Well y'all, this is the last posting for me for the year '05. I'm taking a couple days off and will not be using a computer. I wanted to write something semi-momentous, but nothing was forthcoming. So here are some New Year's resolutions that I plan to make:
To finally take that pile of clothes to the dry cleaners
To play Super Mario Brothers, Super Mario Brothers 2 and Super Mario Brothers 3 back to back while listening to Star Wars DVD commentaries
To have more phone calls where I use a voice much like Little Richard singing
To celebrate Coming of Age Day, a holiday in Japan (January 9th)
To "pogo" during an overwrought singer/songwriter's solo acoustic set
To attempt to shoot lasers out of my eyes
To learn to tie a Sheep's Shank
To cut down on the almond butter and up the pistachio pudding
To start using lip plumper lip gloss
Thanks everyone for helping make this an enjoyable year - y'all be safe out there. I worry.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Head Gear Blues
My friend Mike lived near me when I was a child, he had part of The Pond in his yard. He had this dog, whose name I don’t remember, but it looked like the dog from Down and Out in Beverly Hills.
When Mike’s family would go on vacation, or away for the weekend, I took care of the dog (and fed Mike’s chickens). The dog and I were tight, we were buds. She was a little moody, but comfortable with me.
Around this time I had braces. And not just braces, oh no, I also had head gear. Head gear involved this medieval contraption that looked like a bent wire hanger that got shoved in your mouth and was further yanked on by an elastic band around the neck and a harness over your head. Classy…
I once went to Mike’s house having to wear my head gear. This confused the holy hell out of the dog. The dog, much as I was, was frightened by this horror of wires and straps in and around my head. It was this crazy dazzle camouflage that kept doggy from seeing it was really me under all of that. The dog started growling at me and I was trying to calm it down with my best soothing voice.
Laura, Mike’s sister, thought this was hi-fucking-larious. Laughing, fit to pee, she cried out, “go get him!” To which the dog did…
This dog lunged and attached its jaws to the head gear sticking bare centimeters away from my face. I’d like to think that I handled this in style; that I laughed it off, chuckling smugly while a medium sized dog hung, snarling, from my face.
But I did not. I screamed like a person who has a dog attempting to eat their head.
The dog was removed, the head gear was removed, and all was made right again between the parties involved. Except for me and the sister, I slapped that bitch silly…
And as this year draws to a close, I am going to throw out an incredibly convoluted tangent:
Down and Out in Beverly Hills was based on a film called Boudu Saved From Drowning by Jean Renoir. Jean Renoir is a fantastic film maker whose credits include Grande Illusion, which many critics agree is one of the best films made. My personal recommendation for your foreign film evening is Rules of the Game by Mssr. Renoir, just excellent.
Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: Back In Black by AC/DC
When Mike’s family would go on vacation, or away for the weekend, I took care of the dog (and fed Mike’s chickens). The dog and I were tight, we were buds. She was a little moody, but comfortable with me.
Around this time I had braces. And not just braces, oh no, I also had head gear. Head gear involved this medieval contraption that looked like a bent wire hanger that got shoved in your mouth and was further yanked on by an elastic band around the neck and a harness over your head. Classy…
I once went to Mike’s house having to wear my head gear. This confused the holy hell out of the dog. The dog, much as I was, was frightened by this horror of wires and straps in and around my head. It was this crazy dazzle camouflage that kept doggy from seeing it was really me under all of that. The dog started growling at me and I was trying to calm it down with my best soothing voice.
Laura, Mike’s sister, thought this was hi-fucking-larious. Laughing, fit to pee, she cried out, “go get him!” To which the dog did…
This dog lunged and attached its jaws to the head gear sticking bare centimeters away from my face. I’d like to think that I handled this in style; that I laughed it off, chuckling smugly while a medium sized dog hung, snarling, from my face.
But I did not. I screamed like a person who has a dog attempting to eat their head.
The dog was removed, the head gear was removed, and all was made right again between the parties involved. Except for me and the sister, I slapped that bitch silly…
And as this year draws to a close, I am going to throw out an incredibly convoluted tangent:
Down and Out in Beverly Hills was based on a film called Boudu Saved From Drowning by Jean Renoir. Jean Renoir is a fantastic film maker whose credits include Grande Illusion, which many critics agree is one of the best films made. My personal recommendation for your foreign film evening is Rules of the Game by Mssr. Renoir, just excellent.
Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: Back In Black by AC/DC
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Three Five
The numbers keep getting larger, which is a good thing in that it means I'm still kicking, but it gets a little daunting.
It's getting difficult not to use these nice, big, monumental numbers as some sort of ruler to measure where I should be in my life.
Am I where I assumed I would be years ago? No, but I can say that about so many things that have happened in my time here; most of them positive, most of them surprises.
That's what makes life an adventure, an extended and wonderous Coltrane solo; you know the outcome, but you have no idea how the fuck your gonna get there.
It's getting difficult not to use these nice, big, monumental numbers as some sort of ruler to measure where I should be in my life.
Am I where I assumed I would be years ago? No, but I can say that about so many things that have happened in my time here; most of them positive, most of them surprises.
That's what makes life an adventure, an extended and wonderous Coltrane solo; you know the outcome, but you have no idea how the fuck your gonna get there.
Snow Day #4
There was an area near our house that was known as the pond. It was an expanse of grass with little islands of trees for part of the year, but slowly it would fill with water and become a full fledged pond. Frogs would hang out and we would find big sacks of frog eggs that would become tadpoles. And in the winter, if the water had hung out long enough, the pond would freeze over.
This was something that we always looked forward to, the ice on the pond. There would be apprehensive steps onto the gray ice at the edge in the beginning; testing its thickness, listening closely for the tell tale sounds of cracking. After that first brave soul (which was frankly rarely me) trekked their way across the pond, wintertime ice festivities began.
There were attempts at ice skating, but mostly the pond just became this large expanse to slide across after running down the snowy slope towards it.
One winter we were shoe skating out there, just running and then sliding across the ice. I was about thirty yards away from the edge when I had come to a stop and began to hear that faint sound, like branches snapping. I realized a little too late what was happening, and as that now horrifying snapping sound grew louder I started to charge for the shore. I got about a foot and a half before everything gave out from underneath me and I went into the water.
Luckily, the water had gone down before it froze over, so I was only in it up to my chest, and not fully submerged and doing some sort of claustrophobic freak out under the ice.
You don't feel that water at first, like your body simply doesn't believe what has happened - and so it doesn't exist. But that ice covered water is stronger than that sort of stupid parlor trick and quickly punches into you with knives. You cannot breathe, it's as if the cold has completely seized up your body, and even as you start to panic and attempt to thrash your way out of the situation, you are still simply not breathing.
I started clawing at the ice, trying to climb back up onto it and out of the water, which seemed to have developed black, gripping hands, but the ice just kept breaking wherever I would place my weight. The whole thing became like a bad Scooby Doo routine. I thrashed all the way back to shore, breaking ice in front of me until I was finally out.
The other kids, my brother included, were laughing at me now knowing that I was going to live. And I would have laughed out of relief along with them except for the fact that it was still hard to breath. And being out of the icy water was even colder than being inside it. I began to shake uncontrollably, but luckily I was close to home. I borrowed Tony's coat and shambled home for a hot shower, some hot chocolate and a surreptitious pull from mom and dad's Peppermint Schnapps bottle.
That was the end of that year's winter pond festivities, but I was back out there next year, only listening REALLY hard this go round and keeping an eye on the quickest way back to shore.
This was something that we always looked forward to, the ice on the pond. There would be apprehensive steps onto the gray ice at the edge in the beginning; testing its thickness, listening closely for the tell tale sounds of cracking. After that first brave soul (which was frankly rarely me) trekked their way across the pond, wintertime ice festivities began.
There were attempts at ice skating, but mostly the pond just became this large expanse to slide across after running down the snowy slope towards it.
One winter we were shoe skating out there, just running and then sliding across the ice. I was about thirty yards away from the edge when I had come to a stop and began to hear that faint sound, like branches snapping. I realized a little too late what was happening, and as that now horrifying snapping sound grew louder I started to charge for the shore. I got about a foot and a half before everything gave out from underneath me and I went into the water.
Luckily, the water had gone down before it froze over, so I was only in it up to my chest, and not fully submerged and doing some sort of claustrophobic freak out under the ice.
You don't feel that water at first, like your body simply doesn't believe what has happened - and so it doesn't exist. But that ice covered water is stronger than that sort of stupid parlor trick and quickly punches into you with knives. You cannot breathe, it's as if the cold has completely seized up your body, and even as you start to panic and attempt to thrash your way out of the situation, you are still simply not breathing.
I started clawing at the ice, trying to climb back up onto it and out of the water, which seemed to have developed black, gripping hands, but the ice just kept breaking wherever I would place my weight. The whole thing became like a bad Scooby Doo routine. I thrashed all the way back to shore, breaking ice in front of me until I was finally out.
The other kids, my brother included, were laughing at me now knowing that I was going to live. And I would have laughed out of relief along with them except for the fact that it was still hard to breath. And being out of the icy water was even colder than being inside it. I began to shake uncontrollably, but luckily I was close to home. I borrowed Tony's coat and shambled home for a hot shower, some hot chocolate and a surreptitious pull from mom and dad's Peppermint Schnapps bottle.
That was the end of that year's winter pond festivities, but I was back out there next year, only listening REALLY hard this go round and keeping an eye on the quickest way back to shore.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Repent! Repent!
Okay, little background, The Pixies are about my favorite band ever. From the first time I heard them, they stuck those jagged teeth into me and I've never let them release.
I did get to see them live 3 times before the breakup, but I have friends who became rabid fans after the end and never got to see them. One of the reasons (a minor one in retrospect, but what the fuck) that Greta and I collided so hard in the beginning was over a mutual love of the band.
When the shadowy news of the reformation of the band began to solidify into something actual and real, something that you could purchase tickets for, there was no question that we were gonna get us some tickets to Coachella and witness the second coming together, as it should be...
Over beers a few weeks before the show, I asked Chris, Greta and Beth if there was a particular song that they hoped the Pixies played when we went to see them. We all had one, but I remember Chris saying "Caribou", it was the song that got him into the band and was one that still held a special place for him.
Well we went. We braved the 112 degree heat and inability to bring in your own water. And witnessed an event that, I know meant so much to so many of the thousands of others there, but seemed like one of the MAJOR events of our four lives together. We were blissed out, we were rocked out, we were where we were supposed to be.
A moment that I hope to hold onto for the rest of my days: The band started the first notes to "Caribou" and Chris turned to me with a huge smile and said, "catch me".
Well, I was given a DVD for Christmas of the Pixies doing one of their reunion gigs. As a bonus there are extra tracks of them performing various songs at other venues, including a couple from that seminal Coachella show.
One of the three from Coachella? Yup, "Caribou".
I was going to wait to watch the show until Beth came back from California, but I couldn't resist me a little "Caribou" action. I realized about halfway through the song that I was holding my breath and my heart was beating really fast. It was a little overwhelming.
I hope you all had a good Christmas.
I did get to see them live 3 times before the breakup, but I have friends who became rabid fans after the end and never got to see them. One of the reasons (a minor one in retrospect, but what the fuck) that Greta and I collided so hard in the beginning was over a mutual love of the band.
When the shadowy news of the reformation of the band began to solidify into something actual and real, something that you could purchase tickets for, there was no question that we were gonna get us some tickets to Coachella and witness the second coming together, as it should be...
Over beers a few weeks before the show, I asked Chris, Greta and Beth if there was a particular song that they hoped the Pixies played when we went to see them. We all had one, but I remember Chris saying "Caribou", it was the song that got him into the band and was one that still held a special place for him.
Well we went. We braved the 112 degree heat and inability to bring in your own water. And witnessed an event that, I know meant so much to so many of the thousands of others there, but seemed like one of the MAJOR events of our four lives together. We were blissed out, we were rocked out, we were where we were supposed to be.
A moment that I hope to hold onto for the rest of my days: The band started the first notes to "Caribou" and Chris turned to me with a huge smile and said, "catch me".
Well, I was given a DVD for Christmas of the Pixies doing one of their reunion gigs. As a bonus there are extra tracks of them performing various songs at other venues, including a couple from that seminal Coachella show.
One of the three from Coachella? Yup, "Caribou".
I was going to wait to watch the show until Beth came back from California, but I couldn't resist me a little "Caribou" action. I realized about halfway through the song that I was holding my breath and my heart was beating really fast. It was a little overwhelming.
I hope you all had a good Christmas.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Sometimes You Have To Work On Christmas (Eve), Sometimes
Yeah, I’m here at work on Christmas Eve, gotta keep the customer satisfied, as Simon and/or Garfunkel said. It could be worse, I could be one of the poor saps who have to work on the big Christmas Day, but Christmas Eve has traditionally been a big day in my family.
Since I was born (except for the years that I spent Christmas in California), we have gone to my grandmother’s house for the afternoon/evening. It started out with everyone from my grandmother’s side of the family, cousins removed 4 or 5 times that I could never remember the names of. As my grandparents got older, and it got more difficult to have that many people in their house, the celebration got trimmed down to the immediate family – which is still a healthy 25-30 people (depending on who shows).
We are a family without many traditions, but this was one of them, and it was a day that I looked forward to almost as much as Christmas itself. There was always a lot of love and laughter in that little house; good times with cousins that are closer than siblings are in some families.
This is the first Christmas since grandpa passed away, and it’s the first year that Christmas Eve will be celebrated outside of that house that my mother grew up in, a house that still stands and has since been passed to my cousin.
So I feel a little melancholy sitting in my cube today, knowing there will be a hole which cannot be filled in all of family’s souls where once stood a giant, drinking Rainier beer from a can, smiling and laughing.
I’ve decided I’m gonna stop at a gas station on my way outta here, pick me up some Rainier and have a drink in the big guy’s honor. I know somewhere he’s having one himself.
Since I was born (except for the years that I spent Christmas in California), we have gone to my grandmother’s house for the afternoon/evening. It started out with everyone from my grandmother’s side of the family, cousins removed 4 or 5 times that I could never remember the names of. As my grandparents got older, and it got more difficult to have that many people in their house, the celebration got trimmed down to the immediate family – which is still a healthy 25-30 people (depending on who shows).
We are a family without many traditions, but this was one of them, and it was a day that I looked forward to almost as much as Christmas itself. There was always a lot of love and laughter in that little house; good times with cousins that are closer than siblings are in some families.
This is the first Christmas since grandpa passed away, and it’s the first year that Christmas Eve will be celebrated outside of that house that my mother grew up in, a house that still stands and has since been passed to my cousin.
So I feel a little melancholy sitting in my cube today, knowing there will be a hole which cannot be filled in all of family’s souls where once stood a giant, drinking Rainier beer from a can, smiling and laughing.
I’ve decided I’m gonna stop at a gas station on my way outta here, pick me up some Rainier and have a drink in the big guy’s honor. I know somewhere he’s having one himself.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Stirrin' It Up At The Sex Shop
Sometimes I just like disturbing people. I don’t want to be malicious… No, I do want to be a little malicious. I like to test boundaries a little bit, it’s been an issue in the past.
It occurred to me today that I might want to try something. I might want to walk into an adult bookstore and begin perusing the glossy magazines and the tantalizing DVD covers, picking up a variety of “toys” and hefting them as if gauging their girth.
If I were to then get on my cell phone and sing “happy birthday” to someone, and make it sound like I was doing so to a young kid… Would people up and leave? Would there be a mad riot? Would there be a risk of being torn apart, limb from limb?
Well, I’ll find out tonight. I still need to do a little Christmas shopping for Mom.
It occurred to me today that I might want to try something. I might want to walk into an adult bookstore and begin perusing the glossy magazines and the tantalizing DVD covers, picking up a variety of “toys” and hefting them as if gauging their girth.
If I were to then get on my cell phone and sing “happy birthday” to someone, and make it sound like I was doing so to a young kid… Would people up and leave? Would there be a mad riot? Would there be a risk of being torn apart, limb from limb?
Well, I’ll find out tonight. I still need to do a little Christmas shopping for Mom.
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