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Sunday, September 28th, 2008
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4:24 am - Whee!
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| Friday, September 19th, 2008
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9:47 pm
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Today, I was playing with a baby names website, and I came across a "Random Renamer" function. I put in my full name, and decided my personality was "philosophical." The website generated:
Earl Chilli Hughes.
I think it knows where I come from.
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, September 14th, 2008
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10:06 pm
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What you don't understand is where everything's leading
When all of the signs you see still point to overload.
As you reach out your hand, a shattered picture's receding
Like tail-lights along that lonesome stretch of broken road
'Cause you've been to the past, and it's just a reminder--
A recollection of faces that will never come to call.
When you've cut through the mask,
When you've been through the grinder,
Sometimes you forget that you had ever been there at all.
Up here in Room 429,
Yeah, the world ain't so unkind
I want to take you to that empty room tonight.
In the shadow of doubt, in the crush of an instant,
Standing in the rain outside my door, hand on your knife.
When you reach a brick wall, there is still a decision.
Always thought if I had to lose, I'd surely choose my life.
Up here in Room 429,
Yeah, the world ain't so unkind.
I want to take you to that empty room tonight.
We'll tell the world outside the door
That we ain't never coming back no more.
We're gonna stay in here 'till we turn off the night.
'Till we turn off the night.
City breathes so softly, everything is sleeping.
I am at the window, silently watching.
I can see you standing alone against the winter.
I can hear you asking, but the streets, they are not giving.
Don't look to the ocean, restless in its dreaming.
Don't look to the heavens, for they will tell you nothing.
If living is for learning, then dying is forgetting.
Once we have forgotten, then we can go on living.
In a lifetime of hope, in a second of kindness,
There is never a doubt that we are born and die alone.
From within or without, there's no way they can find us.
When they knock at the door, the lights are on, but we ain't home.
Up here in Room 429,
Yeah, the world ain't so unkind.
I want to take you to that empty room tonight.
We'll tell the world outside the door
That we ain't never coming back no more.
I want to stay in here 'till we turn off the night.
We're gonna stay in here 'till we turn off the night.
'Till we turn off the night...
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, April 21st, 2008
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9:35 pm - Le Season-Ending Sigh
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And Montreal puts the finishing touches on a 5-0 Game 7 win over the Bruins.
Congratulations, Montreal.
CANADA IS STILL A COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT COUNTRY.
SO IS FRANCE.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, February 20th, 2008
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8:16 pm - Why (always) us (every time)?
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Today, I spent $400 on brake repairs. I went to a place in Everett where I get my oil changed, because I like the people there and I've heard other good things about them. Nicole and I got into the car and drove two blocks down Broadway. The steering wheel started shake, and I became worried. The car dropped suddenly, and there issued forth the sound of screeching metal as the left front tire came off of the car, rolled alongside us briefly (I imagine if wheels had arms, it would have waved), struck a building across the street, bounced about ten feet in the air as a result, then took off downhill on a one-way side street.
My first words were, seriously, "I don't like that place anymore," as I maneuvered the car to the side of the road. Nicole knew something was very definitely wrong, but didn't realize the wheel was gone until she looked
We put the tire in the trunk, turned the hazards on, locked up, and walked back up the street to the shop. The guys came out, jacked the car up, put the tire back on, and followed us back. They put all new lugs on all four wheels, and apparently someone had also left something loose on one of the rear drums. They also fixed my hood latch and topped off all my fluids. I mean, I'm cool as long as it's fixed. They called me tonight and told me the next time I wanted an oil change or a tank of gas, it's on them.
The best part was probably me saying, "Stay with the car," as I started across the street. About that time, Nicole said, "The wheel's off!" It was pretty interesting, I guess.
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, December 27th, 2007
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10:00 pm
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Well, I've opted to just make an album on my myspace (www.myspace.com/333omg for the uninitiated). But! It's not working right now, and the cutest picture ever was taken today, and I can't rob you guys of this.
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(comment on this)
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3:07 am
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Alright, folks. I give you Remy Donald Price Hughes, born at 6:52 PM Eastern Standard Time on December 26th, 2007. Weighing in at 7 pounds, 1.6 ounces, measuring 18.5 inches, and looking something like this about an hour and a half after birth.
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, December 26th, 2007
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3:05 pm
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| Friday, December 21st, 2007
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11:27 pm
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So we pull into the parking lot of the Gasco station on the corner of Proctor Ave. and Broadway. I see that there's a police cruiser parked in front of the door, and croon, "Reveeeeeeah!" We swing around to park, and there's a guy in a Jeep with his reverse lights on, so I stop beside the pumps and wait for him to move. He backs up. He keeps backing up. Right before he hits me, I lay on the horn. He backs into me. I put the car in park and start to open the door. He throws his mommy's jeep back into drive and starts to take off. I lay on the horn again. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" I cry. The cop puts blue lights on and blows his horn. The guy keeps going. The cop runs through the snow after him--don't EVER make a cop run. Surprise! There was another cop idling on Broadway, and he shoots up Cummings Ave. after him.
An hour later, we've filled out a police report, been given another police report to fill out and take to the station tomorrow, and had a good laugh about the whole thing BECAUSE!
First, I'm assuming this guy was drunk, because why else would you hit and run when you KNOW there's a cop parked right beside you? Maybe he had something in his car, but I can't see you getting searched unless you were visibly under the influence.
Second, he busted my front grille in. This makes me mad, but it also means I got a really great look at his license plate. What makes this even better is that he had a three-character vanity plate. Heh.
Third, a kid who worked in the gas station told me he knew where this guy lives. I said, "I'm not going after him, dude. Just gonna let the cops take care of it. If he has insurance, he's paying for it. If he doesn't have insurance, he's still paying for it and he's in trouble." The cop who talked to me afterwards said they were going up to his house to "find out what the fuck his malfunction was."
O, the Christmas season.
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, December 13th, 2007
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7:17 pm
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-- However, Clemens' lawyer said it was wrong that the pitcher's name was included in the report. Rusty Hardin said Clemens is left with no meaningful way to combat the allegations that he used performance enhancing drugs.
"Roger Clemens adamantly, vehemently and whatever other adjectives can be used, denies that he has ever used steroids or whatever the word is for improper substances," Hardin said. "He is really, really concerned and upset that he has been named in this report." --
How many Linguistics classes do you have to take in pre-law? Anybody? Anybody?
How much does a thesaurus, or whatever the word for a book that's full of other words for words is, cost?
...
In other news, we've got a good 5-6 inches of snow on the ground already, and it's supposed to keep going at roughly an inch per hour for the next five hours. I shoveled the bakery, I pushed someone's car on the way home, I dug the car out from the big pile of snow the city deposited in front of my driveway, I shoveled the driveway, I shoveled the sidewalk, I had hernia repair surgery, I broke a nail, I ate some cereal, it wasn't fun.
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, November 25th, 2007
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9:53 pm
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| Sunday, October 7th, 2007
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8:41 pm
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Sweep!
Lemme know if you see us on TV Saturday night, hah.
current music: "Penitenze Agite!" - Lee Harvey Keitel Band
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007
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5:48 pm
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Alright, assuming the Sox advance to the American League Championship Series, and I'd say the odds are pretty fine...
Then Nicole and I will have loge box seats to game two at Fenway.
!
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, September 15th, 2007
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10:54 pm
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| Thursday, July 26th, 2007
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10:22 pm - SCOTT
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SCOTT SCOTT SCOTT SCOTT HOW COULD I FORGET TO TELL YOU THIS?!
SCOTT!
David Allen Coe is at Soul Kitchen in Mobile on Thursday, August 2nd. If you didn't already know, I thought you might like to.
Mwah.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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9:50 pm
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Here's what I want one of you--just one!--to do.
Stop writing about me.
Stop talking about me.
Stop telling people stories about me.
Stop making up stories about me.
Stop immortalizing me in poetry.
Stop trying to reconnect with me.
Stop being a victim.
Don't start being a martyr.
Get over it.
Get over yourself.
I'm not trying to open a forum or start an argument, because I'm not a pissant little kid like some people, but here's the point:
What's done is done, was done a long time ago, and I can personally overwhelmingly assure you will never be undone no matter what. That is the bottom line; the cold, hard reality; the absolute truth; etc. I'm pretty sure that by now you should have your own life, and I strongly encourage you to focus more of your time and energy to it. I am not a part of that life and have no intention of ever attempting to be. I don't mean to be rude, but I got a little tired of trying to be nice and moderately understanding somewhere around fourteen months ago. You just do your thing and let me do mine. I don't know anything about you anymore, so I don't talk to anyone about you, I don't wax philosophical, I don't create literature about you, so on. You don't know anything about me anymore, and I think you ought to be pretty well past the point of feeling victimized and/or betrayed by high school, so may you grow and let it go.
Best of luck in all that you do.
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, July 8th, 2007
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3:36 pm
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| Thursday, June 21st, 2007
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8:15 pm
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Ring Lardner was writing in a different vein: "As for today's game, they was a scribe downtown this AM saying that 2 men asked who was going to pitch today and the scribe said Cicotte and 1 of the men said you are crazy as Cicotte has such a sore arm that he can't wash the back of his neck. So when we come out to the park this scribe told me about it and I said they wasn't nothing in the rules of today's game that required Cicotte to wash the back of his neck. 'Well,' said the other expert, 'the man was just speaking figurative and meant that Eddie had a sore arm.' 'Well,' I said, 'if he has only one sore arm he can still wash the back of his neck as I only use 1 even when I am going to a party.'
'The back of your neck looks like it,' said the other expert. 'Yes,' I said. 'But what is the differents or not about Cicotte only having 1 sore arm as he only pitches with 1 arm.' 'Yes, you bum, but that is the arm that the man said was sore.'
That is the kind of clever repartee that goes on between the experts and no hard feelings on neither side."
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, May 15th, 2007
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5:50 pm - If there's a hell way down below, I bet you'll see someone you know!
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An update of sorts, for those that are interested, amused, appalled, or disdainful of such things.
Nepotism runs rampant at my place of employment. Our recently-promoted Market Director is handing out jobs to her friends, former associates, and lesbian lovers left and right. The new (incorrigibly lazy) GM at Congress Street didn't like me very much, and I was transferred to Melrose at the end of her fourth day of work. Melrose is slow, boring, and a veritable cesspit of filth. This is less a challenge or welcome change of pace for me than it is purgatory, and the three-hour round trip involved gives me plenty of time to dig my nails into my palms and count the buildings I'd like to burn down.
Said commute could be drastically alleviated by the issuance of my Massachusetts state drivers license (which is the last existing obstacle to registering our car), but the Registry of Motor Vehicles only employs the biggest, most ignorant pricks in the state. I have been thwarted three times en route to an out-of-state license transfer, and as far as this particular situation goes, the future's so bright it's almost like the sun is crashing into the earth.
I need to read more. I feel like I'm losing my sense of humor. Today was basically a complete and utter waste of my time. Jesse (shift supervisor at Congress who turned in his resignation the day after I got transferred) and I went to pick up our last checks from the bakery today, then went to the RMV. The RMV told me I needed some information from the DPS in Alabama, so we got lunch and went back to his apartment. I called Alabama, who very politely told me they would fax it to the RMV downtown in a few hours. So we waited, watched TV, killed a few hours at Fenway before the game, then parted ways. I went back to the RMV, they told me that the paper I got faxed from Alabama which contained everything they told me they needed wasn't enough. So I shuffled back to square one.
I was next to an elderly woman in line at the RMV who was having some trouble with the vision test required to renew a license. The guy from the RMV appeared angry about this--which I understand, because he obviously has better things to do than his job while he's at work. He seemed really interested in reading the newspaper he had on his desk. He kept rolling his eyes, rubbing his temples, and finally told her, "The way you're going, it sure looks like YOU'RE not gonna pass." And I thought, what the fuck is wrong with people?
For those of you who don't know, in honor of my birthday this past April 22nd, Nicole and I decided to go see the Sox play the Yankees at Fenway. So I witnessed first-hand the back-to-back-to-back-to-back home run adventure, and it will probably always be the most incredible thing I've ever seen. There's nothing like 36,905 people (the second-largest crowd at Fenway since World War II, on an interesting note), jumping up and down and screaming their lungs out. Pretty sure it made the bleachers shake.
I'm nursing an unhealthy addiction to the game MLB 07: The Show. It is, as video games go, completely bug-ridden, kind of crappy, suffers from a lot of slowdown, generally sucks. But I love it to death all the same. We bought Damian baseball gear, and Nicole and I each bought gloves. Jesse and I both want to play baseball again. I haven't really looked into the existence of any sort of league in the area that would give us the chance, but if there's no such thing, we've agreed to found OLB. Overweight League Baseball.
Things are otherwise very, very good. Regardless of what happens at work, the RMV, with Mitt Romney, to Jerry Falwell, etc., I can at least depend on living the scenario immortalized by Gas Huffer:
"When I shut the door against the city,
There's my wife, and she's so pretty.
And I'm so delighted."
Nicole and I still kick a lot of ass at basically everything we do, and The Man will never change that. Now we just need to get the car squared away so we can run away to Rockport, or Denny's, or the beach, or whatever.
So, game's on in about half an hour. Wakefield's pitching, and that means we get to see Dougie's smiling face. The Yankees are eight and a half games behind the Sox. I want more tickets.
I guess that about does it. I wish the best of luck to all of you, and dismemberment on Judge Tom Doyle.
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, May 11th, 2007
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11:50 pm
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He folds up his socks and his underwear,
Puts them in the suitcase with so much care.
Closes up the latch with a final click,
Turns his back and walks before the clock can tick.
And she is sitting there crying through her long, brown hair.
Now suddenly, she’s standing, kicking back her chair.
She’s screaming, “Captain, turn your airship ‘round!
Reverse the motion of the ground!
Captain, turn your airship ‘round!”
Berlin to New York, 1937.
Hydrogen-inflated and aloft in heaven.
Everybody drinking, so unaware.
Suddenly, he thinks about her long, brown hair
And now, he’s running down the aisle to the wheelhouse door.
Pounding and a-pounding ‘till his knuckles are sore,
He’s screaming, “Captain, turn this airship ‘round!
Reverse the motion of the ground!
Captain, turn this airship ‘round!”
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(comment on this)
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