Not complaining - okay, maybe I'm complaining - but I'm scheduled to go to my grandmother's house for a St. Patrick's Day meal and I don't really want to. I'm sure, once I'm there, I'll enjoy myself, but right now I'm not really feeling it. And the prospect of boiled cabbage and turnips isn't sweetening the pot, either.I'd rather be working on music. I thought I'd have more time this weekend to assemble a set for Wednesday's show in Manchester, but that hasn't been the case. Yesterday, I ran errands, drove to Union Sq. to catch Spira's art exhibit before it got taken down, caught up with people on the phone, and hung out with Craig later in the evening. Not terribly busy by most pro-active people's standards, but busy enough to prevent me from focusing on music. I did, however, manage to write some lyrics Friday night. At least there's that.
Like with last year's ice storm, many of my New Hampshire friends were left with no power for days after last weeks storm and attendant severe winds beat the crap out of everything in its path. I've lucked out, living in the city; thus far, God's wrath has been reserved for the northerners. My sympathy goes out to everyone who suffered the worst of the storm.
--
Since I finished that last sentence, I've gone to my grandmother's house and come back. It went alright, despite the small turnout. My sister and her family didn't make it, nor did my cousin Erin and her family. The only child present was my nephew Ty. He's about four years old and, for reasons beyond me, I've had little or no interaction with him. Today, due to the absence of other children to play with, he chose me as his playmate. It made sense: I'm the next likely candidate when no other children are present. We had a good time. It beat having having semi-uncomfortable conversations with the adults.
As we ate our boiled dinners, I was itching to leave. And leave I did, shortly after finishing my meal. I only felt slightly guilty; it wasn't one of the better gatherings, my antisocial leanings notwithstanding. Still, it was worth it seeing my family. And, even though I didn't stay long, I knew it was important that I went, that without family, we're lesser beings.
--
I just realized something. My eating habits today were unconventional, if not strange. For breakfast I had a combo pack of Trader Joe's sushi, orange juice, and coffee. For lunch, corned beef and potatoes (no cabbage for me - smells like sweaty feet). I have a feeling dinner will be interesting. Maybe I'll have ambrosia on toast with a side of corn dogs. Stay tuned.
--
Okay, off to catch some of the USA vs. Canada hockey game. It's for the gold, baby! Before I go, here are some random parting thoughts that will confound you if read too deeply into them or not deeply enough. You may as well skip over it in favor of Facebook, where I encourage you to explore its depths while avoiding the dreaded act of Vaguebooking, an offense that is quickly approaching the territory of unforgivable.
Still here, eh? I knew my pure heart, sunny disposition, mysterious countenance, and animal magnetism would compel you to remain and pour over every word with zeal. I knew, but I wanted you to feel as if you had a say in the matter. I digress.
My parting words. They are as follows: Unexpected crush; Ashy Larry; lusty dreams of her; Kingfisher gorgeous song; nap time for lonesome ol' me; more lyrics, more lyrics, more lyrics; Monday approaches; yes, nap time.
There you have it. Simply put.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
I go to the place where danger awaits me, and it's bound to forsake me
I spent a good part of last weekend feeling unbalanced and withdrawn. The latter feeling was half my own doing and half the result of not fitting into any one's plans. I've been through worse, to be sure, but I'd rather be reporting a brilliant weekend, filled with vim and vigor, love and laughter.
Been listening to the new triple album by Joanna Newsom and enjoying it thoroughly. She's always being described as fragile and elfin, but the truth is she has more sack than almost all of her contemporaries. Her last album, Ys, only her second, was an orchestral masterpiece and a bold step forward from her debut. And now, with Have One On Me, she goes and puts out a triple album that's nothing short of ambitious. Fragile? I think not.
I was fortunate the other night to catch a documentary on the Sundance channel about Rufus Wainwright's attempt at writing and producing an opera. Here's another musician willing to be bold. It was inspiring, almost entirely about the creative process. I've been a huge Rufus fan since his debut.
--
Mara texted me on Monday inquiring if I'd be up for watching Lost with her and Jessica. I responded that I'd already made plans to watch it with Foley. About five minutes later, she called. She told me she was leaving for New Orleans on Wednesday and was hoping to see me before she left. She went on to say that her and David were kaput. It seems he just wanted to be friends.
I had mixed emotions. A part of me felt relieved, another part felt bad for her. The fact that I felt relieved wasn't surprising; I'd been monitoring my feelings since I heard about this relationship and a good chunk of them were self-serving. At least, I thought, I was aware of this fact, however much I wished I felt otherwise. Most of all, though, I wished, for her sake, things had worked out between them, at least a while longer. We didn't talk about it too much, but I could tell she was disappointed. I'll be seeing her tonight; maybe she'll open up to me.
Foley and I grabbed some coffee at True Grounds before Lost came on. We hadn't hung out in a while; we had some catching up to do. We talked about a friend who has, for all intents and purposes, dropped off the face of the earth. It's been distressing to me, not having this person in my life anymore. It's a shame, really, but he wants it this way. He's moving on, I guess.
Back at my place, we watched Lost and theorized about what the new developments meant. For every answered question on this show, there are always at least five more that arise.
A rainy, dreary, day. I took it off. I didn't do too much. I read, watched The Abyss until the picture started fragmenting heavily. I needed a day like this, I think, but it's time to get back into the flow of things.
Been listening to the new triple album by Joanna Newsom and enjoying it thoroughly. She's always being described as fragile and elfin, but the truth is she has more sack than almost all of her contemporaries. Her last album, Ys, only her second, was an orchestral masterpiece and a bold step forward from her debut. And now, with Have One On Me, she goes and puts out a triple album that's nothing short of ambitious. Fragile? I think not.
I was fortunate the other night to catch a documentary on the Sundance channel about Rufus Wainwright's attempt at writing and producing an opera. Here's another musician willing to be bold. It was inspiring, almost entirely about the creative process. I've been a huge Rufus fan since his debut.
--
Mara texted me on Monday inquiring if I'd be up for watching Lost with her and Jessica. I responded that I'd already made plans to watch it with Foley. About five minutes later, she called. She told me she was leaving for New Orleans on Wednesday and was hoping to see me before she left. She went on to say that her and David were kaput. It seems he just wanted to be friends.
I had mixed emotions. A part of me felt relieved, another part felt bad for her. The fact that I felt relieved wasn't surprising; I'd been monitoring my feelings since I heard about this relationship and a good chunk of them were self-serving. At least, I thought, I was aware of this fact, however much I wished I felt otherwise. Most of all, though, I wished, for her sake, things had worked out between them, at least a while longer. We didn't talk about it too much, but I could tell she was disappointed. I'll be seeing her tonight; maybe she'll open up to me.
Foley and I grabbed some coffee at True Grounds before Lost came on. We hadn't hung out in a while; we had some catching up to do. We talked about a friend who has, for all intents and purposes, dropped off the face of the earth. It's been distressing to me, not having this person in my life anymore. It's a shame, really, but he wants it this way. He's moving on, I guess.
Back at my place, we watched Lost and theorized about what the new developments meant. For every answered question on this show, there are always at least five more that arise.
A rainy, dreary, day. I took it off. I didn't do too much. I read, watched The Abyss until the picture started fragmenting heavily. I needed a day like this, I think, but it's time to get back into the flow of things.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Show a little faith, there's magic in the night, you ain't a beauty, but hey you're alright
I have no idea why, but I've never owned Led Zeppelin III, perhaps my favorite album of theirs, on CD. I've purchased so many inferior CD's over the years before finally, including ones from the same band. Yet it's one of my favorite albums. I guess sometimes the things or people we feel closest to are the ones we're most apt to place on the back burner. We take for granted that they'll always be there waiting, eager for you to once again give them our undivided attention. Today, I came to my senses and went out and bought the fucker.
Found within most of Led Zeppelin's albums are at least two or three songs I generally skip over when they come on. This is not to suggest they're bad -- after giving it a few seconds thought, I've arrived at the conclusion that they've never written a bad song, only some I'm inclined to listen to less than others. Led Zeppelin III doesn't have any songs I'd skip over, save perhaps Tangerine, which used to annoy me more than it does now, but I did play it at my first ever high school talent show, so it holds a special place in my heart. It's playing right now and it's really a pretty song.
Know who else loves this album? Cameron Crowe. One of the few to get permission from the band to use their songs in a movie, Crowe, allotted his choice of five or six for Almost Famous, culled mostly from Led Zeppelin III. The placement of That's The Way, a song that always makes me a little sad (but in a good way), in the film is sublime.
I'm glad this album is back in my collection.
At the Fresh Pond plaza this morning, I saw Mara. Or at least I thought it was Mara. She was getting out of a car that was pulled up to the curb. She had a little girl with her. I was about ten feet away and approaching, and I'm telling you this woman looked EXACTLY like Mara. Even the car she got out of looked familiar. It was a gray Corolla. Her friend Alana has a gray Corolla. And a little girl. I was close to a hundred percent it was Mara.
Even when I was about five feet away, I was convinced it was her. Same facial features, hair cut, glasses, build. We made eye contact and there was no sense of recognition from her. Well, our last meeting did end a little oddly, I thought. Maybe she's uncomfortable around me now. It wasn't until I heard her speak that I knew for sure it was someone else. The only differences I could discern were the voices and this woman was a little heavier. Still, pretty eerie. And what made it even that much more eerie, was the fact that I had just driven past Jessica, Mara's roommate.
--
Watched The Hurt Locker last night. Very, very good. Lived up to the hype. Could have been done so much worse. I can only imagine what Michael Bay would have done with this movie. A ton more explosions, for one thing. Best not to think about it.
Play list for today:
Gris Gris, by Dr. John
Hunky Dory, by David Bowie
Rock Bottom, by Robert Wyatt
Permanent Waves, by Rush
The aforementioned Led Zeppelin III
The Ramones self-titled debut
Born To Run, by Bruce Springsteen
The C's are on this afternoon. Will have to catch some of that. In the meantime, I'll be working on songs. Cheers.
Found within most of Led Zeppelin's albums are at least two or three songs I generally skip over when they come on. This is not to suggest they're bad -- after giving it a few seconds thought, I've arrived at the conclusion that they've never written a bad song, only some I'm inclined to listen to less than others. Led Zeppelin III doesn't have any songs I'd skip over, save perhaps Tangerine, which used to annoy me more than it does now, but I did play it at my first ever high school talent show, so it holds a special place in my heart. It's playing right now and it's really a pretty song.
Know who else loves this album? Cameron Crowe. One of the few to get permission from the band to use their songs in a movie, Crowe, allotted his choice of five or six for Almost Famous, culled mostly from Led Zeppelin III. The placement of That's The Way, a song that always makes me a little sad (but in a good way), in the film is sublime.
I'm glad this album is back in my collection.
At the Fresh Pond plaza this morning, I saw Mara. Or at least I thought it was Mara. She was getting out of a car that was pulled up to the curb. She had a little girl with her. I was about ten feet away and approaching, and I'm telling you this woman looked EXACTLY like Mara. Even the car she got out of looked familiar. It was a gray Corolla. Her friend Alana has a gray Corolla. And a little girl. I was close to a hundred percent it was Mara.
Even when I was about five feet away, I was convinced it was her. Same facial features, hair cut, glasses, build. We made eye contact and there was no sense of recognition from her. Well, our last meeting did end a little oddly, I thought. Maybe she's uncomfortable around me now. It wasn't until I heard her speak that I knew for sure it was someone else. The only differences I could discern were the voices and this woman was a little heavier. Still, pretty eerie. And what made it even that much more eerie, was the fact that I had just driven past Jessica, Mara's roommate.
--
Watched The Hurt Locker last night. Very, very good. Lived up to the hype. Could have been done so much worse. I can only imagine what Michael Bay would have done with this movie. A ton more explosions, for one thing. Best not to think about it.
Play list for today:
Gris Gris, by Dr. John
Hunky Dory, by David Bowie
Rock Bottom, by Robert Wyatt
Permanent Waves, by Rush
The aforementioned Led Zeppelin III
The Ramones self-titled debut
Born To Run, by Bruce Springsteen
The C's are on this afternoon. Will have to catch some of that. In the meantime, I'll be working on songs. Cheers.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
I've got silence on my radio, let the airwaves flow
I was just lamenting the CDs that were stolen from car a few years back. Why was I doing this? Who cares -- it's not essential to what I'm about to write. The White Album, Bridge Over Troubled Water, Rosemary Lane, Led Zeppelin IV, Steve Miller's Greatest Hits, Our Endless Numbered Days -- all gone from my collection. I don't recall why I never imported these albums to my iTunes library. And why I neglected to lock my car that night, who knows. Sometimes I'll reach for one of those CDs and then, at the last possible second, I'll remember I don't it anymore. Awful business, that. You've got to admit, not much worse can happen than having several CDs stolen from your car. Matter of fact, I can't thing of a single thing. But I'm a survivor, in case you haven't heard.
The Celtics got Nate Robinson from The Knicks in exchange for Eddie House. I'll miss Eddie. He was fun to watch; a high energy player. And his little boy stood court side at games. He was a good luck charm. Nate should be fun to watch. A similar style to Eddie's, but a little more skilled. We'll see how he does.
Ok, I'm out. Going to read some Carrion Comfort and later, The New Earth. And catch some Celtics in between. And meditate. I better get cracking.
The Celtics got Nate Robinson from The Knicks in exchange for Eddie House. I'll miss Eddie. He was fun to watch; a high energy player. And his little boy stood court side at games. He was a good luck charm. Nate should be fun to watch. A similar style to Eddie's, but a little more skilled. We'll see how he does.
Ok, I'm out. Going to read some Carrion Comfort and later, The New Earth. And catch some Celtics in between. And meditate. I better get cracking.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
If you were mine to give, I might throw it away
I woke up around four this morning in mid-thought. I don't know if I've ever done that before. Anyway, I was thinking about Mara and if I ever needed an example of how our thoughts hijack our being and run rampant, well there it was. I fell back to sleep fairly quickly, but it was a restless night.
Now that I've had several hours to adjust to the new dynamic of our relationship, I feel pretty good. I think if I still had feelings for her, I'd be in rougher shape. But I don't. No, this is more like a parent seeing his child off to college. He knows it should happen, wants it to happen, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. If I was fond of words that begin with the letter b, I would say the situation is bittersweet.
Going to watch Almost Famous with Janelle tonight. She's never seen it. It resonates with me on a pretty deep level. It has to do with my introduction to music, a truly sublime experience I never fully thanked my sister for. Just like in the movie, my sister turned me on to some amazing music when I was young. I was never the same. Hours and hours and hours of listening to Led Zeppelin, Heart, The Kinks, Boston, Jethro Tull, Yes, Bruce Springsteen, Rush, The Doors, etc. Man, I was lucky. My sister listens to the likes of Josh Groban now. Go figure.
We all change.
Now that I've had several hours to adjust to the new dynamic of our relationship, I feel pretty good. I think if I still had feelings for her, I'd be in rougher shape. But I don't. No, this is more like a parent seeing his child off to college. He knows it should happen, wants it to happen, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. If I was fond of words that begin with the letter b, I would say the situation is bittersweet.
Going to watch Almost Famous with Janelle tonight. She's never seen it. It resonates with me on a pretty deep level. It has to do with my introduction to music, a truly sublime experience I never fully thanked my sister for. Just like in the movie, my sister turned me on to some amazing music when I was young. I was never the same. Hours and hours and hours of listening to Led Zeppelin, Heart, The Kinks, Boston, Jethro Tull, Yes, Bruce Springsteen, Rush, The Doors, etc. Man, I was lucky. My sister listens to the likes of Josh Groban now. Go figure.
We all change.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn, and tied her with fences and dragged her down
Today wasn't kind. To begin with, I went in to work, despite hoping for a snow day. My ride in was sketchy. I had called Marcy prior to leaving to see what the status of our day was going to be. She told me not a flake had hit the ground yet in Andover. Not so here in Somerville. Most of my ride was through heavy snow. It wasn't until I reached 95 that it stopped all together. Great, but I wondered what my ride home was going to be like.
Lately, I've been feeling unappreciated at work and haven't enjoyed being there. I don't even want to get into it. Today was no different, which is why I was thrilled when Jeff told us all to leave around two thirty. I didn't have to be told twice.
My ride home was sketchy from start to finish, but I made it one piece. Driving in that gloom, with the sub-current of danger, I felt a keen sense of isolation. I tried getting past it. I hit play on the CD player and listened to Soundgarden for a few minutes before realizing it wasn't the best music to point me in a more positive direction. I opted for sports radio where the topic was the Red Sox. No surprise there, but at least they weren't talking about slitting their wrists.
When I came home, I finished watching Valkyrie, took a nap, and did some yoga. I was looking forward to watching Lost with Mara and Jessica at their place. Before that happened, my self esteem took a good belly punch. I am too embarrassed to go into detail. And then about an hour before I was going to head to her place, Mara called. First a belly punch, now a punch in the jaw.
She asked me if I was still coming over. Of course, I told her.
"Well, here's the thing: Someone else is going to be here."
"Ok"
"Yeah, I just started dating a guy and he's coming over. You should definitely still come, though."
She asked me if it would be weird for me. I told her it wouldn't, but what I should have said was "No matter what my stance on the matter is, how could it not be weird for me? I've only ever known you in one way for two years and now, an hour before I'm going over to your house to join everyone on your bed - yes, your bed, because that's the only place to watch TV - and watch Lost, and you spring this on me. So, yes, it'll be weird for me." And it was.
Because of the snow, and because I wanted to get absorbed in Ziggy Stardust on my Ipod, I walked to Mara's. I got there right as the show was starting. Jessica and I sat on two chairs positioned to the right of the bed and Mara and her new guy, David I think his name is, were on the bed. I should state here that I am not against Mara seeing someone, not in the slightest. We haven't been "seeing" each other for a while now and, if it's a relationship she wants, she's entitled to be in one. I just didn't see it in the cards for us. But still...
And here is where I let it spill out, where I put my ego, my selfishness on the table to flop around like a fish, exposed and vulnerable. Here is some of what I felt at Mara's.
1. Sad. Yes, I felt sad. Mara and I on our first date watched Lost together and now she was watching it with someone else. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stroke his shoulder. She has moved on. I'll be more happy for her once the dust has settled, but tonight was that last shovelful of dirt on the coffin.
2. Irritated. I don't think Mara would have been overjoyed if I did to her what she did to me tonight. I wonder if she would have come to my house if the roles had been reversed. I don't think she had an ulterior motive in all this, wasn't trying to hurt me, but I wasn't thrilled at the timing. I'm glad I went over, though.
Look, even though our relationship didn't work out, Mara will always hold a special place in my heart because she said yes when I asked her out ( sounds like I'm kidding, but it's something I haven't heard a lot of), because she's a sweet individual, and because she was always my advocate. She supported me. She was into me. Me. It's for those reasons I've tried to maintain a friendship with her post break up. And it's for those reasons I will continue to try to do so, though I suspect we will be seeing a lot less of each other. The social net shrinks.
It may sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself. I don't think I am. I've taken ownership of the way my life has ended up, the decisions I've made or not made. I'm not, however, going to repress what I'm feeling, even when I know what I'm feeling might be in service of the ego, and thus false. Ah, fuck it. I don't have the energy to keep this going. I just want to curl up. Maybe I'll expound in another post or maybe I won't. I'll feel better tomorrow, but today I took some blows. Today I feel a little more alone.
Lately, I've been feeling unappreciated at work and haven't enjoyed being there. I don't even want to get into it. Today was no different, which is why I was thrilled when Jeff told us all to leave around two thirty. I didn't have to be told twice.
My ride home was sketchy from start to finish, but I made it one piece. Driving in that gloom, with the sub-current of danger, I felt a keen sense of isolation. I tried getting past it. I hit play on the CD player and listened to Soundgarden for a few minutes before realizing it wasn't the best music to point me in a more positive direction. I opted for sports radio where the topic was the Red Sox. No surprise there, but at least they weren't talking about slitting their wrists.
When I came home, I finished watching Valkyrie, took a nap, and did some yoga. I was looking forward to watching Lost with Mara and Jessica at their place. Before that happened, my self esteem took a good belly punch. I am too embarrassed to go into detail. And then about an hour before I was going to head to her place, Mara called. First a belly punch, now a punch in the jaw.
She asked me if I was still coming over. Of course, I told her.
"Well, here's the thing: Someone else is going to be here."
"Ok"
"Yeah, I just started dating a guy and he's coming over. You should definitely still come, though."
She asked me if it would be weird for me. I told her it wouldn't, but what I should have said was "No matter what my stance on the matter is, how could it not be weird for me? I've only ever known you in one way for two years and now, an hour before I'm going over to your house to join everyone on your bed - yes, your bed, because that's the only place to watch TV - and watch Lost, and you spring this on me. So, yes, it'll be weird for me." And it was.
Because of the snow, and because I wanted to get absorbed in Ziggy Stardust on my Ipod, I walked to Mara's. I got there right as the show was starting. Jessica and I sat on two chairs positioned to the right of the bed and Mara and her new guy, David I think his name is, were on the bed. I should state here that I am not against Mara seeing someone, not in the slightest. We haven't been "seeing" each other for a while now and, if it's a relationship she wants, she's entitled to be in one. I just didn't see it in the cards for us. But still...
And here is where I let it spill out, where I put my ego, my selfishness on the table to flop around like a fish, exposed and vulnerable. Here is some of what I felt at Mara's.
1. Sad. Yes, I felt sad. Mara and I on our first date watched Lost together and now she was watching it with someone else. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stroke his shoulder. She has moved on. I'll be more happy for her once the dust has settled, but tonight was that last shovelful of dirt on the coffin.
2. Irritated. I don't think Mara would have been overjoyed if I did to her what she did to me tonight. I wonder if she would have come to my house if the roles had been reversed. I don't think she had an ulterior motive in all this, wasn't trying to hurt me, but I wasn't thrilled at the timing. I'm glad I went over, though.
Look, even though our relationship didn't work out, Mara will always hold a special place in my heart because she said yes when I asked her out ( sounds like I'm kidding, but it's something I haven't heard a lot of), because she's a sweet individual, and because she was always my advocate. She supported me. She was into me. Me. It's for those reasons I've tried to maintain a friendship with her post break up. And it's for those reasons I will continue to try to do so, though I suspect we will be seeing a lot less of each other. The social net shrinks.
It may sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself. I don't think I am. I've taken ownership of the way my life has ended up, the decisions I've made or not made. I'm not, however, going to repress what I'm feeling, even when I know what I'm feeling might be in service of the ego, and thus false. Ah, fuck it. I don't have the energy to keep this going. I just want to curl up. Maybe I'll expound in another post or maybe I won't. I'll feel better tomorrow, but today I took some blows. Today I feel a little more alone.
Monday, February 15, 2010
If you think we're going to make it, you better hang on to yourself
Today dragged. I had enough work to keep me busy, but not enough to make the day go by quickly. Word spread throughout the office that we'd be getting a substantial amount of snow tomorrow. That would be cool if I didn't have to come in to work, I thought. But if I did end up going in and the driving was hairy, it would not be so cool. We'll see. Oh, how great it would be to stay home tomorrow. Of course, if I do, there will be Steve and his relentless obsession with the clearing of snow.
I spoke with Scott tonight and it looks like I'll be sharing a bill with him and Shane up in Manchester on March 3rd. It's on a Wednesday, but it's an early show. I hope we get a good turnout.
It's off to read some Carrion Comfort, finish watching Valkyrie, and think secret thoughts about the pure-hearted among us.
I spoke with Scott tonight and it looks like I'll be sharing a bill with him and Shane up in Manchester on March 3rd. It's on a Wednesday, but it's an early show. I hope we get a good turnout.
It's off to read some Carrion Comfort, finish watching Valkyrie, and think secret thoughts about the pure-hearted among us.
For there's a man down there, might be your man, I don't know
When I was a junior in high school, I joined a band that, even with my addition, wasn't a proper band. One essential element was missing: a drummer. As it stood, it was me on guitar and vocals, Jim on bass, Mammoth on keyboards, and Kevin, who didn't play an instrument, but was somehow part of the band. More on him later. We eventually ended up getting The Kremlin to play drums, which led to the forming of a different band, and the forging of many lasting friendships, but that is a story for another time.
I found out early on that Mammoth and Kevin thought very highly of their efforts at songwriting. Before my arrival, they had written the lyrics to at least ten songs. Because I was going to be the one singing them - something I was dubious about before I read a single line - they sat me down at practice one day and handed me the lyrics to the first song we'd be working on. It was called "3-3-4-5".
"I don't get it. What does that mean?", I asked.
They looked at each other with conspiratorial smiles. "You don't know what that means?", John asked.
"Nope." I knew it was something sexual; a quick scan of the lyrics suggested that much. I just couldn't figure out in which way.
"Guess", Kevin said.
"Okay, uh... is it the combination to one of your lockers? Encrypted code? Lottery numbers? Seriously, I have no idea."
They were downright giddy at this point. "Add the numbers up", John said.
"Okay. I came up with fifteen. I don't get it."
"No, you've got to add the first two numbers. That's your first number. Then add the second two numbers for your second number",Kevin said.
"Uh, ok, I get it: three and three is six and four and five is nine. The two together make...
"69", they exclaimed in unison.
Oh, wonderful. I should note here that my relationship with misogynistic hard rock had ended amicably a year or two before. Even still, I was willing, because there were a limited number of musicians to play with in my school, to forgive some lyrical trespasses if need be. Besides, I reasoned, by the time these songs see the light of day, I'll either be on my way out of the band or will have altered them beyond recognition. "Wow, 69. I get it now", I said unconvincingly.
From what I remember of the song, there was no mention of 69, sexually speaking or otherwise. There were plenty of oral sex references, however, but no 69. The song was from the point of view of a band member (it didn't take a astrophysicist to figure out we were the band in question), and chronicles his experience with one of his fans.
"Dancing on your knees and walking on your toes/You turn the guys heads at every show/ Let me see how it's going to be/ Start the show and then let me know"
Now, I can see what was meant by dancing on your knees. Obviously a reference to a blow job. But the walking on your toes bit is beyond me. Maybe they were attending a ballet. Anyway, it's apparent the narrator has taken a shine to one of his whorish fans and is interested in partaking in some sexual relations with her.
And the chorus.
" 3-3-4-5! Down on your knees. Are you going to please?"
It's so ridiculous! As I write this, I wonder if, at the time, they were mistaken as to what the sexual connotation of 69 was. It makes sense, if you use the words to the chorus as a guide, that they believed the position involved someone giving a blow job on their knees. I suppose I'll never know.
"3-3-4-5!. I'll make you smile, riding me high"
So I guess at some point there's intercourse.
Back to Kevin, the non-member/member of the group. He had numerous roles. He served as songwriter, manager, security, and resident dancer (no shit - sometimes he'd do a weak James Brown imitation during a song). And he sucked at all of them.
Once I was established in the band, I kept hearing about this song Mammoth and Kevin were working on. It was their masterwork, their epic -- they had been working on it diligently for months - - and it was called Girl/Boy Bed. Alas, I never got to see the lyrics to that one. I was out of the band before that could happen. All I knew from it was one of the lines from the chorus. "Girl/Boy bed, Ooh, my head". Seriously, they had worked months on that one.
Oh, and in case you're interested, I eventually changed "3-3-4-5" to "L-I-V-E" and reworked the lyrics completely.
I found out early on that Mammoth and Kevin thought very highly of their efforts at songwriting. Before my arrival, they had written the lyrics to at least ten songs. Because I was going to be the one singing them - something I was dubious about before I read a single line - they sat me down at practice one day and handed me the lyrics to the first song we'd be working on. It was called "3-3-4-5".
"I don't get it. What does that mean?", I asked.
They looked at each other with conspiratorial smiles. "You don't know what that means?", John asked.
"Nope." I knew it was something sexual; a quick scan of the lyrics suggested that much. I just couldn't figure out in which way.
"Guess", Kevin said.
"Okay, uh... is it the combination to one of your lockers? Encrypted code? Lottery numbers? Seriously, I have no idea."
They were downright giddy at this point. "Add the numbers up", John said.
"Okay. I came up with fifteen. I don't get it."
"No, you've got to add the first two numbers. That's your first number. Then add the second two numbers for your second number",Kevin said.
"Uh, ok, I get it: three and three is six and four and five is nine. The two together make...
"69", they exclaimed in unison.
Oh, wonderful. I should note here that my relationship with misogynistic hard rock had ended amicably a year or two before. Even still, I was willing, because there were a limited number of musicians to play with in my school, to forgive some lyrical trespasses if need be. Besides, I reasoned, by the time these songs see the light of day, I'll either be on my way out of the band or will have altered them beyond recognition. "Wow, 69. I get it now", I said unconvincingly.
From what I remember of the song, there was no mention of 69, sexually speaking or otherwise. There were plenty of oral sex references, however, but no 69. The song was from the point of view of a band member (it didn't take a astrophysicist to figure out we were the band in question), and chronicles his experience with one of his fans.
"Dancing on your knees and walking on your toes/You turn the guys heads at every show/ Let me see how it's going to be/ Start the show and then let me know"
Now, I can see what was meant by dancing on your knees. Obviously a reference to a blow job. But the walking on your toes bit is beyond me. Maybe they were attending a ballet. Anyway, it's apparent the narrator has taken a shine to one of his whorish fans and is interested in partaking in some sexual relations with her.
And the chorus.
" 3-3-4-5! Down on your knees. Are you going to please?"
It's so ridiculous! As I write this, I wonder if, at the time, they were mistaken as to what the sexual connotation of 69 was. It makes sense, if you use the words to the chorus as a guide, that they believed the position involved someone giving a blow job on their knees. I suppose I'll never know.
"3-3-4-5!. I'll make you smile, riding me high"
So I guess at some point there's intercourse.
Back to Kevin, the non-member/member of the group. He had numerous roles. He served as songwriter, manager, security, and resident dancer (no shit - sometimes he'd do a weak James Brown imitation during a song). And he sucked at all of them.
Once I was established in the band, I kept hearing about this song Mammoth and Kevin were working on. It was their masterwork, their epic -- they had been working on it diligently for months - - and it was called Girl/Boy Bed. Alas, I never got to see the lyrics to that one. I was out of the band before that could happen. All I knew from it was one of the lines from the chorus. "Girl/Boy bed, Ooh, my head". Seriously, they had worked months on that one.
Oh, and in case you're interested, I eventually changed "3-3-4-5" to "L-I-V-E" and reworked the lyrics completely.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Strange days have found us, and through their strange hours we linger alone
Today was a day of recovery. Went to Karen's 40th birthday party up in Nashua last night and because I hitched a ride home with Janelle, I allowed the drinks to flow right down my gullet, freely and without fear of ill-consequence. I didn't get plastered - no trip to the ER for me - but I wasn't about to dishonor the Mardi Gras theme of the party, either. To do so would have been a crime against humanity. Or something like that.
I had a great time; I usually do with this group of people. With a few notable exceptions, the turnout was impressive. Music was played, conversations were had, dancing was done, and, even better, no stupid, drunken fights (I kept my explosive temper under wraps this time around). Nope, this party was entirely festive and the sense of kinship was palpable. I love my friends.
I can think of at least two very funny incidents that occurred that I won't be sharing here so as not to embarrass anyone out of hand. Nothing too outrageous, mind you, but as you've become aware, I'm ultra vigilant as pertains to not sharing too much information, or TMI, as the youngsters like to call it. Unless given permission, I can keep secrets with the best of them. On that note, allow me to present a detailed and explicit telling of the "dirty diaper" incident that involved Frank, Scott, and Pat. Nasty business, that, but you'll be glad to read about it.
Ok, I'm kidding. Unfortunately, there was no diaper incident, at least not one that I know about. And if there was, I'm not even sure what it would entail. Alright, how did I get on this absurd train of thought, all this business about diapers? Time to move on.
So I've established how much the party rocked. Or have I? Well, if I haven't, allow me to continue to strengthen my case. Around two in the morning, there was still a solid group of people left. I don't know who started it - probably Rachael - but the music was turned up and the living room became a dance floor. Everybody let the funk out -- well, almost everyone (the one or two abstainers know who they are) -- and it was so fun that trying to articulate it won't come close to doing it justice. Sheer exuberance is all I can say. That, and also to reiterate the fact that I love my friends.
--
I took my car to the garage to have a leak in the transmission fluid basin fixed and to see if there was anything amiss with the handling of it (lately it has been wobbly, like a ship on the high seas). I got off easy. The wobbly performance turned out to be the result of one of my tires needing air and I ended up needing a new gasket for my transmission fluid basin. The damage: Eighty five smackers. Based on recent experience, I was expecting to shell out substantially more. The mechanic next to the building where I work, the one I've only ever gone to as a last resort, had quoted me $400 to take care of the leak. Needless to say, I'm glad I didn't have him do the work. Fucking grifter!
--
My computer was hijacked again yesterday. I got on top of it as quickly and efficiently as I could but I ended up losing access to Firefox for some reason and, consequently, have lost all my bookmarks. It's like my computer had a stroke.
--
It's Valentine's Day and I'm not too upset over the fact that I don't have anyone to celebrate it with. Traditionally, I've been single on the holiday, so I'm used to it. This is not to suggest I'm bitter -- in fact, I'm perfectly fine with it. Especially today, when I'm nursing a hangover and enjoying being a layabout. After the party last night, I feel anything but lonely.
--
I picked up several cd's at Newbury Comics yesterday that were ridiculously cheap. I got Strange Days by The Doors; Eat A Peach, by the Allman Brothers; Blind Melon's debut; It's A Shame About Ray, by The Lemonheads; and Moving Pictures, by Rush. I've owned all but Eat A Peach at one point in my life. Good to have them back.
And that's it for me. I see a nice, hot shower in my future. I'm surprised I had the energy to offer another full and ultra-satisfying, almost transcendent, post. Ah, but would you expect any less? Feel free not to answer that.
I had a great time; I usually do with this group of people. With a few notable exceptions, the turnout was impressive. Music was played, conversations were had, dancing was done, and, even better, no stupid, drunken fights (I kept my explosive temper under wraps this time around). Nope, this party was entirely festive and the sense of kinship was palpable. I love my friends.
I can think of at least two very funny incidents that occurred that I won't be sharing here so as not to embarrass anyone out of hand. Nothing too outrageous, mind you, but as you've become aware, I'm ultra vigilant as pertains to not sharing too much information, or TMI, as the youngsters like to call it. Unless given permission, I can keep secrets with the best of them. On that note, allow me to present a detailed and explicit telling of the "dirty diaper" incident that involved Frank, Scott, and Pat. Nasty business, that, but you'll be glad to read about it.
Ok, I'm kidding. Unfortunately, there was no diaper incident, at least not one that I know about. And if there was, I'm not even sure what it would entail. Alright, how did I get on this absurd train of thought, all this business about diapers? Time to move on.
So I've established how much the party rocked. Or have I? Well, if I haven't, allow me to continue to strengthen my case. Around two in the morning, there was still a solid group of people left. I don't know who started it - probably Rachael - but the music was turned up and the living room became a dance floor. Everybody let the funk out -- well, almost everyone (the one or two abstainers know who they are) -- and it was so fun that trying to articulate it won't come close to doing it justice. Sheer exuberance is all I can say. That, and also to reiterate the fact that I love my friends.
--
I took my car to the garage to have a leak in the transmission fluid basin fixed and to see if there was anything amiss with the handling of it (lately it has been wobbly, like a ship on the high seas). I got off easy. The wobbly performance turned out to be the result of one of my tires needing air and I ended up needing a new gasket for my transmission fluid basin. The damage: Eighty five smackers. Based on recent experience, I was expecting to shell out substantially more. The mechanic next to the building where I work, the one I've only ever gone to as a last resort, had quoted me $400 to take care of the leak. Needless to say, I'm glad I didn't have him do the work. Fucking grifter!
--
My computer was hijacked again yesterday. I got on top of it as quickly and efficiently as I could but I ended up losing access to Firefox for some reason and, consequently, have lost all my bookmarks. It's like my computer had a stroke.
--
It's Valentine's Day and I'm not too upset over the fact that I don't have anyone to celebrate it with. Traditionally, I've been single on the holiday, so I'm used to it. This is not to suggest I'm bitter -- in fact, I'm perfectly fine with it. Especially today, when I'm nursing a hangover and enjoying being a layabout. After the party last night, I feel anything but lonely.
--
I picked up several cd's at Newbury Comics yesterday that were ridiculously cheap. I got Strange Days by The Doors; Eat A Peach, by the Allman Brothers; Blind Melon's debut; It's A Shame About Ray, by The Lemonheads; and Moving Pictures, by Rush. I've owned all but Eat A Peach at one point in my life. Good to have them back.
And that's it for me. I see a nice, hot shower in my future. I'm surprised I had the energy to offer another full and ultra-satisfying, almost transcendent, post. Ah, but would you expect any less? Feel free not to answer that.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Don't you know that you are a shooting star?
I worked a little in Boston today. When I was finished, I called Marcy to let her know. She asked me what I was going to do, meaning whether I was coming in to work or staying home in anticipation of the coming snow storm. I told her I didn't want to go in and turn right around again if the snow, like some reports said it would, came hard and fast (that's what she said), especially given the state of my car, which, sad to say, has been acting up again. No way did I want to have car troubles in the middle of a storm. So I didn't go to work. I kept waiting for the snow to hit in full force, but it never did. Oh, well. I wonder if I'll get heat for not going in. I'm not too worried about it.
After my T ride back from Boston I did a little shopping at the Galleria in Cambridge before I retrieved my car in its garage. I bought a pair of much needed shoes at Payless, where they truly do live up to their moniker. I stopped over at Borders to inspect the newly arrived and much anticipated by me paperback edition of Dan Simmon's Drood. Can't wait to read it. May be a week or two, though -- I'm only about halfway through the weighty Carrion Comfort.
I finally bought a humidifier. I had gone to Target the other night and the ones they had were too expensive (I wasn't going to spend more than thirty dollars) or the wrong type. Yesterday, on my way to Nashua, I stopped off at Walmart in Chelmsford and bought one for twenty five smackers. I love it: my room feels warmer (I'm only wearing my glasses as I write this); my guitars and plant will benefit from the moist air; the odds of me getting sick have decreased. Good stuff.
Earlier, I walked over to True Grounds, bought a white mocha latte, found a table by the window, and read from The Pathfinder, a book that teaches, nay, coaches, one in the how-to's of career choices. It's a great book so far, and covers a lot more than I described. Luke Warm had read it and sent me a copy in the mail a few years ago. A nice gesture and nice surprise. I've picked it up here and there over the ensuing years, but never dove into it. Not the book's fault, just my own procrastination derived from a fear of making substantial changes in my life. Tonight was a start. I hope I keep up with it. I believe I will.
Ok, off to work on some music, play a little PacMan (yes, I'm twelve), maybe watch Valkyrie, maybe read. Peace.
After my T ride back from Boston I did a little shopping at the Galleria in Cambridge before I retrieved my car in its garage. I bought a pair of much needed shoes at Payless, where they truly do live up to their moniker. I stopped over at Borders to inspect the newly arrived and much anticipated by me paperback edition of Dan Simmon's Drood. Can't wait to read it. May be a week or two, though -- I'm only about halfway through the weighty Carrion Comfort.
I finally bought a humidifier. I had gone to Target the other night and the ones they had were too expensive (I wasn't going to spend more than thirty dollars) or the wrong type. Yesterday, on my way to Nashua, I stopped off at Walmart in Chelmsford and bought one for twenty five smackers. I love it: my room feels warmer (I'm only wearing my glasses as I write this); my guitars and plant will benefit from the moist air; the odds of me getting sick have decreased. Good stuff.
Earlier, I walked over to True Grounds, bought a white mocha latte, found a table by the window, and read from The Pathfinder, a book that teaches, nay, coaches, one in the how-to's of career choices. It's a great book so far, and covers a lot more than I described. Luke Warm had read it and sent me a copy in the mail a few years ago. A nice gesture and nice surprise. I've picked it up here and there over the ensuing years, but never dove into it. Not the book's fault, just my own procrastination derived from a fear of making substantial changes in my life. Tonight was a start. I hope I keep up with it. I believe I will.
Ok, off to work on some music, play a little PacMan (yes, I'm twelve), maybe watch Valkyrie, maybe read. Peace.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
She's a star reflector
It's Super Bowl Sunday and, unlike most Americans, I will miss the game. I may watch a little, but this holiday, and holiday is what it is, doesn't appeal to me very much. When I was younger, I was into it, but that was long ago. I'm not about the ads, I'm not about the fourteen hour pre-game show, I'm not about the wanton excess (behind Thanksgiving, Super Bowl Sunday is when people eat an excessive amount of unhealthy food), and I'm not so much about the game. Instead, I may work on music, do some yoga, read from Carrion Comfort, or watch the rest of Herzog's Nosferatu that I started watching around three o'clock this morning.
Last night, Mara and I ate at an odd Japanese restaurant in Medford called Yoki. Rather than the tranquil, understated environment we were accustomed to with other Japanese restaurants, this one featured techno music pumping through the speakers, Fox News on one gargantuan monitor, and ESPN on another. The food was pretty good, but conversation was difficult with the loud music. For the first time in my life, I almost asked the waitress for the music to be turned down. Am I starting to act like a senior citizen? Is that what it is? I'll have to monitor my behavior; if I find myself at a restaurant asking to be moved to another table without a draft, I'll know something's wrong.
We intended to see Spira's art exhibit in Union Square, but we got a late start and dinner took longer than we thought it would, so we ended up going back to Mara's place and watching some 30 Rock. It was a quiet night, not eventful at all.
Foley asked me if Mara and were seeing each other again.There's a lot of that going around, but not with me. I told him no. Although I enjoy hanging out with her every so often, I don't see us ever being a couple. It's more apparent than ever. I'll never say never to anything, but I don't see it happening.
Had a weird day today. Felt out of whack. Part of it had to do with a conversation I had with my mother. Wasn't bad, but some things she said bothered me a little bit. I got over it, but it affected the sheen of my day a bit.
I downloaded the game Centipede, one of my favorites as a kid, to my phone the other day. It cost a few bucks, but I figured it was worth it seeing how I'm always waiting for my number to be called at the registries. A lot of sitting around. May as well play Centipede.
In the spirit of things, I downloaded a flash version of Pacman on my computer. What an ingenious game. Simple, but ingenious. Yeah, I've been playing it quite a bit. Gotta problem with that?
Ok, I'm off. Where did the weekend go?
Last night, Mara and I ate at an odd Japanese restaurant in Medford called Yoki. Rather than the tranquil, understated environment we were accustomed to with other Japanese restaurants, this one featured techno music pumping through the speakers, Fox News on one gargantuan monitor, and ESPN on another. The food was pretty good, but conversation was difficult with the loud music. For the first time in my life, I almost asked the waitress for the music to be turned down. Am I starting to act like a senior citizen? Is that what it is? I'll have to monitor my behavior; if I find myself at a restaurant asking to be moved to another table without a draft, I'll know something's wrong.
We intended to see Spira's art exhibit in Union Square, but we got a late start and dinner took longer than we thought it would, so we ended up going back to Mara's place and watching some 30 Rock. It was a quiet night, not eventful at all.
Foley asked me if Mara and were seeing each other again.There's a lot of that going around, but not with me. I told him no. Although I enjoy hanging out with her every so often, I don't see us ever being a couple. It's more apparent than ever. I'll never say never to anything, but I don't see it happening.
Had a weird day today. Felt out of whack. Part of it had to do with a conversation I had with my mother. Wasn't bad, but some things she said bothered me a little bit. I got over it, but it affected the sheen of my day a bit.
I downloaded the game Centipede, one of my favorites as a kid, to my phone the other day. It cost a few bucks, but I figured it was worth it seeing how I'm always waiting for my number to be called at the registries. A lot of sitting around. May as well play Centipede.
In the spirit of things, I downloaded a flash version of Pacman on my computer. What an ingenious game. Simple, but ingenious. Yeah, I've been playing it quite a bit. Gotta problem with that?
Ok, I'm off. Where did the weekend go?
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Won't you tell your dad get off my back, tell him what we said about paint it black
On my way up to Nashua today, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things. Yes, I was on company time, but if it makes you feel better, I never ended up taking my lunch break. The store was pretty crowded and the lines were long. The one I chose looked to be the best option. It wasn't.
A small, elderly woman was ahead of me at the register and proceeded to gum up the works like I intuited she would once I sized her up. She was with a dumpy and colossal male I assumed was her son. At one point she pulled a wad of cash out of her wallet and a twenty dollar bill fell on the floor by my feet. She didn't notice. I picked it up and handed it to her. "Wow, an honest person", she replied. I smiled and decided against responding that it was nothing, that being of pure heart, there was no other course of action I could have taken. I was in kind of a hurry and didn't want her fawning all over me.
Almost immediately after I handed her the twenty, this little old woman proceeded to act like a complete bitch. I was deep in thought (always the profound variety with me) when I noticed the bagger, an older gentleman, pulling items out of her bags. While he was doing that, the cashier was sorting through a wad of coupons the old lady had given her. It took me a minute to figure out what the problem was. Turns out, the old crone was convinced she had bought several jars of spaghetti sauce, which explained the bagger going through all the bags. Both he and the cashier told the woman there were no jars of sauce anywhere near the register. They weren't in the bags and they didn't show up on the receipt. She must have forgot to put them in the carriage. The old bat became irate.
"I come here every week and spend money and this is the type of treatment I get!" (She made a good point. If she frequents this grocery store every week, which is absolutely unheard of, then she should get five star treatment all the way)
"I'm sorry, but the sauce isn't here", implored the cashier.
"I guess it just disappeared then", the wretched witch said with a sneer.
Her son decided to chime in at this point in an apparent attempt to defend his mother from this outrage. "This is ridiculous. You spend all this money and look what happens." (Another good point. I mean, if you're spending all this money, which, after the shitload of coupons, amounted to around eighty dollars, and the jars of sauce you damn well brought up to the register suddenly disappear, and no one seems to have a solution to the problem or give a rat's ass, well, you have every right to be abashed at such poor treatment)
At this point, the decrepit tart tried to enlist me in the outrage. She looked at me and said "Can you believe this nonsense? These people lost my sauce and they're not going to do anything about it." Despite my desire to pick her up over my shoulders and heave her through the plate glass window, I ignored her. The cashier, however, didn't have that luxury.
"I can have someone go get the jars of sauce for you, if you'd like", she said.
"Forget it, I'm tired of looking at you. I just want to pay and get out of this place"
I looked to my left. The line had grown long and the people in it looked like they were ready to attack this woman and her big dummy of a son with the type of savage ferocity not seen since the Roman Empire. Only the calm, reassuring beating of my pure heart stilled their hands. Even when the wrinkly old prune called the cashier an asshole. The poor cashier kept a calm demeanor even thenl.
The old bag's last bit of nastiness occurred when she crumpled up the coupons that were in her hand and threw them at the cashier. I really thought the cashier was going to lose it at that point - maybe thrust out her hands and strangle the life out of the musty old hag -- but she kept her cool. I nodded in approval. I felt like giving her a shoulder massage -- she needed one -- but the old bat had made me late and I couldn't spend the time making her feel better. Oddly enough, when it was turn at the register, my attitude changed and I bitched and moaned about the slight dent in the can of black beans I was purchasing. "WHAT TYPE OF OPERATION ARE YOU GRIFTERS RUNNING HERE?", I frothed in her face. "LISTEN UP, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT! IF I DON'T SEE AN UNDENTED CAN OF BLACK BEANS IN FRONT OF ME IN THE NEXT SIXTY SECONDS, I'M GOING TO TEAR OUT YOUR SPINE AND HANG YOU FROM IT!!! HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR, YOU FOUL PEASANT?" Hey, she had it coming.
So, is this a case of no good deed goes unpunished, the bit about giving the old tart her money back? Look, in all seriousness, even if this woman had been even more over the top, I would've been glad I gave her her money back. To do otherwise, would have been to miss a golden opportunity at acting consciously.
And on that note, I'm going to go do some yoga and then meditate.
Peace.
A small, elderly woman was ahead of me at the register and proceeded to gum up the works like I intuited she would once I sized her up. She was with a dumpy and colossal male I assumed was her son. At one point she pulled a wad of cash out of her wallet and a twenty dollar bill fell on the floor by my feet. She didn't notice. I picked it up and handed it to her. "Wow, an honest person", she replied. I smiled and decided against responding that it was nothing, that being of pure heart, there was no other course of action I could have taken. I was in kind of a hurry and didn't want her fawning all over me.
Almost immediately after I handed her the twenty, this little old woman proceeded to act like a complete bitch. I was deep in thought (always the profound variety with me) when I noticed the bagger, an older gentleman, pulling items out of her bags. While he was doing that, the cashier was sorting through a wad of coupons the old lady had given her. It took me a minute to figure out what the problem was. Turns out, the old crone was convinced she had bought several jars of spaghetti sauce, which explained the bagger going through all the bags. Both he and the cashier told the woman there were no jars of sauce anywhere near the register. They weren't in the bags and they didn't show up on the receipt. She must have forgot to put them in the carriage. The old bat became irate.
"I come here every week and spend money and this is the type of treatment I get!" (She made a good point. If she frequents this grocery store every week, which is absolutely unheard of, then she should get five star treatment all the way)
"I'm sorry, but the sauce isn't here", implored the cashier.
"I guess it just disappeared then", the wretched witch said with a sneer.
Her son decided to chime in at this point in an apparent attempt to defend his mother from this outrage. "This is ridiculous. You spend all this money and look what happens." (Another good point. I mean, if you're spending all this money, which, after the shitload of coupons, amounted to around eighty dollars, and the jars of sauce you damn well brought up to the register suddenly disappear, and no one seems to have a solution to the problem or give a rat's ass, well, you have every right to be abashed at such poor treatment)
At this point, the decrepit tart tried to enlist me in the outrage. She looked at me and said "Can you believe this nonsense? These people lost my sauce and they're not going to do anything about it." Despite my desire to pick her up over my shoulders and heave her through the plate glass window, I ignored her. The cashier, however, didn't have that luxury.
"I can have someone go get the jars of sauce for you, if you'd like", she said.
"Forget it, I'm tired of looking at you. I just want to pay and get out of this place"
I looked to my left. The line had grown long and the people in it looked like they were ready to attack this woman and her big dummy of a son with the type of savage ferocity not seen since the Roman Empire. Only the calm, reassuring beating of my pure heart stilled their hands. Even when the wrinkly old prune called the cashier an asshole. The poor cashier kept a calm demeanor even thenl.
The old bag's last bit of nastiness occurred when she crumpled up the coupons that were in her hand and threw them at the cashier. I really thought the cashier was going to lose it at that point - maybe thrust out her hands and strangle the life out of the musty old hag -- but she kept her cool. I nodded in approval. I felt like giving her a shoulder massage -- she needed one -- but the old bat had made me late and I couldn't spend the time making her feel better. Oddly enough, when it was turn at the register, my attitude changed and I bitched and moaned about the slight dent in the can of black beans I was purchasing. "WHAT TYPE OF OPERATION ARE YOU GRIFTERS RUNNING HERE?", I frothed in her face. "LISTEN UP, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT! IF I DON'T SEE AN UNDENTED CAN OF BLACK BEANS IN FRONT OF ME IN THE NEXT SIXTY SECONDS, I'M GOING TO TEAR OUT YOUR SPINE AND HANG YOU FROM IT!!! HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR, YOU FOUL PEASANT?" Hey, she had it coming.
So, is this a case of no good deed goes unpunished, the bit about giving the old tart her money back? Look, in all seriousness, even if this woman had been even more over the top, I would've been glad I gave her her money back. To do otherwise, would have been to miss a golden opportunity at acting consciously.
And on that note, I'm going to go do some yoga and then meditate.
Peace.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
That is why I pack my 25, where nobody knows, right above my boot
A pretty good day that was in keeping with the tone of the week. I'll take it. Of course there's always the sour to match the sweet, but if I haven't figured that out by now, then it's amazing I've made it this far. Actually, now that I think of it, how did I make it this far? Something to ponder, readers.
Just came back from getting my first haircut in several months. I think the last one was in June. Hippie Kevin has left the building. He might be back, but for now he's outta here, son! Carla, who did the cutting, whipped out the gel at the end (Oh, please no!) and before I could protest, she sculpted my hair into a style that has absolutely no business traversing the streets of this decade. I looked like Alex P. Keaton would have looked if he was auditioning for The Fixx. I was thankful I brought a hat.
--
I used to work with this guy Chepo who was one of the strangest guys I've ever met. The closest way to describe him is to say he's the Puerto Rican Tracey Morgan. I loved this guy. Anyway, he used to all of a sudden blurt out "Mama No Cry!" in a loud, exaggerated, muppet-like, voice. Whenever I'd ask him what he meant, he'd tell me it was from a song. A song, sure, but from which planet or dimension, I couldn't fathom.
I finally figured it out when I heard Bob Marley singing "No Woman, No Cry". Mystery solved, but what was Marley getting at? I didn't know. Was he pointing out that when you're not in love with a woman, you don't have to worry about her breaking your heart and making you weep, or was he pleading with a woman not to cry? Substitute the first "no" with "please" and the second "no" with "don't" and you'll see what I mean. Now that I've had several years to think it over, I'm going to have to go with the former possibility, that Marley was telling us that women equal heartbreak. If there was another comma after the first "no", then I'd think the opposite. Another way to tell would be to actually listen to the lyrics and figure out what he was getting at. And I suppose a quick Google search would provide an answer. Frankly, I don't know why I've put any energy into this, considering I'm not a big Bob Marley fan. So eff it, I say. Let's move on
The premier of Lost, all two hours of it, rocked. It will be too bad when it goes off the air after this season. There's not a show like it on network TV, or anywhere else. It's an old school Sci-Fi adventure romp that fell out of popularity years ago. Anyway, I hope they replace it with something in the vein of CSI or with a dating reality show.
Ok, I'm out this piece.
Just came back from getting my first haircut in several months. I think the last one was in June. Hippie Kevin has left the building. He might be back, but for now he's outta here, son! Carla, who did the cutting, whipped out the gel at the end (Oh, please no!) and before I could protest, she sculpted my hair into a style that has absolutely no business traversing the streets of this decade. I looked like Alex P. Keaton would have looked if he was auditioning for The Fixx. I was thankful I brought a hat.
--
I used to work with this guy Chepo who was one of the strangest guys I've ever met. The closest way to describe him is to say he's the Puerto Rican Tracey Morgan. I loved this guy. Anyway, he used to all of a sudden blurt out "Mama No Cry!" in a loud, exaggerated, muppet-like, voice. Whenever I'd ask him what he meant, he'd tell me it was from a song. A song, sure, but from which planet or dimension, I couldn't fathom.
I finally figured it out when I heard Bob Marley singing "No Woman, No Cry". Mystery solved, but what was Marley getting at? I didn't know. Was he pointing out that when you're not in love with a woman, you don't have to worry about her breaking your heart and making you weep, or was he pleading with a woman not to cry? Substitute the first "no" with "please" and the second "no" with "don't" and you'll see what I mean. Now that I've had several years to think it over, I'm going to have to go with the former possibility, that Marley was telling us that women equal heartbreak. If there was another comma after the first "no", then I'd think the opposite. Another way to tell would be to actually listen to the lyrics and figure out what he was getting at. And I suppose a quick Google search would provide an answer. Frankly, I don't know why I've put any energy into this, considering I'm not a big Bob Marley fan. So eff it, I say. Let's move on
The premier of Lost, all two hours of it, rocked. It will be too bad when it goes off the air after this season. There's not a show like it on network TV, or anywhere else. It's an old school Sci-Fi adventure romp that fell out of popularity years ago. Anyway, I hope they replace it with something in the vein of CSI or with a dating reality show.
Ok, I'm out this piece.
Monday, February 1, 2010
I will try not to breathe, I can hold my head still with my hands and my knees
Not a bad start to the week. I spent half of the day in my neck of the woods, first in Boston and then in Cambridge. It seemed like everything took too long to accomplish, whether it was acquiring certified copies of documents or waiting for my number to be called. I was fine with this for two reasons: 1. most everyone I dealt with was friendly and helpful and 2. every delay prolonged my time away from the office, which, as you know, is always something to strive for. No? Well, I guess you love your job way more than I love mine. Aren't you a darling.
Had a nice, social weekend. On Saturday, I hitched a ride with Mike down to the Cape to visit Craig. Luke Warm, who I hadn't seen for months, was there when we arrived. It was a great time. A lot of laughter and good cheer. Much of what happened I'm not sure I'm at liberty to share here. This is to be expected when debauchery is at play. What happens in Falmouth, stays in Falmouth -- that type of thing.
Really, though, I'm making it sound much wilder than it was. There weren't any prostitutes; we weren't snorting lines of coke off each others areoulae; there was no watching of snuff films- in fact there was no porn watching at all (at least while I was awake). Remember, the four of us are grown men who are cultured, thoughtful, and mature. We have left behind childish ways long, long ago.
With that in mind, let me tell you how fun it was playing Stratego with Luke Warm while Craig and Mike played Jenga. At one point, Mike, out of frustration at losing, threw several game pieces at my back. Ouch! We played a ton of NBA 2k8 on Craig's PS2. Mike had never played before but he learned quickly. When I played him, several drinks later, he bellowed "Fuck you!" every time I scored a bucket on him or prevented him from doing the same to me. Like I said, we are cultured, thoughtful and mature.
I slept in Craig's father's bed. Before I dozed off, I flipped through a book penned by Bill O'Reilly, that was sitting on the nightstand. I got the gist fairly quickly: the far, far, far, far, waaaayyyyy back, left-leaning, clinically insane, baby killing liberals that dominate every nook and cranny of our culture like Lucifer's minions of the Apocalypse must be stopped at all costs. Or something like that. It was late and I was tired. All I know is Bill O'reilly is pissed, son! I put the book down in favor of Carrion Comfort, which I was able to read about a chapter of before I started to nod off.
I was out of it yesterday when I came home. Might have had something to do with the night before. I took a nap, watched the Celtics lose to the Lakers, ate dinner ( a nice, delicious salad with nutrients galore), and then walked down to The Burren with Janelle to see Shane perform. It was great seeing Shane, his fiancee Jenny, Scott, Pat, Ally, and everyone else. After Shane's fine set, I walked home, needing the quiet comfort of my bed.
And now, dear readers, we must part ways. I've got other matters to attend to. Don't fret, I'll be back oh- so-soon.
Had a nice, social weekend. On Saturday, I hitched a ride with Mike down to the Cape to visit Craig. Luke Warm, who I hadn't seen for months, was there when we arrived. It was a great time. A lot of laughter and good cheer. Much of what happened I'm not sure I'm at liberty to share here. This is to be expected when debauchery is at play. What happens in Falmouth, stays in Falmouth -- that type of thing.
Really, though, I'm making it sound much wilder than it was. There weren't any prostitutes; we weren't snorting lines of coke off each others areoulae; there was no watching of snuff films- in fact there was no porn watching at all (at least while I was awake). Remember, the four of us are grown men who are cultured, thoughtful, and mature. We have left behind childish ways long, long ago.
With that in mind, let me tell you how fun it was playing Stratego with Luke Warm while Craig and Mike played Jenga. At one point, Mike, out of frustration at losing, threw several game pieces at my back. Ouch! We played a ton of NBA 2k8 on Craig's PS2. Mike had never played before but he learned quickly. When I played him, several drinks later, he bellowed "Fuck you!" every time I scored a bucket on him or prevented him from doing the same to me. Like I said, we are cultured, thoughtful and mature.
I slept in Craig's father's bed. Before I dozed off, I flipped through a book penned by Bill O'Reilly, that was sitting on the nightstand. I got the gist fairly quickly: the far, far, far, far, waaaayyyyy back, left-leaning, clinically insane, baby killing liberals that dominate every nook and cranny of our culture like Lucifer's minions of the Apocalypse must be stopped at all costs. Or something like that. It was late and I was tired. All I know is Bill O'reilly is pissed, son! I put the book down in favor of Carrion Comfort, which I was able to read about a chapter of before I started to nod off.
I was out of it yesterday when I came home. Might have had something to do with the night before. I took a nap, watched the Celtics lose to the Lakers, ate dinner ( a nice, delicious salad with nutrients galore), and then walked down to The Burren with Janelle to see Shane perform. It was great seeing Shane, his fiancee Jenny, Scott, Pat, Ally, and everyone else. After Shane's fine set, I walked home, needing the quiet comfort of my bed.
And now, dear readers, we must part ways. I've got other matters to attend to. Don't fret, I'll be back oh- so-soon.
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