Better translate than never

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26 August 2011

Hello lovers and followers and friends and, well, everyone else.

Before the hurricane hits and the power goes out and you’re left reading issues of People magazine from 1992 (whatever happened that year?), why not check out some videos?

As I mentioned earlier this week (you did read that, didn’t you?), I was fortunate enough to perform with the DC Improv Comedy School Cast on Wednesday. GF was there with camera in hand to record some of the scenes of the action.

If the power last throughout the weekend, I’ll be posting clips from the show.

Here is one game called “Foreign Movie.”

After an apogee, an apology

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25 August 2011

As I do with many sentences and conversations, allow me to begin with an apology.

I know several of you were huddled around your computer or blog-ready phone to receive a post from me last night. I know some of you were out there in the lonely world, waiting for an electronic missive from my fingers to your heart. I know most of you waited, and realized, as the clock struck midnight (ET), all hope of word from your beloved was dashed like waves on the Cliffs of Dover.

Again, I apologize.

While the glow of your computer lit your frown, making it seem that much more depressing, I was performing improv with several funny people (all more humorous than I, you see) at the DC Improv as part of the DC Improv Comedy School Cast.

Still, I should have written.

After the earthquake and after digesting the misery of a drunk and cowardly Cone Alone, I should have known you would need a bit more comfort. A bit more guidance. Actually, I know you just needed a friendly word.

I apologize one more time. I know I let my life get in the way of our electronic, anonymous life together.

Please forgive me.

If you forgive me, I promise to post video (ACTUAL FOOTAGE) from last night’s performance.

Will that do it? Will that make up for my error?

If my penance seems paltry and does not please you, I will proffer personal puns just for you at your request. I will post these puns directly to your Facebook account if you desire, so all the world can see you are loved and your name is a joke.

Maybe though, “that joke isn’t funny anymore.”

Shake, rattle and roil

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23 August 2011

If you have not heard about today’s earthquake, I won’t fault you.*

I was at work in mid-town DC when the quake hit. Our office has been going through renovations lately, and it took me a few moments to recognize what was happening. I was on the phone, speaking with one of our grassroots organizers, when my desk began vibrating.

I have a bit of an interesting mental condition. If my brain does not comprehend what is happening, it will make up some explanation to fit the situation. For example, when I began receiving the local newspaper from my hometown of Irwinton, GA (pop. 580 or so), The Wilkinson County Post, I assumed I drunkenly ordered a subscription one night. I tell the story to my friend, MP, and he reveals he ordered the subscription for me.

When I felt my desk shaking, my brain informed me, ever so casually, “Hello Joey. Oh, I see you’re on the phone. Well, I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know the people working on office renovations are now behind your desk using a powerful vacuum cleaner.” Of course, I assumed my brain new what the fuck it was talking ‘bout.

Then the shaking grew stronger.

I swiveled my chair around, looked out the window and saw the church outside shaking. “That’s one damn powerful vacuum,” I said back to my brain.

By this point, my brain heard people in the office using the word “earthquake” and the sentences, “Get in a doorway” and “Do not leave.” So, I hung up the phone and walked to a doorway.

After the shaking subsided, people began saying the building was to be evacuated. That is when I faced an idiot’s dilemma.

Of course, I was going to take my book bag. After all, it was packed and ready to go. Then, I made sure to get my cell phone and charger (not of the San Diego variety). But what to do, what to do? I looked at my Arizona Energy Drink and a two-disc compilation of lounge and down tempo songs (called, embarrassingly enough, POSH: An Exclusive Chillout Experience) I purchased from a Bed, Bath & Beyond in Salt Lake City.

I honestly hesitated, debating whether I should grab the energy drink and eject disc two of POSH and take them downstairs with me. I quickly assessed the situation and realized that POSH would be no great loss and people downstairs would mock me if I brought my energy beverage.

Should I be bothered or oddly proud that in the midst of natural disaster I still make decisions based on what people will think of me?

My entire world is literally shaking and I still feel embarrassment and potential shame.

In therapy, this would be a groundbreaking discovery I suppose.

 

 

*Yes, I already tweeted something similar. For the curious bunch who do not follow @mentalmacguyver, the tweet read, “Not a good time to break up with my wife today. After the #earthquake we couldn’t file for no-fault divorce.”

Is Kim Jong-Ill?

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22 August 2011

I am in a band called Joey Cougar & The Starfish. We formed in Salt Lake City, UT. We went on tour the summer I had a vasectomy.

Somehow our drummer, Kelly Styxxx, booked us this gig where we were headlining an open mic night. I am not sure people were pleased to see a headlining band during open mic. The guy prior to our performance looped his music and played a didgeridoo. He was a hippy and I wanted to throw a hard biscuit at his face.

For tonight’s post, please enjoy this brief video of us playing our song, “Is Kim Jong-Ill?” at Johnny’s on Second in Salt Lake City.

Am I convulsing with anger in this clip? You decide.

 

“Look out! Clifton!”

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21 August 2011

A little over a week ago, on a Friday, I rented a car for work. I rented the car for a day, and decided I would like to get the most use out of it. I asked GF if she would like to get out of town and take a small road trip after work. She said she would.

We got home from work and gussied ourselves up a bit. Where to go? Where to go?

I suggested we go to Clifton, VA. I visited this cute little town in Northern Virginia about a month or so after beginning my current job. I thought the place was just about the most adorable thing I had seen. It was as small as my hometown, but had a bed and breakfast (B and B as some people say), an ice cream parlor, a bar/restaurant thing at which I ate, a wine store, train tracks, speed bumps, a church and a fancy restaurant in an old, Southern house.

After rush hour, we hopped into the rental car and drove the hour to Clifton to eat at the restaurant in the Southern house. We drove into the town, over the tracks and parked on the side of the street. We got out into the cool night and walked to the Southern house. We walked onto the porch and learned the place is called Trummer’s on Main. We walked off the small Southern street and into what could have been an upscale bar in Manhattan (at least in the wide eyes of this small-town boy).

The host took us upstairs to the dining area, which looked like it would be suitable in Savannah. Large fan blades that looked like boat propellers spun vertically as well-dressed Southerners dined and talked in the large dining room that felt like someone’s home. GF and I ordered a side of roasted oyster mushrooms and two main dishes, both of the fish variety. GF’s dish was salmon I think. I ordered some sort of fish, which I forget now, but it came with interesting vegetables I did not recognize and pureed English peas. I fucking love English peas. I did not always love them. I had to eat them as a child. Fortunately, we usually had them with mashed potatoes. I would shove the peas into the mound of potatoes and eat them together in the hopes that the starchy dish would drown the flavor of the dreaded vegetable. Now, I love them on their own.

Every single bite of each dish was perfect. I chewed the food down so small just to suck all the flavor I could out of every morsel.

I also ordered the signature cocktail, which tasted a bit like shampoo, but with alcohol.

Three people at a table behind us were boisterous. The group (two men and one woman) seemed to be in their early 50s and kept talking about boinking this or that person and giving the wait staff a difficult time. Here is a paraphrase of one conversation:

Wait staff- Anything to drink?

Woman- Yes. What was I drinking? What is that dark liquor?

Wait staff- Jagermeister.

Woman- No, that’s not it. It was something.

[men talking simultaneously and indistinguishably, but basically just repeating either the wait staff or the woman]

Wait staff- Sombucha?*

Woman- No no. Something else.

Wait staff- Those are the only two it could be based on your description.

Woman- No. I don’t know. Sombu something

Wait staff- Sombucha?

Woman- What was that?

Wait staff- Sombucha.

Woman- Sombucha. Yeah, that was it. Can I have one of those?

And so on and so forth.

I went to use the restroom and one of the men at the boisterous table went as well. He began chatting with me asking if I went to school around here. I told him I earned my Bachelor of Arts at Georgia College & State University. He said it was a great school. I’m sure he did not know it.

We took the elevator up to the next floor and walked to the restroom. We went into our stalls and did our business and went to the sinks at the same time. He showed me the sinks were not working. I said perhaps we had to pump the handle like the old days. Fortunately, he did not think that was as dirty as it sounds in writing. He just said he didn’t think my idea was correct.

We left with soap on our hands. He probably still talked about something.

GF and I also had some sort of banana dessert that I wanted to have a romantic relationship with.

GF and I eventually left the restaurant (after I had three cups of coffee due to a clerical error), walked through the town (about six minutes at the most), got back in the car and drove home.

A pleasant evening in Virginia.

Please enjoy the pictures from my previous trip to Clifton.

 

*I’m not sure if this is actually what they said. Isn’t Sombucha that drink that yoga-practicing New Age persons enjoy? I can’t be bothered to look up this kind of information.