shelbinator.com

Suddenly and at the eleventh hour, I’ve decided to participate in a nascent internet phenomenon: National Drunk Blogging Day. Not that I’m advocation advocatin’ [dammit!] drunkenness, mind you; I’m 32 years old, for crying out loud, and way, way more mature than I was just a few minutes ago. No, I just figured it was a good way to meet some other local bloggers here at the internet-friendly tavern, not to mention it’s about time I started throwing my support behind new ideas on the net rather than just knee-jerk pooh-poohing them. Look at me go, setting aside my ornery ways.

So uh, with that rather pointless introduction, let me finish this beer and figure out exactly what I’m supposed to do on NaDruBloDa, other than use this amazingly handy timestamp insertion button Rusty just showed me.

Part Deux
I thought I might as well slap the official NaDruBloDa logo up here while I was at it. Once again, I disclaim, it is representative neither of my beverage of choice (the mean waitress didn’t bring me a straw for my pitcher of PBR) nor of my grammatical capabilities (cf. above struckout reference to advocation).

So here we are, five bloggers at a table at the Highlander, a very purposefully alternative bar just a couple blocks from my apartment, and yet we are hardly the biggest tools in here. I am speaking of course about the total closet-case Republican Evangelical over there on his terribly awkward first date with a chick way too hot for his terribly awkward outfit. He’s managing himself pretty well, though, having what looks to be a rather comfortable conversation considering I can hardly hear the people at my own table over the blaring hardcore punk rock. And that, incidentally, is what I mean by purposefully alternative: upon your first visit to the Highlander, you might immediately get the impression that you don’t have nearly enough ink or metal in your skin to justify your presence. This bar makes the Vortex look like a damn Shriners’ convention hall. But the beer is cheap and the commute is short.

Part Tres
Okay, so since GriftDrift brought it up, I might as well deal with it, too: Saddam Hussein is going to hang in just about an hour. “Hoo-boy, nothing’s so popular as defending Saddam in the blogosphere,” I thought, though it’s not like that’s what I’m about to do, either. I just think it’s a little bit ironic that we are about to hang someone for “crimes against humanity.” I mean, think of that concept: crimes against humanity. We are so evolved as a species that we have developed such an abstract and all-important offense as crimes against humanity. It’s not just a crime in and of itself, it’s not just about the people he’s killed, it’s not just about the flagrant disregard for the human dignity of the individuals he has murdered — it’s a crime against humanity, a wildly abstract concept if ever there was one. So, in this society in which we have developed such a lofty notion as the dignity of all humanity, we are going to punish one of its violators by hanging him by his neck on a rope until he blacks out and asphyxiates.

That is so ironic I wish Sister Marie Lurz, who first taught me the word irony in 5th grade English class (and believe you me, it took me a long time to figure it out), were still around for me to hug.

Parte Quatro
Two meta-notes that should be, um, noted: (1) Okay, so the timestamp button thingamabob is not so cool. Yeah, it underlines things and leaves me a timestamp that I, as editor, can look at later, but it produces a fubar’d title when you hover your mouse over it, so I don’t believe I’ll be using it ever again. It’s probably just the fault of a crappy piece of theme design by Kaushal Whatsisface, but I don’t know enough about this here internets to properly lay blame. (2) The Highlander’s mozzarella sticks are probably the worst things I have ever eaten in my entire pub-grub history. And that includes the black & white puddings that come with Irish breakfasts. WTF are these log-like disasters of fried, anyway?

So, when I started pondering what might make good blog-fodder for NaDruBloDa, I was also uploading some vintage photographs that I grabbed the quick-and-dirty way in the absence of a proper scanner by taking digital pictures of old family photo albums. And, duh! There it is! The beer may dislodge some classic family stories. Just the nice kind, of course, ’cause that’s all there really is. I truly did grow up Leaving it to Beaver, I am not ashamed to say.

Exhibit A: The Pimp-mobile! I’m not entirely sure of the origin of this awesome vehicular onslaught to the senses, but some Christmas conversation this year left me with the impression that my dad’s new law partner upon his return to private practice felt it imperative that he drive the hippest automobile available to a man of his stature — and in 1978, that was this whip. Look at those sporty spare tires! Truly a wonder to behold. Even Radar, our faithful llhasa apso, thought so.

And yes, everyone in 1978 wore short-shorts. God, what are you, a child of the 80’s?

Part Pyat
Apparently, it is against some sort of bar ordinance to serve a pitcher at a table when only one person is going to drink from that pitcher. It is perfectly legal to serve that person an equal amount of beer one pint at a time, but our server got a good talking-to (as predicted by a couple of my tablemates who are up on the law) for allowing me to dole out my own beverages in an attempt to save her the trouble of bringing me four pints of lager the old fashioned way. L to the ame.

In other news, I used to be a big fan of the ABC show Spin City, starring liberal twitch-exaggerating Michael J. “Rush can bite me” Fox. In one particular episode, the really dorky character — was his name Paul? I don’t remember…you know, the guy that was on that Mad About You show for a while — was entertaining his mother as she visited the office and got to know all the coworkers, and quite suddenly he came to the realization — after much egging on and snarky commenting by his colleagues — “Oh my God, my mom’s a smokin’ hottie!”

I’ve always known that my mother was a good lookin’ lady, especially for someone with a kid my age (yes, even to this day), but it’s pictures like this found while digging through the albums that make you realize, damn, Dad was one lucky sonuvagun, huh? Here’s to you, mom!

Anyone misbehaving in the comments section will be summarily deleted.

Part Sitta
While I was home for Christmas, I decided to drag my old, old, old computer out of the closet (very few things about my childhood bedroom have changed, and you can still find a decent collection of Transformers, punk rock tapes, and military models in there) to see if there were any files on there worth salvaging from my college days. In particular, I was looking for the original LaTeX files for my senior thesis in philosophy, which I have occasionally tried to reproduce in electronic format from the one remaining hardcopy I have.

Lo! and behold, though, I also found the local copies of the html files I had created for my first post-collegiate website, which used to be at xoom.com/shelbinator. June of 1999 was apparently the beginning of this phase of my e-life…and it wasn’t pretty. The #000000 background with italic, serif, #0000ff font aside, there are just so many things wrong with the things I read on this fossil of a machine, I’m afraid to re-publish them here for posterity. One interesting statement, though, that popped up a couple times was how I actively tried to avoid actually calling myself a “liberal” or a “Democrat,” considering how I’ve now become a fairly well entrenched part of the Democratic machinery these days. Probably not surprising given my upbringing, but it also stands in stark contrast to the way I am now viewed politically at family holiday gatherings. My more progressive friends are always quick to point out to me what a moderate Democrat I am, but back in the Republican homefront, I’m a lost, ill-informed victim of radical leftist brainwashing. The fact that most of the brainwashing that made me a Democrat took place in the Catholic Church I was dragged to — rather unwillingly for most of my young life — gives me a great deal of personal comfort, and a good deal of political cover as well.

Damnit, there was totally a point to this aborted rant, but some dude showed up and Rusty and I started talking about MySpace and politics and crap I have no idea what I was talking about. Oh well. Hmm. Yeah, I guess it was just going to be a funny thing about how I used to uh, I dunno. I mean, how I’m not really that uh, um.

Hmph. Crap. Well, I’m down to 0:14 left on my battery, so I guess my NaDruBloDa is over.

Goodnight.