Meteorologically, we kept it real, folks

because music festivals with good weather are for pussies.

Once again, Shugs and I brought with us to the festival the worst weather possible.

People were all “OMGWTF the hurricane is coming!” In reality, hurricane Rita would have brought sweet relief, but decided to pass us by. Tease. Instead of her promised thunderstorms, we sat in 106 degree heat and 7 thousand percent humidity.

By day it was way too hot and way too humid. Austin felt like Phoenix and Atlanta’s bastard lovechild. By night it was a scene out of thunderdome. Dust flying everywhere, people had odd bits of clothing tied around them to brave the elements- then there were the dudes in hockey masks, driving around in dune buggies firing shotguns in the air and stealing tankers of gasoline. And um, they sounded Australian.

It felt like basic training for hell.

I have now named Shugs and myself, “The Concert Goers of The Apocalypse.”

Next year I think we’ll bring the pox.

BUT… The music… was incredible.

Highlights:
Kasabian
Spoon
Steve Earle
Death Cab For Cutie
Rilo Kiley
Wilco
Thievery Corporation

Surprises:
Bloc Party
The Walkmen
The Decemberists
Doves

The after parties (smaller shows, intimate venues) actually make the festival, though. Thursday we saw Thievery Corp at Stubbs BarBQ. Awesome venue. Feels like a college party.

After the show we were getting tacos when a girl in front of us drunkenly blurted out “OMG that’s the ugliest shirt I’ve ever seen.”

Incidentally, I was wearing Heidi’s least favorite shirt- it has pineapples on it. That’s as much as you need to know.

I’d like to tell you that I immediately said “that’s funny, because you’re the prettiest dude I’ve seen.” and then got the crap kicked out of me by her boyfriend.

But it didn’t occur to me for a couple minutes- after I had wasted my retort on something forgettable and tame. While beer tends to increase the courage, it also slows the wit.

Friday we managed to weasel into the sold out Walkmen show at this little club called Parish. Before the show I was lukewarm on the Walkmen- I became a true believer. They brought it- even a bit edgier then their recorded stuff, and much edgier than their festival set. In their encore they started taking requests and belted out (I’m Not Your) Stepping Stone. I seriously contemplated moving to Austin.

Saturday I went back to Stubbs to see Wilco. a-maze-ZING. It’s taken me a while to warm up to wilco, being a devout Jay Farrar/Son Volt fan- gotta back up my boy. After Friday I decided Jay can fight his own battles. Wilco owned Stubbs and ACL.

Austin itself has a great scene. As far as the people the food and the businesses are concerned I can’t think of a better place to host ACL and SXSW.

But the weather I could do without. Walking around with a constant wedgie that feels like a soaked warm washcloth can tend to put a bit of a damper on things.

But of course next year I’m sure I’ll do it again.

Feeling left out of all the fun of the last hurricane, I’m headed to Texas for 4 days of alt-country PBS goodness at the Austin City Limits festival with my pal Shugs. For 3 days we’ll be in an ocean of beer, birkenstocks and trucker hats.

Your jealousy is ugly. Put it away.

I’m currently waiting out a layover in phoenix. I’m tempted to do another rant about how much I hate this place but i’m afraid i’ll end up with an entire city emailing me- I’ve heard their fans are insane.

Little travel tip. Don’t fly right afer cramming an entire season of Lost into 3 days. It taints the experience.

Even simple pleasures, like reading the skymall, or snorting heroin from a little baggy in the restroom have taken on this really creepy feeling.

Plus that much TV can makes my eyeballs feel like they just got back from spring break- all sunburned and sandy & sore from lifting their shirts for all those GGW videos. My eyeballs are such whores.

Three years ago to the minute Heidi and I got married.

Just a second ago she called. I picked up the phone and all she said was, “I do.”

Melt.

I have such a better life than I deserve. Sorry, that’s just the way it is.

So I’m at a conference. An accounting conference. In hell. I’m sitting in a presentation on effective proposal programs.

Please allow me to add a touch or foreshadowing. “To know ABOUT the giggle loop is to be PART of the giggle loop.” If you don’t understand, watch more BBC.

If you’re anything close to a regular reader of my blog, you have a sense for my humor. It appeals to a certain level of humanity. A very low level. Perhaps then you can understand why this particular presentation was troubled from its inception.

Early on, the presenter stated some phrase which my infantile mind quickly raced to twist to a sexual nature. I immediately turned to the fellow on my right and muttered, “I didn’t know it was going to be one of those presentations. He chuckled.

Then things got a tad bizzare. Here’s a smattering of the topics that would come next:

• Lead Elongation

• Multiple Touchpoints
• Drilling Your Pipeline
• Being Careful Not To Cut Off Your Options
• Hierarchy of leads referred to as graprefruits and mellons

It seemed that the seed I had planted in our minds had grown to a horrfying beanstalk. We could hardly contain it.

Then she reached a whole nother level with an entire section on “Penetration Strategies.” Yes. I know. She then moved on to

• Multiple Positions

• Contacts who are warm and fuzzy
• Points you could dip in oil (totally confused there)
• Peanuts (you have to hear her pronounce it)

I was already fighting an anneurism, but I burst into tears when she mentioned “Wiggle Room.” A man can only take so much.

That’s when she noticed me. It’s also when she stopped her presentation to ask what was wrong. I couldn’t take it. In a room full of marketing professionals and accountants I completely lost it, but managed to spit out, “It’s just… that we find your presentation… a tad… suggestive.”

She turned to the screen where her penetration strategies were laid out. “Oh. I see.” The place actually responded with laughter. Somehow in 30 seconds I had managed to bring the maturity level of the room to something around 6th grade.

Is there anywhere that I’m a good influence?

So I’m back from the dead (chillin’ at the beaches down at Club Med.)

Actually I was all tip top by Friday. Went out for sushi and everything. Sorry to all the people who canceled their Memorial day weekend plans in order to attend the all-night vigils on my honor- I didn’t even want to look at a computer after spending a week and a half wanting to die in front of it.

I don’t feel an obligation to constantly update my blog. It’s a hobby for vain people, not a paying gig.

Anyway, the backstory is a hoot. As it turned out, the fever, chills and rash that my Dr. kept telling me was the natural progression of my ills- they were all caused by my antibiotics. Another Dr. told me to quit taking them & immediately I got better. Oh, the laughs I had over that one. I think I laughed so hard I cried. More of a sobbing really.

So after lobbing a few maltov coctails over my (former) Doctor’s porch, I headed down the to my favorite all-you-can-eat sushi place to throw down a little fish & sake discipline on the old gut. He took it like a champ. That’s my boy.

BarBQ-ed up near Lake Tahoe with Heidi’s family. That was great.

Saw Star Wars yesterday. For the most part it was entertaining. Even with the low standards I have for George Lucas, I still had a bit of trouble with the flimsy excuse that idiot skywalker had for turning to the dark side so quickly. I didn’t even know they had rock paper scissors a long time ago in a galaxy far far away.

Can I take a minute to say that Deadwood will be considered by future generations our Shakespeare? I’m convinced.

In honor of Memorial Day we watched South Korea’s Saving Private Ryan, Brotherhood of War. It was the most moving thing I’ve seen in a while. If you’re on Netflix, do yourself a favor and check it out. Korea is a major up-n-comer.

Also, the rest of you should pretty much pack it in and forget ever having any more Kids. Paige has reached a point of cuteness that’s lethal. Six people died looking directly at her this weekend when we took her out. One was in critical condition with something called “My kid is so frickin cute his eyes exploded” or something. Just before he slipped into a coma he said it was worth it.

I survived GraduationFest 2005 and all I got was… every damn thing I think I’ve ever asked for.

Man, I am spoilt.

Unfortuantely by the time the party started I lacked both the dexterity and concentration needed to post to the moblog, but I’m confident that the earlier posts left you enough for your imaginations.

Three other MBA grad buds of mine and I hosted a shin-dig in the back yard of a local college bar. The beer, it flowed like water. The water, though, flowed like rain a few times. Of course with nearly a cumulative decade of classes, papers, finals and massive amounts of BS to drink off you have to throw more than rain at us.

Lots of friends came. This guy even showed up looking for free beer and wings, so I felt obligated to let him in.

Heidi’s Dad got to meet Paige! He’d just gotten back from a long stint in the Middle East, so he and his wife visited our place before the party.

Anyway, you guys just want to hear about the booty, I’m sure.

Boy, did I get booty. So much booty I was nearly overloaded. Naturally, Heidi provided the best of it- and a few of my buds joined in too.

…and I am talking about pirate treasure, you dirty, dirty little boys and girls.

Heidi and a few of my close friends chipped in to SEND ME TO AUSTIN CITY LIMITS. That kicks butt. Hard. It’s sure to leave a mark. Quick- get an MBA and maybe someone will send you too!

I also received a box of Cuesta Rey cigars (and someone brought a few cubans for the party! holla!), a bottle of Patron Anejo, 24 Season 1, a cool bamboo thingy, and Paige scored her first pair of chucks.

Then as if that wasn’t enough, I woke up Saturday at 8:30AM after drinking 15 hours straight- SANS HANGOVER. It was as if beer itself was giving me a graduation present.

Yes, children, I live a life I most certainly do not deserve.

Thank you to everyone who sent well-wishes and gifts. Big thanks ESPECIALLY to Heidi, the love of my life, for putting up with me for three years of hectic schedules, cramming for finals and excuses that schoolwork left no for household chores. (; I love you.

“It’s either She goes or our family falls apart Ed. You have to end it.”

“How did you even know Helen and I were spending so much time together?”

“How could I not? You talk about her all the time, and anytime someone saw you they saw her too.”

“Man, I had no idea.”

“It’s really sad she could even drive a wedge between us. Besides, who even names their DVR, anyway?”

A few weeks ago it became obvious that with as many projects as we’re involved in and as much social stuff we do, if anything was going to get done around Casa de Adkins then cable would have to go.

Believe me, we labored over the idea for quite a while. If it were a movie they’d show a montage of us in all these scenes, each time in different clothes and looking more and more disheveled, desperately trying to re-budget our time to fit TV in. The music would be really intense too- just to show how hard of a decision it was.

It the last one I’d be wearing a wrinkled dress shirt- no tie- with the sleeves rolled up and my hair would be all greasy and messy and I’d be gripping a wrinkled piece of paper, shaking it into the air in defeat. Then the camera would start spinning on my face and fade to the scene earlier today when the cable guy came to take the DVR box.

I was with her till the bitter end. I held her in my lap till the connection finally faded. She didn’t deserve to die alone.

At her last sputter of life, she managed to flash a bunch of scenes from 24, Scrubs, Huff, Rescue Me, House, Family Guy and the whole Adult Swim lineup- all the shows still worth watching.

Then it was over. The dude handed me a release form to sign and I handed her over. “So you really got rid of Cable so you could read more?”

“Yeah man. It’s kind of scary facing the future without it, though. I’m not sure what to do next…

…You think you could just hang out a bit- I don’t want to be alone.”

“Sure man.”

“I’ll get a couple beers and some books. Fiction or non?”

Last night was my last night of class for my MBA.

The last class I will ever, ever take.

I don’t want to learn anything. ever. again.

Not even in conversations. Hell, from now on I’m not gonna even learn names- the people I meet will be required to carry little chalkboards with their names on them, which they will present whenever I must address them.

My last class ever went out with a bang.

I had to negotiate a deal on behalf of my section of the class which involved keeping a corporation out of bankruptcy and absolving the owner of personal liability for some shady and stupid business deals. it was the final class and my turn to show off my skills- see, I’m a bit of a master debater.

And that my friends is precisely why I showed up, um, howyousay, three sheets to the wind. These kinds of deals require a precision which can only be attained after hours spent at the bar across from the business building. You have to be dedicated.

Not to fear tho- I was the ninja. I negotiated the crap out of that deal- whilst throwing out some of the most vulger and obnoxious jokes the MBA program will ever hear again I’m sure.

Afterwards it was back to the bar to celebrate my academic freedom.

It’s funny. All this schooling and I’m no more mature than I was in the 6th grade.

April fools day is a special day for Heidi and myself. No, not because we like to make funny. That can backfire sometimes friends. Wives, just remember- no matter what day it is, no husband can find the humor in being woken with the statement that the child isn’t his.

No, she didn’t do that. But I imagine it wouldn’t go over well. No, Heidi just opted to go with the old “wake up hon! it’s ten o’clock!” Then when I tried to counter with “well, fine you got me- well guess what? the child isn’t yours!” she totally didn’t get it.

Today is special because 3 years ago on this date I proposed to Heidi.

Best prank I ever pulled.

I’ll get around to the story in a bit.

Age has always been a fluid concept for me. I was always tall, so when i was a teenager i’d lie about my age whenever it would help- getting a job, buying smokes, joining the merchant marines, whathaveyou. I’m also really immature (no really) which I figure should keep me stuck acting like a teenager until i’m in adult diapers.

But this year i’ve been becoming increasingly aware of my impending oldness.

Last night it was painfully obvious.

I went to a concert- Helmet, Chevelle and a bunch of kiddierock bands. Now the first indication of my age was that I was only there to see helmet- “helmet who?” all the kids asked.

Second indication is the fact that today I feel like Chuck Norris in that movie where they put a rat in a burlap bag and put his head in there. If of course the rat could scream really really loud and give him a hangover.

Now, in my defense I did get up front and yell and jump and use all the weight i’ve gained since getting my desk job. I proved that I can still hang with the kiddies. But unlike the kiddies I went back to the bar and drank 17 gallons of water afterward so i didn’t die of whiskey-and-sweating-induced dehydration.

Ugh. Anyway, Helmet absolutely rocked. As the youngsters say they are still “keeping it real.” No gimmics, No rockstarness. They just get up there, make your head rattle and leave. very Very nice. I was a little bummed that they didn’t listen to me screaming for them to play “you borrowed” but like me they’re prolly just getting a little hard of hearing in their old age.

You know those mind-numbingly sweet dreams that you just don’t want to end?

Those dreams that you wake up and then start crying b/c you know you can’t go back?

I, my friends, had one last night that was so good I’m afraid to tell you about it in fear that once it’s coolness is put to the screen it will have to power to blind you.

So squint before you read on.
(more…)

Heidi and I go out this weekend to Tahoe. The pics are pretty cool if you want to check them out here.

ED: When you were paying, this guy in a grey sweater was totally checking you out

HEIDI: No.

ED: Totally. He looked you up & down several times.

HEIDI: I hate that.

ED: He seemed rather fixated on your butt. At one point he mouthed the words, “oh yeah.”

HEIDI: Holy crap. That’s sick.

ED: Yeah.

HEIDI: Well what did you do?

ED: Kept staring.

HEIDI: Oh hun.

I have so much tryptophan in me right now I feel like I’m going to collapse outside the Viper room.

Come now. Don’t we all agree turkeys got screwed royally with the whole tryptophan deal. Other animals get claws, fangs, even the occasional stink spray- but turkeys evolved with a tranquilizer in their blood? Not fair. Plus they taste great.

Some predator is barreling down on a gaggle of turkeys, how sad is it that the best some brave turkey can do is take a step forward, stick his chest out and tell the group to run along- he’ll handle this. The wolf takes him down, starts tearing into him and he’s all, “Oh yeah- jokes on him. He’s gonna be sooooooo tired soon.”

Oh well. I’m grateful for sure. Heidi made this turkey that’s so good you’ll name your firstborn after me for sharing the recipe with you. We hung out with great friends and family, drank some good discount priced wine suggested by this guy, and ate far better than I deserve to. You’ll find the recipe for the turkey in the extended entry. By the by, it requires spruce- which I had to procure after dark behind a couple local businesses. Enjoy.
(more…)

Three flights. Each way. That’s 6 sets of achingly small seats with absolutely no legroom for my 6′4″ frame. Of course it’s only 2 chances to take off my shoes, watch, keys, phone, jacket, pull my laptop out and put all my change in a basket and STILL get luggage-raped by the baliff from night court.

My back and neck have let me know that they are going to secede and move to Canada as a result of the trip. That’s going to suck, because then I’ll be shorter but still have no more legroom.

Except for having to do some rather impressive ninja flips to make it to the bathroom for frequent potty brakes, Heidi fared rather well. Bebbeh Adkins seems to be in good shape.

We’re traveling to the east for my mom-mom’s funeral. Let me tell you, if you haven’t spent 19 hours traveling lately- please do.

We got to add another missed flight in our distinguished collection. We got up at the crack of OMG-please-kill-me and staggered to the airport. BTW, don’t believe that just because you’re buying tickets for bereavement that the airlines will take a break from screwing you.

Got to the aiport an hour before the flight, but then experienced something I’d like to call “the great burrito place waiting to open debacle” and somehow when we got to our flight it was gone. No, we are not fielding questions on that.

BUT, if you haven’t spent 16 hours hopping the country on standby- you must. Does wonders for the bowels.

Today is the funeral. My old black blazer was looking like roadkill. I didn’t really buy it anyway as much as find it on someone’s floor in college. So I decided to go with just a shirt and tie. Then someone tells me that now you can dress in any dark color at funerals. Apparently, they said, brown is the new black. That’s funny, because I thought white trash was. Go figure.

Time to head down in a minute. Seeing family has been great. I’ll have to continue this heartfelt honesty and openness later.

I know, I know. Emo is for queerbots. Whatever. I’d rather that after the apocalypse, when archeologists come back to Earth to dig up info on our primitive civilization, that they come across some Emo in my music collection than your Candlebox.

So stick it.

It was a lot of fun. We ran into a friend of mine from school, Jim, and his girlfriend in the bar section and hung out all nite. The bartender quickly noticed I rewarded good performance and proceeded to make my drinks stronger each time I came up. Therefore I was convinced I’d like the opener.

Actually, they rocked. Rogue Wave. They’re either out of SF or SD. Interesting note- the band came together off of craigslist.

Death Cab played well, the venue is perfect- kind of a “your parent’s basement” meets an abandoned western clothing warehouse. The band played all my favorites, I’m really only familiar with Transatlanticism and a few singles Shugs has given me.

They were perfect for the mood I was in. Kind of deep, thinking of the loss in the family, and really wanting to be close to Heidi. It ended up being a great, great evening.

Pics are in the photo gallery- along with the (oozing with dorky goodness) Dono-Kun hat I made.

You’ll see pix from the Death Cab show we went to tonight.

And you’ll see the phat domokun beanie I made.

… And you’ll see the video from last week’s set where i felt like a rock star.

Because tomorow when I post all that crap I know I’m gonna have an ouchy head.

Damn. That sucks.

Woohoo!

Yes, we voted today. Not that I see what the big deal is anyway, it’s not like it’s American Idol or anything. BUT I did get excited when both Heidi and I were almost BARRED from voting. Yes. Barred. The following story has several true parts:

7:15, after a quick stop to the local McTrendyBrew’s for a LARGE coffee, thank you, we arrive at the polling place and get in line. It stretches outside. The cold outside.

EVERYONE is PISSED at this lady who brought a tiny stool on which to sit while in line. They eye her with contempt. It’s an ugly scene. They’re popping out stuff like, “Oh, how smart- you brought a canvas stool,” but they’re really saying, “Hey- you’re not that fat or crippled or something. Stand like the rest of us- In the angry cold.”

A minute later someone comes out and tells us that people who fall in numbers 120 and 30something get to go to a new line. They bolt and we are left standing in a flurry of leaves in their wake. One person thumbs his nose at the rest of the line before he departs.

Not a minute later they all come back. Somebody got the digits wrong. Apparently it’s 130, not 120. 130. That’s us. I do recon, and give Heidi the signal. We make our way to bowels of democracy.

Inside it looks like a run on the savings and loan. People are arguing with the poll people, no one knows where to go and an angry mob is protecting the doorway. We push our way to the door and I threaten a lady to let us go through or I’d null her vote with my own. She hisses at me like I shoved a cross in her face steps aside.

Just inside two old men had decided to take a stand protecting their line form encroachment from the “rebel 130’s” as we were now being called. One looked like an ancient dusty version of Popeye; the other looked like his caddy (in full golf regalia). They both wore steely-eyed faces of defiance. If I was going to cast my ballot before them I was going to have to prove my worth.

“Um, excuse me. They said my number could go passed.”

Nothing.

“I say, excuse me my good man. I have an incumbent to dethrone.”

They push shoulders together in solidarity.

Fine. I shove them both aside, reveling in my youthful strength and march up to the table to vote. I thought I heard one of them start snapping like an old bamboo party torch as I pushed through but Heidi told me they closed up behind me, forcing her to mace them with Binacca. I wasn’t aware of this but sometimes the Binacca-Ben Gay combo turns old people into a combustible compound and they both poofed to dust right there.

Two less Bush supporters down, the flow of 130’s flowed like so many flowing things do. We voted. We left. We felt powerful.

The Nevada Day Parade was very, well, Nevadan. If you were missing that guy in your town who walks around wearing red thermal underwear, suspenders, huge belly, a long white beard, a pick and a huge goofy hat- he was in Carson City with us.

I have many a tale to tell but right now I’m slaving away on an Econ paper that’s due at midnight tonight. Midnight on Halloween. Now that is scary, no?

One quick morsel tho. My favorite slice of irony from yesterday: When the float for Daddy Dick’s went by, with a guy performing Sweet Home Alabama… in the Nevada Day parade. Everyone was rocking out. People wonder how I stay so cynical.