Stream of Consciousness X (Toasted Laptop Edition)

September 17, 2009

Hours before my trip to New York, I got online to confirm my flight reservations and discovered my computer had a virus. So, instead of being online constantly, as per my usual, I went virtually six days with no internet access. I checked email occassionally, and did a fantasy draft from my grandma’s computer. But nothing significant.

When I got back, I fired up my old personal one (with re-attached N key) and set the other one to IT. But I lack my documents and settings. and have felt naked for 10 days. Since I created the site on the work computer, I also lost my password for this site, so that explains the lack of updates.

Lucky for me, I kept some notes while I was gone, so Brought to you by my missing N key, here’s the Toasted Computer Random Notes/Stream of Consciousness X:

When can we make High Definition TV the standard, and dump standard def?

My brother things the Death Pool is too sick to get into. But he and his co-workers do random gambling pools and fantasy sports (My brother knows NOTHING about the NHL, but wins that league each year because no one he works with in Waco, Texas, has ever actually watched hockey).
So my brother developed a new Fantasy Sport: Fantasy Death Pool. Instead of participating in the pool, they draft the participants of MY DEATH POOL. And whomever has the person who wins my pool, wins their pot.

I met my Bro-ddy Tom, (that’s half Brother/Half Buddy. Next Door neighbor growing up, my mom babysat him. He’s my little brother) in Rochester and saw his son Jackson, who’s a legitimately cute baby. Seeing Tom with Jackson was amazing, because I went to college when he was 14, and then moved to Dayton. So I never saw the part where he learned to take care of himself, let alone another human being. I can’t wait til little Jackson grows into the David Wright jersey I gave him.

Had drinks with my friend while in Rochester, and we saw a high school classmate tending the bar. We didn’t say hello and had to ask our waitress her name. She mentioned to the waitress that she recognized my friend and I reveled in the fact that because I cut my grunge era hair in college, I get to dictate all interactions with old high school classmates. She’s not going to recognize me, so I get to decide which former classmates I want to talk to.

CLM quit. Her last day was Wednesday. She’s moving on to Life 2.1. Losing an office mate sucks, but my number of non-work friends in this city just doubled.

And speaking of the office, I did jot down all the moments from the office over the past few weeks, so MorganBowers25.com is updated.

With my computer being toast, there were plenty of awkward moments when I had to respond to the implication that I got a virus on my computer from downloading illicit pornography. Which simply isn’t true.  /  IT guys must hate dealing with customers. Every single person is not only lying about not viewing pornography, but also freaking out and saying crazy things like “My whole life is on there!” They probably just want people to shut up so they can fix the computer, which is what they are good at.

The next time I get good customer service in New Orleans will probably be the first.

I don’t care what he does politically, the fact that our president has guys over for a beer, calls Kanye West a jackass, and sounds like The Rock makes me proud to be an American.

Stream of Conciousness XI

Hours before my trip to New York, I got online to confirm my flight reservations and discovered my computer had a virus. So, instead of being online constantly, as per my usual, I went virtually six days with no internet access. I checked email occassionally, and did a fantasy draft from my grandma’s computer. But nothing significant.

When I got back, I fired up my old personal one (with re-attached N key) and set the other one to IT. But I lack my documents and settings. and have felt naked for 10 days. Since I created the site on the work computer, I also lost my password for this site, so that explains the lack of updates.

Lucky for me, I kept some notes while I was gone, so you have Toasted Computer Random Notes. Brought to you buy my missing N key.

When can we make High Definition TV the standard, and dump standard def?

My brother things the Death Pool is too sick to get into. But he and his co-workers do random gambling pools and fantasy sports (My brother knows NOTHING about the NHL, but wins that league each year because no one he works with in Waco, Texas, has ever actually watched hockey).
So my brother developed a new Fantasy Sport: Fantasy Death Pool. Instead of participating in the pool, they draft the participants of MY DEATH POOL. And whomever has the person who wins my pool, wins their pot.

I met my Bro-ddy Tom, (that’s half Brother/Half Buddy. Next Door neighbor growing up, my mom babysat him. He’s my little brother) in Rochester and saw his son Jackson, who’s a legitimately cute baby. Seeing Tom with Jackson was amazing, because I went to college when he was 14, and then moved to Dayton. So I never saw the part where he learned to take care of himself, let alone another human being. I can’t wait til little Jackson grows into the David Wright jersey I gave him.

Had drinks with my friend while in Rochester, and we saw a high school classmate tending the bar. We didn’t say hello and had to ask our waitress her name. She mentioned to the waitress that she recognized my friend and I reveled in the fact that because I cut my grunge era hair in college, I get to dictate all interactions with old high school classmates. She’s not going to recognize me, so I get to decide which former classmates I want to talk to.

Awkward moment with the friend from drinks: Discussing failed attempts at romance, she made a comment about how she’s looking for a relationship and just wishes someone she knew before, like from high school, would re-enter her life a relationship could start from there, so she wouldn’t have to try and find new people and discover they are crazy. Awkward because we had that brief pause in which I’m thinking “Does she mean me? What am I supposed to say to that?” and I bet she’s thinking “Oh crap, does he think I meant him?” or she’s waiting to see if I take the bait.

It’s entirely possible (or probable!) that she wasn’t talking about me at all and I just have an ego problem. I also thought the whole reason my co-worker CLM changed her hair color from Chocolate-CHERRY was because she discovered I have a thing for redheads; and it was her non-confrontational way of saying “Don’t even think about it. No chance in hell.” (Cue Carly Simon’s You’re So Vain).

Speaking of CLM, she quit. Her last day was Wednesday. She’s moving on to Life 2.1. Losing an office mate sucks, but my number of non-work friends in this city just doubled.

And speaking of the office, I did jot down all the moments from the office over the past few weeks, so MorganBowers25.com is updated.

With my computer being toast, there were plenty of awkward moments when I had to respond to the implication that I got a virus on my computer from downloading illicit pornography. Which simply isn’t true.  /  IT guys must hate dealing with customers. Every single person is not only lying about not viewing pornography, but also freaking out and saying crazy things like “My whole life is on there!” They probably just want people to shut up so they can fix the computer, which is what they are good at.

The next time I get good customer service in New Orleans will probably be the first.

I don’t care what he does politically, the fact that our president has guys over for a beer, calls Kanye West a jackass, and sounds like The Rock makes me proud to be an American.


Atlanta Loves Me

June 14, 2009

I know it does, because it keeps trying to get me to stay. Atlanta refuses to relinquish my bag, and keeps cancelling flights out of Atlanta that I’m booked on.

I couldn’t help but think that maybe I’m supposed to be in Atlanta for a reason. Like Tom Hanks in The Terminal. At this point, I noticed a cute girl staring at me from across the gate. So I kinda stared back. Then I realized I was sitting undeneath the TV.


You Are Now Free To Hang Yourself in an Airplane Bathroom

February 26, 2009

DALLAS, Texas – Amid a large post-Mardi Gras throng of travelers fleeing the Crescent City, I found myself late for my flight and used that as an excuse to not submit my Southwest frequent flyer number.

I say excuse because if you earn a free flight on Southwest, is that supposed to be some kind of reward?

For example, let’s say I redeemed my credits for a free flight to Dallas to watch my favorite women’s basetball team. It doesn’t matter if I’m in Group A, B or C, because no matter where I sit, some rotund freak is going to come along and place himself right next to me in the middle seat.

There I am, got my aisle seat all picked out. I’m leaning towards the middle, and my right arm sticking out on the aisle, so it looks like two people are there, in an effort to protect a buffer seat between me and some seemingly normal random dude.

And the last guy on the plane is some hulking mass of humanity, who’s kinda sweaty, an majorly bulbous. And he sits down right in that empty seat.

My new stinky pal has his love-garage doors invading my personal space to the point where I have to lean over to not drown in his meaty flank. To his credit, he was gentlemanly enough to hold onto his shoulders so the full range of his girth did not suffocate me.

My back couldn’t even find the middle of the seat, it was on the edge of the seat, which is angled inward. The next 90 minutes turned the muscles in my back into a twisting coil akin to a can of worms of spasms I’ll be feeling tomorrow.

Satan runs this airline
Satan runs this airline

I lean forward, fire up the laptop and try to work. No room. I can’t type, I can’t move the cursor. I can’t comfortably sit. I hang over the armrest and spill out into the aisle and get hammered by a drink cart and sympathetic but powerless stewardess. I can’t lean my seat back — did I mention I’m in the very last row? And there’s a line forming for the bathroom, so I can’t even escape.

Finally, I realize I can lift my armrest using MacGyver-like tactics on its hinge, only to be told we’re beginning descent and I have to put the armrest down.

A free flight on Southwest (No, I didn’t redeem points for this) is no reward. It’s no-class ticket to hell. Sure, I’m getting somewhere for free, but sitting next to a rotund stranger who could suffocate me makes me think I’m better off hitchhiking if I need to go somewhere cheaply. (Sure, I might get raped or killed, but hey, at least there’s a sense of adventure!).

I do feel violated, though! This communist airline, where no person’s seat priority is beneficial, ensures the discomfort of all passengers, demeans us with a cattle-call lineup to board, and demoralizes us to flashbacks of the fifth-grade bus (assuming everyone in your fifth grade class were strangers with hyper-active pituitary glands). And that’s all before take off.

The experience reminds me of how I hate romantic comedies, where the cute quirky chick meets Jerry McGuire on a plane, or Tom Cruise sits next to Meg Ryan. Do I have a hot female stranger plop down next to me? No, I’ve had one flight ever sitting next to an attractive girl who I didn’t know before getting on the plane (she was happily married to the guy sitting on the other side of her).

The next time I fly Southwest, I better have a hot, thin, 25-29 year old, single redhead who’s attracted to witty, immature goofy-looking men, sit down next to me and say “Do you mind if I sit here?” while carrying a brown paper bag full of deli-meats and french bread. “Sorry if I take up room with all my stuff here, but I’m making sandwiches. Would you like one?” Is that too much to ask?

Probably. But after all the emotional and physical torture Southwest has inflicted upon me, they owe me an introduction to Miss Awesome and the future Mrs. Kev-Fu.


I Got Nothing

December 29, 2008

I need a girlfriend. Not because of any feeling of loneliness or needy urge, or biological clock. I need someone to talk to on the drive back home from holidays at my parents house.

Seven hours in a car in the south is boring. You know what’s between Houston and New Orleans? Swamp, marsh and nothing.

I know what you’re thinking: “But, you probably spent that time coming up with all kinds of great ideas/thoughts that I’d love to read about.”

Yeah, not so much. Really I only thought about the lack of driving skills by everyone in Texas and Louisiana; and my desire to light my cigar without crashing my vehicle.

Of course, it’s entirely possible that one of the reasons I thought of nothing was because of the vegetative state that Christmas gifts put me in. How can anything in my life be interesting or worth discussing if all I am doing is playing NHL09, reading Jonsey (Keith Jones’ autobiography with John Buccigross) or Inside Inside (by James Lipton), or watching the entire first season of Chuck on DVD?

Basically, I’ve come a couch potato over the holidays and the key to significantly entertaining events is the improvisation of interaction with other human beings and/or personal reflection on those incidents.

What type of reflection can I do on watching an average Joe six-pack who’s life is going no where have his life interupted by top secret government spy work and a smoking hot girlfriend who kicks terrorist ass? (well, other than “I want one of those!”).

So there’s the last few days in a nutshell: I want a smoking hot girlfriend to spice up the life, through either internation espianage, or just chatting in my car.


Wedding Recap

December 15, 2008
The Happy Couple

The Happy Couple

The wedding was very good. Heavy on the Bon Jovi, but what do you expect? The Bride & Groom were adorable. It was great to see the two of them independently happy at the wedding, and of course happy together. The Bride told us “Marrying him is like being married to a Hallmark card.”

At the end of the ceremony, instead of having the ushers dismiss people by rows, the Bride and Groom returned to do that, hugging and thanking people for coming. It was a nice touch. Like, combining the ushering out and the receiving line into one time-saving act.

Saturday Night Fever!
Saturday Night Fever!

The reception was good, we were seated at Table 9, which anyone who’s seen The Wedding Singer knows is reserved for unloveable freaks. Speaking of freaks, there was one gentleman there named Sean (or Shawn, he didn’t spell it), who came dressed in a white leisure suit (I think, I don’t know if I have ever seen a leisure suit to identify it, but this seemed close). and pulling off a John Travolta-like look.

After traditional first dances, the party got started (Skeeter is now officially a Crown Royal drinker), with the flask coming in extremely handy.  I’m pretty sure the bartender is wondering how someone drinking sprite can be so inebriated.

The Bride doing the Soldja Boy was one of the highlights of the evening, as well as the group picture with the Bride & Groom and the Tulane Krewe — complete with singing of the Hullabaloo — and she knew the words! What a keeper!

The couple seemed genuinely pleased that we had come, and everyone had a good time, despite there not being any good looking single people there (one girl did have an expensive set of fake boobs though, sorry there’s no pictures of that).

To have and to hold, and to Superman!

To have and to hold, and to Superman!

There were no updates Sunday because my laptop battery didn’t charge, and we had plugged the laptop into the car stereo to play our own MP3s. The car ride home was much like the car ride there, only more singing and less therapy sessions. We didn’t cross that line where we can no longer look each other in the eyes anymore, but we walked right up to the line and tiptoed along it the best we could.

A One, A Two...

A One, A Two...


Jacksonville Roadie

December 12, 2008

Saturday 4:12 p.m.

Ok, everyone’s dressed and looking sexy. Well, almost. The girls are dragging behind, but what do you expect? And now we’re off to watch JN ruin his life get hitched.

The Ocean from our balcony
The Ocean from our balcony

Saturday 2:55 p.m.

What an eventful morning: breakfast, walk on the beach, exploring the area.

They tell me it was fun, I slept til 11:30.

The afternoon mission was lunch – at Panera. I was standing in line when Coug pointed out the bangin’ body on some chick in line in front of her. Kind of awkward to get a “look at that smoking hot body” from a 49-year old woman, but hey, good looking out by her.

We then went on a little shopping spree. Bama picked up some dress socks, which he forgot to pack. I spilled purfume on my hand while wandering around making in appropriate comments behind Skeeter.

I did make some very nice woman laugh, when Skeeter said “Look who has a perfume!” and held up Paris Hilton’s fragrance. I asked “Is it called Skank?” and this very nice respectable woman nearby laughed out loud.

Cash bar? No problem!
Cash bar? No problem!

Then we went to a liquor store so I could pick up some cigars, and I spotted a Crown Royal gift set with a free flask (wrapped in purple velvet of course)… Since JN’s going cash bar tonight at the wedding, I figured it was a required purchase.

Now we’re back watching UMass-Kansas in the room while Coug irons for us.

7:59 p.m./ 9:19 p.m. – Jacksonville, Fla.

We arrived at our hotel, starving and punch drunk from our road trip. We arrived at our ocean side hotel, just off of A1A (Beach Front Avenue!).

From the balcony of our rooms, we can see the ocean. As well as the outdoor pool and the indoor hot tub. (It’s dark, so no potential fling candidates down there yet).

Our room number: 504. In honor of our New Orleans area code.

The gift bags seem nice. There’s like coffee, tic-tacs, pretzels, bottled water, a guide to the area, huge chocolate bar, and some girlie crap like bath salts and a note from the couple.

The balcony looks awesome, and I forgot to bring cigars, so after posting this I’m definitely googling nearby smoke shops.

We went to a Mexican restaurant, which was pretty good (and I’m a very selective Mexican eater, I don’t like mushy stuff, so no beans, no quac, no cream, etc. And they didn’t give me anything I didn’t want. So that was nice).

Skeeter and Coug are nice and buzzed after a pitcher of margaritas, and appear headed to the hot tub.

6:35 p.m. Somewhere, Fla.

We’re now stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic behind some accident. Where was OnStar on that one?

Bama Slick has a sore tailbone, which led to him abruptly standing up. It was surprising, awkward and comical all at the same time. There were giggles.

We have reached the singing part of the trip where everyone sings along with a song they like.
Skeeter’s version of Meredith Brooks’ Bitch was quite outstanding.
Coug keeps singing the original version of songs which got sampled/remixed into rap songs.
I’ve been playing “Name That Tune” from the back. Not quite Rock N’ Roll Jeopardy (which I dominate), but I think I’m hitting at least .588.

We figure our groom is at his rehearsal dinner and discovering that he was supposed to write his own vows.

Turns out it was a nice big accident and Coug has cranked it up a notch to make up some time… til we hit the Disney World exit.

Apparently this place has a hot tub, but I brought nothing to wear in it. Skeeter will be creating a blog of her own to post the naked pictures. Oh well, I never wanted to run for public office anyway.

4:53 pm – Gadsden, Fla.

Now in the Eastern Time Zone (it’s 3:53 p.m.)

It’s open mic night for Bama. He’s simply lobbing one-liners left and right. All hysterical, none of which are repeatable.

In between arguing over the 70s, 80s or 90s XM station (DJ Skeeter is doing a slightly above average job), we’ve managed to solve everyone’s problems in the vehicle. So we’ve got that going for us, which is nice.

I got a text from someone who thinks we’re crashing the wedding. That would have been a much better plotline, but alas, we were invited.

We’ve got about two hours left, and we’re all wishing we could steal this vehicle. That is, if we avoid crashing. Coug’s hands seem to follow her eyes, and so we’ve definitely experienced rumble strips in four states.

1:49 PM – Pensacola, Fla.

We are cruising in style in a flat out pimp mobile (Bean is our official pimp, dressed in a purple velvet jumpsuit).

Too bad we don’t have any DVDs on us, but we didn’t know we had that feature until we were on the road. We’d stop now, but talking to that officer really cut into our time. And the cupholders really don’t do their jobs. But other than that, it’s a pimp-tastic ride.

After figuring out the GPS and the XM Radio (current tunes: 80s pop channel, Walk This Way) we’re through Pensacola, where we had lunch at Subway. The OnStar says we’re still 371 miles away (5 hours and 34 minutes) from Jacksonville.

Turn-by-Turn navigation is kind of wasted on us, because we have about seven hours between turns on this trip. We’ve also decided the Navigation voice needs to come in different styles, in case you don’t like an uptight white bitch bossing you around. There needs to be a laid back brother, telling you in a calm way where to go.

Further updates as we go. Back to cruising.

Bama delivering the lines of the trip thus far:
Coug: “She got knocked up by a fellow from Africa, who’s name is pronounced “Lay-On”
Bama: “He certainly was Laying On her.”


Road Trip Preview

December 12, 2008

Friday, a few of us will be skipping work and driving to Jacksonville, Fla. to attend a coworker’s wedding.

The bags are packed, the trip has been well planned out (I hope. Naturally my planning consisted of saying “yeah, sure” on Tuesday), and we’re all set for a road trip.

I figured after yesterday’s record number of hits (bringing our total audience to, I believe, seven), it would be a bad time to just skip out for a few days. Considering the odds of car ride shenanigans and my coworker’s desire to surf instead of work, I think a live blog is in order. We’ll bring you a couple live updates from the road in the event that something happens.

Here’s your primer:
The victim: JN is getting hitched. I’m sure his bride’s lovely.

The ride: A red convertible with the top down and Alaska plates, but no open container laws will be broken so you don’t need to know that

The Krewe: There’s four of us: Skeeter (aka Bean), Coug (a female veteran of the party animal circuit), Bama Slick (everyday good guy who prefers reordering the names on his birth certificate), and yours truly.

On board: Laptop with two batteries and broadband card, the wedding suit including Cuddle With Me Shoes (like F-Me shoes, but I’m not that easy).

The Plan: I’ll let you know as soon as someone fills me in.