4/20/2007
Chicken Dancing in 3D
I don't feel like dancing, no sir, no dancing today.
One thing I really hate is when I'm at my local pub, relaxing after a long day of tourists and assorted bedlam, enjoying a refreshing 
little bevvy, and some drunk lady starts insisting that I hit the dancefloor immediately and dance with her. It happens to me all the time for some reason. "Ohhhhh, commmme ooooon! Just come on and dance! You have to! Come on!" and I'm like "Uh...no." And usually she's physically pulling me, pulling my elbow out of it's socket and attempting to literally drag me kicking and screaming into boogie wonderland. And I never do it.
It's not that I don't enjoy dancing now and then, I've got a pretty good sense of rhythm. I spent many nights in my teens and early 20's on the dancefloors of various clubs and raves, under the influence of various hallucinogens. I had a blast. However, back then the DJ's would play music that actually made me want to dance: New Order, Depeche Mode, Nitzer Ebb. Now most of what the DJs play, at least at my local pub, is nothing but crapola Hip-Hop and bad remakes of '80's hits. I can't dance to that shite. Sorry, I wouldn't want to even be seen attempting to dance to the latest Akon or Ying Yang Twins turd. Anyway, I'd rather tend to my bevvy and cig and people watch than waste my precious energy flailing about. Don't take it personal, drunk lady.
I especially hate when, because I won't come dance, the drunk ladies assume I think I can't dance, or that I'm shy and have self-esteem issues. "Ohhhh, coooommme oooon, no-one's gonna make fun of you..." and I'm like "they will if they see me dancing to Nelly with your drunk ass." I've had to lose my temper at them before and tell them to basically fuck off and get away, they just won't accept the word "no." When they finally get it, nine times out of ten I suddenly become the Purse Watcher. "OK, well, if you're not gonna dance then here, watch my purse" and they could be gone for hours. I've had two or three purses at a time before. Unlike some of my less respectful associates, I've always resisted digging through them, unless I'm desperate for a ciggarette, which i consider my "purse sitting fee."
Three Dimensions of Reality
Yesterday in Geology lab, Mr. Teacher (yes, the semester is almost over and I still can't remember his name) let us play with these incredibly cool books that showed contour maps of Idaho in 3D. I love 3D things: I must find a copy. Here's Melanie and I participating in the fun. We're so easily amused.
Chicken Fried Love
I've gone into Sherman IGA a couple of times now since my Get Out column reviewing their deli appeared in print. I was a bit scared to return, fearing that they'd get bent out of shape about 
some of the more, um, colorful (sarcastic?) things I wrote about their store and it's clientèle. One of the cashiers there happens to live a few doors down from a friend i was visiting, and she recognized me and told me that they'd all just loved the article so much, and that there was a free juicy, Chester Fried chicken breast waiting for me when I returned. Still, I was nervous.
So I slipped in early one morning, hoping to sneak in unnoticed and grab some cat food, milk, and of course, red deli jello in pink sugar foam. I made it almost through the check out when Nancy the cashier, who I've talked to a zillion times, looked at me with new eyes: "Are you the one that wrote that article?!?" She told me that the store owner liked the article so much he made photocopies for every employee. Turns out, that Saturday night after the article ran, there were people lining up for some Chester Fried and they ended up selling out and restocking the fried chicken a record six times. Busier than the 4th of July, she told me.
Soon, every employee on duty was hovering around telling me how funny they thought the article was: "I've never read anything like that...what a perfect description of our store." I'm not so sure they'd be showing me with such praise if they'd read the original, way nastier pre-edit version. Just goes to prove the any press is good press, I suppose.
little bevvy, and some drunk lady starts insisting that I hit the dancefloor immediately and dance with her. It happens to me all the time for some reason. "Ohhhhh, commmme ooooon! Just come on and dance! You have to! Come on!" and I'm like "Uh...no." And usually she's physically pulling me, pulling my elbow out of it's socket and attempting to literally drag me kicking and screaming into boogie wonderland. And I never do it.
It's not that I don't enjoy dancing now and then, I've got a pretty good sense of rhythm. I spent many nights in my teens and early 20's on the dancefloors of various clubs and raves, under the influence of various hallucinogens. I had a blast. However, back then the DJ's would play music that actually made me want to dance: New Order, Depeche Mode, Nitzer Ebb. Now most of what the DJs play, at least at my local pub, is nothing but crapola Hip-Hop and bad remakes of '80's hits. I can't dance to that shite. Sorry, I wouldn't want to even be seen attempting to dance to the latest Akon or Ying Yang Twins turd. Anyway, I'd rather tend to my bevvy and cig and people watch than waste my precious energy flailing about. Don't take it personal, drunk lady.
I especially hate when, because I won't come dance, the drunk ladies assume I think I can't dance, or that I'm shy and have self-esteem issues. "Ohhhh, coooommme oooon, no-one's gonna make fun of you..." and I'm like "they will if they see me dancing to Nelly with your drunk ass." I've had to lose my temper at them before and tell them to basically fuck off and get away, they just won't accept the word "no." When they finally get it, nine times out of ten I suddenly become the Purse Watcher. "OK, well, if you're not gonna dance then here, watch my purse" and they could be gone for hours. I've had two or three purses at a time before. Unlike some of my less respectful associates, I've always resisted digging through them, unless I'm desperate for a ciggarette, which i consider my "purse sitting fee."
Three Dimensions of Reality
Yesterday in Geology lab, Mr. Teacher (yes, the semester is almost over and I still can't remember his name) let us play with these incredibly cool books that showed contour maps of Idaho in 3D. I love 3D things: I must find a copy. Here's Melanie and I participating in the fun. We're so easily amused.
some of the more, um, colorful (sarcastic?) things I wrote about their store and it's clientèle. One of the cashiers there happens to live a few doors down from a friend i was visiting, and she recognized me and told me that they'd all just loved the article so much, and that there was a free juicy, Chester Fried chicken breast waiting for me when I returned. Still, I was nervous.
So I slipped in early one morning, hoping to sneak in unnoticed and grab some cat food, milk, and of course, red deli jello in pink sugar foam. I made it almost through the check out when Nancy the cashier, who I've talked to a zillion times, looked at me with new eyes: "Are you the one that wrote that article?!?" She told me that the store owner liked the article so much he made photocopies for every employee. Turns out, that Saturday night after the article ran, there were people lining up for some Chester Fried and they ended up selling out and restocking the fried chicken a record six times. Busier than the 4th of July, she told me.
Soon, every employee on duty was hovering around telling me how funny they thought the article was: "I've never read anything like that...what a perfect description of our store." I'm not so sure they'd be showing me with such praise if they'd read the original, way nastier pre-edit version. Just goes to prove the any press is good press, I suppose.Labels: 3D, Drunk Lady, Food, IGA, Mik-n-Mac's, Random Thoughts
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That IGA story is a blast.. you are a celebrity, soon you'll have your own Factory kids hanging on your every word
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