Sunday, May 31, 2009

Bigger than big, that's how you start it

Went to Atwood's in Cambridge last night to celebrate Mara's birthday. Her friend Alister was playing and a few of her friends met up with us. Alister sounded great as usual, though he pledges allegiance to the flag of Arlo Guthrie, which, in my estimation, is not such a good thing. It's a branch of folk I generally don't gravitate to -- I prefer the English folk of the late sixties -- but, because he's a fine performer and mixes in some blues, my ears weren't offended.

We sat at the foot of the small stage, which made holding a conversation difficult. I caught a fragment of a conversation Mara was having with her friend, Tamara; something about Tamara wanting to start her own practice. When I inquired as to what type of practice, she said,"Lactation Consultant" It shouldn't surprise you to know I wasn't expecting that answer.

"I don't know what that is. I could hazard a guess, but I'm afraid I'd embarrass myself", I replied.

"I teach women how to breastfeed."

I nodded my head in approval and said "Ok". It was the best I could come up with; I was fairly tongue-tied. Questions like "Do women really need to be taught how to breastfeed and if so, wouldn't it only take about three minutes to do it?" and "Would insurance cover that?" went unasked not because I didn't care to know the answers, but because I didn't want her to think I was making light of her profession.

I told Foley and Luke Warm about it today. Foley asked if she had large breast.

"No."

"I wonder if that would matter to people."

I thought about and decided quickly that it wouldn't. I told Foley as much.

"It just seems to me like it would matter."

"I guess, if she was using her breasts as an illustrative tool, it would be more of a benefit if they were good-sized", I said.

"You should have volunteered to be her first client."

We laughed. "She was really sweet. If I had said that, even if she responded favorably, I don't think I could have lived with myself."

I left the bar around ten o'clock. Mara and her friends stayed behind. It was a decent night out, but I'd had enough. When I got home, I watched the rest of the Cavs/Magic game. It was good seeing the Magic defy the odds and oust the Cavs. Lebron was in a state of shock when the final whistle blew. Nothing is etched in stone, son.

Watched The Happening last night. Because it's getting late, I won't get into it here -- I will next post -- but what the fuck happened to you M. Night? Seriously.

Friday, May 29, 2009

My pockets hang out like two surrender flags

Today's playlist:

1. Marnie Stern

2. Beach House

3. Shearwater

4. Mark Lanegan Band

5 MGMT

I am looking forward to tomorrow's run listening to Marni. I'm betting it won't be a sluggish one.If you've heard her before, you catch my drift.

I had a busy, fulfilling day at work yesterday. I was focused and took pleasure in the challenges I overcame with a little bit of thought. Today, almost every facet of my day was only slightly less frustrating than being worked over by a horse fly when you're trying to read or finding a camera small enough to fit in the peep hole in the wall across from Rich's bed, which, let me tell you, has not been as easy as you might think.
--

Started meditating again after a lengthy hiatus. I always come back to it and sometimes I wish I was more consistent with it, but taking breaks from the practice has felt right. My first session back felt like a rite of passage. It was pretty heavy there for a while, but I got through it.
--
Finished reading Suttree yesterday.They say it's McCarthy's most humorous novel, and I suppose it is, taken in the context of his body of work, but, hell, if you hold Notes From Underground up to his body of work, that will seem humorous, too. No, McCarthy will never be confused with the Davids Barry or Sedaris.

You know who's not very funny? Sinbad. But that's only my opinion, and if yours is contrary, I'll be ok with it. Maybe it will provoke me into work-shopping the reasons why I don't care much for his comedic stylings. Who knows, I could come out the other end crowning him the King Of Comedy. The man whose skull the crown presently adorns is non other than Larry The Cable Guy, our nation's pride. He makes me want to be a better man.

I digress.

I liked much of the book, but also found myself wanting to be done with it about half way through. At times I felt like McCarthy, in an attempt to make some kind of point only authors with a deep sense of gravitas would appreciate, intentionally made sections of the book difficult and boring.

My new lunch break book is a re-read, a brave and sadly under-read (probably because of the shocking, but almost certainly true content) book: John DeCamp's The Franklin Cover Up. There is inconceivable evil, oft hidden, a fetid, thick ichor, that operates among us. And it's reach goes right to the top.
--
How's this for my headstone: He Was all Killer And No Filler. I bet you like it so much, you're going to try to die before I do so you can steal it from me. Don't forget: I can do anything faster than you, and that includes dying. So don't get any big ideas.

Baby Boy Z loves him some Rachel Ray dog food. Tonight, Janelle and I watched him go through a few bowls of the stuff like it was raw hamburger (one of his faves). As happy as I am for him, I'm not exactly thrilled it was Rachel Ray who won over his taste buds. Gotta hand it to her, though: she's got a way with kibble.

And I've got a way with getting myself gone.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

So I pretend there aren't ten strings tied to all ten of my fingers

Today, like almost every day had it's bright and dim spots. I'm surprised I've kept a fairly positive outlook given the multitudinous problems I have in this life, which I don't claim are any worse than any one's else, relatively speaking, but are, nonetheless, a real fucking drag, especially when taken collectively.

Full out despair seems to be just a breath away, but I've been able to fend it off rather successfully. Maybe it's my pure heart, maybe it's an angel on my shoulder, but I just won't allow myself to sink below a certain level. This could change at any moment, mind you -- and I fear it might -- but for now I'm doing alright.
--

Rich had been using a price gun at work rapidly and for an extended period of time. The following day he hacked at shrubs in the garden using the same hand he used for the price gun. Later that night he told Craig and I that he couldn't move his arm or bend his fingers and was in a lot of pain.

He explained that he had, for lack of a better expression, gone ape shit with the pricing gun and later with the machete in the garden. "When I decide to do something, I don't hold back", he said without a trace of bravado.

"To your peril, it seems", I said.

"You don't have any Vicadin?", he asked us.

We didn't have any meds for him, but Janelle helped him out with a muscle relaxant. He took it promptly and had Janelle help him rubber band one of those blue ice packs people put in their coolers to his arm. It was a comical sight, but we felt bad for him more than anything else. He told me the next day he almost had me take him to the hospital in the wee hours of the night, his arm was hurting so bad.

You know, this would have been a much better story if Rich had an arm wrestling tournament he was competing in the next day. I can see it now, Rich, arm hanging limp at his side, approaching his opponent. And does he lose the match? No fucking way! Through sheer force of will and a little luck, he defeats his opponent, who backs away stunned in disbelief that this chump with a lame arm beat him. You can't count people out, no matter how bad it looks. Know what I'm saying?

Take the Cavs. They're in the hole 3-1, but something tells me Lebron and Co. are not going to go quietly into that good night. If it goes to a game seven, which would be played in Cleveland, Orlando is in trouble.

Having said that, I think it's doubtful Cleveland will take the series. I love it! Not so much because I hate Cleveland, but because it would illustrate how nothing is guaranteed. Cleveland, from way back in the season, was anointed the crown by all and sundry. Still have to play the games, though, don't you?

I feel the desire to step outside on the porch with the rain and the night.

And so I will.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Down in the green hay where monkey and bear usually lay, they woke from a stable boy's cry

With reluctance, I awoke from a dream this morning in which I was attending an orgy. Dopey with sleep, I attempted to re-enter the dream by not acknowledging what had happened. It kind of worked: I did fall back asleep and I did re-enter the dream, but it had changed, became more about being frustrated and unsatisfied than it did with getting laid. To maintain the child-friendly atmosphere of this blog, I'll keep the sordid details of the orgy to myself.

Had an idea today for a TV show. You have children write episodes of various shows, preferably dramas like CSI: Miami or Grey's Anatomy. Their scripts will be used by the shows -- word for word, no edits. And then the show will air.

Each week w. So, lets say the show -- I don't have a name for it yet -- airs every Tuesday at eight. You tune in one week and it's Law & Order written by an eight year old.

Judge: You're a stupid poopy head, Mr. Lawyer.

Lawyer: I'm going to eat more cookies and you can go kiss a wet mouse.

Judge: Bailiff, shoot his face!


For the show to work, the actors need to play it straight. You might think this show isn't feasible because producing a TV show is time consuming hard work, and that they wouldn't, because of their own shooting schedule, have the time or the interest to produce another episode, never mind one written by a child.

What you do is say, "First of all, we're going to foot the bill for this, and to make the deal sweeter, we're going to foot the bill for two of your own episodes. The one sacrifice you're going to have to make is dropping one of yours to accommodate the one you're filming for us. You can get by with one less episode; you won't even miss it. And if you object to the idea of our show because you think it's taking the piss out of your craft, I think you'll reconsider when you hear what I've got to say about it. Yes, we'll be taking the piss out of your craft, but so what? You'll be showing America what good sports you are, that you're not all caught up in the gravitas of what you do. Ok, so you'll do it? Great!"

I love this idea. Here are some hastily put together rules I've assembled that will work as guidelines for the show. They will be subject to change.

1. The kid writing the episode has to be an average one, that is, not some little wanna-be actor or screenwriter. That's why there will be no prize for best-written episode. We want to weed out the hungry-for-attention, competitive little twerps with their pushy asshole stage mom and dads.

2. The only help they'll get with their scripts will concern length. They'll need to told when they need to write more or less to fill the time slot. Other than that, and cutting out profanity -- the children will be subject, like everyone else to FCC regulations -- the children will have full authority over their work.

3. There will not be a host. It would be a waste of money to have Drew Carey or whoever waste valuable time that could be devoted to the episode at hand, with a few topical jokes and a silly in- troduction. "In just a few moments we'll present little David Frew's episode of ER, but first lets bring him out and find out about his creative process." Fuck that, just show the episode.

I'm getting tired from all this thinking. Here's what I'm going to do:

1. Write another list

2. Watch the rest of Herzog's brilliant Encounters At The End Of The World.

3. Check in on the Cavs/Magic game.

4. Read from Ruckley's Fall Of Thanes, which, like the books that preceded it, is engrossing and very well written.

5. Figure out exactly how I feel about MGMT

6. Watch, if time permits, the last episode of The Wire: Season One.

7. Go to sleep and see about conjuring up another orgy dream.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

They're out to get me, but they won't catch me, I'm fucking innocent, so you can suck me

Saw Star Trek last night. The best and simplest way to sum it up is that it was fun. Formulaic? Yes. Cerebral like previous Star Trek films? No. Still, it was done well and I can see why hordes of people, many who ordinarily would have stayed away from all things Star Trek, are flocking to see this movie.

Star Trek, in it's latest guise, is the movie equivalent of a day at Six Flags. You don't leave Six Flags discussing the design or predictability of the rides. Well, I suppose you might, but you'd be missing the point. No, you share stories about the thrills you experienced, the surge of adrenaline.

When I left the movie, I found myself discussing it in a way that was missing the point. I was critiquing it from the head and not from the gut, which recalls the simile about dancing about architecture.

Prior to seeing the movie, I'd been watching a ton of The Wire, a dense, multi-layered show with a sprawling story arc. Going from that to a compact, in-your-face, movie that assaults your senses from start to finish with barely any let up, took some adjustment.

So, despite it's flaws, which won't be divulged here, Star Trek was a good movie that, and this is a testament to it's construction, caters to a wide range of people. Yes, it lacked the brain power and some of the meat of other Star Trek offerings, but I suspect that was never the intention. Remember, this is Six Flags.

Understanding now that judging this movie from an intellectual perspective is coming at it from the wrong angle and perhaps a little unfair, I can allow myself to revel in the fun like most everyone else who has seen it.

As we were preparing to leave the house before the movie, a cop pulled up to it and started snooping around our driveway. Then he made his way to the back door. For at least a couple of reasons, one of which had to do with not wanting to be late for the movie, we scooted out the front door.

Outside, we saw the cop at the back door. Janelle saw him test the door knob. Hmmm. Though we didn't really have anything to feel guilty about, I, at least, felt a little like I was on the lamb, that the cop was looking for me. As we walked, we puzzled over the cop's intentions. It set a dark cloud over the beginning of the night.

I offered to circle around the block and see if the cop was still at the house. I left the group and walked near enough the house to see what was going on, but far enough way not to be seen. Remember, I felt like I was a perp. That's what happens when you watch too much of The Wire.

The cop was at our front door now. When no one answered his knocks, he went back to his car. A kid further up the street from me had been watching the cop from the curb. As soon as the cop returned to his car, the kid left his spot and headed toward me. When he reached me, he headed up the steps to a house. That was when the cop zipped around the corner and pulled up to it.

I was certain he was going to question me, and pretended as if I was on the cell phone, without a care in the world, in order to prevent such an occurence. Instead, the cop called out to the kid.

"You live here?"

"Yeah. Want to see my I.D.?"

That was all I heard. I kept walking. I called Craig and he told me the cop had just passed them. I joined back up with the group and we headed to Davis, still puzzled as ever as to why the cop was at our place.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

True love aint too hard to see

Watched the last episode of The Wire last night, and when it was over, I felt empty with the finality of it. No new episodes. Ever. Brilliant show; the quality never waned. Not once. I'm going to trade a bunch of stuff in at Newbury Comics and plan on picking up the first season or two. This a show to own, my friends.

Fighting the doldrums, those nearly indefinable, pressing doldrums, all week. I tell myself they are just passing through. And so they are, so they are.

I was reading up on Lars Von Trier's controversial new film, Antichrist, and his notion that Satan doesn't just inhabit the world, he created it. I could see it being that way, with all the violence, poverty, and desperation that runs prevalent from sea to fucking shining sea. But, being pure of heart and wise beyond measure, I acknowledged that my less than rosy disposition may have influenced my frame of mind. Right now, as I sit pure-hearted and clear, I believe there are a lot of fine people walking this earth that Satan, with all his tricks, couldn't corrupt.

With Ann gone, I'm taking on more work. I like it. It keeps me busy, and I'm finding the new aspects of the job stimulating and challenging. Not overwhelming, which is always nice. Nope, just whelming, I guess.

Pictures of Ann have been tacked up all over the place. There's one on the cork board above the scanner I use a lot. It's positioned at eye level, so every time I scan, I do so under Ann's gaze. It's kind of weird, but also kind of nice. Sometimes I catch myself looking at her picture a little too long and hope no one has seen me.

So, yeah, Ann is plastered all over the office. I think Therese is the one responsible for this. She misses her.

So do I.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Paint the black hole blacker

I encountered more than a few aggressive drivers on my way to and from work today and, consequently, almost got into more than a few accidents. How I sidestepped them, I can't say for sure-- probably has something to do with intelligence, impeccable skill, and a mastery over body functions -- but I will absolve myself of any guilt in the matter. I freely admit I've nearly caused an accident or two before, but today had nothing to do with me. There are just days when you encounter this type of thing, I guess.

As I crested the short and steep hill of Liberty Ave during the last stretch of my run today, I saw a woman, pretty and pure, down the hill ahead of me standing on the sidewalk and gazing up a small tree with a smile born from wonder on her face. When I got closer, I discovered she was smiling at some birds congregating around a feeder hung from one of the branches. She looked over at me, smile intact, and I returned the expression. It was a nice moment.

When it became certain the Celtics weren't in the fighting spirit near the end of game seven, I shut the TV off. No sense in watching them surrender, tails between their legs. I had better things to do. They battled for most of two rounds -- overachieved, some say -- and showed some heart. This last game, though, they were tired and spent and didn't have the fire in the belly to close out the series. I think the thought of facing a healthy, rested, Lebron-led Cavaliers was too daunting.

Ah, there will be next year. Will KG come back from his mysterious injury, or is he just playing on old, worn-down, knees? Will Big Baby, Leon, Starbury, Mikki, TA, and Scals be back? Should be an interesting off-season. Stay tuned.

Irritants at work and at home these days, but I'm dealing with them. Life will always have its irritants. Man, that was profound. Don't believe it when they say I'm an obtuse, unsophisticated, petty man. Or at least the part about being obtuse.

My grandmother left some eggs boiling on the stove while she was on the phone. The smoke alarm went off and she didn't know what was going on. She called the Fire dept. and was told they were on their way and to get out of the house. When she realized the cause of the alarm, she called the fire dept. back but they were already on their way.

When they arrived, they spoke to her like she was five years old and when they left, she felt lousy about the experience. She told me she'd never done anything like that in her life. I told her everyone does stuff like that. "That's what everyone tells me", she said, "but I don't think so. It's because I'm old and forgetful."

A day after our conversation, I was in the kitchen making breakfast. I fried up an egg, poured some juice. I was talking with Janelle when the smell of smoke hit my nostrils. I looked around and didn't see any. I asked her if she smelled it. She did, but couldn't locate the source, either. Finally, I saw the cutting board on the stove and figured out what was going on. Sure enough, when I lifted it off the stove, the burner was still lit under it. From my fucking eggs! So, not only did I leave the burner on, but, in my infinite wisdom, placed a wood carving board over it. Good thing there wasn't lighter fluid hanging around -- I probably would have added it to the mix to really ensure the house burnt down.

I'll have to tell Nana this story, but she won't believe it. No one's that stupid, she'll tell me.

Season 5 of The Wire has been no different than prior seasons, which is to say it's been magnificent. McNulty is drinking again and causing trouble, Omar is on the war path, Chris and Snoop are as terrifying as ever, and Carcetti is getting it from all sides. I wish this show hadn't ended with this season.

Dreams about lakefronts and girlfriends. About police work and love. All murky and indistinct. I wish I could get a better hold of them. I feel they may have some prophetic value.

I have to call Mara back and email a book distributor and ask them where the fucking book I ordered eighteen days ago is.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Many rivers to cross, but I just can't seem to find my way home

Listening to St. Vincent and getting inspired. I can tell I'll be listening to this record for a while before I truly start plumbing its depths. A wellspring of creativity, this Annie Clark woman.

Man, I wish I was getting paid to make music. It's what I'm good at. Most everything else I do doesn't fit right. Music does. I wonder how many people know how dear it is to me.

So the Bruins lost in overtime. Fuck! There is no equivalent in sports to an overtime in game seven of the playoffs. It is truly a tense affair. I've gotten used to basketball OT's and, though, they're intense and great to watch, they do not compare to hockey's playoffs.

I wanted so much for the Bruins to win. They had the crowd on the verge of ecstasy. They were chanting WE WANT IT over and over in militant frenzy as if they were channeling a Nazi youth rally from days long ago.

Man, this St. Vincent record is so good. Even though I'm not Spira's favorite person right now, I hope she's heard this. I know her well, and I know she'd love it. As would a lot of people I know.

Speaking of people I know, I really miss my friends. And by friends, I mean the ones who are more like family to me, the ones I'm always comfortable with, no matter how much time has passed between visits. They know who they are, these brothers and sisters of mine, and they are my people.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

It's a rainy day, sunshine girl

The Celtics just dropped one to the Magic, forcing a game seven. Could it be any other way? This team likes to white knuckle it. In a way, I don't want them to move on; the Cavs loom large and will brutalize the patchwork Celtics. It's an unfortunate fact: Lebron and Co. are plowing through the playoffs like vengeful gods. Even with KG, we'd probably lose, but without him we'd get mauled like a rawhide bone in a room full of puppies. But, what if we faced the Cavs and...gulp!, actually beat them? Might go down as one of the most improbable victories in sports history. I would love it if that were to happen, but it probably won't. I'm still rooting for them to finish out this series, though it may mean watching them be swiftly and brutally dealt with by Lebron and Co. They're prickly, though, our Celtics, and will not go down without a fight.

The Bruins are still on. I haven't watched much of the game, despite the fact that it's game seven in the Garden. They're losing, but I like their chances. In the team's history, they've been down 3-1 in the playoffs 20 times and lost every game. I doubt Claude Julien brought that stat to the team's attention.

I think they can win for two reasons: One, they were down 3-1 last year to Montreal and brought it to a game 7. In Montreal. They're a much better team this year and are better equipped to win a game 7. And two, Claude Julien must have reminded them that another local sports team overcame a 3-1 deficit and went on to win the championship not so long ago.

Update: the game is tied at two apiece.

Watched the finale of Lost at Mara's last night. Brilliant! Far from jumping the shark, this show has evolved to a level of sophistication rarely seen on television. My sister informed me earlier tonight that it never cracks the top ten in the ratings. That is a travesty, but unsurprising. Another brilliant show, The Wire, wasn't terribly popular while it aired. Who has time for Lost or The Wire when there's CSI: Salt Lake City, CSI: Nashua, CSI: Bangor, and CSI: Detroit to watch.

Game is going into OT. Man, I wish I was there. I can still watch it, though, on television. Bet you didn't know that.

Monday, May 11, 2009

I can hear you say, that the world in black, is upon your back.

Listening to St. Vincent and it's so fresh, so creative, so...listenable. Check her out, this young woman from Texas. Maybe I'm late to the game and you've heard about her already. If not, I suggest you remedy that situation.

A decent day for a Monday, but it had its sour moments. Periodically, I was struck by the thought of how poor I am. It sucks, but I wasn't in the mood to deflate into a weakened state. I told myself I'd be okay, that I'd find my way to a better career and financial security. And, perhaps unwisely, I believed every word.

Big Baby with the buzzer beater last night! It was delightful. I especially enjoyed his post-shot reaction, when he charged past the Orlando bench with a crazed look on his face and pushed a little kid out of his way (Just read that the kid's father is demanding an apology from Big Baby. Give me a break. Baby should have taken it further, if you ask me. A lash across the face with a bull whip would have sufficed. Unfortunately, players aren't allowed to carry weapons.) I loved when, right after the shot, the camera cut to Dwight Howard and the sour puss look on his face. It made me smile.

I'm jonesing for The Wire. I wished I had timed the rentals better so that I wouldn't have had to wait at least two days before my discs arrive. When I'm done with season five, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be watching the show again, starting with the first season.

Had a satisfying yoga session after work. I was able to clear my mind throughout most of it and my motions felt more fluid, with a greater elasticity than usual. I like seeing improvements.

Lately, I've been feeling as if someone has been dosing my meals with Viagara. Not toting a constant erection, but the libido is asserting itself. It's probably because it's spring and everywhere I look, especially when I run, there are beautiful women everywhere. All shapes and sizes, excluding, of course, the morbidly obese and dangerously skeletal. There are other exclusions, like I'd prefer it if she had a face, but I'm comfortable with the belief that my tastes are well rounded.

Just about finished McCarthy's Suttree -- it's been my lunch book -- and Ruckley's Bloodheir. The stories and the writing are worlds apart, but I'm enjoying them both very much.

In line at the grocery store after work, I saw the girl with the hair in the aisle next to me. She's someone I used to see a lot when I ran my Summer St. route last year. Every time I saw her, I was drawn to her hair. It's brown, thick and wavy. She's pretty otherwise, but, man, she's got a nice head of hair. When I saw her tonight, I stared at her head for as long as I could and visualized combing my hands through her hair. I bet she's used to that kind of attention, which makes me feel a little less creepy. Only a little less, though.

I may have said too much.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Nobody will ever let you know, when you ask the reasons why, they just tell you that you're on your own, fill your head all full of lies

Just came back from a run. It's such a nice day, I felt like I could have gone a couple of more miles. I encountered Lisa and Travis in Davis Sq and we talked about Lisa's Boston marathon experience. Hearing her tale gave me more incentive and invigorated the rest of my run.

I've been pretty busy lately -- not with anything particularly important -- but busy nonetheless. It's why I haven't posted much recently. I know my absence must have been difficult for you, but I've returned and will try to post regularly.

Friday was Ann's last day. It sucks that she won't be back, but I'm happy for her. I like everyone I work with, but the one's I've really gelled with have left. What's up with that? Anyway, I took Ann out for a couple of drinks after work on Tuesday because I missed her going away dinner last Sunday. We have a lot in common and, hopefully, we'll stay in touch. The office won't be the same without her.

I've been watching season 4 of The Wire for over a week and have come to the conclusion that it's one of the greatest shows of all time. I don't know if it's this season in particular, or if I've finally embraced the show entirely, but I cannot get enough of it. It's intelligent, well acted with authentic-looking actors, funny, tragic. It's Shakespeare, baby. I have one episode left and then I'll Netflix the fuck out of season 5.

Between The Wire and the playoffs - Bruins and Celtics - I've been playing less music. Not that much less, though. I've been cultivating a couple of new gems that would make the new album if I had one to put out. Both the C's and the B's look about ready to be eliminated in their respective series, so I should have more time to write.

Went to my grandmother's yesterday to celebrate mother's day. My sister couldn't make it on Sunday so we rescheduled. I was two hours late. My dad called me around noon wondering where I was. When he had left me a message earlier in the week telling me what time we were meeting up, I thought he said one o'clock. Apparently, he said eleven. Who the hell gets together at eleven in the morning on a Saturday? My family, that's who.

It was a worthwhile visit, my tardiness notwithstanding. My uncle Dick and aunt Shelley were up from Pennsylvania and it was nice seeing them. I made the mistake of asking Shelley how their trip up was. I had forgotten how much Shelley likes to talk. For about a half hour, she treated me to a monologue about the hazards of air travel.

Everyone else was in the porch and I was stuck in the kitchen with Shelley. I couldn't escape. I tried to several times, but was unsuccessful. I finally had to say to her that I was thirsty and was going to grab a beer from the cooler in the porch.

Later, Shelley pulled a good chunk of the family into the dining room to go over the family tree. Shelley, despite not being a blood relative, is really into our family's genealogy. The bulk of the binder she laid out on the table indicated as much. I stayed in the kitchen with my cousin, Brian, and talked about Seth Rogan's decline. I had already put my time in with Shelley.

At one point, my uncle Gene joined us in the kitchen. We asked him how he managed to escape. "I just got up and left", he replied. "I couldn't think of any other way to do it and went with the simple approach."

"What about my dad?", I asked him.

Gene shook his head. "He didn't make it".

I peered into the dining room and saw the futility in my father's eyes. He couldn't escape like Gene. My mother was beside him and would prevent that from happening. I raised my glass in a silent toast to my father.

Okay, I'm done. There's more I wanted to cover, but I've got other things to do.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

California sunlight, sweet Calcutta rain, Honolulu starbright, the song remains the same

Aside from a stupid argument with Spira that ended with her hanging up on me, this has been shaping up to be a good weekend.

Had a great run yesterday. I had just been hung up on and used the experience to burn off some steam. I was a little concerned my knee would act up like it had near the end of my last couple of runs. Nothing debilitating -- more annoying than anything -- but something to monitor, nonetheless. Yesterday, though, I made it all the way through with a strong knee.

At different intervals, Kreg and Mara came by the house last night. Mara to pick up a drill and Kreg to pick up..... ah....anyway, it was good to see them, though Mara's visit was brief. Kreg and I discussed the cast of characters on WEEI and the evil Jay Severin, who, I found out today, has been suspended indefinitely. Poor fella. A shame, because I was gearing up to be one of his best and brightest.

The C's just played the first half of game seven and tore it up at the end of it. The bench had come alive and brought the ruckus to the suddenly hapless Bulls. What a series! This game is far from over, but there's something about the swagger of the C's tonight that leads me to believe they're going to take this game. And if they don't, they won't give it away easily. It's been that kind of series.

The Bruins looked great in their victory over Carolina last night. I've been impressed with their discipline and depth. I see them going to the finals.

Woke up kind of crabby, probably because I didn't get much sleep. I visited my parents and helped my dad set up a TV stand and install two air conditioners. We had pizza and calzone for lunch and then I showed my mom how to use their universal remote. The written and oral instructions I gave them a few weeks ago evidently didn't stick.

It was a nice visit. I hadn't seen them in a while and I think they were as happy to see me as I was to see them. My dad told me about all the projects and chores my mother has lined up for him. "And to think she's going to retire soon", he said. "With all that time on her hands, she's going to overload me. I've already threatened her with divorce if she doesn't come up with a hobby other than bossing me around." Poor dad. He's in for it, I'm afraid.

The officiating in this game stinks. Maybe I'm a homer, but there have been some horrible calls against the Celtics. I wish we had the same officiating crew from game six. These guys tonight are bums.

Finally got a new dvd player to replace my broken one. I stopped over at Walmart after leaving my parent's house and quickly found a nice small one for less than thirty smackers. Glad they're inexpensive these days.

Brad Miller just took out Rondo. I fucking hate that man! That's ok, Rondo will make him look silly in future plays.

Alright, what am I doing writing when I should be focusing on the game?