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Friday, August 13, 2004
Oh, and I'm hung over
I didn't mention as part of the little tribute to Peter below that the only downside to the festivities was that I'm hungover today for the first time in maybe a year or two.
It's not even the drinking that did it, it was getting home so late and getting up so early. I didn't have time to make myself a hangover-busting egg breakfast; mostly it's been coffee and Dr Pepper that have gotten me through the day. This morning was rough, though. I looked at my face in the mirror first thing and thought, "Well, this is gonna take some work."
Whataburger (so healthy he eats!) for lunch did get me back on track through. Their burgers with grilled onions, taquitos with sausage or their biscuits are all great hangover cures. I really do think Whataburger is God's gift to drunks, so much so that they should have a "Whata-binger" section in their menu.
New moon adventures involving some Space Monkeys. I'm always amazed at how the best intentions of men and monkeys go so awry.
I mentioned the Tommy Habeeb show earlier, but damned if I'd had time to sit down and watch it. We're still gearing up and working hard on next week's debut of ˇahora sí! and last night was the going away party for Peter Yang, one of the most talented people I know, a very young photographer (I can't even believe he's of age to drink) whom I worked closely with in the Technopolis days and who has gone on to be a freelance photographer of the kick-assingest sort, scoring regular spreads in Texas Monthly. Go take a look at those photos on his site. Amazing, huh?
Peter's going to New York City to be a big-shot and I have no doubt in my mind that he'll continue to be one successful dude.
And as the turnout to his party last night showed, he's well beloved by his friends and former co-workers.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Li'l Floaty Omie Head gets immersed in the violence of implied gunplay, even at such supposedly safe places like The Cracker Barrel. If you can't feel safe and comforted at The Cracker Barrel, what the fuck is happening to this world?
Guess who's back in a new spin-off (sorta) comic? That's right. Action Gravy! I know he's been in the forefront of your mind for the last month. I can read you like that.
So... tired. This is getting to be a crazy week. More later today.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
They once called him "Grand"
This is how well my TiVo knows me: I got home last night and turned on the TV and there, on a new show, was TOMMY HABEEB (nay, Tommy Grand) formerly of Cheaters, now on a show appearing on HD Net. I don't have time to go into the details of the show just yet (which in its own way is just as awful-good as Cheaters in its Tommy/Gomez heyday), but I'm just glad to see our pal Tommy (who deadpans in the episode I saw, "Sorry about that, pal," to some luckless guy abandoned in the middle of Louisiana by mandate of a judge holding a bat) is back on the air, doing what he does best: Being a loveable asshat.
Eye for an Eye people. TV doesn't get any better/worse. (And check out Stag. That looks even more fantastic/horrible!)
Welcome back to TV, Tommy. We missed your sorry ass.
Monday, August 09, 2004
"When it's the weekend, you devote your time to me."
And that's how it is and that's how I want it. Now, the weekends are a time when outside events and work committments are an intrusion unless it's something we can do together.
We're short-long-distance, an hour away from each other, and people who don't know our situation are always surprised to hear it. That we're newlyweds who only see each other on weekends, living only about seventy miles apart, but miles that might as well be a thousand more for all that they're preventing us from seeing each other each night that isn't a Friday, Saturday or Sunday.
That's why New Braunfels, that's why the house hunting, that's why the rush to get rid of the gorgeous backyard in South Austin for a new home at the midway point.
The last time I bought a house, she was in school and I was pushing through the paperwork, the frustrations, the fears of getting a mortgage alone. Now we're together on it, buying as one, trying to see ourselves in a year, five years, maybe 10 or more, within these theoretical walls. Will children be playing in those rooms? How many? How will our lives grow?
There's marriage, a new house, a new job for me, lots of travel, new projects and new gray hairs to deal with. We feel so young, inexperienced, unsure and overwhelmed, clinging to each other like life preservers in choppy waters. It's all very adult, these things we're facing, so why do we feel like little Rio Grande Valley children?
I came to work this morning after a weekend of spending every minute I had with her, and I was walking down the hall. An image came to me, scary in its clarity. I was in a new house, working in a coverted den/ home office (where a formal dining room may have been were we the formal dining types). A baby slept in a playpen a few feet from where I was typing. It was mid-week and my wife was at work while I tapped away on a freelance assignment. A school bus crossed its way through the pretty picket-fence-lined neighborhood and watched for a second as kids got off the boss. I went back to my computer screen and click-clacked away, happy to have left an office job behind to be a stay-at-home-Omar.
It would have freaked me out to think of a life like that just a few years ago, filled me with a kind of dread and urban defensiveness of what the suburbs might do to me..
Now, it seems like the most wonderful daydream, something to hope and wish for.
Maybe we do change.
If it's Monday morning...
... there must be a new Space Monkeys! comic.
This one asks you to ponder which is more technologically advanced: Apple's iPod device or a toaster that butters your bread for you. I think it is an issue that may well divide America along bread/music lines and could affect the outcome of the November election.
(I hear Bush is a toast man. Not trying to be partisan here. Just sayin'.)
If you're not in Austin you're missing out on the heat, sure, but you're also missing out on a mild heat, the kind where you sweat, sure, but you also have an urge to go get on somebody's boat or spend the day at Schlitterbahn, as wifey (as I call her, in the same way you'd pull a girl's pigtails in elementary school when you have a crush on her) and I did yesterday.
There was a good amount of anti-flesh, sure, but there was also a lot of people having lots of fun in the unseasonably cool cloudy weather. I got so stoked seeing people tubing on the Guadalupe that I announced I'd be buying tickets to Saturday's on-the-water screening of Open Water. Sadly, the damn thing sold out before I could score them. Damn you, Alamo Drafthouse! Damn you and your limited-ticket temptations!
We also did some more house hunting in New Braunfels. What do you guys think about this guy? We're thinking he builds a pretty, pretty house.
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