LeBron Awakens
I remember hating Michael Jordan.
It was during some of his prime years. I had many reasons for hating him. I didn't like the way he was treated like god by the media, I didn't like the way he seemed to get all the calls, and I didn't like his general attitude. Most importantly, though, was that he was beating the Blazers. My Blazers. Without Jordan, they win the championship in 1992. With Jordan? Not so much.
So yeah, it had a personal element in the sense of his beating the Blazers, but it was also about the hype surrounding him, the domination of the media, and the copious amount of attention. I was sick of hearing about him. I was sick of him being worshiped. I thought it was really as much about him being the league's superstar as it was his standing in the way of the Blazers winning a second championship.
However, then LeBron came into the league. He carried the same sort of hype, the same sort of media attention, and some of the same worshiping, though definitely not to the same degree as Jordan, which is understandable considering he hadn't (and still hasn't) actually accomplished anything truly significant. Yet, I liked him. I was interested in him, wanted to see him play, and didn't mind so much all the attention he was getting. In fact, I wanted to see him live up to that attention, to his supposed potential, and just run over the league with dominating play. I didn't want it to happen against the Blazers, but otherwise I wanted to see it.
And I still do to some degree.
Well, it appears that he finally is considering doing that. After years of solid play that never reached the next level, James came out in game three against the Pistons and, perhaps for the first time, really lived up to the hype he brought into the league with him. He was fantastic, amazing, making impossible shots and impressively filling out the stat line. He had a certain Jordanesque air to him as he seemed to decide that he was not going to let his team lose, period. And indeed, they won.
It was fun to see, if for no other reason that LeBron's seeming lack of interest in maximizing his potential. While he has played very solid in the playoffs, there haven't been very many moments when he's truly taken over. But with game three, that statement no longer applies. He took over, no question about it.
You have to wonder, though, why he hasn't done this before. Is it his youth? Is it his competitive spirit? Is it just the situations he's been in up until now? Perhaps this year he finally sees a light at the end of the playoff tunnel and is finally, truly gunning for a ring.
It's tough to say for sure, though. The Cavs won game four, as well, but James was not as dominant. He did, however, have a huge fourth quarter, with thirteen points. That would bode well, with as much emphasis on when he took over as on how many points he scored once he did.
We're lucky, meanwhile, that James is providing some entertainment value to these Eastern Conference Finals, because they're otherwise not very interesting. Over in the West, the Finals there aren't proving all that interesting, either. Not for me, anyway, and that probably has a lot to do with the way the Suns-Spurs series went down.
Going forward, you have to look at James as the biggest potential story. With the series tied and the Pistons, frankly, not playing all that well, Cleveland has an excellent chance of advancing to the NBA Finals. If that happens, I think the Spurs will then beat them like naughty puppies, but there's always that thought of James taking over in game three. If that LeBron starts showing up for every game, rather than just every once in awhile, then the Cavs have a chance at winning a championship. A piss poor chance, granted, but a chance all the same.
The question is if that James continues to show up.
I'm guessing he won't. But I wouldn't mind being proven wrong.
Joel believes he can fly. Joel believes he can touch the sky.
The recent peanut butter and deadly pet food contaminations has awakened a lot of people to what was a fairly open secret in the mass production world: There are fewer producers out there than we might think, especially compared to the number of brands on the shelf. This is how tainted Chinese wheat used in making pet food has affected dozens of kibble brands. Chances are, whatever the outside looks like; that battery you've purchased was made by one of three companies. Choosy Moms may choose Jif, but I prefer the store brand peanut butter, and Jif probably made it anyway. I explain it this way, you don't think Foodway grocery store has their own peanut butter factory, do you? The same goes for virtually everything with a generic equivalent on the shelf. The chain store pays the national brand to make them some with their label on it.
I see a lot of young female persons, teens to twenty-somethings, wearing shirts and hoodies from this god-awful retailer named Abercrombie & Fitch. I know this because that name, or a stylized "A & F" appears in large print somewhere on all of the clothes.
Continuing a long tradition of putting extraordinary expectations on inanimate objects, we now have another soul-less accessory to hang our hopes on. The Complaint Free Bracelet.
You have succeeded (and are no longer capable of shitting without permission) after you wear the bracelet on the same wrist for 21 days, after which you realize you cannot remove it as it has burned into your skin like an Auschwitz tattoo, your eyes will now be spirals and you'll smile and nod at nothing in particular at all.
You see, Brian may possibly be the world’s biggest KISS fan. I would go so far to say that the strength of your relationship with Brian almost entirely depends on how well you can embrace this band. Which is probably why Brian and I didn’t get along for many years; I wouldn’t buy in. Of course, we all have that secret KISS chromosome that we don’t like to admit to anyone, and one day the tide turned. Brian also has this Monkees thing, and I know only ONE PERSON who has seen the movie, “Head” independent of his influence, but today, we’re talking about KISS. In fact, the one and only time I saw KISS in concert was with him. About halfway through the show (where we were somewhere in the first 10 rows, of course), he grabs my hand and says, “Come on! Hurry!” He pulls me out of our seats and down to the soundboard. Annoyed that we were missing the spectacle, I said, “what the fuck, dude?” Paul Stanley chose that very moment to fly through the air, land on a platform by the soundboard and sing “Love Gun”. Brian is the man. 
Anyway, I was riding my bike when I saw a wasp coming right at me. Without thinking I swerved to the right and landed tits up on the grass. Which was just as well because I needed a break after that, man. I mean, did you see that thing? It was HUGE!
I don’t remember being stung by one. I don’t remember being scared by one as a kid, or seeing anyone else being particularly afraid of one, or anyone else being stung by one and having a bad reaction to it. I don’t have any rational explanation for it at all. I do know that I’ve always been afraid of them, and I do know that the fear has grown over the years. I’m more afraid of them now than when I was a kid. I act like a kid around them now. And it’s shameful to me; I know a wasp sting sucks but doesn’t hurt that much, and I’ve been in more dangerous situations in the past, but that one thing just makes me shit myself.
Cleaning out the place after we finally evicted them was a challenge. They had lived there for at least a dozen years, and I doubt they opened the drapes in all that time. The apartment was musty and dirty. We decided on a fresh coat of paint, a new range for the kitchen to replace the one that perpetually smelled of natural gas, and a new toilet seat, since they left one which had clearly been in use for the entirely of their occupation.
My roommate, Scott, has a bulletin board above his desk. The board, a rectangular brown cork board from Target, is decorated, interestingly enough, like a scrap book. Pictures, cards, notes to himself all make up this page that always changes – a daily reflection on his present personality. A little like a MySpace profile, but without all the lame.
This is my job: I’m a storyteller. Always have been, always will be. Hell, the first organized competition I took part in was a storytelling contest in the second grade. The way I see it, it is my job—my responsibility—to share what’s inside my head with the rest of the world (whether the rest of the world likes it or not). It’s my job to create something out of nothing. To start with a simple sentence, a simple idea, and create a universe out of it. To make that universe organic, so that those who enter it feel like it’s real, it’s alive, and the characters are living, breathing entities. 
Everyone on post knew the security guy. He was well-liked and loved by many of the civilian and local national employees who’d worked with him for nearly, and in some cases, over a decade.
Anyway, you knew we were gonna talk some hardball regardless of the title, so here we go - Kyle Davies broke one off on the Mets Tuesday, with a three-run homer and eight solid innings of one-run pitching. Big Bob Wickman wrapped it up to get some work in and, lo and behold, the Braves after a 4-6 road trip stomp some Mets ass and get back to within a game and a half of the division lead. That's the fifth time in seven games against the Braves that the Mets have come up sucking tailpipe. If I were Willie Randolph, I'd just be looking to get out of the ATL with some self-respect and maybe the division lead . . . in other news about the Bravos, they finally cut Mark Redman and are actively looking for a fifth starter. This comes quick on the heels of Craig Wilson being shown the door (as in "don't let it hit you in the ass").
There. Is that concise enough for you perverts and heathens that compose my readership, all seven-and-a-half of you? Name the work that is your fave for rubbin' fuzz and any stories concerning you and your freakiness that you wish to contribute to the discussion as well. I'll pick the winner totally subjectively. The only guidance I will give is that the more graphic and scatological accounts will receive added consideration, because they can be used to fill column space next week and will add spice to the mix. Hell, I might even tell y'all mine . . .
So my article will be short this week, but I am cooking up ideas for later on in the summer to keep you all interested! This week I just want to tell you about the awful time I had just this past weekend. Because I am just starting back at my job, the money is really tight, and because of this, I really didn’t have much if any real money in order to even feed myself this past weekend, let alone enough to pay for the gas (the price of which continues to soar) in order to get back home once my work week is finished. All in all the work itself was easy, the emotional stress and poor diet, (I lived off of the vending machines) caused quite a few new stress lines! I did get through it and this weekend should be a little, if not a lot better than the last.
Remember the game from your childhood where the Hungry Hungry Hippos fought each other for supremacy? Where the Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots bashed each others head in? Where if you spun your top just right you could knock your opponents whirling cyclone right off the fekking boards?
You know that there is going to be some ASSHOLE, Canadian or American (I’m betting on both) that is going to try and start a war again (because it turned out so well for the US the last few times).
Life has been... happening, and it has become very difficult for me to squeeze out enough focused personal time to write my weekly articles, sooooooooo, I'm writing this week to let you, my loyal readers, know that I'm backing down from a weekly column. I am really sorry.
Okay, sure, there are conference finals going on, but let's get to the important news first. The NBA draft lottery was held today, to determine the order of selection for the draft on June 28th, and the Portland Trail Blazers, my team, got the first pick. They had a 5.3% chance of getting the pick and they got it.
Detroit vs. Cleveland might be more interesting, but only if LeBron James starts earning all the damn money he's making. Listen, buddy, start taking over these games. You're supposed to be The One, The Guy, The Chosen Dude Who Is The Second Coming Of Michael Jordan. David Stern is supposed to be kissing your ass and thanking you for making the league millions upon millions of dollars all by your lonesome self. I realize you're still young--damn young--but it's not an excuse. You're in your fourth year in the league and this is your second trip to the playoffs. You have the talent and capabilities to take over these games, but you're not doing it. It's annoying me. If anyone could make the rest of these playoffs at least somewhat memorable, you could. But so far, you're choosing not to. You're passing up game winning shots. What the hell is that about? I don't care if there's an open guy in the corner. You're at the rim, you're the superstar, you're the guy making millions and millions of dollar, you're the Chosen One--The One Who David Stern Would Fluff If Necessary. Jesus. Start acting like it.
I usually showed up to the warehouse around midnight to secure one of the ancient OSHA defying paper wrapping machines (and in the hopes that I could finish the job quickly,) but the paper’s press was some old thing that the owners had apparently bought from a Cold War era Yugoslavian garage sale, so six nights out of seven it broke down. Furthermore, the illegal immigrants who worked on the press were paid by the hour and so had no incentive to see timely production, so most of the early birds like me had a lot of waiting around to do. Luckily, there was an all-night indoor newsstand a few blocks away that sold magazines, cigarettes and porn and even had a smoking lounge, so while the press workers hit the machine with hammers and swore in Spanish there was somewhere to go. 
Every week I went back to the newsstand to see if a new issue of BID was out, and every week I left with Angry Thoreauean or Carbon 14, because Ben Is Dead had no real publishing deadlines. It seems like they just published the damn issue whenever it was ready. In fact, it wasn’t until almost a year later that a new issue finally hit the newsstand, and I took it home only to find out that it was their last issue. Yes, it would be hyperbole to say that I was heartbroken, but the feeling was pretty close. Here was something awesome that had been around for ten years and I only caught the tail end of it. 
I'm not one of those people that had to go to rehab to realize a bunch of life-changing things and then lived happily, soberly ever after because of the fine learnings I got done to me there. Neither do I want to detract from the experience, I'm pretty sure that I needed the head start that only a 30-day lock-down could provide. Not to be confused with the 33-day lock-down from 5 years earlier that didn't take. It was a combination of the sequestering and my interest in change that made my last stint in recovery camp the one that worked. So far. I knew that I wanted to stopbefore I went, so I think that had more to do with what happened than any of the State-approved psychobabble that went on there.
In the years that I spent going to A.A. meetings, I would learn a lot of well-worn sayings to describe why I had continued to drink myself unconscious on a daily basis. Some of them were even true of me, although you're discouraged from noting flaws in the 'one-plight-fits-all' theory, your results may vary. I never set out to quit A.A., I just took a job that started way too early to be up that late listening to the same stories coming out of different faces. It was only after a few months of not thinking about drinking - on purpose for an hour or two every week - that I realized that I was a much happier sober person without going to meetings, your results may vary. Much the same as the easy sobriety of being locked up for 30 days gave me a much needed head start on living in the real world without drinking; I really needed the camaraderie of A.A. those first three years, and I don't think I would have lasted without it. But there is a time and a place for everything, and once I realized that; I stopped feeling guilty about not attending meetings anymore. Not that I've sworn it off, I would like to give back to the community, but not right now. Right now life is pretty good the way it is.
You see? A dumb person would have paid 15.50 for a bagel toasted with cream cheese on the side and a small regular coffee. Say this or something similar happens once a week - and this person will stand to lose approximately $800 a year due to stupidity. And that's if it only happens once a week and if the loss is minimal. I mean, imagine.
Early on Sunday morning, Stick and I woke up to the sound of someone banging on our across-the-hall neighbors' door. At least, we assumed it was their door, since we don't have too many friends who make unannounced Sunday-morning visits.
Yes, my mother is the world’s biggest Bowie head. Aladdin Sane is her favorite album, but the Thin White Duke era look is her favorite. We have both seen him three times in concert, and two of those times, she had better seats than I did (the third time, we went together, and she kept grabbing my arm and screeching during the show, particularly when older songs popped up in the set list). Every year, on January 8, we would have David Bowie birthday cake, and be required to sing. He makes her weak in the knees. She even had his haircut in the 70’s; take a look at his hair on the Aladdin Sane album cover, and that was essentially my mother’s haircut as well, sans the red dye and lightning bolt. Bowie is a pervasive influence in my childhood. One summer vacation, my mother decided to take my sisters and I for a ride around all the fancy beach houses near where we were staying. During this ride, we were listening to a well-worn copy of his greatest hits, and “Drive In Saturday” came on. The four of us sang every word at the top of our lungs. It is one of my favorite memories of my mom, just a small thing really, but a great thing, and I will always associate that Bowie song, well, most Bowie songs, with her.
Yeah, I'm basically a wreck right now. I know clarity will come. I'll intuitively know what to do about what's baffling me. That's the way my life works. I do wish I could skip all the obsessing beforehand though. You'd think I'd be better at this by now. The making decisions thing I mean. You'd think but ummm, not so much.
With orders to engage, they followed NVA soldiers who successfully pulled them into a killing field. They were cut off from the rest of B Company. At the end of the day they were overrun, 8 men surviving by pretending to be dead. Sgt. Grandstaff had been wounded in both legs but continued to fight, attacking a machine gun emplacement with grenades after crawling into position. He later called in an artillery strike on his position, risking his life to save his men. He was killed by an enemy rocket. 
Josh notices Ryan eavesdropping and eyes me, sending me his thought bubble; Do you think he’s gay or straight?
Crunch.
At work, we don't really need an excuse to have cake in my department. That being said, we never complain when we DO have an excuse. Two of my coworkers from our Sydney, Australia lab are in this week for some meetings, and one had her birthday last week. So, I tried my hand at cake decorating for the first time (the picture you see is the result). It's a cake I'd made before, but had never really tried decorating. It's a fantastic cake and really easy to make, so go nuts.
I saw this guy perform an hour after the Bacchus parade, and three hours after I rolled into NOLA for my first Carnivale. 
I all but forgot about the CD until Ash Wednesday, when I departed for Texas. 
So you see, based on who I took bowling, I could easily spend up to $93.00 ($101.57 if I spring for French Ticklers).
Officer Jo here. We've just pulled over Icelandic pop singer, Bjork, for a repeat fashion offense. Apparently being a child of eight did not teach her anything about how to dress like other people or how to present herself to the public. The Sugar Cubes lead singer has repeatedly made "Worst Dressed" lists for years, most notably for her "Dead Swan" dress at an awards show in 2001. THAT fashion faux paux not only got her on every worst dressed list that year, but catapulted her into a fashion icon for her absurd taste in fashion statements.
nothing to waver from her eclectic style choices, whether it be a dead swan or an outfit made completely of yarn in every color imaginable. She definitely has a very "original" personal style that no one should try to copy for fear of their own personal safety.
3. Cameron Diaz and Mindfreak illusionist Criss Angel have been spending some time canoodling all over Vegas this week - what a very strange pair!
So yeah. It's been a weird, strange and fun year. Tiring, exhaustingly and frustrating as well. Sometimes I wonder why we all do what we do and sometimes I wonder why we never did this before. So see, it's confusing. Hated something and loving it at the same time reminds of my old drug days, but with this FTTW drug, I really don't see an end to it anytime soon.
"i bet he would."
The Nymphos of Rocky Flats by Mario Acevedo follows Felix Gomez as an Army veteran turned vampire turned private detective who has been hired by a former friend to investigate an outbreak of nymphomania at the Rocky Flats Plant in Colorado outside of Denver. During the environmental cleanup, a group of female employees encounter an unknown room and are exposed to a mysterious toxin that sends them off on a sexual rampage as they bang men like a screen door in a hurricane. 
Gemini - You’ve been feeling like you can’t see clearly in this modern world. Maybe you should “take off the blinders”, so to speak. Or at least take the nutsack off your eyes. Rose colored glasses are much better than Arabian goggles.
Scorpio - Pluto and Mars rule your sign. They are strong this week, and so are you. This is a good time to try and fuck with people because you will most certainly win and make them look stupid in front of others. This week, hubris is a virtue. Be an asshole and let your light shine.
I have to say that after living so long on my own, it is wonderful to have someone to talk to and vent after a particularly stressful or eventful day. Though neither of us is in a relationship currently, it will be nice in the future to bounce ideas off one another. Not to mention get a third party perspective on any given situation.
The Ducks were a complete mess the last game, stupid penalties, sloppy passing and plays – You just cant DO that at this level, at this time of the season.
I have never seen anyone throw like Randy Johnson and I've watched a helluva a lot of baseball. The way older people who saw him play and talk about Koufax pitching like a house on fire, that's the way we're all gonna be in twenty years about the Big Unit . . .
And we are poorer for Ian Curtis's absence, more so every passing day. I'll spare you all the purple prose, pro and con, that have been laid on him, Joy Division, and their musical legacy; I'll just state, honestly, that hearing them absolutely changed my life. Why? Because I could never again think of music and what it is and what it can sound like and how close to the bone you could cut with your art and . . . anything like that in the fashion that I did before I heard them. Period. Everything shifted and colors changed and the two hemispheres of my brain switched sides - it was that powerful. I feel lucky in how powerfully music affects me. I'm not Suzi Quatro-I don't have orgasms on stage-but it is a primal force, ripping through chakras located at the base of my spine and rippling throughout my body, twitches in muscles, gooseflesh, involuntary smiling (which I just DON'T do much). Music that powerful makes any drug better; any drink stronger; any sex more carnal; and any breath of air the first oxygen of life. There. And if it doesn't hit you that way, if you're not a music person, I truly feel for you - you are missing out.
That's an interesting situation to be in as a fan. I love the Blazers and I love basketball and I love the NBA playoffs. But the Blazers aren't in the playoffs. If they were, I would automatically be rooting for them, but since they're not, I need a new team to root for. And I do need a team to root for because it's no fun watching the games otherwise. If you're not invested in the outcome in some way, the joy just isn't there.
The popular trend in reading literature from previous eras (especially pre-nineteenth century) is that those societies in which the works were written are so alien to us that we cannot understand them without an insane amount of research into what the people actually thought about themselves. I’ll toe that line in the classroom and on paper, but I really think that for the most part it’s a bunch of balls. Yes, we can’t expect as much sympathy toward women in a book that is four hundred years old and the religious folks at the time are still trying to determine whether or not women have souls. In addition, while I may personally wince when a literary character is thrown from a cliff for disagreeing with political doctrine, I know that such an act is actually meant to be viewed as one of justice and not tyranny, given the historical context. However, I am a uniter and not a divider (as someone said,) so I like to look for those things that never seem to go away, no matter how much time passes. Using the last two months alone, I would like to examine a few simple truths that I have found in reading old books.
The Faerie Queene: Successful politicians are often surrounded with useless sycophants. Queen Elizabeth turned this into an art form, and every goofy boob who wanted her attention wrote poetry and letters professing undying love and devotion to her. Of course, her more reliable allies often disagreed with her and were subject to her tantrums more often than the sycophants were, but I think Liz ultimately knew the difference between the two. Edmund Spenser was one of the sycophants, as the massive six-book epic The Faerie Queene makes clear. That the queen knew that Spenser was a sycophant is obvious because she sent him off to be an administrator in a dumpy backwater known as Ireland instead of giving him a position in her court. Spenser hated Ireland and the Irish, and the feeling was mutual: an angry mob torched his house when he was on vacation. Spenser would eventually write some thinly veiled swipes at Elizabeth in his work. Lessons? 1. Power attracts sycophants like flies to shit. 2. A wise person can see the difference between a sycophant and someone who is truly loyal (and useful.) 3. We can’t all get along. Sorry. 4. Finally, a politician’s most vocal supporters may harbor some pretty nasty grudges against him or her.
The School of Venus: This is an English translation that came out around 1680 of a French book called L’Ecole des filles. It’s a dialogue between a young virgin (at first) and her slutty cousin, wherein the older cousin, Frances, tries to procure her cousin Katy for a slimy suitor named Roger. Frances tells Katy all about sex in the most graphic details, using terminology that I did not know existed back then. Katy then goes and has an affair with Roger, and Katy recounts her adventures in equally lurid detail. The two discuss numerous sexual positions, masturbation with human-sized dolls and dildos (for those who can’t afford a doll,) the beauty of hypocrisy, and the sexual practices of nuns. To make things even better, The School of Venus has pictures. The lesson here is obvious. There is something strangely democratic about porn. This particular book was sold to anyone who could find it and buy a copy and it’s easy to assume that the aristocracy would have enjoyed something like this just as much as a brewer or a ditch digger, provided that the ditch digger knew how to read (of course the pictures would have made up somewhat for a deficiency in that area.) This item was probably quite popular, even though no one actually owned a copy (wink.)
Here in the Great State of North Carolina we have the lottery, after many years of fervent debate. It only took some slightly illegal finagling and we got scratch 'n toss tickets last year. We've been a member of Powerball for some number of months, I couldn't really tell you, but we've already had a winner or two. A lot of people consider playing the lottery a tax on the stupid, but I'm not so sure. Like so many things in life, it isn't that clear cut. For me, it depends on how you go about it, what your intentions are when you make your purchase. Just for the record, I purchased 5 $1 scratch-off tickets the week the thing started. I did this simply so I could tell people that I played, was completely and utterly thrilled by the experience, and have now retired as nobody should enjoy anything that much. I have yet to take my chances on the big money of the Powerball, but I'm pretty sure that's where my fortune lies. I think I'll get a feeling about it the week I'm supposed to play, so I'm just wasting my money on food and shelter and such for now.
Let me try one more time to make that point about intentions and stupidity. If I, myself, were to purchase a lottery ticket for the implied educational benefit and the cheap thrill of a few moments imaginings - I'm gonna be playing Powerball. Throwing away a dollar to imagine winning 10 grand won't fill my thrills; I want to dream of never going back to work, telling them to donate my last paycheck to somewhere the sun doesn't shine. So when I see people contributing a dollar to scratchitz, where the top prize is 2 or 3 figures less than the Lotto, I just don't get it. I couldn't even take time off from work for 10k, well maybe a week or three. I think these people are trying to be clever, which is where the tax on stupidity comes in. If you think your odds are a lot better of winning the smaller scratchetty prize, you are mathematically correct, but you're also kind of stupid. Once you've put that much thought into it you aren't thrill-seeking, you're gambling. Not just gambling, which can be a fine art; but blind luck gambling, suckling at the teat of better odds and getting nothing but air. And that's the point I think I wanted to make. If you play the lottery as if it's gambling - you're an idiot. If you think of it as any other raffle-type deal, a donation to a cause for a random chance dream that won't come true; you might still be an idiot, but not because of that.
If Bruce had grown up listening to the Clash and the Ramones, THIS is the band he would have fronted. The Hold Steady closed the loop for me. You’ve got ringing power chords, a little bit of organ, a rambling half-spoken poem about a girl who’s less than perfect but makes you want her anyway. I started walking around, asking people, “have you heard this band?” or, alternately, “what do you mean you don’t like the Hold Steady?” They’re the guys I met at all those club shows I went to in college—as a matter of fact, I WENT TO COLLEGE with Craig Finn. These guys listened to all the same bands I did and worshipped at the same musical altars. Seriously, the first time I heard that organ kick in between the verses, I almost wet myself. Punk rock songs built on three chords and a screech are fine, but sometimes, you need something more sweeping and grand, and this band gives you that, and still manages to keep that certain special sneer we all identify with. Sometimes, the love song involves both the beautiful and the profane. Sometimes, there are drugs and booze and tattoos and those things are OK. 
It's the "missions" that aren't any fun. After the tutorial mission, you're sent to a contact who tells you to kill X of the gang Y and return to the contact, who then tells you to kill the boss of gang Y, and so forth. Lather, rinse, repeat. There are no puzzles to solve, just increasingly difficult bad guys to fight. Of course, your superhero is leveling up, too, so there's no actual difference, just the bragging rights of having made it through Perez Park.
I came home that afternoon to some beautiful flowers, a "correct" card (I must say at this point that the front was exactly like the first card but was for a first time Mom this time...hubby did grab the wrong card but it doesn't excuse him from underlining words on a card that HE DIDN'T READ), naughty under-things (which is just so appropriate for Mother's Day) and a very sorry husband. I will NEVER forget that Mother's Day and he won't either.
I got a call from one of the gals at the hotline I was currently volunteering/training at. She wanted to know if I wanted to hang out with her and another gal down at “Taste of Chicago.” Nancy and Annie were fun. Both were older, long since graduated college, gorgeous and with more money than sense. Okay, when it came to hanging out in the city outside of the better areas, they had NO sense. “Taste of Chicago” was one of those HUGE Chicago Street Fairs that Mayor Jane had set up to get people into and “revive” the downtown area. Food booths, music, beer, music, more food, and half the city’s population…you get the idea. Back then I LOVED huge crowds and a party atmosphere. 
Nancy lit a cigarette, looked at me funny and asked me, “So…who was the blonde?” 
<
He was inspired by Dawn and came up with a semi-sequel. Some people hated it but some people love it. It’s on my top ten list for unnecessary nudity, extreme gore and a dead cop. It’s almost too good. It’s so good that I want to save the details for another day. This is about you finding something good to watch this month, and I gave you that right here.
World War Z - An Oral History of the Zombie War
1. Can humans and zombies ever learn to get along?
“I knew, like, everyone,” she says, “I can’t believe I didn’t know you.” 
"Yeah. That was me."
It’s not hard to keep an eye on maintenance needs for your car – you’re in it almost daily and can tell when something needs to be done. But if you have more than one, well you have more than one to keep an eye on. 
I mean, no notification of an impending need. Nada. Couple of weeks ago I had to switch trucks with youngest, I forget why, and it started raining. I turn on the wipers. The one in front of me is working. The passenger wiper just sits there, looking all bored and shit. Why is this? Because I had not imparted knowledge to my child. I did not tell her Easter Sunday when she had 5 inches of snow and ice on her windshield not to turn on her wipers until she broke that stuff up. Or the knurl on the wiper nut would become loosened (or stripped). 
Since then, PC games and consoles have grown together as much as they have grown apart. Both factions seek out power to display the phenomenal games out there: PC gamers by constantly upgrading memory and video cards, consolers by shelling out six hundred dollars for the PS3. Looking at modern games on any system, you can see how far graphics have come in only four or five years: beautiful textures, never-ending horizons, and faces, bodies, and movement that are almost too human.
Mexican Corn Tortilla Breakfast Casserole
Dublin Death Patrol 
Eastern Division
Detroit (1) at Anaheim (2)
I am buried up to my neck in an immersion course on some pretty nasty scientific-type shit, so I yanked this fucker from my stash of buried treasure. It has significance in that while I’ve just experienced a lull in the frequency of attacks over the past few months, the wrath of God has once again descended upon me and I am getting shocked, badly, every few minutes.
8) Mos Def - The New Danger: Mos Def has been around for quite some time now, hosting Def Poetry Jam on HBO, collaborating with Talib Kweli to create the Black Star album, starring as Ford Prefect in The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and in numerous other mediums. I liked what he did with Black Star, but his solo album really sold him as an artist to me. He mixes hard rock, blues, percussion-heavy hip-hop and spoken word poetry to create a mash-up of styles that transcends genres. I remember getting into an argument with someone who didn't think he was a hip-hop artist at all, and believed that he should be labeled as "Alternative Rock", a term I absolutely LOATHE. Apparently, if an album has a guitar in it, it's automatically alt-rock. But I digress... The New Danger is a great mix of music that can be bumped in your car, at a party or at a number of different clubs without alienating audiences. He excels at whatever he does, be it film, music, television, skateboarding or poetry.
6) Cool Calm Pete - Lost: Cool Calm Pete is part of the mostly unknown threesome called Babbletron, and his shit is smooth, laid-back New York hip-hop. Cool Calm Pete sounds like he's rapping on Quaaludes, and his voice is deep and mellow. Frankly, I was surprised as hell to discover that he's Korean, because his voice has a deep and rich timbre that reminds me of a 300 pound black guy who has just smoked a pound of weed. He's fairly new to to the scene, but keep your eye on him, because his flow is SICK. Even the occasional singles that he releases are up to par with his work from Lost, and he's had Embedded Music and Definitive Jux clamoring for more.
3) Sage Francis - A Healthy Distrust: Another white boy who can put Eminem to shame, Sage Francis is not what you would expect from a typical rapper. Straight-edge (although he hates the term), vegetarian and college educated, his command of the English language is nothing short of impressive. He's the first hip-hop artist to be signed to Epitaph, a mostly punk label, and you can listen to this album over and over again and still miss the double-entrendres, puns and metaphors that are squeezed into every song. The very definition of a "socially-conscious" rapper, Sage 's finest work is showcased in this album. He's an outspoken critic of government corruption and consumerism, and was even named as one of PETA's "sexiest vegetarians." I'll put aside my extreme distaste for PETA for the sake of Sage though.
1) DJ Shadow - Endtroducing...: DJ Shadow pioneered a new direction for the genre when he released "Endroducing..." If I had to choose a single album to listen to for the rest of my life, this would be it. Stuttering beats, beautiful piano and organ pieces and obscure samples abound in what could probably be called the grandfather of melodic hip-hop. The only vocals you will find are an occasional movie sample, but the music really does all the talking. Unfortunately for Shadow, this album transcends all future releases and although he has put of some damn good stuff (with the exception of his latest album "The Outsider"), this is something that just can't be topped. It's like the first time you had sex, or the virgin high you got when you smoked your first joint. Often imitated, never duplicated.
when we slow danced in the headlights of a parked car down the road
Frank McCourt pretty much recounts his childhood growing up in poverty. First in Brooklyn, but unable to find work, his father decides they should all go back to Limerick, Ireland. Except Frank’s father was a drunk who couldn’t hold a job. And when he did, he used any pay to go get a few pints instead of buy food for the family. Though this poverty didn’t stop him from repeatedly knocking up Angela, his wife. 
McCourt really did just lay it all out there; the good and the very bad. 
So, as part of a guilty pleasure/full confession, I ask, what songs make you cry?
Officer Jo here of the FTTW Fashion Police and this week's fashion culprit: David Arquette, the youngest of five, has managed to garner the title of being one of the most aesthetically interesting dressers in Hollywood today. His love for bow tie has brought them back into the main stream of fashion (He was adorable in A Very, Merry Muppet Christmas!), but its his lack of style that makes him a Walking, Talking Fashion No-No.
a plaid suit, or just way too many sequins on a blue suit - David Arquette's oddly quirky personal style keeps him on "Worst Dressed" lists across the country as a repeat Fashion Offender". No one can manage to figure out how Arquette continuously makes bad style choices while married to the moderately fashionable star of DIRT, Courtney Cox-Arquette. The couple always look strangely paired when out in Hollywood, but its mostly due to their clashing style choices.
Hell, I don't even want breakfast in bed. I've just been conditioned to think that's what I want. I was just happy to wake up today and see a card propped up by my computer. My kids may not have any money to buy me a present on their own, but they took the time to walk to the store to get me a nice card. That's all it takes. Not gifts, not flowers, not pancakes. Just a little thoughtfulness. 
She taught me how to read before I started kindergarten. She encouraged me when I read the newspaper instead of picture books. She read to me, read with me, and took me to the library every weekend so I bring home a fresh haul of books. 
The Ducks have proved their mettle, they just need to take a bath, fly south and/or make soup – whatever it is you do with ducks besides throw stale bread at them.
As for Clemens, I cannot top nor will I join in the journalistic onanism that continues to spurt from every media outlet left and right as they attempt to get EVERY detail about his impending return to the Yankees, up to and including what he says when he ejaculates and spawns another poor child destined to have a name starting with the letter K. Have fun - I'll take my ball(s) and go home.
HEY CUBS FANS! Before you get all hot and bothered by the (as of Tuesday past) five-game winning streak, allow me to let you in on a little fact: the Cubs are a mediocre team. Lee, Ramirez, and Rich Hill are for real. Ted Lilly and Ryan Theriot will keep on keeping on but the need for another front-line pitcher is very evident and the acquisition or non-acquisition of one will determine if they have any chance of destroying my "Cliff Sherrill Perfect World BrewCrew Scenario". Right now, they have a much better manager than last year who is playing chess with far too many pawns and not enough knights and bishops.
Broken down cars are the worst. Fucked up cars are hell. Sometimes you have to use them when you are just starting. It just happens. And some cars are broken down fun. Pure adrenaline O.D. fun.
1. Dream big. 
This comes in handy when your neighbors ask you why you are cursing so much. Either the fire is too hot or the "god damn government won't let you burn your stuff on your shit!" The more anti-government rants in neighborhoods tend to bring a more cohesive unit of love and tenderness between the households. People love fires. People love rants. Bring out a copy of the Turner Diaries and you got the makings of pure rock fury. 
With the festival of Beltaine just past, it seems to be an appropriate time to talk about the Pagan Wheel of the Year, or religious calendar. Beltaine is my favorite festival, even though I have yet to celebrate it properly... um, "properly" for my beliefs means fucking my brains out in a field with my magickal partner. I'll explain why later.
2. Imbolg Feb. 1st or 2nd [August 1st]
5. Litha - Summer Solstice June 20th or 21st [Winter Soltice]
I never did finish Ultima VI, though, because even when I decided to play it seriously the game blocked the ending from me because I had been such an evil knight. Sorry. I don’t mind being the good guy if that’s how the game works, but if given a moral choice my virtual alter ego is almost always a sociopath.
I get caught frequently and have to restart from a saved game, because the guards in this game are rather ruthless and will either take the character to jail (where he loses all his stolen goods,) order him to pay a fine (and take all his stolen goods) or kill him, depending on the response I have him give when he is arrested. Even a nimble Wood Elf like Dolemite cannot outrun the police in this game, and they are nearly impossible to fight at my level. So thieving has been trial and error so far, but if it is only one fraction of the game, I suspect that this game will be full of stuff to do. This is a good thing, because the longer it takes to complete one game the less likely I am to buy another.
It wasn’t a latex Halloween mask hanging from a tree, it was a real face belonging to a really old and really tall man. Who, I figured, lived in the fucking shack… I guess he’d been watching me for ages. I was on his property or his squat or something. Man, the guy was almost eight feet tall. Jesus.
Well that’s kind of dirty, I thought to him. He jumped back up and started punching the air with his finger, emphasizing the words he felt were most important.
Needless to say, he’d scared the shit right out of me. I’m not kidding, I pooped a little. When I did that he said, “I smell knowledge. You just learned something alright, didn’t you?”
Now, I normally sneer at any of the various themed restaurants. I’ve gotten enough crappy food at Outback, Chili’s, Applebee’s, Red Lobster, Olive Garden…you know the ones. You wait at least half an hour for your little electronic hoodoo to flash and vibrate to tell you your table is ready and then you wait forever for your appetizers until you think you’re going to starve and then they bring the appetizer and the main course at the same freaking time. That will cut a tip to 5% faster than the ribs with ½ inch of rub on them I got at Outback once. 
As for the movie, I’m still not sure if it was the best of the series so far or the worst. There were too many bad guys. The pacing was manic. They tried to lay the backstories well enough, but everything was happening so fast that you really didn’t care. That may be my biggest complaint about the fight scenes. There was so MUCH happening on the screen that when it was over you had to ask yourself, what just happened there? The effects and CGI were too slick. My other problem with the fight scenes is simply, “Spiderman is NOT Superman, he gets hurt dammit!!!”
So what happened? The cinderblock exploded, and the porch fell down. 
I love introducing new players to D&D, sort of like a crack dealer of the tabletop gaming world. With new players, adventuring actually is an adventure. Longtime gamers see a group of kobolds and cast sleep on the entire group of low hit die creatures. They see a grick and pull out their magical weapons. Long-time gamers even have Pavlovian responses to the appearance of a hex grid.
“Uh, probably this new dress my mom bought me for my birthday,” I lie. Not about the new dress, that I do have, but I haven’t shaved my legs in about a month, and though I love Gwen Stefani, her concert wasn’t reason enough for me to bust out the four blade Gillete. Jeans and a cute top, what I already had on, seemed just fine to me.
“I know what it’s like to live in the ghetto!” the girls scream like Acorn might hear them over everyone else. The two hug their L.A.M.B. bags, no doubt containing cherry flavored lip gloss, a dainty pink derringer, and their Sidekicks so that they can text pictures of the concert to their less privileged girlfriends sitting at home watching The Hills. One girl throws her head back and lets out a cry like someone was stealing the sweat suit right off of her back. Or killing her. “I LOVE YOU!” she finishes the scream off, “YOU ARE SO HOT!” She then continues to sing every word of some song with lyrics about not being the first to die when you are in the ghetto hanging with whatever gang you belong to. My sister and I glare at each other, engaging in a very Jim-to-Camera moment. “I hate them,” my sister shouts into my ear over the music and I nod. 
His well-receded hairline has been trimmed to a buzz cut, and his thin, angular face is hidden behind glasses big enough to be a pair of Aviators. Such glasses would surely eclipse the face of anyone not endowed with such a beak-like nose; it looks like it allows him to look down on everyone he meets. Behind those glasses, though, the eyes are kind - like the eyes of your father when you both know that you've done something very stupid.
Black Sabbath
You could pause and pick up one single grain of beach sand. You would find it to be clear-a tiny grain of quartz, insignificant and lost in a soft breath, or slight breeze, but it has a story that rivals all others told, in its majesty and scope. That grain at has at least a four and a half billion-years of changes and journeys, most likely all across and through our great planet.
Dallas, Deep Ellum, actually, is home to one of the best guitarists in music today, Jim Heath. Better known to the masses as 
Seeing them on the show was a catalyst. The next time I was over at one friend's place, I asked him if he had any of their albums. He had both It's Martini Time and Spaceheater. I absorbed them both and bought them myself. Over time I got their entire catalog.
4. Almost every celebrity who is or is trying to be a scientologist is chiming in on the marriage of Tom and Katie. The Zombie Bride and her Couch Jumping Husband have been under speculation these past few weeks that their marriage is on the rocks....not so say their friends! Katie makes chocolate covered popcorn for their movie nights! Doesn't get more solid than that!
2. This week David Hasselhoff had his teenage daughter video tape him while in a drunken stupor. Now while this might seem fun and cool in college, when your wife is divorcing you and telling the world that you abused you and your children, this might not have been on the top ten best ways to conduct yourself. He is now saying he needs an exorcist to rid him of his alcoholism....somebody find this guy an AA meeting...who has Mel Gibson's number?
HaDag Nachash (
Born in Tel-Aviv, Israel, Miri Ben-Ari (
When people tell me how much they admire the fact that I've written six novels and started countless others, I ask them why they don't do it themselves, and that's the answer I usually get. And why can't people seem to get past the editing stage when they're writing? Because people are pussies, that's why. For some reason, there's this subtle sense of shame that hangs over the creative process in our society, and that means that when people are writing—even when they're only writing for themselves, in the comfort of their own home—they can't get past the "What would someone else think about this" attitude. 
Not by a long shot. We’ve hardly started and we’ve got a long way to go. And you’re coming with us. Ride With Us. You know?
Taurus – Sometimes you just need to put yourself first. Sometimes you just need to stay home, eat corn chips and masturbate. Sometimes this lasts all week, Taurus, so load up on the essentials before the video store closes. You’re going to whack it so much.
Libra – All you are going to do for the first half of the week is fight with loved ones. And you will lose a lot of those fights, and you will be perceived as a sore loser every time. This being misunderstood will affect every part of your life for the remainder of the week. Do not eat at any restaurants, including fast food joints. Asking someone to go to the drive through for you is cheating. You will be punished by the universe. Eat out and you will be eating spit.
Dave: Love Dvoracek, and most baroque, classical, romantic. Gustav Holst The Planets. The Russians, Mussourgsky, Cui, Tchaikovsky. Felix Mendelsson. Listz, Berlioz, Verdi (the Requiem!). Gah. I could go on, and you don't want to see that.
Here it is! Have some fun! Vote more than once! You tell us!
Dany Heatly had a great night for the Sens in game 4 (assist and an unassisted goal), helping the team take an outstanding lead in the series. His flukey (he was TRYING for the goalpost so teammate Spezza could get a good shot) goal off Brodeur’s back skate really got the arena shaking. 
Anaheim leads 3 – 1, for now... 
Last week my Wife and I had a rare night out with just the two of us as we traveled to the Mohegan Sun Casino in Uncasville, CT to see Ronnie Milsap and George Strait. This event also featured the equally rare occurrence of me attending a concert with someone other than myself. 
It did not take long for the stage crew to setup for George Strait and just as we got to our seats, the lights came down to the enthusiastic applause of the crowd. 
Hancock had turned 29 just eleven days earlier and had been involved in a small accident just three days prior that left him shaken but intact. The talk since the original shock and grief at the beginning of this tragedy has been about Hancock's supposed inebriation from having too many drinks at a near-by restaurant. The Cards' own manager, Tony LaRussa, had DUI issues on March 22ND of this year when he was found asleep at the wheel of his SUV that had stopped in the middle of an intersection in Jupiter, Florida. As for deceased pitchers, the memory of Cardinal pitcher Darryl Kile, who died in his sleep on June 22ND, 2002, still hovers over the franchise. Goddamn, isn't that just uplifting?
Let's finish on a high note:
Perhaps I’ll write about the game at another time, but so far I’ve only put about an hour into it, so there really is not much to say. I’m getting my ass kicked by a bunch of unruly skeletons with maces and battle axes, and since I know very little about the world of role-playing games I don’t know how to increase my character’s mojo and today, well, today I’m supposed to be reading Roxana and writing this column, so this game will take some time. 
This morning, with my head slightly cooled, I started doing some research and found out just what a pain in the ass our brave new world is becoming. Apparently, a television is no longer simply a television, just as the Xbox 360 and the Playstation 3 are not simply video game consoles. It seems that high-definition is some sort of way of life, and it is no longer good enough that the TV just does its job. Plugging in one of these new-fangled televisions now requires a bunch of external junk that when added on to the initial price makes the whole thing ridiculously impractical for someone living on my nonexistent budget. Just as the Xbox 360 is some sort of media center with all kinds of expensive things I can add to it to make it file my taxes and do my laundry, HDTV is something that could easily take over my entire apartment. This is the problem with upgrades in technology. One would think that aside from making something that already exists cooler, it should also be easier to use. Instead, technology just becomes more and more complicated. Aside from price, until this new technology can be as easy to use as the old technology and improve upon the quality, I’m sticking with my boring old LDTV, even if it doesn’t look as cool when I’m eviscerating zombies.
My car is a rolling billboard. It started out innocently enough with a couple of pagan bumper stickers that my daughter got me. Then I got dragooned into leading a Wiccan discussion group, and turned a wee bit militant about being "out" - the back of my car now has seven pagan/witch bumper stickers on it, along with a couple of political ones from the last election.
Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.
Slightly off-topic for a sec, why do so many of us think it is cute and unique to use euphemisms and dysphemisms for the word 'internet'? I've used 'interwebs', 'spiderwebs', 'info superpipe', et cetera, but my favorite, you may have noticed; is 'interimnet'. My reasoning is pretty straight forward, I see the faulty, overly-complex, user-unfriendly, half-assed constructs that are thrown together by global companies and I think to myself, "Self, this shit has got to be a first draft. Why would a company that is in business here in the twenty oughts still have a website that works as well as the average geocities hellhole? Why would said company have a faq filled with questions that nobody would ask, much less frequently, yet completely refuse to receive email just in case they missed one?" Okay, back on topic.
Unfortunately, I was unable to simply STFU and stay out of it, I had to answer back, somewhat smarmily, that the incident had occurred, it was spreading like cream cheese across the innertubes and had been for at least 30 hours before the 'spoof' site went live with their so-called parody. When I went back to try and track down what had really happened I was distressed to find out that every site that was discussing the story had gotten it from the tabloid. Not that they don't ever print factual articles, but when you have dozens of streams but only one original source it starts to look like the conspiracy theorists are right. And when you have sarcastically called them out it really sucks to go back and say, "Well, um, err, I don't know." But that's what I did, and it was probably a good thing. Granted, I still believe that everyone having a conniption over this event that isn't already a vegan/vegetarian should go on the Oscar Meyer tour before they offer their opinion, but it wasn't really necessary for me to be so outspoken about it. Wait, I think maybe I was totally right on that one, so I might have to take a mulligan, for doubting myself. Maybe I can stick around until we get the bugs worked out of this 
Over on the Western side of the NBA playoffs, the Suns are sticking it hard to LA, and the dejection of the Lakers and their fan "base" tastes as sweet to me as the tears of Scott Tenorman taste to Eric Cartman. On Sunday, Steve Nash managed to dish out 23--twenty-fucking-three--assists for the Suns, reducing the Lakers to sad also-rans. It was a brilliant performance, one of the most glorious I've ever seen, and came one assist shy of tying the all-time playoffs assist record. Nash also had 17 points on 6 field goals. That means that, out of the 41 field goals made by Phoenix, Nash had a direct hand in 29 of them, or 70.7%. If that's not sheer brilliance, I don't really know what is. Steve Nash is pretty much a god.
First up, Phoenix. If you recall, I expected you all to owe me $20 by this point, but I didn't quite pull it off. I called Kobe going for 62 points in game three and the Lakers winning that game, after having lost the first two to the Suns. I also said that Phoenix would win the next two to finish off the series. You know what? While I may not be getting my $20 (and I really could use it) I still feel pretty damn good about that prediction. Kobe went for 45 in game three, which is nothing to dismiss (though certainly is far from 62) and the Lakers won the game. Not too shabby. They then went on to lose the next game and I'm guessing by the time this article is actually published and you're reading it, the Suns will have won the fifth game to take the series. If that does end up being the case, I should get some damn props for not only calling the winner, and not only calling the length, but also telling you which games would fall which way.
There was one time when my girlfriend couldn’t make it as my sidekick. Now, the real Barney on TV has an actual sidekick, this annoying fucker by the name of Baby Bop, but you had to pay extra if you wanted that shit at your party. The Barney-and-a-sidekick package came with Barney and either a clown or a chipmunk. Not a famous chipmunk or anything, just a fucking chipmunk. So whoever came along with me had to be versatile, don’t you know. They might have to switch personas two or three times an afternoon, depending on how busy we were.
So, right towards the end of my career in this bullshit, we hit the Christmas season. Barney’s Christmas season starts in late October and early November, as soon as offices and corporate organizations start having Christmas parties. Christmas season was a pretty good time, overall. Lots and lots of parties meant lots and lots of gigs for me, a gas allowance in the party van, and paid in cash as often as not. Yeah, it could definitely be a pain in the ass from time to time. That costume was hot as hell and stunk worse. Having to deal with angry parents who’d rather try and settle the bill with Barney than the actual person they’d made the deal with. I mean, complaining to the cashier in the department store is one thing – well, not really, but holy shit, grown men trying to talk seriously to fucking Barney about previous financial agreements that may or may not have been honoured. Jesus. 
Barney’s stomach is not where my fucking stomach is. He’s a seven foot chubby dinosaur and I was a six foot two skinny pothead. If you’re the height of a nine year old and you punch Barney in the stomach, you’re punching me right in the nutsack. Yeah, like you didn’t see that coming. I fucking didn’t. And he got me good and it hurt like only a punch in the nutsack can. And I doubled over, and by then another kid had come over, and he started punching Barney in the head. Barney’s head is not my head. That actually wasn’t so bad because my head was protected pretty well, but the Barney head reverberated with this nasty tone. It was like having a washtub banged over your head. It didn’t hurt but it was fucking annoying.
So what's that have to do with my recliner? I let my butt get glued to my recliner. I woke up, I'd let Max out and then lock him back into the room with my wife. The remaining cat (no, the other cat didn't get eaten by Max, it lost it's mind and tried to take a chunk out of my wife. We didn't put it down, we took it to the pound where she was adopted out.)…the remaining cat, pops out of the basement for her kibble. I grab my coffee, fire up my laptop and read the news and a couple of daily read blogs. The cat comes over and makes herself comfortable and we hang out until it's time for my shower and suit up time.
I go through this every couple of years or so. I get lazy. I get tired of doing the things I need to do to keep this thing I travel around in moving well. I did some damage to my body when I was a kid. I didn't do football or baseball and in my day, we barely knew what soccer was. I was into martial arts and was a Frisbee freak. Ultimate, guts, freestyle. I was one of those guys that made the Physics Teacher talk to himself when me and the guys got rolling out on the blacktop of the parking lot. As I got older, I got into some beer soaked brawls. My right shoulder blade feels like it's got glass in it in the winter time from when some frat brat hit on one of the girls in the show I was in and wouldn't take no for an answer. I stepped in between her and a 6'4" freak of nature and got thrown into a wall for my trouble. To be fair, I did break his nose…on purpose, he had reason. I had a bad habit of wearing shining armor for people that didn't need saving. Still do on occasion. I blame the Anglo side of the family. Add to that I kept doing martial arts long after the doctors told me to quit because of my knees and the fact that I have feet that never should have gone into combat boots in the first place... I'm not a guy that can afford to quit doing stuff to keep my body moving.
As I am sure a lot of you people know, I have a favorite TV show. Yes, it is a weird TV show, but it has influenced me in many ways. It was a happy show with wholesome memories for me. Today, I learned of some sad news and I thought I would share it.
Fast forward two years where a new memory is born. The kids and I sit around the dining table; eyes closed, hands clutching, and heads in a silent bow. Our circle of prayer is witnessed by a stick of burning sage, a snow-white illuminated candle and a blanket of darkness. The wind outside serenades our vigil with sudden gusts violently crashing into the windows. We all look out the the thin glass, now speckled with rain and bits of pine needles, waiting for a sign that Her wrath has subsided. We are asking for stillness. We are urging Her to silence the terrifying wind, to let the trees return to their upright positions and pray that their roots are strong enough to hold.
It didn't stop there. The wind continued to rattle our aging store, lights and computers flickering on and off, the roof close to losing its corrugated protection. The heavy commercial doors slammed repeatedly, unable to halt the suction from the wind. Within an hour I was en route to daycare, now closing due to a power outage. Braving the drive again, I set off to collect my children. A mile into my journey, traffic ceased to move. Power lines were down, trees uprooted lay across countless roads preventing many from coming or going. After re-routing, the seriousness of the situation became quite apparent. The radio insisted that people stay home and off the roads. Arriving at daycare I caught my breath; not two houses away from its kid friendly yard lie a giant pine tree straight across my road home.
Where was I? Assholes who can’t operate an airline kiosk should be kicked to the ground and pelted with rotten, maggoty fruit. Perhaps more to the point, they obviously lack the basic intelligence and life skills necessary to get from point A to point B, so they should at least be institutionalized and put on treadmills to generate electricity for the rest of us. Of course, I single out assholes at the kiosk for further observation and avoidance for the duration I am forced to reside in the same boarding area, or airplane as they. The kiosk is only the beginning of ignorant behavior, but at least I am forewarned. Now, the people that really chap my ass are the ones that manifest themselves only after boarding the aircraft. (Pause to traverse airport to bus exit and outside smoking area, smoke, warily eye other smokers warily eying me, re-enter airport and board my plane)
I opened the can and poured a little two foot long trail, and then made a pile about the size of two fists at the end of the trail. This was going to be so cool. I placed the can (sealed, for safety) a good safe distance away, call it two feet, and began striking the matches. I hadn’t started stealing cigarettes from my parents yet so I wasn’t any good at this yet, but I finally got one lit and managed to keep it lit by cupping my hand around it. In order to light the trail, I had to lean over and keep my hand around the match. And then I touched it to the gunpowder. Right as my dad pulled into the driveway from work.
Understandably, this sudden thrust of professionalism has come as a bit of a shock, and I've spent most of the weekend making sure I'm not going to embarrass myself in front of the readership of the 10th-largest newspaper in the country. In light of this new deadline, coupled with a quickly-approaching end of a semester and the several papers and tests that come with it, I've decided that sleeping is for the weak and that I can function perfectly well by main-lining those little 5-hour Energy Shots. *twitch*
If you have some friends around, it's like some kind of Grecian Roman He Man thing where you have the alpha males lifting the heaviest stuff whilst the womenfolk and childrens stay out of the way. Charles Ingalls worked in the yard. Charles Ingalls was a man. His family were a bunch of weak, blind breeders. Not farmers. When Charles worked on the farm, you knew he knew how to fuck. You could see it in his Mormon eyes. When I lifted cement blocks last weekend, the neighborhood knew I could fuck. And isn't that what makes a happy neighborhood anyways? I have to do it again this weekend and I am inches away from doing it naked to show Zeus and the other gods that not only can I fuck, I am ready to fuck. Fucking or pulling weeds, makes no difference to me. As long as the gods know, and by the cries I know they know, that I can mow a lawn or split a pussy with the best of them. The gods will be satisfied. Grab my shaft and feel my testicles shake as I start the Garden Weasel. Feel my heaving buttocks as I adjust my weed whacker. My penis will point the way to a clean and freshly mowed lawn. When I urinate on my newly mowed lawn, the gods will know that I felt like urinating instead of fucking. And they will respect me. For the gods will see that I can fuck, but I choose to pee instead.
Basil Pesto
Shadows Fall
