Maigh aime : les Muppets, les pluies torrentielles dans l’ete, le rire, les hydrates de carbone, marchant dans la foret, le salon de clou plus bas dans la rue, les insectes d’eclair, les gens qui sont vrais, les bandanas, l’air d’ocean, les noms exotiques, les legumes frais, dorment avec un oreiller froid, un gens/les etranger qui vous regardent dans l’oeil et le sourire, les bougies a la vanille, le gnome qui erre, grattent, les plantes.

Maigh deteste : les cheveux qui grandit de nullepart, la surprise electricite statique, les sectaires, les romans d’idylle, deciet, resserrent, le moule, la crevette, les insectes, les gens qui obtiennent le roucoulement-fache par le roucoulement dans la circulation, ne peuvent pas prononcer des choses convenablement dans les langues etrangeres, les tomates, papercuts, les foules indisciplinees, pork rinds, voyant des films tristes seul.

And now, for those of you cheating at home…in English:

Maigh likes: Muppets, rainstorms in the summer, laughter, carbohydrates, walking in the forest, the nail salon down the street, lightning bugs, people who are true, bandanas, ocean air, exotic names, fresh vegetables, sleep with a cold pillow, strangers who look you in the eye and smile, vanilla candles, the roaming gnome, Scrabble, plants.

Maigh dislikes: hair that grows out of nowhere, surprise static electricity, bigots, romance novels, deceit, cramps, mold, shrimp (aka skrimps), bugs in my house, people who get coo-coo-angry in traffic, not being able to pronounce things properly in foreign languages, tomatoes, paper cuts, crowds, pork rinds, seeing sad movies alone.

Monday, June 28, 2004

I like my life.
(part 2 of ?)

Wait for it…wait for it…

On to character #2: Mr. Beaver Pelt (as so eloquently articulated by P-Diddy).

Rumor had it that these two gentlemen were once listed in Creative Loafing as Intown Atlanta’s most memorable individuals, or some such thing. I’ve yet to find the article in the stacks. Lack of official and documented backup aside, I’m highly amused by the fact that I’ve mentioned them to three different people in recent days who have lived or do live intown, and all three knew exactly who I was talking about. As I said, P-Diddy even had a fitting and clever name for him: Beaver Pelt.

Unlike the first gentleman I mentioned, I see this guy everywhere. Filling a prescription at Eckerd, in line at Publix, just walking around. Always going somewhere to do something, a man with a mission that I like to imagine is quietly absorbing life as he weaves through the bodies and the streets we share.

His uniform is simple…white tennis shoes, medium height white tube socks, khaki gym-teacher type polyester shorts and a short sleeve button up shirt. He’s tall and lean with crinkly, wavy white hair and perhaps even glasses.

Now we are in the south so at first I thought he had a mullet in a ponytail, but I’m still just not sure. From the front he appears to be a sensible man…clean cut, clothes pressed, face without expression. If you catch a view from the side or the back though, you’ll see that a ponytail (?) is pressed flat into what appears to be…a beaver’s tail. A gray and white, thick, coarse, fluffy-flat tail.

The man. The beaver. The legend.

Listening to: Pete Yorn, Day I forgot

Friday, June 25, 2004

I like my life.
(part 1 of ?)

I live in an active community with personality and vibrance. We have a neighborhood with plenty of pedestrian traffic and no lack of characters. My dry cleaner waves at me and smiles from the sidewalk when I drive, walk or run past, the people at the local shops and restaurants are energetic and friendly. People here call you “sweetie” because they don’t know you enough to know better, but recognize the untapped potential. Except in my case where they’re flat out wrong.

Now the characters I eluded to previously aren’t of the cartoon variety, but are most certainly worth mentioning. Let me preface by saying I’ll attempt to snap some shots of these two for posting at a later date.

The first gentleman is one I see often on the corner of Ponce and Highland when I’m running through the Highlands a few times a week (cough cough). At first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing was real and not a practical joke being played on society or that there wasn’t some jackass in the bushes with a camera capturing reactions. I continue to anticipate the latter and look forward to laying the smack down on some creepy pimple faced black t-shirt wearing fuck with a camera. Wow.

Hell, I wasn’t even sure anyone else noticed him though after my description you’ll likely wonder how I could have thought that.

So here he is, a black man that’s probably around 6′ 2″, wearing a tank top, some biker-ish shorts and white tennies. Fine. It’s Atlanta in the summer time, you walk out of the house and you’re damp with perspiration that the environment just laid on you without consideration of hair, make-up, socio-economic background.

This guy is a little different though. So much so that you will quite literally find yourself on the verge of self-inflicted whiplash doing a double take. Mark my words. This guy has some sort of…elephantitis.

At first I thought he had a rolled up newspaper shoved in his pants. I thought “hey, he doesn’t have a book bag. Maybe he needed his hands for something”. Nope. No sirree. And if he did? It was the Sunday edition. Then I thought, maybe it’s a bunch of unfortounate tumors like this lady has.

Either way, the man is a mutant. He probably could be a cartoon character. Gigantor maybe? Fa-ree-keey deeky baby.

Tune in next week for character #2: Mr. Beaver Pelt (as so eloquently articulated by P-Diddy).

Thursday, June 24, 2004

Awake at the crack of dawn, scratching furiously at the mosquito bite on my big toe (left foot, for those of you keeping score at home) I contemplated the entry topic for today.

Several that were in the running:
- Geography vs. geography
- Why songs that sell the most are sad
- I love my flip-flops, in iambic pentameter
- Doesn’t it suck when you accidentally reveal a secret in a blog?
- “Computer Bulb”, what is the Special Coating Technology?
- Why God hates me : Parts I, II and III, starring The Muppets

After great debate, I’ve settled on discussing how much of my conversational repertoire consists of movie lines.

In as much as the early 80′s found me employing “what-EVER” and other equally obnoxious Valley Girl jargon, and the 90′s were lousy with lines stolen from the likes of John Hughes stories for the masses, it has since spiraled out of control.

The current phrase I’m locked on is “ohhhhkay…alright….” as uttered by Jennifer Anniston in Office Space (I’ve looked for a sound byte and this one just doesn’t make the list).

As aware as I was of my — “problem” — I had never really stopped to consider the impact of the ~secret language~ on outsiders. As a teen, my brothers hung on to a few movie rentals: Trading Places and The Terminator. In addition to the boys teaching me to identify car makes and models via exposure to their own testosterone game, they also educated me about the comedic value in recalling lines and scenes from movies and quoting them randomly.

When I bumped in to my old coworker John at a Publix a few years ago with his new Lithuanian bride, I realized that my illness was now effecting others. Strangers. I don’t recall the exact contents of the exchange but I do know I made a Sixteen Candles reference and laughed only to be met with a blank stare.

Shit.

All that humor banked was now worthless.

I would have to rely on my own words in order to communicate. Phrases like “…and that was the second time I got crabs…” had become like kryptonite. I’m fairly certain that I broke out into a sweat which was followed by a hasty and clumsy escape.

Was it time for a 12-step program or time to close off our borders?

Neither. I needed to fortify my resources…which brings us here. To a place where nary a verbal exchange takes place that doesn’t involve a citing of bits from a myriad of television or cinema. If you aren’t from my land you may miss the references…but I assure you, they’re there.

Lurking. Fear my wrath. I will make you giggle. Not with my own thoughts or ideas, but with those stolen from others and revisited with poor impressions and bizarre timing.

Although, if you ask Beth, I’m not funny.

Link of the day (from Intern Nick, of course):
BlogLines

I’m tired and feeling a little lazy so today instead of writing I’m going to reprint something and throw you a few links. Sound ok? This is the only thing so far today that’s made me laugh…from…where else…The Onion.

June 23, 2004 Volume 40 Issue 25: say something funny

Sixteen things I would be willing to vote for instead of George W. Bush:
- Anal rape
- That scene from Dumbo where Dumbo’s mom cradles him in her trunk and he starts to cry
- Four years of constantly being hit in the genitals with an ax handle by Avril Lavigne
- Avril Lavigne’s music
- A new STD that makes angry hornets spontaneously generate in your anus, and it’s caused by masturbation
- Every time you blink, you crap your pants
- The vague feeling of hopelessness that you get on a rainy Sunday morning when you’ve just fucked someone you shouldn’t, and now you have to think of a way to let them down easy, and you realize that the pain you’ve caused in your life is starting to come back on you threefold, and you can no longer feel joy, and also there’s an under-skin zit inside your nose
- The body odor of a two-pack-a-day cigarette smoker in an elevator
- Vanilla Coke
- Contagious, airborne cancer
- Italian food tastes the way it does at The Olive Garden from now on
- A lost puppy slowly freezing to death at 5:11 a.m. on Christmas
- Reagan’s corpse
- Orgasms can only be reached while listening to “Meet Virginia” by Train
- All children look like Donald Pleasence until they’re 11
- John Kerry

Answer submitted via e-mail. Patton Oswalt’s new album, Feelin’ Kinda Patton, comes out June 29. For more information, go to www.pattonoswalt.com

Hey. Yeah, you.

Don’t fucking hover.

In the time it took you to do laps up and down every aisle in the parking deck (including passing me twice), you could have parked your gluttenous red-neck self and burned a few calories walking in to the GD building.

But wait, there’s more.

Get off your damn phone if you can’t talk and park at the same time.

If you can’t back into a space in one move, abandon the effort. Permanently. Practice on weekends in your parents driveway until you’ve mastered it and then try in public. If you’re on the phone, too? Well you just might be a candidate for my special spray.

I just want to know this: where were these people raised?

I used to work with a guy we called “The Scratcher”. We also called him Charlie Brown, but that’s another story.

So Becky, Tude, Deb and I worked in what we called “The Cave”. It was a nook that fit four cubicles and none of us liked light, so we kept the lights off.

Anyway, “The Scratcher” was my boss…kind of…so he would saunter over to my desk whenever he felt the need. Herein lies the issue. When he would come over, I’d be (obviously, it’s my office) sitting ,and he’d be standing. Picture the height of things and how that’s immediately off-putting. Now, for whatever reason, The Scratcher was frequently too close. And, for whatever reason, his hands were frequently in his pockets. You see where this is going?

Scratching.

Ugh.

Eventually Becky talked to the COO about it (because Becky is a guy, that was just our nickname for him) and presented it to CP (aka the COO) with what I thought was my best argument: does he do that in front of our clients? Is he so unaware of his habit that he does it in church? The grocery store? Further, what the hell is wrong with his wife? Does he do that at home and if so why doesn’t she smack his hand or put a shock collar on him?

Who are these people being raised by? When they leave the nest don’t they build relationships and have loved ones that point out their offensive / obnoxious / irritating habits?

Ok, that’s it.

Oh, would you go ahead and hand me that bottle of Valium?

This Father’s Day, in a quiet ode to my own, I sat on my stoop and basked in the blistering Georgia sun reading a James Patterson novel with little redeeming value.

The calm of the day combined with the heat of my scorched skin and my weary eyes might normally have encouraged an early slumber, but last night, I did something brave. Something I don’t normally do. Something out of character. I was compelled though, driven by song and adoration.

I mustered up the courage to mingle among a crowd of people to see Jackson Browne at Chastain Park. He played for nearly 3 hours, solo. I can think of almost nothing I could enjoy more than sitting and listening to him live. Watching as he walked past the lineup of half a dozen guitars, trying to pick a favorite for whichever song was to be served up next. Seeing him behind the keyboard, sharing his soul through lyrics, I was misty eyed and enamored.

Unrelated, the next movie you should see:

Amélie

Watch a trailer

As a bonus, by watching this movie you can learn more about the origins of The Roaming Gnome. He’s my favorite.