Saturday, November 27, 2010
See, since every other compartment is unused, if you are out of coin rollers --like I still am-- you can use the little door to shift the coins in a filled bay to one of the vacant ones, then refill the 'official' coin bay. That way, instead of just holding one roll of each kind of coin...
...it holds two!
Friday, November 26, 2010
Ok, wide awake, song learned, all better. Weird drive home. Every time I passed a shopping area, there was a huge traffic jam - at midnight and two and three a.m. The Prime Outlets around Gaffney had a mile-long backup in both directions. Naturally, I didn't get a picture of any of that.
And then, conversely, there was a stretch of almost an hour where I drove at 80mph without seeing a single other vehicle. It was the stretch about a half an hour either side of the VA-NC border and it was creepy: no street lights, no cars...after a while I began to suffer the delusion that it wasn't really an interstate highway, it was a private road that someone had mocked up to look like a highway - some weird, demented movie set I'd unwittingly stumbled upon. I started scrutinizing the road-signs for evidence of fakeness. As it got later, I started finding some...
Here's video I took during that stretch. This is all I saw for an hour. I almost wept when I finally happened upon a tractor-trailer flatbed groaning up a hill with a load of gyp-lap.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Take this guy, for instance. He was the local Good Guy Hero wrestler, one Dave Crist. He strutted in, mohawk waving girlishly, the entire crowd cheering, waving signs, and --in some cases-- weeping at his goodness and prowess. Jon --an old wrestling hand-- noted the goings-on and declared the Hero was being set up to lose. Moreover, Jon had already decided that we were going to root loudly for the opposition, since no one else was. He likes to stir up trouble. I'm glad I'm not that way.
This guy could not believe that there were people there rooting against him. This is his smack-talking response to Jon telling him he was about to get his ass kicked and thrown out of the ring like a big, whiny baby.
And this is him getting his ass kicked...
...and this is him getting thrown out of the ring like a big, whiny baby.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
If you ever are offered the opportunity to stay at the storied, exclusive Nassau Club at Princeton University...
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Yes. Spartanburg. Sleepy little Spartanburg, 280,000 souls, most of which seem to be hoodlums, jackanapes, abductors, drunken assaulters, rapists, stalkers, grave-defilers, child procurers, bear-baiters, crooks, thieves, liars, murderers and scofflaws. Or cops. Or both.
Now, you would think all of these photos were taken from the same program. But you'd be wrong. Two of them are, I think. But Spartanburg and its minions feature far more prominently on the televised law enforcement landscape than they do in any other, broader social context.
Which one would naturally assume is because: a) the Spartanburg Sheriff's Department, besieged as they apparently are by miscreants of every description, have entered into a cozy financial relationship with the I.D. channel and that access skews the national perception of Spartansburg's relative criminality; or b) the county really is a den of dimwitted thieves and murderous, brawling poopheads. Or both.
After a few shows you sort of get to know the officers as individuals...
....and are cheered by seeing them pop up again on another show, chasing some new lowlife rat-bastard Spartanburgian scum. And almost always in front of this same clump of trees. That must be his press clump.
Hmmm. Now that I look closer, it seems to actually be a different clump of trees in each appearance. Still, he seems curiously fixated on an arboreal-based interview backdrop.
I suspect the fame of the county is growing. Soon people will come from miles around to be arrested there. And if I get hauled in on the drive down for Thanksgiving, why, it'll seem almost like coming home...
Monday, November 15, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
My attempts to be surreptitious only lead to photographic disaster. Here we see Jon -ever stoic- on the right. On the left we see the top of the head of one Jim Mora, a former NFL head coach, father of a current NFL coach, and a man universally renown for his rant that mainly utilized one word: "Playoffs?!"
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
|(The numbered dotted paths refer to the motion of RDM's vehicle)|
As I left Shane's I saw that Ricky had backed out of his parking spot (A) and (1) smashed into the front right fender of The Captain, our 1974 red Pontiac Formula Firebird, parked at (B).
|Just like The Captain|
Ricky hit the back of The Captain, perfectly perpendicular, right on the rear driver's side panel. He then kept gunning it and (5) pushed the turned-off, in-parking-gear, emergency-braked Firebird 180 degrees until it was facing the opposite direction. Mom had to back away at top speed to keep from being run over by her own car. Her legs were bruised from the open door trying to pin her as she backed away in a circle. Ricky then (for the second time) carefully extricated his vehicle from ours, and (6) set off back toward the bowling alley exit. I managed to snag his driver's side door handle as he passed, and he dragged me down the parking lot as I furiously screeched at him and futilely tried to break his window with the soft cast I had on my remaining available hand.
And then every policeman in the world came out of everywhere and surrounded him at (C).