This morning, I embarked on my daily commute to Miniapple. I checked my gas, oil, mileage, anti-lock breaks, my mirrors. Smiling at myself, bespectacled in sunglasses, I said, "Let's roll."
That's when the U-Haul army flew past and parked themselves at various intervals throughout my entire home to work route. U-Haul is abound every which way today. From my own house to the University area, I was literally dodging movers, U-Haul trailers, U-Haul trucks, 18 year old U-Haulin' ass dude bro's who've only learned how to drive some two years ago. It was like a simulation game for student drivers. Stop, wait for crazy driver, continue, stop wait for novice parallel parker to park correctly, continue, dodge moving garbage on the curb that has since spilled over onto the street, deal with loud frat boy/sorority girl idling in their walking through a crosswalk, etc.
Dinkytown, and the road to it from Northeast, has turned into an apocalyptic wasteland of too much moving. I know that doesn't make sense, but . . . sigh . . .
The house is the same ordeal. It's traumatic having to say goodbye then hello then goodbye, help move friends, say goodbye, work work work. There's no comfort zone of autonomy nor static balance. Everything is off balance. Everything is novel.
Welcome to the Crossroads . . .
Bob Marley and the Wailers -- "Exodus"
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Polish Sausages 2
(An addendum to Polish Sausages)
I never thought I'd hear his voice again. Grainy, choked from strain, yet distinctively Polish: "Peter, c- . . . come out to the sauna."
It was Jarek. Marta's father.
Still shaken from the previous sauna disaster back in January, I shuddered. "Are -- are you alive? How could--"
"I am back, Peter. They saved me."
"Are you in the hospital?" I couldn't believe it. I saw him pass away on his back yard with my own eyes.
"No, no. I am in my house. I'd like to make things up to you," he said, ending his sentence in a fit of coughs.
"By having us go back into the sauna?" I felt the bitter pangs of forgotten terror rising within my bowels.
"Yes. It would mean so much to me to have you all there. The sauna I built. Ready for the world. My own hands making something of true merit and substance. For my daughter's true friends. If I could only be so honored . . ."
"Yes. Yes." I stopped. Was it true? Jarek had survived the massacre. Why had Marta not told us?
"Jarek, sir, WE would be honored to visit your sauna. This Sunday."
I could hear weeping on the other end . . .
-------------------------------
"He's alive. I'm still in shock!"
Marta sat with me, taking a break in packing up for the big move to Seattle. I had just made coffee to help fuel a recording session, when she came in. I asked her about her father being alive and she said she had received a call two hours earlier by him. She still hadn't seen him yet.
I asked, "So are you going to go over there today? To meet him?"
"Unfortunately, I can't," she said, taking a sip. "Taylor and I are going down to Springfield for a couple of days, but I'll be seeing him first thing Sunday when we get back."
I paused, thinking of the best way to say the only resonating thought in my head.
"He wants us to use the sauna."
She stopped mid-sip. She lowered the cup down slowly, eyeing me with utter seriousness. What she said shook me to the bone.
"Only for him will I do it. I'll never go near that thing again after this weekend."
She finished her coffee. "Well, I better get going. So much to do."
I dumped the rest of my coffee down the drain. I had enough adrenaline as it was.
--------------------------------
Sunday, Marta, Taylor, myself and three new compatriots, Shannon, Falon, and Matt, ventured to Eden Prairie to say happy birthday to Jan, Marta's brother, and to say salutations to the resurrected Jarek.
Upon coalescing on the front lawn of Marta's parents' home, we were greeted with a short cry coming from inside the house. A second later, Jan came bolting out of the front door, tears streaming down his face.
"YOU CAME!!!" He screamed as he hugged his sister in a tight bear hug. He stepped back and regarded each of us. I was slightly perturbed by the look he gave me. It was one of hidden alarm, tucked neatly behind his happy exterior, save for a mere corner of unmasking. It was the tears that magnified my inquiry.
Marta broke the silence. "Happy Birthday, Jan!"
Jan looked at her with a startled jump. He smiled. "Do you want to see him?"
We all nodded in agreement.
He began to nod. "Okay!" He turned on his heels and walked toward the house with us following.
Immediately upon entering, I noticed the dining room table covered in food. A great deal of care was given to the scene. Pine stems and candles littered the setting in a meticulous pattern.
Falon gasped. "Oh my god, it's gorgeous! Who set this?"
Jan looked back. "Oh . . . I did." He blushed.
Shannon said, "You did this? But it's your birthday."
Jan said, "I forgot it was my birthday. It's really for my father."
Marta started to cry. She came up and embraced Jan, who was slow in returning the embrace.
I remarked to Taylor, "He seems like he's in a daze, man."
Taylor remarked back, "His dad turned up out of nowhere. I'd be dazed too if I was in his shoes."
I let it pass.
Marta said, "Where's Jarek?"
Jan stepped back, his smile fading. "Let's sit."
Marta stopped. "Is . . . is he coming downstairs to meet us?"
Falon remarked, "He's going to make a grand entrance, isn't he?"
Jan looked from Marta slowly to Falon. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right."
We took our places around the table. Two chairs were empty. Marta's mother and father, I presumed.
Jan took a lighter and lit two candles standing in the middle of the table. He then clinked a glass filled with white wine. "To Jarek. And to his sauna."
"To Jarek and the sauna," the group toasted. As I gulped down my wine, I noticed Jan twitch, look ever so slightly toward Marta, then back at the food. It was a subtle twitch, but noticeable all the same.
We ate a meat resembling that of Polish Sausage. Shannon asked, "Is this a Polish dish, Jan?"
Jan only sat, eating the meat in silence.
"The meat, Jan. Is it a Polish dish?" Shannon repeated.
Looking straight ahead, as if to no one in particular, he simply said, "Yes."
A single tear dropped down his cheek.
I couldn't take it any longer. I pushed back my chair and stood up. "Alright, what the hell's going on here?! Why are you acting so weird?"
Jan continued to stare into space. "Sit down."
I couldn't believe my ears. "What?!"
Simply, quietly, he repeated, "Sit down."
The entire group looked at me in concerned irritation. Matt finally pulled my sleeve. "Sit down, man."
I sat down slowly and finished the rest of my plate.
----------------------------------------
After we all finished, Marta asked, "So, when's the grand entrance, Jan?"
Jan looked at the sauna from the dining room window. "Soon."
Falon said, "It'll probably be in the sauna, right?"
Jan turned and slowly walked toward the back door. "I'll get the sauna started up. Meet me there in fifteen minutes."
With that, we were left to our own devices.
"Well, I'm going to put my bathing suit on," Taylor said, heading for the guest bathroom.
We each went to separate quadrants of the house to put our suits on. After we changed, we set out to the sauna. Jan was standing with a hatchet in hand, positioned in a proud stance, he resembled a lumberjack posing for a photograph.
"It's all set," he said as we came near. "Just go on in."
Marta was the first to enter, a big smile on her face. Next was Taylor, followed by Shannon, followed by Falon, Matt, with me entering last.
As we all sat down, furnace in the middle, Marta shouted to Jan, "Are you coming in?!"
Jan said, "I have to go get dad!" Then he shut the door. We all heard what sounded like a bolt being drawn across.
"Was that a lock?" Matt asked.
Marta said, "There's no lock on the sauna door, why would there be?"
We sat, basking in the heat. The recommended time to sit within the confines of a hot sauna is 15 minutes. After five Shannon said, "Holy god, this feels good."
Falon said, "Tell me about it."
Matt asked, "Jarek really built this with his own bare hands?"
Marta answered, "That's what he says."
Ten minutes passed.
I looked back at the temperature. It was reaching 215 degrees. "What's taking Jarek so long?" I asked.
Marta closed her eyes. "I have no idea. All I know is I can't wait to see Papa after all this time."
Another five minutes passed.
Taylor stood up, dripping in sweat. "Alright, shall we step outside for a few minutes? Take a break?"
We all agreed in unison. Damn, it was hot in there!
We stood up. Matt pushed on the door. It didn't budge.
"C'mon Matt, open it," Shannon said.
Matt shook the door. "I -- I can't!"
Taylor pushed him aside. "What?! Let me try!"
He couldn't get it open either.
"Oh my god, it's locked!" he shouted.
Falon shouted, "It can't be locked!"
"I'm telling you, it's fucking locked!!" Taylor backed up and rammed the door with his shoulder as hard as he could. "It's bolted with something big on the other end!"
I looked out the side window and noticed a large metal bar going into a locking mechanism on the outside of the door. "He's right! Jan locked us in!"
Matt looked out of the window. "But why would he do that?!"
Shannon said, "I don't know."
Marta began to yell, "HELP! HELP!!"
I looked again at the thermometer. 235. The absolute peak. I asked, "Marta, how hot does this thing get? Does it go past what the thermometer says?"
She looked. "No, it's only supposed to go up to 215."
Just then, the thermometer broke.
Falon shouted, "It's getting hotter?!"
I looked at the furnace in the middle, and heard what sounded like a generator start up from outside the sauna. "What the hell was that?!"
The fire within the furnace glowed brighter, the flames doubling in size. We all felt the temperature rise another ten degrees.
"HELLLP!!! HELLLP!!!!" We all screamed.
Shannon leaned against the wall. "I . . . I'm feeling sleepy . . ."
Just then, I noticed a white haired man come strolling along the bottom of the hill beneath the sauna. He had a look of concern on his face, hurrying along at a medium speed.
I said, "Guys! Someone's coming! They must've heard us!"
The entire group sighed with relief. Shannon continued to close and open her eyes slowly, but she had the remnants of a smile on her face.
The man came up to the window. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in, looking frantically back and forth. He shouted "You alright in there?!"
All of us shouted "NO!!!!" in unison.
He smiled, then climbed the ladder leading to the chimney of the sauna. A moment later we heard his voice coming down the chimney through a grate in the pipe leading to the furnace. "Sorry, it's hard for me to shout nowadays! How you guys doin'?"
Taylor shouted into the grate, "Not good! We think we've been locked in here! The temperature is rising and we really need to get out! Can you unlock the door?!"
The man's voice sounded grainy, strained. Taunting. "Nope, no can do."
The voice was familiar. I recognized it as the voice on the telephone, asking me to come down to visit the sauna. Only there was no Polish accent. It couldn't have been this man, I thought.
"What do you mean 'No can do'?! Let us out!" Matt shouted.
"I'm afraid I can't let that happen," the white haired man said.
Taylor looked at Marta. "Marta, who is that guy?"
Marta, a concerned look on her face, said, "That's Albert Johnson. He lives two doors down."
Taylor said, "Well, what the hell's wrong with him?"
Marta shrugged.
Falon stepped up to the grate. "Open the fucking door, mister, or my parents, who are cops, are going to hunt you down and--"
"Oh, I don't think so," Johnson said with a smug little chuckle. "I'd keep my mouth shut now, if I were you. Save your breath. You're gonna need it."
"You called us earlier in the week," I said. "You acted as Jarek."
"Can't get nothin' by you, blondie," he said. "I guess I can squelch some of the mystique now that I got you in here."
"Who are you?" Taylor asked.
"Me? Well, only the one who built the very sauna you're standin' in."
Marta said, "My father built it."
"You see, now that's the problem. That's what's really got me in a tiff. It wasn't your father. It was me."
Matt's head hit the wall. He was out.
"YOU?!" I shouted. "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU GOT ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT?!"
The man laughed. "Whoa, seriously, I mean it, save your breath, all of you. I got enough juice going into this thing to cook myself six rotisserie chickens tonight. You hear that hum? That's a generator. The temperature is going up ten degrees every minute or so. You'll be deader n' a dino in a tarpit come five of 'em the way you're talking."
"Why are you going this?!" Marta cried out.
"Whelp, I guess as payback. But it's also sorta my little secret. You see, your dad commissioned me to make this here sauna. He wanted an authentic Scandinavian hotbox. Being the friendly neighbor, I had to oblige him. But he didn't seem to heed some o' the ol' gossip runnin' round the campfire in the local commute."
"And what would that be?!" Falon sighed.
"Guess it ain't gonna get me in trouble now. I despise the Poles. I really do. My daddy was an immigrant, running from war crimes committed in the 1940's. He was a commanding officer of the Third Reich. Guess a little bit of his beliefs rubbed off on me."
"Your dad was a Nazi?!" Taylor said.
"Hey, gold star for you! Too bad it'd probably melt in the next five minutes."
"What does your dad being a Nazi have anything to do with this sauna?" Marta asked. "We're not even Jewish!"
"Well, see that's where the other part of my secret comes into the spotlight. Over the years I've developed a taste for meat. Ever since I was a little babby I loved the taste of fresh meat. Chicken, beef, pheasant. I went huntin' with my daddy ever since I could hold a gun. After awhile I started growing bored of your run of the mill white meat/red meat fiascos. So, I started to dabble in some of my own brew. My own kind."
"People?!" Shannon shrieked, before falling to the floor.
"Ah, is that another one I just heard fall down? Couple more to go, eh? It's gettin' to be about 280 right now." He was loving every minute of it.
He continued. "Yeah, you got me. A little bit of cannibalism, a little bit of Polack prejudice smacked into one. Once I heard a couple of Poles moved into the area, I thought, 'That's the end! There goes the fuckin' neighborhood!' Once your dad rapped on my door hearin' I was an esteemed sauna engineer I thought, 'Well, now there may be a little thing called karma after all'. I rigged up a little secret generator and bolt system unbeknownst to your patriarch, ready to get all of the Haftek family whenever I felt the time was right. Hanging out with him while building the thing, I started to like the guy. But after he started claiming that he was the one who built it, well, that did it. I felt the right time for a little payback came last January when I saw not only the Hafteks enter the sauna, but their little Polack friends, one of them an Arian traitor."
"Fuck you!" I said.
"Hey, my little Arian. Can't wait to sink my teeth into your right thigh. Well, I snuck up on you, turned on the generator, but just as I was about to bolt the door, you guys came out and went on top of the roof. Jarek was the one who took the blow."
"He started on fire and ran out screaming," I said. "The dog ate his back."
"It's a damn shame, ain't it? Fuckin' dog got to it before I did."
"He fucking died because of you!" Marta shouted. "And what about Jan?! Why did he lock us in here?"
"Oh, I don't know. Probably has to do with the fact I killed his mother before his eyes and fed her to him, threatening to do the same to him. He's a good boy once you go to certain extremes. How'd she taste, by the way?"
Marta went green. "You mean--"
Taylor went over to her. "Shh, Marta, he's just trying to get you riled up."
"No, I'm not tryin'," he went on. "Just tellin' the facts. He helped me prepare her just the way he helped prepare you."
"He locked her in here?" Taylor asked.
"Darn tootin'! I didn't think it'd be kosher for him to do all the postmortem details, all the grinding and shredding--"
"STOP IT!!" Falon shouted.
"Whew, yes ma'am! I take it you'll be the spiciest of the bunch! I started gettin' ancy for some fresh meat, so I plopped on over, slipped a nice little .45 near his temple and declared him my slave or else!"
The world was starting to fade to black. My vision was closing in on me right when I noticed Jan with a baseball bat. The same bat he used to thwart the Haftek dog off of Jarek back in January. He was coming slowly up the hill. I couldn't tell whose side he was on.
Johnson kept right on schpieling. "It wasn't too difficult either. No sir, he was as moldable as Moon Sand."
Jan climbed the stairs to the roof.
Johnson was saying, "I was kinda surprised, how fast he caved. He reminded me a little of myself, to tell the truth--"
Just then, we heard a THWACK! through the grate and a short little "GAH!" from Johnson. A moment later, we heard another THWACK! and Johnson fell off the side of the sauna, landing on his head, which emitted an audible CRACK! even through the window and locked door. Jan climbed down, and went to turn the generator off. Immediately we felt the temperature drop. The bolt was drawn back and the door flew open.
We all ran out, carrying the two fallen bodies with us. Jan said, "Quick! I don't want to lose too much of the heat!"
When we were all out, Jan carried Johnson into the sauna, dropped him, came out, bolted the door, and started the generator back up again.
"Jan!" I said. "What are you doing?"
Jan turned. "Giving him his just desserts."
That's when the screaming began. As we walked toward the house, I looked back, catching a glimpse of Johnson through the side window. He was on fire.
Marta hugged Jan. "Dad was never here, was he?"
"No," he answered.
She stopped him. "You did what you had to do, Jan."
Jan nodded. "I know."
We all walked to our cars. Jan said, "I'll catch up."
Driving back, I thought about what Johnson had been saying right about the time Jan had cracked him on the head. About Jan caving in so quickly.
I knew what Jan was doing right then. Knew about him opening the door of the sauna. Knew about Jan getting the dog. Knew about the big meal the dog would be allowed to have.
Jan reminded Johnson of himself because Jan was a hunter. Jan knew the best way to get back at an opponent was to let them win for a little while, no matter what the cost.
In the end, the cost of war is no match to reaping the hard fought reward of sweet revenge.
Marilyn Manson -- "Wrapped in Plastic"
I never thought I'd hear his voice again. Grainy, choked from strain, yet distinctively Polish: "Peter, c- . . . come out to the sauna."
It was Jarek. Marta's father.
Still shaken from the previous sauna disaster back in January, I shuddered. "Are -- are you alive? How could--"
"I am back, Peter. They saved me."
"Are you in the hospital?" I couldn't believe it. I saw him pass away on his back yard with my own eyes.
"No, no. I am in my house. I'd like to make things up to you," he said, ending his sentence in a fit of coughs.
"By having us go back into the sauna?" I felt the bitter pangs of forgotten terror rising within my bowels.
"Yes. It would mean so much to me to have you all there. The sauna I built. Ready for the world. My own hands making something of true merit and substance. For my daughter's true friends. If I could only be so honored . . ."
"Yes. Yes." I stopped. Was it true? Jarek had survived the massacre. Why had Marta not told us?
"Jarek, sir, WE would be honored to visit your sauna. This Sunday."
I could hear weeping on the other end . . .
-------------------------------
"He's alive. I'm still in shock!"
Marta sat with me, taking a break in packing up for the big move to Seattle. I had just made coffee to help fuel a recording session, when she came in. I asked her about her father being alive and she said she had received a call two hours earlier by him. She still hadn't seen him yet.
I asked, "So are you going to go over there today? To meet him?"
"Unfortunately, I can't," she said, taking a sip. "Taylor and I are going down to Springfield for a couple of days, but I'll be seeing him first thing Sunday when we get back."
I paused, thinking of the best way to say the only resonating thought in my head.
"He wants us to use the sauna."
She stopped mid-sip. She lowered the cup down slowly, eyeing me with utter seriousness. What she said shook me to the bone.
"Only for him will I do it. I'll never go near that thing again after this weekend."
She finished her coffee. "Well, I better get going. So much to do."
I dumped the rest of my coffee down the drain. I had enough adrenaline as it was.
--------------------------------
Sunday, Marta, Taylor, myself and three new compatriots, Shannon, Falon, and Matt, ventured to Eden Prairie to say happy birthday to Jan, Marta's brother, and to say salutations to the resurrected Jarek.
Upon coalescing on the front lawn of Marta's parents' home, we were greeted with a short cry coming from inside the house. A second later, Jan came bolting out of the front door, tears streaming down his face.
"YOU CAME!!!" He screamed as he hugged his sister in a tight bear hug. He stepped back and regarded each of us. I was slightly perturbed by the look he gave me. It was one of hidden alarm, tucked neatly behind his happy exterior, save for a mere corner of unmasking. It was the tears that magnified my inquiry.
Marta broke the silence. "Happy Birthday, Jan!"
Jan looked at her with a startled jump. He smiled. "Do you want to see him?"
We all nodded in agreement.
He began to nod. "Okay!" He turned on his heels and walked toward the house with us following.
Immediately upon entering, I noticed the dining room table covered in food. A great deal of care was given to the scene. Pine stems and candles littered the setting in a meticulous pattern.
Falon gasped. "Oh my god, it's gorgeous! Who set this?"
Jan looked back. "Oh . . . I did." He blushed.
Shannon said, "You did this? But it's your birthday."
Jan said, "I forgot it was my birthday. It's really for my father."
Marta started to cry. She came up and embraced Jan, who was slow in returning the embrace.
I remarked to Taylor, "He seems like he's in a daze, man."
Taylor remarked back, "His dad turned up out of nowhere. I'd be dazed too if I was in his shoes."
I let it pass.
Marta said, "Where's Jarek?"
Jan stepped back, his smile fading. "Let's sit."
Marta stopped. "Is . . . is he coming downstairs to meet us?"
Falon remarked, "He's going to make a grand entrance, isn't he?"
Jan looked from Marta slowly to Falon. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right."
We took our places around the table. Two chairs were empty. Marta's mother and father, I presumed.
Jan took a lighter and lit two candles standing in the middle of the table. He then clinked a glass filled with white wine. "To Jarek. And to his sauna."
"To Jarek and the sauna," the group toasted. As I gulped down my wine, I noticed Jan twitch, look ever so slightly toward Marta, then back at the food. It was a subtle twitch, but noticeable all the same.
We ate a meat resembling that of Polish Sausage. Shannon asked, "Is this a Polish dish, Jan?"
Jan only sat, eating the meat in silence.
"The meat, Jan. Is it a Polish dish?" Shannon repeated.
Looking straight ahead, as if to no one in particular, he simply said, "Yes."
A single tear dropped down his cheek.
I couldn't take it any longer. I pushed back my chair and stood up. "Alright, what the hell's going on here?! Why are you acting so weird?"
Jan continued to stare into space. "Sit down."
I couldn't believe my ears. "What?!"
Simply, quietly, he repeated, "Sit down."
The entire group looked at me in concerned irritation. Matt finally pulled my sleeve. "Sit down, man."
I sat down slowly and finished the rest of my plate.
----------------------------------------
After we all finished, Marta asked, "So, when's the grand entrance, Jan?"
Jan looked at the sauna from the dining room window. "Soon."
Falon said, "It'll probably be in the sauna, right?"
Jan turned and slowly walked toward the back door. "I'll get the sauna started up. Meet me there in fifteen minutes."
With that, we were left to our own devices.
"Well, I'm going to put my bathing suit on," Taylor said, heading for the guest bathroom.
We each went to separate quadrants of the house to put our suits on. After we changed, we set out to the sauna. Jan was standing with a hatchet in hand, positioned in a proud stance, he resembled a lumberjack posing for a photograph.
"It's all set," he said as we came near. "Just go on in."
Marta was the first to enter, a big smile on her face. Next was Taylor, followed by Shannon, followed by Falon, Matt, with me entering last.
As we all sat down, furnace in the middle, Marta shouted to Jan, "Are you coming in?!"
Jan said, "I have to go get dad!" Then he shut the door. We all heard what sounded like a bolt being drawn across.
"Was that a lock?" Matt asked.
Marta said, "There's no lock on the sauna door, why would there be?"
We sat, basking in the heat. The recommended time to sit within the confines of a hot sauna is 15 minutes. After five Shannon said, "Holy god, this feels good."
Falon said, "Tell me about it."
Matt asked, "Jarek really built this with his own bare hands?"
Marta answered, "That's what he says."
Ten minutes passed.
I looked back at the temperature. It was reaching 215 degrees. "What's taking Jarek so long?" I asked.
Marta closed her eyes. "I have no idea. All I know is I can't wait to see Papa after all this time."
Another five minutes passed.
Taylor stood up, dripping in sweat. "Alright, shall we step outside for a few minutes? Take a break?"
We all agreed in unison. Damn, it was hot in there!
We stood up. Matt pushed on the door. It didn't budge.
"C'mon Matt, open it," Shannon said.
Matt shook the door. "I -- I can't!"
Taylor pushed him aside. "What?! Let me try!"
He couldn't get it open either.
"Oh my god, it's locked!" he shouted.
Falon shouted, "It can't be locked!"
"I'm telling you, it's fucking locked!!" Taylor backed up and rammed the door with his shoulder as hard as he could. "It's bolted with something big on the other end!"
I looked out the side window and noticed a large metal bar going into a locking mechanism on the outside of the door. "He's right! Jan locked us in!"
Matt looked out of the window. "But why would he do that?!"
Shannon said, "I don't know."
Marta began to yell, "HELP! HELP!!"
I looked again at the thermometer. 235. The absolute peak. I asked, "Marta, how hot does this thing get? Does it go past what the thermometer says?"
She looked. "No, it's only supposed to go up to 215."
Just then, the thermometer broke.
Falon shouted, "It's getting hotter?!"
I looked at the furnace in the middle, and heard what sounded like a generator start up from outside the sauna. "What the hell was that?!"
The fire within the furnace glowed brighter, the flames doubling in size. We all felt the temperature rise another ten degrees.
"HELLLP!!! HELLLP!!!!" We all screamed.
Shannon leaned against the wall. "I . . . I'm feeling sleepy . . ."
Just then, I noticed a white haired man come strolling along the bottom of the hill beneath the sauna. He had a look of concern on his face, hurrying along at a medium speed.
I said, "Guys! Someone's coming! They must've heard us!"
The entire group sighed with relief. Shannon continued to close and open her eyes slowly, but she had the remnants of a smile on her face.
The man came up to the window. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in, looking frantically back and forth. He shouted "You alright in there?!"
All of us shouted "NO!!!!" in unison.
He smiled, then climbed the ladder leading to the chimney of the sauna. A moment later we heard his voice coming down the chimney through a grate in the pipe leading to the furnace. "Sorry, it's hard for me to shout nowadays! How you guys doin'?"
Taylor shouted into the grate, "Not good! We think we've been locked in here! The temperature is rising and we really need to get out! Can you unlock the door?!"
The man's voice sounded grainy, strained. Taunting. "Nope, no can do."
The voice was familiar. I recognized it as the voice on the telephone, asking me to come down to visit the sauna. Only there was no Polish accent. It couldn't have been this man, I thought.
"What do you mean 'No can do'?! Let us out!" Matt shouted.
"I'm afraid I can't let that happen," the white haired man said.
Taylor looked at Marta. "Marta, who is that guy?"
Marta, a concerned look on her face, said, "That's Albert Johnson. He lives two doors down."
Taylor said, "Well, what the hell's wrong with him?"
Marta shrugged.
Falon stepped up to the grate. "Open the fucking door, mister, or my parents, who are cops, are going to hunt you down and--"
"Oh, I don't think so," Johnson said with a smug little chuckle. "I'd keep my mouth shut now, if I were you. Save your breath. You're gonna need it."
"You called us earlier in the week," I said. "You acted as Jarek."
"Can't get nothin' by you, blondie," he said. "I guess I can squelch some of the mystique now that I got you in here."
"Who are you?" Taylor asked.
"Me? Well, only the one who built the very sauna you're standin' in."
Marta said, "My father built it."
"You see, now that's the problem. That's what's really got me in a tiff. It wasn't your father. It was me."
Matt's head hit the wall. He was out.
"YOU?!" I shouted. "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU GOT ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT?!"
The man laughed. "Whoa, seriously, I mean it, save your breath, all of you. I got enough juice going into this thing to cook myself six rotisserie chickens tonight. You hear that hum? That's a generator. The temperature is going up ten degrees every minute or so. You'll be deader n' a dino in a tarpit come five of 'em the way you're talking."
"Why are you going this?!" Marta cried out.
"Whelp, I guess as payback. But it's also sorta my little secret. You see, your dad commissioned me to make this here sauna. He wanted an authentic Scandinavian hotbox. Being the friendly neighbor, I had to oblige him. But he didn't seem to heed some o' the ol' gossip runnin' round the campfire in the local commute."
"And what would that be?!" Falon sighed.
"Guess it ain't gonna get me in trouble now. I despise the Poles. I really do. My daddy was an immigrant, running from war crimes committed in the 1940's. He was a commanding officer of the Third Reich. Guess a little bit of his beliefs rubbed off on me."
"Your dad was a Nazi?!" Taylor said.
"Hey, gold star for you! Too bad it'd probably melt in the next five minutes."
"What does your dad being a Nazi have anything to do with this sauna?" Marta asked. "We're not even Jewish!"
"Well, see that's where the other part of my secret comes into the spotlight. Over the years I've developed a taste for meat. Ever since I was a little babby I loved the taste of fresh meat. Chicken, beef, pheasant. I went huntin' with my daddy ever since I could hold a gun. After awhile I started growing bored of your run of the mill white meat/red meat fiascos. So, I started to dabble in some of my own brew. My own kind."
"People?!" Shannon shrieked, before falling to the floor.
"Ah, is that another one I just heard fall down? Couple more to go, eh? It's gettin' to be about 280 right now." He was loving every minute of it.
He continued. "Yeah, you got me. A little bit of cannibalism, a little bit of Polack prejudice smacked into one. Once I heard a couple of Poles moved into the area, I thought, 'That's the end! There goes the fuckin' neighborhood!' Once your dad rapped on my door hearin' I was an esteemed sauna engineer I thought, 'Well, now there may be a little thing called karma after all'. I rigged up a little secret generator and bolt system unbeknownst to your patriarch, ready to get all of the Haftek family whenever I felt the time was right. Hanging out with him while building the thing, I started to like the guy. But after he started claiming that he was the one who built it, well, that did it. I felt the right time for a little payback came last January when I saw not only the Hafteks enter the sauna, but their little Polack friends, one of them an Arian traitor."
"Fuck you!" I said.
"Hey, my little Arian. Can't wait to sink my teeth into your right thigh. Well, I snuck up on you, turned on the generator, but just as I was about to bolt the door, you guys came out and went on top of the roof. Jarek was the one who took the blow."
"He started on fire and ran out screaming," I said. "The dog ate his back."
"It's a damn shame, ain't it? Fuckin' dog got to it before I did."
"He fucking died because of you!" Marta shouted. "And what about Jan?! Why did he lock us in here?"
"Oh, I don't know. Probably has to do with the fact I killed his mother before his eyes and fed her to him, threatening to do the same to him. He's a good boy once you go to certain extremes. How'd she taste, by the way?"
Marta went green. "You mean--"
Taylor went over to her. "Shh, Marta, he's just trying to get you riled up."
"No, I'm not tryin'," he went on. "Just tellin' the facts. He helped me prepare her just the way he helped prepare you."
"He locked her in here?" Taylor asked.
"Darn tootin'! I didn't think it'd be kosher for him to do all the postmortem details, all the grinding and shredding--"
"STOP IT!!" Falon shouted.
"Whew, yes ma'am! I take it you'll be the spiciest of the bunch! I started gettin' ancy for some fresh meat, so I plopped on over, slipped a nice little .45 near his temple and declared him my slave or else!"
The world was starting to fade to black. My vision was closing in on me right when I noticed Jan with a baseball bat. The same bat he used to thwart the Haftek dog off of Jarek back in January. He was coming slowly up the hill. I couldn't tell whose side he was on.
Johnson kept right on schpieling. "It wasn't too difficult either. No sir, he was as moldable as Moon Sand."
Jan climbed the stairs to the roof.
Johnson was saying, "I was kinda surprised, how fast he caved. He reminded me a little of myself, to tell the truth--"
Just then, we heard a THWACK! through the grate and a short little "GAH!" from Johnson. A moment later, we heard another THWACK! and Johnson fell off the side of the sauna, landing on his head, which emitted an audible CRACK! even through the window and locked door. Jan climbed down, and went to turn the generator off. Immediately we felt the temperature drop. The bolt was drawn back and the door flew open.
We all ran out, carrying the two fallen bodies with us. Jan said, "Quick! I don't want to lose too much of the heat!"
When we were all out, Jan carried Johnson into the sauna, dropped him, came out, bolted the door, and started the generator back up again.
"Jan!" I said. "What are you doing?"
Jan turned. "Giving him his just desserts."
That's when the screaming began. As we walked toward the house, I looked back, catching a glimpse of Johnson through the side window. He was on fire.
Marta hugged Jan. "Dad was never here, was he?"
"No," he answered.
She stopped him. "You did what you had to do, Jan."
Jan nodded. "I know."
We all walked to our cars. Jan said, "I'll catch up."
Driving back, I thought about what Johnson had been saying right about the time Jan had cracked him on the head. About Jan caving in so quickly.
I knew what Jan was doing right then. Knew about him opening the door of the sauna. Knew about Jan getting the dog. Knew about the big meal the dog would be allowed to have.
Jan reminded Johnson of himself because Jan was a hunter. Jan knew the best way to get back at an opponent was to let them win for a little while, no matter what the cost.
In the end, the cost of war is no match to reaping the hard fought reward of sweet revenge.
Marilyn Manson -- "Wrapped in Plastic"
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Two Down . . .
Second goodbye:
NAME: Kristen Swenson
ASPIRATION: To suffer to the whims of her current boyfriend, Louis McCoy, as he embarks on his techie/political dream job in D.C. With no real set goal or plan post-college, she is a feather floating along the jetstream of change. Fate will provide her with an out. She hopes to continue building her "fabric from garbage" dream, Interchangeable Parts, into a force to be reckoned with. This, of course, can be built at any location worldwide. She also plans on opening a coffee/fabric store sometime in the near future. Most likely using Interchangeable Parts within the framework of the dining/shopping experience. I'll be there for the Grand Opening.
BEST MEMORY: First and foremost, how we met. Taylor and I were dancing at the weekly First Avenue dance night Too Much Love. We were both single. While dancing (really wish I could remember the song that was playing), I felt a tug on my long hair. I thought I had run into somebody, but then the hair was being tugged again. I turned ever so slightly, but before I could turn all the way around, I heard a sultry voice that could only have come out of lips drenched in the reddest of lipstick, say, "I love your hair." I turned and saw a girl I recognized from previous Too Much Love weekends, always dancing near but never touching. She had red hair strewn to one side of her face. And she did in fact have extreme red lipstick coated on her lips. She wore a granny mid-length skirt with a glittery polka dot sweater, complete with a Cub Scout scarf wrapped around her neck. We began to dance . . .
We've had our fair share of ups and downs. We used to date. We also used to fight constantly. We also used each other as a basis for reality checkpoints. We've also had the most intense talks dealing with our innermost personal demons, even more intense than talks with my most intimate ex-girlfriends. She's a peer, but a teacher in a sort of way. I've seen her embark on her performance aspirations in burlesque, first as a fledging singer trying to find her voice and presence, to one of, if not THE best performer in the most popular burlesque troupe in the Twin Cities. I'm super proud of her. I don't think I've ever told her that, honestly.
I love you, Kristen.
P.S.: Along with "I love your hair", the following statement will probably forever be a good contender for my favorite line emitted from your mouth: "Your penis saved our relationship." To the rest of you: don't ask.
The White Stripes -- "Conquest"
NAME: Kristen SwensonASPIRATION: To suffer to the whims of her current boyfriend, Louis McCoy, as he embarks on his techie/political dream job in D.C. With no real set goal or plan post-college, she is a feather floating along the jetstream of change. Fate will provide her with an out. She hopes to continue building her "fabric from garbage" dream, Interchangeable Parts, into a force to be reckoned with. This, of course, can be built at any location worldwide. She also plans on opening a coffee/fabric store sometime in the near future. Most likely using Interchangeable Parts within the framework of the dining/shopping experience. I'll be there for the Grand Opening.
BEST MEMORY: First and foremost, how we met. Taylor and I were dancing at the weekly First Avenue dance night Too Much Love. We were both single. While dancing (really wish I could remember the song that was playing), I felt a tug on my long hair. I thought I had run into somebody, but then the hair was being tugged again. I turned ever so slightly, but before I could turn all the way around, I heard a sultry voice that could only have come out of lips drenched in the reddest of lipstick, say, "I love your hair." I turned and saw a girl I recognized from previous Too Much Love weekends, always dancing near but never touching. She had red hair strewn to one side of her face. And she did in fact have extreme red lipstick coated on her lips. She wore a granny mid-length skirt with a glittery polka dot sweater, complete with a Cub Scout scarf wrapped around her neck. We began to dance . . .
We've had our fair share of ups and downs. We used to date. We also used to fight constantly. We also used each other as a basis for reality checkpoints. We've also had the most intense talks dealing with our innermost personal demons, even more intense than talks with my most intimate ex-girlfriends. She's a peer, but a teacher in a sort of way. I've seen her embark on her performance aspirations in burlesque, first as a fledging singer trying to find her voice and presence, to one of, if not THE best performer in the most popular burlesque troupe in the Twin Cities. I'm super proud of her. I don't think I've ever told her that, honestly.
I love you, Kristen.
P.S.: Along with "I love your hair", the following statement will probably forever be a good contender for my favorite line emitted from your mouth: "Your penis saved our relationship." To the rest of you: don't ask.
The White Stripes -- "Conquest"
Friday, August 28, 2009
Fine Print of Obligation
Sitting down in front of the Committee for Personal Growth, I lusted for a shot of hard liquor. Just one gulp to make the painful truths spewed forth from the mouths of the Committee a trite more bearable. Alas, I was sans Moonshine.
Chairman Hobbes: "Hello Peter. You understand why you are meeting with us today?"
Me: "Yessir, I do."
Hobbes: "Why don't you grace us with your exposition?"
Me: *Clears throat* "Sure thing. I have a pretty strong feeling that it has something to do with me continuing work at Miniapple, even though I put my notice in a month ago stating that I would most likely not be working there past August 27th."
Hobbes: "You have a 'pretty strong feeling', eh?"
Me: "Yessir, that's what I think."
Hobbes: "You're absolutely right, Peter!"
Me: *Smiles* "Ha! What do I win?"
*No one says anything. Awkward pause*
Me: "Just . . . just a little joke--"
Hobbes: "Peter, why haven't you followed through on your proposal? We thought that it was a great endeavor, an act of pure transcension and courage, for you to commit to such a feat."
Me: "Well, I've been busy. Busy with Lizard People producing, I haven't had time to look for a new job. I mean, you understand, don't you, Mr. Hobbes?"
Hobbes: *Looks condenscendingly irritated* "Peter, I'm a figure of growth within your brain. If I had any sort of attribute toward leniency, would I now hold such a position on this committee?"
Me: "No sir."
Hobbes: "Glad you understand. Well now! This Lizard People business . . . it is ending soon, isn't it?"
Me: "Yes sir."
Hobbes: "And you are going to move forward with Patch, aren't you?"
Me: "That's the plan."
Hobbes: "And you intend to find a job around this time as well, don't you?"
Me: "After Lizard People, yes."
Hobbes: "Why do I get the feeling that you will use Patch as an excuse to stay within the confines of the Montessori?"
Me: "Sir, I know I don't have a good track record recently for personal growth, as it stands, but I do have it in SOME part of my history for taking risks--"
Hobbes: "Are you or are you not going to quit your job at Miniapple, Peter?"
Me: "I don't know."
*The committee gasps*
Hobbes: "We're not liking what we are hearing, Peter."
Me: "I understand. But, I think Patch in and of itself promises growth. What with all the phone calls, collaborations, shows, business plans, I mean, I'm doing this all by myself, sir. And Miniapple affords me Health Care options, easy work, an okay sum of money--"
Hobbes: "So you DO plan to work there indefinitely?"
Me: "Once Patch gets underway I'll think about it."
*The committee sighs in resignation*
Hobbes: "How much longer is this going to go on?!"
Me: "Stop focusing on the day job! Focus on the dream. I could give two shits about my day job right now! Should I take a lesser paying barista job?! Service?! I'll look when time affords it!"
Hobbes: "You got a call from Miniapple's owner, did you not? She asked if you would be willing to take a full time job at their Roseville branch?"
Me: "That's correct. I told her I was happy with my current position due to the work being dealt out at home. I know this all seems lazy on my part, but I really can't focus on the day job until it either becomes a necessity, like with bills and money issues dealing with my future insurance and phone expenses, or when it's convenient within a lull of Patch activity. I hope you can understand this."
Hobbes: "I expect growth to occur due to your financial responsibilities, yes. I'm not sure on Patch, though."
Me: "Well, me neither. But we're about to find out, aren't we?"
Hobbes: "Yes, I suppose we are."
Me: "So . . . are we cool?"
Hobbes: "We will never 'be cool', or else we wouldn't exist, now would we?"
Me: "But we're okay for now."
Hobbes: "We shall see."
Me: "Are we done?"
Hobbes: "We will never be d--"
Me: "CAN I JUST FUCKING GO?!"
The Zutons -- "You Will You Won't"
Chairman Hobbes: "Hello Peter. You understand why you are meeting with us today?"
Me: "Yessir, I do."
Hobbes: "Why don't you grace us with your exposition?"
Me: *Clears throat* "Sure thing. I have a pretty strong feeling that it has something to do with me continuing work at Miniapple, even though I put my notice in a month ago stating that I would most likely not be working there past August 27th."
Hobbes: "You have a 'pretty strong feeling', eh?"
Me: "Yessir, that's what I think."
Hobbes: "You're absolutely right, Peter!"
Me: *Smiles* "Ha! What do I win?"
*No one says anything. Awkward pause*
Me: "Just . . . just a little joke--"
Hobbes: "Peter, why haven't you followed through on your proposal? We thought that it was a great endeavor, an act of pure transcension and courage, for you to commit to such a feat."
Me: "Well, I've been busy. Busy with Lizard People producing, I haven't had time to look for a new job. I mean, you understand, don't you, Mr. Hobbes?"
Hobbes: *Looks condenscendingly irritated* "Peter, I'm a figure of growth within your brain. If I had any sort of attribute toward leniency, would I now hold such a position on this committee?"
Me: "No sir."
Hobbes: "Glad you understand. Well now! This Lizard People business . . . it is ending soon, isn't it?"
Me: "Yes sir."
Hobbes: "And you are going to move forward with Patch, aren't you?"
Me: "That's the plan."
Hobbes: "And you intend to find a job around this time as well, don't you?"
Me: "After Lizard People, yes."
Hobbes: "Why do I get the feeling that you will use Patch as an excuse to stay within the confines of the Montessori?"
Me: "Sir, I know I don't have a good track record recently for personal growth, as it stands, but I do have it in SOME part of my history for taking risks--"
Hobbes: "Are you or are you not going to quit your job at Miniapple, Peter?"
Me: "I don't know."
*The committee gasps*
Hobbes: "We're not liking what we are hearing, Peter."
Me: "I understand. But, I think Patch in and of itself promises growth. What with all the phone calls, collaborations, shows, business plans, I mean, I'm doing this all by myself, sir. And Miniapple affords me Health Care options, easy work, an okay sum of money--"
Hobbes: "So you DO plan to work there indefinitely?"
Me: "Once Patch gets underway I'll think about it."
*The committee sighs in resignation*
Hobbes: "How much longer is this going to go on?!"
Me: "Stop focusing on the day job! Focus on the dream. I could give two shits about my day job right now! Should I take a lesser paying barista job?! Service?! I'll look when time affords it!"
Hobbes: "You got a call from Miniapple's owner, did you not? She asked if you would be willing to take a full time job at their Roseville branch?"
Me: "That's correct. I told her I was happy with my current position due to the work being dealt out at home. I know this all seems lazy on my part, but I really can't focus on the day job until it either becomes a necessity, like with bills and money issues dealing with my future insurance and phone expenses, or when it's convenient within a lull of Patch activity. I hope you can understand this."
Hobbes: "I expect growth to occur due to your financial responsibilities, yes. I'm not sure on Patch, though."
Me: "Well, me neither. But we're about to find out, aren't we?"
Hobbes: "Yes, I suppose we are."
Me: "So . . . are we cool?"
Hobbes: "We will never 'be cool', or else we wouldn't exist, now would we?"
Me: "But we're okay for now."
Hobbes: "We shall see."
Me: "Are we done?"
Hobbes: "We will never be d--"
Me: "CAN I JUST FUCKING GO?!"
The Zutons -- "You Will You Won't"
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The Interlude Between Two Chapters
We've come to an interesting crossroads in 2009.
The Citizens Banned/Lizard People/Brotherhood of Salsa/Patch Preparation chapter is finally coming to a close. Within the next week there will be an overhaul of residency within the house. Louie, Kristen, Marta, and Taylor will be moving out. Adri will move in a month.
I'm going to be left by my lonesome, left to build a studio in the back. Left to carry on the carnage left by my bretheren. The Monroe House will now be a scene of secret planning. While I imagine all of us roommates getting along, I also imagine that I will feel more like an individual, left to my own devices, than as a part of a greater gear of movement. I relied so much on the knowledge of Louie, Taylor, and Adri that I almost felt like a little brother, my big brothers taking care of me.
I'm on my own, now. The activity in the back room will be work done in private. It will be sinister. It will promise questioning. It will be focused.
I've always hoped that in the future people will stop in front of the house and say "That's where it all began."
T-minus three weeks . . .
Tom Waits -- "What's He Building in There?"
The Citizens Banned/Lizard People/Brotherhood of Salsa/Patch Preparation chapter is finally coming to a close. Within the next week there will be an overhaul of residency within the house. Louie, Kristen, Marta, and Taylor will be moving out. Adri will move in a month.
I'm going to be left by my lonesome, left to build a studio in the back. Left to carry on the carnage left by my bretheren. The Monroe House will now be a scene of secret planning. While I imagine all of us roommates getting along, I also imagine that I will feel more like an individual, left to my own devices, than as a part of a greater gear of movement. I relied so much on the knowledge of Louie, Taylor, and Adri that I almost felt like a little brother, my big brothers taking care of me.
I'm on my own, now. The activity in the back room will be work done in private. It will be sinister. It will promise questioning. It will be focused.
I've always hoped that in the future people will stop in front of the house and say "That's where it all began."
T-minus three weeks . . .
Tom Waits -- "What's He Building in There?"
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tig Ol' Bitties
In my world . . .
. . . as referenced recently in my ongoing gender war rants . . .
Strip clubs, with female dancers, are now more frequented by women than by men. Or at least, the request to go to a strip club is emitted out of the mouths of women moreso than by men.
In my world, the men oblige their lady friends. We tag along, oogle and smile. But are we the ones getting the lap dances? No. It's the ladies.
In the stripper world, the dancers love it when women come to partake in their lap dances, moreso than the most respectful gentleman. Hands can be used, the customer can grasp the stripper, nevermind whether or not the customer gets off on it as much as the next male customer. Both can bump and grind together. It's kosher.
The man's world is now a woman's world. Not that I'm complaining. I don't get off on going to the strip club. But it's interesting to see the feminine movement of ownership and entitlement overshadowing the most male vs. "female as object" battleground. They're sad places when only men are present. When women are present the place lights up. This aspect of takeover, I think, is also in part of the recent burlesque resurgence of the past ten years. It's no longer about what the audience wants. It's about the performer, and that's what the audience wants to see. Ownership and entitlement over one's sexuality and aura. Both sexes of all orientations get off on seeing someone use their body, regardless of the individual's sex, to its fullest potential in a totally committed act, no matter what the activity.
Tonight, at 1:00am, all the guys wanted to leave. We were sober, we were done. All the gals wanted to stay.
In my world, I'm baffled. Yet amused.
*It ain't like it used to be . . .
Lovage -- "Sex (I'm A)"
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
A Basterd's Work is Done
Call it a fault. Call it an attribute. Positive or negative, I don't care.
I like to see artists change with their work. I'm not content with artists who have found their nitch and stick to what they do best. I like to hear the inflection of their speech change. They keep the same bit of information intact throughout their lives, but how they say it changes ever so slightly.
I guess that's why I grew tired of The White Stripes. I always secretly hoped that Meg White would find syncopation in her drumming. The first three records would be a little amateur, but it would be endearing. All downbeat hits, all minimalistic. It was cute. I wanted "Elephant" to have a little bit more complexity. It didn't. I wanted "Get Behind Me Satan" to just up the anty an iota. It didn't. I figured I wouldn't even hope or bother with "Icky Thump".
That's why I love The Dead Weather and The Racounteurs. Jack White found syncopation. A new way to say his constant message.
So, apply this same train of thought when it comes to Quentin Tarantino. Although, in this case, I want him to go back to how it was in the beginning and apply it to the future projects.
"Reservoir Dogs" to "Pulp Fiction": A definite growth here. "Pulp Fiction" took the best elements of "Dogs" and upped the anty.
"Pulp Fiction" to "Jackie Brown": Maturity. A lot of the schtick Tarantino exploits were stripped bare, leaving great dialogue without the pretension of "Yes, Quentin, we know you know a lot about movies." It kept some of his trademarks intact, but made them work within the story without calling attention to each of Tarantino's isms.
"Jackie Brown" to "Kill Bill": Superstardom. Now, I loved "Kill Bill" when it first came out. It was Quentin using some of his best schticky cartoony trademarks and applying them in ways that made the movie just plain ridiculous. I loved "Volume 1" because of this. The schtick didn't work as well for "Volume 2", mainly because the story was taking over. The schtick was distracting, but I accepted it because "Volume 1" was all schtick and no story, so there had to be a little bit of stylistic continuity.
"Kill Bill" to "Death Proof": Nothing changed. The cartoon aspect of "Bill" stayed the same with "Death Proof". Characters from "Bill" reprised their roles in subtle, yet annoying ways. Plus, the know-it-all film buffary was at an all time high. It was too meta-Tarantino. But, in the end, I forgave this, since it was part of a meta-movie: "Grindhouse". It was a movie about movies. So, yeah, okay, bring back the "Kill Bill" formula again. That was a movie about movies, too. It was fine for this one romp.
"Death Proof" to "Inglourious Basterds": Nothing changed. This was supposed to be his masterpiece. The period piece. This has been in the works for years. I wanted something more along the lines of "Jackie Brown". It was again, sadly, like "Kill Bill". Comedic backstories, like the Lucy Liu backstory in "Bill", continued in this flick . . . but there was only one. Why have only one of those trademark backstories? It's like showing off your trademarks solely because you can. There was so much dialogue about movies it was making me irritated. Subtlety, Mr. Tarantino. Like in your first three movies. I want it like it was. No more animations, no more backstories in "Kill Bill" fashion. Stop the "Kill Bill" schtick and start again with story, adding a few schticks for spice. "Basterds" felt again like schtick and story were 50/50.
I know a lot of people don't see this, and they don't really care. It's the accepted Tarantino style. But I'm disappointed. I feel like Tarantino is like AC/DC. They reprised Rolling Stone riffs, made them cool in a modern sort of light, but once they found their nitch, as they hit their peak, there was no more growth. People love them, but they aren't going to change. I feel like we've seen all that Tarantino has to offer.
He could be so much more. Look at the Cohen Bros. or Aronofsky. Their work has changed over the years. "Pi" to "The Wrestler"? HUGE difference. "Raising Arizona" to "No Country"? Lots of difference.
"Basterds" is Tarantino's worst flick in my book. Overrated. His movies are now on Classic Rock instead of Alternative programming, whereas those big name director peers of his (Cohen, Aronofsky) continue to stay on top of Indie and Alternative charts within my pop culture schema.
Billy Preston -- "Slaughter"
I like to see artists change with their work. I'm not content with artists who have found their nitch and stick to what they do best. I like to hear the inflection of their speech change. They keep the same bit of information intact throughout their lives, but how they say it changes ever so slightly.
I guess that's why I grew tired of The White Stripes. I always secretly hoped that Meg White would find syncopation in her drumming. The first three records would be a little amateur, but it would be endearing. All downbeat hits, all minimalistic. It was cute. I wanted "Elephant" to have a little bit more complexity. It didn't. I wanted "Get Behind Me Satan" to just up the anty an iota. It didn't. I figured I wouldn't even hope or bother with "Icky Thump".
That's why I love The Dead Weather and The Racounteurs. Jack White found syncopation. A new way to say his constant message.
So, apply this same train of thought when it comes to Quentin Tarantino. Although, in this case, I want him to go back to how it was in the beginning and apply it to the future projects.
"Reservoir Dogs" to "Pulp Fiction": A definite growth here. "Pulp Fiction" took the best elements of "Dogs" and upped the anty.
"Pulp Fiction" to "Jackie Brown": Maturity. A lot of the schtick Tarantino exploits were stripped bare, leaving great dialogue without the pretension of "Yes, Quentin, we know you know a lot about movies." It kept some of his trademarks intact, but made them work within the story without calling attention to each of Tarantino's isms.
"Jackie Brown" to "Kill Bill": Superstardom. Now, I loved "Kill Bill" when it first came out. It was Quentin using some of his best schticky cartoony trademarks and applying them in ways that made the movie just plain ridiculous. I loved "Volume 1" because of this. The schtick didn't work as well for "Volume 2", mainly because the story was taking over. The schtick was distracting, but I accepted it because "Volume 1" was all schtick and no story, so there had to be a little bit of stylistic continuity.
"Kill Bill" to "Death Proof": Nothing changed. The cartoon aspect of "Bill" stayed the same with "Death Proof". Characters from "Bill" reprised their roles in subtle, yet annoying ways. Plus, the know-it-all film buffary was at an all time high. It was too meta-Tarantino. But, in the end, I forgave this, since it was part of a meta-movie: "Grindhouse". It was a movie about movies. So, yeah, okay, bring back the "Kill Bill" formula again. That was a movie about movies, too. It was fine for this one romp.
"Death Proof" to "Inglourious Basterds": Nothing changed. This was supposed to be his masterpiece. The period piece. This has been in the works for years. I wanted something more along the lines of "Jackie Brown". It was again, sadly, like "Kill Bill". Comedic backstories, like the Lucy Liu backstory in "Bill", continued in this flick . . . but there was only one. Why have only one of those trademark backstories? It's like showing off your trademarks solely because you can. There was so much dialogue about movies it was making me irritated. Subtlety, Mr. Tarantino. Like in your first three movies. I want it like it was. No more animations, no more backstories in "Kill Bill" fashion. Stop the "Kill Bill" schtick and start again with story, adding a few schticks for spice. "Basterds" felt again like schtick and story were 50/50.
I know a lot of people don't see this, and they don't really care. It's the accepted Tarantino style. But I'm disappointed. I feel like Tarantino is like AC/DC. They reprised Rolling Stone riffs, made them cool in a modern sort of light, but once they found their nitch, as they hit their peak, there was no more growth. People love them, but they aren't going to change. I feel like we've seen all that Tarantino has to offer.
He could be so much more. Look at the Cohen Bros. or Aronofsky. Their work has changed over the years. "Pi" to "The Wrestler"? HUGE difference. "Raising Arizona" to "No Country"? Lots of difference.
"Basterds" is Tarantino's worst flick in my book. Overrated. His movies are now on Classic Rock instead of Alternative programming, whereas those big name director peers of his (Cohen, Aronofsky) continue to stay on top of Indie and Alternative charts within my pop culture schema.
Billy Preston -- "Slaughter"
Monday, August 24, 2009
Claritin Skies
I forget to take my pills at times.
Namely: Claritin.
Like clockwork (I saved the date from 2008 of when my seasonal allergies started up. August 17. That was the first day I felt heavy symptoms of allergies this year as well.) the sneezes have come back, the bloody noses, the itchy throats, the loss of vocal ability hath attacked my very will to live. And on those fateful days I forget to take my daily pill . . . I am the booger Hulk.
A coworker today remarked while on the playground, "Peter, you look crabby today."
First off, am I the only person in the world who actually doesn't mind being told they look a certain way? You could say I look like utter crap and I'd like it more than the standard question, "So, what are you up to nowadays?" I hate that question.
I said to the coworker, "No, well, okay, I'm not crabby, really. Well, I kind of am, it's mainly because of allergies."
"Oh."
"Yeah, I don't want to be here right now. I want to be in a bathtub or something."
"Oh."
"Yeah, so I'm not crabby. I'm just -- well, yeah, again I am now because of the allergies which make me look crabby."
"Uh-huh."
"So, yeah, I'm crabby."
"Okay."
"Yeah. God, saying all that just made me crabby, too."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm just going to walk over there."
"Okay."
A month of this shit. A full fucking month. No singing. No voice. Itchiness abound.
Slit wrists sound good right about now.
Cold War Kids -- "I've Seen Enough"
Namely: Claritin.
Like clockwork (I saved the date from 2008 of when my seasonal allergies started up. August 17. That was the first day I felt heavy symptoms of allergies this year as well.) the sneezes have come back, the bloody noses, the itchy throats, the loss of vocal ability hath attacked my very will to live. And on those fateful days I forget to take my daily pill . . . I am the booger Hulk.
A coworker today remarked while on the playground, "Peter, you look crabby today."
First off, am I the only person in the world who actually doesn't mind being told they look a certain way? You could say I look like utter crap and I'd like it more than the standard question, "So, what are you up to nowadays?" I hate that question.
I said to the coworker, "No, well, okay, I'm not crabby, really. Well, I kind of am, it's mainly because of allergies."
"Oh."
"Yeah, I don't want to be here right now. I want to be in a bathtub or something."
"Oh."
"Yeah, so I'm not crabby. I'm just -- well, yeah, again I am now because of the allergies which make me look crabby."
"Uh-huh."
"So, yeah, I'm crabby."
"Okay."
"Yeah. God, saying all that just made me crabby, too."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm just going to walk over there."
"Okay."
A month of this shit. A full fucking month. No singing. No voice. Itchiness abound.
Slit wrists sound good right about now.
Cold War Kids -- "I've Seen Enough"
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Avalanche
In honor of my ValleyFair visit today, and my not-so-secret obsession with theme parks, amusement parks, rollercoasters . . .
I have ridden at least a hundred rollercoasters in my life. I have traveled the country, nay, the world, riding rollercoasters. It is one, if not THE dorkiest trait I have. I have ridden the record breaking coasters: the FASTEST, the TALLEST, the one with the most INVERSIONS, the LONGEST DROP, the LONGEST in general . . . 420 footers, 120 mph, 8 loops, two miles long . . .
I could tell you in a heartbeat what my favorite coaster is. It is not a record breaker. You've probably never heard about it. Even if you've visited the city in which it resides you've probably never given it the time of day. It was just on your way to another rollercoaster center.
Wisconsin Dells has Mt. Olympus. Pretty decent coasters there. It used to have pretty decent go-karts, too, but for some reason once Big Chief went all "THEME PARK OF THE GODS" on us they toned down the go-karts to mere put-putters. Man, those fuckers used to fly!
My favorite happens to reside in the same town. Only it's not at Mt. Olympus. So where else could there be a coaster?
At a mini-golf course down the street. Timber Falls. It's a small Adventure Golf park, complete with a log flume and a number of mini-golf courses surrounding a miniature volcano that bursts flames every fifteen minutes or so.
They also have Avalanche, a small underdog of a wooden beast. It looks somewhat intense, judging from the harsh angles with which the track makes its turns. They're virtually at 90 degrees. The track is simple in design: it makes two revolutions around the entire park. But being that it's so small, there's not a lot of room for big hills and filler. So, a not-so-high drop sends a train of three cars around the park two times. Sounds lame, eh?
Wrong. The lift hill goes a little too high for comfort. And the ride happens to be a little too fast for a mere two revolutions around a quaint little mini-golf park. That's why it's so awesome! It's too high and too fast for the schematics of the park. It doesn't fit!! So you feel like you're literally going to die on the fucker!!!
I've never been on a rollercoaster where I've felt somewhat unsafe. They're pretty much loaded with rules and regulations to the point where break runs are cursed all over a circuit to slow the ride down for the ease and comfort of mass amounts of tourists. Avalanche is a secret . . . that's why there ain't no breaks on its entire circuit. Breaks would make it so that the car wouldn't be able to get around its two revolutions. And there are no big hills to slow down the car . . . they're all foothills, giving you copious amounts of airtime, knowing that if that lapbar wasn't in your lap you'd be sprawled on one of the mini-golf courses below in a bloody heap.
The only coaster where I've feared for my safety is Avalanche, because it gives you the illusion that it's all going to fall apart. It's perfectly safe, but I don't want to know that. Six Flags' coasters all feel like you'll live. It's all fun and games. Avalanche feels like a challenge, a real thrill seeker's delight. You could come out broken.
Whenever I travel between Milwaukee and Minneapolis, I always weigh whether or not I should stop and take an $8 ride on Avalanche. I usually buy McDonald's across the street while looking at the ride. With french fries in my mouth, I usually start to smile up at the rollercoaster on top of the Wisconsin Dells dam. I usually say "Fuck it. I'm doin' it."
One time my ex girlfriend, excited about my impending arrival in Minneapolis from Milwaukee, called me while I was on the coaster. I, of course, didn't pick up. The phone was in the car. But I called her back.
She said, "Where are you?"
"The Dells."
"You were there a half hour ago."
I stopped. "Oh . . . um . . ."
"You rode the rollercoaster, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
She said, "Dammit, Peter! I had plans for us!"
"Oh, I'm sorry."
She said, "No you're not. You love that coaster."
I couldn't argue with her. She was right.
I'd take that coaster over a romp in the hay anyday.
Iggy Pop and the Stooges -- "1969"
I have ridden at least a hundred rollercoasters in my life. I have traveled the country, nay, the world, riding rollercoasters. It is one, if not THE dorkiest trait I have. I have ridden the record breaking coasters: the FASTEST, the TALLEST, the one with the most INVERSIONS, the LONGEST DROP, the LONGEST in general . . . 420 footers, 120 mph, 8 loops, two miles long . . .
I could tell you in a heartbeat what my favorite coaster is. It is not a record breaker. You've probably never heard about it. Even if you've visited the city in which it resides you've probably never given it the time of day. It was just on your way to another rollercoaster center.
Wisconsin Dells has Mt. Olympus. Pretty decent coasters there. It used to have pretty decent go-karts, too, but for some reason once Big Chief went all "THEME PARK OF THE GODS" on us they toned down the go-karts to mere put-putters. Man, those fuckers used to fly!
My favorite happens to reside in the same town. Only it's not at Mt. Olympus. So where else could there be a coaster?
At a mini-golf course down the street. Timber Falls. It's a small Adventure Golf park, complete with a log flume and a number of mini-golf courses surrounding a miniature volcano that bursts flames every fifteen minutes or so.
They also have Avalanche, a small underdog of a wooden beast. It looks somewhat intense, judging from the harsh angles with which the track makes its turns. They're virtually at 90 degrees. The track is simple in design: it makes two revolutions around the entire park. But being that it's so small, there's not a lot of room for big hills and filler. So, a not-so-high drop sends a train of three cars around the park two times. Sounds lame, eh?
Wrong. The lift hill goes a little too high for comfort. And the ride happens to be a little too fast for a mere two revolutions around a quaint little mini-golf park. That's why it's so awesome! It's too high and too fast for the schematics of the park. It doesn't fit!! So you feel like you're literally going to die on the fucker!!!
I've never been on a rollercoaster where I've felt somewhat unsafe. They're pretty much loaded with rules and regulations to the point where break runs are cursed all over a circuit to slow the ride down for the ease and comfort of mass amounts of tourists. Avalanche is a secret . . . that's why there ain't no breaks on its entire circuit. Breaks would make it so that the car wouldn't be able to get around its two revolutions. And there are no big hills to slow down the car . . . they're all foothills, giving you copious amounts of airtime, knowing that if that lapbar wasn't in your lap you'd be sprawled on one of the mini-golf courses below in a bloody heap.
The only coaster where I've feared for my safety is Avalanche, because it gives you the illusion that it's all going to fall apart. It's perfectly safe, but I don't want to know that. Six Flags' coasters all feel like you'll live. It's all fun and games. Avalanche feels like a challenge, a real thrill seeker's delight. You could come out broken.
Whenever I travel between Milwaukee and Minneapolis, I always weigh whether or not I should stop and take an $8 ride on Avalanche. I usually buy McDonald's across the street while looking at the ride. With french fries in my mouth, I usually start to smile up at the rollercoaster on top of the Wisconsin Dells dam. I usually say "Fuck it. I'm doin' it."
One time my ex girlfriend, excited about my impending arrival in Minneapolis from Milwaukee, called me while I was on the coaster. I, of course, didn't pick up. The phone was in the car. But I called her back.
She said, "Where are you?"
"The Dells."
"You were there a half hour ago."
I stopped. "Oh . . . um . . ."
"You rode the rollercoaster, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
She said, "Dammit, Peter! I had plans for us!"
"Oh, I'm sorry."
She said, "No you're not. You love that coaster."
I couldn't argue with her. She was right.
I'd take that coaster over a romp in the hay anyday.
Iggy Pop and the Stooges -- "1969"
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Misogyny and Ivory
The other night I got into a sliiiiight argument dealing with Quentin Tarantino and his treatment of women in his movies. Basically, I'm of the belief that Quentin not only worships women but that they've been his main protagonists, rivaling Ripley in the "Alien" series. They are some of the strongest female characters in cinema history, and anybody who claims different has to have a REAL good case to make me think otherwise.
The scene in question had to deal with a rape racket that a certain nurse had been running in a hospital in "Kill Bill". It's not a huge spoiler if you haven't seen the flick, so don't feel like I'm giving too much away by stating the intricacies of the plotline as it pertains to this certain scene.
The greatest warrior who has ever lived (Uma Thurman) has been in a coma for four years due to a gunshot to the head. During the time of her stay in the hospital, a crooked nurse runs a pimping business, using Uma as one of his "comatose" prostitutes for creepy, horny truckers. It's a disgusting scene when we realize that he's been running this ordeal for some time (he drives a truck called the "Pussy Wagon", his name is Buck and he's "here to fuck".). Well, after Uma wakes up, she fakes sleep, overhearing Buck go over the rules of the $75 fuck. Buck leaves his client at the whims of his lust, to whom Uma bites the lower lip clean off of in a bloody mess. Buck discovers this massacre, and is then tortured by Uma by way of a slit Achilles and a number of head bashings between a door and a door frame. He gets his "just desserts" by way of "revenge movie" logic. She even takes his car as her main means of transportation afterward, turning a belittling term into a source of feminine power and ownership.
Now, given that Uma has been taken advantage of for the past four years, having been solicited to untold amounts of unconsented rape, one could hear of this scene and be shocked to find it glorified in an action/comedy. But if only they went so far as to then focus on the brutality Uma forces upon her rapist pimp. I think this is less a case of a misogynist director than it is a case of an insecure critic playing the gender card as an outlet for their insecurities.
"Death Proof" is another example of women triumphing over crooked male antagonists. Without giving anything away, you basically leave the movie thinking "God, women kick fucking ass!" Watch this clip of a "Death Proof" premiere in Glasgow where a non violence against women association shouts "SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!" over and over again at Quentin as he walks into the movie.
There is another clip online of the same situation in Glasgow. In this one you hear Quentin say "You obviously haven't seen the movie," before doing his own "Shame" fingering toward the group.
"Jackie Brown"? Jackie kicks ass! She makes a ton of men pawns in her get rich scheme to make off with a million dollars.
To the person I argued with two days ago: sorry if I'm making this a bigger ordeal than it was. I'm merely just stating something that was on my mind these last couple of days. We talked about this for maybe two seconds and moved on.
But it strikes a dischord whenever I feel like pro-feminist males get called out for seemingly anti-feminist behavior when it's potentially not. I am not a Women's Studies major, but I have dabbled in my Feminist lore, namely for my Burlesque project a few years back (I've touched on this a few times in the blog). I am a Feminist, but I feel like some of you female Feminists make it damn hard for us male Feminists to even discuss things we agree on with you. I've been told that cocks are arbitrary, women don't need them. Men in pop culture are idiots (name a modern sitcom where a woman is portrayed as a complete idiot opposite an all knowing male prodigy. I state "Married With Children" as the only red flag in this debate, but I also state that Al Bundy is the bigger idiot between the Al and Peg comparison. The whole Bundy family is a raging bundle of idiocy. The Simpsons, The World According to Jim, The King of Queens, Everybody Loves Raymond, etc. All of the dad figures and main characters are complete buffoons with their wives acting as teachers.).
I work in a female world as a teacher. There aren't a lot of guys in the field. I'm privy to the corporate world's salary unfairness only in literature, and I am aware that it continues to persist. And that's one of the areas where the Feminist in me is fighting for equality. I'm talking about the art world, I'm talking about my world. The world where women are treated equal.
The world where Bi-curiosity reigns and all is accepted. Yet why do I feel like I'm still an antagonist to the cause of Feminism? Am I threatened at the prospect that the Other is trampling all over my male aura and cause? Not at all. Men in the past and present have and are pigs. But not all men.
So when it's kosher in a society for women to say things like "men aren't needed" or "men are idiots" even in jest . . . why do I feel like it's not okay to say that I'm offended?
Bikini Kill -- "Rebel Girl"
The scene in question had to deal with a rape racket that a certain nurse had been running in a hospital in "Kill Bill". It's not a huge spoiler if you haven't seen the flick, so don't feel like I'm giving too much away by stating the intricacies of the plotline as it pertains to this certain scene.
The greatest warrior who has ever lived (Uma Thurman) has been in a coma for four years due to a gunshot to the head. During the time of her stay in the hospital, a crooked nurse runs a pimping business, using Uma as one of his "comatose" prostitutes for creepy, horny truckers. It's a disgusting scene when we realize that he's been running this ordeal for some time (he drives a truck called the "Pussy Wagon", his name is Buck and he's "here to fuck".). Well, after Uma wakes up, she fakes sleep, overhearing Buck go over the rules of the $75 fuck. Buck leaves his client at the whims of his lust, to whom Uma bites the lower lip clean off of in a bloody mess. Buck discovers this massacre, and is then tortured by Uma by way of a slit Achilles and a number of head bashings between a door and a door frame. He gets his "just desserts" by way of "revenge movie" logic. She even takes his car as her main means of transportation afterward, turning a belittling term into a source of feminine power and ownership.
Now, given that Uma has been taken advantage of for the past four years, having been solicited to untold amounts of unconsented rape, one could hear of this scene and be shocked to find it glorified in an action/comedy. But if only they went so far as to then focus on the brutality Uma forces upon her rapist pimp. I think this is less a case of a misogynist director than it is a case of an insecure critic playing the gender card as an outlet for their insecurities.
"Death Proof" is another example of women triumphing over crooked male antagonists. Without giving anything away, you basically leave the movie thinking "God, women kick fucking ass!" Watch this clip of a "Death Proof" premiere in Glasgow where a non violence against women association shouts "SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!" over and over again at Quentin as he walks into the movie.
There is another clip online of the same situation in Glasgow. In this one you hear Quentin say "You obviously haven't seen the movie," before doing his own "Shame" fingering toward the group.
"Jackie Brown"? Jackie kicks ass! She makes a ton of men pawns in her get rich scheme to make off with a million dollars.
To the person I argued with two days ago: sorry if I'm making this a bigger ordeal than it was. I'm merely just stating something that was on my mind these last couple of days. We talked about this for maybe two seconds and moved on.
But it strikes a dischord whenever I feel like pro-feminist males get called out for seemingly anti-feminist behavior when it's potentially not. I am not a Women's Studies major, but I have dabbled in my Feminist lore, namely for my Burlesque project a few years back (I've touched on this a few times in the blog). I am a Feminist, but I feel like some of you female Feminists make it damn hard for us male Feminists to even discuss things we agree on with you. I've been told that cocks are arbitrary, women don't need them. Men in pop culture are idiots (name a modern sitcom where a woman is portrayed as a complete idiot opposite an all knowing male prodigy. I state "Married With Children" as the only red flag in this debate, but I also state that Al Bundy is the bigger idiot between the Al and Peg comparison. The whole Bundy family is a raging bundle of idiocy. The Simpsons, The World According to Jim, The King of Queens, Everybody Loves Raymond, etc. All of the dad figures and main characters are complete buffoons with their wives acting as teachers.).
I work in a female world as a teacher. There aren't a lot of guys in the field. I'm privy to the corporate world's salary unfairness only in literature, and I am aware that it continues to persist. And that's one of the areas where the Feminist in me is fighting for equality. I'm talking about the art world, I'm talking about my world. The world where women are treated equal.
The world where Bi-curiosity reigns and all is accepted. Yet why do I feel like I'm still an antagonist to the cause of Feminism? Am I threatened at the prospect that the Other is trampling all over my male aura and cause? Not at all. Men in the past and present have and are pigs. But not all men.
So when it's kosher in a society for women to say things like "men aren't needed" or "men are idiots" even in jest . . . why do I feel like it's not okay to say that I'm offended?
Bikini Kill -- "Rebel Girl"
Friday, August 21, 2009
Lizard People IV: The Final Showdown
LIZARD PEOPLE: Live Show #4Eagle's Club -- St. Paul, MN
August 21, 2009
SETLIST:
1. Pomp and Consequences
2. The Know
3. St. Anthony
4. Cash On Hand
5. An Epilogue
6. Double D-Day
7. Ginger Grapevine
8. The Russell Trust
9. Cubesong
The most interesting venue we've played at. It's basically a step up from a VFW Post. Full of raffles, old fogies, hot dog shout outs, volunteer staff. The show was my worst, personally. My snare belt broke during "An Epilogue" and I basically just hugged the damn thing mournfully (and somewhat for comedic effect) for the last half of the song. Luckily, another band lended me their snare. I forgot to tell them about me hooking up a tin pan to their snare, but I don't think they minded. "The Russell Trust" went over really well. My CO2 cartridge stand kept fucking up, so I opted to throw the fucker over during a lull in drum playing. All in all it was a good way to end the Lizard People.
After the show, as we were taking down our instruments, the sound guy came up and told me how I reminded him of his dead brother. They apparently didn't get along when he was alive, but whenever they played music together they finally bonded as brothers do, in a fully positive way. His brother died when he was in his early twenties. So seeing me drum brought him back to that bonding place, and he thanked us all for giving him that opportunity. That made my night. I couldn't stop saying thank you for such a wonderful sentiment on our part. It made the entire band feel special.
Jet -- "Get What You Need"Thursday, August 20, 2009
A Teacher's Love
When the day finally comes when I quit my job at Miniapple, I'll feel wholly satisfied that all of the basic activities and experiences I wanted to share with the children have been met. Today, the last of my true wants was realized:
The older kids, while at the public library, checked out, for their classroom, "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark". Upon finding this treasure while rooting through the book pile in search of "new fish" to read to the children at Day Care circle time I remembered that it happened to be a certain child's last day at the school. He is about to go into elementary school. This kid has pestered me every day since I first retold orally the "Scary Stories" stories from memory sans book two years ago to tell the same stories to him again and again. He never let up.
I had the book in my hands today, and I thought it would be the perfect way to say goodbye to him.
So, with a picture book for the wee lil' ones tucked under one arm, and with Alvin Schwartz's shit-your-pants-from-fright collection of debauchery tucked under the other, I went down to the group. I announced my finds, first the standard safe picture book. Second, my jackpot.
I'll never forget the eyes of that child. They went as wide as a barn owl's.
After I trudged my way through the first book I announced, "As a present to -----, I'll take a small group of some of you into the library to read this story." A small group of five came with me.
Now remember: the leaving child had heard these stories countless amounts of times. He even has the audio book version (which might still be one of the most terrifying pieces of audio from my childhood).
After reading "The Big Toe" the kid said "Peter, I think I wanna go back into the climber now. It's too scary."
I was shocked. "What?! You've heard these millions of times, man!"
He said, "Yeah . . . I-I know, but . . ."
I persisted. "No, no, no. Not until you see this page."
The most terrifying picture of my childhood came from a story called "The Haunted House". I avoided this picture at all costs when I was little. I skipped the story only because of the picture.
No way was he going to get away without seeing that photo:
All the kids said "Ew!"
The leaving child said louder "Peter, I wanna go into the other room!"
"No, no, no. How about the classic 'Bloody Fingers' story."
He was back in my clutches.
The kids were hooked. Their parents came in, present for my reading of "Me Tye Dough-ty Walker!" They loved it. Especially at the climactic scream at the end. The leaving child howled with frightful laughter, hugged me hard, and embarked on his post-pre-school life.
The last thing he did in pre-school was scream in delight. I think it was the best send-off I've ever given a child. I loved that kid.
*Here is one of the stories from that notorious audio book. I've searched high and low over the years for it. A couple of months ago I found it on a torrent site. Best download of my life.*
Saul Williams -- "Skin of a Drum"
The older kids, while at the public library, checked out, for their classroom, "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark". Upon finding this treasure while rooting through the book pile in search of "new fish" to read to the children at Day Care circle time I remembered that it happened to be a certain child's last day at the school. He is about to go into elementary school. This kid has pestered me every day since I first retold orally the "Scary Stories" stories from memory sans book two years ago to tell the same stories to him again and again. He never let up.
I had the book in my hands today, and I thought it would be the perfect way to say goodbye to him.
So, with a picture book for the wee lil' ones tucked under one arm, and with Alvin Schwartz's shit-your-pants-from-fright collection of debauchery tucked under the other, I went down to the group. I announced my finds, first the standard safe picture book. Second, my jackpot.
I'll never forget the eyes of that child. They went as wide as a barn owl's.
After I trudged my way through the first book I announced, "As a present to -----, I'll take a small group of some of you into the library to read this story." A small group of five came with me.
Now remember: the leaving child had heard these stories countless amounts of times. He even has the audio book version (which might still be one of the most terrifying pieces of audio from my childhood).
After reading "The Big Toe" the kid said "Peter, I think I wanna go back into the climber now. It's too scary."
I was shocked. "What?! You've heard these millions of times, man!"
He said, "Yeah . . . I-I know, but . . ."
I persisted. "No, no, no. Not until you see this page."
The most terrifying picture of my childhood came from a story called "The Haunted House". I avoided this picture at all costs when I was little. I skipped the story only because of the picture.
No way was he going to get away without seeing that photo:
All the kids said "Ew!"The leaving child said louder "Peter, I wanna go into the other room!"
"No, no, no. How about the classic 'Bloody Fingers' story."
He was back in my clutches.
The kids were hooked. Their parents came in, present for my reading of "Me Tye Dough-ty Walker!" They loved it. Especially at the climactic scream at the end. The leaving child howled with frightful laughter, hugged me hard, and embarked on his post-pre-school life.
The last thing he did in pre-school was scream in delight. I think it was the best send-off I've ever given a child. I loved that kid.
*Here is one of the stories from that notorious audio book. I've searched high and low over the years for it. A couple of months ago I found it on a torrent site. Best download of my life.*
Saul Williams -- "Skin of a Drum"
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tin Pan O' Malley
As a last minute call, we opted to put one new song into the mix for Friday's show. It also happens to be my favorite Liz Peep song.
Two months ago I hooked Louie's drumset up with a tin pan, a CO2 cartridge, and a kettle drum full of wrenches for "The Russell Trust", just for shits and giggles. Tonight we hooked it up in hopes of playing to the masses this weekend.
Let's see if it works . . .
Stone Roses -- "Love Spreads"
Two months ago I hooked Louie's drumset up with a tin pan, a CO2 cartridge, and a kettle drum full of wrenches for "The Russell Trust", just for shits and giggles. Tonight we hooked it up in hopes of playing to the masses this weekend.
Let's see if it works . . .
Stone Roses -- "Love Spreads"
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Reflector
I payed $5 to enter into my personal Hall of Mirrors recently.
Traversing through a portal, I came to a vertical pool in front of me. Inside the pool, hundreds of waves permeated throughout the calm surface. Those waves were me, caused by any sort of movement on my part.
Even at rest, the Mirrors promised potential energy. This caused unrest within the portion of my brain lusting for balance. Yet, I did pay $5 after all. I couldn't just turn around and chicken out. I had to enter the pool.
I caught glimpses of the exit, yet I knew that if I embarked too heavily on finding that exit in tangible reality I was bound to faceplant my nose into a mirror panel. The guy who sold me the ticket gave me a bottle of Windex and a wash cloth, saying "I just finished washin' the joint and I'm pretty damn sure you'll make a mess of it once you go in there. So do me a favor, will ya please?"
This particular Hall of Mirrors boasts a surprise element: other figures join you within the maze, making it a quasi-haunted house in mirror form. I never knew if the blond damsel who entered my life only a month and a half before was actually standing right next to me or on the complete opposite side of the facility, a figment of so many "right" angles and sight line chances; the two forms sporting Lizard heads were almost ready to lick my face at any moment; the new inhabitants of my living quarters ready to actually take hold of my hand in first impression salutations.
I'm writing this entry from within the walls now. I still haven't found a way out. Slowly but surely, though. Although it is starting to really wear me down, this tangible/dream reality quandery.
The exit sign reads: PATCH. It's laughing at me.
Mazes -- "A Metric Tower"
Traversing through a portal, I came to a vertical pool in front of me. Inside the pool, hundreds of waves permeated throughout the calm surface. Those waves were me, caused by any sort of movement on my part.
Even at rest, the Mirrors promised potential energy. This caused unrest within the portion of my brain lusting for balance. Yet, I did pay $5 after all. I couldn't just turn around and chicken out. I had to enter the pool.
I caught glimpses of the exit, yet I knew that if I embarked too heavily on finding that exit in tangible reality I was bound to faceplant my nose into a mirror panel. The guy who sold me the ticket gave me a bottle of Windex and a wash cloth, saying "I just finished washin' the joint and I'm pretty damn sure you'll make a mess of it once you go in there. So do me a favor, will ya please?"
This particular Hall of Mirrors boasts a surprise element: other figures join you within the maze, making it a quasi-haunted house in mirror form. I never knew if the blond damsel who entered my life only a month and a half before was actually standing right next to me or on the complete opposite side of the facility, a figment of so many "right" angles and sight line chances; the two forms sporting Lizard heads were almost ready to lick my face at any moment; the new inhabitants of my living quarters ready to actually take hold of my hand in first impression salutations.
I'm writing this entry from within the walls now. I still haven't found a way out. Slowly but surely, though. Although it is starting to really wear me down, this tangible/dream reality quandery.
The exit sign reads: PATCH. It's laughing at me.
Mazes -- "A Metric Tower"
Monday, August 17, 2009
One Dollar Baby
Apparently, there's an underground prostitution racket going on at the school.
A parent called the school today relaying a statement a five year old boy had said to her three year old girl earlier that morning.
This peer said to her child: "I'll give you a dollar if you suck my pee-pee."
No word on whether or not she took him up on the offer . . .
Garbage -- "Queer"
A parent called the school today relaying a statement a five year old boy had said to her three year old girl earlier that morning.
This peer said to her child: "I'll give you a dollar if you suck my pee-pee."
No word on whether or not she took him up on the offer . . .
Garbage -- "Queer"
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Staring at the Rust
I have found myself in a constant state of altruism. Helping others. While this is good, one also needs to take time to help themselves. This may be one of the main instigators to some recent bouts of depression.
In times of transition, such as people moving out, it's hard not to do help. I think come September I'll have more "ME" time. That, and creativity will soar through the birth of Patch Live.
Sigur Ros -- "Hjartað Hamast (Bamm Bamm Bamm)"
In times of transition, such as people moving out, it's hard not to do help. I think come September I'll have more "ME" time. That, and creativity will soar through the birth of Patch Live.
Sigur Ros -- "Hjartað Hamast (Bamm Bamm Bamm)"
Saturday, August 15, 2009
On the Prowl
Everyone knows the phenomenon where once you've experienced something, such as seeing a 1989 penny on the ground, you then find yourself finding more pennies manufactured in 1989 than any other year. I just experienced one of these strange recurrences today: yard sale prowlers.
Shannon used our front yard as the locale for her pre-move yard sale. You see mainly middle aged to older peeps showing up to these events. A fair amount of people came.
I was startled to find a number of yard sales going on down the street, with tons of people flocking them. I posted up signs for our own sale and people were calling me down "Yo man, where's your sale at?"
I saw for the first time the craze that is the Rummage Sale Shopping Spree. I realized every car was parked for the sole purpose of taking in one of these outlet mall shopping centers. It was crazy.
I just stood on the corner looking at this for a little while. It was like Jingle All the Way but for used IKEA furniture and knick-knacks.
Red Hot Chili Peppers -- "One Hot Minute"
Shannon used our front yard as the locale for her pre-move yard sale. You see mainly middle aged to older peeps showing up to these events. A fair amount of people came.
I was startled to find a number of yard sales going on down the street, with tons of people flocking them. I posted up signs for our own sale and people were calling me down "Yo man, where's your sale at?"
I saw for the first time the craze that is the Rummage Sale Shopping Spree. I realized every car was parked for the sole purpose of taking in one of these outlet mall shopping centers. It was crazy.
I just stood on the corner looking at this for a little while. It was like Jingle All the Way but for used IKEA furniture and knick-knacks.
Red Hot Chili Peppers -- "One Hot Minute"
Friday, August 14, 2009
Rats and Revenge
Yesterday, I was passing a parent in the school. She smiled and said, "Peter, you're like the Pied Piper around here."
I smiled back. "How's that?"
She said, "You know the Pied Piper, don't you?"
I said, "I know the reference. I don't really know what he's all about."
She said, "Check it out."
I nodded. "Okay, I will."
So I checked it out on Wikipedia.
Apparently, the story goes as follows: A man is given the job to rid a town of a rat infestation. He plays his pipe, which lures the rats out of their hiding places, and lures them into the river, where all the rats drowned. For some reason, the people of the town refuse to pay him for the extermination, and the Piper vows to get his revenge.
He does so by playing his pipe for the children in the town, and one hundred and thirty youngin's follow him out of town and to a cave, never to be heard of again. A crippled child comes back and tells the people about the happenings within the cave. Adaptations include the Piper murdering each child, strewing dismembered body parts all over the nearby forest; not doing anything to the children, just holding them ransom, until he gets his money.
Theories point to the Pied Piper being a symbol for Death. Others point to him being a psychopathic pedophile.
After I read this I burst out laughing. I understand that the mom was most likely referring to children following me around based on my games and storytelling.
At the same time, she inadvertently called me a pedophile.
Blitzen Trapper -- "Black River Killer"
I smiled back. "How's that?"
She said, "You know the Pied Piper, don't you?"
I said, "I know the reference. I don't really know what he's all about."
She said, "Check it out."
I nodded. "Okay, I will."
So I checked it out on Wikipedia.
Apparently, the story goes as follows: A man is given the job to rid a town of a rat infestation. He plays his pipe, which lures the rats out of their hiding places, and lures them into the river, where all the rats drowned. For some reason, the people of the town refuse to pay him for the extermination, and the Piper vows to get his revenge.
He does so by playing his pipe for the children in the town, and one hundred and thirty youngin's follow him out of town and to a cave, never to be heard of again. A crippled child comes back and tells the people about the happenings within the cave. Adaptations include the Piper murdering each child, strewing dismembered body parts all over the nearby forest; not doing anything to the children, just holding them ransom, until he gets his money.
Theories point to the Pied Piper being a symbol for Death. Others point to him being a psychopathic pedophile.
After I read this I burst out laughing. I understand that the mom was most likely referring to children following me around based on my games and storytelling.
At the same time, she inadvertently called me a pedophile.
Blitzen Trapper -- "Black River Killer"
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Foreskin Debate
There is naught an organ as perplexing,
Mesmerizing, complexly overwhelming
As the elephant trunk inside a man's britches.
It is feared, it is sought
Revered or not
It leaves its partners needing stitches.
The debate rages: keep the foreskin intact,
Or stripped and extract,
From the confines of its redundant coat.
Left wrinkly or bare
Within your underwear
The scales remain equal in votes.
More dirty, more sick
More proper, more hick
Which side do the parents prefer?
I have seen both sides
And what makes me decide
Is on appearance's sake: do you concur?
For the one is a soldier
A helmet to bolster
A knight from the Mushroom Kingdom prevails.
The other a worm
Spewing forth sperm
From a deflated balloon mouth, it ails.
The trends have it in
That the soldier is sin
To cut up the child is pure hell.
Yet is it not of the scene
To be stripped pure and clean?
The Adult Fungi excels.
A mouth on a tube
Despite all the lube
Shudders at the worm monster sight.
Yet the hopeless romantic
With post-bloodied dick
Gives them the ideal night.
My child, I do wonder.
Should I gorge in plunder
Stealing what's rightfully his?
Or should I say, "His choice."
Let him find his own voice
To leave it the way it is.
The females, I implore
What cock would you score?
The jury is out, I have found.
Some purely shun
The unscathed one
Yet some fear cocks all around.
And yet in my case
Many a smiling face
Hath received my stripped hero within.
For I am proud that my dad
Became one with the fad
To ravage my helpless foreskin.
King Missle -- "Detachable Penis"
Mesmerizing, complexly overwhelming
As the elephant trunk inside a man's britches.
It is feared, it is sought
Revered or not
It leaves its partners needing stitches.
The debate rages: keep the foreskin intact,
Or stripped and extract,
From the confines of its redundant coat.
Left wrinkly or bare
Within your underwear
The scales remain equal in votes.
More dirty, more sick
More proper, more hick
Which side do the parents prefer?
I have seen both sides
And what makes me decide
Is on appearance's sake: do you concur?
For the one is a soldier
A helmet to bolster
A knight from the Mushroom Kingdom prevails.
The other a worm
Spewing forth sperm
From a deflated balloon mouth, it ails.
The trends have it in
That the soldier is sin
To cut up the child is pure hell.
Yet is it not of the scene
To be stripped pure and clean?
The Adult Fungi excels.
A mouth on a tube
Despite all the lube
Shudders at the worm monster sight.
Yet the hopeless romantic
With post-bloodied dick
Gives them the ideal night.
My child, I do wonder.
Should I gorge in plunder
Stealing what's rightfully his?
Or should I say, "His choice."
Let him find his own voice
To leave it the way it is.
The females, I implore
What cock would you score?
The jury is out, I have found.
Some purely shun
The unscathed one
Yet some fear cocks all around.
And yet in my case
Many a smiling face
Hath received my stripped hero within.
For I am proud that my dad
Became one with the fad
To ravage my helpless foreskin.
King Missle -- "Detachable Penis"
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
A Double D Kind of Day
A glorious day! Nothing makes me feel better than to be done with a song in studio!
The Lizard People -- "Double D-Day"
The Lizard People -- "Double D-Day"Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Behind the Eye
The demon sifts behind my right eye, swollen since Sunday night, it remains blood shot. Yet it's diminishing itself. Trachomania will not take hold . . . this time.
The Kills -- "U.R.A. Fever"
Monday, August 10, 2009
My Channeling Apprentice
At work, trying my best to forget my current situation, we had music time. The music teacher read a musical storybook entitled "The Cat Came Back", which included an episode where a cat got sucked up into a tornado only to come back home by cab the next day.
A child sitting in front of me said "There are going to be tornadoes tonight, Peter. I'm serious."
I started to laugh. "Really? I don't think so, bud."
He looked at me with such a stern face. "It's not funny. They're coming."
We went back into the classroom, where we had the children draw to music. Ironically, my coworker chose Cloud Cult's "Feel Good Ghosts (Tea-Partying Through Tornadoes)" for the session. The same child drew with such ferocity and determination, blending pastel crayons together with a cotton ball in a fury, I was moved to tears.
He drew a picture of a man in a tornado without knowing what the song was about.
I feel like, while channeling the album's concept, he also was channeling me, trying my best to make peace within my tornado.
Cloud Cult -- "When Water Comes to Life"
A child sitting in front of me said "There are going to be tornadoes tonight, Peter. I'm serious."
I started to laugh. "Really? I don't think so, bud."
He looked at me with such a stern face. "It's not funny. They're coming."
We went back into the classroom, where we had the children draw to music. Ironically, my coworker chose Cloud Cult's "Feel Good Ghosts (Tea-Partying Through Tornadoes)" for the session. The same child drew with such ferocity and determination, blending pastel crayons together with a cotton ball in a fury, I was moved to tears.
He drew a picture of a man in a tornado without knowing what the song was about.
I feel like, while channeling the album's concept, he also was channeling me, trying my best to make peace within my tornado.
Cloud Cult -- "When Water Comes to Life"Sunday, August 9, 2009
Source Material
Hidden amongst the tornado of my life, you search the objects floating here and there.
Silk laden bed sheets . . .
Virus laden computers . . .
Children's nursery rhymes . . .
Ghost stories . . .
Empty condoms . . .
Queens of the Stone Age -- "You Think I Ain't Worth a Dollar, But I Feel Like a Millionaire"
Silk laden bed sheets . . .
Virus laden computers . . .
Children's nursery rhymes . . .
Ghost stories . . .
Empty condoms . . .
Queens of the Stone Age -- "You Think I Ain't Worth a Dollar, But I Feel Like a Millionaire"
Saturday, August 8, 2009
My Visit From Beelzebub
"What happens in Afton stays in Afton."
--Afton PR Campaign
After the lightning storm passed, and my drunken makeout subsided with the moon hiding behind the clouds, a concoction was brewed for making my innermost hidden demon wake up for the first time in years.
I was left alone on a moon filled beach, sitting on a picnic bench, looking at a yacht anchored in a small cove across from me. That's when he stepped up.
"Hello, Peter."
(Still looking at the yacht)Peter: "Hey there, B. Figured you'd be by again."
B: "I'm inside you, I can't hide forever. You did a great number for Patch about me, didn't you? I kind of rubbed off in your conscious thought scheme recently."
P: "I thought I got rid of you, I was just making some new demons. Lesser demons."
B: "Nope. Just me."
P: "Why are you showing up now after all these years? I had my mantras, I cooled it down with that whole "Shit Field" fiasco. Worked in the past, why isn't it working tonight?"
B: "Pete, c'mon, man. Think about it. You're away from home. You're cramped with all the people that instigated my birth for the night. You can't get away. I had to come. It was a perfect equation."
P: "I like her, that's why, right? It's because I like her."
B: "You're possessive. That's my number one trait, my friend."
P: "But I've been talking about doing something like this forever, B."
B: "Well, now you know. Emotional attachment will bring me along for the ride."
P: "How long you gonna stay?"
B: "Hmmm . . . I think this might be similar to the two prom fiascos you went through."
P: "You stayed around for two years after that."
B: "Yeah, well . . ."
Holding my head, my voice changed into two different frequencies as I paced back and forth between the trees on that moonlit beach. He wants to consume me.
Patch -- "In Hopes to Mend"
--Afton PR Campaign
After the lightning storm passed, and my drunken makeout subsided with the moon hiding behind the clouds, a concoction was brewed for making my innermost hidden demon wake up for the first time in years.
I was left alone on a moon filled beach, sitting on a picnic bench, looking at a yacht anchored in a small cove across from me. That's when he stepped up.
"Hello, Peter."
(Still looking at the yacht)Peter: "Hey there, B. Figured you'd be by again."
B: "I'm inside you, I can't hide forever. You did a great number for Patch about me, didn't you? I kind of rubbed off in your conscious thought scheme recently."
P: "I thought I got rid of you, I was just making some new demons. Lesser demons."
B: "Nope. Just me."
P: "Why are you showing up now after all these years? I had my mantras, I cooled it down with that whole "Shit Field" fiasco. Worked in the past, why isn't it working tonight?"
B: "Pete, c'mon, man. Think about it. You're away from home. You're cramped with all the people that instigated my birth for the night. You can't get away. I had to come. It was a perfect equation."
P: "I like her, that's why, right? It's because I like her."
B: "You're possessive. That's my number one trait, my friend."
P: "But I've been talking about doing something like this forever, B."
B: "Well, now you know. Emotional attachment will bring me along for the ride."
P: "How long you gonna stay?"
B: "Hmmm . . . I think this might be similar to the two prom fiascos you went through."
P: "You stayed around for two years after that."
B: "Yeah, well . . ."
Holding my head, my voice changed into two different frequencies as I paced back and forth between the trees on that moonlit beach. He wants to consume me.
Patch -- "In Hopes to Mend"
Friday, August 7, 2009
Into the Wild
Obligations are abound. I feel stuck. I feel suffocated.
Obligations include seeing family, going with friends to the needed summer locales (camping, ValleyFair, the Dells), work, music . . .
We're getting away from it all this weekend, but I'm not getting away from myself. I really do need a vacation, because I feel like something's about to break.
Eddie Vedder -- "Hard Sun"
Obligations include seeing family, going with friends to the needed summer locales (camping, ValleyFair, the Dells), work, music . . .
We're getting away from it all this weekend, but I'm not getting away from myself. I really do need a vacation, because I feel like something's about to break.
Eddie Vedder -- "Hard Sun"
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Fu ManShui
Your life is reflected in the room you keep. Feng Shui lends itself to mental fortitude.
That's why I think it's fitting that my bed broke today. It's now held up by a cinder block.
EDIT: Saturday morning, my shelving unit collapsed in the middle of the night. Clothes, blankets, coats went everywhere. What the hell is happening?
Radiohead -- "Videotape"
That's why I think it's fitting that my bed broke today. It's now held up by a cinder block.
EDIT: Saturday morning, my shelving unit collapsed in the middle of the night. Clothes, blankets, coats went everywhere. What the hell is happening?
Radiohead -- "Videotape"
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
That Girl Interrupted My Great Balls of Fire
Finished recording "Double D-Day" for Lizard People. Now on to post related tidbits of production . . .
Here's some footage of Taylor's manic, glorious take for Verse 1, recorded this evening. We settled on using this take in the end, adding some rockabilly kickback delay for good measure.
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion! -- "Wail"
Here's some footage of Taylor's manic, glorious take for Verse 1, recorded this evening. We settled on using this take in the end, adding some rockabilly kickback delay for good measure.
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion! -- "Wail"
Monday, August 3, 2009
50 Egg Challenge
A voice inside stepped into the light. He faced the council harboring the law of the brain. Harboring both reason and lust at bay. It seemed that so far Reason and Lust were at odds, fighting over their claim to the throne when it came to the topic of a blond angel.
The Chairman spoke: "And who are you?"
Tiny Voice: "My name is not important, sir. I'm merely another synapse passing through."
Chairman: "What would you like to say to the council?"
Tiny Voice: "I'd like to propose a wager."
Chairman: "A wager?! My dear sir, we are not in the business of making bets on petty sinful gaming schemes! We're proper here--"
Tiny Voice: "Oh really?! Then why hasn't the court come to a decision regarding the girl?! It's already been a month, and it's been taking up most of our resources, draining power away from the job search campaign and creativity."
Chairman: "We will not be lectured on our failings nor our successes, my young friend. If you are going to go on with this stunt, then--"
Tiny Voice: "Fifty eggs!"
Chairman: "What? Speak up, man, you're speaking gibberish!"
Tiny Voice: "Fifty eggs equals fifty days!!"
Chairman: "Will someone tell me what the hell he's talking about?!"
Eyes: "There is some relevance to what he's saying, sir. It appears that a motion picture, currently being watched, has sparked a small influx of activity within the logic quadrants of the Headquarters. A man in the film has just accepted a challenge of eating fifty eggs in one hour, and it has sparked our vessel to produce this new voice in our presence."
Tiny Voice: "Quite right. I raise a wager of fifty days! If our vessel can hold out for fifty days without the touch of the girl, Reason and Lust must sign a Cease Fire agreement."
Chairman: "Absurd! A bet?!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "Where are you, Chairman?! You've inhabited a young man. Two years ago you took office, and most of the loins beneath have not worked a day. Just this month the loins quota has nearly quintrupled in activity!!! They've been given work! And you just want to throw a chance like this away!!"
Chairman: "I'm sure the loins will survive in the near future if we don't see to this bet. That's why I find this bet ludicrous! Your precious loins will all come down with a case of blue balled unemployment if we agree to this foolish game!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "And for how much longer? Sir, despite the recent activity throughout the body's hormonic division, my brother and I fear that you are putting everyone at risk for another drought brought on by the Wrenchman, including potential death by the shotgun kept in his closet due to the Wrenchman's Jealousy Overhaul!"
Chairman: "And what if the Wrenchman wins back our girl during this time? Our girl will most surely look for sustenance within the clutches of the Wrenchman!"
Tiny Voice: "It's either one week more of slow work where Lust will drain due to the Emotional Baggage Bombs thrown down from Reason, or a plethora of work after the fifty days, when the girl potentially takes up residency wihin the Lovelife Vacancy."
Chairman: "Can't we find other vessels to suffice this vacancy?"
Tiny Voice: "We've tried sir. But you run your Logic Department so dry with overwork that the Anxiety Trashpile has been peaking in the red, prompting our vessel to never want to leave his room. We're about to have a major disaster within Logic. We fear lunacy is imminent."
Chairman: "What is this?! Are you trying to burn me at the stake? This is not about me!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "IT IS ABOUT YOU!!! IT'S ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT YOU!!! WE WANT YOU OUT!!! OUT!!! OUUUUUUT!!!!"
Chairman: "I recognize your brother . . . he's . . . the one I took the position from, the former chairman."
Tiny Voice: "It's time you step down, Baxter."
Chairman: "NO!"
Tiny Voice: "Ladies and Gentlemen, feast your eyes on Baxter, the former Logic Warden. He ran that department into the ground five years ago, creating the Great Panic of 2004. Since we've been busy rebuilding, he's climbed his way to the top of the Council Chair, slipping underneath our radar, not doing damage himself, but instructing others to do so. Why do you think we've felt so lethargic these last five years? It's over, people! YOU'RE THROUGH, BAXTER!!!"
Baxter: "You'll never catch me!! I'll morph once again, taking over another important department with a new disguise!!!"
Loins President: "No . . . " (He shoots Baxter in the chest with a revolver)
Baxter: "GASP!! I just . . . wanted . . . to help . . ." (He dies)
Loins President: "Go ahead, Chaplin. Take the throne."
Tiny Voice (Chaplin): "Gladly, sir!"
(The crowd cheers)
Tiny Voice: "It's a new era, people! It's time we got back on the right footing! Just like we started on so long ago! Sorry for the delay, but I think we can manage! Starting with this fifty days wager! All in favor?"
Crowd: "AYE!!"
Chaplin: "Against?"
(No sound)
Chaplin: "Then let us commence the wager! This meeting is adjourned until fifty days' time!"
(The gavel sounds, and the council room is full of glorious uproar!)
Bowerbirds -- "Northern Lights"
The Chairman spoke: "And who are you?"
Tiny Voice: "My name is not important, sir. I'm merely another synapse passing through."
Chairman: "What would you like to say to the council?"
Tiny Voice: "I'd like to propose a wager."
Chairman: "A wager?! My dear sir, we are not in the business of making bets on petty sinful gaming schemes! We're proper here--"
Tiny Voice: "Oh really?! Then why hasn't the court come to a decision regarding the girl?! It's already been a month, and it's been taking up most of our resources, draining power away from the job search campaign and creativity."
Chairman: "We will not be lectured on our failings nor our successes, my young friend. If you are going to go on with this stunt, then--"
Tiny Voice: "Fifty eggs!"
Chairman: "What? Speak up, man, you're speaking gibberish!"
Tiny Voice: "Fifty eggs equals fifty days!!"
Chairman: "Will someone tell me what the hell he's talking about?!"
Eyes: "There is some relevance to what he's saying, sir. It appears that a motion picture, currently being watched, has sparked a small influx of activity within the logic quadrants of the Headquarters. A man in the film has just accepted a challenge of eating fifty eggs in one hour, and it has sparked our vessel to produce this new voice in our presence."
Tiny Voice: "Quite right. I raise a wager of fifty days! If our vessel can hold out for fifty days without the touch of the girl, Reason and Lust must sign a Cease Fire agreement."
Chairman: "Absurd! A bet?!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "Where are you, Chairman?! You've inhabited a young man. Two years ago you took office, and most of the loins beneath have not worked a day. Just this month the loins quota has nearly quintrupled in activity!!! They've been given work! And you just want to throw a chance like this away!!"
Chairman: "I'm sure the loins will survive in the near future if we don't see to this bet. That's why I find this bet ludicrous! Your precious loins will all come down with a case of blue balled unemployment if we agree to this foolish game!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "And for how much longer? Sir, despite the recent activity throughout the body's hormonic division, my brother and I fear that you are putting everyone at risk for another drought brought on by the Wrenchman, including potential death by the shotgun kept in his closet due to the Wrenchman's Jealousy Overhaul!"
Chairman: "And what if the Wrenchman wins back our girl during this time? Our girl will most surely look for sustenance within the clutches of the Wrenchman!"
Tiny Voice: "It's either one week more of slow work where Lust will drain due to the Emotional Baggage Bombs thrown down from Reason, or a plethora of work after the fifty days, when the girl potentially takes up residency wihin the Lovelife Vacancy."
Chairman: "Can't we find other vessels to suffice this vacancy?"
Tiny Voice: "We've tried sir. But you run your Logic Department so dry with overwork that the Anxiety Trashpile has been peaking in the red, prompting our vessel to never want to leave his room. We're about to have a major disaster within Logic. We fear lunacy is imminent."
Chairman: "What is this?! Are you trying to burn me at the stake? This is not about me!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "IT IS ABOUT YOU!!! IT'S ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT YOU!!! WE WANT YOU OUT!!! OUT!!! OUUUUUUT!!!!"
Chairman: "I recognize your brother . . . he's . . . the one I took the position from, the former chairman."
Tiny Voice: "It's time you step down, Baxter."
Chairman: "NO!"
Tiny Voice: "Ladies and Gentlemen, feast your eyes on Baxter, the former Logic Warden. He ran that department into the ground five years ago, creating the Great Panic of 2004. Since we've been busy rebuilding, he's climbed his way to the top of the Council Chair, slipping underneath our radar, not doing damage himself, but instructing others to do so. Why do you think we've felt so lethargic these last five years? It's over, people! YOU'RE THROUGH, BAXTER!!!"
Baxter: "You'll never catch me!! I'll morph once again, taking over another important department with a new disguise!!!"
Loins President: "No . . . " (He shoots Baxter in the chest with a revolver)
Baxter: "GASP!! I just . . . wanted . . . to help . . ." (He dies)
Loins President: "Go ahead, Chaplin. Take the throne."
Tiny Voice (Chaplin): "Gladly, sir!"
(The crowd cheers)
Tiny Voice: "It's a new era, people! It's time we got back on the right footing! Just like we started on so long ago! Sorry for the delay, but I think we can manage! Starting with this fifty days wager! All in favor?"
Crowd: "AYE!!"
Chaplin: "Against?"
(No sound)
Chaplin: "Then let us commence the wager! This meeting is adjourned until fifty days' time!"
(The gavel sounds, and the council room is full of glorious uproar!)
Bowerbirds -- "Northern Lights"
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Yawn of the Dead
Over a Denver Omelette this afternoon, I talked about death and came off as somewhat pessimistic when proclaiming that everything manmade is tainted and imperfect. There is a distinct possibility that I've become emo inside, hiding behind Carrot Top hair and a radiant, toothy smile.
I asked today: "Have there been cases where people've woken up during their own funeral service?" I totally think that if that would happen to me, I'd laugh and say "This is perfect!" I kind of want that to happen, actually.
I went home and found this little tidbit:
(From Variety News)
"Relatives shocked when he "rose from the dead"
--Chile man wakes up in his coffin at his funeral--
An 81-year old man in the small Chilean village of Angol shocked his grieving relatives by waking up in his coffin at his own wake, local media said on Sunday.
When Feliberto Carrasco's family members discovered his body limp and cold, they were convinced that the octogenarian's hour had come, so they immediately called a funeral home, not a doctor.
Carrasco was dressed in his finest suit for the wake, and his relatives gathered to bid him a final farewell.
"I couldn't believe it. I thought I must be mistaken, and I shut my eyes," Carrasco's nephew Pedro told the daily Ultimas Noticias.
"When I opened them again, my uncle was looking at me. I started to cry and ran to get something to open up the coffin to get him out."
The man who "rose from the dead" said he was not in any pain, and only asked for a glass of water.
Local radio also surprised listeners by announcing a correction to Carrasco's death announcement, saying the news had been premature."
Incubus -- "New Skin"
I asked today: "Have there been cases where people've woken up during their own funeral service?" I totally think that if that would happen to me, I'd laugh and say "This is perfect!" I kind of want that to happen, actually.
I went home and found this little tidbit:
(From Variety News)"Relatives shocked when he "rose from the dead"
--Chile man wakes up in his coffin at his funeral--
An 81-year old man in the small Chilean village of Angol shocked his grieving relatives by waking up in his coffin at his own wake, local media said on Sunday.
When Feliberto Carrasco's family members discovered his body limp and cold, they were convinced that the octogenarian's hour had come, so they immediately called a funeral home, not a doctor.
Carrasco was dressed in his finest suit for the wake, and his relatives gathered to bid him a final farewell.
"I couldn't believe it. I thought I must be mistaken, and I shut my eyes," Carrasco's nephew Pedro told the daily Ultimas Noticias.
"When I opened them again, my uncle was looking at me. I started to cry and ran to get something to open up the coffin to get him out."
The man who "rose from the dead" said he was not in any pain, and only asked for a glass of water.
Local radio also surprised listeners by announcing a correction to Carrasco's death announcement, saying the news had been premature."
Incubus -- "New Skin"
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