Greetings all. Here is the continuation of The Son Of The South series as promised. We regret the tremendous amount of time that has passed since this story was started, but it was through no fault of our own. Still, we recommend perhaps glancing at the first chapter of this story further down the page, just to get your bearings, so to speak. Forgive this interruption, now on with the story!

Fear and Loathing in Orlando - Day 3

I awoke in the morning on Day Three the same way as I had awoken 6 times earlier that night.
Sweating.
Which just goes to prove the old saying; It's not The Heat that gets you so much as The Humidity.
I can tell you they were right.
In fact, I'm a little surprised that there are no college or professional sports teams in Florida that have taken advantage of that demonic little moniker. What's worse than Gators, scarier than Hurricanes, and "gets you" more than The Heat?

THE HUMIDITY.
Get your season tickets now...

I like their chances this year. Today was Friday, and Claire and I had decided that we would go to Wet N Wild, the enormous waterpark we frequented in our youths. So we dropped the baby off with Claire's Brother-In-Law (My cousin of some sort?) and headed out to the crazy land of Water Slides, Chlorine, and British Tourists.
We had loads of fun there, though I must say that the time spent waiting in line for a ride is sadly disproportionate to the time spent actually enjoying the ride. This prompted me to make the following joke every time we waited for every ride in the park.

"Wet N' Wild? Hey! They should call this place Wait N Wild!"

Ah, wordplay. The cleft-lipped bastard child of comedy. Here is Claire, pretending to be unamused by my hilarity.

She's great folks, isn't she?

After the awesomeness of The Waterpark was over, we headed back to pick up Maverick and then I went back to my dad's. I went to bed early that night because my dad was going to wake me up at 7:00 am to go to the Gun Show. I asked why we had to go so early and he said to me, "Because that's when I get up."
7:00 am? Really?
They truly are a different breed down there.

DAY 4

I must now confess that I like guns. In fact, I think they are great. Super great. And I've wanted one ever since I knew about them, much like a full sleeve tattoo.

So when I went to the gunshow that morning, I was pretty excited. Luckily I had my camera and was able to capture some sights for you the loyal readers.
It should be noted here that cameras are not allowed in a gun show.
You are welcome.

The following are images that I found compelling;

First, the sign. It's simplicity intrigued me. Why are the letters slightly off center? And why such a big sign for only two words? Why no other information? I guess because these two words say it all.

Next, we have on display some lovely ceramic stabbing weapons that were advertised to be metal detector proof, presumably for use on airplanes. Check out the price.

2 for $7? What a deal! Next we come to the fascinating bumper sticker display. The one I liked most of all of these is the I Love Animals one, though it does seem a little out of place here.

Those were nice. But these next two were The Ultimate.

It's a good thing Liberals have no way to get their stinkin' progressive hands on some metal detector proof ceramic stabbing weapons. Then we'd all be screwed. Below is just one of many, many tables where they actually sell the guns in question. I did not personally see any guns there that were being "shown" as the name of the event suggests, only guns that were being sold.

Neato, eh? I also saw a Dale Earnhardt sponsored shotgun, but the picture of it came out all blurry. Sorry guys.

While I LOVE making fun of the gun show, I also LOVED shopping at it. I won't tell you if I got a gun while I was in Florida, but if hypothetically you were to ask me if I did, the answer would rhyme with "Mess", and it's not guess. Just don't show up unannounced at my home in the wee hours of the morning, and if you do, give me a minute to go to the closet and "get ready".

That was a lovely Saturday, and my father and I ate BBQ again, at my request. Here's the old man at Bubba Lou's. And please, he could whoop Wilford Brimley's ass, so don't even say it.

The next day was Sunday, The Lord's Day, and we went to church. It wasn't just church though, it was a mega-church. That is actually what they are called down here. We went to a giant building at 8:30 (ouch!) in the morning and sat in the back of a neverending row of pews. When we arrived, I immediately noticed the Giant Projection Screen above the pulpit, and showing on this screen, the surprisingly hot girl leading the worshipping. My eyes scanned the room to see where she was being filmed from, but I couldn't locate her.

I turned to Claire. "Hey, where is that chick singing from?"

To which Claire replied, "Apopka."

For those of you unfamiliar with Floridian Geography, Apopka is a city a few hundred miles away from the city of Orlando. This so-called hot chick was leading a worship service for an entirely different church and the people in our building were just following along on the screen. Then the thought struck me. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to watch TV together..."

I didn't know how to feel about that, but it struck me as a little creepy. Then I found out there were two other giant churches that were watching the broadcast as well, and I felt justified in my "creepy" diagnosis.
It was a lucky thing that our church was the one who got the Real Life Pastor and not his Virtual Counterpart. He delivered his sermon on (and this is not a joke) "The Dangers of The Da Vinci Code" and then, after a few more songs by fake hot girl, we left. All in all, if I was giving this place ten percent of my income, I'd expect a little more of a show. I'd give it 2 and a 1/2 stars.

After that, we went to breakfast as a family. My father, my sister, my brother-in-law, and my nephew all took me to a restaurant called Brian's where they go every Sunday without fail. I had steak and eggs, and the food was just OK, but it was one of the greatest meals of my life. Here they are.

Good people, my family. The Salt of the Earth. That kid is really biting his hand. It drew blood. I think he's part wolf.

The next morning I flew home to Los Angeles, and I must have been the only Liberal on the plane, as it landed safely with no attempted hijackings.

THE END

It's The Devil's Way Now.


On Monday June 26th 2006, The Pinyon went on assignment to San Diego California to see some old and dear friends of ours. They're called Radiohead.







I woke pretty early that day, knowing full well what was in store for me. I'd compare it to Christmas morning, but frankly that has lost some of it's luster lately and would not do justice to the actual excitement I was feeling.
I was going to see Adioheadray.
My friends Jeff Kite and Robert Mann joined me on this excursion and we rented a fast car and set off for San Diego ("which I believe means, A Whale's Vagina").
On a side note, that joke was repeated ad nauseum throughout the entire journey. If you're not familiar with that joke, I pity and envy you.
Here are Robert and Jeff with the aforementioned car. Robert is the jerk who put his hand on his face when I asked them to pose for a picture, so this is what he gets. Lovely shot of Jeff though, very Flava Flav.

We cruised down the Interstate number 5 for a while and then cut over to the Pacific Coast Highway hoping to find of some kind of Sushi. What we found was Sushi, and lots of it. We stopped in Oceanside California at an awesome place called Hon's, where you can get all-you-can-eat Sushi and actually drink with the people who serve it to you. We all got full, and got happy, and then got back on the road. Here is a picture of the dining room at Hon's. If I were the type to use the word "charming" to describe restaurants, I would use it here.

Lovely, no?
What's that you say?
Get to the good part?
This insignificant minutiae is boring you?
Fine. But I was just trying to build suspense, you impatient bastards.

So we saw r at the Embarcadero Marina Park, which is right on the water in downtown San Diego (you stay classy) and the stage itself is actually at the end of a peninsula, so plenty of people with boats just floated right outside the fence and watched the concert for free. It was a nice venue, but it was no Gorge.
The opening band was called Deer Hoof or Moose Feet or something along those lines and was surprisingly mediocre for a Radiohead opening band. It was a threesome with a female japanese lead singer whose only english words spoken were "Thank You". Maybe if had I understood the words, the songs would've been more enjoyable. Maybe.

Finally, at about 8:15, with the sun going down in the San Diego Harbor, the boys took the stage,
and then they proceeded with playing the rock and roll music. For those of you not particularly interested in Radiohead, forgive me while I geek out for a second. In fact, you may just want to stop reading now and head over to Mark's blog, where you can look at his dumb ass pictures of Europe. What a prick. For the rest of you, the set list was as follows:

There There
2+2=5
15 step
Morning Bell
Kid A
Arpeggi
Videotape
National Anthem
Nude
Down Is The New Up
Paranoid Android
All I Need
Gloaming
You and Whose Army
Idioteque
Bangers And Mash
How To Disappear Completely

---------Encore---------

House Of Cards
Street Spirit
Just
Everything In It's Right Place

------2nd Encore--------

4 Minute Warning
Lucky


There were nine songs which I had never heard before, and I must say that they F'in rocked! I'm calling it right now, Arpeggi will be one of the classic Radiohead tunes when all is said and done. You can find bootleg performances of it on Youtube, if you're interested.

I thought it was a nice little mix of songs, but I was hoping for just a bit more from The Bends and OK Computer. I don't know when the next album comes out, but the rumors are next spring. Boooooooo.

After the show was over, I drove the car back and we made it from San Diego to L.A. in 1 hour and 37 minutes, which could be a record.

All in all, it was a satisfying show, but it really made me miss my friends who were there with me at The Gorge the last time I saw Radiohead. Ah, the memories.

Above is the obligatory blurry photo that looks like every other photo of every other concert that you've ever seen, except that if you look very closely, you can almost make out the lazy eye. Almost.

Alright, that's it.
I have had enough!
If these Yahoos at Google think they can stop me from blogging just by taking away my ability to use pictures, they've got another thing coming. I cut my teeth in this business writing no-picture blogs and I can go right back to old school at a moment's notice. Nothing on the Earth can stop me from blogging except for my astronomical laziness.

So, I'm taking these lemons that life has given me and I'm making sangria.
No, seriously. Everyone to my house for some SANGRIA!*

We will post the conclusion of the Son Of The South series as soon as Blogger pulls their frickin' h's from their a's. Pardon my French. On to today's entry:


My World Cup Runneth Over.

I will watch every match of the World Cup this year.
It can be done.
It will be done.
It has to be done.
If this isn't the reason to own Tivo, I don't know what is. I have already watched Germany beat Costa Rica (six goals!) and I'm in the middle of Poland Versus Ecuador. Only Sixty-Two more games to go!

Now normally, I'm a vocal critic of soccer. The slowness, the stagnant scoring, and the empty stadiums did little to excite me, even though I played Varsity soccer in high school.
But The World Cup is a different story.
It's perfect.
These are whole countries playing each other. The people watching are amazing to watch. They genuinely care who wins and loses. Not like an American sports fan cares, half-heartedly and for five minutes, but like they care about their own families.
And the soccer being played is world class. These players train for four years to play in these games and they are the best in the world, literally.
So I'm going to watch all the games. And you know what, it won't be that hard.
There are no other quality sports to watch besides the NBA finals (that's right, fuck baseball), all of the good shows are in repeat (Bill Maher, Lost, Sopranos) and I've got the technology to watch (and fast forward) all the World Cup games that air at 3:30 in the morning.
Besides, the U.S. is ranked 5th so I'm sure we'll finish in the top 25. My back up favorite is going to be England, and then as the tournament nears the end, anyone who's NOT BRAZIL. Those damn cocky, tan, fun loving, happy, drunken, very nice, enthusiastic bastards.
Well, Poland lost 2-0, but they came real close to scoring, so they shouldn't feel too badly. But they do. They are pissed. And that's why this game is so fun to watch, and that is why I will be watching every game. So there.

So that's where I'll be if you need me for the next few weeks, and you're welcome to come over and join me...as long as you're cool.




*No one who reads this is actually welcome in my home.

Our Apologies...

Blogger (the company that does all the wonderful hosting of these blogs) is currently having difficulties accepting photos. We at The Pinyon have decided not to post the next installment of the Son of The South series until this problem is rectified, because the pictures are worth at least 6,000 words. Please continue to check back and hopefully soon all will be well.

Smooches.

Where the Streets Have Three Names...

Orlando, Florida.
Last week we ventured to the SouthEast corner of our great nation to visit the family and get back in touch with our Southern roots.
The time we spent there was relaxing and rewarding in that we got to meet our new nephew, the aforementioned Maverick, and spend some quality time in the region of our childhood. And after seeing the sights, and smelling the smells, and tasting the tastes of the vibrant culture that is on display down there, we have four words for The South;

Put A Shirt On.

Seriously, would it kill ya?

Tense Change!

I flew out of LAX on Wednesday morning, (side note: Thanks to Luke for the ride. It has now been determined that taking someone to LAX is actually a bigger favor than helping them move. Hard to believe, but entirely true.) and arrived at Orlando International Airport at 6:30pm local time. I had taken a Xanax before the flight and was feeling pretty good despite sitting in the non-reclining exit row for 5 hours. I met my lovely sister Claire, (pictured below) and we went immediately to a bar and began The Drinking.

After that, it was off to meet the in-laws. I sincerely like Claire's husband Pal, and was interested in meeting my new nephew's paternal Grandparents. It was just too bad about The Drinking. I felt too drunk to converse intelligently so I did what any drunken jet-lagged uncle coming down off a prescription drug would do. I stared at the baby.

Babies are fascinating. Even when they're not doing anything, it's awesome. Take this for instance:

See what I mean? He's just yawning. Why is it so cool?

Anyway, after that, Claire took me to my Dad's place and I was surprised to see that he had no water in the house.
He did have two different kinds of iced-tea made up though. Decaf for the nighttime.
Then I realized that he didn't have any bottled water in the house because they don't need to buy their water at the grocery store. Their tap water is actually clean. It comes into their houses for practically nothing. They bathe in clean water. Spending extra time and money retrieving and consuming bottled water is something I do because the water where I live is toxic to humans.

Isn't it funny how I initially looked down my nose at someone's way of doing things differently, even though their way was clearly superior. Does that make me a (gasp) liberal elite?

The short answer is: Maybe.
The long answer is: Yes.

That night, my father and I went to a grocery store they have down there called "Albertson's"!
I mean, can you imagine a store named that?

End of DAY ONE

On Thursday, Day Two, I drove my Dad's superfast car to Claire's house. It's only 15 minutes from my Dad's place. It took me an hour.
It wasn't that I ran into traffic.
It's that the roadways down there have at least two different names. And in many cases, both names are a number.
I asked many people why this was and they all just looked at me like, "How else would it be?" Now, just in case you're having problems believing me, below you'll see a typical street sign in Orlando. Keep in mind that 17 and 92 are the same road, and that road is also called Mills Ave.

Also, while I was on the road, I saw the single dumbest thing I 've ever heard of.

It was a pickup truck.
With a spoiler on it.
It was a spoiler on a pickup truck.

Now, that's just stupid as Hell.

After successfully navigating my way to Claire's house, we went to lunch at Bennigan's, home of The Monte Cristo, (click it and scroll down, I dare you) and had $1 Margaritas.

The price of liquor in Florida is absurdly low.
Double Maker's Mark on the rocks; $5.25.
Don't these people know that folks are paying three times as much for that out here. I mean, isn't a single glass of liquid that costs 20 bucks a bottle at a liquor store worth $15.00?
It's not?
You lied to me, Sky Bar!

After lunch, I stared at the baby some more and then I went home. My Dad and I went to a place for BBQ that was called O' Boy's where we had All You Can Eat BBQ pork for $9.95. I also had Collard Greens, Baked Beans, a Baked Potato, a Slaw Cup, and Garlic Bread. They were out of Sweet Potato Pie, which deeply saddened the old man.

For the record, I could eat that meal everyday for the rest of my life and be perfectly content. I used to feel that way about Mexican food, but I was way off.

We went for a leisurely drive in the warm night air around Lake Eola, and the calm and relaxation was palpable. After palping it for a while, we headed back home to watch Cops, Fox News, and C.S.I., the mainstays on the DVR in Dobosh Country, Florida.
I drank some decaf Iced Tea, and it was great.

End Of DAY TWO

Stay tuned for days 3, 4 and 5, which include a Water Park, a Mega-Church, and a Gun Show. But not in that order.

Mark Siano Is A Jerk.

That's not true folks, but we are extremely jealous of his current trip to Italy, and also we needed a headline.

It's been two weeks since we last posted, but we wanted to give people the appropriate amount of time to savor the flavor of our return. (or, if you're English or Canadian, savour the flavour)

Perhaps today, you would like a story...

Upon taking the advice of our veterinarian, we here at the old RP have taken to bringing our new feline companion along with us in the car on the way to get coffee. This is to theoretically get her used to the experience so that's it's not as traumatic when she has to go to the vet (like it's the car she's worried about, and not the dogs and shots).

And now, for the sake of the story, we shall drop the editorial we.

As I (see!) walked out of the coffee shop towards my car in the parking lot, I noticed my kitten looking at me through one of the windows as I approached. What I did not notice, and boy I wish I had, was the Land Rover parked next my car with all it's windows down. I also failed to notice the very attractive female passenger sitting in the passenger seat of the aforementioned Land Rover. This was the completely wrong time to do anything embarrassing. Guess what happened.

As I approached the car, I began addressing my kitten through the driver's window, which was cracked for safety . [It is important to note here that I am wearing sunglasses and the cat is not visible to anyone but me.] I began to speak in the voice that so far in my life has only been heard by my cat, my girlfriend, and most likely, The NSA. What I said, or rather, what I cooed, was this:

"Oh, are you just sitting by yourself in the caaaaaaarrrr?"

"That's pretty cuuuuute."

"Are you lonely sitting out here in the parking lot? Would you like some company?"

"I'm gonna come in there and give you a little kiss on the nose, would you liiiike that?"

I, unfortunately, said much more than this, but you get the picture.

At this point I have reached the automobile, and have placed the coffee on the roof so that I can open the car door. I reach into the car and pull out my little grey and white comrade (see pictures below) and I pull her up into the sunlight and then I hear a distinctively hot voice say,

"Oh, thank God."

I looked up surprised and said, "Oh hello?". I don't know why it was a question.

And then she said, "I thought you were a total creep talking to me in the parking lot."

I told her I wasn't a total creep and she may have actually believed that. Sucka.

Then she asked to see Gozer up close and I walked around to her side of the car. We talked and laughed about how weird the situation almost was, when without any warning the situation suddenly got weird again.

You see, as I had been talking and laughing with this girl we both completely failed to notice her boyfriend, presumably the owner of the aforementioned Land Rover, walking up to us with the kind of scowl on his face that one can only use when one thinks that some total creep with a kitten as a prop is hitting on your girlfriend in a parking lot. It didn't make matters any better when the girl acted like we'd just been caught in the middle of something that may or may not have been pre-fornication.

"Oh. Hi, uh, honey. I was just, uh, looking at his cat."

Which left me to reply lamely, "Yeah. This is my cat." And I kind of hoisted Gozer up in front of me both to show him I wasn't lying, and to possibly shield myself from a beating with her cuteness.

It worked. I received no beating. The gentleman just gave me a look and then climbed into his SUV and drove away.

The moral of this story?

I now have a completely foolproof way to talk to hot girls in parking lots.

Thanks Gozey.

Enough!


I have now heard from no less than six people this week regarding how bad my blogging habits are, and to those people I say this;

Let he or she who hath been posting consistently cast the first stone.

Anyone?

Anyone?

Shut up, Jeff.

I am truly sorry for my recent absence in the blogosphere, and solemnly I vow to make at least a half hearted attempt for the next week or two to communicate with all my loyal fans. (Hi , Mom.)

Since we left you with the grim short story below, several things have happened at the offices of The Pinyon.

First off, let's get these out of the way. Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Happy 29th Birthday to me! Happy Black History Month! And finally, Happy St. Patrick's Day!

On to the real information...

First and foremost,

I AM AN UNCLE.

On March 13th, three days after her own 24th birthday, my little sister Claire gave birth to the new generation of the Dobosh clan, an 8lb. 4 oz. baby boy! His name, is Maveric, (that's right Ice...Man) and like his uncle he is hung like a horse. Or so I'd like everyone to think.

So, congratulations to Claire and her awesome husband Pal. One piece of advice, it's never too early to start working on the kid's ball handling abilities. Only good fundamentals can get him a scholarship.

I'm no college basketball scout (anymore, thank you Dayton Flyers), but he looks like a 3 to me, if he's a little taller than his dad, maybe a 4, but a shooting 4.

On to the next, and only slightly less important, piece of news:

I AM A NEW PET OWNER.

On Christmas Eve of last year, I obtained what has been scientifically determined to be the Cutest Kitten on Earth. It is a girl kitten and her name is Gozer. Is it strange and sad that both my nephew and new kitty are named after characters in 80's movies? Probably.

Regardless, I love my little Goze-toes and I'm sure you will too, once you've had a chance to see this...

See what I mean about the cuteness? Oh, you don't? Take this!

And now, to prove that she is indeed my kitten, and also that she is indeed alive...

And that's how I lost my right eye.

More kitten stories to follow.

You've been warned.