Awww....Not Again

Well, I once again quote the immortal Whitesnake when I say:

"Here I go, again, on my own......" (duh nuh nah nah)

The answer is.....yeah. I'm moving again. I think I've got a good bead on it this time. So........

Nashville- here I come!!!!

Ray and Christine have been waaaaaaaaaaaaaay more-than-cool, and are letting me crash for a spell. I plan on finding a jobby-job and not being a total mooch.

Leaving Durham is somewhat of a mixed bag for me. I've had some really good times hanging out with 'Big C'. Plus, D-ham itself isn't all that bad. Hanging out at Tyler's and the Federal has allowed me to ogle several attractive women. Corey and I saved a few hundred bottlecaps from our late-night "music listening" sessions. We also managed to piss off a few neighbors here and there.

At the same time (and mostly on account of me being a lazy sack of crap), I've been bored out of my mind most of the time in the D. Granted, I've caught up on a loooooooooooooooooooooot of TV that I missed while I didn't have cable in the NYC. I could probably recite most of the episodes of 'NYPD Blue' or 'Aqua Teen Hunger Force', but that's not really furthering my goal.

I'm excited about Nash-vegas. Having driven around town for the last week or so, and having had a couple of in-depth conversations, I know that this is the right move.

I know that I at least have to give myself an honest shot at playing tunes. Living in BR wouldn't give me that opportunity. Living in NYC was a great experience, but the industry is so fragmented there. Durham, as far as I've seen, has zilch as far as opportunity.....unless you're into bio-technology (sorry, Big C).

The only drag is that after a solid six month stint in the Triangle, I finally see a beautiful girl. If anyone knows the really tall girl that works at Tyler's by the Bulls' ballpark, let her know that I'm only here for a few more weeks......'cause I was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much of a wuss to tell her that tonight. She was tall (which is attractive and intimidating, all at once), brown hair, blue eyes. In the least, I was impressed! I was quite infatuated......so much so, that I got busted at least 7 times for staring. Awkward!!!

Ok. So, in case nothing is mentioned later about this:

WHO DAT?! WHO DAT?! WHO DAT SAY THEY GONNA BEAT 'DEM SAINTS?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!

All the way, BABY!

Homeward Bound + Show

Howdy folks.
It's that time of year again.

The roads are filled with shoppers who are more concerned with finding a 'Furbie' or a 'Tickle-My-Nuts Elmo' than they are with how awful their driving is. The spirit of the season is more based in consumerism than cheer.

It's also the time of year that I make my now annual trip home to Baton Rouge to see my family, my friends, and my dog. I plan on spending a fair amount of time on the inside of several bars. My goal is to enjoy life, slightly or incredibly inebriated.

It's also the second year in a row that I have a show around Christmas.

Northgate Tavern. Saturday December 23rd. 10pm.

David Loti will open the show with a full band, and I'll play with my guys after that.

Much respect to Tom Poirier who is pulling double duty, playing drums for both David and me.

Also, JT$ is pretty studly for playing with his band, The Lazarus Heart, earlier in the evening and then hauling ass across town to thrown down on bass with yours truly.

I hope to see a lot of you while I'm home, both at the show and in various haunts around the Red Stick.

Rock on.
-cpk.

Okay...I get it.

Ha ha ha....very funny.

My inbox has been filled with email most of the day. And by filled, I mean that I've gotten five emails today......and by today I mean this week. But it actually did all show up today. Strangely enough, it was all relevant to one particular topic.

Poor, poor T-Bizzle.

It's actually quite sad that five people felt compelled to send me articles about Taco Bell. I get it....I eat Taco Bell. I like it. It's relatively cheap, even though it has been years since the prized "59-79-99" menu was in it's prime. You could feed an entire village of poor, starving, mosquito-bitten African children for a total of $7.46......then again, I could just eat it myself. Seriously, what kind of American would I be if I didn't do my part to add to the stereotype that we're all fat self-concerned slobs.

I truly am sorry that people in the greater New York area have gotten ill from eating at a Taco Bell restaurant.

My question is this: What makes you bastards so special?

No really. Do you know how many people get sick from eating at Taco Bell everyday? You think you're so great 'cause the Escherichia coli gave you a different type of diarrhea? My dad used to get what seemed like 'Montezuma's Revenge' everytime I made him take me on a run for the border.

Would Taco Bell be owned and operated by Yum Brands, Inc if the food wasn't absolutely delicious? I doubt it. You don't hear of any companies called 'Our Food is Fucking Disgusting and Bad For You, LLC'! That's because they would have a very hard time selling anything.....even something as awesome as a "Choco Taco". Trust me.

Jonathan and I have a very special friendship that has only been strengthened by our love of fake mexican food. I'll always remember the summer of 1998.....and the stomach problems that resulted from it. If my memory serves me correctly, it was eight straight days that I ate Taco Bell, three times a day. Breakfast was usually around 1pm, Lunch at 8pm, and Dinner was eaten closer to midnight. I spent the ninth day in the bathroom for several, relatively obvious reasons.

On a different note, I am quite glad that Taco Bell no longer employs that grubby Chihuahua that 'quiero'd' TB......no, not tuberculosis. I always thought it was most likely against health regulations to have a mangy dog wandering around the food prep area. That's got to be some sort of health code violation. Then again, an E. coli outbreak is probably due to some lapse in cleanliness.

I've done some research and decided against explaining in any detail the cause of E. coli outbreaks......mostly because it is absolutely disgusting and totally involves dookie.

I suppose I should be appreciative for those five people caring so much about my intestinal fortitude that they forwarded the article above. That was quite nice of you. The funny thing is that the more I received the article, the more I craved Taco Bell. Is that wrong?

I hope not......'cause dinner was awesome!!! And it only cost me $7.46!

Facial Hair and You!

Hello kiddies.

Do you remember those old kid's games with a goofy, almost clown-ish face encased in plastic with small, magnetized particles that you could move around into shapes on the poor sap's dome?

No?

How about now.....Wooly Willy!!!

Ok.....so here's where you come in.

I'm lazy.               Shocking revelation, I know.

As previously mentioned, for Halloween, I shaved my previously grown facial scruff into a kick-ass "HELL YEAH!" beard. And although I'm still waiting to be able to bring you all the most-excellent picture of said beard....I (again) have laxed into a period of 'in-between-ness'. My scruff is going on 8 days old and I have yet to decide what pattern it needs to take for the next few weeks. So, I figured it'd be fun(ny) to see who actually pays any attention to me at all and what he or she has to say about my scruff.

So take a look at the options below and decide what hair makes the cut........I'll pause for a moment and allow you to laugh your collective asses off at my hilariously intended pun.

.

.

.

You good? Rock.

Choice A. (the standard "A Chris in Winter")

Choice B. (the "Tuxedo")

Choice C. (the "Chops & Dot")

Choice D. (the "Imperial")

 

Okay. So there it is. The one with the most votes wins and will be shaven.....unless I think it's stupid by the time I decide to crack out the razor. Just for giggles, let's say voting ends by Wednesday.....evening.

Cereal For Dinner

Friday night. Awesome! I can't wait until [insert fun activity] starts!

Ok, so I'm sitting on my ass watching television and eating cereal for dinner.

Granted, "Cereal for Dinner" is not as creative (or thought-provoking) a title as Toothpaste For Dinner, but it's pretty much the only food we've got around here. It is way too cold for me to go wandering after some grub by myself.

Corey's got shit to do tonight, so I figured I'd go see a movie. I paired my choices down to "Running With Scissors" and "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan". But I'm a fucking moron and got the times mixed up. I'm glad I checked before I left. I decided that I'd go see "Running With Scissors" at 10:35pm. Except that it started at 10:00pm. Borat was at 10:35. Crap.

Ok. No problem. I've got a couple DVDs to watch. Oh, plus there's some College Football on.....Air Force @ Army. Ouch....blowout in the first quarter. Nevermind. Oooooh! Video Games!!!!! But wait, I'm hungry.

What to eat? What to eat? What to eat?

How about a peanut butter sandwich......for the 1,010,981,234,712,479,571,647,342,342,640,576,638,222,305,747,649,563,938,127,357,483rd time (That's a lot of bread). Nah.

Ok, ok. I'll have cereal. What tha....? How is it that a 21 ounce box (595g for our friends on the metric system) that is clearly, if not absurdly, labeled "FAMILY SIZE", is almost empty. The same box that I bought at the grocery store yesterday. How is it that a pound + of cereal that is packaged to feed an entire family only lasts me four or five bowls (depending on whether or not I feel like eating the grainy remnants at the bottom of the plastic bag)?

So I'm finished inhaling my Honey Bunches of Oats. Now I'm on to dessert......beer. You should have seen the look that the old bag in front of me in line at the grocery gave me when I plopped my loot onto the conveyor belt. Cereal, Milk, 12pk of Bass, and Shampoo. As if that crunchy old broad buying Donut Holes and Fixodent was totally normal.

I'm slightly wary of drinking alone. I feel bad before I pop the cap off the first bottle......a feeling that secedes rapidly after three or four sips......and completely disappears after three or four bottles.

I still have no idea what to do with the rest of my evening.

Halloween Sucks.

I'm bummed out.

For real. I'm seriously bummin'.

The Saints losing to the Ravens this weekend by such a profound margin has left my heart in shambles. This is worse than when Taco Bell renamed the 'Chilito' as the 'Chili-Cheese Burrito'. In my professional opinion, who cares that the former name, roughly translated from Spanish slang, is a 'tiny penis'. It's still a delicious combination of Chili, Cheese, and a flour tortilla.....and nothing conveys that combination better than a combination of the words chili and burrito. Dammit.

I'm also having beard withdrawal. For guys, growing a beard is like a status symbol. If you can sprout chin-fur in a matter of days or weeks, you hold an esteemed position in the eyes of your contemporaries. Just like the first girl to sprout sweater-meat in elementary school....without the disdain.....or the cooties.

This time last year, I was playing my first show in NYC. I "dressed" as Dave Grohl, of Nirvana and Foo Fighters fame, who I bear a slight resemblence to when in full-beard and scruffy hair mode.

This year, I shaved my beard into a bad-ass "Hell Yeah" handlebar 'stache and chops. I used such a rockin' re-do for the express purpose of dressing up like a hillbilly and going to a party with Corey to one of his coworkers' houses. And it was totally......LAAAAAAAAAAAAME.

I knew we were in for a rough night when on our way to the party, we decide to pick up some "Hell Yeah" beer to go along with our costumes. After wandering into a grocery store, we.......no, I got a lot of weird looks. Granted, I looked like a jackass, but it was Friday night.......there had to be a hundred people out and about, dressed up for a night of wild fun.

So we wandered through the store with our twelve packs of in hand, 'cause you "ain't 'HELL YEAH' if you don't drink some American beer out of a can....the way God made it!"

Here's the abridged version of the rest of the story: drank way more beer than I had planned to, ended up sitting on some random girl's couch watching Family Guy with Corey, got in an argument with said random girl and Corey about some topic that is slightly foggy at the moment, and by the grace of some higher power, we made it home.

So here I am, beardless and hungry, watching reruns of Law & Order, because it's more interesting than NBA Basketball and/or UAB vs. SMU in College Football. I know full well there are cute girls stumbling around dressed like sexy nurses or sexy referees or sexy Bob Dole.....wait, what? How did that get there?

Anyway.....here is a video in case you're looking for that last second costume. Girl's Costume Warehouse

Ok....I'm gonna make a run for the border.

 

 

P.s.  Does anyone know how to get money for product placement?

1/4

Three hours and twenty-five minutes and seven beers into my twenty-fifth year on this planet has got me feeling reflective.

I don't know why I hate today.

It could be that when I was twelve, everyone I seemed to know totally forgot that I had actually turned twelve. And then when it happened when I was fourteen. And again when I was fifteen. Oh yeah, and when I was sixteen.

No, I'm not kidding. Yes, I'm being over-dramatic.

It could be that a retarded holiday that prevents me from receiving important mail on the second Monday of October always precedes the day of my release into the wild.

Maybe it's that I am, by my mother's own admission (during Thanksgiving Dinner, no less) a "fluke". And "no", I won't just let that go.

For those of us that are dictionarily challenged, let's examine what a "fluke" is......Look it up on Merriam Webster Online. Type in "Fluke" in the search box of the dictionary feature. There are three entries for fluke, excluding the referrences to the blood or liver variations of a trematode that may or may not invade your mammilian organs.

You know what? I'm gonna save you the trouble. Here's what it says: 

1) Pronunciation: 'flük
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English floke, fluke, from Old English flOc. 1 : Flatfish
2 : a flattened digenetic trematode worm; broadly : TREMATODE-- compare LIVER FLUKE

2) Function: noun
Etymology: perhaps from fluke
1 : the part of an anchor that fastens in the ground

2 : one of the lobes of a whale's tail

3) Function: noun
Etymology: origin unknown
1 : an accidentally successful stroke at billiards or pool

So, basically, either I'm an extremely inconvienient microorganism, a piece of steel, a part of fish anatomy, or I'm my father's extremely successful, however accidental, stroke at putting a ball in a hole with a pole.

I apologize for the graphic nature of this rant. Excuse me while I vomit, being that I just unintentionally made myself ill.

Sure, there are stories that my parents, sisters, friends, relatives, relatives once-removed, relatives twice-removed, and random strangers will tell you that my name....all three of them (no, "asshole" is not in my initials) were supposed to be given to all of my siblings previous to my birth, except that three times was not the charm to squirt out a boy. Sure, I may be the "golden child", but forgive me if I take offense that I was a "fluke" eleven years after my parents first tried to name their child a boy's name and a full seven years after the third time such a tragedy occurred.

Don't missunderstand me. I'm not saying I've had a bad life so far. I've had a good life. My family is full of great people. My parents are loving and supportive and even though life can get in the way, both are incredible people. My father has worked for a long time and done everything in his power to make sure that my sisters and I have a good life. My mother has a heart that is too big for her body and not enough hours in the day to keep using it for the benefit of others. My sisters are all amazing individuals with great hearts and bigger brains than mine. My oldest sister is the amazing mother of five boys and is incredibly strong in all of her beliefs, which is something I wish I could mirror. My middle sister is a strong, bull-headed, confident woman who works way too much, but is doing everything in her power to make a difference in this world.....and I admire everything she does. My youngest sister has a brain the size of Brazil and still manages to be a wife and a loving mother of the happiest baby girl I've ever been fortunate enough to meet.

Fact is, I'm the fluke that got fluked into a family that I probably don't deserve....not to mention the friends I'm all too lucky to have. I've spent the last few years of my life attempting to have a better attitude. Sometimes I've succeeded. Most of the time, I've failed miserably. 

Thus, the conundrum of why I thoroughly hate the day that shares a number with the month it's in. Perhaps its a question I'll never answer. I guess all of this is to say, don't be offended if I don't answer the phone (or the conundrum) today.

Old Creaky Bones

Well, it's official.

My body hates me.

Until now, it had only been a suspect in the myriad of crimes against myself. Today, as a shock to the world, all mysteries have been solved.

Many isolated events have led me to this conclusion. Events such as my appendix blowing up on me, my pancreas going kaput, my head splitting open (actually, that was my fault), a busted ankle that has still yet to diminish to its normal size (normal being the size prior to injury), and a throwing shoulder that throbs for a decent amount of time after throwing lightly for less than half an hour.

Yesterday, things got worse. Corey's dog enjoys running upstairs, prying into a room (usually mine) and taking a giant dump on the floor. I got extremely angry as this is the third time in the last few weeks. I chased the dog to toss him outside on his leash while i cleaned up his mess. At some point through the chase, I felt a twinge in my lower back. For the rest of the day I felt awful.

When Corey got home late last night, we got a wild hair and decided to go running. Here is why that was a bad idea: I haven't run for years. YEARS. I would gather that it has been at least three years since I have laced up any type of running shoe. The most running I've done since was running from my car to a door in the rain....and I ususally don't even do that, 'cause I don't really mind getting wet.

So we did it. Ran at least a mile. Nowhere near "race pace". Probably about an 8 or 9 minute mile. My back hurt the whole time. My legs were wobbly. I even turned my ankle slightly when I stepped off the jogging path for a second to avoid a giant pile of duck dookie. The one thing I have to hang my hat on is that I didn't stop. Not once. I ran the whole time at a somewhat even pace and never stopped to catch my breath, which seemed to be a couple of steps behind me.

Getting old sucks. A quarter of a century and my body is falling apart.

Hyperbole

I swear I have a third nipple.

No lie. It's either a third nipple or a mosquito keeps biting me in the exact same damn place. I personally find it easier to believe that I have Polythelia than to believe that a series of blood-sucking insects are able to repeatedly land and slurp from the same spot below my right useless man nipple. I suppose the only thing that detracts me from this theory is that it only lies approximately one inch from the bottom of the real deal.

All I do know is that it hurts like hell. I was exiting the shower after my early afternoon de-funk-ification, and as I began to towel off in my usually refined pattern, I rubbed over the area in question with my towel. Like I have alluded to, this is not the first time I've noticed the problem. I would venture to say this is at least the third time my polythelia has flared up.

I guess I'll rummage around for some Neosporin or something. Maybe that'll disappear the little bugger for a while. Not that I want it to go away, I just prefer for it not to itch, burn, sting or throb whenever I dry off after showering.

In other news, searching for a job sucks.

Well, I'm off to find something constructive to do, like get a doctor's appointment or a sandwich.

I'm Ready For Some Football

I've been steadily digesting a healthy diet of sports over the last week that I've been home from "touring". It's been an impressive run of college football (GEAUX TIGERS!), pre-season NFL, the pennant races of Major League Baseball, and sadly......the WNBA.

I swear, I only watched the game tonight because I was told by two lesbians that it was the Title-clinching game. But Detroit evened the series with Sacramento in the best of 5 series. And now I'm not really sure what those lesbians were talking about when they mentioned the Title-clinching game........is that like a "Strawberry Shortcake"?

Anyway......College Football is absolutely in FULL swing. Corey and I attended a gathering of LSU alums at a restaurant in Cary, NC last weekend to watch LSU beat the hell out of U-la-la. I guess we're gonna do the same this weekend for the game against Arizona.

But on to more important matters......

You know who has the worst job in Football?

That's right.......the Back Judge. The Back Judge is an official with the job of standing at the very end of the field in the direction the play is headed. He is usually the guy that calls pass interference or defensive holding. He also spends most of the game staring at the asses of football players. However, that is not the worst part of his job.

This is:

Your boy has to wander around the field all day long with the letters "BJ" tagged onto his zebra suit. Drag. How bad can life be for this guy? BAD! Think about the people you know that have been to a college or professional football game. Or perhaps, you've been to a game yourself? Hearken back to your experiences at said games. Do you remember the alcohol intake before and/or during the game? Then again, if it was like any of the games I went to, you don't remember much of anything. All I know is that the maturity level of the whole crowd usually dips slightly after a healthy amount of tailgating, thus lending to an atmosphere normally associated with middle school boys.

I'm sure Back Judges get more than their share of hell all over the nation. So the next time you see one of these poor saps, be sure to encourage him in his chosen profession with these words of encouragement:

"HEY BACK JUDGE!!! GET OFF YOUR KNEES, YOU'RE BLOWING THE GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"