Walk a mile in my underpants

In a desperate effort to get up-to-date on my pictures, I’m forgoing cleverness and just posting a buttload of photos from the rest of the Charleston trip. Enjoy. (more…)

Photo courtesy Corbis.com

Last week the laundry situation got out of control. Code-red out of control. Dirties shot out of the hamper like a pan that’s been loaded with too much popcorn. The wicker lid clung to the top of the clothes for dear life.

Something had to be done.

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Overheard in the men’s room at Bohn’s Restaurant in Batavia, New York:

“I’m from the backwoods. We drink out of the urinals.”

A few weeks ago, The Daily Grind repainted the walls in the men’s room. Thus creating a blank slate for public discourse.

It didn’t take long for the first opinion to appear.

“Fuck-a-Hindu.” It stated.

Not surprisingly, someone disagreed.

“Fuck weak athiest hate banter,” he rebutted.

The next day, another urinator added to the conversation. He drew an arrow to the word “athiest” and corrected:

“It’s spelled ATHEIST.”

He underlined the word for emphasis. An unspoken “you idiot.”

With that, I thought the conversation was over. And it was, for about a week.

But this morning, someone else threw in his two cents. He drew an arrow to the spelling correction and wrote:

“Who fucking cares you pretentious ass whipe?!”

This is why I love the Daily Grind.

In refreshing contrast to I-95, Route 17 through the South Carolina Lowcountry is a very scenic drive. The highway skims through salt marshes and lush forests that seem to grow straight out of the water. (more…)

Thanks to everyone who’s taken the time to post comments and sorry to everyone whose notes haven’t shown up on the site.

After some serious noodling with the settings on blogger, I think I’ve finally fixed the comments problems.

In theory, blogger is going to e-mail me anytime someone posts a comment and I just have to click approve and, POOF, it’s posted. So if you send a comment, it should get posted within a day.

In theory.

That said, I have the technical prowess of a retarded hippo. So no guarantees.

Charleston isn’t real. It’s too pretty. Too clean. Too polite. I pinched myself but it was still there. I pinched myself again but people started to stare and lead their children across the street.

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I went to use the men’s room yesterday.

While I was standing there, I looked down.

There was a logo on the toilet.

It said “American Standard.”

And I thought, “That’s more fitting than they realize.”

Today is Yom Kippur. And so on this, The Day of Atonement, I ask for forgiveness for my sins oh Lord.

You might want to sit down.

For starters, I skipped synagogue on Rosh Hashannah. So I should definitely apologize for that. It was VERY wrong to ditch Temple in order to go to the Virgin Music Festival at Pimlico Race Course. I should’ve spent the day listening to the Shofar. Not The Flaming Lips, The Killers and The New Pornographers.

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