wow. bold.

bold_offensive
Originally uploaded by dentonisavortex.

It was a banner day for stupid headlines in the Dallas Morning News today. The "bold offensive" amounts to running ads on TV. (I thought at first that if I kept reading, they'd get to something really bold, like mailing postcards to every hippie in Denton telling them that they'd won a years supply of free pot, and then when the poor little patchoulis showed up to collect, shanghaing them straight to Fort Hood. But no - it's just advertising.)

Wow! Advertising! That's the boldest offensive since Coke declared war on thirst!

deliver me from stupid

deliver
Originally uploaded by dentonisavortex.

"Well, we didn't get school finance reform done, or property tax reform done, or fix Robin Hood either, but by hell! We sure socked it to those faggots, didn't we, boys! Yee Haw!"

"Plus, we're still killin' retards! Let's head over to the Chili Parlor and celebrate with a roller-skatin' whore!"

i'll take my chances

At the Cupboard today I noticed a guy setting up a stand next to the cash registers and then icing them down. I wandered over to take a look and they had a special going on this new brand of beef - organic grass-fed steaks from a local farm specializing in free-range happy cows. According to the label, instead of slaughtering them when they get old enough, they just wait for them to die of old age, whereupon a wicca priestess performs a ritual blessing before the carcass is turned into dinner. I started to move on when a woman sidled up next to me.

She was an aging librarian/folk singer type - really long hair done up in a knot on top of her head, huge round bifocal glasses, and a Holly Hobby dress.

"Oh, good!" she exclaimed, fingering a T-bone.

I looked at her, which was all the encouragement she needed.

"I have a friend with mad cow disease! She's lying in a coma right now!"

"Er, is that right? I'm sorry to hear it."

"Yes, it's terrible! She's been in bed for months unable to speak. She ate beef!"

Quod erat demonstrandum, I guess. But she wasn't done:

"And she ate it right here," (dramatic pause) "in Denton! Somewhere!"

And with that, I paid for my groceries and went straight to Kroger, where I picked up some ribeyes. They're marinating right now in a pineapple-chipotle-garlic puree, and in a couple of hours they're going to be awesome.

you're so nice i want to hurt you

I took my grandmother to lunch today at Good Eats, a Black-Eyed Peaish place by the outlet mall. X and I used to go there every once in a while, but then trickled off and stopped for a long time. Anyway, if you're in the mood for chicken fried steak, it's serviceable.

Speaking of which, why is it that chicken fried steak always seems like a better idea than it really is? Like hot fudge sundaes and going to Chili's, It's one of those things where satisfying the craving is nowhere near as good as the craving itself.

Anyhow, our waitress was uber-irritating. You know how some people are so meek and submissive that it makes you want to be extra mean to them? This girl was like that. Every time she came to the table, she started off by apologizing. And not for anything in particular, it was just her verbal tic - the way some people constantly say "you know," you know? Plus she came by to tell us she was sorry/ask if we were doing OK way too much. By the end of the meal I wanted to smack her.

i heart martyrs

Friday morning, X took his life into his own hands by waking me up. (It was only 10:30 A.M., so climb off my ass.) He stood there for a few minutes with the phone in his hand and poked at me. Unresponsive in my blackout mask and earplugs, he finally reached down and pulled my mask off. Bleary, I pulled out one earplug.

"Your grandmother is on the phone, " he said.

"What does she want?"

"I don't know."

I took the phone and said hello.

"I'm sorry to bother you."

"It's OK." I added, somewhat maliciously, "I was just sleeping."

"Oh," she gulped, making me regret the remark instantly.

"What's up?"

"My tooth is bothering me."

"Do you need me to make an appointment with a dentist?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay. Let me find one and I'll call you back in a little while."

My grandmother is excellent at being a martyr, which makes me furious. Let's go back in time two weeks, shall we? That's how long ago it was when she first told me that she had a toothache, and is also when I offered to make an appointment for her. At the time, she said no, because "It's not that bad and besides, it will probably go away."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

So now, instead of taking some time to find a good dentist who had a lot of experience dealing with the elderly, my sole criteria was to find a dentist, any dentist, who would see a patient in the next few hours. In case you're wondering, that means Monarch Dental. At the mall. Which is a lot like Homer scheduling heart bypass surgery at Dr. Nick Riviera's late night clinic on the bad side of town.

I hopped in my rented Ford Freestar minivan (my car was in the shop for the day) and go get her. The dentist's office is awful; in addition to the usual intensely bright fluorescent lights, the exam rooms are filthy and strewn with trash. Unfortunately, I'm not kidding. In the room they put my grandmother in, there was a poster on the wall advertising laser teeth whitening. One of the thumbtacks (!) holding it up had fallen out, so it hung askew at a strange diagonal. There was also a Crest toothpaste ad lying on the floor by the foot of the exam chair. Maybe this seems minor to you, but listen: it would have taken so little effort to pick that shit up, yet they didn't. What else can they not be bothered to do?

Fortunately, the exam was brief. They took a couple of x-rays and a dentist came in to take a look at her mouth. She had an infection and the teeth needed to be pulled, which requires an oral surgeon. "The best thing I can do for you today is to give you a prescription for an antibiotic and a painkiller," said Dr. Toosi. "Then after the infection is clear we'll have you back in to have those teeth out."

Like hell you will, I thought. We'll find something a little less third world, if that's all right with you. But thanks for the pain pills.

Speaking of the pain pills, dude! On the way to the pharmacy, I asked, "Grandma, have you ever taken Vicodin?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You'll love them. They make you ROCK OUT WITH YOUR COCK OUT!"

"What?"

"Nothing."

hell's soundtrack

Do you suppose that there's music playing in hell? You know, while Satan is poking you with his pitchfork and your feet are in a pit of lava? If there is, I think it must sound like this.

the next cracker

I'm not sure if I should worry about this, so I thought I'd run it by you.

At work today, I went into the bathroom to go #1. A guy came in a second later and took the next urinal over. (By the way, can I ask? What is the deal with that? If there are 18 urinals, and all of them are empty but mine, then sure as shit the next cracker in the door will come stand next to me.)

Right away, he starts muttering to himself. I thought at first that maybe he was talking to me, but it soon became clear that he wasn't - he clearly said "Oh, no" a couple of times, and maybe "fuck" although I can't be sure. Then, in the midst of all the crazy flakes, he starts emitting these little gasps of pain every couple of seconds.

Well, that was it for me. I wasn't actually through, but I sealed up like a fist and it was useless to try to continue in that state of affairs. I left as fast as I could.

So anyway - what the hell was wrong with him? It sounded like he was trying to pass a gallstone, or like maybe he had syphills - the bad kind, the kind where shit rots off. I went and mentioned it to his boss, and got a knowing wink - apparently this is some kind of pattern.