January 4th, 2010
Hey did you see that sunrise? Not every day you get to see something like that!
Now that we’re four days into the New Year, I’m following through on my promise to myself to exercise my body once again, like I did in the summer and fall. I stopped for the holidays, it was a gift to myself, the gift of saying “fuck that shit.” The gift of growing some flab, but mostly the “fuck that shit” thing, that’s the satisfying part.
Now I’ll be on a combined program of diet and exercise to achieve some sort of physical improvement. Mostly what I’m looking for is slightly bigger arms to prop myself up a little longer. And I want to get a really big neck so I’m working my neck daily to get it thicker and stronger. Better. I want to get to where I’m faster, turning my head faster when I hear loud noises. After six months, I’ll be the first one looking at whatever we just heard, miliseconds before you finally get your head turned around. Plus, I like having the confidence that my head is being supported by the absolute strongest base that I can give it. I only have one head and one big, thick fucking neck to hold it.
The gym I go to is disgusting, filled with numerous undesirable people, old people, poor people. I go there because it’s convenient and inexpensive and I’m not paying a bunch of money to have a fancy carpeted locker room floor to stand on with a bunch of buff queers. That’s Manhattan, you’ll find yourself in a situation like that, a situation where spending time on this carpet is costing you like $200-$300 a month. And then you’re angry, you’re fucking pissed.
Meanwhile, I’m on the dank brown tile of the rec. center with Old Man Grayflab and his broke-ass friends, cramming my gear into a tight yellow locker and trying to keep my feet dry. All these old bastards are playing ping pong and shooting on pool with the a bent cue on a ripped table, I’m using my thick ass neck to watch the bouncing ball.
I’m going to eat more bacon this year, I’ve already made that vow. I had bacon-wrapped asparagus and bacon-wrapped okra already since the 1st, so you know I’m not playing. More fried chicken too, I had wings last night while I watched the Jets demolish the fucking Bengals. This is what life is intended to be by God and tonight is my poker night.
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Happy New Year
January 1st, 2010
Hey everybody (who the fuck?) just wanted to take a very small amount of time and say what I already said in the title. I’m always very happy that you come here and read things I write.
I celebrated the new year last night in Atlantic City, NJ. It’s a storied place and I guess most of those stories involve it being a shithole. I can’t argue with that, I was nearly killed there twice in a two-minute period by wandering vagrants who have a taste for blood, but that was a while back before I learned to not walk anywhere accept from the bus the casino and back, the end.
I also use the word “celebrated” rather loosely, because there were certainly people there celebrating and I wasn’t doing that like them, these guys with their hair and jackets and cigarettes and these girls with their tight dresses carrying their shoes in their hand and putting their bare feet on the floor and ground. I’m telling you if you’re over 19, stop doing that. I know the heels hurt, but you wore them, that’s the deal. You can slip them off under the table or maybe steal a moment while seated and just rub the bottom of your foot, but you can’t take them off and just carry them without looking like you’re making some kind of ongoing complaint about a stupid fucking choice you made, you get the idea, fuck, forget do what you want, young shits.
I found myself there because I entertained a bunch of addicts at the VFW in Ventnor, for Christ’s sake, that’s what I just said. No stage, no lights, just a wireless mic and 30 minutes of my material. I treated myself to $5 worth of their food there, a chicken patty sandwich with a bag of chips and dollop of potato salad and a can of grape (get ready for it) SHASTA, which I haven’t seen in, literally, 25 years. It was a fine meal. I was thinking they’d have great food at this kind of function, and I was right.
Addicts are great audience members, and I think it’s because once you suck dick for drugs you have a kind of humility and acceptance about certain things. They don’t get their ass up about shit really, not like college kids or whatever who get offended if you use the word “black” or “faggot.”
So after the show we head to the Trop where the others play slots like bitches while I go play cards at the grown-up table. Making the transition to no-limit was easier than I thought it was going to be. I folded most everything, played a couple of hands and then about an hour in I caught a pair of fives. A guy raised, I called, another caller. Flop comes 5 K A. Ideal. Guy bets and I pretend to think it over for minute before calling, giving him the impression I’ve got a weak Ace or maybe a KQ I was trying to play, then I call. The other guy bets out $50. The first guy folds, he was full of shit as usual. I raise to $150, which puts the guy all in, and we watch the cards come down, another five on the river giving me four of a kind. My only wish is that I could’ve had more players.
I ended up winning 5 million dollars playing cards and then it was time to go. In the car on the way home I had to turn up my earbuds really high to drown out the fucking Elton John they were playing on the stereo. And that makes me anti-social, right, because I don’t want to listen to “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” again. You hear a song like that enough times, you just can’t fake it anymore at all. I don’t enjoy the song.
My resolutions? Eat more bacon, play more poker, eat more ass, and just generally keep being a fucking funky dude from now on. I want people to smell my face from across the room, know what I mean? Showering is only for every other day, it’s winter and my skin gets dry. Shampoo, only for every other shower. So you do the math, and it you’re going to be sniffing my hair, better make it in the neighborhood of Saturday.
By the way, I’m putting an ottoman on the sidewalk first thing tomorrow, like around one o’clock. You want it, come get it. Might be a funky enough ottoman for you, not for me. My next one will be round and heavy as shit, heavy duty. Heavy as a stone groove. No time to price it, man. If I’m missing out on $15, that’s the way it is. I can afford a haircut, I can’t afford to spend another day with that ottoman, man. I nearly got rid of it a year and half ago, but I wasn’t strong enough in the funk just then.
2010, mutherfuckers. I’m one degree from a lot of people I’ve heard of, which places me right in the middle of the entertainment industry. You could link me with the star of your choice, if you’re into that shit. I don’t worship at the celebrity temple like a lot of people do. Ask me how many copies of People Magazine I’ve bought in the last ten years. Go ahead, ask. Fuck, probably none, unless I knew some shit who was in the hospital and was like “Bring me some gay-ass shit to read” and even then I probably got reimbursed.
New year, new triumphs, the new Pat Dixon is out and he’s looking good. Bitches who call everyone “bitch” better look out. Call me “bitch” I’m gonna be saying “You’re the bitch, bitch” and then it’ll be cased closed. This is funky, it’s approved. The Jets are inches away from a playoff berth, and all you can conclude from that is that it’s destiny. These guys are stumbling all over themselves looking like shit and now they’ve managed to bungle their way into the playoffs, wtf? I’m rooting for the Jets, as I always have, but make no mistake, the whole thing will turn on Sanchez and his goddamned interceptions.
I recently acquired the “Planet of the Apes” series of movies, all five. After watching two of them, I have to tell you, it’s some good-ass shit. Fuck that, great-ass. That’s a fucking upgrade, mid-paragraph. Not deleting and changing, just restating. Watched the second one all the way through and it was weird as fuck. Here’s the thing with Planet of the Apes. We’re looking at thousands of years on Earth, from the late 1960’s until 3955. Sometimes the men are in charge, sometimes the apes are in charge. No matter who is in charge, the other thinks they should be. It’s a power struggle. Men and apes are fighting.
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tweet
December 3rd, 2009
do real men tweet? follow me @patdixon on twitter.
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Dubuque
December 3rd, 2009
The airport felt like a snack bar with a runway.
A guy named Scott picked me and he looked like a professional wrestler with his long, blond permed hair. 6′5″ went about 250. Played some high school football, tight end. Caught 7 touchdowns.
Jack Wilhite opened. Showroom was like a Hard Rock Cafe. Wilhite had 11 pairs of sunglasses on his amp and about the same number of costume changes in his 30 minute set. Highlight to me was the Angus Young costume.
This was at Diamond Jo casino. I won a huge pot when I hit top two pair on Ace/10. Guy wound up all-in with his Ace/Queen.
Tonight I’m killing time in Cedar Rapids. No NFL Network so I’m missing Jets vs. Bills. I got work to do anyway.
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I’m pleased with it
November 29th, 2009
A neighbor is concerned because her downstairs neighbor is making a lot of weird noises and banging on her floor.
I’ll keep you posted if anything else happens there.
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Coffee
November 27th, 2009
Two girls having a lively conversation. I can’t understand a word they’re saying. Why can’t teenage girls ever drink HOT coffee. It’s all about iced stuff, frappe’s or whatever the fuck they are.
Their socks are short and white and they agree on everything. It’s a lot like one girl having a conversation with herself. They look like twins.
I wonder if they’ll still be friends when they’re 28. 35. 40. I wonder what they could fall out over. They seem so compatible as friends with their matching socks, hairstyles and drinks. And voices.
This world is made for them now. They are so much more commercially relevant than I am, it’s not even funny. They are the coveted demo. Teenage girls who are either buying things they don’t need or having things bought for them they don’t need. And yet, they are the most superfluous of people, saying nothing of importance ever, doing nothing that matters. The one thing they could do to change the world is the one thing everyone says not to do and that’s get pregnant.
Charming girls. 13 years old. God bless them. I’m going to be like them someday, without a care in the world.
Tags: blog, coffee, Pat Dixon, Sponge Bob, teenage girls
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Friday after Thanksgiving
November 27th, 2009
Waking up out of town, you sometimes have to think for a few seconds before you move.
The quietness is cheap. Everywhere there’s the sound of things not making a sound. You look around and it’s like the soundtrack has been removed. And the sound of a ticking clock has been added. It’s clicks comically on the mantle to remind us of our impermanence. Then someone slurps something and the spell is broken.
It’s the kind of day where I want to tear my head off my shoulders, hold it like a football and run blind into the yard with my other arm out like the Heisman Trophy. Of course, no need to stiff-arm anyone, who’s going to approach a headless guy running in his own yard.
Tick tock.
Less than 24 hours I’ll be on a plane.
Tags: death, eat me, headless, Pat Dixon, Thanksgiving
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Wednesday 5:29 Starbucks
November 25th, 2009
Chubby, tall girl with no chin just walked by wearing tall boots and a red top. She was heading into the lady’s room to do god-knows-what. What an expression on her face!
My sunglasses continue their policy of resting on the table. My phone, also, sits quiet and attentive.
My earbuds have nothing coming through, but I keep them in to give the illusion that I’m cut off from my surroundings.
Over-caffeinated, dying to smoke a cigarette. 8 years and it crosses my mind daily.
No-Chin just walked out, apparently done with her disgusting doings in the lady’s room. She looks like the type who would stop up your toilet with her enormous stools.
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Pirate Rock Ship
November 24th, 2009
Whatever the name of this new Phillip Seymour Hoffman movie is. How to describe it? The words “piece of shit” come to mind, but they don’t seem 100% accurate.
Why dwell on the bad. This is a bad movie, but the lunch afterward was pretty amazing. Ankar’s Hoagies has the best shit. Great sandwiches, thick fresh onion rings, fat crinkle cut fries. And then there’s the Addam’s Family pinball machine.
If the words “6 Bear Kicks and an extra ball” mean anything to you, then you understand how nice it is to find this table. It’s a very popular game, but you just don’t see it around a lot. If you happen to wander into Ankar’s Hoagies on Brainerd Rd. in Chattanooga, TN, you’ll see my name at the top. Number one score. I got it last time I was there a few months ago, and I still haven’t been beaten.
If you haven’t been there, don’t torture yourself. I’m sure my score will be there for a long time to come.
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I can’t believe this guy missed that kick
November 24th, 2009
What the fuck?! He really pulled that kick to the left!
haha, boy he must feel like a real asshole. I mean, he totally blew it. He could’ve been a hero, but instead he’s a total loser. It all was riding on whether or not he kicked that ball between the uprights, and that was the one thing he needed to do. But he fucked. Up. Period. haha, what a fucking loser.
This is his job, after all. This is what he does for a living. Kicking is his specialty. Kicking it. That’s all they ask, just kick it and kick it right. But he didn’t kick it right, he kicked it left. WAY to the fucking left!! HA! Damn! He missed the net!!! I mean, he kicked it so far to the left, he missed the net!! I’ve never seen that before. And no one had a hand on it, that was all him.
Boy, what a fucking jackass. The snap was perfect, the hold was perfect, his timing looked fine. Snap, hold, step, kick and (fart sound). What? What the fuck was that? That was the kick?
The coach didn’t even ice him. He let him kick it the first time. What a great read! He knew. That must really add to it, the opposing coach took one look at you and said “He’ll miss it. Let him kick.” Ha, wow.
You know, I’ve probably seen a few thousand field goal attempts. This was the sorriest one I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something. If field goal kicking was a special Olympic event (and, for all I know, it is) well…you can see the analogy I’m making. It’s an insult to retards to take that analogy any further.
It’s not like anyone’s asking you to throw a touchdown pass or anything. NO, heaven’s no. You could never do that. Those can actually be tough, I mean, that’s why it’s worth TWICE what a field goal is worth. Just kick. And not directly into the stands at your left. Kick it forward. Idiot.
Ha, did you see that? What a shitty kick. Fuck.
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