Wait, what was I saying?

Don't Piss Off Cake Man

2009-09-04T22:44:00.002-04:00

“The Cake Man will come and he will spank you if you don’t try his cake. The Cake Man has really big hands. Don’t you want to try the cake?”

Big muscle man comes in with his little boy. He’s also with his hot chick. This part always surprises me. Instead of sitting at the bar, next to me, to protect the hot chick and the boy from scary me, he allows hot chick the only bar stool next to me. I’m quietly watching the game and enjoying my adult beverage.

They order some drinks and a meal and the salad bar.

If a man were heading to the bar wouldn’t he put himself between his boy and his hot chick and scary me? I would.

Instead he puts himself between his boy and his hot chick.

They go to the salad bar and come back. But as soon as he has to take his boy to the restroom (because what young boy doesn’t have to immediately go to the restroom at a restaurant) she starts talking it up with me. I’m just drinking my drink and watching the game. But she’s talking to me so I have to talk back.

When giant boyfriend comes back she explains “Hi Gigantour, we were just discussing our mutual love for chili.” I continue to enjoy my beverage and watch the game. He continues to ignore my existence.

As she devours the salad I overhear her tell him how she’s all about the health and the working out.

When she’s finished she orders a cheese cake the size of a cinder block.

“Can I get that with blackberry sauce?”

“You sure can.”

“Does it come with whipped cream?”

“If you want it to!”

The berry and cream covered cinder block arrives and she chips away at it like a stone mason. Gigantour wants nothing to do with it. His sleeveless shirt gives visibility to a network of stretch marks, the result of his decision to grow tree trunks out of his shoulders.

But he offers some to the boy. Oddly enough the boy doesn’t dare try it. Apparently he’s not used to deserts looking like bright colored building materials.

And for reasons I still can’t fathom, Dad begins to tell the boy about cake man. Cake man will be upset. Cake man will spank you. Cake man is coming with his big cake man hands.

Double you tee eff?

The petrified boy, well nigh to hysteria, eventually tries a small sample of the block-o-cheesecake thereby holding Cake Man at bay. Hot chick chisels away at the rest.

They pay their bill and leave.

I can only order another beverage.

Saturday Blast From The Past

2009-02-14T19:28:00.000-05:00

Jorge looked down at the pile. Passersby saw a pile of clock parts, the timeless faces staring up unable to answer to their one question in life, what time is it. But Jorge saw something different, he saw the years of his life heaped into one big meaningless tangle of springs and gears.

Clock making had been his life. The only life he'd really known. He spent many years perfecting his craft and many more years earning the respect from his peers. He gave his family a home and a future. He was well known in the city, if anyone wanted the best clock they went to Jorge.

When his son announced that he didn't want to be a clock maker, Jorge was crushed, and their relationship stretched like an over wound watch. He could never understand how his son could walk away from the life that Jorge worked so hard to provide. Now, looking down at the disarray of watchworks he began to be thankful, thankful that his son refused this ending. His son, the banker. Sure, his son could help him finance the rebuilding of the shop but what would be the point?

The age of electronics had arrived. His work was mostly for the rich anymore, the rich and the very old, the ones who have time and money for quality. He could rebuild the shop and live through the eventual slow death or he could salvage what's left of the pieces and parts and retire for good.

Here he was, master of timekeeping, retired early through an accident, and behind the times on purpose. He was sure that people would still want the precision of mechanical clocks over the newfangled electronic version. He was positive there was still a place for his craft in the world, and until the city's historical society put him and his shop on the historical tour he thought he had plenty of time.

The driver of the truck was positive he changed the batteries in his watch just last week. He was sure that he was on schedule, but the digits told him otherwise. And while he tapped and strained to hear the metallic ticking he didn't notice the pedestrian in the road until too late. He had just enough time to swerve, miss the pedestrian, and crash straight through the old clock shop.

Jorge looked down at the jumble of timeless faces looking back up at him, all telling him the same thing. His time had come.

Saturday Blast From The Past- End of May

2009-01-31T22:17:00.001-05:00

End of May

"'Write on my gravestone: "Infidel, Traitor."' Okay class, who can tell me who said that?" Miss Jensen looked around to see if there was any sign of recognition on any faces. Most of them were trying to look invisible. She saw Libby looking around to see if any other hands were going up, seeing none she slowly raised hers.

"Yes Libby," Miss Jensen said. Thank God for one she thought.

"Wendell Phillips" Libby offered.

"Yes that's right Libby, thank you. People, I know that it's hot and I know that you all want to get out of here. But finals are coming up and if you haven't read this material I suggest you start doing so." As she spoke the students were putting their books into their packs and were barely hiding their inattention. "Just two more weeks," she continued, " and you'll be rid of me, but for now, read the chapter." The bell rang signaling the stampede to the door.

She saw Jimmy Petrie walking down the isle and said, "Mr. Petrie, could I see you for a moment." She wasn't sure if it was the heat or the long school year but she couldn't help noticing how Jimmy had filled out this year. He played varsity everything so it was no wonder.

"Yes Miss Jensen," Jimmy said. He stood next to her. She found his proximity alarmingly arousing, felt she should move away yet was unable.

"I ah, wanted to ask you," she found it hard to speak. They were the only two in the room by now and the heat between them was almost more than she could bear. "I wanted to ask about your term paper that was due last..." she trailed off, unable to go on while looking to his blue eyes. Before she knew what she was doing she reached up and kissed him full on the mouth. She let go quickly, shocked at her own behavior.

Jimmy stepped towards her, took the side of her face gently in his hand, looked deep into her eyes and said, "Mr. Petrie, can you please state the Pythagorean Theorem?"

She looked at him confused, he leaned in towards her and said "Earth to Mr. Petrie."

The entire fifth period Algebra class erupted into laughter as Mr. Langdon leaned over Jimmy Petrie's desk. "Mr. Petrie, your grades aren't good enough that you can sit and daydream all though class. I suggest you pay more attention." Mr. Langdon walked back towards the front of the class as the snickers continued. Jimmy shrunk down in his seat and hoped his notebook was hiding the residual effects of his daydream.

Saturday Blast From The Past-Hidden Letters

2009-01-24T21:16:00.002-05:00

Hidden Letters

"I got to find something hidden once. It's not all it's cracked up to be. It happens in an instant and then you can't take it back, can't un-find it." Frank said as his fingers tapped the remnants of a cigarette against the ashtray.

John watched Frank drain his glass, watched the lines deepen around eyes searching for the waitress. He knew Frank was about the same age as his dad, but he couldn't quite think of them as members of the same generation.

"I used to be laundry boy, it was my chore", Frank said as he slid the waitress a five and waved off the change. "Things between us were pretty good I thought. The novelty had worn off and we'd settled into the day to day sharing of lives." He paused to chuckle to himself. He looked right at John for the first time as he said, "you never really know a person." He stopped to light another cigarette. John watched him and wondered what the laundry had to do with it.

Frank started up with his story again almost as if he were talking to no one in particular, just pausing to drag now and then while looking at a spot somewhere between the ashtray and the back of John's seat. "We used to split the chores in the house since we both worked the same hours. I got laundry. One day I'm putting her clothes away and there, sticking out from under her emergency underwear was what looked like some envelopes." He looked right at John again. "You ever just suddenly know something? Just know it in an instant without any good reason?"

John gave a slight shrug unsure whether or not to respond. Frank went back to looking at the spot in between and continued, "I just saw the smallest corner of a few envelopes sticking out, just the tiniest bit, but I knew. I knew what it meant in an instant. I knew it wasn't some left over souvenirs from birthdays gone by. I don't know how long I stood there and stared at those corners. But I had to know for sure. I knew in every part of me what was in there but I had to see it with my eyes. I had to prove it. Had anyone suggested such a thing to me I wouldn't have believed it remotely possible. But I could feel the truth of it. It even made me feel guilty how certain I was, like I was selling her short for not giving her the benefit of the doubt. I had to give her that didn't I?"

He took a couple drags off his cigarette and then put it out. John felt lucky. Grateful for what he had. Sarah was solid. He'd known her since his sophomore year of college. Sweet and honest, he could always count on her. He knew that their impending marriage would stand the test of time. He knew they had something special.

Frank raised his glass and before draining it off and said, "Be careful how hard you hold on. Things can change in an instant in spite of how much you think you know."

They both looked up at the young brunette walking towards them. She slid in next to John and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Hey Sarah, how was shopping?" John asked as he put his arm around her.

"Oh not bad, I didn't spend too much if that's what you want to know," she joked. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything?"

"No not at all, in fact I was just getting ready to leave anyway. You two have a good one and I'll see you Monday, John." Frank got up and they watched him walk away.

"He always seems sort of sad, even when he's laughing," she said as she watched the door he went through. She turned back and noticed John was just looking at her. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm just looking is all," John said but he didn't look away from the brown eyes that had become so familiar.

"You look like you've never seen me before or something, what's the matter?"

"Oh nothing. Just thinking. Did you ever wonder if you really knew me?" he asked.

"What? After five years I think I know you. What's gotten into you anyway? Maybe I should drive. C'mon, let's go." They got up and walked out through the door that Frank had taken moments before. John looked at her and said, "Yeah, maybe you should drive."

Saturday Blast From The Past-Iron Fist

2009-01-17T14:03:00.005-05:00

Iron Fist

"Aren't you even a little bit excited?"

"Excited to get it over with is all," Lisa said as she lifted a bit of Chef's Salad to her lips.

"But it's Iron Fist! They're huge. C'mon, you must be a little bit into it?" Jenny asked.

Lisa set her fork on the edge of her plate and said, "They're loud. They're metal. But music they are not. What's exciting about loud for the sake of loud without even the hope of melody the whole night?" She paused to dab at the corners of her mouth with the napkin before continuing. "I'll just be glad when it's over. Maestro said it's so we can expand our audience. He thinks we can maybe draw in some of the younger crowd this way. Like they can even appreciate what we do, or even hear what we do for that matter."

"Lisa, you need to loosen up a little bit, this might be good for you."

"Good for me? This will be about as good for me as sitting on the runway at O'Hare."

"Then why do it?"

"I've worked hard to make it to second chair and if I have any hope of making it to first chair I need to do whatever Maestro says," Lisa spoke the last words as her gaze drifted past Jenny and out the window.

Jenny gave Lisa's arm a playful shake and said, "Well, try to have some fun anyway."

"I'll have fun when this is all behind me."

"Well, I think it's cool and I wouldn't miss it for the world. And I'll be sure to take pictures. No one would believe me otherwise."

"Great. Thanks. A lot."

"Hey, what are sisters for anyway? Look, I have to go. Thanks for lunch. Cheer up, I think you'll look good in leather," Jenny said as she rose.

Lisa threw her crumpled napkin as a reply but she couldn't hide a smile. She loved her sister although she never could quite understand her. She watched Jenny bop out of the restaurant and thought how Jenny was so much like their mother, living moment to moment. Jenny just followed her desires with no real planning, no real forethought, just jumping in with both feet come what may.

In the cab she felt a little of the sadness she sometimes felt after being with her sister. She reminded herself of the times she had employed spontaneity in her life, tried to convince herself that she wasn't too set in her ways. Then she was a bit peeved at herself for feeling the need to justify and rationalize. Her last thought of the cycle before paying the driver was no, she wasn't missing out.

After her shower she began her pre-show warm up. She started with the major scales, three times up and back in each key, just like always. As she did she thought of Jenny's question at lunch, why do it. Because Lisa wanted first chair, not in a greedy way but as a goal to achieve, a goal to work towards. Each time the tryouts came around she hoped but always the same. She began the minor scales, three times up and back. After all, didn't she practice everyday? Warm up before every show? And yet Maestro continues to maintain that she lacks a certain passion. She couldn't understand him. She worked so hard.

Lisa grabbed a quick bite, which she found difficult to finish, then headed out with her cello. In the cab she reflected on the two rehearsals they had with the band last week. She couldn't imagine how they were going to pull this off. They set up in an old warehouse that the band rented and ran through the songs. The charts, such as they were, were like none she'd seen. Nowhere could she find any sort of melody. The chords were simplistic and few, everything so staccato like she were typing a letter. She remembered after the first few songs how thin the band sounded in comparison to the orchestra. She couldn't imagine how this was all going to blend together. The band members, looking like they just rolled out of bed in the same clothes they went into bed with, seemed happy about it. It just reinforced her opinion that they have no real clue about music. Oh well, she told herself, it's a long climb to first chair.

She got to the arena and headed to the stage. Stagehands were everywhere--hanging lights and running cables--it seemed like the ultimate chaos. She noticed that there was a whole crate full of nothing but duct tape. The tattooed roadie who saw her looking at it said, "It ain't rock and roll without duct tape." Then he held up his pointer and pinky and hung out his tongue. He turned and headed towards the stage. She stared after him for a moment then made her way to the stage and found her place. Fortunately Trish, the other second chair, was already there. As she set up her music stand Trish was all smiles, "Isn't this awesome Lees?"

"Yeah, great."

"Awe c'mon, this will be fun, you'll see. Check out the bass player, what an ass," Trish said while looking right straight at it with one raised eyebrow.

"Trish!"

Trish just shrugged, "You know, when in Rome..."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Lisa said with a shake of her head.

The band finally rolled in and the stage manager came up. "People. We're going to run through two tunes to start with. Lets do Lick This and then we'll go right into Spank My Naughty Ass. Just like at rehearsal."

Lick This started with just the orchestra, they built it up for a few measures then the drums came in. Lisa was a bit taken back by the volume. She looked over at Trish who was clearly enjoying this. After the thin sound at the rehearsals she wasn't prepared for how loud this was. Not loud in a piercing sense but loud with a lot of sound pressure. By the time they went into Spank her ears were starting to adjust and she could start to hear herself better and even hear some of the other symphony members. This was going to be a long night she thought.

After their second time through Lick This the stage manager came back on stage. He spoke like someone accustomed to speaking over loud noises. "Thanks you guys, that ought to do it. Please be back here by eight tonight. Don't forget your passes, we'd hate to loose half our symphony because they couldn't get past security. Any questions? Right then, later."

"Oh my God Trish, I think I'll have permanent damage to my ears."

"It goes away," Trish said with a wave. "Tonight before we start they'll have music playing through the system. As it gets closer to show time they'll keep eking up volume to get every ones ears acclimated to it. Plus there will be thousands of people here to absorb a lot of the harshest parts."

"You sound like you've done this before?" Lisa asked.

"Hey, I like all different types of music. It helps me to look at what we do differently. I try to go to different types of shows and try and find the talent in it all. Some of what they do isn't as easy as you would think, just look at that drummer. When I go back to playing what we play I feel like I'm coming home. You should check it out some time, you don't know what you're missing."

"I think I have a pretty good idea now," Lisa said as she put her sheet music back in its protective cover.

"Well anyway, I'll see you tonight, and cheer up it'll be a blast!"

"I wish I could share your enthusiasm," she said as she shook her head.

Lisa arrived back at the arena and wished she would have come a little earlier, it was a sea of people everywhere. Trish was one big smile when she sat down. Lisa liked Trish mainly because of her resemblance to Jenny, she had that same sparkling-cider enthusiasm. She was glad for Trish's presence too. She had a case of nerves, which caught her off guard. This was a large crowd but she had played large crowds before. This one was different than the crowds she was used to--there seemed to be an underlying danger somehow. The only thing she could equate it to was the trip she took to Africa. They spent three days in the game preserve. For the most part they were safe but the animals were always a step away, and the possibility of primal violence never far.

"The bass player's wearing leather. Oh yeah baby!" Trish squealed.

"You're too much." Lisa said with a smile and a roll of the eyes.

The canned music stopped, the lights went down and the curtains went up. The roar of people was deafening. The audience was a sea of lights. Everyone held a lighter up in the air and screamed. Just when she thought it couldn't get louder the band walked out. The crowd redoubled their screams. Then the guitar started its long howling feedback. The strings section kicked in. Then the rest of the band launched into a thunder like none she'd ever heard. This wasn't anything like rehearsal, not even like sound check. Insanely loud, yes, but there was a fullness to it that almost cradled her and that caught her off guard.

For Lisa the typical view of a performance was an elegant symphony hall filled with nicely dressed people sitting with their legs crossed. They listened politely to every note and wouldn't even dream of applauding until the last strains of notes drifted away. But here, the crowd was frenzied, they screamed. They raised their fists. Some even crashed into each other...on purpose. And they liked it. The drums produced a thunder that shook the inside of her bones. The band was fully awake now, no longer the sleepy looking rag bags she saw this afternoon. They were in control of all. They were gods to this crowd and the crowd worshipped them the only way they knew how. They screamed and screamed. The band wasn't just standing there either, they ran, they jumped, they fell to their knees never once missing a note.

Lisa found that she was being caught up in this swirling vortex of sound. The power of it all. She saw sweat fly in every direction away from the drummer as he sat perched on the edge of his butt cheeks, both feet and arms flailing. She felt as though her hair were standing straight up. She had goose bumps all over. They moved from one song to the next seemingly without any transition. She was no longer aware of Trish, of Maestro, or of the notes on the page. The notes began to flow from within her. She became one with her cello. She dug in like never before. Before the night was half over a lot of the hairs of her bow were busted and hanging from one end flying in the breeze created by the giant fans on the side of the stage. The lights swirled into each other and joined with the music to paint one full picture. She gripped the cello between her legs with more force than ever. Her dress was plastered to her back, soaked in sweat. She threw her head back in ecstasy. This was a depth of music she'd never felt. This isn't supposed to be happening she heard a small voice in her mind say, but she didn't listen. Instead she dug in harder and harder. The thunder flowed through her to places she didn't know she had. There was no longer any thinking of music, only feeling, pure and wonderful feeling. She rode the crest of the wave all the way to the end.

She rode home in the cab with the echoes of the crowds and guitars in her ears. She couldn't quite remove the whole smile from her face, she felt drained of everything, almost post-orgasmic. She watched the buildings pass by as she lounged, head back on the seat. In her head she listened again as she played things she didn't know she could play. Felt the notes pass through her, resonating, flowing out from her in tidal swells. She remembered the image of her shredded bow and decided it didn't really matter. She was surprised to find the cab had stopped. Paid the driver and walked up to her apartment in a trance. As relaxed as she felt she found it difficult to sleep but eventually did, impressions of the show right on the edge of thought.

***

Lisa bounded into the kitchen to answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey Lees, it's Greg. How's it going?"

Lisa headed towards the fridge, newspaper clipping from last springs Iron Fist gig still hanging on the door, and grabbed a mineral water, "Oh hey Greg, going good. In fact it's going extremely well. I finally got it!"

"First chair? Congratulations! You must be so excited. I know you've wanted this for a long time."

"Thanks Greg. I still can't believe it myself, I feel like I'm walking on clouds."

"So what'd Maestro say?"

"Well, he said that in the past few months I've started to show a passion in my music that had been lacking."

"Well that's awesome! How about I take you out to dinner for a little celebration?"

"Sorry Greg, maybe another time. Iron Fist is in town and I have tickets. Front row."

Originally published in Prose Toad (c)2005

Saturday Blast From The Past-Blind Date

2009-01-11T17:27:00.004-05:00

Blind Date

It's so degrading to be fixed up. It seems like once you've agreed, you have accepted defeat, yet you never realized it was a battle. But it is a battle. Just one in the long war. In this battle you stand defiant. You stand with head held high, arms akimbo, wind in hair and declare to the world with added reverb, you shall not be fixed up, you will have a woman when and only when you choose. And when you choose, they shall come.

And then there you are. You find yourself driving to what feels like your doom but it's just a date, one that was arranged for you by some friends. Why'd you give in you ask yourself. And as you ask yourself this you also wonder what happened to the wind in your hair. No longer are your arms akimbo. No longer are your declarations layered with reverb. You are in a wooden chair with one lone bare bulb hanging above your head as you ask yourself what the hell were you thinking?

And as you drive with both hands gripping the steering wheel you realize that the next battle is raging now. Do you run? Run back to your little mountain and stand with the wind in your hair once again? Get out while there's still time? Laugh your triumphant laugh?

And what do you see from your mountaintop? You see the valley of the hooked up spread out before you, a sea of picket fences and patio furniture. Spread out before you as though you could reach out and pick any of them. But you can't. Not from your
mountain. And since you weren't able to walk through the front door on your own you now find yourself driving down the back alley called blind date.

As you pull up to the Beatitude Bistro and see the happy combatants passing through the doors you realize that this is where the real battle begins. The others have been minor skirmishes in comparison. You check your armor and weaponry one last time in the rear view mirror then begin the forward march.

And as you march you wonder how will you even know if you've won or lost when you come out. If you're sent back to your mountaintop of solitude then have you lost? Have you won? Can you say, there, I did it, I tried it their way and look I'm home again. Would that be so bad? Or do you walk out all smiles and bliss? Has she conquered you or have you conquered her? Have you won? Do you go to sleep in the palace only to wake up in the dungeon with your head in a vice? Or do you sit on your patio furniture in the valley looking past your picket fence trying to see
top of your old mountaintop shrouded in the mist of memory?

Originally published in Prose Toad c2005

Okay sure, another year.

2009-01-03T00:11:00.002-05:00

Here's what I do each year at this time. I sit down and write a summary of what happened to me through out the previous year. I keep a journal anyway and if I wanted to I could look up all the answers and know exactly what I did during the previous year because it's all documented. But I don't. It would feel like cheating.

Instead what I do is try to remember what I did all year. I try to remember how I felt all year. In short, what I do is try to write down the essence of what I'm left with when the year is over. What did I feel? What did I do? What do I think it all meant? That's what I write. It took me twenty three pages this year to hammer it all out. And that wasn't enough. I woke up on day two of the new year remembering more things that I could have said.

But what I really figured out, what I figure out every year at this time, is that it's just another day. What I think I'm finally figuring out is: life goes on. It would be nice to think that we could close the chapter and then open a new one. Just like that, we throw out the old calendar and buy a new one. We hang it up and start to fill it with the new dates. We write down when the phone bill and electric bill is due. We plan out what we'll do in the upcoming year. We'll make resolutions. We'll decide that this year is going to be different. We'll tell ourselves that this year will be different. We'll loose that weight. We'll get our shit together. We'll set a goal to get laid by July.

But the truth is that we go to bed on the last day of one year and wake up on the first day of another year. The difference between the two is a matter of moments. We get up and the same dirty dishes are in our sinks. We make a fresh pot of coffee and maybe we even wash those dishes. But the trash can is still half full. We might wait until day three or four before it's ready to be emptied. We put it into the shed next to the bag that's been there since the beginning of the last week of the previous year. After another week they look about the same.

So I read my little year end wrap ups and look at my new years resolutions and I find that they all say the same thing. No really, this time I'm going to loose that weight. This time I'm going to get my shit together. This time I'm going to improve. On and on the resolutions go. It's funny how each year they end up being the same thing.

Each year we decide to do the same things. We decide to get better. We decide to push on.

Maybe that's all we can do. Maybe all we really can decide at the start of another year is to do it again.

All we can do is live.

Merry Christmas Special K

2008-12-24T21:07:00.002-05:00

Back in the day when I was married we, my second ex wife and I, lived in an apartment building. In this building there lived a special needs man, his name is Kevin. He was quite retarded but very nice. He was a challenge to my so called Christianity. He lived in the apartment adjacent to ours. He loved Looney Tunes and naked fifty year old women. It was sad. He didn’t start out life like that, he had a mean step father who beat him with a baseball bat at the age of nine and poor Kevin never mentally got past that age.

He was just un-retarded enough to live on his own but not un-retarded enough to deal with his loneliness. It was clear from moment one that he was totally in love with my ex. She was cute and nice to him so why wouldn’t he be? He knew I could fix things and he was just un-retarded enough to break stuff for me to fix, just for the attention.

He reminded me of the dude in Of Mice And Men. He had a bicycle that he rode around town on. He would bring it to me from time to time to fix. I could tell that he didn’t know his own strength. This one time he came and I asked him what happened and from what I could gather from his jumbled story, someone had pulled out in front of him while he was going downhill into town. It scared him pretty bad so he hit the breaks for all he was worth. I’d never seen anything like that before. He squeezed so hard that the cables came out of their holders. The break calipers twisted and bent in ways that I never thought possible, at least not with the use of human hands. Fortunately he was naturally gentle.

Anyway. He supposedly believed in Santa. I was never sure if he really did or if it was just an act, it was hard to tell with him. But every year around Christmas he talked about Santa just like any other nine year old. We would usually get him some gifts from Santa. He would always leave stuff out for Santa. A few cookies, some milk, and some carrots for the reindeer. The problem was he would stay up so friggin’ late that we had to stay up half the night just to sneak over there without him spotting us. I can remember more than one Christmas eve going over there in freezing cold temperatures at three in the morning just to sneak up on his porch and leave some gifts and to make his treats look like Santa had been there. Do you know how hard it is to bite into frozen carrots? And since we knew he wasn’t totally stupid we would have to bury his frozen eggnog in the snow since he’d know if we just dumped it in the open. At least we could bring the cookies in our house so they’d thaw out.

Poor Kevin. I don’t know if I’m a Christian because I’m not even sure what it means. I’m not sure I ever knew. But whatever it means, I know that he was always my biggest test. And for a number of years he was a part of my Christmas, he was my Christmas test. I don’t know if I ever passed it but I did leave plenty of teeth marks in frozen carrots at three in the morning.

I don’t know what ever happened to him. People like him really need routine and don’t deal with change very well. I know that he took our divorce pretty hard, on some levels probably harder than we did. I think of him every Christmas.

Wherever you are Kevin, I hope Santa visits you and I hope you have a safe and Merry Christmas.

Out Of Nowhere

2008-07-02T22:23:00.008-04:00

Work has been crazy these last couple weeks. When I started this job my original intention was to go to work, do my job, then go home with my pay check. I intended to stay under the radar as much as possible. Not goof off, but just do my work to the best of my ability, and no more. After my last job I had grown tired of caring.

Somehow things didn’t work out quite as planned. Suddenly I found myself in the position of leadership. I didn’t really want it but I didn’t exactly refuse it either. So here I am, at the helm. Crazy time has descended upon us and I’m still trying to shepherd my small group to the finish line.

At times like this stress levels can elevate. I know our whole group has felt it but everyone is pressing on as best they can. But I try not to let it get to me, I know I’m giving an honest effort as are my crew. I try to remind them of that.

Today it was brought to my attention that a young lady in my care was feeling an extra batch of stress. I was asked to give her a bit of time to regain her composure then go talk to her. I was told the reason she was upset was because she was afraid that she wasn’t going to be able to finish her task on time and consequently I would get in trouble.

She wasn’t afraid of getting in trouble. She wasn’t afraid that I’d be mad. She was afraid that I would get in trouble. I was, and continue to be, touched beyond measure. I was rendered momentarily speechless. I can’t even begin to describe my feelings upon hearing that. I felt I’d been handed an unexpected gift of colossal sweetness, while feeling the guilt of knowing it was at someone else’s expense.

It’s amazing how days can just string together in an endless pile of carbon copies of themselves until, out of nowhere, a moment comes along that will last a lifetime.

Saturday Blast From The Past

2008-06-21T13:25:00.002-04:00

It’s like you think you’re having a celebration of some sort. Oh look, it’s the weekend. You’ll watch football, and for some reason you don’t bother to question, that means you can eat Cheez-Its and drink beer. Eat a frozen pizza and then more Cheez-Its. Frosting on crackers. Beer. The rest of the peanuts. Hot-N-Spicy Cheez-Its. Oh look, a jaw-breaker. You go from one to the other until you feel bloated like a whale stranded on the sandy white beach of your couch surrounded by the driftwood of empties. Then you can wake up at three fucking thirty still bloated and just lay there like a wet mushroom wishing you could fart. When five thirty comes, you realize you can fart…continuously, and you just know you’ve got an adventure percolating and it’s due to arrive around six thirty. By seven, after the cover artist interview and two gear reviews, your legs totally asleep, you decide the worst is over and it’s safe to try and stand. Standing becomes an adventure in and of itself and you hold onto the towel rack and try to walk with what feels like scuba flippers on your feet, feet that sit below knees belonging to what must be someone else. If only you can get to the shower. The hot water--glorious hot water--blasts you in your face and somehow that makes things start to be okay again. As you stand beneath the assault of the hot wet needles of nirvana you realize that the shower is the true achievement of human evolution. It’s this driving force alone that causes evolution to bother to continue and you’re grateful you live in an era to take part in it. By seven forty five the ringing in your ass fades to a distant memory as you slide into the cold car seat on another Monday morning drive towards a weekend of Spicy Cheez-Its and beer.

Another one gone.

2008-05-28T22:25:00.002-04:00

The section titled, "My Stuff That's Been Published" is getting shorter all the time. As time goes by Ezines go by the wayside, disappear, go tits up.

Chick Flicks is the latest. Gone.

I was proud of that one. They gave me a most generous acceptance.

But then suddenly a few years elapsed.

Thank you Chick Flicks, you made me feel good.

"Back When We Were Interesting"

2008-04-20T19:35:00.003-04:00

I had a few blue pens and a notebook. That was the summer I lived in a strip motel while I worked the night shift making boxes at a blueberry processing plant for minimum wage. During the day I got stoned and wrote in a spiral notebook. I filled at least two or three of them that summer. Now, looking back across the haze of so many years, I’m convinced that they were filled with complete brilliance. But I’m equally convinced, if I could read them again, I’d find that they were full of absolute crap. Nevertheless, I wish I still had them.

I ended up destroying those notebooks in an almost ritualistic way. It was a total mistake; I know that now. Still, I would love to read them again. I’m sure they’d be full of absolute shit but they would also be full of the first youthful bloom of me, uninhibited and totally letting go, rambling for hours on end about nothing and everything.

Back then nothing and everything was all the same.

2007-08-27T20:36:00.000-04:00

I went for a bicycle ride tonight. I followed a winding country road through farm land and away from the traffic. I could see the first hints of autumn in the trees. A crisp breeze carried the sweet green smell of the fresh cut field and the slightest hint of cow, which isn't as bad as one would think.

I came upon a house where two little girls were playing out in the yard. As I approached I noticed in my rear view mirror that there was a vehicle slowly coming up behind me. I figured they were giving me a wide berth since it was a narrow road. At the same time I realized the driver was pulling into the driveway the little girls noticed it too. “Daddy daddy!” they said with big smiles on their faces and voices caught in their throats. Genuine excitement.

It’s always nice to witness a scene like this, so close and yet so far removed, unnoticed by all involved. It made me happy to see innocent joy. It also made me a little sad to wonder what it must feel like to be on the receiving end and to realize that I never will.

It sure was a nice moment though.

I Hit Some Golf Balls

2007-06-27T20:29:00.000-04:00

In other news...Style experts analyze Paris Hilton's more natural, post-prison look.

Holy fucking crap. Journalism is in a sad state.

What Would The Neighbors Think

2007-06-20T18:38:00.000-04:00

I have a small patch of crushed stone next to my cement walkway in front of my trailer in the trailer park down by the river. The crushed stones don't get trod upon much so a few weeds have begun to poke their heads through over the last few years. I don't own a steel rake, only an electric weed whacker which throws crushed stone at my plastic trailer skirting so I don't use it much.

Tonight while waiting for my burger to cook on the gas grill I found that the few wild strawberries which are part of the weeds growing through my crushed stone (it's not really mine, I only rent it) are ripe and I bend down and pick the three or four that are ready for eating. They're about the size of a pea but they still taste as sweet as any strawberry around.

Pan the camera back. You're living in a trailer park by the river. You're not sure how you ended up there, you only know you didn't plan it. You look out your window and see your quiet long haired neighbor who keeps to himself bend over and pick up something out the the walk way and eat it. You think to yourself, "I wish I could afford some land of my own."

Yesterday...

2007-06-04T17:42:00.000-04:00

... I ate a mango.

Today I have fond memories.

Why Stop Now?

2007-04-20T20:21:00.000-04:00

So I finished making that last post and eating my celebratory pizza but I couldn’t help noticing that the sun, although setting, was still shining. I hemmed and hawed a bit then finally found enough sense to say fuck it. I changed my clothes and unwrapped my kayak from its blue tarp cocoon. I wiped it down for spiders, strapped on the little two wheeled buggy, grabbed my paddle, life jacket, ipod, and straw hat and off I went. The final leg of a perfect spring day trifecta (I’m counting the pizza) was underway.

The water was quite high due to the melting snow and the early week nor’easter. I saw two ducks, a goose, and a muskrat. The wily cows eluded me. I paddled upstream so that I could drift through the flooded forest. I love how the setting sun reflects off the still water and lights up the woods. It turns everything so gold that it becomes almost mauve, if that makes any sense.

The sun finally dropped below the trees and with it the temperature. But that’s okay, it is after all, April in Maine and that’s to be expected.

I love nice weather.

Spring Has Sprung

2007-04-20T17:52:00.000-04:00

Today was the first truly nice day this spring. Clear blue sky, warm breeze, and on a Friday no less. Then as luck would have it our network was crashed at the old slag pile so we couldn’t do much. By nine thirty I figured out something I could do. By ten they sent everyone home. I stayed till noon because I had something to do then I too ran free from the windowless cube.

What a great feeling after all these weeks of bullshit weather. I got home, went in my shed, and stood staring at all the junk. I had no idea what to do, all I knew was I wanted to be out of doors. I contemplated cleaning the shed just for an excuse to hang outside. I moved a rake. I put an old coffee maker in a garbage bag.

My eyes kept turning towards my bike hanging from the rafters like a purple and green knobby mud bat. Finally I found enough sense to say fuck it, go in and change, and come out and take the first official ride of the season. Holy crap that felt good.

I love nice weather.

"...not a single luxury"

2007-04-07T13:54:00.000-04:00

Here it is, the beginning of April and we have a snow storm. By my calculations it was the largest single accumulative precipitation event this winter, and it was in fucking April.

At five twenty nine I sat up in bed, one minute before my alarm was scheduled to go off. While I sat looking at the red blurry numbers they suddenly went black. No more power. I looked out the window and said out loud for only my old cat to hear, "holy crap".

There was about ten inches of snow out there where only a day before there was nothing but wet dead grass. At my house if there's no power there's no water. I can live with a lack of heat, but, a lack of water is beyond my capacity.

While I waited for the power to come back on I went out and shoveled out my buried car. I came in to find the same lack of power. I finally decided to add a fresh coat of deodorant, some clean clothes, a baseball cap, and brush my teeth out of a glass of water and go to work. Not my first choice but one I felt I had to make.

It was a long day. When the proverbial whistle blew and I was allowed to go home I walked into the same powerless place I had left. Did I mention that at my house no power means no water? I asked around and found that it was likely that the power wouldn't be returning that day. I decided the Comfort Inn was the place for me.

They have cable TV. They even have HBO. Did you know that HBO has some show about swinging couples? They gave lessons about how to stimulate the clit. I hope I can remember these things if I ever find myself face to face with a clit again.

At least I could take a shower or two. I went to work today squeaky clean. I'm very happy to report that I returned tonight to a fully powered home. My old cat was only concerned with his daily portion of meat.

I don't know how Gilligan did it.

A brief note on showers:

The shower is perhaps the single most spectacular invention of modern human. I must have at least one a day. Two is even better. And if I can have conditioner along with my shampoo then I can believe in heaven on earth.

I am but a simple man.

"Wait, What Key Is It In?"

2007-01-15T21:34:00.000-05:00

I looked at my guitar. Its back was turned to me. I looked at its back. It’s leaning against a living room chair. Well, officially it’s a dining room chair but I have it in my living room. I don’t have a dining room. That’s okay because I found the chair on someone’s lawn with a sign that said free. I figured I was free to put it in any damn room I pleased. I don’t usually sit in the chair since I have a couch. The chair is for company but I don’t really have any, which is fortunate for my guitar since it needs a soft place to lean while I think about playing it day after day, night after night. It’s black so it shows the fingerprints. It doesn’t show eyeball prints though. And how ironic that it has its back turned towards me since it’s me who’s turned my back on it. And my back doesn’t show fingerprints. Or eyeball prints. Just moles. One time my doctor measured them. Then he asked if there was anyone that could keep track of their growth. I asked, ‘you mean besides you?’

Shh, It's A Secret

2006-11-27T20:04:00.000-05:00

“Big giant ships made of steel.” I said that the other day. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I thought they’d sink too. I mean come on, steel is fucking heavy. But today, the first day on the job, I learned the biggest trade secret known to man. It turns out they use a special kind.

Floating steel.

No wonder we’re a super power!

Chapter 19

2006-11-25T16:03:00.000-05:00

I dove into the deep end of the midlife crisis pool. No. I’m not referring to the watercolor class I signed up for. Sure, sitting in a room with eight older ladies painting happy trees certainly qualifies for midlife crisis status, but that’s mild compared to what I did last week.

I’ve gone out and got a new job. Yes, that’s right, I’m giving up job security and high speed internet access for the unknown. I will no longer be involved in the design of brain slicers and butt probes. Instead, I will be involved in the design of big giant ships made of steel. I’m going from my own office complete with a real human skull to an anonymous spot in the middle of cubicle land.

At least I didn’t buy a Harley.

I'm A Man. I Have A Camera. I Have A Skull.

2006-10-23T22:05:00.000-04:00

Who could blame me?

I'm standing there with a real human skull in one hand, a dead giant fish eating bug in the other hand, and a camera hanging around my neck. How could anyone not know I would use these three things to this end?

Who?

No one, that's who.

Sorry We Missed You; Sincerely, Opportunity.

2006-10-16T21:42:00.000-04:00

I made mention last week about a band that I did sound for during my last semester of college. The most fun thirty five bucks a night I ever made. A five piece band of talented players, they had a great sense of humor that I understood. It was one of the very few times in my life that I truly felt I fit in. Where ever we went I felt like I was home.

As much as I enjoyed the soundman gig, I was still a wannabe drummer. Every gig I mixed found me sitting (or actually dancing) behind the board wishing I was up there with them. But between full time school and two other part time jobs (thirty five bucks a night doesn’t go far) left me little time for practicing drums. The fact that I didn’t even own a kit didn’t help matters either. I was the Walter Mitty of drumming.

One day I was spanked square in the face with reality. The drummer they had wasn’t working out, he wasn’t keeping up. They loved the guy but they had to let him go. He was devastated. The drive home after his last gig was a sad night that I hope I never have to witness again.

What followed was a string of fill in drummers and auditions. For me it meant it was time to face a harsh reality. If there was one band that I could be in if I had my choice it would be this band. There I sat, woefully unprepared. I couldn’t even do an audition because of it. One of the guys even said how much I’d fit in perfectly with the band if only I could play, but they just fired a guy and had no intentions of going through that again. There wasn’t much I could say to that. I knew it was true. To my horror I realized just what I had missed. My Chance.

I learned a harsh lesson then that couldn’t be taught in any school. I was suddenly reminded of a Harlen Ellison story I once read. A man described a long past moment in his life where he was boarding a ship and he saw a woman debarking. She met his eyes for a brief second then passed on. In that brief second he realized that she was the pinnacle of love. In that one second he could see an entire future with her laid out before him, the price of admission would be to simply say hello. He remained silent as she continued down the gang plank, he stood frozen with the knowledge that he would never see her again. Forty years later he still lamented that one instant.

I did learn one lesson. I worked on my chops. I went to the open jam religiously every week. I bought some drums. I stopped being Walter and started being Ready. I got a drumming gig with a different band and said goodbye to life as a soundman.

I also finished technical college with honors and embarked on a “career”. More than a decade has passed since that time and I’ve kept my hands (and feet) in drumming ever since. In fact, that missed opportunity band called me years later. Their drummer hurt his back and could I play for them in an hour and a half? I held my own.

It’s only now starting to dawn on me that the lesson I originally thought was so large was actually a subset of the lesson I should have learned.

How’s that saying go? Hit the bulls-eye. Wrong target.

Go Forth And Learn

2006-10-05T11:00:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I think I mentioned that I actually graduated from one of the colleges I attended. It’s true, I did. It was a technical college, or, according to my friend who owned the frame shop/art gallery I worked at, a Mickey Mouse school. He thought I should hold out for the real deal. He, in his lifelong affluence, didn’t seem to understand that I just couldn’t afford that. But what did he care? He was selling the gallery and moving to Philadelphia with a new chick he met. He was never going to have to see me again anyway. I tried to explain to him as best I could that it was the only way I could do it. I just didn’t have the money or the resources. My parents certainly weren’t going to pay for school, not even some of it. I was on my own. I had been divorced. I had been through two more failed relationships after the divorce. I was rapidly running out of options. I was an adult. I helped him load his U-Haul and drove it to Philly for him. Driving a large truck wasn’t something he was prepared to do.

I even thought about joining the Air Force as a means to pay for school, that’s how desperate I was becoming. I was also getting to the age that I would be too old to join the military if I waited much longer. But since the frame shop sold I found myself in the unique position of being classified as a displaced worker. I didn’t know what that meant but it was explained to me that a displaced worker was someone who lost a job and had no hope of getting another job in that field. There’s not a huge calling for picture framers so I was able to get my second year of school paid for. I took out student loans for the rest of it.

I went to a technical college to get me a trade. Since I had spent a number of years on the road as a sound man I felt that the next logical step was to learn electronics. I discovered that not only did I like electronics, I also had a knack for soldering. Oh, and I was good at math. Were it not for math I would have had to do a lot more than empty all the trash cans to get my high school diploma.

I looked at electronics school as my last hope. If I failed that then I was done for, I could see no other way to get through life and make a living. This time, for the first time in my life, I took school very seriously. I worked my ass off. I made sure I received every last penny’s worth of education that I, and my government sponsors paid for. I graduated with honors. Instead of just getting a job, I embarked upon an entire career.

Momentum is a funny thing. Sometimes it’s enough to carry a person a great distance without feeling the need to ask why, where, and what for.