Archive for November, 2013

I hate me, part 310,006

As I have stated before, I am not a handy man. I have hands and I’m a man but it goes no further. We have a window over the bed that’s drafty. It’s an old window and although it’s not technically broken it has seen better days (years, decades, millennium). I sleep like a rock (if a rock had sleep apnea and was fidgety) but the draft has been bothering Carrie and I said I’d fix it. Now normally I would just tape it up with some Gaff tape but I wanted to do it correctly or as correctly as I am capable of. So I went to Lowes and got a weatherproofing kit which consisted of large thin sheets of plastic and double side tape. After hours of wrestling with tape and plastic and razor blades and a hair dryer to tighten it up, I was done. It wasn’t bad, there was a slight, sliiiight rustling sound when the air hit the plastic sheeting but it was nothing. Until we were in bed and then it sounded like somebody standing behind us crinkling large sheets of cellophane and newspapers. It was pretty unbearable but I acted like I didn’t hear it. It got so bad that Carrie went to sleep in another room and even the dog looked at me with a “hey! what the fuck is that sound..arf!”, I offered a half hearted “it’s not THAT bad”. Today I will be tearing down the weatherproofing and will go back to reliable Gaff tape

Gaff tape is one of the greatest things in the universe, it’s like duct tape but better. It’s as much  cloth as tape and can pretty much fix anything, I found out about it years ago on Monster Magnet’s first tour

Gaff tape is one of the greatest things in the universe, it’s like duct tape but better. It’s as much cloth as tape and can pretty much fix anything, I found out about it years ago on Monster Magnet’s first tour

I Hate Me, part 384,220

We (my wife) are hosting Thanksgiving this year, it’s mostly her family as there’s not much left of mine. I’m not usually around for Thanksgiving so I’m just trying to stay out of the way and and shrink my trash footprint. Which is like a carbon footprint but on a household level, with records, books, and miscellaneous garbage instead of carbon . We got enough bonus points at Foodtown to get a turkey, which is great. We went to Foodtown together (a rare occurrence) I parked our cart which had food in it and we went and analyzed a bunch of frozen turkeys. Before I could stop her, Carrie asked a Foodtown employee his opinion. I’ve had some interaction with this guy, he’s really nice but he’s pretty intense about his opinions. One really big turkey, one kind of big turkey and and extra breast, two smaller turkeys if there’s a lot of leg and wing aficionado’s, size of leftovers. Way too many options. I went to get other stuff we needed but my cart was in the process of being taken away, like it was being towed.
“Hey man, that’s my cart”
-slack jawed stare-
“Yeah, that’s my cart..there’s food in it”
and he kept going, slower but still going
“sorry, I still need it”
I calmly wrestled it out of his hands and went to get towels. As I was zipping down towards paper goods, I saw this woman in front of me and she was weaving slowly down the aisle. I needed to get by her. Like a great running back I saw three moves ahead of me, getting by her and grabbing the towels but like a shitty running back, I didn’t pay attention to my first move and ran the cart into a shelf knocking off a bunch of toilet paper and earning me a glare from the slow weaver. I finally got back to the frozen turkeys where Carrie was being diplomatic
“I really think this one will be fine”
“I don’t know, I think you should get at least an extra breast.”
“You’re making a mistake”
We grabbed our turkey and headed towards the checkout…and freedom.

actual size

actual size

Teen Life, November 1966 (part 2)

Here’s some more from Teen Life. Come for the Troggs story, stay for the hippiest Raider (hint, it’s Phil Volk).  [click on image to enlarge]
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Teen Life, November 1966 (part 1)

 Teen Life from November 1966. Check out Scott Walker pin-up and interview with The Standells. [click on image to enlarge]
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I Hate Me, part 361,910

Daylight savings time was Sunday (Fall-back, Spring-ahead) and Carrie and I went through the house and changed all the clocks that needed changing, bathroom radio, stove, clock radio. Some of them don’t work correctly (read: I have no goddamn idea on how to change them). So the clock on the microwave is now 4 hours and 9 minutes later than it actually is. Dead simple to remember especially with this easy memory tool: four runs in a grand slam and nine players on a baseball field, duh. Anyhow the easiest clock to change our big kitchen clock hasn’t been changed. It’s an old school style clock that’s not to high on the wall to grab, it’s a piece of cake but for some reason (I see the word LAZY lurking behind me) it hasn’t been changed yet and no fewer than 5 times I thought I was really late for something instead of the usual kind of late. I curse the clock but still haven’t changed it. And while I’m at it there’s some annoying beeping coming from an appliance, we don’t have a ton of appliances and it’s driving us (me) goddamned crazy. It’s not a constant beep which would be fairly easy to track down, it’s every five or ten minutes. So I hear a beep from another room, get up look around don’t see anything flashing or otherwise in need of assistance, get bored, go back to what I was doing (nothing), a few minutes later “beep” and the anger notches up just a little bit more. Maybe it was that invisible beep machine I got Carrie for Christmas a couple of years ago.

Also, I am now on Instagram under  feedtim  check it out if your interested in blurry ponderous images with little or no coherent explanation

Not our clock, I took a photo of our clock but I can't seem to send it from my phone to myself. I should just get a  can with string attached

Not our clock, I took a photo of our clock but I can’t seem to send it from my phone to myself. I should just get a can with string attached

I Hate Me, part 390,008/I LIKE RECORDS 81

An over cologned heavy set guy in his thirties dressed in oversized basketball gear brought in a small stack of cd’s to sell. He was loudly talking on his phone while trying to communicate with me through a series of nods and shrugs.
Guy-”yeah, yeah, yeah I’m sellin’ cd’s…yeah you know I don’t like girls…no no no! I LIKE girls but I don’t like…uh real skinny ones..but ah..ya know I don’t like BIG girls.. yeah….uh.. what?!…nonono…no…I ain’t…no, I ain’t shallow…no..look I’ll be honest with you, I’m real smart…I’m into stuff….Yeah, I know I’m big…but I’m…it ain’ it ain’t the same…I’m like uh…like a football player…or somethin’…yeah…like that…that kind a big…”
It took me about five seconds to know we couldn’t use any of his cd’s, mostly scratchy Eminem and Limp Bizkit titles but I wanted to hear where his conversation was going.
Me- “sorry man, I can’t use any of these”
Guy- “…hold on ok….(to me)…really bro?!…none of ‘em…can’t use none of ‘em…bro?…c’mon…Bizkit, bro, Bizkit”
I shrugged my shoulders with my palms up, the international sign of “sorry man, can’t help you” and then I vanished into the back room.

"Bizkit, bro. Bizkit"

“Bizkit, bro. Bizkit”