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Monthly Archives: July 2008

Every once in a while, you’re surfing YouTube on a Sunday morning cause you’re too awake to go back to sleep but too tired to get anywhere beyond the computer lab across the street, and you have a mild headache, and you realize (yet again) that the weekend’s almost over and you’ve accomplished none of what you promised yourself you’d do, and being alive feels momentarily like a frustrating, pointless trial. But then YouTube hits you with something unexpected and wonderful, and you think to yourself: Hot Damn, I love Sunday mornings.

I actually like this version better than the album one, which is saying a good deal, considering my less-than-subtle feelings about that particular album. But I think it works better when she sings it like this. The themes here are a little more mature than the other ones on the album, and so I think a deeper voice and weary tone are fitting.

I also have Georgia pictures.

This is not one of them, though. My stop-over on the way home was in Salt-Lake City, and it was beautiful, actually. I’ve been told that up close the city is super-boring, but from afar it’s nice. 80 degrees, no humidity, and desert draped over the mountains behind the business district like a throw blanket on an especially jagged piece of furniture. I’d like to see the place in winter.

Going South on 400 at the Dawson-Forsyth county line.

So I haven’t really seen much of my Gramma the last few times I’ve been home. She drives my mom insane, so she tries to keep her visits to a minimum. But since I had an entire week with nothing to do, and she doesn’t work, we decided we’d spend an afternoon together, and it was a surprisingly nice time. She’s a good deal less senile than my mom worries, and we actually had a really good conversation about Oregon and relatives in Mississippi (“He’s not going to live in Jackson? But where the hell in Mississippi do you live if you don’t live in Jackson?” “…the Delta, I guess.” Nice one, Gramma.) and how much her part of Dekalb county is being developed lately. (She was excited about the new TJ Max; I was very sad about it).

Mountain excursion! This is Blairsville, near Brasstown Bald. I stopped to pick up some snacks at the Bi-Lo before heading home, and it was very clear that every single teenage mother in that grocery store felt strongly that I did not belong there. Seeing me climb into an eggplant-colored Lexus convertible (thanks, Dad) with my groceries probably did not do much to change that impression.

My dad took me to Chattanooga for a day to show me his new office there. He seems pretty convinced that I am going to move back and work there someday, which is funny in the way that people who think Jesus is going to come back and take all of the righteous people to heaven is funny.

He did make an awfully persuasive case, though. One of the sales people there had a 1930s craftsman bungalow in the trendy part of town.  The next sentence I am about to type is getting its own paragraph; you’ll understand why when you read it.

He paid 89K for it. (Told you you’d understand.)

A house like that would go for 289 in Portland, bare minimum. That cocksucker is only 2 years older than me, and I can’t even afford to air condition my tiny studio. On the other hand, my hot and tiny studio is 2000 miles closer to the Pacific Ocean than his awesome, climate-controlled bungalow. I’m pretty sure that means I win.

The cool thing I didn’t realize about Lookout Mountain is that it actually straddles the Georgia-Tennessee line. So you can be driving down a winding residential street, and all of the sudden you see a Welcome to Georgia sign (on top of a mountain, no less). Then you turn at the stop sign, and you’re back in Tennessee (and still on top of a mountain). My dad and I are probably the only two people in the whole world who find this thrilling.

McDaniel Manor. Easily the best part of the trip. Nothing makes me more nostalgic for the Piedmont than coming down the driveway and seeing this house for the first time in months.

My dad and Pat are still unashamedly more emotionally forthcomming with their dogs than with other humans. The dogs still try to eat cat poop when no one is looking. All is right with the world.

Well, hello.

So I went the entire month of June without posting, which is a first for this blog.  My goal for blogging has always been at least to do one post per month.  So on the one hand, I’m dissapointed in myself for dropping the ball; on the other hand…eh.  Better that I spend my time doing shitty business school homework so I can try and actually finish something that I’ve started for once.   

Anyway, in the spirit of temporarily avoiding shitty business school homework by thinking up stupid crap(a la “The Gentlemen”), that might have been kind of funny had it been put in a screenplay about 10 years ago or so for some dumb-ass straight-to-video comedy, I present to you:

A REALLY CLEVER WAY TO GET YOURSELF SLAPPED IN THE FACE WHEN A LADY FRIEND RETURNS FROM THE BATHROOM WHERE THE SINK’S ERRANT FAUCET STREAM HAS SPRAYED THE CROTCH OF HER PANTS.

“Is that Niagra Falls hiding out in your panties, or are you happy to see me ?”

I further present:

A SORT OF CLEVER WAY TO TAKE YOURSELF TO TASK WHEN YOU TRY TO JUSTIFY MAKING UP JOKES THAT ARE IN POOR TASTE (INSTEAD OF DOING YOUR SHITTY BUSINESS SCHOOL HOMEWORK) BY TELLING YOURSELF THAT MAKING UP BAD JOKES IS PROBABLY AT LEAST AS INTELLECTUALLY ENRICHING AS SHITTY BUSINESS SCHOOL HOMEWORK.

“That may well be the case — but until PSU starts offering a BA in One-Liner Studies, you’d best suck it the fuck up and do your goddamn Organizational Behavior Case Study, Woody Allen.” 

Yeah. So that about sums up all of my accomplishments for today.  I tried to go to an open house at a 1-bedroom apartment on Hawthorne around noon, but there were already about 12 people lined up outside the building when I got there, all of them hipsters, so I got back on the bus to downtown and updated my blog to try to ease the feeling of hopelesness.  Even with an awesome credit score and good references, I can’t compete with the Hipster’s charms, that’s for sure.  I can’t even bring myself to appreciate creatively ironic facial hair — let alone to cultivate any. 

Georgia was a pretty good time despite the weather.  I took some pictures, and I will post them later this week.  I drove up and saw Brasstown Bald, and then thought some about how appropriate it was that I didn’t ever bother to see the highest point in the state until after I was no longer a resident.  These are the things I do when allowed to have a car all to myself.  Besides listen to a shit-ton of Linda Ronstadt, I mean.