Things Come True

The Hagfish, up close and personal:





A long time ago in a cubicle a mile away, I used my idle hands to click an Interweb button:
"Get Your Own Blog", it said.

Oooh, thought I, rubbing my grubby little fingers in glee, I can make stuff up and see if people believe it.

One of the first things I fabricated was an article on the merits of starting a backyard hagfish hatchery. As I scoured the internet for information on the hagfish, it occurred to me that a hagfish farm would actually be a pretty good investment. One can use their skin to fashion small leather goods such as wallets and belts and the slime produced by the hagfish is a viable substitute for egg whites in baked goods and other foods. The hag itself is considered a delicacy by those who are unfortunate enough to have nothing else to eat.
Back then, I had a few strangers email me and ask me for more information on hagfish cultivation. The first couple of times, I wrote back and told them, sorry, it's a joke. There is no such thing as a hagfish farm, said I.

By the third email, this one from a gent named Paul, I was bored. I responded with a request for a $10,000 start-up fee. For $10,000, I wrote, I can convert your backyard pool into a hagfish hatchery- I need the cash up-front because the North Koreans have my best breeding pair in captivity and I need to bribe a half-dozen Communists in order to secure their release.
I never did hear back from Paul.

The joke, such as it was, is now on me. With the environment in shambles and the growing global food crisis, people are eating more hagfish than ever before- there is a huge boom in commercial hag farms and I missed my chance. Paul, I imagine, is a hagfish kingpin by now.

On a similar note, I "invented" Whalanol, which is a natural gasoline additive derived from whale oil; whales, I posited, are a renewable resource and we could take advantage of the rising oceans and use that abundant new seawater to grow more whales.

A few weeks after that post, I saw an article about Whalanol on an Eco-Hippy website. They reported it as news and the 'reporter' seemed to think that harvesting whales for fuel was a baaaad idea, which was my point, but they missed it...I didn't miss the fact that they had plagiarised me. I sent them a letter using the stationary from the law firm I worked at- the "reporter" sent me a check for twelve bucks. I dropped my imaginary lawsuit.


With gas prices where they are now, I am getting worried for the whales. If you don't see the "whalanol-free" sticker displayed at your local fueling station, ask the attendant why. If they can't answer, don't buy gasoline from that station.

Years later, I have reached a conclusion: Making stuff up on the Intertube is a waste of time and a recipe for cynicism. People often believe anything except the truth, which is a shame because reality is rich with unbelievable facts. Nature may abhor a vacuum, but She loves bizarre critters, including the human ape and all the weird stuff it does, such as eating hagfish.

Melt The Guns

From the Virginia Declaration of Independence, drafted by George Mason in 1776:

That a well-regulated militia, composed of the body of the people, trained to arms,is the proper, natural,and safe defense of a free state;that standing armies,in time of peace,should be avoided as dangerous to liberty;and that in all cases the military should be under strict subordination to,and governed by,the civil power.

It is a bleeding shame that this exact wording was not used in the United States Constitution, especially the part about avoiding standing armies during peacetime. This caveat against standing peacetime armies was echoed in Dwight D. Eisenhower's famous White House farewell speech, in which Ike outlined the rise of the "Military-Industrial Complex". He, like Mason, warned of the dangers inherent in maintaining a large, standing military force during times of peace. President Eisenhower feared that such a force would inevitably lead to endless wars, war being neccesary for the care and feeding of the MI Complex and the well-being of the war-profiteers. One need look no further than Iraq to see the consequences of ignoring Mason and Eisenhower.

The United States Constitution is worded thusly, (emphasis added):


A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State,
the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

Five radical Supreme Court Justices recently interpreted the phrase "well regulated Militia" to mean: "people who live in Washington D.C." Sadly, this sets precedent for the overturning of long-established local and regional anti-gun laws currently on the books, such as those in Chicago, San Francisco, New York and even here in Virginia. All of those gun-control laws were passed in response to alarming rises in the incidence of gun-related violence and crime, including an assassination attempt on Ronald Reagan.


A number of factors play important roles in the data shown in this chart, courtesy of the FBI:

1) The passage of local, municipal and state-wide measures to limit the availability of handguns.

2) The national Brady Bill, requiring a waiting period and a background check when an individual purchases a handgun.

3) The soaring peacetime prosperity of the Clinton era. As our economy sinks, people are becoming increasingly desperate and are turning to crime- robberies in paricular- in a last-ditch, hopeless effort to make ends meet.

Below is a chart of America's budget deficits and surpluses. Note that the annual number of gun crimes rises and falls in tandem with the national budget- during prosperity, the incidence of gun crimes falls...as the deficits grows larger, so do the number of gun-related crimes. It's what an expert would refer to as a "no-brainer".

As of this writing, America is in dire financial straits. For many citizens, jobs are scarce, gas is a luxury and healthcare is non-existant. Violent crime- especially robberies- is on the rise. The Supreme Court believes that throwing guns at the problem will solve it, if every citizen is packing heat, everyone will be afraid of everyone else and our shared fear of death by shoot-out will magically protect us all. There is nothing in the statistical or historical record tos support that assertion- but the link to poverty and violence is well-documented. Offhand, I'd say that the best way to protect ourselves from gun-weilding maniacs and thieves is to eliminate the causes of crime- raising the national standard of living would be a good start.



Have you ever been cut-off in traffic by a careless driver who neglects to use their turn signal? Has anyone ever pulled out in front of you without looking both ways?
This is where the Virginian wording comes into play- "trained to arms". The Supreme ruling allows untrained laypersons to keep guns lying around their home. If you don't know how to use a weapon, it can't protect you, it can only harm you. I'd wager that by this time next year, we will see a marked increase in people who are killed by their own guns, either by accident or after said gun is taken away by a thief and used against the owner. And, of course, there are children. Children shouldn't play with guns, but they will if they can.

Why not just issue a snub-nosed .38 with every Social Security Number, retroactive to at least 1966 ?
(I want my free gun. It will help me with my road rage issues.)


What could possibly go wrong ?

Two Worlds

My first clue is the sound of the ocean, swoosh,crash, swoosh in steady time; distant cries of seagulls swirling around overhead like the last dizzy notes of of a song just ended and already half-forgotten. Now I smell the salt water. Some part of me feels a cool breeze mixed with a steady warmth of sun.
Ears. Good.
Nose . Good.
Skin. Check.
After a darkness of indeterminate length, I grow eyes.
I use my new eyes to look around.

Alright. It's not the wide, flat beach I was expecting, but that's fine. I'm at the top of a very tall, rocky cliff. There's no sand, just rocks and some scrub brush growing in the scant soil trapped between stones. In front and far below, I see a cove maybe a half-mile across and a like distance in, scooped out of the craggy coast like the side pocket on an enormous billiard table; beyond that lies a vast, dark ocean.

Cut into the stone to my left is the first in what I know to be a long set of stairs, a cutback trail leading down to a small but wonderfully secluded beach of pure white sand ringed with monolithic stones. You can't see it from here, but it's there. Take my word for it. I've been here before-lots of times.

There's usually someone here to meet me. Someone I know, someone from TV, a stranger- could be anybody, really. Not this visit. This isn't a big deal though, I know my way around pretty well by now. I decide to head down to the beach. I left something there the last time I was here and I'd like to check on it.

I almost trip over my fucking cat. What's she doing here?

"Gittaway!" I command the chubby orange beast underfoot, stepping on it's tail. I'm barefoot.

"Fuck off", says my cat.
This is not as strange as it sounds. In this place, almost everything- animal, vegetable, mineral- can talk if you stop to listen long enough, and if my cat could speak in places away from here I'm certain "fuck off" would be one of her pet sayings.

"Jeez, sorry. I didn't see you. Don't you know there's a cliff here?"

She licks a paw and wipes the top of her head. I wonder if she's going to reply. Doesn't seem likely, so I start down the path.

"Follow me if you want" I call back over my shoulder.

"Hold up. I know a short-cut".

I wait as the cat saunters over .
We descend without talking for some time. Going down is easy- it looks scary, but it's really more like an escalator or conveyer belt. You move even if you don't walk, but you can stop if you want to. It's cool.
We descend until the cat says wait -she walks over to a large blue rectangular stone set into the grey cliffside. She walks into it and disappears . I hear a muffled sound from behind the stone. Meow?

I follow. The stone has no substance- it's just shadowlightness; serving to conceal a dimly glowing green tunnel leading almost straight down. Gravity here is unpredictable but it's always harmless, so I jump in. Whee!

I land gently on familiar white sand. Nearby , the cat sits next to a number of carefully arranged coin-sized stones. The roundish pebbles spell out a name.
The cat idly swats at a vowel without actually hitting it.

"C'mere," she says. I go.

"See these pebbles? Remember putting them here?"

"Uh, yeah. I do."

I'm blushing. The last time I was here, it was with a young woman I met once in New Orleans .I can't recall her name . That beach visit wasn't exactly a sexual situation, it was more like a therapy session. She listened to my melancholy song of longing for a while and then she advised me to spell a certain name on the beach. That would be all I needed- the rest was fate. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but right now it's pretty embarrassing to think about.

"I can't believe you were dumb enough to do that" says the cat, who has suddenly become New Orleans Girl. NOG is a stunning mulatto woman with carefully unkempt knotty dreadlocks and mocha skin so perfect it looks airbrushed. She has the same impossible witching eyes that she had when we met in 1980-something. Her left eye is deep blue, her right is dark green. There's not much difference visible unless you stare into them. Then you see it. She is two worlds.

I am a little bit afraid of NOG, but I don't have time to think about her now.Three shiny green submarines have broken the surface of our little inlet and they seem to be heading this way. They look like giant floating kazoos until they get closer.
I see that they are some sort of finless fish; gleaming, tapered cigar-shaped bodies visible above the water, each with one hemispherical eye pointed skyward like the canopy of an old jet plane. It's very difficult to look at the eyes.
Their giant, iridescent scales change color from blue to green and back as I watch them. They are some of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
The creatures stop a mere 20 feet from shore. They aren't as large as I thought, but they're still impressive.

"What are they?", I ask NOG.

"Two of them are you, one of them is not."

"How can I tell which is which?"

She gestures at the name on the sand.
Oh. I get it.

I grab a few rocks from a middle letter. They're a lot heavier than they look. I throw one at the leftmost creature. The stone barely goes four feet. I keep trying, switching targets and throwing so hard it hurts, but I can barely reach the water, much less the glimmering beings on it.

Finally I only have one stone left. It was the first stone in the first letter of the name- now it's just a single pebble. It's part of nothing. I throw it away.

It hits the center animal directly in it's eye and the world explodes and goes dark forever. A short forever.

I grow eyes. With my new eyes I look into the oldest eyes anyone can ever see.

One blue, one green.

Fancy Returns

This morning the phone at my work "desk" rang for the first time in the three weeks that I've been here. I thought it might be my boss with an assignment, but it was merely my imaginary friend, Fancy.

"File room. Allan speaking."

"Hi! Hi! Hi! How are ya? How come you never call me anymore?"

"Oh. Fancy. Hi. I'm fucking great. I never call you, ever. You call me, is how it works...how did you get this number anyway?"

"Nevermind that. I have some news that you are dying to tell me, don't I?"

"Fancy, there is a reason that I never call you. It's because you rarely make any sense."

" Oh, don't be so dense. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

I did, but I didn't want to make it that easy for her, so I played dumb, waiting for her to go on. She didn't say anything.
Sometimes she doesn't have to.

"Do you mean the new job that I'm trying to get?", I asked as a diversion," they seemed totally gung-ho last week, the Firm checked my references; they even told my old boss that I was their leading candidate, so I placed a follow-up call this morning and was told that they weren't making a decision until at least June 30th, which sorta contradicts what I was told last week..."

"Oh, you silly man. I don't mean the job. I mean the other thing. You know."

Jaysus. I knew exactly what she meant. How much does she know, I wondered to myself.

"Oh...right. You know about that? ", I queried lamely. Fancy has a way of knowing things about me. I have long ago learned to stop questioning the how of it.

"Well, I know the general details, but I wanna hear more. I'm nosy like that."

"Um. OK. I have this friend, right? And we have been..."

"Ooo! Oooo!", interrupted Fancy,"Is it a girl? It's a girl, isn't it? Oooo!"

"Well, yes...as I was saying, we have been writing and talking for almost a year and a half..."

"Oooo! You like her, don't you?"

I'm never going to finish this sentence. This must be what it is like to talk to me, I thought.

"Yes, I do like her. A lot. Unlike you, she brings out the good in me."

Fancy let my little jab pass and proceeded with her typically intrusive questioning. I did my best to answer without embarassing myself. After a few minutes she paused, mulling over what I had told her.
Then she laughed for nearly a full minute. I could feel my ears turning red.

"Hhahahaa...you hung her picture up on your desk? That's priceless! You are such a softie. And those other things you did? Man, that's...well, you have it bad, is all I'm saying. I wish someone would *edited* and *edited* for me. How come you never *edited* a *edited* for me?"

"Honestly? Because I don't like you very much."

"Oh, poo. We both know that isn't true. You can't live without me."

"OK. I'll concede the latter point. But that doesn't mean that I like you."

"Suuurrre....", she drawled, mocking me,"still, I can't believe that you * edited* a * edited* for her..."

Oh, man. Was that too much? It felt like the right thing to do. Fancy was making me nervous.

"Uh, would you stop mentioning that? It's supposed to be a surprise and this is a public blog. I'm getting tired of editing your remarks...and, uh, er, um...do you think I did OK with it?"

"OK? I'd say so! I'm actually really jealous of her. And of you. It's so sweet that I think I'm going into diabetic shock."

Christ, I thought, my imaginary friend is making fun of me.

"Geez, Fancy", I said, " I told a real friend and they were happy for me-for us. The least you can do is stop making retching sounds, ya know?"

"Oh, I'm just having fun. Don't be so sensitive. Besides, you know what's going to happen, don't you?"

"No. What?"

Then she told me. Her words sounded quite familiar.

"Fancy, that's mighty strange," I replied, "only a few people know the whole story and they all say the same thing."

"Ha! I knew it! It scares you, doesn't it?"

"No", I lied.

"Liar. You can't lie to me. I know you too well."

" Yeah, yeah...OK. It terrifies me. A little. My friend feels the same way. We have talked about it."

More laughter. When did Fancy develop a sense of humor?

"What the fuck", I felt compelled to ask," is so goddamned funny?"

"You know what I just told you? Some people spend their entire lives wishing for that. You? For you, it's your deepest fear. That's kinda crazy, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask. And yeah, it is a little crazy. So what?"

"So nothing. I'm just jealous, is all. Now I know why you never call me anymore."

"Fancy," I repeated, "I never call you. You call me...that is how it works."

"Well", she huffed," you be that way. Someday you'll come looking for me and I won't be around."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Doubt which part?", she asked, "that you'll look for me or that I won't be around?"

"Both", I answered, hanging up.

McCain and Gramm Sitting in a Tree

The collapse of Enron continues to trickle down on us little people. I must admit that until recently, I had never heard of the so-called Enron Loophole.

Keef-O has an excellent report on it here.

The Enron Loophole permitted unregulated electronic trading of oil futures, which led to speculators "gaming" the market by betting on (and agreeing to set) the future price of oil and other commodities without meddlesome Gubbermint interference...Republican Congressman Phil Gramm was instrumental in the lobbying effort that got this provision rammed through Congress and signed by Bill Clinton.
The Loophole, according to many reports, was directly responsible for, among other things, the Californian energy crisis of 2000-2001 (which gave us Gubbiner Ahnold) and the sharp and steady rise in oil prices worldwide.

Phil Gramm is currently a senior economic advisor for John McCain. John McCain, in years that he isn't running for President, has been a staunch supporter of the Enron L-Hole. He changes what he says during election years, a consistent pattern in the Senator's speeches...in 2007, he criticized then-opponent Rudy Giuliani for having "absolutely no foreign policy experience"...yesterday Giuliani-at McCain's request- was publicly defending McCain's proposed policy of endless, unwinnable war...how did Rudy go from "know-nothing" to "expert" in six months?


Congress recently passed the Farm Bill, which includes a provision for closing the Enron L-Hole.
The bill, of course, was vetoed by Bush, with the support of John McCain- the same John McCain who rejects expanding the benefits granted to our veterans by the G.I. Bill as being:"too expensive"...support the troops? He'd rather not do that, it costs too much money...it would be difficult to cut taxes on the Super-Rich and support the troops at the same time and former POW or not, McCain has shown his true colors.
Fortunately, Congress had enough votes to override the Bush veto. It's about time the Limpocrats finally did something, says I.

I'm embarrassed that I once defended McCain's integrity when he was smeared by Karl Rove's machine prior to the 2000 South Carolina primary election.
It turns out that McCain hasn't any integrity whatsoever. A shame.

A vote for McCain is a vote for Phil Gramm and the Enron Legacy.
It's a vote to increase the number of homeless vets .
It's a vote for Five Dollar Gas.
It's a vote for a man who prefaces every third spoken sentence with the meaningless phrase "my friends". That annoying oratory tic might actually piss me off more than his dangerous politics.


Do America a favor. Don't elect John McCain.

More of the Not Same

The job interview sure has changed a lot since the good old days. When I was a young man, getting a job was easy- I'd wait until the bars opened and then visit each one, having a drink or two before getting around to asking the bartender, "hey, you guys need any help?". I always picked smaller, privately-owned restaurants and bars and I never had any problem finding work, even during my 'hobo' phase. I had an Amtrak pass and I took a 90-day vacation with hardly any money- I'd stop in whatever town caught my fancy-New Orleans, Flagstaff, Eugene- and get a quick kitchen job, work a few days and move on once I got paid. It really was fun, but I'm not sure if it's possible to do sober- for me anyway.
I mean, I could probably get a decent bar job right this very second if I wanted one...alas, I don't want to work around drunks and cocaine and those two things are an inherent part of bar jobs.

In 1990 I was on unemployment after working at a defunct bar -I was required to make a 'job search' report to the State every week in order to get my dole check. It was a pain-in-the-ass, you had to obtain real names and phone numbers without actually finding a job; something that was a lot trickier in the pre-Internet period.

One afternoon I walked into a comic shop and asked the guy behind the counter if he was hiring. He held up a white cardboard rectangle and asked me what it was. There was an identical rectangle on the wall behind him with a note affixed to it:
BACKING BOARDS 10 CENTS EA.
"Um, it's a backing board", I replied, not quite sure what a "backing board" was...I got hired on the spot. I wound up working there for almost eight years.

Today, my job searches are much different. Lately I've been on a series of failed interviews, including some that were set up by temporary agencies- something that the temp agencies never used to do-and I've found that every interview is now done by a 'team', usually three, sometimes two people. There is an uncomfortable interrogatory quality to being scrutinized from three sides and I have been flunking whatever hidden tests I encounter...aha!

As I write this, I have a theory: I have failed the 'distraction' test.

There is always one person at each interview that is extremely affable, someone that I 'click' with right away- and that person always leads me into a conversation about something that is not germane to the actual position. I have been taking this as a hopeful sign that I will "fit in" , but now I suspect that it was test to see if I could keep my mind on the boring-ass job being discussed. Obviously, I can't.

Today I had to sneak away at lunchtime for a job interview at a legal office. At the firm, one if the three interviewers saw my radio/audio credits and told me who his dad was. His father used to own a famous recording studio. Cool!
I could have talked forever about old studio gear, but I had to get back to my file clerk job, so I stayed on-topic and I sensed a 'good' vibe when I did so. It was a strange dynamic, the youngest of the three, a petite Asian lady, seemed ready to hire me on the spot, she even asked how soon I could start, but stopped short of making a cash offer...the other, older woman didn't say much of anything, she just took notes. The man was friendly, but not nearly as enthusiastic as the younger lady.

There was an inconclusive flurry of feints, parries and ripostes over schedule and salary requirements- this is a lot easier to haggle about when one has a job already, I have learned. It helps to be Not Desperate, ya know? Anyway, I asked for a couple thousand dollars more than my last law job, now I'm wondering if I didn't undersell myself...I'm wondering a lot about this potential job. I hate multi-person interviews and the mixed messages that result, but I did get a tour of the office and saw Obama and Kaine stickers on display in a couple cubes, which was a welcome switch from the starched conservatism that dominated my former office. Seeing those stickers made me want to work there...well, actually it's the health insurance I want, but I'm less likely to have a aneurysm if I'm not surrounded by raving Bush lunatics.

As luck has it, one of my job references dropped by to visit tonight. He arrived right before I sent an email containing said references to the law firm, per their request...I'm glad he did, I was able to update his phone #...it really was a strange coincidence that I saw him. Perhaps it's a good sign, eh?

Things are looking up.

Change

The company I'm working at is getting audited and my job has become significantly less enjoyable as a result. The files are a mess and the only person who understands them is on vacation . Every assignment is like trying to find a specific penny in a pickle barrel full of coins.
Oh well. There's always the weekend...

I had two radio shows this weekend. For me, radio is very much like blogging -it's a way to express myself and communicate with others - except saying "I'm a DJ" sounds sorta cool...I rarely answer the "what do you do?" question with : "I have a blog."

For me, the most exquisite moments are when radio and blog merge...such as getting a phone call from a faraway blogpal...or sending a message and finding that it was well received. Saturday, a connection was established and maintained for the length of both shows- a whopping four hours of radio!

My friend and I were sharing a laugh at this video posted on one of my fave blogs...I'm thinking "four minutes?"
No way.
I just gave you four hours of lovin' and I did it on the public airwaves, in front of Godzilla and everybody.Call me an optimist, but I'm guessing that I can probably give ya sweet private lovin' seventeen times in a 72- hour stretch...maybe 18 if I get out of work early and you don't move around too much.

I started to say this and found that my friend agrees. 17 is a reasonable goal. I sure do hope I get out of work early on the 3rd. (If I get off early, we can wait a few minutes and try again)

Or I might have a whole different job by then. I have a job interview at a law firm tomorrow, just found out today, outta the blue...it pays an adult living wage too. I haven't had a "real job" since I lost my Federal job after Gore's not-win. I could use a savings account. I miss mine already and it's only been gone for a month.

I'm feeling lucky these days- perhaps a job that pays enough to save money and go places is not too much to ask for.

Because I have a place I wanna go. Here, let me tell you about it:

The New Breakfast Snob, June 14



Garbage- I Think I'm Paranoid
When I think of Garbage, I think of you. Listen to Shirley sing about desire and you'll understand how good that is, so no need to be paranoid.

Crack The Sky- Skin Deep
More than just.

Atomic Rooster- Goodbye Planet Earth
I need to get from here to somewhere not here.

The Frames- Sideways Down
Everybody fucks up sometimes...I actually edited the 'f-bomb' out of this song so I could play it on the radio...usually, I'm not that careful. Oh well. Everybody fucks up sometimes.

Wire- Three Girl Rhumba
Wow. It's a hard rain and a difficult choice, but when it comes down to it, one is plenty.

Moody Blues- Ride My See Saw
17 times!

Fairport Convention- The Way I Feel

Fiona Joyce- Lift The Veil

Beatles- I Want You (She's so Heavy)
Driving me mad...is it Independence Day yet? I want to spread my Freedom on you.

Dread Zeppelin- Your Time is Gonna Come
Women are luckier than men in certain ways.

Nouvelle Vague-Have You Ever Fallen In Love...
Every once in a while, I ask this question: What is a buzzcock? Hints: Wiki is wrong (shocking!) and it's not a battery-driven Steely Dan.

Frank Zappa-Willie the Pimp
This week's featured guitar solo, one of the best ever.

William Shatner- I Can't Get Behind That
I love The Shat. He is one of my heroes.

Allan (me)- Lucky
I'm really lucky to get played on the radio. I recorded this in my bedroom but it sounds like the living room...and I shared a set with Zappa and The Shat! I am totally awesome.

Bruce Cockburn- If a Tree Falls in the Forest
A pit bull sent me a Cockburn mp3 a while back and I've been hooked ever since.

Carbon Leaf- Let Your Trouble Roll By
Local band, a request that fit my mood.

Cursive- The Recluse
Great band. I need to get out more.

Little Feat - Old Folks Boogie
Hahahahha!

Funkadelic- Let's Make it Last
Just don't wiggle.

Jonathon Coulton- Skullcrusher Mountain
I wasted a pony making a present for you!

Poly-a.d.
Lately, it seems as if women are always telling me what they want. In this case, they want local band, Poly. The same woman called the next DJs and asked them for the same song. I think lower case song titles went out with e.e. cummings , but hey...give the people what they want.

T. Rex- Jeepster
I'm a what for your what? Really? I like that!

The Kinks- Top of the Pops

Wire- Start to Move
This song is only eighty second long. It's your fault for moving.

Damien Dempsey - Your Pretty Smile
Is lighting up my mind.

Wipers- Tragedy
Can't live without it. It's part of life, but if you hold on to it, it'll fuck up your whole afternoon or life, whichever comes first.


For my next trick, the 1980's show

Songs From the Big Hair , June 14

Stranglers- Tank
Suicidal Tendencies- Hate You Better

Cramps- Most Exalted Potentate of Love
Coming 'round the mountain to get your love...

P.I.L.- Seattle

Nina Hagen - New York New York

Madonna - Open Your Heart
Klark Kent- Excess
Crack The Sky- White Music
Lou Reed- Don't Talk To Me About Work
Berlin- The Metro
The Cars- Moving In Stereo

Cardiacs- Is This The Life?

Ever hear Cardiacs? No? Now you have.

XTC- Generals and Majors
Bad Brains- I Against I

MX-80 Sound- Follow That Car
Tom Tom Club- Wordy Rappinghood
George Clinton-( She Got It) Goin' On

Golden Palominos- Heaven
What is this song about?

Danielle Dax- Whistling For His Love

Elvis Costello- The Element Within Her
Snakefinger- Beatnik Party
King Crimson- Man With An Open Heart
10,000 Maniacs- My Mother The War
Joe Jackson- Soul Kiss
Pretty Things- It's So Hard
Mission To Burma- This Is Not A Photograph

Still laughing...and...um...er...that was...er...

It's way, way past my bedtime.

99, 100, GO!

Today I'll be doing radio shows #'s 99 and 100, a personal milestone. I'll be here from 1 pm until 5, EST. More to follow.

True Enough

The first bar I worked at had small bathrooms and each restroom was in two parts- a square closet -sized antechamber with sink, towel dispenser and a chalkboard for the customers to write on and a door leading to a slightly larger room for the actual toilet. There was no urinal in the men's room so the sink got used far too often...one of the happiest days of my young life was the day I got promoted from dishwasher to cook, as it meant I no longer had to clean the bathrooms.

The graffiti in the ladies room often mentioned one of our regulars, a good-lucking yuppie scum by the name of Jeff. Jeff was, by all the chalked accounts, a "real monster"...one night there was a remarkably well-drawn penis cartoon in there with the caption : Jeff in Life Size.

The weird thing was, Jeff really did do well with women. At last call, he was never alone. I usually was, though. After closing the kitchen, I'd hang out with the bartender, manager and waitress after hours, doing coke, talking and drinking the owner's liquor. Sometime the owner showed up and joined us. It was 1985 and life was different then. Drugs were still fun, for one thing.

One night, we were talking about the "Jeff graffiti" and I asked our waitress Michelle if she'd do me a favor. Would she write "the cook has a foot-long" in the women's room? It would be better if it was a woman's handwriting, I reasoned.

"Allan", said the much-older Michelle," you should never lie about that."

"Why?"

"If someone calls your bluff they will laugh at you and you will look like a jerk."

"Well, how do you know it isn't true?", I replied.

I was 20, drunk and coked to the nines. I wasn't very bright and was prone to saying profoundly stupid things.

"Is it ?", asked Michelle. "Let's see. We're all friends here, whip it out."

"Uh", I blanched, "never mind."

Michelle laughed and called me a jerk.

A Harsh Reminder

I got pulled off my new temp job this morning and was asked to help out in the Mail Room. The regular Mail Girl had complained of chest and back pains and was taken to hospital. After a few hours of sorting and stamping , we got a call that the doctors had found a blood clot and were admitting the poor girl for emergency surgery. If she hadn't gone to the ER she would have died within a few hours...Mail Girl is, I believe, in her early to mid 20's and she seemed fine yesterday- today she barely escaped death, she had to be talked into going to hospital, apparently she didn't want to go, which is understandable.

We were reallly busy earlier, but during lunch I had some quiet time to reflect on my own near-death experience and how I had to convince myself to go to the ER. If I hadn't done that, this post wouldn't be here, as I'd be dead. I don't know who talked Mail Girl into going, but I'm glad they managed to do it- otherwise she'd be dead and she's much too young to die. My heart goes out to her.

I am fully aware that any day may be the last...for any one of us. It's tempting to give into that fear and shut down, wall-off and deny, deny, deny...no, actually, it's not tempting at all.

I'll tell you what is tempting: I'm tempted to shed the last tattered bandage of fear and doubt and take a long, honest look at my own wounds and afflictions. Until very recently, I was unaware that I suffer from a common but rarely mentioned disorder: I have an Ingrown Heart.

I have done as much work on myself as I can but it's a serious condition and I can't fix it without help and help is not something that is easy for me to ask for. Fortunately, I didn't have to ask, it was freely offered.
Last year, I celebrated Independence Day by hitting a deer and wrecking my car on the way to visit my dying grandmother...shortly after I got back from that 'vacation', I was given the Pink Slip at work and life sort of went downhill from there, so I find it ironic that I have Open Heart Surgery scheduled for the July 4th weekend this year.
Don't fear, it's not medical surgery and I won't be in a hospital for it, but it needs to be done and so it shall.

What is a life worth? It's worth living, is what. I suggest you take advantage of it while you can.

That is all.

Puppet Dance

During the 2000 Presidential campaign, George W. Bush pledged to "restore dignity to the White House", a not-so veiled reference to Bill Clinton's impeachment for perjury and obstruction of justice charges. Ha. Ha.

Rep. Dennis Kucinich today introduced 35 articles of impeachment against President Bush for high crimes and misdemeanors. Kucinich has been working on this for years and it's a pretty good case...wiretapping,torture, kidnapping, perjury, obstruction, starting a war under false pretenses...it apparently took five hours for the House clerk to read it. The resolution got so much domestic attention that I was forced to link to the Belfast Telegraph for an article.

There's no chance of an actual impeachment , there is neither time nor political will. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi said, following the 2006 election that left the Democrats in charge of Congress, that impeachment was "off the table". I hated hearing that.

Pelosi and other Dems claimed that pursuing impeachment hearings would distract them from the truly important issues such as the war in Iraq and the troubled American economy.

Well, they sure did a great job of ending the war and fixing the economy. Can we have the impeachment now, please?
In my opinion, Bush should have been evicted from the White House in 2001 for allowing Henry Kissinger to once again darken the doorstep- and there certainly wasn't any reason to invade Iraq, ever. Remote-controlled unmanned drone airplane that would drop anthrax on Kansas? That was considered a "threat" despite the fact that Iraqi air-space at that time was the most heavily monitored airspace on Earth- half the country was a "no-fly zone"...when I tried to explain this to my fellows, they'd just say "9-11! 9-11!" and ask me why my Honda had no flags on it.

To make the case for the war they craved, the GOP sent Colin Powell to his doom at the U.N., ordering him to present a laundry list of weapons and bio-warfare facilities allegedly in Iraqi hands...the list turned out to be outdated and exaggerated, to put it mildly. It was debunked, and harshly.
Eventually, Powell took the fall for that speech but the war had already started.

General Powell, a man who once enjoyed bipartisan respect, resigned from his job as Secretary of State and was replaced by Condi Rice, who once had an oil tanker named after her. No kidding- Chevron was so happy with her ten years of service on their Board that they named a goddamn oil tanker after her. Think about that next time you fill up.

Powell, had he not been humiliated and retired in disgust after acknowledging that there were no WMD in Iraq , would have made a pretty good Presidential candidate...he had impeccable military and Cabinet-level credentials and his personal politics are moderate and thoughtful. (Pro-choice, for example).

I desperately hope that America is "ready" for a Black President. I don't know if we are ready or not, but I do know that the Republican Party is not ready for a black, pro-choice, moderate Republican nominee no matter how qualified he may be...the current GOP thinks John McCain is too centrist, fer chrissakes...if I were the paranoid type, I'd be compelled to think that the GOP set Gen.Powell up in order to head off any political aspirations he may have had.

How about that Global Warming bill? What bill?
The anti-pollution one that failed to get enough votes to pass the Senate and the inevitable Bush veto. This is another example of the kind of important issue that Pelosi and Co. decided to pursue instead of following up on the impeachment resolution. Good job on losing out to a filibuster...even as the majority party, the Democrats can't get shit done...if I didn't know better, I'd swear the two parties have more in common than at odds with each other...nah, that's just crazy talk.

If I Must Be A Pooper

My meme filter broke and one got through.

Great.

See, there's these folks on the other side of the country and one of them sorta insisted that I do a 'meme'...I bet that after I comply, these Left Coasties are gonna gather together and talk shit about me behind my back...they may say that they're really just "on vacation", but I know better.
I know that the world actually revolves around my snacking habits and daily routine.
Otherwise, I wouldn't have gotten this meme, the doing of which is a duty I will now discharge:

Q: What Was I Doing Ten Years Ago?

I was selling bootleg Traci Lords videotapes to a State Trooper at the Heroes ComicBook Convention in Charlotte, NC. The exchange wasn't going very well as far as I was concerned- the Trooper wanted to pay me in cash and I wanted to be compensated with dope. Good dope like last year. And the year before.
Instead he handed me an envelope with money in it. Money? I can't smoke that! My customer told me sorry, but he can't 'barter' anymore, too dangerous at work these days...shit! Who am I too argue with a State Trooper? They carry guns.

Five Things On Today's To Do List:

- I finally have a job again, so I have to get out of bed, shave, shower, dress and drive to a place where I do not live...this has been optional for a long stretch of time; it is once again mandatory- and a good thing, too!

- Feed the cats. Technically, this is four things and my meme obligation is now fulfilled- two cats twice per day equals four feedings- but that would be a pretty dull day, wouldn't it?
Don't think I haven't had days like that.

- Read Blogs. That's how I got in this meme mess in the first place.

- Make friends with the mail room clerk at new job. I sold a few items on Amazon this weekend and I hate going to the Post Office.

- Re-read my favorite email.

Snacks That I Enjoy:

My favorite snack is coffee but I also enjoy popcorn prepared in a hot-air popper and then drizzled with enough real butter to off-set any potential health benefits. I am currently working on a method of drying raw coffee beans in such a way that they will pop like corn when heated. My research will begin in earnest just as soon as I get my Government Grant...chocolate-covered air- popped coffee beans. Yum!

I like bananas. I eat 3-4 of them almost every day. They taste good, they are cheap and they come in their own naturally biodegradable wrapper. Healthy, too.

What Would I Do If I Were A Billionaire?

To common people, a billion dollars sounds like a lot of money. It's not. For instance, I want a luxury spaceship that seats a dozen and is capable of speedy interplanetary flight,but good luck finding a reliable one for a measly billion dollars. Where? On the Tatooine Craig's List?

I guess I'd buy some arable, livable land in a temperate climate, pay some decent carpenter-types to build me a solar-enhanced house, then I'd grow food and raise chickens, maybe a cow or two. I imagine that being responsible for a cow would probably turn me into a lactose-free vegetarian, but hey, I'm a billionaire. If I wanna have a cow, I'll have a cow.
I wonder if cattle can be housebroken?

-I would also buy a horse, but not for eating or any other indoor use.

-Otari 24-track reel-to-reel, a Neve console and a box of Telefunken microphones.

-I'd give a few bucks to the non-profit I volunteer at. And some nice microphones too.

-I'd pay my brother back the money I owe him.

I don't have any children, but I know some smart kids. I'd buy them the best education available in the optimistic hope that they'll grow up and discover how to fix all the problems caused by previous generations, including my own.

PLACES I HAVE LIVED

Maryland
Utah
Virginia
Texas
I-95
The woods
My Mind

BLOGS THAT I LIKE

Are listed over there---->


Are we done?

That wasn't so bad.

Fountain of Mis-Spent Youth (The Soundtrack)

My first experience as a radio DJ was 20-odd years ago...I filled in for a friend of mine at a local college station during her summer vacation. It was fun, but I wasn't really involved in the station in any significant way, I was just a substitute. I had no idea that one day I'd be doing important stuff at a radio station...by important stuff, I mean pogo dancing in the broadcast booth while I inflict my record collection on an unsuspecting public.

When my friend (the same one who trained me twenty years ago and , by remarkable coincidence, had the show directly after mine today) showed up for her shift, she told me that I "sounded happier."

"Happier? That's all?", I replied with feigned hurt, "I am the happiest!"


THE NEW BREAKFAST SNOB, June 7, 2008

Pixies- Wave Of Mutilation
Lets kick off with 121 seconds of good memories.

Steve Hillage - Motivation
The title of the LP is Motivation Radio. It's about flying saucers, crystal vibrations and other New Age healing energy gobbbledygook. I should hate it, but it's actually one of my all-time favorite albums, mainly due to Hillage's beautifully fluid psychedelic guitar solos..,I have had this copy since 10th grade, so pardon me if it is a bit scratchy. If I'd known I was going to live until 40, I'd have taken better care of my records.

Wipers- Window Shop For Love
Another blast from my own past. Believe it or not, I have been somewhat moody in the past and there was a point in my life where a friend felt compelled to tell me to: "stop listening to the Wipers", the Wipers being the most depressing punk rock band of all time.

I feel like a piece of cold ice forming inside a chamber of lost illusions or something very much like that, he sings...gloomy, yeah, but with wonderfully savage guitar outbursts.
Wiper guitarist/leader Greg Sage built his own amps and electronics; he has a guitar sound that is both simple and unique. Rockin'!
The record is pressed on clear vinyl and it's hard to see where the space between songs ends and begins...holy shit, my eyes are bad. I'm getting old.
I don't care.
I'll have my mid-life crisis on the radio and love every minute of it.

The Frames- Angel at my Table
I'm fairly new to this Irish band but I'm catching up. Emotional, wrenching stuff. Great.

Nouvelle Vague- Heart of Glass
I wish I could play their rendition of the Dead Kennedys' Too Drunk To Fuck, but I can't. Still, ya gotta love this...well I do.

Mothers of Invention- Happy Together
From the Mothers Live at the Filmore East, 1971...another relic from grade school. It's a Turtles song, ya know?

XTC- The Smartest Monkeys
What can be said? This band is highly evolved.

Badfinger- Carry On Till Tomorrow
Oh, it's so sweet and hopeful. I'm so fat, stupid and happy that I am actually groovin' on this...go figure.

Suicidal Tendencies- How Will I Laugh Tomorrow (When I Can't Even Smile Today)
This band isn't as cheerful as Badfinger but the guitar playing is much more interesting.

Now excuse me for a moment while I read a Public Service Announcement for the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.
Seriously.
I'm very civic-minded, you know.

Damien Dempsey- Marching Season
Have I mentioned how much I like Damo? It's a lot.

Warren Zevon- Things To Do In Denver When You're Dead
Are pretty much like the things to do when you are not. Even when I drank, I eschewed all things Coors... I sure do wish WZ was still alive. He's my second-favorite dead musician with a last name that starts with Z.

King Missile- Detachable Penis
Dude wakes up, can't find his dick...same old story.

UB40- One in Ten
By request.

Pogues- Rainbow Man
Another nod in the same direction.

Built to Spill- Big Dipper
I've lived through this song before.

Steeleye Span- Blacksmith
I think this song is about sex and anvil-banging.

Gong- Tried So Hard
Yet another High School holdover. The other kids were into Def Leppard. I liked Gong. No wonder I never had many friends my own age.

Dread Zeppelin- Heartbreaker Hotel
This is so much fun...it's the lyrics toElvis Presley's "Heartbreak Hotel" sung to a psycho-reggae/metal rendition of Led Zeppelin's "Heartbreaker" and a prime example of why you should listen to my show. It'll make you happy.

Wire- Lowdown
No kidding.

Beatles- Dear Prudence
This was dedicated to my pseudonymous friend, Prudence, who is very dear to my heart.

Lucinda Williams- Those Three Days
You have no idea how much pain the current price of travel is causing me. Ok, maybe you do.

Atomic Rooster- Black Snake
What is it in the darkness that makes you so wild?

William Shatner- Common People
Captain Kirk's latest solo record, Has Been, is the best album ever.

Captain Beefheart- Party Of Special Things To Do
It wasn't hard to find Elixir Sue.

Tom Waits- Misery Is The River of The World
Tom waits for no one.

Funkadelic- Into You
Who says a funk band can't play rock music? George, Bootsy and Co. have been jammin' and slammin' for over 40 years...

Frank Zappa- Inca Roads
I get to play Zappa on the radio! Yet another High School fantasy has come to fruition!

So, my show is over, right? My friend shows up with her signature milkcrate of 1980's records and starts cueing up her first song while I do the top-of-hour announcing...she looks at me as if she wants to say something, so I turn her microphone on and she tells the audience that it was many, many years before she knew "Dear Prudence" was a Beatles song...for a long time she thought that Siouxie and the Banshees wrote it. We both laugh.

And then she starts her show with the Siouxie version.

It is a truly splendid moment.

I Missed That?

Wouldn't it be great if there were a screensaver that looked like an aquarium? Somebody should invent that.

************************************

You know what else would be cool?
A post about blog statistics.
That would be cool. Especially if I wrote about my own blog. What could possibly be more interesting?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THIS!

My blog had it's fourth birthday last month- May 21st- and what did I post? Nothing. I sat there like a virtual lump. No cake.

I passed the 1,000 post barrier a long time ago. A looong time ago. Did I celebrate? No...I didn't even notice.

I overlooked visit number 30,000 and forgot to acknowledge #31,000...I expect # 32,000 very soon. Perhaps it will be you. When I first started blogging, my blog would go days without a single visit, gradually I started getting the 'hang' of things, with some help from Lyzard and Susanne, two of the first blogpals I made, two blog veterans who probably remember the old days when one was forced to learn basic HTML coding just to add links to Blogger, still a useful skill for doing this and this the hard way...don't get me started on "old-school" template changes- they were not for the faint-hearted neophyte. I had to be rescued from my first template change by a teenager...horrible, it was.


It's weird going back and reading old posts where I wrote about drinking-or was obviously drunk. When I blog, I tend to change names and details to protect the guilty; as a result of my blackouts, there are entire posts that I don't remember writing and conseqeuntly I'm not wholly certain if they are accurate and who the characters are supposed to represent...there's a specific date when my posts suddenly stop and when they begin again , it's the day after I was released from the hospital .
Those, I remember.
After my hospitalization, I think the whole tone of my blog changed- I certainly became more prolific, if nothing else- 397 posts in one year?
Sheesh.
If I could afford a therapist, they'd probably tell me that I used my passion for blogging as a substitute for drinking. I'd agree with that. Sublimation , it's called.

When I started talking about it , I found that some of my bestest blogpals have similar stories...the blogworld is full of survivors who have a way of finding each other. I've blogged quite a bit about my 2005 crisis, but it wasn't the first medical disaster of my life...

Late in 2001, I was diagnosed with a severe neuropathy of the Ulnar nerve in my left arm ;I was expected to lose it and no one could say why, just that the nerve was dying and taking my hand with it and amputation at the elbow (to avoid necrotic decay of my dying hand) was the first option- the insurance company made me see a doctor not my own; after one set of tests, it was decided that I'd get a quick chop-off, a one-time pay-out and a prosthesis and then they'd be done with me, avoiding the hassle of paying for expensive surgeries and months of physiotherapy.

I found this to be extremely discouraging news and when I told my regular doctor he nearly flipped out. He's the gentlest man I know, but he got mad as hell and somehow arranged for one of his friends-Dr. Kenneth Bowers, a man who, in my considered opinion, is one of the finest orthopaedic surgeons alive- to save my arm.

Doc even convinced the insurance company that this was not "elective" surgery, as Trigon first tried to claim. Trigon really wanted to apply the bonesaw...I don't really know why. Doc said it was cheaper for them...after I lost my arm, he said, I'd lose my job and I would become the Gubbermint's problem. I wasn't very sanguine about relying on Federal care...I was on probation at the time and I was convinced that they would rather lock me up than pay for my SSD. In hindsight, I was probably right...



It took almost a year after the operations, but I regained complete use of my hand. I can still play guitar. Better than before, I think.
While my left hand was recovering, I discovered that the trick to really cool guitar-playing is what the right (or picking) hand does. It was enlightening, but I digress...Sling knows what I mean.



Number of neuropathy-related surgeries: 2

It's getting close to three years since I last took a drink. Before that, I was drinking 12 beers and a fifth of liquor almost everyday. My hands trembled in the morning and I pretended no one noticed my lunch breaks- a breathmint hides everything, right?

I had no idea how unhappy I was.

That knowledge came later. In the fall of 2005, I had been feeling poorly for a long, long time and I decided to lay off the booze for a day or two and see if my stomach settled down.
It didn't.

Instead, I went into full-blown alcoholic withdrawal, which is a very bad place to be.

Number of grande mal seizures in 36-hour period:3

Number of alcohol-related surgeries in same period:3

Number of seizures while in surgery: 2

The second seizure should have killed me. No one present expected me to survive , I lost more blood than a body can hold. I'm glad I was unconcious for that.

While I was in hospital in 2005, I kept getting visits from shrinks and therapists who tried very, very hard to get me to admit to "suicide ideation" and depression. I reflexively lied about this..."of course", I said, "I never, ever think about suicide...in fact, I'm hardly ever depressed at all, I drink myself into oblivion every night because I love life. Now can I PLEASE have some Valium in my IV?"

I didn't believe myself and I'm not sure if the shrinks did or not, but I didn't give them enough info to have me institutionalized; I was released after nearly a week of "observation".

One of the nurses said, without much compassion, that she expected they'd see me again in a few weeks. I was told that most people who arrive in the ER in my condition don't live for more than a month or so...usually the liver fails...or the heart...or the kidneys. Or a stroke. Sometimes it's suicide...was I sure that I wasn't going to kill myself?

It was something to think about.

After the hospital I started enjoying things that I had long ago forgotten or overlooked- get this: at one point before I got sick, our Music Director tried to talk me into accepting a prime radio time spot, but I turned it down because it meant I'd have to stay sober until seven PM, something that I couldn't imagine doing willingly...damn.
What the hell was wrong with me then? Today, being a radio DJ is one of my all-time favorite things- I passed it up in favor of drink? That's a powerful demon at work.

Number of broadcast hours logged since I quit drinking: 196.

Number of months I had to wait for another chance at a good time spot: 24



Oh hell. It's tomorrow now and I missed visit #32,000. It came from France and was someone I don't know looking for info on Gong guitarist Steve Hillage...someone in France likes good music.



I recognize most of my friend's IP 'signatures' on my Sitemeter but sadly, my pals only comprise a small percentage of my traffic, an awful lot of strangers pass through here, looking for Godzilla-only-knows what...



Percentage of blog traffic generated by one specific post: Seventeen.

I can't seem to add links (or pics) from work, if you don't believe me, go to Google Images and type in "tying lois", without quotes...you'll see. My sitemeter lists visits by entry page- one out of eight visits begins at that particular post, driven by that trio of images. It has been viewed over 4,000 times...not many comments though. Puzzling.

Number of worthless perverts on-line: Infinite.

But this post isn't about useless perverts. It's about...statistics? I dunno what it's about. I'm writing between batches of paperwork and it's hard to stay focused...one last statistic and then I'll be done:



Number of cherished blogfriends made in the last four years: Finite but priceless.

Update Successfully Installed: You Must Now Restart Everything

I think I'll start my whole life over. Soon.

Erratica

Hey, didn't you used to be Hillary Clinton?

******************

I didn't have a PC at work for most of the day today- I forgot to move the mouse every 15 minutes and the screen locked up-my boss was gone until nearly closing time, so I didn't have much to do at all, save for a brief but savage battle of wills with my latest nemesis, the Ikon 200-something Copier. It had a desperate need to jam that is seldom seen outside of Guitar Hero addicts, but in the end it was no match for me.
I managed to fix it with positive thinking.
Seriously.
Actually, I turned it off.
Then I turned it on.
This trick fixes more things than you'd think, and the Ikon proved to be no exception.

Tsk. I am such a geek, I actually enjoy fixing office equipment. It's a chance to show off. The last time I had a workplace girlfriend, she said it was because she liked the way I could shred paper without getting my tie caught in the machine.

Anyway, two days in and I'm still liking the new job. It sounds corny, but I feel much, much better about myself now that I have a steady income- things are looking up. In a fit of optimism, I paid the entire balance of my phone/interweb bill...after spending a day alone in a room with no PC, I decided I didn't want to risk the same thing at home and the last bill arrived in a red-bordered envelope, not a good sign.

I took a book to work. Coffee was already there. What a fantastic combo those are, books and coffee... I read for a while, made some copies, read some more, made some coffee...there is a "coffee station" (four flavors!) on one side of my file room and a rest room on the other...it's a banal but welcome dream come true.

I've really wanted a boring day job with decent pay, air-conditioning , broadband access and no homework- and that's what I got. Woo! Took long enough, too- I have never had so much trouble finding work - I really was starting to wonder where I was gonna live...is a 9-5, rent-paying job too much to ask for? It was seeming so...

I get plenty of technical challenges and creative rewards at the radio station and during my increasingly frequent non-paper musical jam sessions, which are looking up too...I even feel like writing again! I recently had severe writer's block for the first time, ever. I wasn't sure if it would ever end, but I can feel the buzz returning.

Yesterday,I met a girl at work who said (reason unspecified) that she went from living in a crowded building to a large empty house in the sticks, so she decided to buy a drum set and start playing drums again after a long period of not playing, why not, right?...to me, that's about the sanest approach to solitude I can imagine. I liked her right away.
I'm not used to working in offices with people who seem sane to me. My idea of a good time would be banging the hell out of drumkit in the middle of nowhere-for hours. What's not to love about that?

********************************

My best friend's wife finally got her U.S. Citizenship! Six years and two kids is all it took...she will be able to vote this year! Welcome to what I hope will be an improved America!

**********************************

My dad called, which means he's alive and sober. I didn't ask how long he'd been dry, but it was good to be able to tell him I had a job. He had some bad news about the family house, but not bad enough to offset the generally good mood I brought home from work.

I brought a good mood home from work?
Man, I better enjoy that while I can.

Hoopless

Patient weights on heavy hands
now or never
say never
when you jump
forever
thou high commands

Things Could Always Be Worse

That isn't my truck in that pic but I know the feeling.

I recently had a terrifying close call. Like many such incidents, my brush with disaster felt as if it were happening in slow motion; I suppose that's appropriate in my case since it lasted almost two weeks.
I was depressed. Seriously depressed.

For me, depression is like driving over a cliff and having a fortnight to dwell on the consequences of landing on the bottom. I take ten seconds of pure free-fall terror and stretch it out into a two-week supply of free-floating anxiety...it's also a good time to hurt someone's feelings- it doesn't have to be my fault, I just have to feel bad about doing it- the guilt keeps my self-esteem at bay. Self-esteem is the enemy of depression.
If you want to be depressed, it helps to hate yourself. But not enough to change.

At first I thought I was merely lonely, so I broke two of my own rules:

-Never sleep with anyone crazier than me.
-Never sleep with a drunk.

I thought it would help- it had been a while. A long while. But it only made things worse- suddenly I was faced with the consequences of being involved with a self-destructive alcoholic woman with a fondness for theatrics and abuse.Again.

So I chickened out. I gave an ultimatum of sorts: stop drinking or stop seeing me.
I have been on the receiving end of that decree before, so I was certain of the outcome- she chose the booze, just like I always did.
And I felt like a loser and an asshole, familiar territory for me, albeit from the other side of this discussion.

Karma, it is. I ruined a few good things because I was drunk...years later, the roles have been reversed and not for the first time, but this time felt different; I was becoming tempted to return to a world I can no longer survive and that temptation was unnerving. I felt the urge to drink again, the first time in nearly three years. I know better than to have any serious involvement with a practicing alcoholic.

So I withdrew. I felt like shutting down. I couldn't get anything done...watching TV was too complicated. Writing?
I have a lot of draft.
I read toothpaste.
I put comic books in stacks and moved them from box to box without rhyme or reason.
I sorted guitar cables by length and then tossed them willy-nilly and tangled as swept webs, into a milkcrate, then 'hid' the crate behind two more just like it.
My radio show last week sucked. My friends said I sounded "shaky". Polite, they were.

But this weekend was better. I had two shows Saturday and they were a blast.
Sunday, I ate an entire gift-box of chocolate peanut turtles for breakfast and I didn't feel so good afterward, but that was OK because I got to keep re-living the delicious chocolaty turtle goodness in my mind, which did a good job of making me forget what was happening in my stomach.

Monday, the agency finally called with a job, a good thing because I am officially broke and have no income. Until now.

I am a now a file clerk at a big company that designs stuff. Today was my first day...my new boss apologized because there wasn't any work. He said most days there wouldn't be much to do, but I'd soon have computer access, so I could read CNN, play solitaire, search for jobs or whatever...huh?

At first, I thought he meant that this job is a lot more temporary than I thought- but it's indefinite, a month or two at least, probably more- but he was saying it's OK to slack off...I'll be alone in a giant-ass file room most of the time and a great deal of the work is just making PDFs out of Word docs, so I can have a radio if I want...and there is a coffee station in nearly every nook and cranny of the office labyrinth...outdoor picnic area, nice kitchen, friendly people, bookshelves of 'honor libraries' in the break rooms...I could like it there. .
Plus, I blog a lot more when I have a job.

Well, I'd better call the Twin and tell him the good news. He's probably expecting me to call for money...ha! Sad, but true.
I wish I could tell my Dad, but he's drinking and I know better than to get involved with drunks, even if I do love them.

I Wonder

I wonder if I can blog from my new job...I can? Really?
That rocks.