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Archive for April, 2002

|| April 24, 2002 || 10:45 pm || Comments (1) ||

The Waistdog, a.k.a. Rick (anytime I hear the name ‘Rick’, in my head it is pronounced like Neil from The Young Ones says it: “Wiii-IIICK”, all dopey and British) is a funny d00d. Be sure to read the 18 April entry. It nearly sent me into an apopleptic fit (or something). Direct, simple-but-intelligent humor like his is a turn-on.

I wonder, would he like my tongue in his ear? Just asking, is all.

|| April 24, 2002 || 9:50 pm || Comments (1) ||

Foreplay in the Superior household:

MAXIM: OOOH! HEYYYY! I have an idea….
JETT: (genuinely interested) Yeah?
MAXIM: Let’s number certain ’spots’ one to three and then you can pick a number out of a hat and that’s where I get to place Mister Stifford!
JETT: (nearly vomits from laughing so hard)
MAXIM: (purses lips and nods for a good, long while)
MAXIM: (after laughter abates) This is going in your weblog, isn’t it??

|| April 24, 2002 || 9:23 pm || Comments (3) ||

Oh, sweet merciful heavens! For those of you that are into that sort of thing, I have found the BEST PROTEIN BAR EVER (ahem….note that they prolly let one of their muscleheads do their site….the header shouts to try the four new flavors, while six are actually listed *snort*).

Granted, most protein bars taste like bricks of compressed dirt. This one, my cheeky little monkeys, well….this one is really and truly different. Made by Biochemtm Sports & Fitness Systems, it boasts a big ole 21 grams of protein and and an eensy-weensy 3 grams of carbs (230 calories and 6 grams of fat for those of you that count those things….).

I have never tasted anything so heavenly in something that is good for you. I bought a freaking case of the French Vanilla Bean flavor, and as soon as I find out where I can sample the rest I will run right out and do so; the store where I stumbled across this flavor only stocked it and no others.

And for those of you presently spiralling into a panic: NO, I am NOT becoming a corporate whore and NO, this whole endorsement thing will NOT become a regular happenstance around these parts. I am really jazzed. Only two other things have ever had me hooked at first try (sexandheroinsexandheroinsexandheroinsexandheroinsexandheroin); these bars are the stuff.

|| April 23, 2002 || 9:36 am || Comments (2) ||


Whomever it ’twas ’tis NOT my friend.

And I’m okay with the fact that I’m a nerd. (So shut up, timato. >:o) )

|| April 21, 2002 || 8:56 pm || Comments (0) ||

Heard the acoustic version of “Days Go By” (y’know, the Dirty Vegas track from the Mitsubishi commercial) today. It’s called “Without You” and it gave me chills. I don’t much listen to the X anymore, because (let’s face it) they fucking suck now that my pal Suzy has moved on and ’saucy’ Dave Rossi (whose voice I hear in my daydreams) decided he’d had enough of Citadel’s muckety-mucking with a good, solid formula that was wildly successful.

Friendly aside: Somebody knee Tuttle & Kline in the nuts and put Birmingham out of its’ morning drive-time misery, okay??? And DOC, for jeez pete, NO MORE DOCCCC! /friendly aside

I heard the tune on Reg’s Coffee House, the Sunday ay emm program produced and hosted by Scott Register. He’s the kind of radio guy I like wholeheartedly….not afraid to dig the bins for new stuff and then throw what he finds out there for public consumption. He’s great at mapping out projections for future singer-songwriter successes. He’ll play a little ‘nothing’ record from a ‘nobody’ and two years later those people are all over the place. He’s the Matt Pinfield of the Birmingham airwaves. If WRAX manages to run him off, as well, I’d never have cause to listen to their shitty station again.

By the way, I am #2 when you google ‘Reg’s Coffee House’. Right onnnnn.

|| April 21, 2002 || 5:50 pm || Comments (1) ||

Three recent reasons why I read Rossi like L.A. hookers give blowjobs (frequently and thoroughly).

And Matty? I’m sure Dolph Lundgren admires you too!

|| April 21, 2002 || 5:27 pm || Comments (1) ||

Today I stood at the edge of a sea of concrete and watched as a girl not much younger than me left a store.

She wore a plain white t-shirt, something akin to loose pajama bottoms and bright pink flip-flops. As she walked away, straight-cropped hair blowing, only one-quarter of her face was visible to me and I was struck by a thought.

The women of fifty years ago came to mind, with their immaculately-pressed shirtwaist dresses and their conservative single strand of pearls and carefully-coiffed-and-sprayed hairdos; those women who posessed powder-perfect noses and lips stained the color of dark berries and who always smelled of some flower extract: lavender or rose or gardenia swirled after them in an olfactory trail.

Those women would never have been seen in pajama bottoms and flip-flops….most assuredly not in public, anyway.

I think about the general apathy that weare awash in now, fifty years later, and I am mildly repulsed.

Total revulsion crawls me, however, at the thought of my own apathy being alive and well and having a healthy root-base that snakes through so many areas of my life.

Time for a change or two. Or ten.