fankie…the blog

Okay, so maybe not full effect, seeing as how it’s been six weeks since I updated. And it’s been almost a year since I pudcasted. But it’s been gettin’, been gettin’, been gettin’ kinda hectic.

First of all, like a total nob, I’m obsessed with tweet deck. I don’t even like Twitter because I really don’t care that people are having their first cup of coffee or that they just can’t seem to concentrate today. But I for some reason like the idea of watching that shit pop up as it comes in. Oops, there’s a couple more.

Anyhoo, I’m feeling a bit of anxiety because I was forced to finally get my Washington driver’s license the other day. That is weird. My car insurance company was threatening to cancel me if I didn’t. Great. You should see the fuckin’ picture on this thing. Talk about a fat fuck who wouldn’t survive the surgery, Larry. Holy shit.

That’s okay. I’m working on it. I’m three days into the South Beach diet. In short, that means it’s 11 more days until I can have any bread. And then I think I only get a half a piece or some shit like that. But I gotta look smooth for Mode, right? That’s right, bitzes.

If you haven’t checked out the pics from last weekend’s Portland trip, scroll down a little.

Having been up already for nearly four hours, even though it’s Sunday, I’ve been trying to rock myself to sleep. One of the things we listened to at Phatty’s house was Patten Oswald’s taken on 80s metal videos set in factories that create only sparks. He made reference to Damn Yankees in that bit. That band of course featured my boy Tommy Shaw of Styx. So since I’m in a rockin’ mood, here’s a video from Styx’s Return to Paradise tour in 1996. I saw the Grand Illusion tour in 1997 alone and by myself. Just like Jack Colt. You want the case? You get Jack Colt! Sorry, that was for Chris.

The title applies to the return of Fankie to this blog and to Portland.

Squish and I rolled south last weekend to cold kick it with the crew and with the fam. My newphew Austin left for the Navy last summer about the same time we left for Seattle. He was home on leave, we found out just a few days earlier, so we sold some books and dug some change out from under the car seats and headed home.

It was good to be back. Last time we were in town was friggin’ Halloween. That’s too damn long. We’re gonna try to get home more often.

Here are a few  pics. It’s scary how much I don’t remember. Apparently I was asking Heda if she needed…well, I’ll just leave it at that.

 Oh no he didn’t. Yes he did.

Fankie got him and Squish and his sister tickets to Rick Springfield. It’s gonna be the biggest concert event since Loverboy played the Taste of Beaverton in ‘99.  If we’re lucky, Sprinfield will borrow Mike Reno’s sweat pants.

 This is the perfect pre-funk to what WILL be the event of the year. Listen up crew. This is big.  Mode. August 10th. Seattle.  Tix on sale next month. Stay tuned.  Until then. Rick rocks. Kinda like J. Cochran. Only better. Uuuuuuh. 

What a Saturday we’ve had! Man!

 Since I have to get up  at 2 am for work every day, sleeping in to us is 5 am. Squish is more or less on my sleep schedule since she gets up and makes me breakfast every morning and helps me get dressed. If she didn’t do that, I’d wear the same sweat pants to work every day. Anyhoo, we got up and had a big breakfast and talked about taking a long walk to the library and getting there right at 10 when it opened to avoid the freaks. Then we fell asleep until 11. So we decided to go grab the car. But first, we needed some lunch. So we walked over to Taco Bell.

 When we got in there we saw this guy and this woman in these weird military uniforms. They had chains over their shoulders and their uniforms sort of looked like they were from the Air Force, but then we realized they weren’t American military. Never could figure it out.

Then this big fat scruffy guy in his 50s rolled in with this  relatively normal looking younger woman. It could have been his daughter. It could have been someone he’d brainwashed into joining his cult. I have no idea. But this guy got all agitated when the dude behind the counter couldn’t understand his order. He said to other Taco Bell guy that he was “trying to maintain his cool because that guy just doesn’t understand English, dammit!” And I complained about the freaks back home.

He then goes over and starts harassing the military people for a while, and then the girl brings their food and they join hands and start chanting. This went on through both of my Double Decker Tacos. Not even the Steve Winwood blasting from the speaker in the ceiling could drown it out.

So we took off and a bird flew about 2 inches over my head. It freaked me out to the point I almost shit my pants. I didn’t, but the bird shit my hair. Yes, about two blocks away from the Taco Bell, Squish noticed the nice white paste stuck in my newly dyed and styled and gelled auburn locks. We had to go into the fancy-schmancy Zupans like grocery store and get a cup of water and some napkins so Squish could wash the shit out of my hair.

After that, we decided to roll to one of the 8 billion casinos that are up here. We pass them all the time, but like any good self-fullfilling prophecy, I was right when I said that since we were looking for one, we wouldn’t find it. We had to drive all the way to Fife, which is just north of Tacoma, before we found a casino. While waiting in line for the ATM, I decided we’d better make sure we actually had some cash in the bank. Yeah. We didn’t. So we left, but not before smelling like a coupla ash trays.

We did not, however, go to Java Juggs. We rolled past there a couple months back. It is up in Everett, which is in the opposite direction of the casino. Squish took the pic and thought it would look good on here. Who am I to argue with that? Break out the Juggs, I always say.

Pretty good Saturday, eh? Hey, at least Federer won the Australian Open last week. Oh, wait.

I don’t know who these guys are talking about, but I was just listening to a little more AO radio and they kept referring to one of the female tennis players as husky. WTF? Who uses that word any more? I haven’t heard that word since my mom took me school clothes shopping in the third grade. That was a type of pant for fat kids. “Husky.” Great. And the only kind of pant that came in the “husky” version were those awful tough-skin jeans. No wonder I never became a tennis player.

Roger Federer never had to wear that shit. My boy’s through to the quarters. I missed the match because it was going on in the middle of the night. So I got up at 4 this morning to do some businesses, if you know what I’m sayin’, and I took the lap top with me. Hey, some people take a magazine, during the Grand Slams, I take the lap top.

Anyhoo, I punched up the AO website and saw that he had to fight back from two sets down to beat Tomas Berdych. Holy shit!  I was so freaked out, I couldn’t shit! Right on, Roger!

Now I’m listening to Jock-Itch vs Baghdadis. It’s not quite the same. Oh well.

Simply because I’ve become obsessed with Widgets, I have put this one up. If can grab it, I will. So if you don’t want me putting my grubby mits all over yours, keep it out my sight. Other wise, it will end up on my site. Know what I’m sprayin’?

You know, I’m glad it’s available.  But I must say listening to tennis is quite difficult. And tiring.

 The Australian Open is going on right now, but it’s only on cable. We have no cable. Kind of like McDowell’s buns have no seeds. We have no cable. No big deal. But it makes following the tournament a little more difficult. That and the 19 hour time-difference.

Like the US Open, the Australian Open has a website on which they offer you a radio broadcast of the tournament. I’m listening to the Jo Wildried-Tsonga match right now. He was the finalist last year. All I can tell you is that it’s 2-2 in the first set. Because I’m not paying captive attention, I haven’t followed anything other than that. Listening to other sports on the radio is pretty easy. I don’t know if that’s because the announcers are yelling things like “Jordan from Downtown!” or simply “Yes!!” You never hear that shit on a tennis radio broadcast. Whatever. If I wasn’t a cheap bastard I’d have cable. But there are only four Grand Slam tournaments a year, and the others at least show their finals on regular TV. Of course those won’t happen until after the DTV transition. Yeah, don’t have a digitial tuner either. At least I don’t think I do.  

I’ve got nothing really more to add other than that I was a bit bummed that I missed this happen live. Oh well, that’s what the Internet is for.

So they say a sign of depression is watching a lot of TV. I don’t think I have much to worry about there. Afterall, we don’t have cable and the ”digital” rabbit ears we bought don’t seem to be very digital. Plus, it doesn’t count if you’re watching old episodes of “Banacek” on DVD or the entire run of the American version of  “The Office” online on Netflix, right?

I only bring this up because tonight, Jack’s back. Of course, since I have to be at work at 2:30 am, I won’t be able to watch it until tomorrow. With no DVR and no reception, though, I’ll have to watch it online–not on TV. So, I’m not depressed.

Okay, so I’ve been a bit neglectful of fankie.com since we moved up here. That’s all going to change. And so is my fat. And my back acne. My backne, if you will.

Anyhoo, let’s half-assedly clean up some unfinished business from 2008. I was supposed to tell you more about the AC/DC concert. Now, being old and stuff, I can’t really remember it in enough detail to make it remotely interesting. After the PJ Harvey masterpiece I wrote more than four years ago, I think I’m all but drained in that capacity.

Suffice it to say, it was a damn good show. “For Those About to Rock” was a little disappointing, but the rest of the shit was good. Even the new songs. Even the old songs I didn’t know very well. Even the old songs I did know pretty well that the dick nut behind me kept screaming the lyrics to. 

One interesting footnote to this whole AC/DC thing:  my mom has been buying me their shirts for the past couple years. She got me a whole bunch for Christmas this year. She also got me a hoodie–a “Highway to Hell” hoodie. I guess if my mummy got it for me it must not be devil stuff, right?

Here’s the rest of the AC/DC night pics of Cody and me. Don’t worry, my backne is not pictured.