Game Of Chicken

I've been singing that Rupert Holmes song in my head, but I've replaced the lyrics with "If you like chicken pinata...." because it fits wonderfully. Why am I singing that? Because the latest edition of Chicken Pinata is available and I'm in it. So if you're curious as to exactly what a chicken pinata is, you may want to check it out.

Circle Me Delightful Dizzy Dilirium

Happy Bon Jovi Day!!!!!

When I bought tickets, I got a download for The Circle, complete with bonus tracks from their shows at MSG, which I saw.

I'm listening.

I can't stop smiling.

I love every album. This one, though, is the best friggin album I've heard in years. I'm gushing! I'm melting! I can't find the words!!!!!

So. Fucking. GOOD.

Now That's Not Very Nice

Closer To A Secret Wish

Everyone should have a secret wish. I have many. One is to drive a big rig truck. I don't mean drive it around from place to place for an extended period of time. I mean I want to climb into the driver's seat and make it go. It can be in a parking lot. It can be for only a few feet. I don't care; I just want to drive one. I may have to get blocks for the pedals. I have a feeling the cabs aren't made for little people. This is all besides the point. The point is that I've got things I want to do.

Another wish is to ride a hydraulic lift. The only positive aspect of Al Gore's film, An Inconvenient Truth, is that he rode up and down on a hydraulic lift. The rest of that film scared the crap out of me. That's most likely the impact he was hoping it would have. Again, not the point. The point is that I want to ride a hydraulic lift.

Enter Saturday night at McCann's when I'm talking to The Talker's friend who took about an hour to walk to the bar when he lives practically down the block. He asked me about teaching, not knowing that the one thing I absolutely hate talking about in social situations is my job, so I was answering his questions. Climate change came up because that's a topic I give my class. Then we start talking about Al Gore and I say, I want to ride a hydraulic lift! He didn't understand why someone would want to do that. I don't understand why anyone wouldn't want to.

In the middle of that conversation, Grotter's conversation with The Talker's other friend about how many times she's been drunk found its way over to us, and KDP brought up the Shecky's elevator when Grotter was at the helm. She insisted she was buzzed, but I was like, No you were really drunk; you were annoying everyone on the elevator, but the rest of us found it amusing. She was like, well who cares about those other people? I was like, I know, I agree, but that's also what you said very loudly when we were getting off the elevator, which proves you were drunk. She said she had always wanted to operate an elevator. No one questioned that, but I bring up a hydraulic lift and there's much confusion.

So then Talker's friend is like, Talker worked on a lift once. I stopped all conversation to grill Talker about his lift experience. He told a story about how he made his coworker go all the way up in the lift and then started shaking it while his coworker cowered in the lift. I was like, I don't want to go up too high, just as high as Al Gore. He was like, I don't have access to a lift really. I was like, well keep it in mind if if comes up.

And then it was after midnight. KDP and I were not drinking. The bar had filled up for about twenty minutes and then it was not crowded at all. About midnight was when the teenyboppers started to come in, so we decided to go, leaving Grotter and the boys to close the place down. Or at least to sober up and then leave.

Back On The Bubbly

Fred and I split a bottle of Persecco on Friday night. I had no late-night piercing stomach pain. Moral of the story? Persecco is much better sparkling wine than the last brand of Brut. Or better bubbly is a better time. Either way, I was plastered. Fred kept asking, Why are you so drunk? How drunk was I? Well (or well well--drink!), after conducting our OTH drinking game for two episodes, we watched The Soup. The next day, I rewatched The Soup, having no recollection of anything that happened on The Soup.

They Come Out At Night, Wednesday Night

Grotter and I met up for hot drinks at Starbucks last night. Wednesdays are a weird day for me because I have to get up really early but then I'm done at noon and the rest of the afternoon either wears me down or gives me a new vigor. Last night was filled with vim and vigor so I made it out.

The week before, we'd gone to this new crepe place because we love crepes and have not had crepes like we had at Crepes Show in Paris since we were in Paris. A new crepes place has potential. It wasn't Paris crepes, but it was good.

When we got the crepe, the guy sitting behind Grotter asked if she liked the plate. She said yes. He said, It's my plate. Later, he gave her a card. He owns a place that sells dishware to restaurants and other businesses that buy that kind of thing.

Flashforward to last night. I had a faulty cup, but that has nothing to do with the plate man. The cup was a Starbucks cup and it was not properly punctuated as Grotter's was. I was robbed.

We were nearing the bottoms of our cups when this guy walked in, seemingly bewildered. He called over from about four feet away, Hey I'm sorry do you smoke? We were like, Nope.

Then he went around to the counter and this conversation ensued:

Boy: Do you smoke?

Counter woman: No. I don't.

Boy: Do you smoke?

Counter woman: No. Do you need a light?

Boy: No I need a cigarette. Where are your bathrooms?

I don't know if he went to the bathroom. About a minute later I heard:

Boy: I'm sorry to ask but do you smoke?

There was a muffled answer. He eventually left as Grotter wondered aloud if he was drunk or stoned. I affirmed that he was stoned. Drunks can't get around that easily. He also smelled like gasoline, which is not a good mix with cigarettes, matches, and lighters.

After he left, Grotter started laughing and was like, Did you see the back of his shirt?

No, why?

It had the logo of that plate guy's place! The guy from the crepe place who owns the plates!

Basically, the kind of advertising this guy does is: (1) weirdly ask questions to random customers at stores he doesn't own about the plates he sold to said businesses and (2) send out stoners wearing the store logo. Good plan.

No Pulse Is A Party

I found out what happened to my uber fun radio station without really finding out. In flipping through this morning, I heard more DJ chatter than usual. Then I heard the coming back from commercial jingle. It is no longer Pulse. It's a Party. It's got similar dance music, so I don't know why Pulse was doing so poorly. It's nice to have a station to listen to instead of dead air, though.

TurnTurnTurn

Jean's new teaching strategy is apparently to start off class by getting everyone really dizzy so that no one is aware of how much stuff is review. Fred and I started off Monday's class with chase turns. We've learned chase turns for the past two weeks. Some people still aren't doing them properly, so we started turning immediately. My "friend" and her friend came in a little late and stood right next to me and asked, "we're doing this again?" I laughed and was like, "sure seems like it." We turned and turned and turned. Then we did Abilene or another dance, whichever is the one that has all the turning. Chase turns followed by push turns--they were all involved. We danced it twice. We do every dance twice. Fred got very caught up in the turning and suddenly, when the entire class was going front, I met Fred face to face in a turn because she was turning towards the back, and we both started laughing uncontrollably through the rest of the song.

Then we did the dance that has the hitchhiker move. Last week, I called it guacamole. That's wrong. Of course, I can't remember the real name of it, but it is named after an exotic fruit like a guava or an avocado. Not mango. In any case, it has nothing to do with hitchhiking even though that's a prominent move.

After that, we learned Big Time! Big Time involves a continuing grapevine. Where the normal grapevine is only four counts, this one is seven, so we kept weaving our legs behind and in front, all the way to the side. Fred was pushed up against the door and my "friend's" friend jokingly suggested she keep going through the door. We were all bunched up until we went the other way, during which time Fred caught revenge by pushing all the way into me. After doing that a bunch of times, we learned a scuff-shuffle step. So we vined to the right, did a scuff-shuffle, and then vined to the left. Everyone went to do a scuff-shuffle, except for Jean, who started scuffing around in a circle. I shrugged and was like, okay that's what we're doing, and started making a circle, only to find Fred once again laughing uncontrollably at my reaction to the new move. She was like, you acted as if you were supposed to know it. I figured we were. Again, you don't challenge Jean. If she wants to throw in a scuff-circle, you do a scuff-circle. People were having a lot of trouble scuffing and circling, so Jean changed it to, walk in a circle.

People were also having trouble with turning. So Jean came up with, Point in the direction you're going to turn. That worked for some people. It screwed me and Fred up royally. First of all, we were pointing left, but the circle turns right, so if I pointed left, I tried going left. My "friend" was doing the same thing, and agreed it was confusing. Fred's problem was a rather tall man in our class who has a difficult time picking up the steps as quickly as others. He a good guy; he tries his best; he eventually gets almost all of it. So when the pointing came up, he was all over that. The problem was that he remained pointing for a good portion of the combination, so there were fingers pointing in all directions, including towards the ceiling. That? Was not helpful.

After that, we reviewed the San Antonio Stroll. Fred had youtubed it and found that the dancers could spin. When we went over the chacha shuffle back, she was like, I think that's where they spin. We tried it while everyone was working on what a shuffle back was, and found that, yup we could spin.

I was getting hot so I went to put my zippie on the table with my stuff. Peachy had come in late and was standing between the tables in the back. As I walked over, she was staring at me. So I said, You're all the way back here tonight? She answered by giving me a very dispproving look, reminding me yet again that no matter what seems to be on the surface, everyone indeed hates me. I walked away fanning myself and mumbling something about being cold and hot at once. I was making no sense. Fred found this utterly amusing.

We then started dancing the Stroll and did the spin only when we were facing certain walls. When we faced a wall that made us the front, we did not spin. We did not want to confuse people and we also didn't want to increase the hatred. Peachy had stopped dancing by this point. She was watching us spin. She gave us what Fred described as a death stare. I couldn't describe it any better. Also at this point, someone smelled. It wasn't pleasant. The class took about five straight minutes learning, once again, how to turn. At one point, Jean instructed, You step and turn here--so how do you step and turn? Fred was apparently at breaking point right then because she stated clearly and matter-of-factly, Um like this? as she did the move really quickly. No one else saw her do this, of course, so I wound up cackling really loudly as seemingly nothing. She calls me the mean one but that? That was up there.

We finished off the evening doing Bob Roberts, only this time, we were dancing to some awesome 80s song. I was expecting some retro tv show theme in extended form when the music first began. To my surprise, the singer started spouting off in Spanish. It was telemundo 80s! The dance and the song simply did not go together, so Fred and I did what we could to jazz it up. She bounced and waved her arms around while kicking. I hyped up my merengues with a bounce and shimmied when we turned. Peachy did not appreciate any of this. But seriously, how could you take a telemundo 80s Bob Roberts line dance seriously at that point? You couldn't. So we were justified in our antics. And who cares about winning them over anyway? Hatred is hatred. I'm okay with that. We're having a blast.

Well, Excuse Me For Plowing My Car Into A River, Then

The latest On Star commercial is one of my favorite commercials. The whole purpose of On Star is to assist people in emergency situations automatically. The car sends a signal of distress even if the driver and passengers are incapacitated.

The ad starts with the On Star voice coming on and saying, "On Star Emergency." There's no response to that.

So then the guy says it again, and he's saying it louder the second time, and we're supposed to understand that he's repeating it to see if he gets a response, but this is how he says it-- "ON! STAR! EmERgenCY!" as if he's very agitated that anyone is daring to contact him or that someone won't reply to his response. Basically, the help sounds as if it's berating the helpless. And that spells comedy. Listen for it on the radio. Priceless.

Sluttyoo

Scrabble brings out the best in people. Here, "the best" means "the most creative new words ever." Halloween night brought about a haunting of a different kind--lexicographers were rolling in their graves as KDP hosted Grotter, Talker, and me in a ghoulish night of board gaming and snacking.

Ok, so I did most of the snacking. I was drinking a beer and had to drive later on, so eating was a way to cut into the alcohol. Blackberry wheat beer? Mmm mmm mmmmm.

When the games came out, we started with Chinese Checkers. I used to have a metal board with marbles. KDP has a travel-version that has pegs. After brushing up on some rules (as in we would still be playing the game had we not realized that we were allowed to move more than once space if we were jumping over other pieces), we got into a highly heated game. It was full-on fun, complete with the confusion that the Hot Tamale candies we were eating looked exactly like the game pieces on the board.

After KDP won, with Talker coming in second by moving three pieces all at once, we broke out the Scrabble. Grotter started, gaining double-digit words with every turn, and then spelling out words with Talker's tiles when it was his turn. KDP took to looking up words to figure out her next move instead of using the dictionary to challenge words already spelled. Over-tiredness took over on my part, and I kept suggesting words that did not exist, including the very academic "sluttyoo." Might I point out, however, that "Slutty" was already on the board not by my hand. In the end, Grotter won and I came in a surprising second. Using real English words.

Love My Cover Letter

The myriad of rejections I've received over the past few weeks have not gotten me down. No, they were in fact ego boosts. Why? Because most of them made some comment or other about or in reference to something I said in my cover letter. That means that, even though they don't publish my poetry, they recognize that I can put words together in a way that gets a reaction.

My new mission: Find a journal that publishes cover letters.

Erradic Pulse

What is going on with Pulse 87? A few months back, they had to beg listeners for money to keep the station going. The situation was straight out of a movie. I suppose the listeners and artists came through because 87.7 stayed on the radio.

Until a few days last week. I was going through my presets and kept catching dead air. I kept it on a while to see if it was my car. It wasn't. It was all dead air. Not even static. I wondered what happened.

Then out of nowhere, it was back. I'm happy it's back because when I don't feel like listening to talk in the morning, or when I want to avoid commercials, I flip it on, and it wakes me up on my way to teach my 8 AMs and 8:30 AMs.