Speaking of, I found out my buddy Danny now owns a trucking company. The sight of his name on a rig hauling ass (or hauling something) down a Tejas highway was enough to bring a tear to my eye. Danny Harmon finally made it. And it's about time. I thought he would be an emcee. And I'm not sure if there's any room in hip hop for an truck driver emcee, but nonetheless, if you don't grind, you don't shine.
Wait, it just dawned on me that I must be mistaken. That's not Danny Harmon, but rather Danny Herman. You still bananas on the mic, homie. You know it. Oh yeah, I would not advise taking pictures behind the wheel of an automobile. That's why my lovely wife helped with the above photograph. You know, safety first. It's the motto of the Boy Scouts. Got into the Getdown later than expected due to drenching rains and memorably horrible drivers. Went to sleep watching some Francis Ford Coppola film which just puts film of a Twinkie assembly line and traffic to the music of Phillip Glass. Thanks, Jacko.
Got up the next morning to make the trek to Tyler, Tejas--my ol' stomping grounds. You know, I was going to search for a compelling photo of Tyler for this post and, on the first page of the search, the following picture came up. I suppose it'll do. It's not the Tyler I remember, but for some reason, it made perfect sense to me and to the purpose of this post.
Since Homie Jacko ain't a coffee drinker, I made my 7:30 departure without my normal cup. Upon arrival in Whitehouse (no kidding, that's the town), I asked Clint where I could get a good, dark cup. He mentioned a place called Yahooz. You're not going to believe this. I couldn't make it up if I tried. He showed me a direct mail piece they were sending out to the community that included a $1.00 off coupon. Deslyn handed it to me, I flipped over to find a picture of our destination in all its glory. Check this muddah out.
I want to say, "Only in Tejas," here, but I bet there's something comparable in California. It must be noted despite the horribly corny exterior, they're coffee was fantastic and packed a punch. If you're ever in the Whitehouse area, recognize...Yahooz...b'lee dat.
I tried to only visit the landmarks that made me remember Tyler fondly. My great aunt, my old store, Chicken Murphy at Little Italy, my ol' route home from work. I tried to find Zack, but was unable. I did find good ol' waddling white trash from East Tejas. You know, West Tejas has their funky folk, but I'm used to it. Nothing surprises me. But going to East Tejas is like going to the zoo. They like Nascar, country music, large trucks, hash browns and football. Pretty simple community. Pretty simple people. None of which include Deslyn and Clint. Good to see them again.
Got my grub on Saturday night. Steak and potatoes. Dude, need I say more? Oh yeah, it rained some more. And some more. And then, after that, it rained some more.
That night, my lovely wife and I went to Half Price Books where I would shop for vinyl and a book entitled Why White Kids Love Hip Hop. I'll let you know why. I also picked up a copy of Sly's There's a Riot Goin' On on vinyl. Sly and I trim our sideburns the same way.
On our way back, my lovely wife entered a convenience store to pre-pay for our great wartime gas. While in line with her $5.00 for gas (yeah, I go gallon-to-gallon when it's this high) and a cookie for me, there was a heated argument between a patron and the clerk because the patron was attempting to pass conterfeit cash for alcohol. It got so heated that my lovely wife wisely left quickly coming to car saying, "We gotta go. Something's about to go down." That's not the citygirl I fell in love with. I mean, remember, my lovely wife worked in a prison. She deals with these sort of dudes all the time. Of course, I would suggest that a dude passing counterfeit cash ain't really about murder on the same night. It's like a gateway crime, but I don't think this dude is about to light the place up. Whatever.
Every time she told the story during the course of the weekend, the fish got bigger and bigger. By the time she was done, there was a "brawl" and there was a "rifle" involved. I told her it's not even believable because no one in the inner city uses rifles. I re-tell the story with my lovely wife sliding across the counter, mule-kicking the counterfeiter in the chest so hard it propelled him against the cookie endcap, the sent him flying back toward my lovely wife where she scissor-snapped his neck with her legs, then swigged his malt liquor, gargled it, then spit it on him and then walked out to the car saying, "We gotta get outta here." She's my little hero. Gangsta! Gangsta!
Sunday was Sawx day. Outlook was bleak with terrential downpour, but when you have the best team in baseball (of which just beat Cleveland for their fourth straight or 19-7 in May, if you're scoring at home), I liked my chances that we'd get a game in. We show up in time for batting practice, however, the field was still under a tarp. No batting practice, but the game started on time and the sprinkles were gone by the 2nd inning. Good for Sawx fans. Bad for Rangers fans.
The 2007 Texas Rangers
My experience as a Sawx fan in Arlington was much like my past experiences. Mouthy Ranger fans (yes, they do exist...amazing) talk ish all game and get upset and territorial when you cheer failing to realize that the only reason they actually can afford to play night games is because good teams happen to visit Arlington from time to time. If I was a Ranger fan, I'd be real careful dogging visitors because, essentially, if the Sawx don't come to town this weekend, ticket sales would have been a third (if not a quarter) of what they were. And beer sales would have been tremendously less...due in large part to this fella.
Dude was clowning Ranger fans all day. Leading the entire section in a roaring chant of "Let's go, Red Sox!," he'd switch it to see if Ranger fans would react. He began belting into the crowd, "Let's go, Rangers" and continued for about two minutes. After two minutes, about three people were cheering with him. "See? Exactly!" He then sat down. At least the bratwurst was good. That's the only good thing I can say about the Rangers and their stadium. Sorry. Oh yeah, the fans. I got really heated at the cats behind us. All game long, they're cheering on stupid stuff like Mike Lowell eating a ground ball, a Manny fly out, whatever. It was just lame. And ol' girl was making claims that she was getting paid more than some Ranger players, but I would contend that any woman that goes out with her husband in matching sweaty tye-dye shirts is probably not getting paid more than a professional baseball player. Check her out behind us.Gramps was getting trashed, too. Yeah, classy Ranger fans. She shut up really quick when Varitek popped a three-runner over the right field fence. By the time the Rangers would tie the game and then actually take the lead (I know, amazing), she would be too sauced to mutter a cheer of any sort. I hope she had a designated driver. Wait, no I don't. No, I do. I really do. For everyone's sake. Manny and I got really tight over the course of the game. There's our baggy-drawered star in the flesh. Oh yeah, and check out more trashy Ranger fans in their native environment--dressed like Nascar fans and wearing really big cowboy hats. This photo brought to you by Budweiser.
Manny got some comfortable during the course of the game that, by the eighth inning, he was standing on top of my finger. Tiny M, you're the best. The bat'll come around, man. Don't worry about it.
Sawx would win, Spanks would lose--making it a 12.5 game lead above the Spanks. After tonight, it's a 13.5 game lead and the Spanks are back in the AL East cellar with Tampa Bay.
Back to the Ranger fans, the game of baseball is a very slow, methodical game. Your problems will not be solved in one at-bat. In fact, your problems will not be solved until you sell the stadium, erect the old Arlington Stadium and teach the owners to not give a damn about the fans and invest in some freaking pitching (and, no, Eric Gagne does not count). Yeah, it's a slower game and there's not going to be quite the longballs, but wouldn't you rather have a first-place team? Your team plays in, without a doubt, the easiest division in the AL (and maybe the entire league) and they keep coming in dead last. Something is fundamentally wrong. I would suggest it's more the ownership than anything else, but turning a blind eye and only giving a damn when Sammy Sosa comes to bat because you might see a home run is why ownership insists on only fielding longball hitters and not pitchers. Demand a superior product that wins and you might actually see a response from ownership. I wouldn't even show up until this team wins three games in a row. They're horrible, horrible, horrible. And, in one afternoon, I spent about $120 on this freaking organization and their vendors just to see my team play. If I was a Ranger fan, I wouldn't put a penny into this team. Of course, if I was a Ranger fan, I'd be too dumb to realize that a 20 oz soda really is only worth $.25 so charging me $4.00 equates to 94 points of margin (that will make a profitable business anywhere anytime). I'd also be too much of a moron to recognize the robbery of asking me to pay $12.00 to park my car in an area with ample parking possibilities (it's not like you're across the street from the Twinkie factory--there's nothing remotely close to the stadium). If I don't realize the raping I'm receiving by the time I reach my seat, I'm probably not going to care too much if my team wins or not. If you pay full price to see the Rangers play, parking should be free. That's all there is to it. Some chump wanted us to pay $20.00 to park about a hundred yards closer and there was a line about eight cars deep. If I'm gonna pay $20.00 to park, it better come with an oil change and coat of wax. That's all I'm saying. City folk!
Alright, enough baseball.
Best burger in Dallas was had that night at Jake's/Jakk's/Keller's/Whatever's. They've changed management too many times, but the burgers the same and they still have the jalepeno ketchup. Alls goods.
Drove home today, but not before dropping my lovely wife off at Ikea for a little consumerism while I dropped by Rory and Roxy's place with the dogs. Tucker pulled off the nastiest thing I've ever witnessed in my life. I was picking up the crap from Rory's back yard with a Wal-Mart bag (appropriate to use the Wal-Mart bag to pick up crap--that's usually what you put in it anyway except this crap's free). I did it with the ol' "turn it inside out" trick, if you know what I mean, but the long and short of it was there was about three heaping warm turds in this bag and I'm walking with it toward the gate and Tucker thought it was a big turd-smelling toy so he lept at it and clamped down on the bottom of the bag with this little teeth-ripping the bottom open and catching a mouth full of turds. Ah, puppies. Gotta love 'em.
Rory was good. Miss him. We all do. He's telling me we should all move to Dallas. I'm thinking we should all move to Montana. Not sure if he's quite there yet.
After a Jumbo Jack and, yes, four Jack in the Box tacos later, we hit the road. The dogs do pretty well in the car. But, occassionally, they begin to wrestle wildly which will drive any driver absolutely insane. Here they are listening to Tribe Called Quest's Low End Theory. Jax is a big fan. Tucker, not so much...youngblood needs to learn. Tucker's actually just keeping his eye on the driver's seat.
So we moved him up so he could experience the thrill of Honda ownership. My great aunt said that my sideburns made me look, "fat and fifty." I suppose she's right. Will trim them tonight, methinks.
Short week. Four days of work then it's my lovely wife and I celebrating our fifth anniversary. And, yes, if you will remember, it'll be Sawx and Spanks weekend. The traditional gift for the fifth anniversary is wood which if my lovely wife would like to give me Papi and Manny homeruns for our anniversary, that'd be fine with me.