Midwestern Gothic

Unique, ubiquitous, and on the tip of your tongue.

Archive for March, 2007

people i hate, vol. 1

i felt at this juncture in our relationship (yours and mine, dear reader) i would present to you a few terms that are fairly prevalent among my friends and i. why? why not, i holler back. they are, in no particular order:

the chauncey - this is the guy at the bar (and if you don’t frequent bars, you’ll still be able to figure out who this is) who just plops on an oversized button-down, his hair parted haphazardly and shellacked with deb stylilng gel, a diamond stud shoved into an enflamed wound on his ear. he has this swagger about him that just screams jackass. he may not be the brightest, or the best-looking, but he makes up for it in bold moves and risky pickup lines — which, seemingly, always work. why ladies, why?! this guy can also wear the ::shutter:: socks with sandals and shorts look, blech. he doesn’t have much to say, and you can see this. he approaches the bar seen as a lion might, although far less-majestically, the women his game. he thinks he’s a hot mess, when in all actuality, he’s just a mess. he has no style, whatsoever, which as annoying as that may be, is even more perturbing because he thinks he has style. ugh, i say. chances are that this chauncey won’t travel alone, they usually don’t, and you will probably see him with other chauncies carousing the bar for “tail,” as they might put it, relentlessly hitting on some “babes” with an utter disdain for courtesy and good taste. chauncies can be found in many other situations as well, and can become murdocks if their other lackluster chauncy friends are absent from their side for a stupid minute. see below for example.

the murdock - this is the guy who decided that wearing cargo pants and bright white k-swiss tennies with a button down to the gym was acceptable. no, there was absolutely no time, whatsoever, to go home and change-that’s just ludicrous! they might also wear work boots. this guy is probably as blue-collar as you get, which is fine, but he reads style magazine and GQ and thinks he’s more knowledgeable than he actually is. he rolls up the sleeves of his favorite van halen tee shirt and stares at himself while doing twenty ones, growing ridiculously energized and boisterous with every new vein that pops out of his bicep. he looks around for encouragement constantly, as the rest of the gym-frequenters pretend that they are in deep thought and put a scowl on their face, or turn their music up a few notches, so this murdock won’t traipse over and start a conversation with them. murdocks love talking to themselves, and they grunt with every incline press so loud that it’s embarrassing for everyone except them, apparently. they hope beyond hope that they will meet a new friend at the gym, you see, and if you happen to walk in their parameter for even a minute, they will bore you to death with details from their “totally badass” spring break adventure from eight years ago where they “definitely got laid every night.” murdocks usually travel alone and only sometimes make the transition to becoming chauncies.

By Robby on Wednesday, March 28th, 2007 at 8:18 am | Features | No Comments »

1000 ways to give jeff pfaller the HIV

me: from your book?
Sent at 2:24 PM on Monday
Jeff: of course
re: the new baby
me: gotcha
i like
Jeff’s new status message - Rob Russell’s milkshake brings all the boys and a whole lot more to the yard 2:28 PM
Jeff: that’s from my book too
me: is it
Jeff: its the opening line for every paragraph
me: mine is the title of my new book
Jeff: i hope it gets WIDESPREAD distribution
me: 1000 ways to give jeff pfaller the HIV
Jeff: blog that shit
me: is the the subtitle
i’m blogging this entire convo
Jeff: 1000 New Ways to Give Jeff Pfaller the HIV
Sent at 2:29 PM on Monday
Jeff: Volume 4
gotta go, meeting
Sent at 2:30 PM on Monday

By Robby on Monday, March 26th, 2007 at 1:32 pm | General | No Comments »

you know you’re old when…

go ahead. fill in the blank. and while we’re at it, let me just lay it all out for you. i hate old people driving. granted, i’m not a big fan of old people in general, but old people driving - YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!

i think we all remember where we were last year when that like eighty year old man fell asleep behind the wheel and killed a shit-ton of people at some outdoor market. they are all, every last one of them, sleeping death-dealers moments away from a kill-frenzy as they pop their daily meds and hunker down into that soft, matted leather upholstery with their hands affixed to the ten and two. we all know what happens next. “sorry officer, i didn’t see that giant, yellow school bus come out of nowhere.”

should old people be corralled and sent to work in spice mines? placed under house arrest in jackson, michigan (the new old detroit according to forbes)?

i don’t know the answer to these questions. i do know that geriatrics-disease is spreading quickly, and we are all vulnerable.

fin.

By Robby on Monday, March 26th, 2007 at 12:25 pm | General | No Comments »

showboat: the story that never was

i had an idea while matt, nick and i were carousing through jolly ole’ Hungary, about a “fictional” character named denny walsh and his trials and tribulations. any similarity to the real denny walsh is purely accidental, so says the one-armed man. read on for the synopsis of the story that will never be!

Characters: Narrator, Denny Walsh, Carl Walsh, Amanda Walsh, Lambros (mayor), Craig Butler (beaver trapper)

Places: Flat River, Michigan, Royal Flour,

Things: Squirrel/rabbit hunting, mudding, cruising, bon-fires, drinking, football games

Narrator comes home after graduating college, waiting to hear back from a few places he applied to for a job. Mother works for Flat River Ledger and asks him if he’ll do a story on the explosive beaver population and the man trying persuade the city council to let him hunt them (Craig Butler). Thinking it boring, narrator ends up meeting Denny Walsh at a mutual friend of the family’s wedding, where they get to talking.

Denny is short and squat, not very powerful, but has this charming look always on his face, almost as if he’s constantly wrestling with something in his mind. He dreams of being a hair-stylist, but is afraid to tell his step-father or anyone else for that matter for fear of ridicule—town is so small everyone would know.

Narrator ends up convincing Denny to tell his step-father Carl and also writes an article about him in the Ledger instead of the beaver article, where he is eventually met with tons of ridicule and whatnot, culminating with Denny being accused of sexual harassment by a 14-year old boy. Denny tells everyone he’s innocent, but since most associate being a hair-stylist with being a homosexual, they come after him. Denny holds himself up in his house with a gun, now having gone loco, and ends up accidentally killing his little sister, the only one that believed in him doing what he wanted.

does that scream booker prize or what!?

By Robby on Friday, March 23rd, 2007 at 9:19 am | General | No Comments »

fear not, gentle reader

one of the biggest conundrums i face on a day-by-day basis is how to ensure every piece of deelish brownie (as they all are, surely) satisfies to the very last morsel. how many of us have sat down to enjoy a wonderful chocolaty square only to find there is not enough crust in ratio to the soft gooey center? hmm?

well, problem solved.

the fine folks at Baker’s Edge have come up with the most ingenious of solutions for this problem that hangs over our heads far too often…click and be happy! link

By Robby on Thursday, March 22nd, 2007 at 10:46 am | General | No Comments »

the way i see it…

…i don’t understand why people move so slow and at the same time have such a disregard for those around them — specifically in supermarkets or uber-giants like IKEA…argh!

i can foresee only a few reasons:

1.) senility
2.) infancy
3.) idiocracy

besides those, you have no excuse. if you do not consider yourself in one of those three categories, then you should be more aware of the people that you’re blocking as you stop to gawk at every $3 plate or $20 cutlery set. you are in the way lard-O!

while my time may not be technically more valuable than yours (although i am willing to bet it is), please be courteous and move your secretary spread far away from our view. a little respect is all i ask for, eh?

By Robby on Tuesday, March 20th, 2007 at 7:16 pm | General | No Comments »