rustypants speaks

unfortunately, it sucks. bad.

a friend mentioned seeing a sign for A Taste of India (authentic indian cusine!!) at the ramada inn on scenic highway at I-10. a quick phone call confirmed that there was, in fact, a new restaurant there serving indian food!

woo-hoo! dance of joy!!

we spent the week planning our trip there for a saturday lunch. it was going to be pricey – much more than any other indian restaurant we’d ever been to: $9.99 for the lunch buffet. but hey, INDIAN FOOD!!

giddy excitement wouldn’t be exaggerating how we felt as we pulled into the parking lot. lise looked suspicious because there was nothing different about the place except the sign – but when we opened the door, oh my goodness – the smell of curry was in the air. suspicion gave way to our soon-to-be-happy rumbling stomachs.

and when we walked in…

…well, there wasn’t much of anything there. rice. chicken curry. lamb curry. dal makhani. cold naan. and salad. lots and lots of salad. find your own seat. get your own utensils and plates and napkins. it looked like we were supposed to get our own water, too, but the owner(?) came over and abruptly offered to get it for us. limited sauces (2 peppery chutneys) meant there was little to do to spice up some of the most bland and boring curry we’ve ever had. the dal makhani was heavy and flat. the naan was cold and thin. the owner(?) abruptly comes over most of the way through our meal and loudly (did i mention abruptly) says, “the food is good, yes!” – please note the punctuation.

we were hoping for at least some kheer to work some of the flavorless food down at the end of the meal but it wasn’t meant to be. dessert choices were cored and candied whole apples or pineapple upside-down cake. it was the final nail in a disappointed coffin.

we go to pay, vowing never to return, when the owner(?) announces the cost will be $22.00 – then, as i hand him $25, says, “i keep the change, yes!”

i believe the look on my face must’ve prompted him to give us our change and stop talking.

look, i’m all for giving second chances to places having an off day, but this was flat-out awful. the price, the quality, the variety, the atmosphere, the attitude – there was nothing there that could convince me to try it again (and realize that the closest we can get to indian food anywhere else is 50+ miles away in mobile, alabama).

put that extra couple of dollars in your gas tank and drive to mobile – it’s worth every dime!

cabin three had a rowdy reputation that year. the leaders were losing sleep and patience. the guys were up at all hours, they were hip, cool, and impervious to the body’s need for sleep. these were some cool guys and it was a challenge to connect with them in a meaningful way.

i was the camp pastor that year and was teaching each morning, then teaching / preaching each night. i loved camp. it was awesome getting my own kids out of their element for a week, but it was great getting to know the other 70+ teenagers who were there as well. teaching has always been one of my favorite things.

but this group of guys – they were almost too cool.

so the first two days have come and gone. we’re on day three and these dudes were being cool with me and all, but i really wanted to connect with them and just hang and talk. figuring out how – what could we possibly have in common?

on the way back to my cabin that night, the ruckus was loud as ever coming from cabin three.

i stick my head in. their leader sees me and runs for the door – relief!

and there are twelve guys standing in a semi-circle – one is obviously the leader while another standing in a squat position opposite him about 15 feet away, is obviously subjected to some horrible camp ritual. how can i tell? he’s in his boxers and a look of impending pain and agony is on his face.

“dudes, what’s going on? can i play?” i ask.
*loud cheers from the peanut gallery*
“you want to play nutball??” comes the incredulous reply.
“hmm. nutball. never heard of it. sure, how do you play?”
*cool dudes look at me with suspicion, wondering if i’m going to break up their game or if i’m sincere. what they don’t know is: i’m up for just about anything*
“we take this… ball… we made from rocks wrapped in a sock, and have 2 teams. first team up picks a guy who pulls his boxers down just a couple inches, opens the fly and squats. the other team has a pitcher who takes the ball and whips it at the other guys’… er, nuts… and if he makes it into the open fly it’s a point – if he hits the guys nuts… that’s another point!”
*more cheers from the teams*

it was at this point that a dawning admiration and horror struck me. i had just volunteered to have a sock filled with rocks hurled at my exposed ballbag. on purpose.

“whoa! sounds cool – who’s winning so far? how high do you play to?” and other questions were asked in an effort to stall what seemed inevitable – i was going to get hurt in the name of making a connection with these guys. and it was hilarious hearing them talk all excited about this absolutely insane game of pain, hearing who had their privates whacked already, who had scored the most points, how you didn’t HAVE to hit their nuts but could actually bounce it off the opponents stomach and have it land in the hole of his fly (but what fun is that?), and the sheer awe of having The Camp Pastor want to play.

i realized that i was vested in this and might as well get it over with as quickly as possible. i talked a bit more and then it struck me.

boxers. you have to wear boxers. i didn’t have any boxers with me. and none of these guys had boxers that would fit.

disappointed groans came from all the guys as they realized i was not going to be able to play. i stuck around for a few more innings of the game, wincing in pain at each point scored, cheering as loud as i could, and then excused myself.

and those guys spent the rest of the week treating me like one of their own, connected, all because of a willingness to take part in their pain game.

all just a part of camp leadership.

in conversation with fellow blogger SWNID the other evening, we enjoyed discussion on the zany search strings that lead people to our writings.

for the uninitiated, when you go to google or yahoo or dogpile and enter a phrase that you want the search engine to find matches for, this results in a search string – the search engine then uses this to determine which websites most closely hit all aspects of your search… and sometimes to hilarious results.

google has a little program that i use called Google Analytics – it looks at traffic on websites and shows very specific information that can be a HUGE help for folks who are trying to track and analyze who and how and why people are visiting their sites. it also shows the specific phrases used in search engines that brought these people to my writing. now, my blogging exploits are mainly fun and entertainment for me (and you?) and hardly warrant in-depth analysis of who’s reading and who’s not…

but it IS fun to see some of this information! it’s even more fun to think, “how on earth did this search engine figure that MY blog matches THIS string of words?!?”

so some of the search strings that have landed people at rustypants.net in the last 45 days include:

• “+18 plus eighteen mad in turkey t-shirt”
• “the longest toes”
• “dogs that like to roll in poop”
• “graduation verses 8th grade you’ve made me so proud”
• “if you don’t go to church do you go to hell?”
• “junk in truck lots of sugar in tank” (this one is one of my favorites)
• “nasty hot pants.net”
• “nudist spy cam.”
• “mittens anti-poop”
• “smart women stripping in bathroom”
• “thick southern accents and teaching phonics”
• “women dancing around propane grill”

and my personal favorite of the last 45 days…

• “why does peter furler wear eyeliner”

certainly, some of these i can somewhat fathom how they related to my writing. anything with “poop” in it must relate to dolby’s poop-eating past. church-going-to-hell would be the sign along the highway. longest toes must be the fehrman sisters. the peter furler search was because of my hatred of the newsboys.

but turkey t-shirts? junk in trunk? nudist spy cam?

and there are about a dozen that i can’t even list on a family-oriented blog such as this (har har).

what has gotten me the most traffic in the last thirty days has been my post referencing stretch armstrong – five to ten people a day are searching for a picture or information on stretch and land here.

useless, mindless information but still a good laugh for the blogger.

hey, maybe if i blog about paris hilton or amy winehouse, i can really get the number of visits up!

after posting weird christopher walken pics, acting goofy, and making some rather strange connections between unrelated things yesterday evening to my little brother, he finally says, “what the $&#! is wrong with you tonight? are you smoking something??”

the answer is: i’m bored.

lise and i typically have summers off together and we’re in places like cincy or d.c. where we know lots of people and do lots of things and typically are busier in summer than the rest of the year.

but this year she’s stuck working a crappy 9-5 job and we’re in a town where we know few folks.

and i’m honest to gosh bored.

i love the beach. for a pasty white boy, i have a tan that i never dreamt i could have. but you can still only spend so much time on the beach. i don’t watch tv. i’ve been reading. i’ve been playing guitar. i’ve been taking dolby out.

and sitting around waiting for lise to come home.

so if i strike you as a bit more off than usual…

i’m just bored.

*cue pity party*

during a particularly good evening of cloud-watching, we saw this bunny.

and we promised to hug it, and squeeze it, and call it george.

but it got pulled into taffy. :-(

flies through space!

www.walken2008.com

found this on the beach three weeks ago (6-8-08):

not timely, but still appropriate.

when i bought an 80gb ipod 2 years ago, i did so because i knew i’d run out of room on a 30 and was pretty sure the 60 wouldn’t make it either. sadly, the 80 didn’t last long before i had to start shuffling and moving and deleting to make room for the too-many-bootlegs and cd’s acquired over the years.

so, the ipod stats as of 6-20-08:

songs: 9,099
space taken: 71.9gb
most recently added album: weezer (the red album)
most recently played albums:
   – the red album / weezer
- spirit of the century / blind boys of alabama
- money jungle / duke ellington, max roach, charles mingus
most played songs:
- to love is to bury / cowboy junkies
- brokedown palace / grateful dead
- made of tears / joe satriani
most played albums:
- trinity revisited / cowboy junkies
- eye to the telescope / kt tunstall
- live at radio city music hall / dave matthews & tim reynolds
albums loaded but not one song ever played
(aka: why do i own this cd? list):
- verve jazz masters 14 / wes montgomery
- these four walls / shawn colvin
- snake farm / ray wylie hubbard

for those of you playing at home, file this post under: who gives a damn

when we finally got the house sold and had to go up and pack, i knew there was going to be trouble in the kitchen. one of the things we loved about this kitchen was the amount of cabinet space, and this made for a collection of spices and goodies that i could have only dreamt of previously.

one favorite from friends and the wife alike is my Garlicky Spicy Worcestershire Burgers. besides huge amounts of garlic, various spices (ain’t tellin – you’ll have to come to p-cola and visit – i’ll make you some and you can guess), and lean ground beef, the key ingredient is worcestershire. and not just ANY worcestershire. it has to be lea & perrins. there was a time when i would have used an inferior brand but those days have been long gone.

but about a month ago, i’m at the store and keeping my eyes peeled in the spice section, what do mine eyes spy?

tobasco brand worcestershire sauce with the red / white word… SPICY at the bottom.

oh. my. gosh.

this adds a new dimension to the burgers. it adds new dimension to seafood sauce. soups. salads. just about anything you can add worcestershire to – MMmmmm…

now, i ought to add here: i do NOT like Tobasco sauce. i think it’s a cheap heat and not a very good one. i don’t use it. i don’t own any. i don’t like it on wings. i’m not impressed with it in any way, shape, or form.

but they have a new group of sauces that have come out in the last 10 years or so that are just divine – a spicy soy sauce / spicy teryaki sauce / chipotle sauce – and now this.

i’m quite impressed. and you ought to give it a shot.

and if you ask nicely, i’ll give you my garlicky burger recipe. email me at youthdude at gmail.com

with the return of the summer heat and the high humidity comes what lise and i can only call “big sky” – you can’t even wrap your mind around how big the sky looks here, how HUMONGOUS the clouds appear…

i think part of the illusion is that lise and i have spent so much of our lives in cincinnati – a town that is located in a valley and with so many buildings and houses that you can’t really see as much of what’s going on around you in the atmosphere.

obviously, being on the beach gives you about the levelest view you’re ever going to get.

but it’s beyond that, too. you simply don’t get these kind of cloud formations and insane storms up in ohio. pensacola is considered semi-tropical – the locals explain it this way: “don’t like the weather? wait fifteen minutes. it’ll change.” and this is the honest truth. in ohio, when it rains, it rains EVERYWHERE. in pensacola, when it rains, it’s likely to be over in just a minute.

the storm pictured above, which turned my school into a virtual swimming pool and made the electricity flicker, lasted all of twenty minutes. an hour before – sunny sky. an hour after? sunny sky. but when it storms down here? son, you want to be in the house!

one wild aspect of this is that in the middle of a torrential downpour, just 1 minute south of you can be blue sunny skies. you can SEE it… while you’re getting drenched. but cloud watching is quite fun down here and there’s no shortage of entertainment when it comes to the weather. just one more reason for you to quit your northern ways and come on down. we’ve got room for you.

every so often i get an inappropriate comment from someone to the effect of, “gee, it must be nice to just turn off your hearing aids and not hear” or “what i would give to have your hearing problem today” to which i usually say, “hey dumbass – i’d trade you any day.”

there are few benefits involved in hearing loss – the cost of equipment, the things i cannot do, the social things that are missed out on, the annoyance of loud restaurants, not being able to swim or be out in the rain and hear, advantages students take when they realize you can’t hear, loss of patience from people who are tired of repeating themselves for you, etc. – it’s a costly disability any way you slice it.

the few “benefits” there are can be counted on one hand – i’ll tell you about the first one today.

lise and i lived in washington d.c. & baltimore for close to ten years – our favorite outings were ones where we would get in the car, gas up the tank, and drive and explore. there were a number of state and national parks within a couple hours’ drive and we always loved going & hiking, driving, picnicking, etc.

but the cost. holy crap. i mean, we’re talking 15 years ago and i remember having to pay $5 to get into shenandoah national park in virginia (it’s now $8 to $15 per car, depending on the season). assateague island was around $8 (and it’s also now up to $15). blackwater national wildlife reserve was $2 or $3 to drive through, even. we were floored, although we paid and usually had to save up to do it. it sure seems silly now, but that’s how poor we were with lise full time in school and neither of us making much money.

so picture this: one day we’re in a line of cars leading up to the entrance to shenandoah in front royal, virginia. their big welcoming sign posts all their fees, etc. and down toward the bottom…

“Golden Access Card – Disabled – FREE“

i turned to lise and said, “gee, i wonder what constitutes ‘disabled’ here?” figuring it was more profoundly handicapped.

we pulled up to the window and i handed the dude my $5. as he’s handing me my receipt, the following conversation takes place:

“here’s your change and a map of the park, sir.”
“thanks. hey, what do i have to do to get a Golden Access Card?”
“what’s your disability?”
“uh, (looks at watch) about 2:00.”

he glances at my hearing aid, motions for the receipt back, hands me my $5, points up the hill and annunciates clearly while looking me square in the face, “drive up the hill and turn into the ranger station. they’ll give you an application and a card.”

and with that, i got a golden access card, allowing me into any national park in the country. for free.

we’ve used the thing a lot over the years but lost track of the card maybe 6 years ago. during the move, it was discovered in a box and set aside.

today we hit gulf island national seashore at perdido key – the card still works.

what’s that?

uh, about 2:00.

while out on the beach thursday afternoon a rather surprising fashion statement was being made perhaps 50 yards south of me.

now, i joke about going to the beach for the sights (babes?) but the reality is: i go to the very end of civilization on p-cola beach just to NOT have to endure the sights or the people or the noise. we are genuinely disappointed when there are other folks close by – not because we’re anti-social buttheads – we just enjoy an empty beach to ourselves.

so i’m sitting there sunning myself and reading a book and looking for the occasional seashell in the surf, basically minding my own business. out of the corner of my eye, i see some dude fishing. no big deal, right? but after he casts his reel, he’s making funny / big gestures with his arms – almost to draw attention to himself, it seems.

now on this particular day, i’d forgotten to put my contacts in, but it was a true double-take when i thought i saw what i thought i saw.

out comes the camera, zoom that sucker in for all it’s worth, and there it was.

the worst fashion statement i’ve ever seen on any beach anywhere.

and now my plea:

please, for the love of all things sacred, if you’re a fat middle aged man, with or without a huge butt-tattoo, DO NOT wear a man-thong to pensacola beach in the middle of the day.

now, in the interest of full-disclosure, i offer this: do i like to skinnydip in the gulf? yes, at times. at night. in the pitch black. far from civilization. away from anyone who might be subjected to the awful sight.

but never at noon on a beach where there are dozens and dozens of folks within view.

and finally: man-thongs? are you for real??

i’m sad to say that ron paul has bowed out of the 2008 presidential election.

folks are still trying to figure him out, but i’ll bottom line it with this:

it’s integrity.

answer #3: they take their big dogs to the bayview dog park down on the bay.

officially, dogs are not allowed on the beach down at pensacola beach. why? oh, i can think of some untrained / violent dog reasons as well as some stupid / uncaring / irresponsible owner reasons, but generally we disagree with this rule.

when we’re feeling compliant, however, we hit bayview. and today that’s what dolby and i did.

he does love to swim, that’s for sure. when we first moved here he didn’t know that he knew how to swim, so he was timid and very hesitant about getting in. now, however, he bounds in like a crazy mutt. for the hour+ we were there, he hardly took a step OUT of the water.

dolby’s a funny dog – he’s a big boy but he is also OWNED by most other dogs – even tiny ones. but when he’s in the water playing with his fire hose toy: bitch, please! you best keep your jaws OFF my bizness!

that big dog in the middle picture was trying to get a little too close and dolby stepped up! the dog backed down! i was shocked! amazed! proud!

at any rate, here in hot, summery p-cola, teachers take their dogs to the dog park for a cool swim.

after being teased and laughed at numerous times, it’s finally time to explain The Tan Lines.

Ready?

stage one is quite simple: when you’re a pasty white boy from Ohio, there’s no escaping the fact that you will ALWAYS have some parts that remain pasty white. short of shaving my head and joining a nudist colony (two things neither of which sound appealing at this stage in my life), my pasty white parts will just have to remain so.

stage two is not all that hard to understand. i’ll put it into an equation for you:

teaching + (summers off + lots of free time) * living in florida = nice tan for pasty white teachers from ohio

stage three is where things get difficult. wearing birkenstocks almost exclusively (when footwear is required at all) means an almost permanent foot tan at about mid-foot and the toes. this includes wintertime, fall, and spring. there’s no avoiding it. try as i may to tan the whole foot and lose the telltale birk-tan, alas i cannot. birk-tan continues to bake and get darker.

and now you understand the stages of tan lines pertaining to FL teacher transplants. please stop picking on us.

Download Answer #2

answer #1:

play guitar with the amp cranked to 11.

one sucky thing about not having a house is this: when you’re in an apartment it’s difficult to just open it up and play loud. i mean, you’ve got people on both sides and they don’t want to hear you play cowboy junkies, green day, and neil young tunes at top volume, you know? there’s no accounting for taste, apparently.

this guitar is sweet – it was a graduation gift several years ago from my dad. fender telecaster special limited edition with a couple dimarzio humbuckers to add to the fun. now, i don’t claim to be a good guitarist by any measure, but there’s something about just going to town even if you’re not very good. when you get in the groove and you’re just going with it…

i’ve been using a small practice amp for a while but a year or so ago i was given a short stack of peavey amps that were going to be put out on the curb – folks, these things, when wired up and cranked, can shake windows! apartment living doesn’t allow for that either, but i can always pretend, right?

summer break is great for playing your guitar at full volume in the apartment. this is answer number one to the question: what do teachers in pensacola do all summer.

our fascination with graveyards has held true for years. few things are more fun than finding a nifty old graveyard while out on a try-to-get-lost drive in the middle of nowhere.

two weekends ago we drove to mobile, alabama primarily to find an indian restaurant (found! but more on that later). after eating, we decided to drive around downtown mobile, then took a wrong turn down a main road leading through the beginnings of suburbia. just as we were about to turn around and head back, we saw it.

a tourist-destination sign… for a cemetery.

we looked at each other, looked at the sign again, looked at each other and said, “if there’s a sign for a cemetery, it’s gotta be a good one.”

and it was. it is.

magnolia cemetery sits on 120 acres close to the downtown area and has graves dating back to the early 1800’s. there are many magnolia trees on the property and on this particular weekend – memorial day – there was a massive and impressive flag display as well.

we are intrigued by several things in graveyards (and these determine whether we go to a graveyard at all or just drive by):

1. are the majority of the graves OLD ones?
2. are there a good number of elaborate, ornate graves?
3. can we go traipsing around without getting yelled at by caretakers?

the answer to each of these questions on this day: YES!!

any time we find a cool old graveyard, we begin by making a bet on what the oldest grave is we’ll see. this is frequently hampered by graves so old that one is no longer able to read the inscriptions. this makes for much sadness but also adds to the challenge! there are graves dating back to the War of 1812 at magnolia, but the oldest ones we saw were just a few years short of the Civil War.

you can see the civil war cannon on the side of picture number 6 above. the angels are quite expressive, although i admit to making a joke about the angel in the middle picture above giving the finger due to a missing index finger (and wishful thinking / selective seeing). some of the crypts were stunning – marble with intricate designs, fencing, and inscriptions.

our interest is all the more unusual given that neither lise nor i have any desire to be put in an expensive box with an expensive rock on top of an expensive piece of land upon our deaths. we’re both shooting for a nice cremation and ashes scattered in various spots around ohio, maryland, and florida. if we die together and you hear that we’re being boxed up, please print and send this article to the funeral planners, eh?

we probably spent an hour here, looking, listening, watching, talking, thinking, photographing. it was quite peaceful and awe-inspiring. the lengths to which some of the families have gone to preserve some sort of legacy or record was extraordinary – and i say that with respect.

i was surprised at the haunting beauty of the place and large scale of many of the plots to the point of turning to lise and saying, “well, this looks like a pleasant place to be dead.” she smiled at me and we both knew we were thinking the same thing: it’s beautiful here, but please: don’t put me here!

the kids finished up last friday but we’ve got several days of paperwork, meetings, training, room clearning, etc. before we’re finished for the summer.

i got some time friday with one of my girls who is painfully shy but such an incredible student that i wish i could have more like her. i took about 10 minutes while we were outside and really encouraged her, talked about the things that so impressed me about her, talked to her about how i know she feels like a fish out of water sometimes because she’s so shy but that other students were envious of her quiet and hard-working attitude, let her know that she’s one of the few students i could really say “you’ll do anything you want to do when you grow up if you keep up with the things you’re doing” – it was just a really good but too brief time together letting her know that she’s been a great student.

so this morning i’m in my room cleaning up, moving desks around, throwing BOXES of papers and trash away. hidden on my cart was a folded up piece of paper that i was 95% certain was just a note one student probably wrote to another last week that i took from them – you know how it is.

just as i’m about to throw the thing away, i decide to take a look at it.

and it’s a note, written friday morning just before the kids left, from this girl. it was written directly to me and included a picture of her folded up in the note, too.

here’s the note.

and this is what i’ll miss.