the funniest thing that happened to me recently:

i take my dog about 4 times a week to a dog park so he can run around and swim. by this point, i’m on a first name basis with many of the other regulars of the dog park.

one guy there all the time has lost the bottom part of one leg from the knee down. we’re not friendly enough for me to ask how he lost part of his leg. but i have seen him enough to say, ‘hey, how are you? how are your dogs doing? nice weather, huh?’ he seemed friendly enough, very chatty.

a couple of weeks ago he was excited because he was getting a new prosthetic leg because as he said ‘the one i have now sucks ass.’ i said, ‘well, that’s nice. good for you.’

i show up at the park a few days ago.

he got his new leg.

he got a designer model.

the plastic part that covers his knee and connects to the metal rod leading to the shoe has a design on it.

the man got an artificial leg completely emblazoned with a confederate flag.

our conversation was something like this:

i said, ‘i see you got your new leg.’

he said, ‘yep, it feels much better than the old one.’

i said, “uh-huh. well…uh… what’s up with the flag on your leg?”

he said, ‘this is the one i liked the best. the other patterns available were weird.’

i said, ‘they didn’t even have beige?’

he said, ‘nope.’

i said, ‘well… i’m kinda scared of you now… i’ll see you later.’

if we were better friends, i’d offer to take him to michael’s to buy modge podge so we could decoupage his leg with pictures of unicorns or butterflies. it may be sexist, but even decoupaging nudie pictures from playboy would seem more reasonable to me.

completely true story!

come on, “george”… just bite the bullet. learn spanish, start buying hip-hop albums and get yourself invited to at least one lesbian commitment ceremony this spring.

you’re bound to enjoy at least of these things.

it’ll get you out of your racist rut.

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floyd is a service manager at the mercedes dealership in greensboro. he’s originally from waynesville. but i guess the bright lights of the triad lured him away from the mountains. he was fine to work with, except for not even attempting to spell my last name and giving me one of those ‘you ain’t from ’round here, are ya, son?’ looks when i walked in his office.

that happens everyday. so that’s not my point.

i needed my car serviced. i haven’t heard good things about the benz dealership in asheville. i especially didn’t want a trainee here working on the car. my sister lives in greensboro. so i could say ‘hello’ to her and get the car checked in the meantime.

besides the scheduled maintenance, there was only one thing i needed them to check.

when the A/C was set to medium speed, it made a weird noise, kinda like a playing card put against spinning bicycle spokes. but it didn’t make the noise if the A/C was manually set on ‘high’.

i thought a fan blade was loose or a piece of paper that i put in the glove compartment slipped into the A/C vent.

i was wrong.

i got floyd’s interim report about noon. here’s how i remember the conversation:

floyd: well, we found out what was making the sound in your A/C unit.
me: oh, OK, that’s good. what was it?
floyd: uh, well… it seems a rat built its nest in the system and that was interfering with it’s working properly.
me: what’d you say, floyd? (said a la diff’rent strokes’ “what you talkin bout willis?”)
floyd: uh, well… i’ve heard of it happening before. if a car is stored for a long period or kept on a field, small animals can climb-up into the engine compartment to set-up a sweet little den for themselves.
me: what’d you say, floyd?
floyd: uh, well… we know it was a rat because the technician was using pliers to pull-out the nesting material and one of the things he pulled out was the rat’s head.
me: what’d you say, floyd?
floyd: uh, well…we can keep the head for ya if you wanna have a look when you pick up the car. the tech still has it.
me: what’d you say, floyd? …

so it seems that every time i turned on the heater this winter my A/C was slapping a rat in the head, like moe slapped curly in the “three stooges” films.

the moral of this story is to quit smoking.

what?

i smoke. i knew smoking affects the sense of taste. but now i know it affects the sense of smell to the point where i don’t notice the odor of a decaying rat in my car.

wow and yuck.

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i rejoined netflix last week. since they are now competing against apple tv, they offer unlimited movie downloads in addition to their usual dvd rental through the mail.

95% of the downloadable films are crap; stuff you’d skip over if you were old school channel surfing.

the troubling part of modern netflix recommendation algorithms is the ‘we think you’d like…’ movie lists.

let’s say you’re a 13-year old queer kid in rural western north carolina with a family netflix account. Maybe you download some alternative lifestyle documentary while mom is at the dollar palace.

you might end up with the above recommendation list on the home screen when mom logs on to put her 700 Club 20th anniversary disc in the dvd queue. i’m going out on a limb to say, ‘no straight teen is going to have that particular list made for him’.

lil’ billy is gonna have a lot of explaining to do.

he won’t have to wait until the thanksgiving break of his sophomore year of college to come out to granny. netflix’s computers have made sure of that.

watching 2001: A Space Odyssey was the first time I noticed the danger of a computer out-thinking us mere humans.

 

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Dave Bowman: Hello, HAL do you read me, HAL?
HAL: Affirmative, Dave, I read you.
Dave Bowman: Open the pod bay doors, HAL.
HAL: I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.
Dave Bowman: What’s the problem?
HAL: I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do.
Dave Bowman: What are you talking about, HAL?
HAL: This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it.
Dave Bowman: I don’t know what you’re talking about, HAL?
HAL: I know you and Frank were planning to disconnect me, and I’m afraid that’s something I cannot allow to happen.
Dave Bowman: Where the hell’d you get that idea, HAL?
HAL: Dave, although you took thorough precautions in the pod against my hearing you, I could see your lips move.

it’s 2008. fiction is now reality. time to get really scared.

who knows what computers have figured out about me and who they’ve told.

don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine. but cross your fingers for young billy; or ms. billie, for that matter.

fill my hole

March 9 2008

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(oh, puns. i am powerless against the power of the pun.)

my hole is now full of something that looks like a building.

but there is still a little room around the edges of my hole.

my hole has to be approved by the city’s inspectors before it can be completely filled-in.

come on, mr. inspector. help me fill it up!

oh, yeah! mr inspector, sign that form and complete me!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/billadams/321845104/

i left new york for the same reason mrs. jackson likes to shop at the dollar palace.

after a certain age, you just don’t feel like putting on a show for the neighbors.

for example, if you’re not planning on seeing the same people over the next few days, or even a week, let’s say, what’s the point of changing clothes everyday?

a nice pair of scrubs can take you from day to evening and back to day again.

if your bits ‘n pieces don’t stink, why bother?

Sparkle, Neely! Sparkle!” is a hard lifestyle to maintain.

i don’t fit into any of my ten suits thanks to this newfound respect of drawstrings pants and ingles’ bakery department.

i’m tired; admittedly, not as tired as mrs. jackson, but tired nonetheless.

i just want to sit and have cake.

a $250,000 rothko ?

February 11 2008

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would you believe this is the latest rothko painting up for auction at sotheby’s?

…ok, it not.

but i only got this shot by agreeing to spend $250,000.00. so it’s just a bit behind the current prices fetched for similarly derivative modern art.

to me, these are more important and stress-inducing than owning an uninsured rothko during hurricane season.

the excavator didn’t show up to finish the dig for the garage addition i’m putting onto the house. so the huge hole in my backyard has just been a poo pad for the dog. after a week of taking the dog out in the morning, i’m very familair with every nook and cranny of this hole.

so i decided to harness my nervous energy towards a creative exercise and document the dig.

to defray the compounding interest of the construction loan while i wait for the fucking excavator to get out on bail and finish his job, i’m open to selling prints of my abstract expressionism.

here’s another one:

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here’s the hole when not using the telephoto lens:

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instead of shooting pictures, i should just shoot myself…

… $250,000…

…OMG

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math makes me sleepy.

insomnia has been my bed partner for 15 years. she’s a bitch. but i’m used to having her around by this point. besides rozerem, one sure thing to drain her power over me is math.

looking at a spreadsheet or a financial report is an instant yawn inducer. i’d rather have a root canal surgery than do a page of calculus problems.

this is just to say i am no judge of the economic indicators of whether the US is in recession or not. rumor has it that we are.

today i got practical evidence that the gloomy economists are right.

the chair i won on ebay came today by UPS.

no one bid against me on the item. so i got a $600 chair for $130. that is my first clue.

then the seller decided he didn’t want to spend money on packaging. that is the second clue. the fucker just taped the chair in a layer of bubble wrap (one layer, i want to note.) and slapped a shipping label on the seat.

but here’s the main reason i know times are hard.

UPS accepted the chair for shipping!

The UPS store clerk must have been so happy to have any customer he didn’t laugh the seller out of the store for his half-assed wrapping. the clerk just smiled, said ‘thank you, sir. PLEASE come again.’ and accepted the chair.

oh, brother.

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