Tuesday, November 30


The never ending tale of woe that is my wrist injury continues.

Sadly the doctor cannot prescribe pills that stop me from complaining like a whiny little bitch every day, but I'm on Vicodin now, and woo-hoo am I feeling high.

I'm back at the docs next week, so I thought it might be an idea to schedule an MRI this week.

In this photo it looks like country-singer-superstar Faith Hill is the medical assistant. My appointment is at 5.45am tomorrow morning. I think I'll be the first person in the big metal tube. And I doubt I'll have Faith to keep me company.

In other medical news, I bought one of those daily pill organizers. I take the yellow ones to remind myself to take the green ones ...

What an old bastard I've turned into.

Monday, November 29

© of Monday Night Football

Stuart Scott on ESPN just said

"You look up class on Dictionary.com you'll see a picture of Larry Fitzgerald."

This is false. I checked.

Friday, November 26

Childhood Revisited

One year for Christmas I got a clock radio.

Now I realize this is better than a hoop and an orange which seems to be the go-to old timer present.

Of course it's not as good as an X-Box, iPod and Justin Bieber S&M sex doll which I think all teenagers get this year.

And while we're comparing I should give a tip of the cap to my poor sister who one year in the 1980's got a tartan dressing gown while my parents gave their favorite child (me) an Atari Gaming Console complete with Daley Thompson Decathlon.

Back to the clock radio. I loved this thing because it had a headphone jack. And most winter nights when I should have been sleeping, I would tune the radio into Radio 4 Longwave and listen to the cricket, as England toured overseas.

Wednesday night EST the latest England vs Australia Ashes cricket contest began in Brisbane. Thanks to the magic of the internet and a cool little doo-dad that makes the BBC think my computer resides in the UK I can listen to ball-by-ball coverage of the games.

Throw in a 2 day Thanksgiving holiday and I have a Wednesday to Sunday night, 5 day marathon of listening, that kicks off at 7pm each night. I listen to the first 2 sessions downstairs and then I head up to bed, put the headphones on and nervously listen to the action while Anne nods off to sleep with the feint glow of my laptop illuminating her face.

This makes me happy.

Tuesday, November 23

Ice Cube with a quaint accent and a scarf

Not at all like NWA I fucked tha po-lice this week.

Driving home from an appointment I accelerated onto the highway and was soon zipping along at around the 80 mph mark.

I spotted the police car in the slow lane and slowed down to 65mph, pulling up equal with him as I did.

He slowed to 60, so did I. 55, same again. Down to 50mph and finally I pulled into the middle lane at which point he dropped back and threw the blue lights on.

Cop "What's with the erratic driving?"
Me "I was going too fast. I saw you and slowed down."
Cop "Yes, I slowed down to 45mph and so did you, that's very dangerous in the fast lane"
Me "So you coerced me into dangerous driving?"
Cop "No! No I did not. Not at all"

A few beats of silence.

Cop "You been drinking tonight?"
Me "No".

As I said no I believed I was telling the truth, then it hit me I'd drunk a Coors Light, which is hardly an alcoholic drink, but if we're going to be technical ...

Cop "Not even one?"
Me "Well, one but I'd be glad to take a sobrietry test"

Note I spelled sobriety wrong, but that's how I said it to the cop.

Cop "Huh?"
Me "Sorry Officer, I'd happily take a test, but I struggle to say the word sobrietry"

I delivered this in my best English accent. I'd figured talking funny was my best escape route.

And so it came to pass that 15 minutes later, during which I sat bemused by the side of the highway wondering whether eating a mint would be an admission of guilt, the cop handed me a ticket.

Just a warning. No fine.

As I accelerated away I blasted out some NWA on my stereo. Because that's what middle aged white men do.

Saturday, November 13

Brussels to Leeds

Awoke to a windy and wet Brussels and headed for the train station. Just like yesterday at Heathrow I had to go through British passport control, and just like yesterday I had the following exchange.

Passport Control: Why you traveling on an American passport. Why not use your British passport?
Me: Well I have to re-enter the US on my American passport.
Passport Control: Yeah, but we recognize dual citizenship over here.
Me: I'm on a global passenger list that says I left the US. When I re-enter the US and they see I didn't 'land' anywhere aren't they going to find that suspicious?
Passport Control: Oh yeah. Never thought of that.
Me: Really? That has never come up before?
Passport Control: No. Probably best you travel on your US passport then.
Me: Thanks.

At St. Pancras I de-trained and walked over to Kings X. One Cornish pasty and a Walnut Whip later I caught a train from Platform Zero (really) up to Wakefield. And after a few hours with my mum and dad I headed up to Leeds for College Reunion II.

Seven 40-somethings had a great night reminiscing over former and present glories. Here Boff tries in vain to hide Dave's proudly displayed chest hair.

On the walk from the last bar to the hotel, Boff and I were asked twice if we would like to go to a titty bar. Once by a street-walker and the 2nd time by a guy driving a big van with 'titty bar big van' decal'd down the side.

We said no. Too old I guess.

Thursday, November 11

A Day to Remember

My flight to London was a doozie. The old geezer sat next to me had the worst breath I ever smelled. Add the putrid stains on his trousers and you get the picture. To add insult to nasal injury, I'd paid for an upgrade on the overnight flight, but that meant that my larger seat no longer butted against the window ... which made falling asleep a lot harder.

Landing in England I noticed the smelly fella actually had a wonky face and that's when I realized he was probably a veteran, and that I was a shit for even bitching about his funk. Ah well.

A train, a taxi and another train and welcome to Belgium.

These are my hotel colors.

And this is how those colors are used to furnish the room.

Wednesday, November 10

The homeland of Hercule Poirot

I'm flying to Euroland tonight. Tomorrow morning I land in London and then jump on the Eurostar to Brussels in Belgium.

Spookily, I'm guessing I'll be crossing the Western Front of WW1 in Belgium and Northern France at about 11 o'clock. I'm curious if there will be a minutes silence on the train for Remembrance/Veteran's Day?

Unfortunately, yet predictably, my reasons for visiting are less important.

I'm staying at the Pantone Hotel.

Pantone as I'm sure everyone knows is the vivid ink system used by designers and printers throughout the world (tune in next week for my thesis on TOYO inks).

Well guess what. Pantone have licensed their color system to the hotel. This is very exciting to me. I know it shouldn't be. But it is.

I have no idea what PMS color I will be designated when I check in, but based on this weather forecast, I hope it is something bright and energetic to rid me of jet lag and the grey skies of Northern Europe.

Stay tuned for photos. I hope reality isn't too disappointing.

Thursday, November 4

I'm all grown up

Perhaps not the most spectacular news but we finally added drapes in our living room.

Me and the curtain guy had one of those awkward chats where we exchanged good-intentioned but ultimately pointless design words like aspect, flow, contemporize and cadence.

That said, I love the palette of our treatments ...

That's a golf ball on our fashionably low coffee table. Anne's hurt her foot, and the Titleist is like a mini-massager.

Pink Martini

I dragged the M.R.S to see Pink Martini last night, and what a swell time we had.

After a show I'm always interested to read reviews to see if I'm in touch with the critics.

I've only read one so far, and the opening gambit of the guy from Relix drew my ire!!

Thomas Lauderdale and the band members then took the stage for an instrumental version of the classical composer Ravel’s “Bolero” to open the show

Instrumental version? What other version is there?

There are no words to Bolero ... unless you consider a crazy old lady humming along as she watches Torvill and Dean on Ice as a lyrical interpretation.

Guy from Relix - Douche.
Pink Martini - Awesome.

Wednesday, November 3

What the Hook?

No idea why I'm obsessing about this, but I've been on a mission the last few days to determine how many people have heard of 1970's country-rockers Dr. Hook.

Their quintessential song contains a fantastic double entendre - When You're in Love With a Beautiful Woman ... it's hard.

One of the singers in the band wore an eye-patch and played maracas for fuck's sake. How great is that? And they recorded a song called Sexy Eyes. Eyes. Plural. Eye patch. Terrific!

A Little Bit More, Sylvia's Mother the list goes on.

Surely my parents weren't the only people listening to this stuff in the 1970s?