Sneak peak...

...at next week's column:

Suddenly, selling yourself is cool.

Sitting in the audience during last week’s great “12 Bands of Christmas” concert at the Imperial, emcee Jason Barron came onstage and introduced himself. But not as “Jason Barron” or even as his apparently-former persona, Freakboy. But rather as “Suzuki Man,” the sort of amped-up, vaguely Japanese car shiller he’s playing on Augusta Suzuki commercials. Not once did I hear Barron refer to himself by his given name. He did talk about the great Suzuki he drives, though. So I guess that’s all it takes for a person to give himself up—a shiny new car.

But it doesn’t stop there. The tire company, Dunlop, offers a free set of tires for folks who get their logo tattooed on themselves. That’s right—permanently disfigure yourself with a corporate logo and you get free tires! One set per tat, though—one guy has five. It’s pretty brilliant marketing, actually. The program itself drew nation-wide publicity (the Augusta Chronicle reported it a couple of weeks ago), and, in exchange for a set of tires that may last a few years, the company gets walking billboards for life.

But what Dunlop has done pails in comparison with the “Ironman” brand. You’ve seen it on Timex watches—the blocky “M” with the dot above it signifying triathlon’s greatest race. It’s the symbol that the Ironman Corporation owns, representing the 2.4-mile swim/112-mile-bike/26.2-mile run triathlons they put on all over the world. And it’s become a ritual for finishers of the race to get the brand tattooed, immortalizing their accomplishment. Off hand, I’d say there are more then a few people walking around Augusta sporting the mark. And there are thousands-upon-thousands of the tattoos on calves, ankles and shoulders all over the world. Genius. They’ve created a walking army of super-fit, unpaid advertisers.

So what does this all mean? Slowly, as a society, we’re becoming walking testaments to consumerism. What started not-so-innocently enough as brand envy (remember that Izod alligator all the cool kids were wearing?) has morphed into something more sinister. No longer is merely wearing a logo good enough. Now it’s about permanence and totally giving yourself over to the Man. Jason Barron as “Suzuki Man.”

“Coco Rubio brought to you by Budweiser” may be next.

Now I know that broadcast journalism isn’t about writing stuff down, but if you’re going to interview a media critic, don’t misquote him on the web version of your story. That’s just what WJBF did last week, after Fraendy Clervaud spoke with me on-camera at the post office downtown, about the rush of packages the posties deal with the week before Christmas.. I was a good sport and played along (although, I really should have asked “is this news? Really? Are you sure?). But the transcribed quotes on the website didn’t match the words that came out of my mouth. Online, they made me sound like an Augusta commissioner—“..I got them (packages) tracked (yee-doggies!)…,” I reportedly said. But the video shows me saying “I’ve”. Sure, it’s a little thing, but if you’re going to attribute an ungrammatically-correct statement to someone, make damn sure they actually said it that way before making them look like an idiot on your website.

“Next, put your junk in that box.”

Nice work Breaking News editor!, pt. 2

Also a slow news day right here in Augusta, apparently. Turns out, the week before Christmas, lots of people ship stuff at the post office. Also, sometimes in winter, it's cold! WJBF was there to capture it all.

I'm pretty sure I didn't say "I got them tracked..." Need to look at the video to confirm it, though.

Note to journalists: don't misquote the damn media critic!

Update: just saw the video. I don't speak like an Augusta commissioner. It was "I've got them tracked."

Nice work, Breaking News editor!

This, from cnn.com today. No link when it was posted, just this headline:

Birds gets into Senate briefing room, eludes bird catcher

First of all, breaking news? Really? Slow day on the Hill, I guess. Later, there was no evidence of the "story" anywhere on the site. And secondly, nice grammar.

Messy

Guys, at all costs, avoid laughing while you pee.

Creepy

You know how when you walk by restrooms, especially in public places, and if the door happens to open as you're walking by, you can't help but glance that way? It comes off as creepy, cause, well, you're peering into a pretty private place. But it's human nature. And I'm not even talking about natural curiosity. It's just that, as animals, we're in tune with movement around us. So while walking down a hall, eyes ahead, we're drawn naturally to, say, a door opening next to us. It's not that we want to be creeps, but rather that if it's a tiger coming out of that door, we want to maintain a bit of self-preservation.

If you do it right, you instinctively turn your head and then, realizing people generally don't like to be gazed upon while exiting restrooms (I *know* what you were doing in there!), you look the hell away and continue your journey.

So, all that being said, here's what you don't do: you don't freaking speak to that person. I guess you could make the argument that if you're intimately familiar with them you could get away with it. Or maybe, if it's your kid coming out. But if the level of acquaintance is wife's coworker or less, you just keep on movin'.

Consider the stage set.

Monday, I was at the Spirit office, coming out of the restroom after cleaning up a bit after my downtown run. I drop Nola off at the office on those days, because it's deadline day for Amy, which means working late for her. And generally, dropping the girl off at mom's work is better than leaving your seven-year-old to fend for herself at home. Plus, she gets to run around like a crazy person (OK...she does that at home, but it's *so* much better to do it at mom's work). So, I think I'm pretty much alone in the back of the office, behind the big double-doors that separate that area from the action part of the building. And I also know that Nola A) like to play back there and B) love public restrooms more than do homeless people.

So when I walk down the hall from the men's room and the door from the women's room opens, I assume it's Nola. And since it's Nola, I know I can offer he a big, goofy "hello" without the fear of repercussions.

Door opens.

Turns head and says (inappropriately loudly) "heyyyyy....Stacey...."

And you know, no matter how innocent something is, if it comes off as creepy no amount of explanation ("...so you could see how I thought it was Nola...") really gets you off the hook.

He forgot to enclose my tinfoil hat

I love getting feedback on my column. Sometimes it's complimentary, lots of times it's not. But regardless, it's nice just knowing people are reading. But the absolute best is when I get the nutty letters, like this one (presumable in response to this piece):

"Dear Jim,

I liked your critique of king-maker Austin Rhodes. The shameful klan he fronts for are truly immoral freeloaders who want to raise taxes again when Joe Bowles said we had a surplus! Beware for municipal projects as they raise takes to pay local "investors" their interest rates/profit. All govt.s (sic) keep 2 sets of books: one for the sheep; one on their portfolios on Wall St. You're doin' a great job. :)"

Cause everyone likes mexican food...

I'm standing around after the Avett Brothers show a couple of weeks ago, waiting for the band to come out (cause I'm a geek). And Amy and I are talking with our friend Holly about the birthday she's planning for our friend Alice.

It's a surprise party, and the idea was to make it raunchy (it's a girls'-only party). So I feel a little weird even listening to the conversation, but whatever. Like that ever stopped me.

Holly: so if you guys have any ideas for what food to serve...
Jim: (half under my breath) I've got some ideas...
Holly: what?
Jim: I've got some ideas, but i'm not sayin'
Holly: c'mon! what?
Amy: Don't do it...
Jim: Well...how about tuna?
Holly: (snicker)
Amy: (hits me)
Jim: or tacos. how about fish tacos?
Holly: (surprisingly, laughter)
Amy: (hits me some more)

Apparently, I'm pretty classy.

Best. Petsitter. Ever.

Stacey is awesome. She's the bee's knees all wrapped up cozy-like in the cat's pajamas. Next to Amy, she's the coolest mom I know. The only reason I have to dislike her is that she's funnier than I am (damn her). So when we go out of town, she occasionally pet sits for us. I think she does it to get access to the Wii and all the digital cable she can eat, but whatever. She can come over whenever she wants, cause she pet sits like no otha'.

I had a friend, Dena, who pet sat for another friend once. Or at least allegedly pet sat, because when the vacationing friend came home, her house reeked like a poop factory. Cat crap in the bath tub, literally a urine-soaked carpet, and probably emaciated dogs. They needed doggie IVs and a whole-house remodel to get back to some semblance of normal. But that's not how Stacey rolls. Stacey takes pride in her work, actually feeding the animals (oh...and there are animals...lots of them). And looking for them when they either seem to be, or actually are lost.

So anyway...here's her account of her last episode with Porkchop, Sydney, Stinky Pete, the birds and a couple of invisible fish. Beware...hilarity ahead.

And thanks, Stacey.

Brokebike Mountain

SO I got a new bike, finally, to replace the one that was stolen from my garage a few months ago. And to be more precise, I got a bunch of parts that in the last couple of days came together as a bike. When I finally got it all assembled, I had a hard time adjusting the front gears (derailleur for you tech geeks). So I took it to Nate at Andy Jordan's, and when I picked it up--bad news. It wasn't the bike that was out of adjustment, but rather the frame that was, well, defective.

So yeah, that sucks. Especially since the guy I bought the frame from described it as "perfect." And not "perfectly defective," either.

So I brought the bike home, damned dejected and called the manufacturer to see if that bike had ever been warrantied before. It hadn't, but they had seen similar issues in "two or three" other cases. So then I fired off an e-mail to the seller, wondering if he had noticed the bent derailleur hanger when he had the bike. He hadn't, but he was really apologetic. Whatever.

So just to make sure that it was indeed the bike and not the derailleur itself, I put a different one on. And voila! It was fine. So I apologized to the seller for insinuating he had sold me a bad bike.

Flash froward a couple of days. I'm riding the trainer last night (that sounds dirty), and noticed that the front shifting wasn't working. Well, new cables stretch, so I get off and start adjusting...and I cant get it right. But then I notice it. See in the picture above, how the piece of welded metal above the front chainring looks bent? That's because it is. I'm thinking that it was bent slightly before, and the cable tension (again...dirty) made it worse and visibly noticeable. So I've got a call back into the manufacturer, hoping and praying that they'll warranty it. But I got voice mail, so stay tuned....cause if I'm gonna be stuck with a broke bike, well that's gonna be pretty gay.

It always comes to this

Thanksgiving at my aunt and uncle's house in Atlanta. A house full of people and alcohol flowing. Under these conditions, at some point, the conversation inevitably turns to "where I've peed." And, not shockingly I guess, this isn't about the small children.

Uncle Joe: sink at Macy's.
Aunt Nancy: Back of cab.
Mom: In chair, in middle of card game.

Lots of hysterical laughing on the part of my mom and aunt, and at some point, one or the both of them adds a location to the story. Mom: couch at her sister's house.

But this time, a new twist. After recovering, and changing of pants, the box of cold Krystal hamburgers is broken into.

Mom: Your dad always said if you eat Krystals you don't need laxatives. Your dad sure loved Krystals.

My dad. He loved his miniature hamburgers and poopin'.

Cajun skiing

I was born in New Orleans, and until I was about 5 and we moved away, I lived with my family at the Golden Key apartments in Metairie. It's funny thinking back on it now, with a daughter of 7 of my own, how amazing and kind of scary the amount of freedom my brother and I had. I mean, at least from what I remember, we had the run of the place. Me and my 3 year old brother. Like this one time...

I was playing in this vacant lot at the apartments, with my brother...I couldn't have been more than 5 at the time (I know this because that's when we moved to Florida--I'm smart like that). So anyway, I was barefoot, running around that vacant lot with my brother when I stepped on a 2x4 with a nail in it, and it went through and out the top of my foot. I screamed and stepped down with my other foot. Onto another 2x4 with another nail, that went through the top of that foot.

My brother left me screaming and went running for help and came back with the maintenance man who took a look at my predicament and said "you goin' skiin', boy?"

Make that a long-winded pot-stirrer

"Nice column this week, Jim."

"Thanks...kinda short."

"Yeah, that's good, too."

Tom Grant can talk your ear off, and that's a good thing, I think. I learn a lot from the guy every time I get to sit down with him. But when he's on deadline, the conversations are always to the point. So that's how it went down when I stopped by the office last night. Sometimes, you get the most out of the fewest words.

Yesterday, prior to that conversation, I submitted a grand total of 411 words for LotB, easily my shortest column in the 20 weeks that I've been writing it. Usually, I throw down a good thousand words and have to literally back away from the keyboard to keep it that short. So either there's a lot to write about, I have a lot to say, or I just haven't learned the sentiment expressed above.

And it's funny. Talking to me, at first glance at least, you'd never get that i had a lot to say. My MO, I guess, is to sit back and watch, to take it all in. My thinking is the less time you spend with your mouth open, the more you learn. Listening is a gift I've been blessed with, apparently, although Amy may differ (I'm really am *always* listening, baby).

By being a good listener (at least in my own estimation), I end up having a lot to say, when I get around to saying it. That's why I like blogging, I guess. It's a great chance to take five or 10 minutes and just get it all out. Blogging's kind of like beer to me--the switch for the floodgates of thought, and it comes without the associated hangover and belly, as added bonuses. And in this format, there aren't any editor-imposed limitations or restrictions. I can take my time setting up a punch line or developing a story. I don't feel like I have to strip out all of the adjectives just to make a particular word count.

But I suppose being a bit more concise is a lesson I could learn. I'm lucky in the sense that I write for a weekly, where I definitely get more column inches then I would in different formats. But there's always a limit. If I were to submit the 2000 or more words that I could easily write every week, Tom would quickly find someone else with a lot less to say. It's hard, though. Constantly I find myself feeling stilted by the constraints of the paper. How can anyone possibly get their thoughts down, and more than that, across to readers in so few words? It's learned skill, no doubt, and one I'm working on.

But until then, I'll always have you, my beautiful blog.

She's a little shy...

The last time the Avetts were in town ( a year ago), Nola got a chance to meet Scott after they sound checked. She was so shy then that she hid behind Amy the whole time we chatted. Something's clearly happened between now and then.

More of a pot-stirrer

Someone over on my triathlon forum posted that brilliant piece of photo editing in a thread I started about the Pat Robertson/Rudy Giuliani love-fest.

Wiseacre.

Scenes from Halloween

"Uggh...paparazzi."

Will work it for candy. Nola's friend, Jett. There should be a clown rule for Halloween. Like, all clowns must be eaten by zombies.

By zombie dogs, at least.

Scariest scene of the night: re-elect an Augusta commissioner! Ahhhhhh!

Which one of you is my daughter? Glen Ave. is a freaking madhouse.

No candy for mama!

I *am* at work

So suck it.

Please, try this at home!

And not in your damn car.

I took this picture *after* this chick nearly drove into the median on Bobby Jones, doing 80. After correcting her swerve, she resumed applying her eye makeup. And she never noticed me taking her photo.

P-Funk's in town!

Apparently.

This guy was walking down the street last week, just past 7:30 in the rainy AM. It's hard to tell from the picture, but he really is wearing nothing but shoes, socks and pink panties. Oh...and a big smile on his face.

Pure pork goodness

On rainy days when we were young, my mom used to serve my brother and me sausage for breakfast. You see, the rain always made us gloomy, so we'd drag into the kitchen mumbling instead of talking, bummed by the immanent wet walk to the bus stop.

So it was sausage on those days, because mom liked to illustrate how we were better off than the pig.

The juicy, delicious pig.

Spamtastic!

From Ariceli Self:

"Passport now has more than 200 million registered users although many accounts lie fallow because. The Passport service is key to Microsofts ambitions to get users signing up to webbased."

Is this some cryptic message about Bill Gates' plans for world domination? An invitation to join the heard? Is there Viagra involved somehow?

Don't feed the animals

A city that bases it's very being on drawing as many people as possible to it's attractions has suddenly developed a very skewed vision of humanity to go with it's pre-existing skewed vision of reality. I give you Orlando, Florida, ladies and gentlemen, a city of magical kingdoms, greenery and more lakes than you can shake a stick at. And a city where it's now illegal to feed the homeless. That's right. In a city where generally being nice to people should be the norm, you can get thrown in jail and put on trial simply for, well, being nice to people.

Giving aid to those in need is a most-cherished human quality. Or at least it used to be, apparently. So now are parks are like zoos, except I'd be willing to bet that in Orlando it's perfectly fine to feed squirrels. Just not the people. Well fuck that. You can't strip people of their humanity. Well, I guess you can try, but it won't fucking work.

Just like daddy

So I'm heading downtown to drop Amy off at the Spirit office, and as we're heading down Broad, there's a cop car with his flashers on, and a couple of cops are hassling a homeless guy on the sidewalk. Nola sees it and asks what's going on.

"I dunno, baby."

"Like, maybe he had too many beers or something?"

"(laughing a little) Yeah, baby, maybe so."

"And they're gonna make him walk in a straight line?"

"(more laughing) Probably so, baby, probably so."

Thw answer is 42 (redux)

Apparently, joking about Dick Cheney's alleged baby-eating "isn't funny" and is "in poor taste." So, because I'm the sensitive, caring guy I am, I hereby apologize to the parent's of any babies whom Cheney has eaten. Allegedly.

The answer is 42

Every day (I think) CNN has a reader poll where they ask stuff like "Should Britney get to keep her kids?" or "Does Dick Cheney eat babies for breakfast, or just as an occasional snack?" But today, they ask this:

"Do you think self-doubt limits your ability to live life to its fullest?"

That's some pretty heavy shit. Probably some cnn staffer is contemplating offing themselves, but wanted to do some research first. That's always prudent, I find.

Overheard at "Arts in the Heart"

"This is my vacation money I'm spendin'. I'm squeezin' these nickles tighter than a jew."

"What do they have at the African booth?"

"Oh hell. I don't know...fried chicken and watermelon."

What are these people even doing at a cultural festival?

Petraeus: Surge working

Well duh, of course it is. This week Gen. David Petraeus has been painting a rosy picture for congress of progress in Iraq, despite all contrary evidence. Think about it. Here is this guy, in charge of Bush's surge, reporting out on his "progress." Have you ever had to tell your boss how you were doing on a project? Have you ever said "look...this clearly isn't working out. I'm pretty sure I've fucked it all up." Of course not. You'd try your damnedest to spin it so you look good, right? Of course you would.

Yet we're supposed to bank on his report as some credible measure of how things are really going in Iraq. If only there were some other report we could look at to get a more, well, unbiased assessment. Say the government had some independent office that, well, accounted for things. You know, generally speaking. What? There is? No way!

The GAO, a week before Petraeus offered up his rainbows-and-unicorns report, published their own report. The General Accountability Office is a branch of congress whose mission it is to audit, evaluate and investigate programs for which taxpayer money is spent. Like the war in Iraq, cause I think some taxpayer money is spent there. It's head, the Comptroller General, is a non-partisan presidential appointee, ratified by congress. The current CG is David M. Walker, a Clinton appointee. Yeah, I can almost hear your hackles rising. "Clinton? Non-partisan my ass!" But he was ratified by a republican congress, so there.

So last week the GAO submitted its report on progress made by the surge, titled "Securing, Stabilizing, and Rebuilding Iraq: Iraqi Government Has Not Met Most Legislative, Security, and Economic Benchmarks." Contrast just the title of the report with the statement by Petraeus saying significant progress has been made. The GAO report looked at all of the benchmarks set in place 9 months ago when the surge started, benchmarks derived from promises made by the Iraqi government. Remember that the impetus for the surge was to quell violence to allow for the government to establish itself; without a thriving government, the surge isn't succeeding.

Of the 18 benchmarks, only three were met. four were "partially met" and 11 were not met. Knowing that, how can any reasonable person say the surge is working? If my daughter brought home a report card with three As, four Cs and 11 Fs, well, I wouldn't exactly be on TV telling the American people she's doing great.

So why is Bush buying Petraeus' pretty picture? Cause he helped paint it, probably. Remember that "surprise" visit he made to Iraq last week? I'm pretty sure his agenda wasn't all about troop morale. You can bet he had closed-door meetings with Petraeus on how to best spin the report. And no doubt that spin plan included enlisting the Bush propaganda machine--Fox News. A couple of days ago, Petraeus appeared on Fox with his shill, Britt Hume. Glenn Greenwald wrote about it over on salon.com and covered it nicely. Don't think for a second that it wasn't very carefully orchestrated.

But wait, you say, how can you impugn the character of this lauded 4-Star General? Petraeus has an, as far as we know, unsullied record of being a first-class officer. But you also know, of course, that Bush chooses his people veeeery carefully. His predecessor as Commander of Multi-national Forces, George Casey, was sacked because he didn't agree with Bush's surge.

"The longer we in the U.S. forces continue to bear the main burden of Iraq’s security, it lengthens the time that the government of Iraq has to take the hard decisions about reconciliation and dealing with the militias. And the other thing is that they can continue to blame us for all of Iraq’s problems, which are at base their problems. It’s always been my view that a heavy and sustained American military presence was not going to solve the problems in Iraq over the long term," Casey said at the time. In other words, more US troops means the Iraqi government drags it feet.

But in the Bush administration, if you're not loyal (meaning willing to bend over and take whatever the POTUS commands of you without dissent), you're out. And so Casey was out.

And so Bush was looking for a surge fan and a loyal Bushie, and apparently found one in Petraeus. He implemented Bush's surge and now nine months later all evidence suggests he's failing. But we're supposed to believe everything is fine and if we stay the course, we win! Despite the GAO's assessment that Casey's assertion before the surge was correct.

And it's interesting. Recently, Bush stated that it was a mistake to withdraw from Vietnam, because of the damage it did to America's credibility. And that's incredibly telling. Essentially, it means that the lives of American soldiers are less valuable than the country's--and by extension the President's--saving face. More than 58,000 Americans died in that war, and Bush is saying that it wasn't enough. Well, Mr. Bush, only 3,774 American soldiers have died in Iraq so far, so I guess we have plenty more to go, huh?

Bush apparently believes that no matter what, we will succeed in Iraq. But what if we don't? After more than four years, we're no closer now than we were than to winning this war. So what? We just keep going, keep sacrificing people until 10,000 are dead and the military is just crippled? It's like continuing to drive your car after the red oil light comes on--insanity. Insanity with a pretty high cost.

So, bottom line--can we trust Petraeus' report?

Of course we can.

Land of the Blind #1

Another day, another letter to the editor at the Chronicle about Gay Pride Day at SRS. And scanning the online reader comments, you’d think the threat of the imposition of the homosexual “lifestyle” on America was the biggest issue facing God-fearers today. But really, if all sin is equal, why the hubbub? Why not attack sin that afflicts demonstrably many more people than does the scourge of gayness? Everyone loves shrimp, gay and straight alike. Yet there it is in Leviticus, right next to laying down with men, God says eating shellfish is a bad thing. So why isn’t the warrior Christian right yelping about the succulent, abominable fried shrimp special Rhinehart’s runs every Sunday (yes, Sunday!)? Maybe they’re too busy sitting down to a big basketful of sin themselves.

Channel 12 (I think. I wasn’t really paying attention) told us Wednesday that it was hot, and when it’s hot people like to go swimming. What I want to see is the story about the guy that beats the heat by tarring his roof or smelting copper.

Over on the Soul Bar message board (because even musicians and hard-core drinkers need a place to vent), Coco Rubio announced the “12 Bands of Christmas” lineup. A pretty innocuous posting, but it spurred a full 7 pages of responses challenging the fairness of the selection process. The discussion was definitely heated: “and to all you people who keep accusing me of whining, you're reading my posts with the wrong inflection..........you should be accusing me of bravery...........because i had the balls to speak my mind on this subject,” “Stak” said. But Rubio handled it in stride. Even though he may not have placated everyone, he certainly heard them out, made rational points about the selection process and left everyone concerned, if not happy at least feeling like they’d been heard and their points considered. If Rubio can handle a bunch of cantankerous musicians with such aplomb, think of the sanity he could bring to the Augusta Commission.

The Chronicle ran a wire story about Grey’s Anatomy’s Isaiah Washington crying racism over his firing. Cause, you know, we love a story about an uppity black man.

And on the editorial page the same day, the paper likened the immigration reform bill (had it passed) to the hurricane Katrina disaster, which is pretty cool in and of itself (cities destroyed, close to 2000 dead and thousands more people displaced equals, what, hard-working people get to keep the jobs no one else wants?). But it got better. “Well, U.S. senators narrowly voted - despite themselves - to avoid another disaster…,” they said. Despite themselves? As if the bumbling congresspeople somehow managed to do the “right” thing, despite themselves. Sheesh, Chronicle, they got the result you wanted but you slam them anyway? I guess Bush and the democrat-led congress going down in flames together confoozled them. So better to err on the side of outrage, I guess. They went on to poke the local boys, saying “In Georgia and South Carolina, three of our four senators essentially voted against the bill…”. How do you “essentially” vote nay? Maybe they voted in French. “Non!”

The Outsider: MIA?

Speaking of which, I sort of miss Ryan B.

Spamtastic!

From "Diedre Ferguson", to my work mail:

"If you hope to be aware of an expert's advice regarding which way you may amplify another measure in (u know what :P)), buy the right stuff."

I deleted it immediately, cause, ya know, I already have a copy of the Wolfe book.

If you only knew

From the "whine line" in Metro Spirit last week:

"Jim Christian is one hell of a media critic, except when it comes to commenting on the Metro Spirit. I guess he doesn’t want to bite the hand that feeds him… literally."

Which is funny for a couple of reasons, first since I've commented on the Spirit in three previous colums. But also because I actually get paid in food...literally.

You're welcome

I got a virtual shout-out from a swimming blog run by a couple of Olympians. My giving has no bounds.

I'm dizzy, pt. 3: BPPV

Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo. Basically, I get dizzy in certain positions, and when I do my eyes go crazy.

I saw an otologist today, and he at least knows what I have, and probably why I have it. Probably. He induced the dizziness by having my lie back rapidly and turn my head. When I got dizzy, he looked at my eyes and they were jumping around. He did it turning my head to the right, and the room swam. To the left, it was fine. It's a classic sign: the test is called "Dix-Hallpike", and it's positive when you exhibit paroxysm in your eyes. If you're positive, you have BPPV. so I have it.

Next is what causes it, and there are three choices: 1) calcium oxylate crystals floating around in your inner ear; 2) acoustic neuroma; or 3) brain tumor. He did a bunch of auditory tests and said my hearing is just fine, so that rules out #2. So most likely it's the crystals, but it's possible something's going on in my brain. He gave me some exercises to do where basically you induce the dizziness over and over until your brain starts trusting your eyes instead of your inner ear. And if that doesn't work in a couple of weeks, they start looking in my head.

He seemed pretty confident that it's the calcium oxylate crystals--if I was Dix-Hallpike positive on both sides, a tumor would be more likely. But if it's not better in a couple of weeks, he's going to do an MRI. So for the next two weeks I get to make myself dizzy as much as possible and hope things get better. I'm not looking forward to it.

I'm dizzy, pt. 2

So here I am, 9 days since my first symptoms and there's no change. I saw my doctor on Monday, but predictably she diagnosed it as "sinus trouble". I swear, you could limp into her office with a broken ankle and two things would happen: she'd give you a tympanogram and tell you to get some Claritin. Now, normally, when she trys to sell me the tympanogram, I tell her to bite me (politely), because it trully is a big ol' scam. Insurance doesn't cover it, so it's a $40 charge, and seriously, if you don't have a bunch of pain in your ear, it's worthless. Kind of like going to the mechanic to get a flat tire fixed and them selling you a radiator fill and flush.

But I bit this time, since I figured the dizziness was from an inner ear infection (even though tympanograms only diagnose middle ear infections. But whatever. As usual, my ears were fine, so of course--sinuses. So of course, I left with about 10 prescriptions for Claritin, nasal spray, promethazone (for nausea) and meclazine (for vertigo).

I've been on the meds for about a week, and no change. The meclazine knocked me on my ass at first, but I'm dealing. And actually it doesn't really even seem to work much. I'm off the promethazone now, since the nausea is much better (guess I'm getting used to the dizziness). But I still get dizzy. Every time I lie down, every time I get up. And, when I'm lying down, every time I change my head position. But not when I'm upright. So clearly there's something going on with my inner ear.

Monday, I see an ENT. Stay tuned.

I'm dizzy

And no, not from lack of posting, smartass.

OK...here's the situation. We went camping at the beach this weekend. I felt great up until Sunday morning, when I got up to pee. The mosquitoes were bad so I bug sprayed up and went back into the tent. After about 5 minutes, I started getting dizzy--I figured it was from the bug spray fumes in the tent. So I got out of the tent and felt better, still a bit nauseous, but better. An hour later I was fine.

A couple of hours later, we were at the beach. I spent about an hour in the water, then came up on the beach, plopped down on the blanket and instantly everything was spinning. It lasted about 30 seconds, but returned as soon as I sat up. But once the spinning stopped, I was fine. Back out into the water. Felt fine again until I lay down, and then wham--instantly dizzy again. After one more episode, I thought I was going to hurl, so we packed everything up and headed home.

So since then, every time I lie down (or lay down...f-you, grammar Nazis, I'll never learn that rule and you can't make me!), I get dizzy. Every time I sit up, I get dizzy. When I'm not doing one of those things, I feel better, but still off. Sort of fuzzy-headed, like I've been taking decongestants. When I'm walking around, I'm a little wobbly.

No drinking involved, no drugs involved (OTC, Rx or illicit).

So what the hell's going on? Brain tumor? Burst aneurysm? My politics finally catching up with me?

Positive dope testing for make shame glorious nation of Kazakhstan

Man, is Borat gonna be pissed.

It was reported today Kazakh cyclist Alexandre Vinokourov tested positive for blood doping following his Tour de France time trial victory Saturday. He's been kicked out of the race, along with his entire Astana team. And this in the shadow of the race leader Michael Rasmussen's missing a bunch of out-of-competition drug tests. Which, had it been know at the start of the Tour, would have resulted in his being banned from the race.

Cycling sucks. I love the sport so much, but the continued doping issues all but render the entire peloton suspicious. It's like being a bodybuilder in the '70s: doping is so widespread that you have to assume everyone is doing it.

I have no idea what it would take for this sport, which has probably always been dirty, to become clean. But right now, I've lost all tolerance of it.

Weirdness in One Act (or Maybe She Should Carry that Bible Between her Knees)

A man dressed for running in shorts and a t-shirt sits in front of a burrito shop at a wrought-iron table. He appears to be waiting for someone. A young couple sit, talking and drinking margaritas at another table, on the other side of the restaurant entrance. A large shabby-looking black woman carrying a bible approaches, enters stage right and approaches the runner:

Bible Toter: Hey baby! How you doin'?
Waiting Runner: OK.
(BT glancing down at WR's legs, which are propped on a chair)
BT: Oooh...them's some nice legs!
WR: Um...thanks.
BT: You shave your legs?
WR: Yeah...for cycling.
(BT still looking at WR's legs)
BT: Ooooh...I like 'em. That your real color?
(WR looks bewildered)
WR: Um...yes?
BT: Buy me some food, baby. (telling, not asking)
WR: I'm getting ready to go run. I don't have my wallet with me.
BT: I think I got knocked up.
(BT pauses, looks around, as if searching)
BT: I can't find the man who knocked me up.
WR: It wasn't me.
BT: Shit...I know it wasn't you, baby.
(BT walks to the next table)
BT: Buy me some food. (telling, not asking)
Young Woman: I don't have any money.
BT: You got a credit card. (telling, not asking)
Young Man: No.
BT: I got knocked up.
YM: Maybe you should read your bible.
BT: Fuck you, motherfucker.
(BT walks off down the street cursing unintelligibly, exits stage left)

Overheard on CNN

Homer: What do you call that thing where a guy's gay for a woman?

Marge: Straight!

Overheard at work

"He had gotten a quote on a 600-pound ball valve..."

Hopefully to have it excised. Maybe I'm a freak, but I prefer much smaller ball valves. Once you get past a couple of pounds, they just become unwieldy. Not to mention the chaffing issue.

It's not just the cyclists that dope

Apparently, I spent last week on vacation at the Tour de France, working on my tan.

"Discontinue use...

...if you have urges to gamble or f*ck compulsively" the drug commercial might as well have said last night. "Wha?" I thought as I looked up from my magazine last night to see an ad for a drug called "Mirapex". So I thought I must have misheard, so I googled "drug side effects" and "gambling" this morning, seriously thinking I'd find nothing but "Jim is crazy", but sure enough, I heard correctly:

"One of the side effects of Mirapex has been the development of compulsive gambling in people who have not had a problem with gambling before taking the drug. For example, a retired government intelligence worker lost thousands of dollars in slot machines before he discovered that gambling was a Mirapex side effect and stopped taking the drug. A 68-year-old man lost more than $200,000 before his medication was adjusted. A 41-year-old lost more than $5,000 in Internet gambling.

Gambling is only one of the pleasure/reward-seeking activities that can increase in patients taking Mirapex. Other obsessive behaviors include:

• Excessive shopping


• Overeating


• Hypersexuality "

Sounds like a party. I wonder how hard it is to fake Parkinson's.

Strong is the pull of the dark side

If the Athens Banner Herald is Morris Communication's “most liberal (paper) in the district” as they say, they must be running editorials suggesting aborted fetuses be used as pet food, because his home-town paper again slid further to the side of the defeatocrats. “The U.S. military surge may be working, but few are convinced of it. And can folks be coerced at the end of a rifle to live in peace together?,” they asked.

Only if you pull the trigger.

Secret agent man

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution ran a column by Ken Silverstein defending a Harper's article he wrote earlier this year where he went undercover as a guy working for a fake firm trying to get DC lobbyists to improve the image of Turkmenistan--a neo-Stalinist regime--for the benefit of his fake energy trading company. The lobbying firms, of course, took his fake money gladly, and promised stuff like planting editorials, sending congressional delegations to Turkmenistan and arranging "independent" media events in DC. Of course, they got bent out of shape when the article ran.

But the interesting thing is so did a bunch of newspapers who took issue with the "ethics" of his undercover tactics, despite a rich history in this country of undercover journalism. It’s interesting that the Washington Post apparently thinks lobbyists should have the reasonable expectation to do their shady business without pesky journalists mucking about.

And it also begs this question: why no undercover journalism in Augusta? I guess the not about to plant someone inside the Augusta National, for example. But surely that’s Chronicle’s something the Spirit would love to undertake (we miss you already, Corey). Think about it: get someone hired on as a waiter, locker room attendant or even--the holy grail of insider positions--as a caddy. The insider would be privy to I can only imagine. It'd be the story of the century here in Augusta. But it's not just the National that's ripe for infiltrating. Think of the possibilities: a fly on the wall at Olin (how much mercury are they really dumping?), a plant at an apartment-leasing office (are they really renting equally to blacks and whites?), or even a mole intern at the Metro Spirit (do they really slay pigs at going away parties?).

I do some of my best thinking in bed

Jim: You know what I'm tired of?

Amy: I have no idea.

J: Panini.

A: What?

J: Not the sandwich so much as the word.

A: Why?

J: It sounds too much like punani.

A: (snerk)

J: I mean, it doesn't sound like something you should eat.

(thinks for a second)

Well, at least not at a restaurant or out of a damn microwave.

I'm going to change the world

Over in my triathlon website, an Ann Coulter discussion eventually devolved into a discussion of spanking, spurred on by a mention of the despicable Rev. James Dobson (lord how i despise that man). I'm no fan of spanking. I think that inflicting pain upon a defenseless child just so you can lord over them is lazy parenting at best, and out-and-out abusive at worst.

But in the discussion, a poster said the following:

"Listen, I make my v(olleyball) ball players who I coach do push ups as a penalty. They HATE it. It is painful for them. But they learn quickly to avoid those mistakes which are punishable by push ups."

And it got me thinking. What if parents, instead of spanking or even time-outing, used push-ups as punishment instead? How would the world be different? If your views of spanking are similar to mine, there'd arguably be a whole lot more happy, well-adjusted kids running around. But even if spanking really isn't harmful per se, you could easily make the argument that it does kids no inherent good.

So, what if, every time Nola did something she wasn't supposed to, she was made to do something that was actually good for her? Look around--kids today are fat and lazy. If you spank them, they more than likely can barely feel it because the blows are cushioned by their fat asses. And time out? Please. They're already doing nothing but sit on the couch playing Xbox. You really think more nothing is going to teach them anything?

But push ups. Push ups suck. They hurt like crazy, they make you strain, breathe hard and sweat. Nobody likes to do them. And...they're actually good for you! They strengthen your core, work a whole host of muscles including your chest, biceps and triceps, lats and traps.

Johnny hits his sister? 50 push ups! Susie's late getting home from school? 10! Didn't finish your homework? Give me 20, young man! If your kids are really bad, think of what great shape they'll be in, at least. And seriously, I think that after a few hundred push ups, the kid is going to think twice about taking that $20 out of mom's wallet.

Of course, as with anything, there could be a downside. There's the risk in using exercise as punishment that kids could form an aversion to it (after all, isn't that what I'm talking about?). But that's why I like the idea of push ups. If you instead had Sheniqua run a mile, she would probably associate running with bad. And I don't like that. Running should be something kids love to do. But push ups on the other hand are *supposed* to be despised, and it's OK if they are. After all, no one gets a college scholarship for calisthenics.

So who's with me? Who wants to change the world, 20 push ups at a time?

Normally, 3 lycra-clad women in the morning wouldn't tick me off...

It's girls like this that give guys like me a bad name. Look closely at the picture...what do you see? I see three women riding abreast (heh) on a narrow, single-lane road. They were travelling pretty slowly, 15mph tops in a 35 zone (I think) down Broad St. In Augusta, at about 8am, and there were a good 10 cars backed up behind them. I'm all for cyclists' rights, of course, being one myself. But sheesh, in order to get any respect, cyclists need to follow the law and be courteous to the folks they're sharing the road with.

Section 40-6-294(b) of the Uniform Georgia Code states "Persons riding bicycles upon a roadway shall not ride more than two abreast except on paths or parts of roadways set aside for the exclusive use of bicycles."

While the ladies shown are within their rights to ride two abreast, they certainly aren't allowed three. But really, in this situation, they should be riding single-file to allow for cars to pass safely. Those people stacked up being the cyclists were probably much more pissed than I was, and the situation no doubt reinforced any negative opinions they may have already had towards cyclists. We cyclists have a duty to be ambassadors of the idea of bicycles as viable transportation, now more than ever. We need to follow the laws, and this means not blowing through lights, signalling turns, running lights at night--things I see cyclists neglecting all the time. So when I see crap like that, yeah, it ticks me off.

It's done

The transition from fixed-gear road bike to single-speed cross bike is complete. It's now got a Kinesis aluminum cross fork (so I can run wider tires), a linear-pull brake in the front and a new black-as-my-soul paint job. I'm gonna ride her at the nude tri, and kick some naked ass.

BID: no parking tickets and a sash?

A couple of provisions in the downtown Augusta Business Improvement District (BID) management plan, which will now be going before a commission vote, are for "Downtown Ambassadors Foot and Bicycle Patrol." And since these are included in the proposed budget, you'd assume that these would be paid positions. What a sweet gig!

Think about it...your job would be to walk (or ride a bike) around downtown, greeting folks, waving and generally looking, well, ambassadorial. A treaty needs to be discussed between the Ren Pub and Stillwater? You'd be the one to call. You know you'd get free drinks and, assuming you were single, lots of action. I mean, who doesn't want to get with an ambassador? Think how that would look on your resume.

I don't know why, but I'm imagining a handlebar moustache, top hat and a sash. A long black top coat, maybe striped jodhpurs.

And diplomatic immunity. Where do I sign up?

Chuck Norris facts

Over on my triathlon website, about every couple of months or so, someone will invariably post "Chuck Norris Facts." I know you've seen them. There are entire websites devoted to them. There are t-shirts and coffee mugs out there with clever things like "Chuck Norris puts the laughter in manslaughter" or "Chuck Norris counted to infinity, twice."

God how I hate them. So whenever that jackass posts that thread, I rebut. And thus, here are the real Chuck Norris facts (unabridged):

"The only statistic Chuck Norris cares about is that with a 99.9% confidence interval, there is a 100% probability that Chuck Norris is a crying little girl who, when 24 comes on, has to hide in his closet with his favorite Teletubby plushie repeating "everything will be alright" over and over until the show is over, when he then has to change his underpants."

"Chuck Norris is Jack Bauer's makeup artist. But he's not allowed to look at Mr. Bauer in the eye, lest he wet his pants. Again."

"I thought Jack Bauer killed Chuck Norris by making his wee, girly heart explode by looking in his general direction?"

"Chuck Norris is a whiny little girl who once stayed in his dark room for a week because his shadow startled him when he turned his light on in the morning."

"I know another Chuck that would spend the entire swim cutoff crying on the beach because the water was too wet. Just like his pants."

"Chuck Norris' pick up line is "look, I didn't piss my self today. Uh...nevermind."

"Chuck Norris merely saw its shadow once and simultaneously vomited and wet his pants."

"Chuck Norris thinks 'cinco de mayo' is how hispanics order five servings of mayonnaise."

"Chuck Norris:Crying like a little girl::Jack Bauer: Killing terrorists"

"Jack Bauer challenged the President to a 'who has the most testicles' contest. Jack Bauer won by 5, and then pulled the Presidents 2 testicles off, slowly and with malice, and fed them to him. Chuck Norris, of course, has fewer testicles than Lance Armstrong."

"Chuck Norris has Herpes. He gets outbreaks on his wang and around his eyes, because when he churns his butter, he has to continuously wipe the tears from his eyes so he can see what he's doing."

"Chuck Norris Triathlon:
Cry for 30 minutes.
Get dope slapped by Girl Scouts.
Cry some more."

"What '5000' means to Chuck Norris:
Times he's lost a fight.
Nights he's cried himself to sleep on his pillow.
Bruises he gets just thinking about Jack Bauer.
Anti-defamation lawsuits he's filed against me (Chuck Norris can't fight, so he prefers to litigate).
Times he's crossed the street to avoid confrontations with "scary homeless people."
Letters he's received from the Wold Martial Arts Council pleading with him to take up arm wrestling, because they're tired of him giving them a bad name.
Doses of Prozac he's taken just to get through the day.
Doping tests he's failed due to elevated estrogen levels.
Employment tests he's failed to become a mall security guard.
Auditions he's been to for "Cabaret." (Chuck Norris dances surprisingly well, but unfortunately sings about 4 octaves too high for any of the male roles).
Slaps he's received from little school girls.
Times he's vomited at the thought of going outside alone."

"Little known fact: Chuck Norris was the one thing McGyver could do absolutely nothing with, because crying little girls are absolutely useless when you need to get yourself out of a jam."

"Jack Bauer killed 4 crying little girls today before breakfast. All of them were Chuck Norris."

"Everyone knows fluvial geomorphology kicks glacial geomorphology's ass. Chuck Norris doesn't know that glacial geomorphology is restricted by geography, whereas erosion from water can happen anywhere!"

"Chuck Norris has two cats, Fluffy and Mr. Puddin' Paws, or Puddin' for short. Puddin' got his name because whenever Chuck Norris makes pudding (and he makes it a lot--Chuck loves his pudding!), Puddin' sticks his feet in the bowl trying to lick the leftovers. Then, he runs all over Chuck Norris' house leaving little chocolaty kitty prints all over the place. Mr. Puddin' Paws is a little scamp. Fluffy routinely kicks Chuck Norris' ass."

"I told this joke to Chuck Norris once:
Chuck Norris walks in to a bar and orders a Zima. The bartender asks him for ID, but Chuck Norris says "I don't need ID, I'm Chuck Norris." The bartender says "I'm sorry, Mr. Norris, but I thought you were a crying little girl because of your red eyes and the tear stains on your collar." Chuck Norris says in reply "That's OK...it happens all the time." The bartender apologizes again and offers to buy him a whisky. Chuck Norris then says "thanks, but could I get it with some diet Sprite and a straw. And of do you have any of those little umbrellas?" The bartender, horrified, bitch-slaps Chuck Norris, who cries some more and sulks out of the bar.
Chuck Norris didn't get it."

"Chuck Norris thinks 'bird flu' is a new martial art, and that it involves ninja feather tickling."

"Chuck Norris doesn't trust chickens. He thinks it's their souless black eyes. Chuck Norris would rather starve than face down a chicken and then have to spend another year in therapy to get him back to his happy place (Chuck Norris' happy place is Bed, Bath and Beyond. So many useful gadgets)."

"Chuck Norris believes in intelligent design."

"Chuck Norris tried referring to himself in the third person, but he ultimately found it confusing and went back to calling himself Jenny. Chuck Norris looks prettiest in floral print sundresses. They hide his belly."

"Chuck Norris gets confused by complete sentences. They give him a headache, and make him want to kick things. But then Chuck Norris remembers what his mother told him: 'sugar and spice make everything nice, and if you misbehave I'm going to lock you in the closet for your birthday again.' And threats make him stutter."

"Luckily, Vin Deisel's little skirt is still plenty big enough for Chuck Norris to hide behind."

"In college, Chuck Norris tried out for girl's field hockey, but had to quit because he annoyed his teammates every time he shouted "owie" after getting hit in the shin by the ball."

"Chuck Norris likes Def Leppard, too. He also likes strawberry ice cream, sharing his feelings and crocheting intricate doilies."

"Sticks and stones don't break Chuck Norris' bones, but words make him curl up in the fetal position and shiver."

"When he's naked, Chuck Norris looks like an 11-year-old girl. With a full beard."

"If I see Chuck Norris pushing a stroller or riding his tricylce, I'll be sure and wave. You know, slowly, so he'll understand me."

"Chuck Norris only scares tiny babies, and that's only because he tries to steal their bottles, because Chuck Norris has only recently been weened from the teet."

"Chuck Norris gigggles like a schoolgirl when he hears the word "teet." When he listens to "Hash Pipe" by Weezer, he wets his pink panties every time."

"Chuck Norris drinks virgin Cosmopolitans. But only a couple, because they make him tipsy."

Sex parties, dope and smack: those lucky AIDS patients have all the fun!

Overheard at the Chinese restaurant, while waiting for my take-out order:

Asian food connoisseur #1, and older Caucasian gentleman: There's so many people that are HIV positive today.
Asian food connoisseur #2, a younger African-American gentleman: Mmm hmm.
1:So many people. You know that's the precursor for AIDS?
2:Yeah.
1:So many people that have what I'll call AIDS. They're formin' these clubs. Clubs of people with AIDS.
2:Mmm hmm.
1:Isn't that terrible?
2:Yeah...that is terrible!
1:The man givin' the lecture said they're formin' these clubs. Cause you know you don't get better from it?
2:Mmm hmmm.
1:So they don't care. They're havin' these crazy sex parties. They smoke the marijuana. They shoot up.
2:Yeah! they shoot up!
1:You know the word "tout"?
2:Yeah. I know it.
1:The magazines is toutin' these clubs. Make is seem so glamorous. So you wanna get it so you can join. Cause it's so much fun.
2:That's terrible.
1:Like people get a cold and have so much fun, that other people wanna catch a cold, too. So they can have fun.
2:That's terrible.
1: Is this my glass of water or your glass of water?
2: It's your glass of water.

I got nuthin'...

OK, so I know it's been a while since I've posted. But really, I just haven't had much to say. And like I said in a previous post, I'm a firm believer that if you don't have anything to say you're much better off just shutting the fuck up. Jam bands and David Oliver Doswell II, take note.

I mean, it's not like nothing interesting has been happening, but it's only been very mildly interesting stuff at best. And stuff I only think is probably interesting to me. So why blog about it? Case in point:


For Father's Day, Nola got me a Webkinz. Don't know what a Webkinz is? Don't have kids, huh? Well, they're these Beanie Baby-like dolls, but the twist is they come with a code that you enter on their website, for which you receive a virtual representation of your animal. You play games on the site and earn "kinzcash" with which you buy crap for your animal--furniture for their house, clothes, etc. And when you get a new animal, you get a special (virtual) gift when you register it. For example, Nola's raccoon came with a trash can-shaped refrigerator, her hippo came with a pond-shaped bathtub--things that are representative of their little animal personalities. Nola got me the Cheeky Monkey (draw your own parallels). So you want to know what the "special gift" for the little simian was? Do you?

A banana hammock. Really.

So there's that. Mildly amusing, sure, but blog-worthy? You be the judge.

Here's another example:

Amy and I were lying in bed in our room at the Partridge Inn last Wednesday morning, waiting for our room-service breakfast to arrive (yes...I know..."la dee da"). So it was supposed to be delivered between 9 and 9:30, and it was getting close to 9:30, so I started wondering when it was going to be delivered:


Jim: Our food needs to come soon.

Amy: What time is it?

J: (looks at clock) mmm...9:23

A: so we still have...
(pause)
(eyes roll up in her head, glazed over)

J: 7 minutes?

A: (laughing hysterically)

J: You're mathtastic.

So again, amusing, maybe, but maybe not worth taking 15 minutes to put down on virtual paper.

Let's see...what else? Oh yeah. I had a bathroom conversation at the Soul Bar with the singer from the Modern Skirts. He said Coco's awesome. But everyone knows that. He also said Coco would do great in Athens (promoting shows, I'm guessing, but he might have meant with the ladies. I'm not sure what he was talking about, now that I think about it).


Oh...and I registered for a nude triathlon. I actually think that is blog worthy. Probably more so after the event, though.