big cliché

So this shortwave thing is pretty cool. Over the last week or so, I've heard broadcasts from Yemen, Germany, England, New Zealand, Australia, China, Russia and several unidentified Spanish-speaking countries. Too bad I only speak one language. And let's face it: when I learn a second language, it is going to be Spanish. There have also been a bunch of stations right here in the US, but it seems they are all either evangelists or sports shows. Give me the evangelists anytime over sports idiots. In fact, let me tell you a not-so-secret: I hate sports. I can't stand watching them on TV, watching them live or even watching the sports section of the evening news. I will admit to watching OU football, but if that stopped tomorrow, I would sleep like a baby secure in the knowledge that I would be able to get across town in less than 2 freaking hours on game day--because there wouldn't be any more game days. Aimee and I have come to the conclusion, based on the amount of sports shows around, that we must be the only two Americans who don't worship sports as some sort of twisted religion. Heck, I don't even play golf anymore even though I still have a full set of clubs, gifted to me by Kelly's older bro Robert, and shoes just sitting collecting dust. Although one could reasonably argue that golf, much like bowling or softball, isn't much of a sport, now is it?" So while scan-tuning the radio, having to skip over the 30-freaking-thousand "Sports (insert catchy name here, like Animal or Machine, or Asshat)" to be able to get to a decent broadcast pisses me off to no end. I hate sports so much, I would rather see PORN be the national pastime. I can't believe the amount of money, time and energy wasted on sporting events. And how about those parents who beat the ever-loving crap out of each other because precious little Jimmy didn't get his at-bat because he genuinely sucks at the game? When did that become acceptable? When I was a kid (caution: crotchety old man rant ahead) if you sucked at a sport, that was it. They didn't give you a spot on the team to make sure your tender self esteem wasn't eternally scarred, you just. didn't. play. If there was ever a case for concealed carry on school grounds it would be little league events. That way, when some budweiser-powered bruiser is smashing in the umpire's face for calling precious little Jimmy out at home, an honest, responsible citizen could drop him like a bad habit and save the ump's life. Not to mention the bonus of cleansing the gene pool while at the same time teaching little precious little Jimmy that "an armed society is a polite society".

Hang on. Where did that come from? This wasn't supposed to be the "I hate sports" rant. This was supposed to be the "Shortwave radio is cool/have a nice holiday" post.

Oh well, have a nice Memorial Day, and remember to take a few to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

No, not that London calling, but BBC. My SW radio arrived yesterday and I've been spending almost every free minute either keying in known freq's or scanning the AM waves for hammers. Last night, I found a bunch of spanish language stations; one located in Oakland CA, one obviously european block country, about a dozen evangelistic stations, and a couple of hammers from the east coast getting their morning chat on.

Aimee is not nearly as impressed by all those radio waves bouncing around between terra firma and the ionosphere, but we can blame that on the internet. Sure, she can chat with anyone she wants from any country in the world, but the shortwave is living history, baby. And I'm still dazzled by the fact that I'm picking up these stations from their country of origin on a little radio about the size of a paperback novel. After Aimee pointed out all of the misery that could result from a used radio of questionable pedigree, I opted for a new unit. It was more than I initially wanted to spend, but it was easy enough to save a few bucks, simply by not dining out on the weekends like we usually do.

The hardest part of the whole gig is trying to find stations that are broadcasting to the Americas while I'm able to listen. Thankfully, Sony was kind enough to include a copy of their Wave Handbook which is a very handy reference to who is broadcasting to what area and at what time. This is only slightly complicated by all the times listed being in GMT--a.k.a. London time. I say slightly because I have a firm grasp (thanks to the US Navy) of the concept of GMT and timezones in general. Apparently, some folks are easily confused by the concept as evidenced by the one time the HD tried to switch to GMT for tracking downtime. That lasted about two weeks. It seems overall system down timewent up like 300% or something because people were unable to make the quantum leap from logging things in local US time to GMT. I wish it would've caught on, because it made things so much easier.

In any event, I don't make it around to posting much this week, it'll because I'm sitting on the deck in the wee hours of the cool morning listening to London calling.

Phil Spector Murder Trial on Yahoo! News Photos

Bad hair day?

Man, what happened to spring? I woke up Saturday and it was freakin' 98ºF outside! Same thing today, too. Wasn't last week in the 70's? Dang.

It was almost too hot to rotate the tires on the big black truck, but I still managed to get it done. You see, kind friends, I am trying to do as much of the 50K mile tune-up as I can to cut down on the number of hard-earned cash dollars I have to give up in the process. The list is long and boring, so I'll spare you the details, but I'm almost out of things that I can do simply because I don't have the tools or the technology. So, if anyone of you has access to a tranny flush, drop an e-mail, wouldja? No, Kelly, not that kind of tranny.

On to the obligatory movie reviews. This weekend there are 1.5 of them. ".5" you say? Well, yes. We caught it halfway through and it was good enough to keep watching. Hopefully we'll catch the first half at a later date, although we were able to discern enough of the backstory that it really doesn't matter. It was called The Eye and was quite good. The story is about a young blind woman who receives a corneal transplant. She is able to see, but also sees ghosts of the recently deceased. She goes back to her doctor and the two try to figure out why it's happening. Good movie. Good acting. Basic special effects, but in this day and age, anything that isn't LOTR or Star Wars seems a bit under done. Also viewed was Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. Not bad at all. Certainly better than I expected, but I still can't get past that rubberfaced hambone. Jim Carey is just too much for the really real world, if you ask me. Everything he does is about a 12 on a scale of 1-10. The only, and I mean only, movie that he didn't over do with his freakshow antics was Eternal Sunshine and there was a scene or two where I thought he was going to explode in a typically Jim Carey-ish spastic fit of "look at me, I'm the funniest guy in hollywood" shenanigans. Blech. Oh, before you ask, no I did not see Episode 47: Revenge of the Sikh this weekend. First off, that would be a direct breech of our theater boycott. Second, that last one was so devoid of any soul I felt like I had killed a puppy just by watching it. E-gad, why did they even show up for work if they were going to do that kind of job? Ben Stein shows more emotion than Hayden Christensen as Anakin Skywalker. One final movie note: we tried to watch Coffee and Cigarettes Friday. All I gots to say about that one is "just don't". If it comes on late one night on HBO, and you think you might want to watch it--just don't. If a friends suggests it or brings it by with the intent to watch it--just don't. We were able to make it through the first two vignettes--and that was a stretch--but when Iggy Pop and Tom Waits showed up, that was it. That is one of those movies where the trailers are indeed better than the product. We fast forwarded through to see Jack show Meg his Tesla coil, and then it was unceremoniously turned off.

That's about it for this weekend, so I think I'll leave you with one of the great philosophical questions of our time: Who was the better lead singer for Black Sabbath: Ronnie James or Ozzy?

One year.

Yeah, the Soup Nazi jokes are a bit old, but you still ain't getting a post here tonight. You see, I used up all my mojo over at ICR going off on dimwitted legislation.

The link is at the right if you're curious.

YOU! News 4 finally decided to put up the link to the superglue article from last night. Click and enjoy.

While watching the evening news during lunch, I heard a promo from channel 4 that I knew I would just have to watch. ...and tonight at 10p.m. a woman facing criminal charges for what she did to her ex husband with a tube of superglue. Complete story at 10p.m.

As soon as I finished lunch, I emailed Aimee and asked her to record channel 4's 10 o'clock news. The following is what they reported.

A seminole county woman, Lauria Ann Leonard, has been booked on a complaint of suspected domestic abuse for assaulting her ex-husband. The reason? While her ex-husband slept, she used an entire tube of superglue to "glue his left testicle to his left leg". Yes. I'm seroius. According to Sheriff Joe Craig, she was enraged because she found a "pubicle hair on her viberator that was not his". Now first off, what is a pubicle hair? I'm pretty sure he meant pubic hair, but it was still hilarious to hear him actually use the word. And secondly, how did she know it was not his? And why if it was her "viberator" would she expect to find one his "pubicle" hairs on it? Now I don't think any of us really want know the answers to those questions, but they just kind of come to mind, don't they?

Well, I got nothing that beats that, so I'm done for the night!

Oh, too bad I couldn't find a link from kfor.com because to see the woman's mugshot was like the icing on the cake. She looks every bit of what you would expect a woman who would do such a thing to look like.

I guess it's true: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Busy. Busy. Busy.

That was today. I slept in a bit later than I intended, but still got everything today's roster done. Got a haircut, changed the fuel and air filters on the big black truck, checked the pawnshop for used SW radios and did all the yardwork. Well, a lot of it anyway. Aimee, being the supercool wife that she is, finished up the last of the willow branches and raked 2 full, and I mean full, yard bags of dead leaves that had accumulated along the west fence on Thursday so I wouldn't have to do them today. She is indeed the best.

A funny thing about that haircut, though. Not "funny, ha-ha" but "funny, hmmmmm". I hit the supercuts (don't laugh, they are the only ones who haven't screwed up my noggin of late) down on Alameda and 12th and ran into one of the girls from my senior class. She cut my hair last time, but I wasn't sure it was her because of her hair color. So today I plop down in the chair and she asks how I want it cut. I oblige her request and then ask her maiden name. She tells me (but still doesn't recognize me at this point) and I say "well that would mean you went to Lexington and graduated in '88". Her genuine amazement was obvious in her voice when she replied "Oh my gosh! How did you know that?" To which I of course replied "Because I was there, silly".

Once she remembered who I was (in high school I was not exactly the jet-setting, handsome, rockstar you have all come to know and love) we started chatting and catching up on what had become of our other classmates. The whole exchange was kind of odd since we didn't really run in the same circles back in the day, but not unpleasant in the least and I did get a great haircut out of the deal. Strange, huh? I have tried almost every place you can get a haircut for under $20 in Norman, and it is a woman I graduated with, but haven't seen since, who ends up being the only one to cut my hair properly twice in a row.

And in movie news, we have seen two since the "Vin Diesel Experience" last weekend. I can tell you with a clear conscience and a happy heart that Sideways is indeed due all the accolades heaped on it last year. Great performances abound and the story is tight. Of course, Paul Giamatti was stellar. That guy can act. Sadly, though, even if he lives to be a hundred and does a movie each year until then, I will always remember the "Dubya ENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN Bee Cee" scene as "Pig Vomit" in Private Parts. If you haven't seen Safe Men or American Splendor, you should. Period. And where has Virginia Madsen been hiding? I've always thought she was good, but this one confirms it. Sandra Oh also did a great job even though, for some inexplicable reason, she kind of freaks me out. That may be related to the fact that the last movie I saw her in was Dancing At The Blue Iguana, which was a certifiable freakshow. The other subject is My Life Without Me, which should've been one of the saddest movies ever made, but still managed to be lighthearted and even a little funny. It stars Sarah Polley as a 23-year-old mother who lives in a caravan (in her mom's yard) with her husband and two daughters. They are high school sweeties, and as she puts it "had [her] first baby at 17 with the only guy [she] ever kissed". She finds out she has ovarian cancer that has spread to her stomach and liver. It is inoperable and she is given 2 months to live. Rather than freak out, she keeps it a secret from her mom (played by Debbie Harry) husband and daughters and makes a list of things she wants to do before she dies. I will admit, at first, I wasn't all about it because of the pace, but patience is a good thing, I guess, and in the end it was pretty good.

Here's a parting question: why do people in this town call the police at 4:30 in the a.m. when there is a snake in their kitchen? What in tarhooties are the police going to do that the homeowner can't? You don't really have to answer that, I am just constantly amazed at the things that come across the scanner.

A while back Aimee recorded the 2004 Ultra Music Festival. It is still on our DVR and she listens to it while doing various things around the house--cooking, cleaning, whatever.

If you aren't familiar with Ultra (I wasn't until we watched it) it is a really, really big annual electronic music festival held in Miami. They pretty well cover it all from drum and bass to trance. Here's the part I don't get: most of the show, and I guess most shows in general, are nothing more than a DJ and, as Beck put it, "two turntables and a microphone". It is basically a giant outdoor nightclub with various world-famous DJs. For the most part, they don't make the music, they just play the music. Aimee has told me that some of these guys write and record their own music then have it pressed to vinyl so they can spin it, or they just use their laptop. So once you eliminate those guys, you are literally left with people who are playing music they didn't write, and getting some serious recognition for doing it. And some serious scratch. I hear these people get paid very well for spinning records at clubs all around the world.

Perhaps this is just one more example of how tragically unhip I have become, but am I the only one that finds this a bit off? Do the DJs have to give a cut to the artists who wrote the songs they play? Do the clubs have to pay royalties to the recording companies? Don't get me wrong, I know there is no way I could get up there and get the club on it's feet but like I said, I just don't get it.

Welcome to the JOYologist

Oh man. I don't have the words for this one. Check out this quote from the site "...being an artist who splashes JOY on everyone who crosses your path". I tell you what: around here, you go spalshing "joy" on people, your likely to get a serious beating.

Another fine ww production.
Separated at birth?. I know it seems like a long shot, but look at those noses and the Adam's apples. This occured to me tonight while watching Leno. He had Ann as a guest and I kept thinking to myself, "Self, who does she remind you of?" Were these two actually fraternal twins who were separated at birth? The resemblance is even more uncanny when you see them on TV. Granted, Ann's jaw is a bit more developed, but that must be from chewing up liberals for breakfast--there are an awful lot of them, you know. I think there is something strange afoot at the circle K.

Yes, I realize exactly how bad that jawline gag is, but you gets what you pay for kids.

Watched not one, but two Vin Diesel movies in the last two days. Chronicles of Riddick and A Man Apart. In keeping with the title, here are the 5-second movie reviews.

Chronicles: Good, but everything in it (as D pointed out) is shot to make Vin look ultra-cool.

Man Apart: Better, but how does a DEA Agent (as Aimee pointed out) afford a beach-front apartment in SoCal?

There you have it folks. Two movies reviewed in under ten seconds. Trust me, neither really has enough "plot development" to need any more. Not that they are bad mind you, but unpredictable they ain't.

Yes indeed, the weekend is over.

And what a whirlwind tour it was. Left for the Fort Friday night, drove to Conway to see Justin graduate Saturday, then drove straight home from Conway Saturday night after dinner with the fam. I left at 9pm and was home in my baby's arms at 1:38am. I stopped once for exactly 5 minutes and 40 seconds to fill up with petrol. No food, no bathroom breaks. Well, I did have a bag of Sam's all natural oatmeal choco-chip cookies and the bottle of water I bought in Conway before heading west, but that was it. I'm not sure, but I think that has got to be some kind of record for escape from central Arkansas.

I don't have anything else more exciting to say, so I'm going to bed now. All I really wanted to do was post that pic of Brother J looking dapper, but I couldn't resist the urge to brag about that world-class driving. There are but a few things in this life that I do well, and driving is one of them. It is the rest of those morons out there that suck!

Justin rockin' the mortarboard, a.k.a. the most hideous headgear ever created. Bow down to his high-dollar book learnin!
Another fine ww production.

Well, here I am, kicking back on my sister's couch in the Fort. One of my brothers graduates from UCA tomorrow (later today, really) so we'll be getting up waaay to early to head to Conway, AR for the festivities. This is actually a good thing. Of the 5 of Mom's kids, Justin will be the first to graduate from a real-live gen-u-wine accredited university. Or as I like to call them, money vacuums. I would probably have a much higher opinion of higher education if I hadn't seen so many of my co-workers try to duke it out, so to speak, with those fine folks at OU. I have heard more stories of how those people were trying to stick it to the little guy than I care to recount and it has just left a generally bad taste in my mouth when it comes to the whole college experience. Blah.

I had dinner with the other brother, Eric, tonight when I got in to town, but he won't be able to make the graduation hoedown. He, sadly, will be working. That's part of the problem when you are running your own show, or so I'm told: you have to make hay while the sun shines. I suppose the other problem is that you have to make sure you have work to do in the first place. How's that for a vicious cycle? You have to work when the work is there, or you have no work at all. I guess the important part is that I did get to spend some time with him, short as it was.

I took the night off work to be able to drive here this evening, so I'm hoping that all the guys on the tour 3 crewe thought I'd had enough and decided to go back to work at the Taco Bell. You see, Rob let me in on a little secret Thursday night. It seems they, meaning the tour 3 guys, were having a contest to see which one of them could finally push the button that would send me over the edge. This is not unlike the game Jefe and the rest of the lawnmonkeys used to play with The Man, only there is no radio for me to swear on while the FCC listens on. Apparently they decided this last month and have been working on it for about 4 weeks. Their favorite trick was to "forget" which one of the duty officers was on call after 8p.m. This was indeed frustrating--partly because I had sent out several email messages indicating which of them was to be contacted, but mostly because they are all smarter than that! I only found out about it when they started talking about the "cookies" that were to be the winner's prize. Not knowing that was the case, I ended up pitching in to the "cookie kitty" when Jason made the run to the store! But they were good cookies and it was all in good fun, so I was happy to be the butt of the joke. But woe unto them when I finally figure out the most appropriate way to retaliate.

What a week. I haven't blogged, or really even read any blogs, since that last post and I must say, it's been very relaxing. About the only things I have been reading are Rowland's comics, and I'm kind of pissed about his Wigu relapse (well about as much as one can be about an internet comic. It ain't like I shot off my pinkytoe or anything). Here I had been following the misadventures of the MAIS crew for months, wondering where he's gonna take the whole inter-species love triangle thing and he brings it back to Wigu? What happened to all that "I'm killing Wigu" stuff? I guess I shouldn't slag him too hard, since A)I've never met Rowland and B)he does publish two comics most weekdays whereas I haven't seen fit to publish two words lately. But in America, I can slag whomever I choose so dang you, Jeffrey Rowland--and your little Wigu!

I suppose, in my defense--although I don't really need a defense for relaxing--I could tell you that I am knee-deep in researching yet another unbelievably geeky hobby. Yes kids, I have been spending most of the time I normally allot to bloggin' to checking out short wave radio! Try to keep your clothes on, ladies. I know SWL is a hobby normally reserved for the league of the ultra-hot, but I'm married and beyond faithful. I'm not even sure why I thought about it, but sometime in the middle of last week, I did and I have been checking into the hows and whys since.

Apparently SW radios are built from pure titanium, platinum, gold and iridium, or at least one would think so from looking at their prices. You think your home stereo receiver was expensive? Check out some of the top of the line radios from iCom or Grundig and you'll see what I mean. Obviously, I won't be going that route. I'm scouring ebay and may even hit some pawnshops for a good used unit well under a bill. Of course, if any of you out there have a good used one, I'm always accepting donations.

Perhaps I'm easily amazed, but I have always found facinating the amount of information literally beaming around our heads at any given moment, and all one usually needs to get in on it is a receiver capable of tuning in the right frequencies. The coolest thing about shortwave is that you can literally pick up stations from around the world. The shortwave signals bounce all over the place, so it is not unusual to pick up Radio BBC being broadcast from London. How cool is that? Pretty cool, I think, considering most FM stations have a range of about 100 miles or so.

So there you have it: my ultra-hip, heavy metal lifestyle over the last week. I bet you thought I was doing something really interesting, huh? No? Well you were right. I am that boring, although I like to think of it as "refined". Doesn't seem quite so stodgy that way.