When I woke up Saturday morning, a headache was knockin’ on my cranial door.
Friday night was long for me, and I went to bed hours before many of the other guys.
In the morning outside the main door, I found the above flag waving around. It was tied up sometime that morning. One of the Texans was carrying a bottle of Honey Jack Daniels and a PBR. He said, “What do you think?”
“Looks pretty cool,” I said.
“Right?” He responded with a thick Texas dialect.
In the morning, there was also a guy there whom I faintly remember from the night before. He was an interesting looking guy with a balding skull cap and hair circumventing the edges as far out as Einstein’s.
It was just before noon, and he was drinking a beer. He told me he was leaving in 10 minutes and it was nice to meet me.
Three hours later, he was still drinking beer and telling stories of following Phish on tours, showing off his space rock, dropping acid, and going from atheist/agnostic to full-on God believer. It seems that during one acid trip, a fellow tripper (or a hallucination, you choose) proved God exists through math.
And you can’t argue with math.
You also cannot argue with LSD.
Saturday the group shot a variety of guns, including a sniper rifle, an AR-15 (I think) and a very womanly 38-special. It was a pink jobber with a kick and a pow that would scare the shit out of any perpetrator (seen below). After that was a game of skeet shooting. Every time I nailed a clay pigeon, I hollered like a local (or a fanatical muslim, you choose) shaking my gun in the air and screaming.
That night, we all cooked. I grilled dogs and asparagus on one grill. Another grill carried a big-ass loin covered in a weave of bacon.
The night ended (for me) with s’mores and a campfire.
Sunday morning, I rounded up what was left of the groceries, made a pot or two of coffee, and cooked breakfast for everyone. I made scrambled eggs, sautéed asparagus and onions, bacon, and jalapeño-infused kielbasa.
“I love cooking for that many people,” I kept saying.
Remember all those Urban Decay shots I posted a while back?
My photography partner (in crime) Bill Whitmireconcentrated more on photographing us shooting spaces.
He sent me images last night, and it’s cool to see it in essay form. It seems to tell more of a story. I know it’s about me, and this is totally a selfish post (not that any of my other posts are selfish).
But I thought Bill’s photo essay needed to be told.
One sign of the robustness of the correlation is that the counterarguments are either easily explodable pseudo-science or stories that people tell each other on Internet forums. “If he’d had a knife, he’d use that!”—well, yes, he would have, and the kids In Newtown would be alive today. In response to real social science, with its cautious but solid correlations, you get obscene, Tarantino-style fantasies—“If the kindergarten teacher had had an assault weapon of her own, loaded, primed, and ready to fire, this wouldn’t have happened!”—and stray tabloid anecdotes—“I heard about this woman, she had a gun, and the marauders just saw it and…” Indeed, that’s the favorite absurdity of the moment: to insist that it doesn’t matter whether or not there’s any evidence that guns are used effectively on any scale in self-defense, because the incidence of gun use doesn’t accurately track the millions of times that the mere sight of a gun in the hands of a housewife scares off the bad guys, causing murderers otherwise determined on mayhem to run away screaming.
As if naming your enemies is going to cure the world of inconvenient travel partners.
Among the list are babies. Sorry, kids, if you were born a baby … you’re not allowed to fly with Amanda Baby-Hatin’ Black.
Also on the list … smelly people, talkers, tech fanatics, overhead bin offenders, and people who don’t wash their hands.
People who don’t wash their hands?
Next time you go to the bathroom on any flight, make sure you look over your shoulder while you are (or are not) washing up. Amanda Hand-Washing Police Black is likely in there with you determining whether or not she can judge you for being a non-hand washer.
Can you say Psycho!
Amanda Hug-n-Kiss Black stops just shy of recommending that if you travel, charter your own plane and fly yourself. Unless you fly with your mouth shut, your armpits clean, your rear sphincter corked, lugguge-less, perfectly quiet, and a blind sheep, she does NOT want you on her airplane.
So get off!
I’m not sure Amanda Black knows how to count. Her list title specifies 10 (ten!) people to avoid, but she recommends a total of 16 different types. Number 5 is the sick or smelly person. This is not always one person. You can be sick and not smell. And you can smell and certainly not be sick. Added, she ends her 11-people — I mean — 10-people list and then throws in five more types of assholes that bother her while traveling.
Hey, Amanda Black, I gotta recommendation for you: Don’t fucking travel.
In the conversation I’m having with Amanda in my mind, she’d respond, “Jeremy, it’s a jovial, hyperbolic list. It’s not to be taken seriously.”
And you may be right, Amanda Black.
But you can’t name EVERYONE as offensive and avoidable. You might as well write, “If you see me — Amanda Dumb Butt Black — rolling my oversized bag while sneezing onto your plane, wreaking of whiskey and carrying my iPad, listening to my iPod and talking on my iPhone, clear the plane, bitches … I just ate a pot of pinto beans and I’ve got stellar gas.”
If I wrote the article, I would post a picture of this guy I’ve traveled quite a bit with. I’m not naming any names, but I’ve been on planes with my dad, and he can handily clear an entire economy cabin with one single flatulent blow.
I’m sure I’ve been on planes that I wasn’t exactly the best candidate for travel partnership for Amanda Black.
The point is, if you can’t embrace that at least 8 to 12 of the people-types Amanda listed on her pathetic excuse for travel advice, then you’re not a good traveler.
Love the ones your with.
People watching and dealing with variety of people is what life is all about.
I’m sorry that Amanda Black arrived so stinking late to the party.
They teach you in church that everyone is different. But we’re not. That’s why there are 16 identifiable types whom you should look for during flights. We aren’t all that different, you, me, them and us.
Murderers will murder with or without a gun. Guns are not the problem.
I’m sharing this, because if you think these things, that’s up to you. And if gun loving assholery is your game, let me help you burn your photos of Jesus, your bibles, and your entire idea of love and belief.
If you think guns are not the problem, tell that to the people who love these people:
My heart hurts about Friday.
My brain hurts.
And this conversation is too bogged down with pain for any of you to invoke the idea that guns aren’t the problem.
Maybe they aren’t the problem.
But they are in the formula.
And there appears to be a slew of beautiful people who could be spared pain, torture and agony if a dumbfuck didn’t get his hands on guns and ammunition on Friday morning.
Please let us all mourn without questioning whether guns are the problem.
There’s been something bothering me. Or maybe it’s some things.
Maybe it’s the Christmas season. Maybe it’s spending more time with friends and family.
Maybe it’s the idea that this economy is so tough, I have no idea if next week I’m going to have to find a job in the “real” world.
Last night I was listening to music that reminded me of an old girlfriend and I found myself a bit more emotional than usual. It wasn’t a longing for my ex-girlfriend. It was a return to emotions that I felt during our breakup.
But there are a zillion things are bringing the emotion right now. This blog for example.
I mean, Le Café represents ideologies that are completely contradictory to my upbringing. Some of the biggest readers of this blog are family, like my dad, my brother, my sister in law. I think my mom either reads it, or gets second hand info from my dad. But regardless, it’s understood that the universe-sized elephant in Chicago is the asshole who battles his former belief in Christianity via a public blog on the internet.
While I don’t sit here saying, “I’m going to hurt my family’s feelings today,” I can honestly say that my motivation is not to hurt them. I realize that it would be difficult to separate self from faith, as most people identify their person with faith.
My criticisms are surely offensive. (More below the fold).