An American tragedy

I was drinking cheap beer long before the economic downturn made it cool to do so. And anyone who knows me knows that my favorite beer for the past several years has been Miller High Life.

Normally there's no issue buying High Life. In fact, I cannot think of a time - including the Kentucky Derby, Indianapolis 500, or Alabama-Tennessee football game - when I've tried to buy a case and couldn't do so because of supply issues. Which is what made my afternoon visit to Publix so tragic. This was the scene of the crime:


All the High Life was gone! As you can see, there was one 12 pack of High Life Light cans and two 12 packs of High Life Light bottles. I stared at the shelf in stunned silence for the better part of five minutes. I asked two stock boys and a cashier if there was any in the back and they all informed me that the beer company only leaves what fits in the cooler. I asked if any of them had the delivery guy's cell phone number. Nothing but blank stares. So I did what I had to do: I bought the cans of High Life Light.

I can't stand light beer of any sort - even High Life Light - but I had no choice. I got the cans (since bottles are pretentious) and went home to sulk. And to drink an unreasonable facsimile of my favorite - and only Union-made - beer. If this problem isn't rectified by Saturday, Publix has lost me as a customer for life.

I named a dog

Kelley rescued this ferocious beast of a dog who was recently carted off from someone's front porch by animal control. I figure animal control's resources could have been better allocated that morning, but maybe the person who found him outside has some phobia of animals that weigh less than 10 pounds and sleep 23 hours a day.


Anyway, Kelley hadn't really gotten around to naming him and I decided he needed one. His list of accomplishments includes sleeping 98% of the time and refusing to fetch, chew, or play. As far as dogs go, he's pretty much a dud. Which is why I named him Dudley. Fortunately he's pretty cute and likes to snuggle when he sleeps.

At his checkup today, the vet found that someone had shot him with a BB gun and that the BB was still lodged in his skin. Any person who could shoot a dog this defenseless with a BB gun should be violated in ways that I won't publicly state. Suffice to say, I think it's reprehensible that someone could shoot a dog that clearly couldn't possibly threaten him. The good news is that the BB didn't really injure Dudley and with the exception of needing some worm medicine, he's in pretty good shape.

At the corner of Watermelon Rd and MLK Blvd

Kenon and I had lunch at Archibald's Barbeque today. Hard to believe we drove right past it the first time by considering the building is in such pristine condition and conveniently located five steps behind the proprietor's house. Check out the grease running down the side of the chimney where they smoke the meat. Yummy.

The food was pretty good and the inspection certificate said they earned a 98%, though I'm not entirely certain there's anyone working for the Health Department who's foolish enough to think he could walk away and actually live after giving this place a low grade. It's probably safe to assume that grade is a bit inflated.

If you'd like to visit Archibald's, just take Watermelon Road west to Martin Luther King Blvd. And no, I couldn't make that shit up if I wanted to. Kenon was even more astounded by the irony and blatant racism than I was.

Not that it should come as a shock, but Archibald's accepts cash only and there are no restroom facilities unless you count several large trees in the back yard. Also, there are no wetnaps, so it's best to get the pork sandwich instead of the ribs if you don't want sticky hands on the drive home.

Alabama counting lesson

It's bad enough that I have to walk by these giant bathrooms on wheels on my way to class every day, but should I really have to lose IQ points doing it?

A small victory against big pharma

I've had a headache for the past two weeks. It's likely from stress, but maybe it's a brain tumor. I don't really know.

My supply of generic ibuprofen gave out this afternoon and I got a real gem of a migraine after lunch so I stopped at the world's most inefficient BP on the way home to get some Excedrin (you know, the headache medicine) with the hope that it might stave off the worst of the symptoms. When I got in my car and opened up the little pack that was supposed to contain two pills, I realized I had gotten not two, not three, but four and a half pills! This was nearly as exciting as the time I cracked open an egg with two yolks.

Lest I be foolish enough to think that this was my lucky day, I was reminded why my life sucks when I came home and my phone bill was in the mailbox. Overages again. Damn you AT&T.

Dr. Zhou: I've never seen an old man with muscles like that before."

I presented a chapter about electromyography in my psychophysiology class today. This was the opening slide:

The professor remarked that he'd "never seen an old man with muscles like that before." The whole thing seemed to be a big hit, though I was a little disappointed that Mary Katherine didn't attend class today for obvious reasons. This has the potential to be a favorite class; stay tuned.

A new old drum

It's not that I needed another snare drum, but this old Kent was impossible to pass up. The seller was parting with his collection (http://www.vintagedrumforum.com/attachment.php?attachmentid=12817&d=1264905999) of 30 Kent snares and two Kent kits and was nice enough to separate two of the snare drums and sell them to me. I kept this red sparkle one and shipped its blue onyx cousin to Rob Edwards, who is now on the road with Days of the New.

Even with new heads and snares, I've got less than a hundred bucks total in this drum, so I don't feel that guilty for buying it. The biggest problem is that the shelving unit in my apartment is now completely full, which means that I can either take some more drums home to store at my dad's place or get another shelf, which of course will create the problem of empty shelf space that needs to be filled with more drums. It's a vicious, expensive cycle.