Please Don't Bend My Fish

The next time you’re at the airport preparing to take a flight, you might want to pay careful attention to what you’re wearing, especially if you just came from a Godspeed You! Black Emperor concert.

I just recently came back from a quick trip to Arizona.  It was a really short trip but I still managed to see a couple friends of mine and a long desired show in Tucson, AZ.  The concert was one of those gift shows that don’t come along that often by a band called Godspeed You! Black Emperor.  I’ve listened to them for about 13 years and I’ve always wanted to see them live but, up until this year, they’ve been quite elusive with their touring.  In fact, they were a defunct band for most of the past decade and so no chance existed whatsoever of seeing them.  It was earlier this year that I stumbled upon the news of their reforming and more extensive tour schedule, and so I filed potential plans in the back of my head, just in case I could somehow make it work once the time came closer.

Don’t be too terribly thrown off by their name; Godspeed You! Black Emperor are sort of an obscure instrumental band that plays rather long, almost cinematic pieces of music with lots of thundering guitars and such.  They’re not exactly well known but are in fact very well respected with lots of artists claiming that they were influenced by their work.

The show itself was absolutely fabulous, possibly the best show I’ve seen this year aside from the all day 60^th birthday John Zorn fest at the Walker in April.  Because of the rarity of this performance, I opted to buy a t-shirt, something I don’t do very often at this point in life simply because I’m not very into the whole concert shirt experience any longer.  Still, I do sometimes buy the more obscure looking shirts, meaning ones that don’t have the usual tour dates and such listed on them, and I like supporting the smaller bands.  This particular shirt fit the bill perfectly and since it was a band that I’ve always wanted to see, I couldn’t help but opt for it.

This t-shirt is so obscure that it doesn’t even list the band name anywhere.  Pretty weird, right?  Instead, it has a star symbol on it with the words “Don’t Bend Ascend” around it in a circle which is part of the album title, along with the words “More of us than them amen”.  To be frank, it’s a bit of a strange shirt, hence why I liked it.

Since I flew back to Minnesota the following day after the show, I just sort of naturally opted to wear this new shirt of mine and didn’t think much of it.  Well, fast forward a few hours to Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix, where I’m casually standing in line to go through security.  I had already noticed a couple puzzled looks at my t-shirt along the way but, again, I didn’t really think much of it.  And so, I made my way through the line and was admiring the fact that one of the TSA agents that was checking tickets and ID’s was particularly smiley and friendly, talking extensively to every passenger.  I’ve just never seen a TSA agent show much sign of a personality up until this point and so I was kind of amazed by this.  Also, she was mildly cute…what can I say?  I was kind of looking forward to having her “check me out”.

Just as I was about 2 people away from being next, two male TSA agents came out of nowhere and stood behind the friendly female TSA agent.  These two guys were the typical TSA type – zero personality, no smile whatsoever on their face, and looking as serious as possible.  Being the space cadet that I am, nothing seemed that strange about this until the next person went up and I was next in line.  It was then that I noticed that these two unhappy TSA agents were in fact both staring directly at and analyzing me.  I suddenly had a lump in my throat.

The male TSA agent with the bigger scowl at this point walked straight up to me and locked eyes.  Talk about intimidating!  Looking directly into my eyes, he asked, “What exactly does your shirt mean?”

And then, it started to sink in.  Oh cr*p!  I’m wearing this new t-shirt!  Is there something weird on it?  I frantically tried to remember what was on it without looking down or nervous.  I simply replied as calmly as possible, “It’s just a band shirt, that’s all.”

I knew exactly what question was coming next.  “What band?”

Again, somehow remaining calm, I said, “Godspeed You! Black Emperor,” realizing all the while how ridiculous and suspicious that probably sounds to an unhappy TSA agent.

The guy, still without any sign of life and looking intently at me, said dryly, “Never heard of them.”  I had no answer for this.  Not knowing what else to say, I simply shrugged, thinking, oh geez, here we go, I’m going to be searched and who knows what else.

Now, to make this even more amusing, I must mention the ‘fish’.  While visiting with some friends just hours before, of whom I had enlisted to dress up a singing fish battery operated statue to look like Elvis for my “It’s Raining Elvis Fish!” tribute album cover, they had in fact given me said fish, complete with Elvis costume, and it was in my suitcase of which I was now holding.  Upon giving it to me, my friend said, “I guarantee you…they’ll be searching your luggage upon seeing that fish!”  Well, these words now echoed in my head.  The TSA agents were already concerned that I might be a terrorist wearing terrorist propaganda on my t-shirt AND I just happen to have an Elvis dressed fish in my suitcase!  I’m screwed!!!

At this point, the friendly female TSA agent said, “Next please!” and I made my way to the podium.  As I walked up, the other male TSA agent tapped her on the shoulder and took her place.  He promptly grabbed my ticket and ID and I simply waited for the order to go in the back for a more thorough checking.

Much to my surprise, after a few seconds, he simply handed back my ticket and ID and said, “Thanks!  Have a great flight!”  I walked forward, dumbfounded, still mildly concerned that I was maybe being setup or the fish would set off some sort of ‘alarm’ when going through the x-ray machine, but once again nothing of the sort happened.  Instead, I was free to continue on in peace and with dignity.

All I can say is it’s a damn good thing I didn’t name the album something like “It’s Raining Bin Laden Fish!” while wearing a Three Mile Pilot shirt that shows a plane going up in flames.  Now, try and explain that one...

A Visit to the Doctor

As a person that at times suffers from moderate anxiety, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the topic, it’s that you have to laugh it off as much as possible.  If you don’t, you’ll simply wig yourself out beyond belief.

Laughing is exactly what I do.  I’m not even sure that it’s something that I have to do consciously for it just sort of leaks out at random moments.  I think I tend to make people slightly worried when I’m sitting there laughing to myself, even though there’s nothing visibly funny happening around me.  It’s one of my better traits or flaws, depending upon how you look at it.

One of the amusing things that come with anxiety is the ability to put things off for an indeterminate amount of time.  I usually have to work myself up enough in order to do something that freaks me out, taking an unspecified amount of time to “ponder” and “think” about the task at hand.  For example, nothing gives me more anxiety than going to the doctor, so much so that I’ve put off getting a physical for nearly 4 years.  I finally broke down last fall and told myself, enough is enough, you simply have to go in and get it over with.  Ah, yes, but before I do that, you see, I have to think about it more.  I need to ponder the whole act of making the appointment, calling them on the phone, and so on.  Well, ‘pondering’ ultimately means a few more months go by, and then a few more, etc.  In truth, I’ve been ‘thinking’ about it for at least the past 2 years.  I finally had to go in to the doctor for an unrelated issue this February and even forewarned them, “Um, I think I’m overdue for a physical and I’ll be making an appointment soon.”  The keyword there was ‘soon’ which was completely open to interpretation considering months would end up going by first.

While I was at the office back in February, my doctor and I decided the best approach was to give me my long overdue tetanus shot right then and there versus during the physical since it would at least be one part of my anxiety relieved.  Getting a shot wigged me out as well, of course, but it actually wasn’t that bad.  Now, the problem was to get through the physical and the real source of my anxiety, the blood draw.

You guessed it.  More months went by while more ‘thinking’ and ‘pondering’ occurred.  I finally ran out of all my refills for asthma medication and so I had to break down and make the appointment.  They were booked 2 weeks out so I was able to get in 2 more weeks of good solid pondering time.  Sometimes I feel like I handle life’s stresses kind of like Winnie the Pooh…’think, think, think’…

I swear I was counting down the hours to this appointment.  I went in this morning, quite distressed mind you, and the laughing to myself began in the waiting room.  I usually just start thinking about outrageous possible outcomes to the event at hand, things that pretty much couldn’t really happen in real life and would only show up in goofball comedy films.  Now that I’m in my 40’s and they regularly do things like prostate exams, it gives me even more reason to be paranoid and imagine outrageous events taking place.  For example, before arriving for the appointment, I made sure that all waste products were removed from both my bladder and colon and then washed myself as thoroughly as possible.  You can never be too careful, right?  I don’t even think that I could put into words some of the weird outcomes that were running through my head.

I barely sat down in the waiting room and I was almost immediately called back.  I was met by the usual young nurse with the amazingly gorgeous blue twinkly eyes.  She’s the best part of the visit, mind you.  You would think that I’d try to be brave in front of her but no, not really.  I don’t seem to mind whom I cower in front of these days.

After taking my weight and height, we ventured into the examination room.  I’ve lost yet another inch…in height, that is.  I’m not sure where it’s going.  I never wanted to be tall and it’s looking like I may get my wish after all with the way I’ve been shrinking.

I was told to take everything off except my socks and underwear.  This confused me a bit since how exactly are they going to exam both the front and the back, if you know what I mean?  Hmm.  I debated about taking my underwear off anyway but decided instead to follow the instructions which I’ll admit is something I rarely ever do.

My doctor is a female nurse practioner of whom I’ve been going to for quite a few years.  I previously was going to a female doctor in the same building but I found her male anatomy exam to be one of the harshest I’ve ever felt and so I made the switch.  I think my turning my head and coughing with her was closer to turning blue and choking.

My doctor entered the room and we exchanged the usual questions, answers, and other goofy questions/comments on my part.  I was amazed by just how Woody Allen like I get when talking to a doctor.  She kept making little notes on a piece of paper and I kept thinking, ‘What is she writing about me?  Is she writing that I’m difficult?  That I’m crazy?!”  I swear that Seinfeld routine was ripped off of my own personal experience.

We talked a bit more about my anxiety in regards to the blood draw and then I hopped up on the table for the exam.  I was pretty wound up, of course, and my doctor approached, bent down a bit to exam my knees, and then I heard a whooonk! noise.  Considering that I’d been cracking jokes and giggling like a school girl for the past 10 minutes, I was now completely silent.  What the hell was that, I thought?  That wasn’t what I thought it was, was it?  Naw, it couldn’t be.  My doctor is a reasonably attractive middle aged woman.  She wouldn’t, um, just pass gas like that, would she?  It must have been her shoes or something.

“Excuse me,” she said calmly.  She then continued to straighten and whooonk!  “Ooh, excuse me,” she said again.  Yep, the ‘excuse me’ made it certain; she just farted twice.  Still, not a sound from me.   I think I was completely in awe by how nonchalantly and professionally she handled it, just continuing onward.  If it had been me, I probably would have turned beet red and then run out screaming.

You would think this would have eased my tension a bit but, um, no.  I even wondered for a few moments if she had done it on purpose in an effort to make me calm down but the more I thought about that the more absurd it seemed.  I mean, I’ve heard of doctors putting on clown makeup, blowing up balloons and such, to put kids at ease but never a farting doctor.  If that really worked, I’d imagine the new trend in doctors to be more like Curly from the Three Stooges.

She took my reflexes by pounding the little hammer on various parts of my legs.  Of course, nothing moved.  I knew it…I’m dead, I thought to myself.  In a sly maneuver, she then slid the handle under my feet in which I let out a large giggle/scream.  “Oh, you are ticklish.”  Hell, I’m not that dead, I thought.  Is she going to start tickling my sides now until I pee?!

Next, the rubber gloves came out.  “Have you ever had a prostate exam before?” she asked.  Yes, I said, and in truth a few times.  Even so, I had no clue what she wanted me to do.  I didn’t want to seem overly anxious or anything or jump the gun.  “Just remove your underwear and lean over the bed.”  As I figured, it was more uncomfortable removing my underwear at this point versus just already having them off.  I felt like I was doing some really perverse strip tease that clearly wouldn’t be bringing in a lot of dollar bills.

I leaned over and it began.  Again, it’s been awhile since I’ve had one of these exams.  I know I was never very fond of them but I didn’t recall it being that terrible either.  Well, this time it hurt like hell.  I was like, what is she putting in there?  It was like she was searching for an exit out the front.

After that, she said something I didn’t hear.  I don’t always hear well and so I’ve learned to just wait for people to either repeat or continue their sentences, in hopes that it gives me a clue as to what they said.  She just stood there staring at me, though, and so I had to ask, “What do you want me to do?”  She looked puzzled.  “I’m going to give you the _____ exam.”  I still didn’t catch the word before ‘exam’.  In a true me way, I asked, “So…what do you want me to do?”

She sighed slightly.  “I’m going to feel your balls…to see if there are any lumps or anomalies.”  Oh, roger that, loud and clear.  There was no mistaking that.  I have to say that I was quite taken aback by the word ‘balls’.  Usually, doctors use very clinical terms, especially female doctors, when referring to anything male anatomy related.  Ironically, I had often wondered why.  Upon hearing that she was going to feel my ‘balls’, though, let’s just say that it felt a little strange and I now understood.  In any event, let’s just say that she immediately got to the task.  When she was done, this once again left me underpants-less and unsure of when I was supposed to get dressed, and how and in what manner, mind you.  I felt like a hooker unsure if the job was actually done and if I’d get paid.

With the exam now over, it was off to the upstairs level for the true source of my anxiety – the blood draw.  The walk is always difficult, kind of like walking to your own execution.  I always think to myself that I could simply turn and run at any moment and yet for some reason I don’t.  I approached the lab desk, handed them my paperwork, and the nurse said, “It’ll be a few minutes.”  I thought, take all the time you need, lady!

There were a few nurses that were taking people back into the lab.  One was a woman with what sounded like a Russian accent.  I’ve had her before and she actually does quiet well although she lacks any sympathy for someone like me and has the sense of humor of a half eaten box of stale Cracker Jack.  There was also a woman that I didn’t recognize who looked a bit more pleasant.  She came out, grabbed someone’s paperwork, and scanned around the room.  There were quite a few people in the waiting room and I was the last to arrive so I thought I was totally safe.  Of course, she called out my name.

Once inside, I immediately told her, “I need to be able to lie down.”  For some reason, this medical clinic uses these large astronaut looking chairs setup in the hallway for their blood draws.  I did it there once and it was awful since people are walking by the whole time and then there’s me, in pure terror, closing my eyes and feeling faint.  No, that’s not the way for me.  We had to find a room for me to lie down in and that’s exactly what I did almost immediately upon entering it.  The nurse started getting things prepared and then said, “I have to inform you that I’m a student.”  Of course you are!  What luck!  “Do you still want me to continue?”  Do I WANT you to continue?  That’s a silly question.  Hell, I’m going to get poked either way.  It might as well be from a virgin.

I closed my eyes since I’ve found that to be the best approach for me.  For those of you that don’t suffer from this sort of affliction, it’s really not a wimpy/scary sort of thing.  It’s kind of unexplainable and completely irrational, really.  It’s not even really that it’s painful; it’s something about the very idea of it that’s such torture.  That’s the best explanation I can make.  I fully admit that it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

The jab was worse than normal.  The draw, though, seemed to go on and on.  I had asked my doctor to also check my testosterone levels and specifically asked if that meant they’d take more blood than usual.  “Oh no, not at all,” she told me.  Liar!  I later found out that the nurse had to fill 2 vials, of which she had to switch vials somehow in the middle of it, and thank god I didn’t watch this because I’m sure I would have fainted.  I was wondering why it was taking so long.  In the middle, the nurse said, “Ok, I’m getting ready for the second one.”  Second one?!  I didn’t know what that meant.  I was afraid she was going to jab me with 2 needles at once.  Vampire!

Once she was done, I laid there for awhile, trying not to move too much since that’s when I tend to get faint.  She put a piece of gauze on the puncture point and said, “Here, put pressure on this.”  I was like, huh?  Are you crazy lady?!  What part of this aren’t you getting?  I placed my hand over my wound as limply as a piece of bread on carpet when I think she realized her error and changed her plan.  “Oh, better yet, just bend your elbow.”  Yes, much smarter.

I waited a couple more minutes and then started to slowly get up but the nurse had one more shock for me.  “I just need you to verify your name and address,” she said as she waved the blood vials in front of my face.  I immediately started feeling light headed.  I couldn’t help but wonder what was with this woman.  Mental note – next time, no virgins.

I picked up my injured limp arm and more or less carried it out with me like a baby in a cradle.  Ah, peace at last…it was over.  Now, to start ‘pondering’ my appointment for next year.  Sigh.

I Miss/Missed Greta

Greta Gerwig is one of those actresses that seems to be in every movie that I pick up these days.  It’s not like I’m looking for movies that she’s in.  She just somehow, someway seems to appear in the film that I’m watching.  I’m sort of having the same thing with Mark Duplass.  He just keeps popping up in every other movie I pick up and it’s normally a bit of a shock to me since I didn’t realize that he was even in a lot of films to begin with.

I have to admit that Greta Gerwig fascinates me.  She’s certainly an attractive woman but not one that I would call the typical drop dead gorgeous type that we tend to see a lot in cinema.  I have a kind of funny connection to her.  I think, if you could have peered inside my brain when I was 17 years old, she is probably the *picture* of the woman that I thought that I would someday marry.  I don’t actually mean Greta herself, mind you, but someone who more or less looks like her, acts like her characters, and so on.  When I watch movies with her in it, it fills me with an uncanny feeling, like I’ve met her before or that I really do know her.  It’s a bit eerie and soothing at the same time.

 

Greta Gerwig in "Lola Versus"

Gerwig tends to play characters that are sort of socially and sometimes physically awkward, flat footed, self conscious, and often suffering from self esteem issues, and yet she does it all with a sort of grace and charm that I find irresistible.  In essence, that’s the sort of woman that I always thought I would marry.  Does that sound a bit strange?  I’ll bet it does.  It probably speaks volumes about my own self perception.

Whereas I admire a Michelle Williams and occasionally drool over an Ashley Greene, neither of these seem very tangible to me.  Audrey Tautou positively puts a smile on my face like no other and Juliette Binoche is nearly the essence of my fantasies.  And yet, if you put me in a room and asked me to choose from all of the above, I think I’d still opt for Greta.  There’s just a comfort there that’s non-existent in the other options.  Again, tangible, comfortable, but yet still fascinating and mildly puzzling.  I guess that's what it takes.

2012 Film Picks

I’ve been saying the following line for about the past 6-8 months very repeatedly:  “It’s just been a terrible year in film.”  Well, I need to correct that statement a bit and I owe many filmmakers an apology for that loss of faith.  It wasn’t so much that the year was bad for film; it was more that the films that we were lead to believe were the “greats” simply weren’t (i.e. the Academy’s), or in other words, I was watching some of the wrong movies.

I made a point to see every film on the Academy’s nomination list.  It’s kind of a fun thing for me to do annually and I pretty much do it every year now.  This year seemed different from the last couple, though, and hence where my statement came from.  Don’t get me wrong…there isn’t really a “bad” film on the nomination list, in my opinion, but having said that there were also very few “great” films as well.

I think pretty much all film buffs know the Academy’s are rigged, way too political, and nothing to go off of as far as the true best films of any given year.  Having said that, though, I’ve never seen them as far off as they were this year.  I mean, “Silver Linings Playbook”?  Whereas it’s a good film, how in the hell did that get in the nomination’s list?  ‘Nuff said.

I’m therefore offering up my own list of “best of” films for 2012.  I actually get asked this question quite a bit so here it is, in print, and easy for anyone to reference.  I’m not actually putting these in any specific order, though, but I will admit that there is a loosely based one here and there.  I’d say just take it as a list and nothing more.  Enjoy!

“Rust and Bone” – This may in fact be my choice for best film of 2012, hence I’m starting the list with it.  In answering why that is, that’s a bit more difficult.  My only answer is that it’s rather unique in nature, the tone is perfectly done, the acting is superb, and the story is quite intriguing in a very emotional way.  I found this movie to be simply brilliant and was deeply moved by it.

“The Perks of Being a Wallflower” – I was slightly amazed by how much I liked this movie.  Having said that, I will admit to having bias here since the film is almost exactly about my era, meaning I was the same age as the characters in the film, held many of the same attitudes, listened to a lot of the same music, and also was in a similar group of friends.  I’m not usually one for coming of age films but this one really spoke to me and gave me a wonderful bit of nostalgia.  I also give it high marks for relative accuracy and for successfully capturing the feeling of that era.

“The Sessions” – I’m completely shocked by how left out of the Academy’s this movie was.  Whereas I felt the movie did have a few flaws, I gave it high marks simply on how daring a production it was.  Let’s be honest…a film like this wouldn’t have ever been attempted as recently as 5-10 years ago (or would have been completely slaughtered).

“Beasts of the Southern Wild” – One of the few actual Academy nominees for best picture that also made my own list, I think it’s a crime that Quvenzhane Wallis didn’t win best actress (I mean, Jennifer Lawrence…really?).  This is a truly original film and one that has really stuck with me, creeping into my mind every now and then.  I think ‘haunting’ would be the right word and it’s almost more of an experience versus just a film.

“Amour” – I’m completely amazed that this film WAS nominated by the Academy simply because it should have been and it’s of the type that almost always gets overlooked.  An incredibly no holds barred look at the reality of old age and ultimately death and the many different emotions and decisions that come with the territory.  A film that could only come from France for if Hollywood tried to make this same movie it would most likely be a complete joke.

“Life of Pi” – I fully expected to not like this film but I was completely wrong, and I should really keep up my faith in Ang Lee who’s definitely been making some of the best films out there in the past 20 years.  Beautifully shot, very inspirational, and simply a lovely thought provoking film no matter what you particularly believe in spiritually.

“Moonrise Kingdom” – How exactly did this film not get any recognition this year by the Academy?  Sure, it’s technically a comedy, but c’mon…  One of the most refined releases from Wes Anderson to date, I can barely wait to see what he comes up with next.  It’s also a must for anyone that was forced into scouting by their parents!

“Holy Motors” – This is certainly not a film for everybody so please be careful prior to treading down this path.  In fact, it’s probably not for 50% of the American viewing public so consider yourself aptly warned ahead of time.  For the rest of us, though, this is one of the most bizarre and rather insane rides of a film that you’re likely to see in recent memory.  You’ll be puzzled, you’ll laugh out loud, you’ll cringe…it’s all there, if you dare.

“Arbitrage” – Yes, I’m even including a film starring Richard Gere (who was actually quite perfect in this role).  There have been a number of films about corporate greed over the past few years but this one really gets it right, I think.

“Killer Joe” – (literally) Bloody brilliant.  There are just no words for this one.  I’m slowly starting to eat my words in regards to my previous comments about Matthew McConaughey for he’s really perfectly cast in this role.  This is simply a must see.

“The Master” – A film that I think was unfairly slammed by many a critic and filmgoer alike, this movie showcases Joaquin Phoenix’s awkwardness perfectly as the main character who’s suffering from PTSD and struggling to find a place within a society that he doesn’t necessarily feel a part of.  Coupled with performances by Philip Seymour Hoffman and Amy Adams, it’s a winner in my book.

“Searching for Sugar Man” – I liken this film to “Winnebago Man”, one of my fav’s from a couple years back, but in a music flavor.  Who wouldn’t be touched by this amazing story of a completely forgotten musical artist who has no clue that he’s bigger than Elvis in South Africa?  If you’re not, I’d suggest checking for a pulse and seeking medical help immediately.

“Celeste and Jesse Forever” – Some people may find this an odd choice coming from me considering my liking of heavier subject matter.  A similar film in content to 2012’s “Take this Waltz”, I much preferred this film overall, both in content, tone, and screenplay.  The film is basically about a couple who are truly best friends and have been for quite some time, and I really felt that it summed up the strange feeling and decision making involved in trying to not lose both your lover and best friend once the relationship portion is beyond repair.  The film left me pondering many various questions in a good way.

“A Late Quartet” – Not to be confused with the similarly named “Quartet” also from 2012, this movie shows an inside look at the workings of classical musicians, fully equipped with drama, scandal, sex, etc., which we normally think of as occurring only in the pop or rock music categories  Superbly acted all the way around with a brilliant cast.

“Ted” – I struggled a bit on whether this film makes the list but alas I cannot leave it off simply because I enjoyed it way too much.  It’s certainly not a perfect film but does stand out in the comedy zone, enough that I nearly spit my drink out a couple times while watching it.  For fans of Family Guy, this film isn’t to be missed.

“A Royal Affair” – Not a perfect film, mind you, but one that left a lasting impression on me, not completely unlike the similar subject matter Kubrick masterpiece “Barry Lyndon”.  I found the film thoroughly enjoyable and highly compelling, and I’ll admit that it’s been lingering in my thoughts ever since.  Skip “Anna Karenina” and see this instead.

“The Intouchables” – No, not “The Untouchables”…different movie ;)  One of the most touching and moving films of 2012 without being too heavy for the average viewer, this French gem is a must see for anyone with even half a heart.

"The Do-Deca-Pentathlon" - Funny, silly, and another minor classic from the Duplass brothers, this film is a fantastic example of what good independent film is all about.

And It Just Keeps Coming

It’s April.  After months of huge piles of white on our lawns, finally…yes, finally…all the snow melted only a few days ago.  I actually saw the grass for a few days (and quite pathetic it looked).  The neighborhood felt weird and ‘flat’ since it had been so long without piles of snow everywhere.  I was just getting used to it and then this morning happened.  Now, we’re white all over again.

Did I mention that it’s April?!  I believe the saying goes “April showers brings May flowers”.  I don’t recall anything about April snow storms bringing anything positive but maybe I’m crazy.

The birds are even all back and I can hear them chirping outside frantically.  I like to imagine them having discussions amongst themselves, saying things like “What the f*$%?!  Whose idea was this?!  Did we take a wrong turn at Albuquerque or somethin’?!!”

The only real consolation to all of this is that we in Minnesota aren’t the only one’s getting it.  This year seems to be quite crazy all over the country.  I think we’re just living in the winter that refuses to end.

When I lived in Arizona, it was the exact opposite.  On a good year, we’d hit 100 degrees during the first week of May (on a bad year, it was *cough* April).  From there, it was literally “Groundhog Day” each and every day until very late October, each day being almost exactly the same – “miserably hot”.  Numbers aren’t even needed for temperatures; it’s just miserably hot, in my opinion at least.  You never really check the weather.  I mean, why bother?  Arizona weathermen have the easiest job in the world, in my book:  “Today, it’s going to be miserably hot and sunny.  In fact, it’ll be just like yesterday…which was like the day before…which will be exactly like tomorrow…”

In Minnesota, we go through a series of fake out’s.  The weather will be warm, give us some confidence, and then SLAM!  Another snow storm hits like a ton of bricks.  It’s like the weather wishes to remind us that we’re always in reach of a white out at any given moment.

And so, we’re still patiently waiting for the official break of Spring, some silent alarm that goes off that signals that life can indeed continue on a more normal basis.  I’m beginning to think that Spring skipped us altogether.  Hopefully Summer and Fall don’t do the same.

A Note about Roger

To say it’s the end of an era is incredibly cliché but in this case quite true.  Now that Roger Ebert is gone, I ask the question that’s been in the back of my mind for quite some time: who exactly do I go to for movie advice from now on?  I feel like a lost dog desperately looking for his pathway home.

The strangest part is that I was just on his blog site only 3 days ago, looking up a couple potential movie choices that I had my eye on.  As I was browsing the list of films, I literally thought in my mind, “Heck…what am I going to do when he’s no longer with us?”  And slam!  3 days later, the announcement is made.

Like many people, I grew up with Roger Ebert, sort of like some children grow up with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (of which I didn’t, btw, and so I’ve never quite understood that mystique but that’s a completely different blog, of course).  Being born and raised early on in the suburbs of Chicago, my sister and I would watch Siskel and Ebert long before they were big time, back when the show was simply called “Sneak Previews”, if my memory at all serves me correctly.  In fact, being a big movie buff to this day, I can’t deny that I owe a lot of the origins of my interest in film to these two gentlemen.  I recall watching their show and seeing snippets of movies that I would never have cared to see whatsoever because, well, I was probably 7 years old, and yet something about these two guys talking, discussing, and occasionally arguing over the films completely caught my interest, eventually getting me to see it.  Two films that stand out in my memory that I watched purely based on their discussion of them were “The Omen” and “Halloween”, the latter being a movie that was probably just released at that time and had yet to be national news.  After listening to Siskel and Ebert debate over it, I knew I had to see it, even if it would scare the living heck out of me and keep me awake at night for months on end.

Later on, of course, Siskel and Ebert became a national sensation and no longer just a Chicago-land secret.  At first it felt like an invasion of privacy but eventually it became to feel normal.  Heck, I don’t mind sharing, really.  I can’t even imagine how many times over the period of my life that I referenced Siskel and Ebert prior to seeing a film.  Again, it’s like they were woven into my psyche.

And then we lost Siskel.  That was devastating and shook me up quite a bit.  Up until that time, I will admit that I always seemed slightly more in line with Gene Siskel’s tastes.  It took me a little while to warm just to Roger on his own but it did happen, almost quite easily and naturally, even though I’ll admit to not really approving of Richard Roeper being named as the replacement.  As I got older, though, I started to appreciate Roger’s opinions and viewpoints more and more.  Over the past ten years or so, his was the only opinion that I truly trusted.

With all the trials of Ebert’s life over the past decade, this day was certainly inevitable.  Still, it somehow leaves me a bit speechless.  I dare say movies will never be quite the same for me without Siskel and Ebert.  All I can say is thank you for sharing your love and knowledge of film with all of us.  I only wish I could return the favor.

A Day in the Life of an Introvert

I just finished another week off of work for the sole purpose of recording.  I’m pleased to say that it went very well, in fact it was probably my most productive session in quite awhile.  I’m sure I’ll write more about this later in some sort of fashion but I’ve really come to the realization that I am the ultimate example of an introvert.  Whereas someone recently said to me, “You haven’t gone out all day…that’s so sad…”, on the contrary, to me at least, this is purely awesome, like a gift from the heavens.  The difficult part is that once I do venture back out into the world, I don’t always know how to react to it.  It’s a funny phenomenon but does indeed occur.

When I’m in recording mode, I tend to begin my day with an hour or so of practicing, rehearsing, whatever you want to call it.  It was then that I discovered that I had made a new friend.  While practicing in the family room, I noticed a rather spunky squirrel hanging around outside the doorway almost the entire time I was playing.  As soon as I stopped playing (and grabbed a camera to try and snap a picture), he disappeared.  At first I thought it was just a fluke until he returned the next day…and the next…and the next.  The strangest part is that as soon as I even think about picking up a guitar, all of my cats immediately exit the room, some even in disgust and not afraid to announce it verbally.  I’ve heard the phrase of being “big in Japan” but evidently I’m big with the squirrels.  I’m not entirely sure what that says about me, however.  Maybe it’s good, maybe not.

Apart from recording, I also watched an enormous amount of films.  I didn’t really count or anything but I’d estimate around 15 perhaps?  Kind of scary.  Again, it plays perfectly into the introvert part of me.  Give me a big TV, a Blu-ray player, a stereo, a couple furry creatures, some instruments, and some means of putting it all down for posterity’s sake and I’m pretty much a happy man.  Oh, and coffee, too.  That’s an essential part of my day.

Speaking of which, this session gave me the opportunity to try out my recently acquired Strat, a guitar that I said I’d probably never buy.  I was always anti-Strat, although now I’m not entirely sure why.  I guess I hated how they were such the standard during the 80’s with almost every single band using them and I’ve always thought they were one of the most boring looking guitars ever made.  I just simply couldn’t understand their popularity when there were beautiful works of guitar art out there like Rickenbackers.  Now, after playing one extensively, I have to admit that I kind of get it.  There’s certainly a very unique tone set in these things that I haven’t really ever achieved with any other guitar.  I still find the tremolo kind of faulty, though, and it doesn’t seem to take much to make it slightly out of tune.  Give me a Bigsby anyday…far superior, in my book, and much cooler looking.

That’s all I’ve got to report right now.  I know this is sort of a strange entry in this blog but I was recently reminded that I hadn’t written anything in awhile and thus this is all I have to report for the moment.  I’m sure I’ll return to idiot observations very, very soon so stay tuned.

Guy in the Puffy Coat

I went the Walker Art Center a couple nights ago to see Laurie Anderson perform her latest piece “DirtDay!”  The Walker’s McGuire Theater, for those who don’t know, is a really neat small theater that suffers from one major flaw:  the seats themselves are extremely tight.  If you’re a modestly wide human being, the sides of the seat will probably hug you like a child hugs its’ teddy bear; if you’re modestly tall, your knees are going to hit the back of the seat in front of you.  I’m not entirely sure why they built the theater in this manner but it’s just something that you’re forced to deal with.  The sight lines, however, no matter where you sit, are unparalleled and the sound is usually fantastic.

I showed up a bit later than I had hoped; only a few moments before the show actually began.  I was in the second row and three seats inward in the middle section.  Two friendly gentlemen where to my left towards the aisle and immediately said hello, allowed me to walk past, and so on.  The guy on the other side simply stared downwards and didn’t exactly look overly friendly.  He was wearing a brown newsboy cap and an orange puffy winter coat.  He was sitting in a manner that his arms were not only lobbing over the very small armrests but also well into the territory of the seats on both sides.

I sat down and was immediately greeted by the man’s arms in my space.  I was a bit shocked.  I kind of thought he would just naturally readjust himself once I sat down but he didn’t.  His left arm was so far into my small seating space that I couldn’t even completely put my right leg flat on my chair so I ended up doing a weird hybrid seating position, not completely unlike unexpectedly sitting on a small turtle underneath your right butt cheek.

I was a bit bewildered.  How was I going to make it through this performance that I so eagerly wanted to see while being so incredibly uncomfortable?  On top of that, I have a pretty bad back, and this awkward position spelled potential danger and aggravation.  I was having visions of suddenly having back spasms in the middle of the performance and screaming out in pain.

Not long after the show began, something rather interesting happened:  the guy got itchy.  He suddenly and very quickly reached up to scratch his temple with his left arm and then returned it back to its’ original position.  Ah ha!  I deduced that this would be the time to strike.  I patiently waited for the next itch, which came along only moments later, and immediately shifted.  Little by little, I started to reclaim my space…all the while NOT looking like I was.  Instead, I made it look like he didn’t put his arm back in exactly the same spot.

This may all seem a bit strange to some of you and I can certainly understand why.  You’re probably thinking, why not just ask the guy to move?  I can’t totally answer that.  I just got a vibe, a rather unfriendly one that said it wasn’t worth it.  Plus, I kind of figured that I’d come up with some bizarre scheme to rectify the situation, of which I did, of course.  Call it a bit of a challenge.

The funny part is that most people would be pretty annoyed with this whole situation.  I’ll admit that I was put off a bit at first but, instead of getting angry, I actually got more sympathetic as the night went on.  It became clear that this guy was more “uncomfortable” than me, whether it be in his clothes, chair, situation, or own skin.  Something wasn’t right and it appeared to me that he was clinging to this space as a sort of last ditch effort of sanity, or maybe esteem.  Rather than be angry at him, I think I sympathized with him.  I ultimately felt sorry for him, I guess.

Heck, if that little bit of space means that much to you, well, take it, or at least until the next itch.

Bones are Better than Bones

I’m eternally the guy that’s somehow and some way stuck in the past when it comes to current events.  I just don’t get it because I’m really not that out of it, as they say, and I think of myself as a relatively modern minded sort of guy.  Still, there are always little tidbits of daily life that completely puzzle me, and when asking someone else about them, I usually get the “have you been living under a rock” look, a look that I’ve grown quite accustomed to.

Take for instance the strangely named Honey Boo Boo phenomenon.  I kept seeing this name pop up all around me and so I finally had to ask a coworker, “Who or what the hell is Honey Boo Boo?”  My initial thought was that it was a cross between a cuddly bear and a band-aid promotion.  It turned out that I was more right than I would have expected, depending upon how you look at it.

I also recently entered the realm of regular television after canceling my long time subscription with DirecTv.  Now, I know, you’re thinking that regular TV channels are included in DirecTv packages so how could I not know about them?  The answer is I simply never tuned to those channels before.  Now you’re getting the picture, aren’t you?

I’ve come across the show “Bones”, apparently a rather popular program that I’ve only heard of previously and never watched more than 2 seconds of.  After watching it for a decent amount of time, I’ve come to the conclusion that they got the name of the show all wrong.  No, it shouldn’t be called “Bones” but instead “Horribly Decayed Flesh”, with the byline of “BEWARE: Don’t try to eat dinner while watching this!”  Being a newbie to the show, I’ve nearly thrown up more than once while attempting to eat my dinner during it.  Let’s just say I don’t recommend this behavior.

The truly fascinating thing is that I’m actually enjoying regular TV more than I liked satellite.  Don’t get me wrong for I miss having a DVR, but then again not having it has cut down on the amount of hours of television that I feel that I HAVE to watch because I recorded it.  I’ve also recently discovered “Family Guy”.  What’s not to love?  If only I had known years ago.

Some Like It Hot

I think it’s finally over. Yes, the summer of excessive heat that’s plagued so much of the US seems to finally be passing away. Here in the Twin Cities, we experienced a solid month of temperatures above 90 degrees, sometimes inches away from the dreaded three digit numbers, and even dipping into them a couple times. In short, it was pretty damn brutal.

As a side effect, my grass started dying at the end of June, begging for water in vain. I eventually broke down and turned on the sprinklers. I don’t usually like wasting water in this sort of manner so I usually only turn the sprinklers on if it’s absolutely necessary. In any event, the grass still seems irritated at me for my delay and is in slow recovery mode.

The times I had to do any work in the yard nearly killed me. On one particular occasion, I unexpectedly started up a conversation with a neighbor after being outside for well over an hour. It wasn’t until I went back inside that I noticed what I looked like: beet red in the face, sweat showing visibly all over my shirt and hat, etc. I can only imagine what I must have smelled like. No wonder she didn’t want to talk much.

You would think that after living in Phoenix, AZ, for 21 years that I could handle a little bit of hot weather in the Midwest. Instead, I think I deal with it even worse today than back then, and no, it has nothing to do with the humidity and all that. For me, humidity doesn’t really affect me much; I sweat either way, you see, so there’s little difference. If the weather is above 80 degrees and I’m outside in the sun for more than 10 minutes, I’m sweating, and there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it. And it ain’t pretty either, if I must say so myself.

The real frustrating part is that someone I know can be right beside me in the same exact temperature and feel a bit “cold”. Meanwhile, I’m sweating. It seems almost absurd that two people’s body temperatures can be so varied in this sort of manner, doesn’t it? And yet, it does seem to be the truth. We all seem to have an internal thermostat and, like body weight scales that are slightly off from one another, very few of us seem to hold the same temperature as “perfect”. Most people like the 80’s; I prefer right around 68. Unfortunately, I don’t do that much better on the flipside of things, like when it’s -20 degrees. I freeze just like everyone else at that point, or, even worse, start sweating a cold sweat.

I wish I could call an A/C or heating specialist to fix my internal thermostat. Ah, if only it was that easy. Or better yet, wouldn’t it be great if it was manually adjustable? I could program it to change automatically every day while I’m at work in order to deal with their harsh air conditioning, but then it could mellow when I get home so my house unit doesn’t have to work as hard. If only it was that easy.

And so, I bid farewell to one of my least favorite summers since living in AZ. As the song says, “Some like it hot…but some sweat when the heat is on.” I guess they had me in mind when writing that lyric.

Slip Slidin' Away

Getting old is hell. This is nothing new, nor is it even a new topic for me. At the same time, though, it can be mildly entertaining and gently amusing at times.

For example, last week, I was sitting in the parking lot at Target during my lunch period from work. I tend to drive over to Target and grab a yogurt, a banana…that sort of thing. We can’t eat at our desks at work and so I usually sit in my car and quickly devour these items while watching various people walking in and out of the store. It doesn’t sound exciting, I know, but it sometimes can be a bit interesting.

On this particular occasion, I noticed something extremely odd. I had already been sitting in my car for a couple minutes and was parked next to one of those large cart corrals where customers can place their shopping carts after wheeling them out into the parking lot. The strange part was that this particular cart corral was slowly moving. I looked in total disbelief. Was it the wind? How can the wind move a cart corral like this that’s made out of metal, plastic, etc.? It was completely puzzling. I stared at it for a few seconds, pondering this bizarre anomaly, before it occurred to me to look forward… Umm…the cart corral wasn’t moving…my CAR was moving!

I quickly applied the brake, just prior to gently colliding with the car parked in front of me! Apparently, when I got in the car, as a now semi senile creature of habit, I not only started my car so that I had some a/c but also released the parking brake and, since my car has a manual transmission, it was free to “roam where it wanted to”. And so, my car evidently was slowly creeping forward for some time without me noticing it.

Now, this was pretty amusing to me since, well, it worked out okay. I’m not entirely sure that I would have been giggling about it as much if I did indeed hit the car in front of me, though. This is a fantastic example, however, of the sort of stupid thing that I find myself doing these days. I’ve never done this sort of thing before. In fact, I’ve always been quite the opposite, an incredible perfectionist. Not anymore. Now that I’m hitting middle age, perfection has flown out the window, or more appropriately helped me slide down the road. It’s actually a little scary.

Senility, here I come…

This is for the Birds

The birds are clearly out to get me. I know that sounds rather Hitchcock-ish of me to say but, well, in this case at least, it appears to be true.

I was walking out of my workplace one day when I noticed a rather remarkable looking black with orange striped bird hanging out on the hood of my car. I didn’t think much of it at the time besides the interesting colored markings on its’ side. I was heading out to lunch with someone who just happened to be parked next to my vehicle so I never really got to fully inspect my car beyond the passenger’s side door.

Later on, when I left for the day hours later, I was completely shocked to see that same bird still hanging out on my car as I approached. It barely seemed even phased by the fact that I was rapidly approaching and was more or less giving me a strange look, as if to say, “Um…what do you think you’re doing?! This is my car.” It finally took off reluctantly when I was merely inches from it.

It was then that the thought hit me, putting two and two together in my head. A bird sitting on my car evidently for hours can only lead to one thing: bird poo. As soon as the thought formed in my brain, I noticed the feared evidence…not so lovely white streaks all up and down my door. Ah yes, the bird evidently visited a buffet sometime that day, or perhaps called its’ friend over for a poo party.

My car is black and so it was pretty obvious that there was something on it, although at a fast glance it kind of looked like spray paint from far away. Needless to say, I could have done without the bird’s take on artwork. I drove home and promptly wiped it off with some paper towels.

I was even more shocked the next day to find the same freakin’ bird once again parked on top of my car’s hood. Um…?! Once again, it looked at me like I had a ton of nerve getting between it and my car. Needless to say, the “artwork” was back again, this time even greater than before.

The bird flew a couple feet away once I got near the driver’s side door but didn’t go any further, all the while watching me carefully, probably hoping I’d simply get out of the car and wander off so it could get back to business. It was almost like the bird and my car were having some sort of weird interspecies/mechanical love affair. Odd.

This time, I decided to just get my car washed. After doing so, I figured I’d outsmart the bird and simply not park anywhere near that spot again. Hah! Take that, you feather brained f***!

The next morning, I stopped off at a local coffee shop very briefly to pick up my morning brew. I was in there no more than 2 minutes. I returned to my car, coffee in hand, and found a very large splat of white bird poo perfectly splattered downward over my driver’s side door handle.

Call me crazy but I took it clearly as a message sent by some hit man styled bird, telling me that resistance was futile, and to park my car back in the usual spot at work.

Damn, these creatures are orchestrated.

Top 15 Signs You're a Midwesterner

15. You believe pork chops are fine cuisine and the thought of ever eating a vegetable simply terrifies you

14. You can't help but drive alongside 2-3 other drivers on the freeway, thus creating an automobile "wall" that none can pass through or get around

13. You’re convinced that anyone who chooses not to drink alcohol must be a recovered alcoholic

12. You think of the start of hunting season as a "holiday"

11. The idea of fishing in 5 degree weather in a small outhouse styled shack seems strangely appealing to you

10. You mistakenly think of the left lane of the freeway as the "slow" lane. Actually, you think of all lanes as the slow lane

9. You measure your own self-worth by how green your grass is

8. You enjoy a *good* parade

7. You don’t drink soda, you drink “pop”

6. You’re more concerned about your teams’ recent loss in football rather than politics or the state of the union

5. You feel that having your t-shirt tucked into your jeans, blatantly exposing a large bowling ball of a belly, is a fashion trend that never quite goes out of style

4. You don’t understand why anyone would wear a jacket that doesn’t have a large walleye on the back of it

3. You see no need in ever driving faster than 35 mph

2. The highlight music extravaganza of your year is the annual Styx/REO Speedwagon/Foreigner concert at the local casino, no matter how many actual original members show up

1. You actually think marching bands are cool

How to Speak Starbuck-ian

I stopped at Starbucks this morning for my bi-weekly dose of dark roast. A short 50’s-ish man with glasses, not much hair, etc. was in front of me in line. “What can I get you?” the clerk behind the register asked him.

“A tall blond,” he calmly replied.

A whole range of wise crack responses filled my brain, from “isn't that what we all want” all the way to “I think I’d prefer a short brunette”. Surprisingly, I didn’t actually say any of them. The man who made this statement didn’t exactly look like someone who’d appreciate my humor, and the female clerk was, in fact, a sort of short blond, so I had doubts that my comment would fly well with her either. Sometimes, it’s just better to keep your mouth shut. I’ve learned this the hard way after unintentionally insulting multiple people that I don’t even know.

Still, I couldn’t get the visual out of my head. I imagined the Starbucks clerk walking out a “tall blond” and then I could clearly see her and the man casually slow dancing in the middle of the Starbucks coffee shop. (Yes, in case you’re wondering, this is exactly the sort of thing that I see in my head all the time, hence why I’m frequently giggling to myself when there’s nothing obviously amusing happening or being said around me.)

In case you’re totally confused, a “tall” is a drink size at Starbucks and “blond” is one of their new light roasts. So, indeed, a “tall blond” is a perfectly valid request. In fact, the clerk didn’t even blink an eye when he asked for this, further proving that they probably hear this at Starbucks all the time. Heck, they might even hear my jokes about it on an hourly basis. Perhaps it really was a good choice to keep my mouth shut.

On a similar note, a friend of mine was just telling me that he stopped in at a Starbucks recently and got into a minor altercation when trying to place an order. He supposedly went up to the counter and asked for a small caramel laced drink; the clerk yelled “tall caramel” to her coworkers in order to get it prepped and made.

He was puzzled. “No, I just want a small,” he clarified.

“Yep, tall caramel…got it,” she replied, further ringing up the order.

Thinking that she was mishearing “small” for “tall”, he tried again, slightly flustered. “No, really, I want a small. I don’t want that much to drink.”

The clerk looked at him in a mildly annoyed manner. “Yes, I know, I got it. A tall is a small”.

He did a double take. “A ‘tall’ is a small?”

“Yes,” she said, now even more annoyed.

“How do you figure?! Why isn’t a ‘small’ a small?”

The clerk was growing tired of the whole conversation. “I don’t know, sir. Those are our sizes there: tall, grande, venti,” pointing at the sign behind her. “I just work here.”

So, the next time you’re in Starbucks, make sure you remember to speak Starbuck-ian, and you may just perhaps walk out with the made-to-order mate of your dreams, that is, if you’re into blonds.

I Fart in your General Direction

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything. I’m not lazy; the honest truth is that nothing too terribly interesting has happened over the past couple of months. Sometimes, you simply have to wait for the right moment to strike.

Well, something interesting happened today. I walked into the men’s restroom at work since the need and urge had struck me. The men’s bathroom is a rather narrow but long corridor that has two entrances, one from each side of the corridor. In the middle, there are toilets, and flanking each side are 2 urinals, two sinks, and of course the exit doors. I walked in to find a typical business suited younger man wearing glasses and a long expensive looking trench coat using one of the urinals. As he was doing his business, he was also texting on his cell phone. I semi admired him for his syncopation skills.

I walked to the urinal next to him and started doing my thing. Just then, he let out a rather long, drawn out fart, all the while still texting, completely engrossed in his cell phone. Clearly, his syncopation skills were even greater than I originally gave him credit for. I mean, urinating, texting, AND passing gas at the same time clearly takes some talent.

For you ladies out there, in case you’re not aware, this is a common occurrence in the men’s restroom, meaning the passing of gas randomly. I’ve had men pass gas at the sink while washing their hands. I also had a coworker of mine once pass gas as we were having a short conversation while standing near the sink. I’m not entirely sure how women act in the restroom but I can only hope and imagine that it’s slightly more civil, or at least I want to believe that.

People in general seem to choose their behavioral patterns based on the activity of others around them. So, one guy passes gas at the sink and the next thing you know it’s a trend. Pretty soon, we’ll all be in the lunch room passing gas at random and thinking nothing of it.

Some people outwardly say that passing gas is a normal human function and therefore should be embraced rather than reserved for, um, special private moments. Along the same lines, I’ve known plenty of younger women that amplify their belch’s as much as possible while in restaurants, and then follow it up with, “What?! It’s a totally normal human function!” Yeah, it is normal, but so is defecating…and I usually try to refrain from doing that in public too.

I’ve heard some men say, “If you can’t fart in the bathroom, then where can you?” That is a fairly decent point, when you think about it. I remember when I was a child that I would avoid using a public restroom like the plague for fear of making a “sound”. It took me years to get over that. Still, is making noise when actually doing your business the same as standing at a sink and letting ‘em rip? I’m not really sold on that one.

There are also all the people that like to talk on their cell phones while in the restroom. I’ve had moments when using one of the toilets when a voice suddenly out of nowhere asks, “So, do you have any plans this evening?” This always takes me by surprise. Are they talking to me? I’ve actually answered people before, saying something like, "No, not really...just hanging out and such."  You can imagine how silly I feel when I realize that they all of sudden have taken a phone call and weren't exactly interested in my weekend arrangements.  The really amusing part is that they probably think I'm the weirdo for answering, you know?  Well, perhaps I am, now that I think about it.  Either way, I always get shy when someone’s using the phone in the bathroom. After all, I don’t exactly like broadcasting my bowel movements over portable devices.

I think what caught me the most off guard was that this guy in the restroom looked like, from afar at least, a very sophisticated gentlemen type. The last thing I expected was a backfire. It’s funny that we don’t say hello to people we don’t know but yet we feel okay with tootin’ at them. Perhaps this will become the modern form of saying hello. I mean, why waste breath and energy when you can use a “normal human body function” to achieve the same purpose, right? Now, if only I knew how to text that.

Book Update

I posted my “accomplishment” in this blog back in early October in regards to finishing the book “Cold Mountain” by Charles Frazier. I finished it after a, um, nearly 7 year period (gulp). I think I might have broken the world record for the longest period of time to read one meager book. Looking at it that way, it really was quite an accomplishment.

I wanted to post an update on this whole thing. It’s now almost exactly 3 months later and…wait for it…I’m starting my fourth book since finishing “Cold Mountain”. Yes, that’s right; I’ve read three books since then. I think this clearly goes to show that “Cold Mountain” and I simply didn’t get along.

To add insult to injury, I watched the film version of “Cold Mountain” only a couple weeks after finally finishing the novel. It turned out that I had interpreted the entire ending of the book incorrectly. After watching the film, I went back and reread the ending. Oh, is that what the author was trying to say, I thought to myself. At least one reviewer stated that the style and verbiage of “Cold Mountain” was "spare and eloquent, a panaroma that the author stills long enought to make a portrait...". For me personally, I just wish the author had come out and told us readers what the heck was going on without hiding it within so much poetic obscurity.

I guess we’ll see how long this new novel reading kick lasts. As long as I avoid any of the Stephen King books post “Pet Sematary”, I would think I should be okay.

I Remember Xmas Cards

Yes, it’s finally happened; I’m no longer receiving Christmas cards. I received exactly 2 this year which is actually slightly higher than I expected, to be quite frank. I also finally gave up sending them out since I was repeatedly hearing comments like “you still send out cards?” and “who sends out cards these days?” And so, like a fool, I caved.

Ah, yes, remember the good ol’ days? Yes, you know you’re getting old when more and more sentences begin with those undeniable words.

The weird part is that, unlike music now being listened to most frequently on those little annoying portable devices, nothing has taken the place of Xmas cards. It’s not like we’re sending out e-Xmas cards or anything. We’re just not doing anything at all.

Add to this the fact that the post office is in dire need of cash and constantly threatening us to discontinue certain services, days of the week, and so on. It seems to me that the post office NEEDS Xmas cards. Doesn’t that sort of make it un-American not to send them?

And yet, still, here I am, as guilty as most everyone else, not sending them. Sigh. I’ve never been big on caving in to peer pressure but for some reason, on this issue, I have. I feel like a traitor.

In the meantime, I’ll fondly remember the days when a simple little $1 card told me nonchalantly that someone else in this large world of ours was actually thinking about me.

Isn’t it oh so ironic that the more ways we have to communicate, the less we do? That’s technology for you. Don’t be surprised if even Santa one day soon stays home and uses his new IPAD app to deliver gifts to the kids. Ugh.

Just Call Me Mister No Pants

I don’t know what the heck is wrong with me these days. It’s almost like I’ve forgotten how to dress myself. Upon recently taking a job where I can no longer where jeans and a t-shirt to work, I’m completely lost on how to look and dress like a grown up and/or buy clothes that fit me appropriately.

I’m specifically having issues in the pants department. I personally can’t stand “khakis”, I mean, even the term itself makes me cringe every time I say or write it, hence the quotes. Ick! Shivers of unrest just went up and down my spine. Yes, it’s that bad.

Some guys look perfectly fine in, um, the k word. I don’t. I don’t know what it is about me exactly but my body shape, even during the best of times, makes me look like a total idiot when I’m wearing them. They flare out in the pocket area, tend to hang off my knee caps as if I’m a child wearing his father’s oversized clothes, and so on. Even worse, they buckle in strange areas in a rather abnormal fashion, especially in the, well, crotch area. They’re simply the most uncomfortable and dorky looking thing, on me at least, that I can possibly wear, hence my distaste for them.

Dress pants, however, look reasonably decent on me but they present a whole new issue. Dress pants are like wearing no pants at all and feel closer to thin pajama bottoms, swinging around my ankles like some bizarre bedtime bell bottoms. I also tend to wear my fake vegan Doc Marten shoes mostly to work and they look a bit odd with dress pants. I would wear regular dress shoes but my feet are a whole different issue. Getting older sucks, let me tell you.

And so, to solve the pant issue, I found a Docker (even that word makes me cringe) brand pant that’s sort of a hybrid between khaki’s and jeans. This seemed like the perfect solution, no? Well, it kind of was…until merely days after buying one pair and then going to see Al Stewart at the Dakota Jazz Club. After getting him to sign an album cover that I intended to add to my wall collection, he forgot to firmly put the cap back on my marker…which I nonchalantly jammed into my pants pocket, ink side down. It was about 2 hours later that I noticed that the marker had bled through my pants. Ugh. Thanks, Al.

I bought another pair of these hybrid pants in a darker color, the same size, etc. I made a mental note not to carry any more markers in my pants with the lids off. I washed the pants, put them on, and guess what? Now they’re just a bit too short. Yes, that’s right, folks, I wear high waters to work each week.

Why not just buy new pants, you’re asking? Well, I’m at that infamous point right now where I’m heavier than I’d like to be and I keep hoping to change that any day. Of course, I’ve been saying this for the past year and a half, but I know that as soon as I spend more money on pants, they’ll no longer fit me and I’ll have to start all over yet again. This is just how my luck works. Therefore, I keep waiting to buy new pants for that special day when I can once again downsize.

In the meantime, my choices are pants with a big black marker stain, pants tailor made for walking through shallow puddles, dorky looking pants that stick out in various areas, making me look more endowed than I am, or pajama bottoms.

Ah, screw it. I’m just going to go pants-less from now. That’ll show ‘em.

Down from the Mountain

I just accomplished something significant in my life. Now, it’s admittedly not really the kind of thing that you would think. No, I didn’t get a novel published, a record contract, nor was I discovered by the New Yorker and asked to write editorial pieces or anything. It was none of those things and yet it was big: I finished reading a book.

Yes, I know, your scratching your head, aren’t you? Well, I am too a little. What book was it, you ask? It was Charles Frazier’s “Cold Mountain”, a book that I started, to the best of my memory at least, right around 2003. Quite frankly, I really don’t remember when I started it but it was at least seven years ago since I know I began reading it before I moved out of Phoenix.

Why did I even start reading this book, you ask (in case you’re wondering, yes, I CAN hear your thoughts from here!)? In truth, you’re correct in thinking it doesn’t seem like a book that I’d normally read. Well, it isn’t. I acquired it back probably ten years ago when I was joining and promptly cancelling memberships from book clubs and getting a small horde of books for next to nothing. Somehow this novel ended up in that pile and promptly sat on my shelf ever since. Considering that I can’t remember when I started this book, I most certainly can’t remember what it was that I read before it. Nonetheless, I’m relatively sure that I was kind of out of available books to read and so I settled upon this one which had become a sort of fixture on my shelf, kind of resembling an artifact more than something useful.

The book never really gripped me that much but yet wasn’t so terrible that I wanted to stop reading it. I know I read it quite a bit when I was living in my interim apartment when I first moved to Minnesota but for some reason after that I promptly stopped. It then became a sort of taboo item, something that just seemed weird to pick up and read after not doing so for so long. The rest is history. Years passed and until just recently, upon finding some books that I truly wanted to read, I felt that I first needed to finish my unfinished business and cleanse my book constipation period for good.

The culprit of my literary constipation

Some of you may know that I do a bit of writing here and there. I don’t, however, do a ton of reading and that always throws people for a loop. What kind of writer doesn’t read, right?! Well, I don’t and I can’t really explain it myself. I most certainly read more when I’m actually working on a writing project since I use books as a way of giving me formatting ideas and such. Since I haven’t really written anything creative in a long time, I guess reading just fell off of my radar. There are some other reasons that I won’t go in to here as well. I’m definitely not an avid reader, though, even when I’m “reading”. I know many people that crank through a book in a matter of a day or so and my usual turnaround is a couple of months. To date, I’ve read only one book from cover to cover in one sitting and I felt that was a major accomplishment in my life, even if it was only 250 pages or so.

And so, after nearly a decade, I just turned the last page of “Cold Mountain” yesterday. Ahhh…relief. For once, I feel like I truly accomplished something, even if it is totally irrelevant!