Hello folks.
I'm moving to a new host and feedreader links will likely break.
I can be found at: Bad Tea
Please excuse the mess at the new place.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
The Cincinnati Police are Called In
To bring yourself up to speed, you’ll want to start a couple of posts ago with one called Stupid Things. Now that were all on the same page.
Baby, if you've ever
wondered ... wondered,
whatever became of me ...
I'm livin' on the air in
Cincinnati ...
"DON'T LIE TO ME!", the angry University of Cincinnati Cop shouted at Todd. He then gave us some room while he conversed with the UC policewoman. I gave Todd an update and told him how things were looking. He strolled off.
The angry UC cop told me they were going to call in the Cincinnati Police. I can only assume that, as I'd passed the field sobriety test the list of things he could charge me with were more limited than he liked. Maybe the Cincinnati police would have better luck. Maybe I'd screw up in front of them. Maybe the whole thing was standard operating procedure.
Joe came down from the Fawn-Brown Datsun. Like Todd, he acted like he was taking a walk through the streets of Cincinnati and just happened across me. "Hmmm, this Maurice guy," the UC Cops must have been thinking, "is certainly popular. He can't stand on the sidewalk forty miles from home for more than 15 minutes without running into people he knows. If only I were that popular."
Perhaps this is why angry cop was angry. He was just a bit jealous. Then, there's always the chance that he just didn't like being lied to.
Joe asked me what was going on. Angry cop asked Joe if he'd been in the Orange Datsun. Joe said he hadn't. Angry cop said ... everybody ... all together ...
"DON'T LIE TO ME!"
Joe and I have different approaches when it comes to dealing with law enforcement persons. Right after "Don't Lie to Law Enforcement Officials (To Save Your Butt)" I list "Always Be Polite When Speaking with Law Enforcement Officials" as point number two. The whole time I was conversing with the police ... and we'd shared many sentences, probably a paragraph or two, I was all "Yes sir," "No Sir," Yes Ma'am," "No Ma'am," "No, not very smart at all."
Joe had one exchange with angry cop: "I'M NOT LYING TO YOU! I GO TO SCHOOL HERE ..." there was more to it but I don't recall it all. Angry cop walked off. I gave Joe an update. (Joe is normally a very laid-back guy.)
A Cincinnati Police Officer arrived. I could overhear his conversation with Angry Cop.
"How many has he had to drink?" asked the Cincy Cop.
"He's had twelve."
The Cincinnati Officer paused, took a look at me and said, "He looks like he could hold twelve to me."
You could tell by his tone that he didn't mean if I was all hollowed out my shell could hold 144 ounces ... he meant that it looked like I could probably drink twelve beers and not be the problem some other twelve-beer drinkers might be. At the time I was running 250 pounds and, as always, had that stretched out over a 6'4" (plus a wee bit more) frame.
Next Episode: Another Field Sobriety Test
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Never Lie to The Man
... even when the man is a woman.
From last time:
A female University of Cincinnati police officer strolled up to the window. I let out and incredibly audible sigh that was heard for what it was.
"What are you so relieved about?" the policewoman asked.
"I thought you were going to be a man," I stupidly said.
The policewoman asked, "Have you been drinking?"
I believed then, as I do now, that lying to law enforcement officials is a bad idea.
"Yes." I said.
"How many have you had?"
"Twelve"
"Where'd you drink them?"
"I-75."
"What'd you do with the empties?"
"We threw them out." (On the grassy area we'd cut across. I was surprised the officers hadn't seen that.)
"Will you please step out of the car."
And I did.
It was then that I noticed the second University of Cincinnati police person. He had been on a dirt bike.
The guy officer struck me then, and still does, like he was on a power trip. Maybe he was just a genuine ass. Maybe out-of-towners driving across UC lawnage just pissed him off. He was about 5'10, so as he'd be yelling in my face he was almost standing on my toes and he'd be looking up at me.
"Who was in the orange Datsun?" he demanded?
"I don't know anything about an orange Datsun." (As I said in yesterday's entry, the Datsun was Fawn Brown in color.)
"DON'T LIE TO ME!!"
(Hmmmm. I seem to have broken my own Don't Lie to Law Enforcement Officials rule. The Fawn Brown vs Orange argument is sort of weak. Maybe that should be amended to say, "Never Lie to Law Enforcement To Save Your Own Butt." Lying to protect your buddies is somehow noble.)
I was given a field sobriety test. Lean back, spread out the arms, close the eyes and touch the nose with the fingertips. I also walked a straight line, did a spin, and walked back. I did a very good job. In different circumstances I'm sure I would have been given a gold star or certificate of achievement.
Todd, one of the guys from the Fawn-Brown Datsun walked down to see what was going on. He acted like he was just walking by and stumbling across me was a great coincidence.
"Maurice, what's going on?"
As I started to explain Cranky Cop got in his face and asked, "Were you in the orange Datsun?"
"No. I don't know what you're talking about," he said innocently.
"DON'T LIE TO ME!"
Next Episode: The Cincinnati Police are called in.
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Lighthouse, Cincinnati and The Man
Alright. You've all read the disclaimer from the other day. The one where I say I don't condone a lot of the stupid things I did when I was younger. Good.
It was probably 1982 and a group of us had decided to go to a bar called The Lighthouse in faraway Cincinnati. Well, it was about a 40-mile drive. I had Flying Fred as a passenger in my VW Beetle. My buddy Joe had his orange Datsun (the color was Fawn Brown according to Datsun... now Nissan).
We made it to Cincinnati without any problem -- it was a straight shot down I-75 -- and were able to get really really close to The Lighthouse, which was in the University of Cincinnati area.
Anyway, we kept driving around The Lighthouse, always able to see it but never able to get near it due to the configuration of one-way streets. I'd finally had enough and told Flying Fred that I was going to hop across a small grassy area so that we'd have a better angle on the bar. It was a really stupid thing to do.
As we hit the curb going onto the grassy area Fred said, "Lookout, it's the cops!"
"Throw all the empties out," I suggested as I continued across the grass. Fred complied.
"What are we going to do?" Fred asked.
Assuming the cops were University of Cincinnati cops and on foot, I said, "We're going outrun them."
And then luck turned her head my way. As I came off the far curb the car died. Had it not, I would have preceded right, down the road and away from the UC police. They were not all on foot.
The Bruise (the name of the Beetle) had a problem of dying occasionally. When it died it took about 10 minutes for her to decide to start back up. I didn't even try to turn the engine over.
I rolled down the window and waited.
A female University of Cincinnati police officer strolled up to the window. I let out and incredibly audible sigh that was heard for what it was.
"What are you so relieved about?" the policewoman asked.
"I thought you were going to be a man," I stupidly said.
Do you detect a theme?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Stupid Things
I am not going to defend any of the stupid things I did when I was younger. Some of them, while possibly considered stupid by others (skydiving) were rather fun. Others there is no defense for; these are the ones I lie awake at night trying to figure out how to keep my kids from doing.
Under the category of "others" falls having a few beers and then getting into a car to tool around with some buddies. Maybe that should say, "drive around with buddies"; I've been advised that "tool around" means different things different places.
Anyway, drinking and driving is a bad idea. You don't need me to tell you that.
There was a comedian on the other day commenting on George Bush's arrest for drunk driving. The comic said something like, "This was back in the early 80's. Do you know how hard it was arrested to for driving under the influence in the early 80's"?
Bush's arrest came in '76 according to the link above. But I believe I started that last paragraph with "There was a comedian on the other day" and not "I was having coffee with Bush's autobiographer." We need to cut the comic some slack -- they're not all as good at being funny and historically correct as Eddie Izzard. (Yep, I said, Bush's Autobiographer. What. You think he's going to write it himself?)
In 1976 I was 16. I can't say I was really doing any drinking then. Well, about that time I had a bottle of wine one night. Several of us camped out and had some alcohol. The most memorable thing was one of the guys getting sick on warm Little Kings (that's a 7-ounce bottle in the picture) and having dry heaves most of the night. It was awesome.
When I look back on a particular period of time it seems like my friends and I were getting pulled over fairly often. We were never horribly smashed and we weren't getting pulled over for weaving. Until this minute I'd never given this much thought -- maybe the police would get wise when they'd see the same group of boys drive by time and time again and they'd pull us over just to see what was going on. We'd always have beer. Somebody might have to take a field-sobriety test. We'd often be told to be careful. We'd be sent on our way and told to go home. Given how the law has changed over the years it isn't hard to believe that, by today's standards, we would have been over the blood-alcohol-content line. By 1980's standards, maybe not.
The police may have been cutting us some slack as we lived in small-town Ohio. A person didn't have to go but a mile or two to be out in the county where there isn't too much to run into. Maybe it's because a lot of these officers grew up in the 50's when there was even less to do and they knew... well, just knew. Maybe it was because none of us were hardcore hoodlums.
I should point out that the Thugs I ran around drinking with were a pretty tame group by anybody’s standards.
What have we got here?
Alcohol and autos are a bad combination. I am not saying otherwise. My buddies and I are lucky we didn't get hurt or hurt someone else.
Having said that, there are some, in retrospect, interesting things that happened in which alcohol was involved.
(Other observations: I rarely drink anymore and have a been aging the same six-pack for about two months in the fridge. The guy that almost killed me may have been hammered; but that's another story.)
Technorati Tags: Small-town Ohio,Bad Ideas
Thursday, July 9, 2009
On The Road Again
I took this from my cell phone not long ago as I was driving near Cincinnati. Sorry the image is so crappy.
I don’t think this picture does justice to just how much it looks like someone’s drawn a penis and testicles on the Warren County water tower. It’s actually a big “W” … a testicularly-shaped “W” which also has a bit of penis working in it.
My inner 12-year old laughs at this each time I pass it.
Technorati Tags: Warren County Water Tower
Monday, July 6, 2009
Hung
I have a Dell Latitude C800 Notebook. I had to flip the unit over to make sure it was a C800; that point seems insignificant now but will make a bit more sense in just a minute.
The notebook is at least six years old.
About four months ago it fell out of my bag, roughly waist high, and dropped three feet or so; the latch broke.
The touchpad has been replaced twice to fix a drifting mouse pointer -- both times under warranty and neither time fixing the problem for too terribly long. Unplugging and replugging the touchpad connector fixes the problem for a short while. Using a PS2 mouse is a better solution.
Maybe a year ago the notebook started freezing when it was bumped a bit. I took the keyboard off and remade all the connections I could see. The problem went away for about a year.
When it reappeared I did the same thing. I took the keyboard off and remade all the connections I could see. This did not fix the problem. I repeated. Repeated again. Rinsed once and repeated a third time.
Well, I repeated a couple of more times, each time I'd try to take a little more out of the notebook. Once or twice I found something I'd missed.
Two days ago I sneezed with the notebook on my lap and it hung. I rebooted and ... and ... and I'd like to say I was browsing porn and the same thing that caused John Belushi to fall backward while on the ladder in Animal House caused my PC to hang .... but I wasn't browsing porn and besides, it would be giving me too much credit. (The hang/hung joke is too easy to make and I refuse to go for it.)
So, I got back to work making sure to do a save every minute or so. Eventually I overpunctuated and the extra pounding on the keyboard caused a crash. I started the reboot before coming to my senses and grabbing a screwdriver.
I took the whole thing apart. I had the screen off, the drives out, RAM out, the modem out, daughter boards were removed, if there was a screw to be unscrewed I unscrewed it and removed whatever it was holding down.
Sort of satisfied I slapped it all back together. The whole thing took about 20 minutes.
Thus far there have been no problems. And I should point out that between tying "Thus" and "far" I took a break and juggled the C800, a bowling ball and a kitten while whistling The Sabre Dance.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Canada Day
Today, July 1st, is Canada Day. The day in which Canadians in Canada, and all over the world (as if they’re not spread thin enough already up there) celebrate.
Celebrate...
Celebrate something...
Perhaps celebrate the fact their Independence Day celebration comes three days before our Independence Day celebration. Does this seem a little suspicious to anybody but me? Year after year after year we’d been celebrating our Independence on July 4. Since 1776, in fact. More than ninety years later the Canadians come along and decide to have a big whoop-de-do just three days prior to ours. They must have known our party was right around the corner – it was certainly on the Snap-On Tools calendar by then.
Imagine that year after year after year you host a Super Bowl party and then one year your friend and neighbor decides to host a Stanley Cup party the same night. You both know a lot of the same guys… everybody wants to see football… nobody gives a crap about hockey*… but the neighbor is serving Poutine -- in what can only be an obvious attempt to upstage you – and you know the guys won’t be able to resist.
That’s what this is like -- there’ll be parades, parties, cake and ice cream, and The Snowbirds will be performing somewhere, I’m sure (I can almost hear the song they always sing) – in an obvious attempt to upstage us.
If it weren’t for those pesky folks in Mexico, the Canucks would have the first North American Independence celebration of the year.
And this reminds me of one of Kathleen Madigan’s jokes. When she asked a Mexican person what the Cinco de Mayo celebration was for, the Mexican person replied, “for winning the war for our independence.” Kathleen then asked, “Who’d you beat in the war?” The Mexican person said, “France.” “Big deal,” said Madigan, “Who hasn’t?”
Canada’s Independence came more as a peaceful political process than a war of any sort. (My thought it the French Canadians had July 1st of 1867 off. They do, after all, enjoy a good scrap.) At that time, the part of North America that is now Canada was sectioned off into four provinces. Just four; can you imagine how much easier Geography class would have been if we’d just needed to remember four state capitals?
I’ve recently married a Canadian person. (A woman Canadian person to be precise.) Surprisingly, and I know because I’ve checked with our HR department, I don’t get today off. Ah well, marrying a Canadian comes with plenty of other benefits – for example, since the wedding and regardless of where I am, I instinctively know where magnetic north is; it’s almost as if I gained some type of Dolphin super power the moment I said “I do.”
Anyway, all across Canada (and the world) today Canadians will be celebrating the peaceful process by which they became independent.
Happy Canada Day.
I’m sure there will be Poutine.
*They don’t give a crap so much they don’t realize the Stanley Cup playoffs are a good ways off.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
My Wife’s Buddy Said This
Last night I went to MicroCenter to help a friend, Paul, find a PC. Despite my protestations he insisted on buying dinner after the shopping spree to show appreciation for my time and assistance.
As we drove he asked where I'd like to eat. I jokingly suggested Columbus Gold. (And, honest to goodness, until I created that link to Columbus Gold I thought it was sort of like a more risqué Hooters. A place where scantily clad and possibly topless women served food. After visiting their site I'm not sure they serve food at all. I talk a good porn story, but when it comes to genuine knowledge I'm a bit naive.)
We opted for pizza at at Pizza Hut.
When we returned to Paul's he told his wife, "Maurice suggested that we go to Columbus Gold for dinner but we thought better of it."
Without missing a beat and with genuine sincerity in her voice his wife said, "Have you seen the titty bar at night? It's so pretty with the pink lights and..."
What?! Titty bar? Women say things like that?
Of course had I known at the time that Columbus Gold wasn't a restaurant of some sort maybe I wouldn't have been as surprised.
Based solely on the pictures on their website the inside of Columbus Gold might be kind of pretty too. I'm assuming there's some spotlights. Maybe some brass.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
My First Pelvic Exam
Well, if the title wasn't enough of a warning I'll be a bit more clear here. This post is about a pelvic exam. One I happened to experience.
My wife, Carol, was pregnant with our first child. We'd gone to see the doctor for a pre-natal visit and when my Carol’s name was called I went back with her. I'm a liberated, supportive man, and I needed to know what was going on.
We sat down for a few moments and talked. The doctor eventually asked Carol to lie back on the table and put her feet in the stirrups.
I wasn't worried. Nothing was going to happen yet. I hadn't been excused from the room.
The doctor drew the curtain around the three of us. I thought, "Oh my god! He's forgotten I'm here."
He lifted the gown and took a peek under the hood. He then turned to me and said, very casually, "Mr. Pompatus. Come take a look at this."
<em>He had not forgotten I was in the room after all.</em>
In keeping with the most-of-the-time-mostly-family-orientedness of this blog I won't go into too many details. Let me just say that an extra long Q-Tip (with a wooden shaft) and some poking was involved. Also some agreeable "mmmhhmm" 's on my part.
I seemed to be the only one in the room that thought this was out of the ordinary.
Guys, can you imagine going to the doctor and having him yell out into the waiting room, "Mrs. Smith! We're going to check your husband's prostate now. Could you step back to the examination room. We've got a glove in the freezer for you."
It just wouldn't happen.
Not without some sort of admission fee anyway.
Technorati Tags: Pelvic Exam,Prostate Exam
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Trouble With Porn
Just the other day a woman friend of mine told me she’d stumbled across some porn on the Internet. As we talked she said she was put off by it and hoped that didn’t make her a prude. She also indicated she didn’t want to say too much bad about porn because, “I know you enjoy it.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, “I never said I enjoyed porn!” And I know that to be a fact as it is something that doesn’t need to be said. I’m a guy. We’re naturally better drivers than women. We naturally enjoy porn. “I said I’ve seen some porn.” I do, after all, have an email account and not seeing porn is the bigger trick.
And, honestly, I don’t enjoy porn so much as I tolerate it.
The reason I don’t seek porn out is… wait… let’s lay some background here. Years ago I was watching Armageddon (the movie with Bruce Willis, not to be confused with Armageddon Hard for You with Ron Jeremy) and was totally into the movie. An asteroid is going to collide with Earth… two Space Shuttles are launched and fly in formation into space… they slingshot around the moon, and come upon the asteroid back-door style (which I think had more to do with wanting the thrill of slingshotting around the moon than the fact asteroid has, well, ass in it). The shuttles land on the asteroid… one has landed way off-the-mark. The guys in the one that missed the landing area decide to drive to where they need to be in their drilling vehicle.
As they drive along – on an asteroid – they come across a giant ravine they need to jump across. Mid-jump, as they hit their booster rockets, I heard myself say “no… way…” Yep, I was cool with everything up until they jumped the ravine on the asteroid they landed on after slingshotting around the moon following a flying-in-formation trip into space.
I have a similar problem with porn.
For example, I’ll be watching something with a couple of coeds in it, one’s just gotten out of the shower and has a towel wrapped around her, and the door bell rings. It’s all good at this point. I know some women. They shower and I’m guessing the towel thing is kind of universal.
She answers the door and there’s a guy there with a pizza. I love pizza, I used to deliver pizza in college – probably to some coeds, though I don’t remember any gals coming to the door wrapped in a towel. But, in any case, I’m cool with it – perhaps had I gotten to the apartment a couple minutes sooner or later I’d have had the wrapped-towel experience. Certainly, I had a coed answer the door with wet hair once or twice. You’d think.
The guy gets invited in and one of the women starts digging through her purse – totally believable… nobody ever had money ready even though they’d ordered a pizza and should have had a strong suspicion someone would eventually show up looking for money.
At this point the movie is a winner for me. These are experiences I’ve had. I’m into the story. It’s believable. The dialog is crisp. I can almost smell the sauce on the pie. I’m totally immersed in the story.
One of the gals might start massaging the guy’s neck a bit. This never happened to me but it’s not hard to imagine the women don’t have enough for a tip and they’re trying to distract the pizza guy. I’m still good.
The next thing you know, the towel’s on the floor, the girl giving the massage has gone from working on the guy’s shoulders to the snap of his pants, the Jazz gets worse. And I’m still totally engrossed. I can see how this might happen – just as I can see how a couple of shuttles might slingshot around the moon.
And then the guy’s pants come down… he’s darned near Secretariat and I hear myself say, “Man if I were hung like that, I wouldn’t be delivering pizzas. I’d be making pornos.” And then I think, “Waaaaiiit a minute…” as I totally snap out of the little world I’ve been so engrossed in, “this is a porno.” And the story is lost to me – it has become too unbelievable.
At this point I typically sit back and finish watching anyway -- hey, I like bad Jazz as much as the next person -- but I’m not enjoying it. I’m tolerating it.
And then I take a big nap.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A Fresh Start
Hello Blog Readers and Welcome to Bad Tea – a blog that has very little to do with tea. Well, it’s nothing to do with tea really. The name primarily has to do with already owning the domain and it being short and easy to remember. (And typealbe using just the left hand… so long as you don’t count the .com part.)
While I’m certainly not the best writer in the world, I do like to write. I like to draw too, but I’m shit when it comes to sketching, sculpting, clay molding, or any of those other things people have to do to be considered artists.
Sure, I could weld together one of those oddball-looking things that you’ll sometimes see in town squares that some people call art. You know what I’m talking about. That item that doesn’t look like anything at all that your tax dollars were used to buy (to the tune of $10,000 or more) that sits doing nothing while the park next to it falls into disrepair. I think I could make one of those. But paint a bowl of fruit… sketch a nude gal in repose… sculpt a smaller version of The Thinker… I’ve not got a chance of doing any of those.
But I can write. Not well maybe, but I know a lot of words and I type pretty fast. That’s got to count for something.
Anyway, I had another blog that I used to tell a lot about my life. As my children got older it occurred to me that perhaps I’d told too much. Not that I cared a lot about what my neighbors or blog friends thought, I just didn’t want to have a conversation, one day, where a child felt compelled to say, “Well, you got arrested when you were in college!” So, I decided to move a lot of stuff here.
This way I get to feel creative, my mother doesn’t get embarrassed, and my kids won’t be able to use anything I’ve done as an excuse for anything they do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)