There's Vegetarian...

...and then there's NASHVILLE vegetarian.

Rob
(Menu shot at Pub 5, 5th Ave. off Broadway, Nashville. Delicious food, rooftop dining, whiskey specials, amusing typos)

Celeb Sighting...and Simultaneous Celeb Overlooking

So, a few hours before I started realizing that the world was a complete fabrication, Kathy and I were sitting in the airport waiting to board our plane, when the plane's previous occupants begin disembarking. And points to a guy in sunglasses, dressed mostly in black, and says, "That's Walton Goggins." Which it was -- one of my favorite actors (Shane Vendrell on The Shield, and now Boyd Crowder on Justified -- both nuanced, always surprising performances) had just left the plane and was walking right past us. I leaped to my feet to talk to him, and then immediately realized what a stupid idea that was. So I just smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. He gave me a little wave of acknowledgement and kept on walking.

Little did I realize, but I'm now 90 percent sure the guy next to me in the waiting area was also someone I admire... and have a couple of his albums, to boot. Bobby Lounge, an eccentric New Orleans piano player (he begins his performances by getting wheeled onstage in a prop iron lung, and keeps a nurse reading magazines at the edge of the stage while he plays piano), was two seats down. I even spoke to him for a minute, and never caught on. Thing is, somewhere I even have a picture of me with Bobby, taken during the last Jazzfest. And still, I only had the slightest ping on my radar that he was familiar... most likely because his picture isn't on his CDs.

But anyway, for your listening pleasure, here's "I Will," from Bobby's album I Remember the Night Your Trailer Burned Down.

Enjoy.





Rob

Dreamin' My Life Away

So I dreamed that my friends from the ol’ gun mag and I were trying to kill each other. Specifically, Jim the Bastard and I were engaged in some sort of road-rally deathmatch down I-95. And somewhere in Maryland, I had to pull over to get more gas, and I made the mistake of sitting down where I thought I was safe.

Now, the Bastard and I were both wounded… it had been a hell of a fight up to that point. And at the time I thought I was safe, I knew Jim was a few miles behind me. So I sat down in the rest stop, and out of nowhere, Chicago Jerkface (another mag friend) sits down right behind me and bap. bap. bap. Shoots me in the back of the head, three times with a .22.

Which, under normal circumstances, would kill me. But it being a dream, all I could feel were these three bb-like bullets in the back of my head, right around where my skull meets my spine. I knew I didn’t have long... and I knew I couldn’t trust myself to drive, because I could black out and endanger people. (Yes… I didn’t want to hurt anyone during my Interstate Murder Race.)

I spotted a cab, and asked him where the nearest hospital was. He said “3.2 miles,” and I said, “Good, because I’ve been shot in the back of the head.”

So I got in the cab, and we got back onto I-95. And there were horrific, horrific accidents wherever I looked. And yet my cabbie was able to skirt them or run over them, and at one point actually plowed through the flaming wreckage of a school bus. At some point, the cab changed from a normal taxi to a three-wheeled ATV towing a yellow motorcycle-like thing with wings, which I rode. The ATV couldn’t fly, but the passenger area could get a few feet in the air to hop over bodies and such.

At this point, the cabbie says, “Where to?” and I say, “The hospital in 3.2 miles, remember? I’ve been shot in the head?”

Turns out we’ve been going the wrong direction. But he knows another hospital nearby. We take some back roads to get there, and I start to think going to this other hospital is probably a good idea, because the Bastard and Jerkface won’t look for me there – they’ll be going to the closer hospital to finish me off. By the time the cabbie pulls up to this new hospital, however, I notice my family and some of my friends clustered outside the emergency room. I stumble off the back of the cab and onto a gurney. My old buddy Jeff opens his wallet and pulls out enough money to pay the cabbie… at least a fifty, and some other bills. I look up at him as I’m being wheeled into the ER and say, “Thanks, man. I had no idea how I was gonna pay him. You saved my life.”

And then I woke up for a couple minutes, and then I went back to sleep and dreamed that my grandfather was finally being released from prison. So a big night for dreaming, all around.

Rob

Livin' On a Prayer

Kathy and I headed south this weekend to celebrate my old friend Jeff's 40th birthday. We got caught in plenty of traffic (and had a long trip even under the best conditions) so despite setting out at 9 a.m., we made it to the lunch party at 2:30, missing the cheese course entirely. (Good for my cult, bad for my soul.)

My car doesn't have air conditioning, which wasn't a huge problem when I was thinking I'd be employed enough to trade it in, but as things stand, it looks like I'll be driving with the windows open for another hot summer. But for long trips, I need to remember to sunscreen up. My forearm is bright red, and the sting is only now finally starting to go away.

Afterward, Jeff, opened up his gifts, among them such reliable gags as chattering teeth and other reminders of how old we're all getting. But the biggest reminder for me is this: I remember my dad's 40th birthday party. My mom invited all his friend for a surprise party, sprung just as he and I returned home from an Indian Guides camping trip.

There were chattering teeth at that one, too.

I can't believe I'm only a few months away from hitting that milestone. It's weird -- it feels like if I hit that birthday, the first one that I really remember my dad having, then I must, by logical deduction, be a grown-up. We'll see about that, I guess.

Kathy & I spent the night at my brother & sister-in-law's, and got to play with our niece and nephew in the morning, and have some tasty barbecue, to boot. Then, we hit the road again, avoiding I-95 altogether, choosing instead to take 295 north and then route 40 north until the Delaware Memorial bridge.

Already feeling a bit like my dad, I suggested we stop at a liquor store before we left Delaware. We wound up hitting a small (very small) package store attached to a bar. The guy at the counter immediately introduced himself to us, and asked if we liked Bon Jovi. We gave a fairly non-committal answer, and he said "You're looking at their new drummer."

The story goes, their current percussionist, Tico, is planning to retire, and they need a new one. And this guy was it, hooked up through a sound-engineer friend of his. He'd be meeting the band themselves really soon, but in the meantime, Jon's family and their bodyguards have all been coming down to check him out, because that's the way they do things.

Then he said that he'd soon be marrying a supermodel. He implied that he hadn't yet actually met said supermodel, but it was a done deal. He has a cross on a bracelet, and he'd occasionally kiss it and point to the big guy upstairs, who was totally hooking him up.

He mentioned he had a girlfriend once who was Greek, but she cheated on him, and that was that. He asked what nationality I was beside Greek; it was then that we realized he'd misread Kathy's "I Heart My Geek" shirt.

Then he explained how fit he was, and how that was important when you're in such a major act. He demonstrated by leaning back, back, and further back against the beer fridge door, essentially making an ark with his body (which was definitely in shape, no argument there). He told me to count to ten, and he did backwards pushups while I counted.

Then (yes, this kinda keeps going), he told us he was an amazing singer. He didn't want to make to much noise, but he wanted to really belt it, so he invited us into the walk-in cooler. We closed the door, kind of wondering if this would be the last thing we'd ever do. He gave us a choice of two songs we could hear, and soon he was belting out Steve Perry's "Oh, Sherry" with all his heart.

Finally, Kathy & I buy our Tuaca. (We went in looking for tequila, but they had a lousy selection). He gives us his autograph and his phone number, telling us to call him and he'll get us passes for when Bon Jovi plays the Meadowlands.

I'm *still* not quite able to make sense of it all. Will we be on TV?

Rob

If You Go Out to the Woods Today, You're In For a Big Surprise

Years ago, some friends and I were at the San Diego Zoo, where we encountered an animal we'd never seen before. Heck, I'd never heard of it, and I don't think Chris and Allen had either. The animal was the takin, a hoofed mammal that's a relative to the ox. Here's one:


Anyway, this creature was entirely new to us. And the sign made us even more curious. The bold print read:

Takin
From Behind, Like Teddy Bears

The story under that headline (and I might have every single detail wrong, but I've never forgotten the gist) explained that the daughter of the naturalist who was studying the takins used to only be able to catch a glimpse of their hindquarters, as they'd always run away when people approached. She's see them darting into the forest, and, only seeing two of their legs, thought they looked like teddy bears standing up.Hence the subhead, "From behind, like teddy bears."

Now, there's a certain myopia to jargon. If you're familiar with a word, you know just how it's pronounced, how it's used in a sentence, etc. You don't think about misinterpretations. As a zoologist, you know that "takin" rhymes with "rockin'".

Not so with your casual passersby. To us, well... I won't go into the details, but I think this picture says it all.


Rob
(P.S. You're better off not Googling "teddy bear sex," like I did to find that picture. Trust me on this.)

Straight Outta Terminal C

I signed up for the Northwest Airlines frequent flier club, and the airline sends me regular e-mails called "NWA Weekly Deals". Of course, I'm of the generation that NWA means only one thing:


Some possible deals?

"When I'm called off, I got a sawed off
Squeeze the trigger, and bodies are hauled off."

Hmm... that's value for money.

"MC Ren controls the automatic
For any dumb muthafucker that starts static."

Customer service is obviously a priority.

"The security is maximum and that's a law."

Especially since 9/11.

"See, I don't give a fuck, that's the problem
I see a motherfuckin' cop, I don't dodge him."

And while their safety standards are lax, they'll comply with the law when confronted.

"But I'm smart, lay low, creep a while
And when I see a punk pass, I smile."

Or will they?

Peace out. Fly safe.

Rob

We Can Dance If We Want To

That's right: All of us can. Matt gets us started.

Rob
(via MGK)

Happiness is a Warm Gun

Bang bang shoot shoot.

Rob

Maybe We Should Try Charades

As I was walking out on the tarmac to board my connecting flight in Chicago, I was greeted by an airline staffer who was directing people onto the planes. A jet engine was roaring nearby, going through whatever motions it needed before takeoff.

“Boise?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m going to Boise,” I told him.

“No…Joisey?”

“Right, I’m from Jersey,” I said, wondering how he knew. But if he knew, most likely my baggage had made it to the flight. Best not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“No,” he shouted, pointing to the roaring engine, “Noisy!”

Couldn’t argue with that.

Rob

Off to Idaho.

Yes, Idaho.

Rob

Snake, a Snake! Oh, it's a Snake!

On our trip down Virginny way for Ben's baptism (a dunking he took like a man, by the way), Kathy and I decided to go hiking in a heat wave. Why swim in a hotel pool when you can tromp around in 90-plus-degree heat? (Do I love this crazy woman? Oh yes I do.)

Kathy picked out the McKeldin section of Patapsco Valley State Park in Maryland, and off we went, hoofing it over a 2.5 mile route. (Not too long, but, y'know—90-plus degrees.) Somewhere along the first trail, I was in the lead, and suddenly noticed something moving that I would have put my foot down on in about two steps. It was a big black snake, about three feet long, and about as thick as a bicycle tire. It slithered off the trail in a hurry as I fumbled for my camera. By the time I could get a shot, it was no longer discernible from the rocks and leaves surrounding the trail, so no go. I didn't think it was poisonous—poison snakes are usually colorful–but man, it was spooky. Looking it up this morning, I think it was a black rat snake, a constrictor that takes down rats, chipmunks, baby squirrels and small rabbits, but are harmless to humans. That is, if you consider a pantsload of crap harmless.

Later on, we decided to extend the trek for another mile; we'd hiked mostly in the shade, and it had been easy going so far. So we branched off onto another trail, taking us close to the Patapsco River. And, unbeknownst to us, the Ancient Temple of T'zz'zzt, the Mosquito God. After traveling next to the river for a stretch, we followed the trail uphill with uncharacteristic speed.

We were no longer hiking. We were fleeing.

After that narrow escape, we soon found ourselves eating giant crabs out on my brother and sister-in-law's deck. Then, the heat broke a little, as it started to rain and lightning. If you've ever wondered whether I would stay outside eating crabs under a metal umbrella during a thunderstorm, the hypothetical is now an emperical. Yes, yes, yes.

Rob
(Thanks to Terrierman for the pic!)

Off to Dunk a Baby

Headin' down Virginny way. Blogging will resume after the baptism.

Rob

Marryin' Weight

One of my interim goals in my weight loss is to get down to what I call "marryin' weight" -- i.e. my weight on the day I was married in April 2003. That's by no means the ultimate goal; I've got a ways to go after that, although I think the weight scientists tell me I should have for my 5'6" frame (115-154 pounds) seems a little pie-in-the-sky (mmm...pie) if not outright foolish. But marryin' weight is a benchmark, albeit one reached the first time with the Atkins excrete-what-you-eat diet. I'm planning to get there via slower, healthier means this time.

However, looking at my scale today, I realize I'm about nine pounds over that weight right now. And it occurs to me that I'm now probably in my "first week after the hard-eatin' honeymoon in Paris" weight. So yay, me!

Gonna take more than a week to get rid of those crepes, though.

Rob

How's That Again?

We stayed in a hotel last night -- the Westin in Falls Church, Virginia. Great room, big, comfy bed -- and I got to wake up and take a swim in the morning. When I was down at the pool, I noticed something odd. There was a sign that read, in big letters: "Warning: Lifeguard is on duty." There was some smaller print under it, but I couldn't read it because my glasses weren't on.

But why on earth should I be warned that a lifeguard was on duty? Shouldn't I be warned if there was no lifeguard on duty, and I was taking my safety into my own hands?

Maybe the smaller print would have clarified things. Like:

WARNING:

LIFEGUARD IS ON DUTY

And she's a cannibal.

or

WARNING:
LIFEGUARD IS ON DUTY

But those who know fear burn at her touch.

or

WARNING:

LIFEGUARD IS ON DUTY

Elsewhere.

Any other possibilities?

Rob