An Ode of Praise.

As I was in Food Kitty yesterday, I happened on a near miracle. "But what was it, Fat Rock?" you ask. An act of unselfishness? A story of bravery? A really really fat guy with a hot chick? (Well, besides me and Lemur Queen)

NO! None of the above. What I heard first was actually a loud burst of yelling. "I don't believe this! This is BULL!" Then I heard a low mumble that sounded like "Sorry, I'm not doing that", and then I saw a woman with a big ass cart FULL of groceries wheel angrily out of a checkout lane. As I walked by with my purchase (candy bar and a diet coke. Yes, a diet coke, although I don't know why I even bother. I mean, I'm buying a freaking candy bar, and it's not like they cancel each other out.......) I saw that the same lane was open, with a SMILING cashier staffing it. I walk up, and set my items on the belt. It's at that second I realize that I'm in an express lane, with the cutesy and often ignored "12 items or fewer" signs. Well, this cashier COUNTS! And if you have more than 12, you are kicked out of the line! A-FREAKING-MAZING!!

Tanya was her name. And upholding the sacred trust of Food Lion was her game. I was astounded. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Haven't you been behind those jerks at Wal-Mart who stand there in the express lane with a full cart and then squable with the cashier and hold up the line. Also, I hate the mexicans that pretend not to know english and push two full carts down your lane when you work at K-mart and are yelling "hey you! you can't use this line!". But this cashier actually followed that rules! I was so impressed. It's a miracle!


Fat Rock.

Creepy Work Update

Me and the Lemur Queen love gossip. We both do. It's horrible. When I'm at work, I naturally gossip worse than an old woman at church. Well, today I found out something interesting.

Seems that one of the *guys* I work with is out to make a little money. Working for about $200 an hour. As a male escort. A boy-toy. A man-whore.

Guess where he advertised? Our city's Craigslist. Guess who found it? A female member of our staff.

Scandal Shock Intrigue!

Just thought you oughta know.

And I thought I had bad luck......

Well, this month is Lemur Queen and I's 5 month anniversary. Yes, we're been in wedded bliss for all of almost half a year. Time flies when you're having a blast. Anyways, we went out to a Middle Eastern Restaurant, Chez Car Bomb. No, sorry, my bad. *slaps hand* *bad Fat Rock!* It was Cafe Mediterrania. It was actually really nice, and in the non-scary part of downtown. We had appetizers, wine, and a quiet dinner. Lemur Queen has the Corfu Chicken and it was great. I had Honey Glazed Lamb in Couscous, and was underwhelmed. Usually, when I order a dish with "lamb" predominantly in the title, I expect there to be more than 2 oz of lamb in the dish. And the lamb in the dish should not be 50% fat. So, I didn't really like my food. But I digress. We had a waitress. She was nice. Not very attentive, but nice. She took forever to get our orders, bring out our apps, bring out our meals, and she never refilled my water. I usually have a thirst like a dying man in the desert. I need water. I never got a refill. Lemur Queen says that what was going on was a leasurely, relaxed dinner; and I that I needed to calm down. When I disagreed with her, she reminded me that all my recent dining experiences had all be in restaurants whose names ended in -ardees. But still, the no water thing means BAD TIP. We were mulling over whether to get desert when a large group enters the establishment. A large group of old people. We're seated very close to the door, so we can see and hear the entire conversation between them and the hostess and waitress:

Perky Hostess in Tiny Vest: "Hi, Welcome to the Cafe, how many for this evening?"

Old Woman #1: "Oooooh Heellooooooo!" (Think Jerry Seinfeld making that noise at George)
Old Woman #2: "Heelloooooooo!"
Old Man #1: "EH!?!?"

At this point my wife and I are thinking these people are drunk, or insane.

PHiTV: "Uh, so there's (counts) seven of you for this evening?"

Old Man #2: "Heelloooooo! We would like to dine here!"
Old Woman #1: "We want to sit THERE!" Points to tables right by the window, which need to be bused, and oh yeah, are RIGHT behind me. Oh, and the tables are a 4-top and two 2-tops. Not a large table for a large group.
PHiTV: "Uh, those aren't clean, yet. But we have some other tables over....."
Old Woman #1: "Noooooooooo, we want there! *points with granduer at dirty tables*"
The oldsters immediately being shuffling at the dirty tables while the PHiTV is trying to corral them somewhere else.
Old Woman #3: "We have wet jackets. WE would like you to take them and put them somewhere."
PHiTV: "Uh, why not keep them with you.....
Old Woman #3: "WE do not keep our jackets. WE want to give them.....to you."
Old Man #1: "Eh? Jackets!"

At this point our waitress comes over to the dirty tables, which the oldsters have now seated themselves at. While she is clearing off the plates, taking her tip off the table, etc, the Oldsters all thrust their wet dripping coats into her arms.

Waitress: "Uh, so, uh, is this going to be all on one check?" The menu clearly states a 16% automatic gratuity on tables of 6 or more, so she is just making it.

Old Woman #1 :"Oh no, we're all separate. We don't want to spend any more money than we absolutely have to."
Old Woman #3: "Noooooo! WE do NOT! Fetch us a Menu!"

As our defeated waitress is walking past us, she asks if we want dessert. We immediately ask for our check. No way in hell we're eating next to Monty Python's Flying Cheapskate Circus. Because we knew that girl was going to have her butt run off and was NOT going to see a penny from those geezers, we left her over 20%. She didn't deserve it, but damn. we felt so sorry for her.

When in a Crowd.......

JUST A FEW FRICKIN' TIPS:



1. Do not walk more than 2 abreast. When you walk in long chains or four or five people across, others can't get around you. Walk in single file, or if you must, want 2 abreast. That way you tend to walk faster and other can get around you. Also, if your family tends to walk in the "modified beehive" pattern, go die. Seriously. The "modified beehive" consists of a core of adults with a protective meshwork of children and adolescents. They're too spread out to go around, and too thick to penetrate. I have tried both, and collided with a worker bee and got a dirty look from a core member. Not that the core members could do anything about it. "Modified Beehives" are usually instigated by old people with hovering family, or foreigners and their kids. Evidently I must give off a "I will punch out an old person and I will call ICE on your family" vibe, because after the initial glare, the cores always leave me alone.





2. Don't get drunk. Mind you, I like to drink. Lemur Queen could tell you of an event last week there I drank 72 ounces of alcoholic beverage in less than 2 hours. But you know what I did after that? I left, and WALKED home. Quietly, without bothering anybody. When you're in a crowd, you need all your faculties of balance, speach, and situational awareness. You don't need to be tottering about and almost stomping on toddlers. Also, if you're a female and drunk, please don't dance. You're going to fall and hurt yourself, and the fat guy standing next to you who just wanted to see the public fireworks.





3. Don't pick a fight. Yes, you may be the second coming of Bruce Lee, but trust me, fighting in crowds is a bad idea. That one annoying guy that made a snooty comment about your woman probably isn't alone. I had a buddy who once THOUGHT he was just going to teach *A* soldier "some manners" and wound up taking on 3 squads (that's 18 guys!). Also, I happen to know that often, that short little guy who's mouthing off to you, may be a master of martial arts, or he's packing heat. Either way is bad, so don't fight. Let the fact that a guy stepped on your shoe slide, and just go home.

4. BATHE REGULARLY. Holy cow. I shouldn't have to say this, but some of you smell like you rolled though a manure and onion factory, put on your "lucky" pants (that you haven't washed since the Carter Administration), and went to town! You shouldn't need to be told this! Soap and deoderant is a good thing! Use it!

Four rules! That's all I ask! Four! BAH!!

Ok, I fell better now.

Fat Rock.

Mongols at the Gates of The Fortress

We live in an apartment. It's our Fortress. We like it here, we have a view of a pond with ducks, turtles, and big-ass blue herrons. It's a 2-bedroom, and we're just getting it all comfy like we want it. Lemur Queen and I are newlyweds, and we're slowly but surely sifting through all our crap and deciding where we should put things....on walls.....on shelves.....in dumpsters.......



But, since we have an apartment, we also have neighbors. First, we have the people next to us. They are the ultimate in good neighbors. They have a dog, but you wouldn't know it unless you saw the lady walking it. It's silent. They make no noise, and are ALWAYS nice to us.



Then we have the people across the hall. That apartment has been trouble for us in the past. First it was empty, then the college girls moved in. Tall, blonde, and evidently popular with the boys. They had a bunch of parties, loud parties, and I actually had to go out into the hall and ask some drunk and belligerant gentlmen to please put their pants back on. Now a nice family lives there.......a nice family with the Baddest Weiner Dog EVER. At least, that's what the dog thinks. He's so vicious, he could rip a sock right off your foot!



Below us we have The Tiny Woman (an incredably thin, and freaking tiny asian lady), and her spawn, Drama Girl. Drama Girl has the worst life ever. I've heard her say it, when she's sitting on the bottom of the stairs talking into her $200 cell phone. Yep. Or when she's walking back from her Expedition, which she just drove to the mall. I weep for her. The biggest drama surrounding Drama Girl is her choice in men. From what I can tell, she's in high school. And at all hours she has "very serious" conversations with various and sundry guys. By very serious, I mean, low toned talks about her feelings and all the drama in her life. These talks MUST occur at times when normal people either want to eat dinner, or want to sleep. And they must occur at the bottom step of either the first or second story stairs. That way the entire half of the building can be treated to her theatrics.



Above us, the Norse gods Thor and Modi live. For those of you not in the know, Thor was the god of lightning and thunder, and Modi was his son and the god of battle lust and madness. Basically, they run and boom and jump at night. Usually during prime time TV. Also, they drop things. I'm not sure what they are, but I'm guessing the anvils they practice juggling must be really slippery. The best thing about Thor and Modi is their love of animals. Well, maybe not LOVE. They have a dog. A yappy dog. A yappy dog that is about the size of a husky. I think it's an Akita. They love to keep this dog in its travel crate, which is too small for the dog. They also like to keep this travel crate on their porch, which is in direct sunlight. The dog does not like this, and he lets them, us, and everyone know it. Also, one day Thor and Modi left the dog in the crate, on the porch, in a thunderstorm. The Dog was loosing its mind, but did they care? Nope.



Still they aren't the worst neighbors I ever had. When I was in college, I live with my two buddies Howler Monkey and I.M. (independantly mysterious). We had a second floor apartment (university assigned housing) over 3 black guys. The black guys were cool. No noise (except during World Series and March Madness, but that's perfectly acceptable. I mean, we're all men, and sometimes we need to cuss at the TV. It's genetic), no parties, no wierd smells. Well, two out of the 3 black guys graduates. The last black guy gets two new roomies, 2 japanese guys. Now, the school I went to has a sizable asian population. And evidently these guys were really socialites. There were never less than 20 japanese people in that damn apartment. The last black guy was hiding in his room most of the time. I asked him once how he like living there now, and his reply was "Godzilla madness, yo." Well, the last black guy graduated (he was finishing his MBA), and yet another japanese guy went in. So now, there were usually 30 japanese people living underneath us. One time they had a party and IM and Howler Monkey had a super early ROTC march the next day, so IM went down to ask for a volume reduction. He came back up, and said "they were all surrounding a hibachi grill with an onion on a stick and laughing hysterically. They wouldn't even talk to me, just kept laughing. And there's like 40 of 'em down there." What finally took the cake was one late night, I was lying in bed, trying to drift off the sleep, when IT started.



"BOOM Boom.



Boom Boom BOOM.



THIS IS A STORY ABOUT A GIRL NAMED LUCKY......."



Yep, the japanese had started up Britney Spear's hit "Lucky" and were playing it at high volume.

Then I was surprised again, in a bad way:



"She so rucky, she a star, but CLY CLY CLY with her BLOCKEN HEART........."



Japanese Karaoke......Doing Britney Spears......and it's a guy singing. Oh my sweet lord. That was just a beginning of the night. I was treated to other such excellent songs as "Hit Me Baby One More Time" and "Some Thrice-Damned Japanese TV Show Jingle That All 30 of Those Bastards Must Have Loved Because I Swear I Heard About 10 of The Tone-Deaf Weasels Try To Sing It".



But at least they didn't have a dog............



Fat Rock.





Story about 30 japaneese people that lived underneath us in collge.

Tourists and Other hazards to our Sanity

Hi there. You may not know me. I'm a "local". I live, work, shop, and worship in the city you come to for vacation. Yes, I know that this is your "special place" and you're on "leisure time", but I'm not. I live here at the beach, and I have to get to work. Nothing "magical" about this place to me, except that from March to October we get swamped with incompetant morons who left their common sence and driving skills at home, but made sure to pack an extra sense of entitlement. For those of you coming to the beach this summer, I have a few tips:

1. Read a map before you come. Have a general idea of the layout of the city you're going to before you come. I do it every time I go on vacation. It keeps me from getting lost as often, and from driving down the road in the fast lane going 15 miles under the speed limit trying to read all the roadsigns. Seriously people, if you suddenly see the road you're supposed to turn off of 2 lanes over......don't slam on brakes, jerk the car accross multiple lanes of trafic and come to a complete stop before you turn. Just pass it, make a U-turn when you can, and try again. The entire town isn't on vacation. A big reason the traffic here is bad is because of you lot of fools.

2. Stop asking locals "what's good here?". When you're in line at a restaurant and don't know what you want, don't hold up everybody else while you stand there life a freshly caught bass, mouth agape and eyes wide staring at a menu. Get out of the way. Stand off to the side. You've been in line 10 minutes, you should have looked at the menu on the wall before now.

3. Don't ask us where to eat. When you ask a local "what's good to eat around here", the locals (at least me and the Lemur Queen) are going to lie our asses off. Why? We don't want you in our restaurants. That's where WE eat. Where local's go, and we don't want you to mess it up. There's a little italian place that we both LOVE that's a hole in the wall but has melt-in-your-mouth dishes and an increadable waitstaff (that we tip 20%+ every time), there's a authentic german place with rockin' wursts and great beer, and there's a local funky burrito restaurant where all the cool alternative kids work where you can get a giant burrito called the "double bypass". All those places are for locals. If you find them it's purely by accident, because when you ask us "what's good", we're going to say "Big Daddy's Crap Shack! It's right by the beach and it's great and prices aren't bad!". Why are we doing this? Because you are foisting yourself on us and as punishment we're going to try to make you eat only with other tourists at the nastiest, overcrowded, overpriced place we can. Why? Because we hate you.

4. Wear some freaking clothes. I mean seriously, people. The whole town isn't a beach. If you're not at the beach, don't just wear shorts and a bathing suit top. Wear a shirt. Change out of your bathing suit. Wear real clothes. Would you like some random fat guy or hefty chick to come wobbling into the Chik-fil-A with their flubber hanging out in YOUR town? Do you know what it's like to sit in a booth after the guy with the soggy swim trunks sat there? EW!

5. While we're on the clothes topic, let's talk about body types and appropriateness. Lemur Queen is pretty, fit and slim. She can do 150 pushups at a whack, and has six pack abs. She can wear a two piece. YOU are 5'1" and over 200 lbs. YOU do not need to wear a two piece. YOU sure as hell don't need to be wearing a bikini. Guys, a word for a minute. Those european speedos you're wearing? They suck. And those board shorts that you're sagging to the point of almost showing your Kibbles'n'bits? They suck. Pull up your pants and wear something substantial enough to NOT be swallowed by a fat roll. I'm a fat guy. I know what it like to go to a beach and have Greenpeace try to roll me back into the surf every time I come out of the water for a drink. My name is Fat Rock for a reason. I can wear clothes that cover. So can you.

So, to all you tourists out there, please read my rules and live by them. And if you can't do that.....please get out of my town.

Fat Rock.

Southern Goths in the Summer: An Ode to Dedication

It's summer time on the Carolina Coast. No rain, high heat, freakish baking sunshine, and a town that subsists on outside activities make being a Goth hard. I mean if you think about it, there's not a good mall to hang out in, there's no parks with a lot of hardwoods (it's a "Dark Forest", for those of you NOT in the know), there's not really a store that sells AD&D (Advanced Dungeons and Dragons) or any of the things that traditionally Goths like and hang around at. Goths here are like spotted owls in the northwest. Their habitat is either non-existant, or even worse, been destroyed by the bublegum pop teenie boppers. *shudder* Unlike the Spotted Owl, those tree-hugging morons at Greenpeace aren't stepping in to try to save them. Because of their rarity, when you spot a Southern Goth, it's really an event. I have a lot of respect for them. They have perseverance out the ying-yang. Kinda like watching a fat guy jogging in bad weather. The goth has an almost noble quality, like a salmon swimming upstream.











But the other day I spotted TWO goths. Both were Southern Goths. How did I know they were Southern Goths, as opposed to their Northern Cousins? Why, a difference in plumage, of course!! Northern Goths benefit from a generally cooler climate, including longer winters, which enable them to have more showy costumes with more layers and ornamentation. Also, with cooler weather comes the ability to have layered white face-paint, and the all inportant black eye liner. Northern Goths are also more numerous, due to a higher general population density and to an abundance of industrial backdrops and shopping malls to lurk around and act depressed at.









Southern Goths, by contrast, are built for survival. Ornate plumage and display only come after september, when the temperatures drop, and high school goes back into session. Due to high heat, scarcity in habitat, and fewer numbers; Southern Goths have had to rely on camoflage and adaptation. The plumage of a Southern Goth is less flamboyant(as goths go), with usually only a blak pair of massive pants, a black T-shirt, and either a trench coat or bookbag. Note, both the coat and bookbag are used as carrying devices for various gothic odds-n-ends, and usually only one is chosen. All male Southern Goths will assuredly wear very loose fitting clothing, as opposed to the tailored/layered look of their Nothern male cousins. Female Southern Goths usually wear a black tank top and huge pants or waifish black dress.





Paradoxically, while alabaster white skin is prized amougnst the Southern Gothic Community, sunscrean usage is generally restricted to females, as males do not generally have enough sense to put it on.





Anyways, I saw two Goths the other day. The first sighting was at the local Books-a-Million on a saturday. Saturdays are usually when Goths, Nerds and Gamers gather to play Magic the Gathering. This particular Goth exemplified the drive for adaptation and survival. Dressed in ill-fitting black jeans and a black shirt, the male could be observed desperately trying to blend in with the others in the group. Watching him was like watching a sea gull victim from the Exxon Valdez spill. He was flopping and alone, desperate to survive. I was starting to give up on our Southern Goths, untill I had my second sighting in a week. The other sighting was at Wal-Mart, which has become a makeshift meeting site for their kind; since proper shopping malls with food courts are unavailable. Dressed in the huge pants/black top/massive trench coat regalia, he was resplendant as he was pushing the cart with his mother going grocery shopping. Awed by his dedication to his kind, I basked in the dark glory that issued forth from the scragly young man. Truly, he was a Goth after a Goth's own heart.








By the way, if you add 150 pounds to the guy in the picture, this COULD be me and Lemur Queen. Enjoy:



By the way, the male is a Northern Goth. I can't quite determine the breeding of the female.







Fat Rock out.



Note from Lemur Queen: No, not us at all.

Saturday Lost due to weather.......

[ Scene fade in to focus on an old Frenchman in a black toboggan]



Old Frenchman: 'Ello......I am Jacques Cousteau, and today ve vill be exploring zee downtown area for zee creature known as zee Beech Hobos [Beach Hobos].



[Camera pulls out to show Jacques in a khaki safari getup, complete with knee high socks. With him are two identically dressed weedy-looking assistants]



Jacques: Ah'm sure you all know my assistants........Raoul.......and from my previous expeditions.........zee faithful Felipe.



[Camera moves slowly down a tree lined cobblestone street to a riverfront wharf, while Jacques' voice whispers in the background]



Jacques [off camera]: Oh hoo hoo! Zis prey, she is a tricky one! Zee Beech Hobo population has been in decline over zee last decades......weeth ze loss of prime feeding grounds along zee public beeches [beaches] mostly to blame. We have been een zis area for weeks, tracking what could be zee last known refuges of zis majestic creature.



[Camera pans to Jacques, crouched behind a trash can; while Raoul and Felipe hold a large map over their faces with holes cut out so they can see.]



Jacques: Oh Ho ho! Zere zey are! Ze majestic Beech Hobos! A sight like zis is very rare indeed! [excitedly points to a small group of homeless men, huddled under a picnic shelter trying to get out of the weather]



[Jacques sneaks closer to the picnic shelter, holding up a small branch in a ridiculous attempt to conceal themselves. Raoul and Felipe walk sideways toward the homeless, their faces clearly visible through the cut outs in the map. The homeless men are all looking at the Frenchmen as they move to withing 6 feet from the picnic shelter.]



Jacques: Oh ho! Even though zey have spotted us, they vill not run. Zey have become accustomed to zee presence of people. Over the years, these Majestic Creatures have now been reduced to being fed by man.......



[Jacques raises his arm in a "ready" signal]



Jacques:........Felipe.....



[Behind him, Felipe readies a bucket he seemed to have pulled from thin air. Inside appears to be fish parts surrounded by gristle and red jello]



Jacques:.......Ze Chum........ [Jacques' arm falls in a "go" sign]



[Felipe hurls the bucket of Chum at the homeless men in the shelter. Being hit by the nasty mess, they react loudly]



Hobo #1: What the hell?!?!?......What IS this......

Hobo #2: Can I have a dollar?

Hobo #1:.....I am a MAN dammit, and I deserve to be treated with more respect than this......

Hobo #3: The devil's in my pancakes?!?!



Jacques:.....Ah, see how they wallow in ze chum. They are not satisfied and still zey cry out for more......Felipe.....ease their hunger..........



[Felipe seems to magically have pulled yet another bucket of Chum from thin air. With a grunt, he hurls it at the group in the shelter, hitting Hobo #1 squarely in the chest]



Hobo #3: More pancakes please!

Hobo#1: That's it!! I'm calling the cops!!! [grabs bundle of belongings, runs from the shelter]

Hobo #2: I said I wanted a dollar!



Jacques: Zat is all zee time ve have for today. Come back next time as ve hunt for zee Southern Goth.



[Music fade out, Jacques does a crazy Frenchman jig with Felipe. Raoul stands there, holding map over face still]

_______________________________________________________________



Ah, the weekend. Nothing says "I love you" like going downtown in a thunderstorm to go to the farmer's market (that was closed because of the weather) with your wife.



But the day wasn't a total loss. We found a new place to eat called The Dixie Grill. It seemed to have been an old southern Diner that had been restored to an alternative breakfast restaurant. It seemed to attract tourist, privileged idiots who felt like not obeying the "please wait to be seated" sign and waiting 20 minutes for a table and instead seated themselves, and us. After a better-than-expected breakfast, we tried to do a little shopping by huddling under our too small umbrella and walking in the downtown. Well, most of the businesses there were bars...and closed. Also, people don't seem to understand how to walk around someone holding an umbrella. Most passerby insisted on using the "run straight at the guy and see if he moves" approach. Given that said "guy" is about 6', weighs 260 lbs, has studied martial arts(we call it "dancing" in the family), and is called Fat Rock; I don't think he moved. As we were walking, we found the hobos. Hence the above story.



Fat Rock.