U-Haulin' Ass

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"

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"

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"

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"

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?"

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)"

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"

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"

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"

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"