off until Thursday. For the past two weeks, I have worked seven days straight, with one day off. I need the money, though, so I'm not complaining. At least I have Sunday off, because I really, really need to do wash, and I would like to get something decent to eat for a change. I've been living off next to nothing recently. I shall be so glad to get my income tax back: that will catch me up. Maybe I can even afford a luxury or two. That's at least two weeks away, though. All I've had to eat today is half a bag of potato chips that someone else didn't want at work. At least I have cat food, but I really need to get litter soon. I hate having to scrape like this.

Travis gave me a couple of these weird catalogues full of goofy shit. They've got all kinds of crap that is of dubious usefulness and value that you can order by mail. One of the weirdest things is the “Snuggie”, this freaky “blanket with sleeves” that they plug on TV, too. I can just imagine someday, that there will be Snuggie fetishists, probably riding Hoverounds. They look like something cult members would wear. Of course, the back of the Snuggie is open, like those awful hospital gowns, which would facilitate rear entry.

They've got the Ultrasonic Pest Repellers, too, which are totally useless. My mother had great faith in them and gave me two for my apartment, years ago. I decided to take one apart, after I'd had it for awhile, and found that roaches had taken up residence in it. There are butt-slimming (and padding) devices, copper and magnetic thingees that miraculously cure joint pain, foot plasters that “draw” toxins out through the soles of your feet while you sleep, foot alignment socks, hair-growing cream, the Miracle Haircutting Umbrella, all manner of personal vibrators and stuff to make your pee-pee hard, listening devices (not intended for eavesdropping), “cell phone” stun guns, plus “collector's editions” of everything from coins to Bowie knives. Most of this junk is absolutely useless to the average human being. Where does this crap come from? Obviously, someone took the time to dream up this junk, and at least some of it must be selling, because they keep sending out these catalogues, and they offer free shipping. It's bizarre.

Granted, there are some products that might actually work, like the Ronco food dehydrator, but why would anyone buy a pound of “wheat” pennies (about 120 coins) for $19.99? Why would you pay $ .17 for a penny? And the digital slide/negative scanner that plugs into your USB port sounds like it could be useful, but does the solar-powered ultrasonic gopher chaser really work? The collapsible hand truck might come in handy, but does anyone really need inflatable vibrating leg and foot massagers, and will the “powerful hydrodynamic (?) magnets” in the “Fuel Optimiser” actually “break apart clusters of fuel molecules” and improve gas mileage?

Crack open one of these catalogues, and it's like entering an alternate universe.


HBCG Stats for the evening: 4 KOCs, 5 Qts, 3 MHs, 9 CHK and 0 C-10s. Ho-hum.

Lost in Space

It was incredibly busy last night. I got to take a 30 minute break and ate an $ .89 pot pie (yay). Didn't move from behind the register again all night. Wasn't a bad night for eye candy, though (see last night's stats). Got the laptop at work again, so I can charge it and my phone. Not having electricity sucks donkey dicks. Watched one and an half segments of “Rome” last night before my battery finally died, and then I re-inflated my deflating bed and went to sleep. Of course, I had to wake up about 3 hours later and pump it back up.

I woke up when Yang ran over my head while they were playing chase. Went to feed them and, lo and behold: they had gotten into the bag of cat food and spread it all over the floor. I don't know why, because they had plenty of food in their bowl. So, I cleaned up as much as I could before I took my shower and got ready for work.

I miss Adult Swim. I also miss going online. I haven't been because it drains my battery so quickly. I watch Hulu as much as I watch television, and I watch a lot of the old TV series “Lost in Space”, which all the kids watched when I was growing up. I had a terrible crush on Billy Mumy, the adorable redhead with blue eyes who played the son, Will Robinson. We are the same age, actually. So, I had my first crush on a boy when I was about 11 and so was he, only we never actually met. I wasn't so sure what I would actually DO with him, if I ever met him (I was 11, after all), but I thought he was the cutest boy I had ever seen. After the series, he continued playing music, which he always loved and went on to work on several other Sci-Fi series, notably “Babylon 5”. He recently remarked, on his website, that he had spent 50 years in entertainment, and what a good time he had had. He is married, with grown children, and still plays music. I wonder what he would think, if he read this.

Anyway, “Lost in Space” was a creation of Irwin Allen, who did all those cheesy disaster movies in the 70s, like “Towering Inferno” and “Poseidon Adventure” (possibly Travis' favourite movie of all time). He had a successful series at the time called “Voyage to the bottom of the Sea”, about an high-tech submarine with windows in front, called, eponymously enough, the “Seaview”. He wanted to do a space series based on the book “Swiss Family Robinson”, which had been made into a film by Disney a few years previously.

Allen decided that he wanted to do something unique with the score for the series. Rather than having an opening theme and just incidental music and stabs to accentuate the action, he decided to hire a composer to write a kind of leitmotif score, with specific themes for specific characters and situations. He had heard about a young composer out in Hollywood, a fellow named Johnny Williams, who had scored several films and gotten some attention, so he approached Williams about his project and Williams signed on, even though, as he told Allen, he had never scored anything in the Sci-Fi genre before.

The show ran for three seasons, from 1966 to 1969. It was watched by a budding young filmmaker out in California who had this idea to make a sweeping space drama. After working on a number of films and directing and producing a low-budget dystopian fantasy, “THX-1138”, George Lucas got enough funding to produce “Star Wars” , even though the studio had doubts that a “space opera” would make any money. He was looking for a composer to write a leitmotif score for his story, which he had already had decided would be a series of at least six films, and he wanted unifying themes to run through them all. I don't know if he did, but I rather think he thought back to Irwin Allen and “Lost in Space” , because he called up Johnny Williams, who had dropped “Johnny” for the more mature “John”, and asked him if he would consider the project. Williams agreed, and the rest is cinematic history.

George Lucas had a friend who was also a director, named Steven Spielberg, and they kicked an idea around for awhile, to do a series of films based on the old cliffhanger serials of the 30s and 40s. Of course, they hired John Williams to do the scores for the “Indiana Jones” films, starring Harrison Ford, who had worked with Lucas in the “Star Wars” films. John Williams became one of the highest-paid composers in history, with more Academy Award nominations than any individual other than Walt Disney.

And I still enjoy watching “Lost in Space” on Hulu. Watching Billy Mumy reminds me of that “first crush”, long before I even knew what “gay” was. It kind of takes me back to a gentler time, before I knew much about the evils of the world, when a whole planet could be made out of papier-mache' and quirky aliens abounded, and nefarious space villains and hideous monsters could be defeated by the staunch heart of a little boy and his faithful robot companion.

HBCT stats for the evening: 12 KOCs, 10 Qts, 10 Mhs, 13 CHK & 1 C-10. And the last one was absolutely gorgeous ... 21, long, copper-coloured hair and blue eyes. To die for.

Magic Blog?

This was a shocker: Living Foods, Baton Rouge's oldest organic food store, on Perkins Rd., is shut for good. It was a great little store and I did a lot of business with them over the years. They simply couldn't compete with the big organic food chains like Whole Foods, which opened one of its mega-organic-marts on the corner of Corporate Blvd. and Jefferson Highway just over a year ago. I can't afford to even walk into Whole Foods: it is so expensive. I even applied for a job with them, but never heard back from them. It makes me feel sad to pass the old building and see it vacant.

Miraculously, I still have utilities. I am thinking maybe God finally decided to give me a break or two. Either that, or my blog really IS magic. I still don't expect it to last much longer. If it lasts until I can pay the bill, it will be a true miracle, kind of like my own private Chanukah. Maybe I'm just being silly. It wouldn't be the first time. Anyway, I'm going to test the "magic blog" theory:

It's really a bitch that, with all the lottery tickets I have bought over the years, the total amount I have ever won is about $60. The lottery is like a special tax on poor people: we are the only ones who play it consistently, because it offers false hope. I never seem to win any kind of contest. I am dutifully collecting all the Monopoly pieces I can for the store Monopoly game, but, if it works out like every other Monopoly game I ever played, I will get all of the pieces but one of each category, and never see the winning piece.

There. Now, if my blog is truly magic, I should win something. Hey, I don't really need to hit the Grand Prize: anything reasonably kewl will do, say, um, a widescreen TV or a grocery gift card. We'll see. Remember: this is not exactly a scientifical type experiment, although, if my blog turns out to be magic, I promise to use it for the Betterment of Mankind, and not just for personal gain. Yeah. Right.

Oh, yeah. For those of you interested, tonight's final count was:

2KOCs, 6QTs and 1MH, of which 3 were CK, and no C-Tens. God, I need to get laid!

Hot Guy Counting Game

Well, by some miracle, my utilities were still connected when I got home last night, so I had a hot meal of leftover chicken, fettuccine Alfredo and green salad. The power was still on when I left, too, so I had a hot shower and fed the cats and was at work for 4. Actually have my laptop with me at work: in case it is slow tonight, I can actually write a blog post from work, even if I can't post it, because there is no accessible signal.

It would be a minor miracle if, somehow, my utilities didn't get cut off until I can pay the bill, which will (with luck) be Tuesday. Bridget, after begging, cajoling and threatening, finally promised to pay me the $430 she owes me next Monday. If the utilities stay on until then, Entergy will get payed and I won't suffer needlessly. Of course, that won't happen: I expect any day now they will get around to cutting me off. Oh, well: a few days without power, after all I have been through is nothing. I can do that standing on my head. Of course, I'd rather not. It gives me headaches.

When I get bored (which is often), I amuse myself by keeping statistics on the hot guys who come in. This being a college town, there are more than a few. I have five categories of hot guys:

1.KOC (Kind of Cute): Meets minimum standards of do-ability. Has potential. Can be quirky.
2.QT (Cutie): Exceeds minimum standards: really easy on the eyes. The kind you remember.
3.MH (Major Hottie): Makes you actually drool. Probably out of your league, but you can still fantasize about him (and probably will). He's probably a conceited little bitch, too.
4.CHK (Chicken): of legal age, but young, like 17-22 and young-looking. Usually a lot of fun. I generally date guys in their twenties, but chicken is good for a snack now and then.
5.C-TEN (Chicken Tender): These range in age from about 12 to 16. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, SAMPLE CHICKEN TENDERS! They are not to touch, only to be appreciated. Eventually, they will ripen and attain maturity, but leave them alone for now. Of course, working in the Liquor department, I don't see many of these, but that's okay, as long as enough hot boys in the other categories come in.

Obviously, most guys will fit into at least two categories. For example, the count for last night was:

6 KOCs, 3QTs and 1MH, of which 3 were CHK and no C-TENs.

See how easy that was? It's fun, and you can play, too! Just keep count during the day and post me back your numbers, and we'll compare. I shall be posting my final numbers on my daily posts, and we can total them at the end of the month. Don't know about prizes, though.

Anyway, the total so far tonight is: 3QTs who were all CHK. The night is young ...

Will Wonders Never Cease?

I was on my way to work the other day and, lo and behold, the city had actually finished repairs on the bike trail bridge: amazingly, they completed it in just over two weeks. This, coupled with the two spots that actually had tarmac slapped on them on Perkins Rd., leads me to believe that I may have been sucked into the Twilight Zone. Of course, another plausible explanation is that I have a "magic blog", and anything I bitch about it is magically fixed. So, I decided to test this.

Okay: I don't have the money for the utility bill, so I am going to bitch about that and see if, magically, something will happen and my utilities won't get cut off before I can pay the bill. We'll see if that one works. Of course, I expect the electricity to be cut off tomorrow: I was kind of shocked to get home tonight and find it still on. If this works, I'll do the economy next. Reality is that I will probably spend a week without power, which means that I will have to get Travis and Fernando to keep my meager frozen goods. I've got some meat I can give them that won't last if the fridge isn't working. Bridget promised to give me the money she owes me next Monday, and that would pay the bill, with money to spare, if she actually does it that, in itself, would be a miracle.

Weather has been ridiculously warm: bike shorts and t-shirt weather. It has rained a lot, but I have been lucky to mostly dodge it. I would estimate that roughly half of the drivers I see on the road are on their cell phones. Many times, they don't pay attention to me or other traffic: I saw a driver on Perkins Rd. the other day barely miss the rear bumper of a pickup because he was on his cell, and a woman pulled out directly in front of me from a parking lot because she was on hers. What I saw today, as I left for work, really blew me away: a guy was coming down State St., the opposite way that I was heading, on a bicycle. The idiot was riding with one hand and texting with the other. No lie. You take your life in your hands every time you ride a bicycle on Baton Rouge streets: this imbecile must have a death wish. What a boob. I was flummoxed.

So, we'll see if. tomorrow night, when I get home, Entergy has miraculously neglected to cut off my power. It's a nice fantasy to drift off to sleep with, but I rather doubt it. Guess it will be MREs and take-away until I can afford to pay the bill. Oh well. I've had it a lt tougher than this.

Darwin and Duality

Okay. Thursday was the 200th anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln. It was also the 200th anniversary of the birth of Charles Darwin. One of Darwin's closest associates wasn a naturalist and self-tought anatomist named Thomas Henry Huxley. Huxley had a son, Leornard, who was a schoolteacher, who had a son named Aldous Leornard. Thomas Henry Huxley was such a staunch defender of Darwin's work that he was known as "Darwin's Bulldog". He was never totally conviced about natural selection, though he did finally admit that it was the best explanation availible at the time.

Aldous Huxley wrote the dystopian novel, Brave New World, borrowing heavily on the theories of Thomas Robert Malthus, who had greatly influenced Darwin, in fact, whose theories of population pressure and economy formed the basis for the idea of natural selection. At university, Huxley met Eric Blair, who became known for his pen-name, George Orwell, who also wrote a dystopian novel, 1984.

Okay. So, I worked all day yesterday, without even a break, because Ken didn't schedule anyone to work with me. It was busy as fuck all. Then, I had to be at work today, for 11:00. So, I worked three hours and went by Travis and Fernando's and Fernando cut my hair and we ate dinner and chilled for awhile. I finally left because I was tired and nodding.

Amazingly, in this day and age, in this, the Twenty-First Century, just last year, Gov. Bobby Jindal, darling of the conservatives, who was courted by John McCain himself, for Vice President, pushed for and signed into law a bill which mandated the teaching of "alternative" theories, alongside of evolution, in short: pseudoscience. This predigested fundamentalist crapola is referred to as "intelligent design", but it flatters itself needlessly. All it is is the Biblical account of creation, as found in Genesis, with a lot of loony theories tacked on. That anyone in this day and age should question evolution is, well, for want of a better word, wack.

So, anyway, Orwell meets writer and theologian C.S. Lewis. Meanwhile, Huxley, an early experimenter with LSD, publishes a book called The Doors of Perception, leading a California-based psychedelic band to christen itself "The Doors". Orwell and Lewis die on the same day, but their deaths are largely ignored because of the date: 22 November, 1963. Huxley expires a few years later. His last request is that his wife inject 100mg of LSD-25 into his veins, whch she does. What a way to go!

So, what's the point? Two men born on the same date in 1809 , or the fact that I really, really need a good spanking and a little sex too, please. Which is why I was glad that a friend whom I hadn't seen in a couple of years walked into the store last night: he is just as hot as he ever was, and he was really glad to see me. Hey, I got a haircut, now, so I look a lot sexier. I thank God every day for the evolution of my wee-wee. Really. Opposable thumbs can be useful, too, especially when you haven't had sex in 10 months or so. I just listened to "Riders on the Storm". Guess I'll have a good, long. slow wank and turn in.