Arbeitslos

Okay. So, it’s been a while.

I apologize.

Now that that’s out of the way… what have I been up to?

Oh, not much.  Been working at the SLDC, working on development in the cit-ay of St. Louis. It’s rad. ical. 

I have been, against my will, getting in to Project Runway, which my wife, Kelly, watchings with religious fervor.  I do not watch it with such fervor but, I must say, I do like the pretty clothes they make. hee hee. 
Actually, it’s kinda neat to see the clothes they make, and how, and also to watch the competition between all the different clothesmakers - the architect, the flaming homosexual, the crazy chick, the token straight guy (this season he’s also the token black guy), etc.

Otherwise, on TV I pretty much just watch baseball and, occassionally, the Daily Show. 

And what the hell with the baseball Cardinals, eh?  Tonight Mark Mulder pitched in his first major league start since going on the DL in late June and making a few rehab starts in the minors.  At no point during his outing did Mulder look comfortable on the mound. His fastball never topped 85mph, and he had trouble locating it.  And, when he did, it was like he was throwing bp.  He got tagged for 9 runs in four innings.  Yikes.
I hope they send him down to Memphis and recall Anthony Reyes.

I had a terrible dream last night in which I got stabbed in the chest three times. A gang of hooligans was about to attack someone I knew, or at least in my dream I knew.  I tried to intervene and promptly got stabbed by a curly-haired girl in the chest, three times.  Each wound just around my heart.  I didn’t bleed at all, but I felt like I was going to die.  In my dream, Kelly, my wife, called 911 and I was rushed to the hospital.  In my dream, I blacked out. I mean, there was a part of the dream that was blacked-out to me - the going to the hospital part.  Later in the dream, I came to.  I had to work at the Royale, where I work part-time as a bartender/barback in real life.  I tried to call in sick, but they said that getting stabbed in the chest was no excuse and that if I had been released by the hospital, then I still had to come in and work.  I still felt like dying.  I remember trying to show a coworker my internal bleeding.  I even took off all my clothes behind the bar.  No one seemed to care.  Then, I realized that the hospital only fixed one of my wounds, and freaked out. So, then, I yelled for someone to call 911 again, and went to see the doctor again. In my dream, the doctor who fixed me was an old friend of mine I hadn’t seen in years, and who recently died.  In my dream, I asked her how she felt after what happend, and she smiled and said that she was fine.  She fixed me up good, but then I was nervous about paying the doctor bill because I didn’t have the money. I remember Kelly talking with the nurse aobut it and saying it would be okay, but I was still worried.  Then the dream ended. 

Today, I’ve been spackling. Taking a break from it now to write on the blog. With spackly hands.

I’ve found out good ways to search for mp3s on the interweb using google.
During my searches, I’ve come across the following sites that have mp3s.

Le Radiophone

MSN.ee

Bradley’s Almanac

Largehearted Boy

Mel’s Music

Enjoy.

Girl to Guy: "You only act that way when you’re thinking of Asian women."

Mayor Slayor, that is.

This afternoon I attended a Leadership Lunch hosted by STL-boosters, Metropolis.  It was an informative time.  The Mayor spoke a bit about the issues facing St. Louis, what it’s like being Mayor, and about St. Louis’ standing compared with other cities.  We do not, apparently, have it as bad as Baltimore, New Orleans, or Chicago in some respects - mostly the respects that have to do with educating the children. 

Mayor Slay did also divulge an interesting tidbit or two about downtown.  The first will be revealed in Friday’s post, and has to do with St. Louis Centre and its new management.  The second has to do with the downtown Famous-Barr store becoming a Macy’s. 

Also, the Mayor of Atlanta had a fundraiser here in St. Louis the other day.  wow. 

… this is how his body received the blast. 

A photographer from the Corpus Christi Caller-Times simulated the effect by using his own 28-gauge shotgun and shooting a paper target from 30 yards away, the same distance Whittington stood from Cheney when the VP shot him.

Click for an enlarged version of the photo. 

Last night I had to kick two people out of the Royale. This is something I have to get used to doing; my nerves still get worked up a bit over it.

The first dude I had to bounce was this tall, lanky guy, with long scraggily hair.  He was a talker; not the fun kind of talker, but the drunk kind that will talk to himself if no one else is paying attention.  A little after midnight he was standing at the bar, staring wildly others and mumbling to himself. Needless to say, he was making other customers feel uncomfortable and on-edge.  So, Rose, the bartender, and I told him that he needed to leave.  At which point he got belligerent.  He kept cussing at Rose about her hair for some reason. 
I try to be as pacifist as possible about bouncing people out for a couple of reasons: 1.) I don’t want to stir up a ruckus inside the place; 1a.) I like to avoid damage to people and property whenever possible 2.) I don’t really like to fight. 
So, then, the dude got all up in my grill, so to speak, and I said to him, "look, I don’t want any trouble, it’s just time for you to leave." To which he replied, "Fine, I’m leaving." Mission accomplished.  Well, belligerence continued as he left out the back door - where I led him out, the quickest route.  He kept mouthing off the whole way out. I opened the gate for him to leave, and told him not to return.  He returned a minute or two later. He tried to come in the front door. I suspected he would try this, and was waiting for him there.  He paced about a bit and kept mouthing off at me.  I reiterated that I didn’t want any trouble, I just wanted him to leave.  Then, a regular came out to check out the entertainment.  I was glad he did, because he’s more of an imposing figure than I.  I am of average height and build, this guy, the regular, is short, stocky, and looks like he could hurt you if he wanted to - he’s also a really nice guy.  Anyhow, I told the long-haired drunk to go home and sleep it off, to which he replied, "I will go home and sleep it off!"  I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a comeback or not, but it was funny.  Then, I told him good-night, and he left, and that was that.  Thanks again to the regular who came out to assist.

The second bouncee was a lady.  She came to the Royale looking for some action.  And she was CRAZY.  After failing with the tall, lanky, drunk guy that I had to bounce, she moved over to another guy.  Another guy who is, well, creepy as hell, and also crazy.  Well, she got on his nerves - amazingly. Rose and I didn’t have the patience for crap anymore, so we told her to leave.  She didn’t appreciate being asked to leave, but at least she didn’t put up a fight or mouth off too much.  She did say something hilarious though. She said, "You’re making a really good decision." I think that she was trying to be sarcastic, or mean or something, but it wasn’t really coming across.  I replied, "well, I’m glad you agree. good-bye."

Wild stuff, eh? Really, probably not all that exciting - except to me because I’m still kind of a novice at this. No punches thrown or anything. No fights started. For this, I am glad.  In any case, I should probably learn how to throw a solid punch or two. Just in case the pacifist techniques don’t work.  Drunk people, I’m sure you’ll all agree, are not always that easy to talk out.  I have to say that I am kind of glad to be put in these situations sometimes; because one must learn to handle oneself in all manner of confrontations in life, whether physical or verbal, and in all types of situations. 

Next time you’re in a bar, look for a little magazine called, "Hipster" magazine.  There’s a picture of me pretending to tend bar at the Royale in this magazine.

It’s hilarious.

Even though I no longer study it, and I can hardly speak it, I remain obsessed with the German language.

Es ist viel Spas!

Anyhoo…. This morning I had an interview with a few people at the SLDC. I think it went well. Hopefully they’ll give me a job. Wish me luck. viel gluck!

Then, I went and had lunch with my buddy Patrick, and his buddy Mike, a good guy who plays guitar in the Homewreckers. I drank five pints of beer. 

Five pints of beer makes a good lunch on Friday.

Word.

That’s the way I start off just about every internet-based communique. Yo.

Don’t know why. Just feels good that way.

Just got back from the bar a little bit ago. The Royale Bar. It’s now the hippest place to be. Ever.

I work there.

Last night the local Democratic Party peeps assembled at the Royale to watch President Bush tell us the state of the union, which is strong, according to he… as if he would say otherwise.. does he really have to proclaim the strength of the union.. or is it only when there may be a question in people’s minds, as there may be these days…. In any event, I’m not convinced.

The local NBC affiliate came and did their coverage of the speech from the bar. It seemed a cathartic debauch. I was not there, but it looked that way on TV.

I myself could not bear to watch the speech. I suspected what I would hear. Reading it in the paper the next day confirmed it. 9-11, terror, 9-11, blah blah blah. But human-animal hybrid research!?! WTF!?

So, now it’s a quarter to four in the a.m. I’m watching the Daily Show and Colbert Report, which my wife recorded for me, God love her. The shows focus entirely on the state of the union speech; the comedy makes reality easier to swallow.

I might play some baseball on the PS2 before bed. I love playstation. It rocks. I also love the MVP Baseball 2005 game I got for Christmas. It’s a decent substitute for the real thing. Almost. I got a season going right now. What’s also cool is that you can create your own players. I got a little lazy and, well, a little vain one day, ah who cares. So, I created a player named Andy Struckhov (Struckhoff wouldn’t fit). He’s the best second-baseman in the major leagues; power to all fields, defense, speed. He’s a five-tool player. Like me. Or, like I would be if I had been born with different genes.