Third time is a charm

Ms. NOA and Mr. CJC were united in marriage on Saturday, September 22, 2007, at eleven o'clock in the evening at CJC's home in New Orleans, LA. The non-traditional, borrowed-ring ceremony was officiated by The Very Reverend JB el JB. Marital blessing and practical insight were delivered by the officiant. Background commentary and overwhelming peer pressure were applied by those in attendance. At the conclusion of the swimming pool-based ceremony, TVR JB el JB pronounced the couple husband and wife after-which he dunked encouraged them to dip their heads in the soothing waters. Following the ceremony, the guests, the reverend and the couple sought out dry clothing. Earlier in the evening, the bride-to-be, who was at that time still in girlfriend status, commented "we'll get married if you all get in the pool" after having been harangued on the subject by the intoxicated pool party attendees.

It should be duly noted that the crowd in attendance - all long term friends of the couple - immediately began disrobing in preparation to enter the swanky ebony colored swimming pool. However, Pastore Bef set the bar high by cannonballing into the pool fully clothed and by loaning her and her husband's wedding bands to the officiant for the purpose of performing the marriage celebration. Even late arriving guests, Moogslie and Jen endorsed the impromptu nuptials with Moogslie representing their unit in the pool.

Following the ceremony, the happy couple disappeared across the street to CJC's ancestral home for, perhaps, some consummation and dry duds.

Congrats to you, NOA and CJC. Your Mickey Mouse toaster is on its way.

Wearing nothing but a smile and some strategically placed spray paint

The other day I got an email from a PR rep that said, "Imagine having to paint your pants on tomorrow instead of put them on..." Hmm...I'm not too sure I would dig that. Then I got to this line, "let me know if you would be interested in serving as a guest judge at the event." I can dig that. Where do I sign up?

The Tuaca Body Art Ball is on tour and may be coming to a city near you. In short, the event is a bunch of mostly nekkid folks with painted outfits on. The painting take about 6 hours on average and provides most of the "clothing" for the performers. Once painted, the ladies and gentleman (~15 total) take the stage for the presentation of the work. Most perform some sort of interpretive dance. A couple of the ladies sang and were actually good - much better than some of the American Idol folks.

Unfortunately I don't have any photographic evidence save for this press photo lifted from the Austin Statesman. Apparently, Tuaca, the main sponsor and Italian liqueur brand, considers all images copyrighted property which is just another way of saying, "We ain't lettin' you photograph our hotties." Oh well.

The lady pictured here actually tied for the win in Houston. She's dressed up like some sort of Egyptian princess and is wearing the most clothes out of any of the performers. The other 1st place finisher was painted to look like a voodoo princess. She scared the shit out of me. I keep having nightmares from Live and Let Die and the coffin full of snakes.

EEK.

Bag Man I Am

LifeHacker was soliciting reader pictures for a feature on "go bags" aka laptop bag for work, man purses for everyday metroing and/or any other time you carry a bag. I took the photo during a field trip weekend to Los Pedros with the intention of submitting it but missed the deadline. Oops.

You should read click on the photo and read the notes in Flickr if you've got some minutes to kill. It will give you more insight into my level of OCD when it comes to gear.

I take solace in the fact that I am not alone.

If You Flick It They Will Come

Houstonist's 600sqmi (that's square miles) photo show officially opened on Saturday night at M2 Gallery in The Heights. Parsonist began mentioning the idea over a year ago. And voila! It was an overnight success.

OK, not really overnight. It was a smashing success thanks to the outstanding work of the photographers and some Houstonistos. You can read more about all involved on Houstonist.

Anyway, about 250 people showed up over the course of the night; 150 of those folks were there all at once from roughly 8 to 9 PM. The joint was packed. As G would say, "it was belly button to asshole." Yeah, it's graphic, but you it conveys the idear, no?

Check out shots from the reception on Flickr.

Holidays should always be on Fridays

Today is Labor Day. I haven't labored. I am one of the lucky folks that actually get the day off. Sorry to those of you in the service industries who have to work so that I can enjoy fast food, coffee, retail and movie rentals. Thanks for doing the work.

I may have had the day off, but my Labor Day holiday still sucked. Labor Day snuck up on me. I was not prepared. There were no killer weekend plans in the mix. Actually, that's not true. My friend, Kestel, got married in Santa Fe but I was unable to attend. Rain fell most of the day, and I have yet to leave the house. In fact, I just showered about ten minutes ago.

Why am I telling you this depressing story?

All holidays should be celebrated on Fridays to prevent Monday melancholiness from ruining your day off. My subconscious mind keeps telling my conscious mind to think about work even though I keep trying not to work. Thinking about work on a holiday stinks. In fact, four out of three dentists surveyed said that thinking about work on your day is more likely to cause cavities than eating candy and not brushing your teeth. How about them apples?

Medieval Sunday: Aloe Relo & Patio Scrub-a-thon

Medieval Sunday (or any day for that matter) has been a ritual since I moved into FPR. Typically something happens internally that causes me to gain precision focus for a period of hours until I have made a significant dent, if not having completed, some to-do around the house. I get to the work location, usually my office or the yard, and get nuts whenever said switch flips or my chemical imbalance reaches meltdown proportions. The last time this happened was when I couldn't get tickets for the Saints v Texans game.

Today, I went medieval on the backyard and patio. Nothing particular set me off other than being sick of being in my house. The patio was a wreck, but it's too miserable to sit outside. I guess I just got tired of looking at the crap that had accumulated out there and the viney growth that was beginning to swallow the damn thing.

For an hour, I trimmed the vines, swept the pavers and generally straightened up the dump. I was amazed at how great everything looked. Who knew that a little elbow grease could get such results? Shut it. Another hour saw me wash the patio furniture and Round-up the cracks. No, I do not mean collecting hookers.

Emboldened by the progress on the patio, I set my sights on the eyesore of the backyard: the aloe tree. The ranch's previous owner allowed an aloe plant to grow so large that it busted the plastic pot in which it lived. It was currently sprawling across the space between the oak and the crepe myrtle.

I got medieval on it today; it sprawls no longer. I replanted two of the largest pods in the space where I went medieval on the bouganvilla. I gave away four that I potted and the rest are sitting in my front yard near the street.

Anybody need some aloe? Swing by before these suckers take root in my grass.