Rock Lobster

I have been very busy as of late. I feel like I should have something to post to remain a part of the blogging community. I will talk about why I am so busy when I find some time, not being so busy. So here is another silly post. Enjoy.


The other day I spotted.....


...the very rare and deadly one-eyed lobster.


This cranky crustacean is usually found sulking in the bottom of large bodies of water, not in living rooms. However without the added drag of water to slow the angry arthropod down, it is very agile and likes to sneak up on it's victims.


One-eyed lobsters are very patient, waiting for the exact moment to pounce.


The malignant Malacostraca leaps into the air, trying to clamp on to the carotid artery and use a pair of large pointy flappers to inject a lethal dose of poison- which oddly enough consists of two parts butter and one part garlic paste.


Thankfully the deadly lobster has missed it's mark and been swatted away.


The proper way to clutch the deadly lobster is right behind the large pincher, so that it does not give you an owie.


Then neutralize the lobster by blinding it. Once it cannot see, you can taunt it all you wish. Just make sure to keep moving in circles. Lobsters have a very acute sense of hearing, a fragile psyche and are extremely sensitive to verbal abuse. They will sulk for hours when properly browbeaten, thus giving the would be victim ample time to scuttle away.


Hey wait a minute this was a regular lobster all along! No need to worry! I'll just go put a pot on to boil.

"Five foot two"

I think I have figured out how to put my sound files on Blogger. I recorded this song using a soprano ukelele and my iMac microphone. I mixed the song in Garage Band where I added just a few effects to get the "singing in a can effect". From there I had Pixie help me make a slide show and convert it to a movie with my song added, then uploaded that into Blogger. It's not perfect but it's a start. The song is called "Five foot two" and was written by Ray Henderson, Sam lewis and Joe Young. Enjoy!

"What is the ugliest part of your body?"

"What is the ugliest part of your body?
What is the ugliest part of your body?
Some say it's your nose, some say it's your toes
I think it's your mind." FZ

I think the ugliest part of my body is my feet. Followed closely by my knees and my teeth.

I made a pencil sketch of how I appear when I look in a mirror.




Not pretty is it?


What is the ugliest part of your body?


I bet it's your mind.

Working class hero

Today was the first day of my new job. Not exactly what I envisioned it being— no naked women serving free beer— but I think it will be a good thing for me. Coming from my old job, this place is a complete 180.

For starters, everything is accounted for, organized and put in its proper location. We are talking cages for hand tools, cages for chemicals, bays for trucks, sheds for misc. equipment and so on. Sign-in sheets for all equipment. Think of that really anal guy with the peg board in his garage, every tool outlined in white paint....that's this company.
At my old job we just threw whatever tool we were using nearby and tried to remembered where it was for the next time. Our equipment had a bay, but it was every item for itself; things stacked on top of things—chaos.

At my new job there is an electronic time clock. Everyone gets a magnetic card (like a credit card) with your name and employee I.D number on the back. You have to swipe the card through what looks like a credit card machine to clock in and out; precise time stamps down to the minute.
At my old job the time sheet was a piece of paper with a basic grid; the employee had to write their name in one box, the time in and out (rounded to the nearest quarter-hour) went in another box and then total their own hours at the end of the week which went in the final box.

The new company is taking the time to train us on not only proper techniques in what we do, but why it is done that way and the particular effects of both properly and improperly executing that particular service. Time spent on a job is less important than doing the job properly.
At my old job it was: "hurry the f@%$ up so we can get to the next job and make the money."

The new company offers: benefits, 401(k), annual bonus incentives, full uniforms, paid training, continuing education reimbursements, and travel expenses (when applicable).
At my old job, after eight plus years of dedicated employment I finally got a credit card for business expenses. There was also a summer bonus, Christmas bonus and miscellaneous small cash bonuses on certain cash only jobs. I will miss my old company for that reason.

The new company is 3.3 miles from my house. I will spend an average of $4.50 on gasoline (at current prices) traveling to and from work every week.
My old job was 17 miles away. I would spend an average of $23 dollars on gasoline (at current prices) a week going to and from work.

At the new company I am already a crew leader. I don't even know if anyone else works in this division; my name is the only one listed.
At my old job I was one of the only employees besides the owners. We did most jobs together.

These are just a few of the many contrasts between old and new. It's quite a shock for me. I feel like the dumb country mouse going to the big city.
I was telling Pixie that every gripe about poor planning or good idea I ever had about how to improve my last job has floated through time and space and morphed into this well-oiled machine of lawn care and landscape management.

I just have to talk to them about their beer and babe deficiency.

"Helen, hell on wheels...."

I still am on hiatus but I don't want people to forget of my existence, so located at the bottom of this post is a rather interesting short story I started sometime ago. I had completely forgotten about this and perhaps for good reason. As you can tell it was more of an electronic scribble than anything, and who knows if I will ever flesh it out and finish the story. Make of it what you will.

Oh, in other news I have finished the Harry Potter series a few weeks ago. It was one of the best stories I have ever read! I also finished my fourth book "Animal Farm". I had read this before but it was a long time ago. All I have to say is poor Boxer.

I don't know what my fifth book will be. I was thinking "1984", but I have plenty of other options. Maybe I will read something a little lighter and then jump back into the Totalitarianism theme at a later date.

I have many ideas for posts but am swamped in the mire of life right now. One of them is a synopsis of "Animal Farm" using G-man's bath toys (they are farm animals). I will eventually get around to that. Until then enjoy the short story scribble.



“Artesanal
Provolone
Cheese
Spaghetti
Meatballs”


Hero:
Lengshaftian Meathlemet

Elf:
Lebian Marjriam

Heriione:
Nipplio Poccottous

Antagonist:
Roy Hemerald; a.k.a Goyatuar: a.k.a ?



Once upon a time there was a boy named Goyatuar. Across the stream and up the bank, among the Apple trees lived his friend Lengshaftian.
They were best friends. All day long they would throw rocks into the windows of the local Bait shop. At first they were scared that they would get caught, but they persisted.
One day Lengshaftian was on his way to Goyatuar’s house when he ran into a worm. The worm’s name was Roger.
Roger was a worm and he lived underground. But that was another story. Anyway, Roger told Lengshaftian all about the rumblings he felt in the forest. Lengshaftian laughed at Toader.
Yeah, Lengshaftian called Roger “Toader”. It was an inside joke…don’t worry about.
Toaders…err, I mean, Roger spat on the ground. His bottom half clenched into a tight ball, which jerked above his eyes and swung at Lengshaftian, who in turn, leaned away from the tiny thrust.
“Ha ha ha ha ha ah ah haha ha h ah ah ah h hh a h ah h” Roger laughed.
“Your insane.” Laughed Lengshaftian.
“’Hellene, hell on wheels. Ain’t nobody gonna know the table weaves.’” Sang longhsftian. These were, of course, the wrong words.

"Why can't we be friends?"

I'll be back soon. In the meantime enjoy these pictures of G-man attacking me and my...ahem...daring escape.

This is what happens when good kids go bad.

He is serious now....

...about to attack. This is when my fight instinct kicks in....

....and I scream like a little girl to confuse him. I think it worked.

I have successfully diffused the situation.

I live to see another day.

"Gimme a head with hair, long beautiful hair..."

Anybody recognize this person?







Give up?





I found this in a box of memorabilia yesterday when Pixie and I were cleaning the basement.

The year was 1996 and I was seventeen.

This is the picture for my registration/identification card for my senior year in High school. I woke up late that day and rushed to the school to get my class schedule, locker assignment, and my picture taken.

Aren't I handsome? I look like an extra from the Lucas County Correctional Facility's production of "Hair". Ah, to be young and free again. Free of a worries, free of responsibility, free of a good barber.

Believe it or not, I had my head shaved up to the top so that if you were to somehow manage to get my mop to stand up straight I would have had an awesome mohawk.

I have very thick, unruly hair and it took a lot of work to get my hair that long and not become an afro. Have you ever seen a skinny white kid with an afro? Yeah, not pretty.

I sometimes pine to grow my hair long again. Then I think of how awkward and goofy I looked in the process of growing my hair long and that desire is squelched.

So these days I sport a very tight haircut. If it starts to get to fuzzy, Pixie tells me I look like a Q-tip.


What did you look like in high school? Are you willing to share your senior picture? Does a nerdy ghost of past haunt you as well?

"Dance your cares away, work is for another day...."

"....let the Fraggles play, down at Fraggle Rock."

Don't worry it will be in your head all day now.

We went to the library on Monday to check out Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the final installment of the series. I finished book six on Sunday and am 300 pages into the seventh already. It seems a little fast, but the books are an easy read and hard to put down.

So this will be the third book out of ten for the year. At this rate I will be done with all ten by the end of April. Maybe I should expand the perimeters of said goal to a hefty twenty books. On the other hand ten will be easy to accomplish and boost my self-esteem. Anything over ten will be gravy....mmmm, gravy.

Anyway, I walked past the library's collection of children DVDs, instantly spotting the complete first season of Fraggle Rock.

I LOVE FRAGGLE ROCK!

I used to watch the show all the time when I was younger (like in my early twenties). Gobo, Red, Wembley, Boober, the Doozers, Doc and Sprocket...They were all my friends....my only friends (sniffle).

We popped in the DVD as soon as we got home. G-man loved the Fraggles too! We have so much in common. Whats not to love I say? They are Muppets, they dance and sing goofy songs, and each episode has a positive moral, or social message. Remember when TV used to be like that?

So we are making our way through the 24 episodes of the complete first season. Each song they sing fills my heart with joy. Each post card from Uncle Traveling Matt that Gobo retrieves from "outer space" takes me back to my youth. It really is a great show and I am glad that G-man is able to experience the magic that is Fraggle Rock.

Does anybody else remember Fraggle Rock? If so, which Fraggle do you most relate to, and why? I expect at least one paragraph with specific examples from episodes that back up your choice. Don't forget to cite your sources.

"The baddest man in the whole damn town...."

What, you think you are tougher than me? Well, how many five year olds can you stomp at once?

28


Yeah, I'm a badass!

Okay, there is something weird with the above link. To see how many quinquennial punks you could wipe out click here.

"Butterfly in the sky, I can fly twice as high...."

I finished reading my first two books last week; Friday, I believe. Well, I say two books but it really only counted as one book.

The George Harrison Biography, I Me Mine, was different than I imagined. The beginning of the book was a brief biography written by Derek Taylor, smatterings of George’s words mixed-up in between. It was an interesting approach, but I felt somewhat jipped that George did not write the whole thing. George must have been too busy taking drugs, racing cars and playing music to write his own autobiography.

I can honestly say that I would have hired someone to write my book as well. But that is only because I am lazy, not because I have too many activities that demand my attention.

The whole Biography was only about two hundred pages or so long. I was reminded of Gonzo journalism. Taylor’s colloquialisms and writing style was very seventies-ish, and slightly verbose. Though in the end, I felt I had a better insight into the man who was the Dark horse.

The second half of the book was George’s song lyrics. Since this book was published in 1978 there were a lot of great songs he had not even recorded yet. The many songs that were in the book were accompanied by small quips, quotes, remembrances and reasons why he wrote those songs. That was very, dare I say, enlightening and entertaining.

I recommend I, Me, Mine to any Beatles fan, or George Harrison-a-holic (like myself) who pines for the inner knowledge of their favorite pop icons.

My second read was the fifth installment of the Harry Potter series: Harry Potter and the order of the Phoenix. This was an outstanding read! Rowling has really honed her craft in this book. Her story arc, character development, character relations, intricate plot line, word usage, point of view, voice and attitude, etc.....I mean everything, was just great!

I have to admit, I was a bit hesitant when I first started reading Harry Potter and the Sorcery’s Stone. The book was written for children and, well, read like it was written for children. I was not very impressed. Don’t get me wrong, the story itself was brilliant, but the way she crafted her story was asi-asi.

Each book has gotten progressively better, with number five being the best so far. She has ascended her story into the throws of semi-serious literature with Order of the Phoenix.
I am going to save my plot synopsis because I have to be the last person on earth to have read this series. You all know what happens. However, for all you Hardcore Harry fans, I will entertain any further discussion in my comments or via e-mail.

That being said, my second of ten books is going to be—drum roll please— Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I am going to count this as one whole book, seeing as how the line between children's literature and adult literature has been crossed as definitely as Grawp is tall.

In all honesty, I have already started the book and am two hundred odd pages into the story. Pixie and I are reading this one together, so I have to wait until she gets home tonight to read any more. Hurry honey, hurry!

"But all I got is this photograph...."

Alright boys and girls, it is the moment most of you have probably forgotten about. I am going to announce the winning photograph.

But first I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to all of you who stopped by, either of your own free will or because Pixie cajoled you into coming here. It really means a lot to me that so many strangers know what a goofy dip shit I can be. Really, I mean that from the bottom of my feet. Not only am I walking away from this with a new avatar, but I am gaining several new friends (to me a friend is any one who doesn't deny my existence after discovering that I do, in fact, exist). I would like to thank Lynda, Fig, Silicone Alley, Cruel Shoes, Vegas Princess, Shades and NayNayfazz for making the trek to my little pond and chiming in with their ballots. Of course I would also like to thank all my regulars, the non-bloggers, and the lurkers (you know who you are) for their votes.

And last but not least my beautiful wife Pixie. Without her relentless badgering of those poor innocent bloggers I would not have shattered my all-time comment record, or had as much fun doing this little election.

Okay, on with the results.

Picture #1 only got a few measly votes. Some people liked it, but didn't vote for the "Nose" shot. That is a shame because I really think my nose has a certain olfactory charm that you just don't find in non-nose body parts.

Picture #2, although warming the genitalia of most of the female bloggers (sorry honey, it's Gods gift to me) and a few of the blokes out there, failed to find the winners seat, so I canned it.

So, if you haven't guessed by now, the big winner is Picture #3— the swimming cap photo. The people have spoken and they say nothing exemplifies JQ like a frilly, rubbery, flower cap so tightly fitted around my unusually large cranium that my face looks like a toy sea cucumber being squeezed to death.

To be fair though it really isn't mine, I swear! It's his!


Thanks again for playing along. My usual mind numbing word vomit will resume tomorrow.

"Oh I'm picking out a thermos for you. Not an ordinary thermos for you...."

Maybe you can help me pick a new avatar. Maybe I'll take your considerations to heart. I might even agree with someone and choose the one they like over the popular vote.

I will most likely do whatever I want.

I, being the tireless taker of goofy self-potraits, feel the need to change my avatar often. None of the pictures I have had so far really capture my personality(ies) in just the right way. So this time I will show you three pictures and allow you to choose the new face of JQ. That's right, the picture which receives the most votes will become the new visage of the same, tired old rhetoric. Exciting huh?

Don't get too giddy, I will most likely change it soon.

So brush up on your voting skills—this is an election you have to think about.

Picture #1

I thought this picture would show my ability to sniff out excellent ideas and relate them in a humorous, yet enlightening way to my readers.

Picture #2

I choose this picture because it's my good side. Plus, people tell me what a huge ass I am all the time.

Picture #3

This is my swimming cap. What?


Addendum:

There are only a few voting days left. Tell your friends and neighbors. Call your Great Aunt Macy, write your local inmate, spread the word to have everyone cast their ballot. The new picture will appear Friday afternoon at precisely 12 p.m.—or whenever I get around to posting the results. Until then, enjoy yourselves, but don't forget the tissues.

"You'll have to have them all pulled out ...."

I woke up this morning with an aching tooth. This pain has been going on since before Christmas. Well, if you want to be fair about it, it has been going on for a long time, it just came to a head this morning.

I awoke with a headache and my tooth was killing me. I don't like to complain and I like to think I have a slightly above average tolerance for pain, but one thing I don't like is mouth pain. It might have something to do with the fact that when I was a kid I was climbing the walls in the bathroom at the county's rec center when I slipped and fell right on my face. Many stitches and liquefied foods later I healed, but I still remember that day like it was almost twenty years ago.

Anyway, I had had enough of the pain this morning and decided to call the dentist. Luckily he had an availability in the late morning.

I arrived at the office, and explained to him my discomfort. He had his assistant x-ray my mouth and several minutes later we were discussing what the problem might be. He thought it could be the deep cavity I had filled several years ago. I explained that the pain shoots up into my jaw and that I even feel discomfort in my tongue. I told him that there was no sensitivity to hot or cold, just an ache. He asked me exactly what tooth hurt and I told him the very last one on the top right. My wisdom tooth.

I have never had them removed and they are a constant source of pain and discomfort for me. I told him to go ahead and pull it.

He gave me some novocaine and proceeded to push the tooth around to loosen the root. The way you can feel the pressure but not the pain is an unsettling experience in my opinion. It felt like a cloth being torn apart. It was quite an odd feeling, but I am glad it wasn't painful. Which reminded me of the last time I visited his office and requested no novocaine for a cavity. Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking.

Everything went fine. It only took a few minutes from the time I was numb to the time I requested to see my tooth. Not what you would expect to see as a root. It looked more like a pyramid, or an ice cream cone.

I have had a piece of gauze in my mouth since this morning. Every time I think the clot has formed I take out the gauze and within minutes I can feel and taste the blood. I thought I was good after I put G-man to bed, but when I went to take the gauze out there was a large clot on the gauze (which was soaked with blood). I have had a bowl of oatmeal and a few glasses of water today. I am effing starving, but I am afraid to eat anything as it might disrupt the clot.

I hope this wisdom tooth was the problem. If not I am going to be upset. Especially since I have no insurance and my Dentist just remodeled his office.

On the bright side I got rid of some iron and I haven't had a cigarette all day. Though I am seriously considering it.

Nothing from Nothing

I was finally tagged by someone. Well it wasn't someone it was Nobody. I squawked like a little girl because I have always wanted to be tagged. So here you are people of the blog-o-sphere, seven inane facts about yours truly.


1.When I was younger I used to stick tweezers into the electrical outlets at my parents house. I swear I melted a few of them without so much as a burnt finger. That might help in explaining my odd behavior.

2. Sometimes at night I like to fart and then pull the covers over my head.

3. I almost cut my finger off changing a lawn mower blade at work. About a year later I hit the same finger with a sledgehammer and had to have plastic surgery to reattach the tendon. I postponed the operation for four days so Pixie and I could go see Tom Petty in concert. After the concert we went to Drummond Island for vacation. I never took the pain killers save for recreation.

4. I own one six string guitar, one twelve string guitar, one baritone ukulele, one soprano ukulele, one bass, three electric guitars, one violin, two mouth harps, one washboard, one set of drums, one keyboard and a four track.

5. All my post titles are either song titles or snippets of lyrics from songs.

6. I had a pet cat from the time I was twelve until two years ago. He was oddly intelligent. I swear he was an alien sent to observe humans.

7. I am twenty-nine years old and still sing Space Ghost songs to my wife. She sings along.

I will not be tagging anybody else because Nobody and I pretty much read the same seven people and he already tagged them. Fucker.

"It's getting better all the time..."

So the new year is upon us, have you resolved to ameliorate your physical, mental, financial, spiritual, or emotional being in an effort to transform into that vibrant enlightened human you have always dreamed of becoming? Or, are you like me: too stupid and lazy to accept any challenge to overcome personal foibles?

I can clamber atop my high-horse and spew about how I am going to: read ten books this year (what a husband and wife can't share new years goals?), pursue my dream of playing music professionally (and by professionally I mean I am going to try and get at least one gig this year or sell one of my songs to a famous artist for thousands of dollars—easy enough huh?), be more patient and understanding, and write more—perhaps finish some of my ideas for a change. Or I can bore you all to tears about how wonderful our first Christmas with the G-man was, but I will leave that story up to Pixie.

Instead I am going to direct your attention to the brand new guitar I purchased over the Holidays. I am quite pleased with it's performance, but am most happy with the small amount of money I spent on it. The story of how the guitar came to be in my possession is long and full of anti-climaxes, protagonists, antagonists, a midget named Harry and fourteen pounds of potato salad. But I will spare you the details and just say that I won't be buying instruments at Guitar Center in the future.




Sorry to disappoint you Jacob, but I did not buy a Breedlove. I purchased a smooth playing, folk-style guitar manufactured by a company named Godin. One of their many fine products, the Art and Lutherie guitar, has reminded me how much I miss playing my six-string acoustic. The price of said guitar has reminded me of how much of a cheap ass I am. It was a win-win buying this axe. Not only did I spend way less than I was going to spend, but I got a better sounding guitar. Hey, and it's pretty to boot.




So while most people have resolved to buy expensive Gym memberships that will undoubtedly fall by the wayside February first, I am going to crack a beer and work on becoming a literate rock star with a lot of patience.

Oh yeah I hope everybody had a great Holiday with their family and friends. I know we did.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas!!!

Just another day

So my berfday was good. I ate some steak, got a few presents, and played with G-man. All in all it was a good day, though it was definitely the dawning of a new era. I guess I have felt it the past few berfdays, but it really hit home this year. I am getting old, and the anniversary of my joining this world just doesn't seem so, well...grandiose anymore.

I used to love waking up in the morning on my berfday. I would jump out of bed and bounce, no frolic—yeah I like that— everywhere, all day. The gifts, the attention, I always held that one day close to my heart. The one special day where I was king. I felt untouchable, like I really was somebody important. The past few years this special feeling has wanned. This year that declining trend continued. I'm not complaining (too much), but it just felt like any other day. G-man was the focus of my attention ( I wouldn't have it any other way), among various other boring responsibilities, like waiting for the window guys to show up and finish their job and trying to avoid the mountain of laundry looming in the basement. The bottom line is I just couldn't get into my berfday suit, so to speak.

I don't even want to think about next year. I will turn thirty. I don't feel ready to be thirty. I still feel young. People over thirty can't be trusted. Take my wife...please. Where's my violin.

Anyway, I hate to complain so enough of that whiny foo-fa-rah.

I was thinking of buying myself a nice acoustic guitar for my berfday. I don't want to spend too much money, but I think I can allot a small bit for a new guitar. I gave my old acoustic to my father. He fiddles around (yes, you can fiddle on a guitar) and doesn't have a good guitar of his own. He is constantly borrowing mine so I finally decided to make the old bastard happy. Besides I will get it back when he dies.

Jesus, did I just say that? What kind of son am I?

It made him happy, and I like seeing my folks happy so what the hell, it's only a guitar.

I would love to get a Gibson, but those are a little out of my price range. I could trade in one of my electrics and sell some blood, a kidney, some sperm, my soul and take out a small loan to cover the rest.

Maybe a Taylor will do instead. Then again a Fender is more in my price range. Plus, I have to have a case to house the guitar. That is another hundred dollars. Who knows, I might not even buy one at all. There are bills to pay and diapers to buy.

What a conundrum.

Root Rock Reggae

This was an exciting week. We got new windows, I met a local radio personality, our sewer backed up (see Pixie, I told you it wasn't me), I taught G-man how to high-five, and I made it to the last island on Sims 2: Castaway.

Monday we had all but one of our new windows installed. The large picture window in the living room had a defect or something, so they are waiting for a new one from the factory. I was excited to have the new windows installed but there were a few minor problems and a major one involving a marble sill. They smashed it as they were trying to take out the old window. They replaced it with some kind of polymer-resin sill, that they cut a half-inch to short. We are going to have them replace the new sill with one that actually fits without causing air leaks. Hopefully it will be marble. The installers are going to come back on the Eighteenth (my berfday) to finish the job.

As the windows were being installed, a local radio celebrity knocked at the front door inquiring about the company who was installing our windows. I invited him inside and showed him how they did it and recommended the company to him. He stopped back by this morning and told me that I should receive a fifty dollar gift certificate from the window company for referring him. So I got that going for me. Oh yeah the local radio personality's name is Fred LeFebvre on news talk 1370 WSPD.


For the past two weeks we have had a foul odor in the basement. Pixie pointed it out to me, to which I promptly replied the odor only seemed to appear when she was present. After I woke up with a pounding headache and a lump that looked a lot like her wedding band I investigated. The smell was coming from the utility sink. I removed the covering and saw that there was standing water at the base of the trap. I went to our local hardware store, bought a cheap snake and proceeded to cover myself in foul water whilst trying to unclog the drain. I knew, after a half an hour, that it was a job for a plumber. I just hoped it would not be too expensive. I called a plumber that one of Pixie's students recommended, but he said he couldn't make it out to look at it until next week. I thanked him and called a company named Able Master Sewer. The owner, Fred (not LeFebvre), and I discussed the problem and he told me he had a busy schedule but he could make it over between four and six. I hired him. At four fifty, he called a and said he had a quick job and then he was coming over. He recognized the problem and within an hour he was done. We had roots in our line. A lot of roots in our line. He suggested we clean out the sewer line every two years and then got back in his magic sewer van and flew off to the next job. The guy was great, I would highly recommend him to any of my Toledo readers. I now have a bag of roots in my garage and a pungent odor remaining in my basement. Apparently he might have to come back and flush out our system because the back up was there for a long time (more than two weeks) we just never noticed it before. Our house has a combo system. We don't have a sump pump, it is more like a big loop underneath the house that allows the water from the yard and sewer to go to the main city pipes. Old and outdated, yet I'll never have to replace it, it works beautifully when not clogged.

I showed G-man how to high-five last week. I only showed him how to do it a few times, now I can stick my hand out and say "Give me five." and he does. I swear the kid is a genius. I love my boy. Now if I could just teach him to make money so I can retire.

I made it to the last island on Sims 2 : Castaway. It took me almost two hours Sunday night to get there. Unfortunately the game had a glitch that wouldn't allow me to save. Oh well. I'll try again tonight, maybe.

Does any body really care about time?

As I promised two of my most avid readers, I am going to talk to you all today about Neo-Capitalism and The Great Potato Famine of Ireland, not to be confused with the Great Potato Fems of Northern Yorkshire or the Grand Potato Heads of Tuberville.

I have very little time to post tonight because...well, because I want to go down to the basement, drink a beer and play my 12-string guitar (which I just got back today, thanks for asking Walt). So, I will keep this brief. After all, brevity is next to breviary (a book of prayers, or psalms, i.e. next to Godliness) and brew ( that worked out nicely) in the Merriam-Webster Pocket Dictionary, which I have read and re-read for tymes know. Okay the end of that last sentence was a joke, albeit a bad one.

So, here we go; an extremely brief look at Neo-Capitalism and the Great Potato Famine of Ireland.

Neo-Capitalism was founded by a large, rugged transvestite named Ralphina in the year of our lord seventeen seventy six. He was fed up with humping piles of shit around for the King and thought that privatizing the humping of said shit would stimulate shit production.

Okay this is when Graham Chapman would come in dressed as a General of the British Royal Army and shut down my blog for being entirely too silly. I can't say I would argue with him. This has got to be one of the worst ideas I have ever had (and oh boy is there a lot of them). I mean really, who wants to read about some boring shit like privatization of government, giving almost complete control back to the people allowing us the chance to finally live a decent, free life?

On second thought I think Von Hayek had a good idea.

Okay, on to the Po-ta-toes, dar-de-dar-de-dar.

The famine was caused by Phytophthora infestans or as us simple folk like to call it, Potato Blight. This caused copious potato crops (the main source of food in Ireland thanks to Britain's fondness for beef— side note this is how the Gin got the name Beefeater) to rot and become worthless— a lot like what happens to people who attend Ohio state. Anyway, the failed crop just exacerbated the problems, both politically and financially, of an already struggling Ireland causing them to lose a large portion of their population. This event is also referred to as the Great Hunger.

Okay, I think I fulfilled my obligations to my curious readers. That is to say that my readers are inquisitive, not necessarily odd, although Pixie is a tad weird. Now that I think of it, so is Mel.

I hope you have all learned something new today. I know I have. I learned that a rushed post, when all I can think about is 12-string guitars and beer, doesn't usually turn out so good.

Oh well.

Smooth Nut

Last week I broke a nut...I'm going to give everyone a chance to make some funny comment in there head here.


The nut was on the head stock of my twelve string guitar. It happened while I was changing the strings. It was just old and frail. The lower octave A got stuck and when I pulled on it the nut snapped. So I immediately went to the music shop and inquired the resident Luthier about fixing my Fender. He said it would be approximately a fortnight until the guitar was ready. I scoffed and demanded he sell me the necessary parts to properly fix it. He did. I left.

Twenty minutes later I returned, believing the parts person to have improperly filled my order. The nut was slightly too long and too high. I was told— which confirmed my suspicions—that the nut had to be shaved. He recommended a gentle abrasion tool such as a nail file or light sand paper. When I returned home I plugged in my variable speed, limited edition, Fifty Year Anniversary Dremel, loaded up a sand paper bit and went to town. Finally, I got what I thought was close to the original shape of the nut. I re-strung the guitar, cleaned the head, applied a judicious amount of white glue in the inlay and jammed the nut home.

I tuned the guitar and started to play a C7 and noticed that something wasn't right. The action was way too high and my A and B strings were registering in tune but playing sharp on the first fret. I inspected the old nut and determined that I had not taken enough height off the new nut. I then had to loosen every string, gently tap the nut out of its inlay and proceed to sand it down some more. This time I decided to use the metal grinding bit. This bit chewed through the plastic, making short work of the job. I smoothed it off on some sand paper and again went through all the motions of tuning. This time the action was better but not great. The A string was a registering 15 cents sharp at the first fret and the B string near thirty. I tightened the truss rod a quarter turn and let it rest over night.

The next day things were the same. I made more truss rod adjustments but nothing changed. Two days ago I put the Dremel to work again. I loosened and moved the A and B strings aside and carefully sanded down the saddle in the nut so the string would be lower, ergo flatting the string at the first fret. It worked a little. At this point I got scared and decided to not mess up this guitar. I took it back to the music shop and hired them to perform the job I tried to do myself. I got very close, but there are many factors involved in properly achieving near perfect pitch.

I tried to save time and money and ended up spending more of both. On the bright side I don't think that they will have to remove and replace the nut I just put on. But they will have to adjust it, and the truss rod, and possibly put new strings on as well.

Awesome.