Flinging

                          Where did my human go? Throwing shit isn't fun without a target.

It has been a while since I blogged and there's a good reason for that. Well two reasons, really, but only one of them is good:

1) I'm in love and would rather spend time with my new girlfriend  than blog. In hindsight, one clue that I was falling in love with her was my reluctance to blog about our relationship. I find that if you love are to love someone, it is necessary to respect them as well. And if you respect someone, you won't blog the details of that love...and I'm too emotionally intoxicated to think for long about much else.  Hence the lack of posting. That's the good reason.

2) The bad reason is an overload of outrage. Have you noticed how bad the news is lately?
I have. There's so much wrong in the world that it is difficult to pick any one topic from the tsunami of horrific headlines streaming across the monitors that fill my life. The inside of my head feels like it is Occupied. I agree with the majority sentiments of the Occupy My Head movement, but  it is difficult to sort them out at times. There is a lot of overlap, our problems are not a scattered number of random, isolated ones; what we have are  multiple inter-connected system failures at every level. Where to start?

How about piling on Herman Cain?  He actually deserves it.

Dude. Paying out quiet  settlements for one or more workplace-related sexual harassment incidents will ruin your political hopes in a way that merely being black will not. So quit whining, quit  campaigning and go get your inevitable job at Fox now so we can focus on something else.

I'm not a huge fan of Obama, but none of the GOP candidates are worth a fuck and most are barely worth a grope. The next election will be between The Disappointment We Know  and the Disaster We Don't.  It  makes me wonder if we even really NEED a President or Congress at all- why not just have the Chamber of Commerce  deliver checks to the Supreme Court and let the SCOTUS write the laws? Nothing would really change operationally, but we'd save billions on  election spending and useless politician's salaries and benefits. Plus counting votes costs money and money is in short supply. Freedom ain't free -you can call it an entitlement  and we gotta save money somewhere.

'Democracy' is just another corner to cut. Drown the government in the bathtub, put the captains of industry in direct control of the country and the Free Market will eventually liberate us all. Yep. Just wait.

Housekeeping and Peanut Rage

I meant to update my template or something- I forget exactly what I intended to do- and then I got distracted and kinda forgot that I had a blog and that I'd left it languishing in virtual limbo for weeks.

So what's happened lately with me?


- WRIR 97.3 FM, the radio station that I've been engineering/DJing at since 2005, completed our bi-annual Fund Drive last week and we broke our all-time record, despite lousy economic conditions and the direct competition from our local NPR station's own fund-drive. (We are wholly independent of NPR).

My passion for live music engineering was re-ignited by five excellent sessions- in the course of the fund drive, I engineered a local Gamelan orchestra, a jazz quartet, salsa greats Bio Ritmo, a twangy rock band called Mag Bats and a fast-rising Belgian duo called The Black Box Revelation, two guys who really tore things up- in a good way:



I had my own two shows as well, but I'm not podcasting them as they are full of fund-raising chatter and I'm not into editing audio files at the moment. The show returns to normal tomorrow, never fear. As if...

Hmmm...what else?

Oh yeah...I had been using a couple of internet dating services and going on a lot of nowhere-nothing  dates this summer, but I finally gave up on the dating services altogether . I kinda had to give up, because I met a warm, beautiful, intelligent woman who has been very kind and very good to me and I'm more than just a little bit sweet on her. We've gotten to the point where we are planning a vacation together, so I imagine she'd be pretty pissed off if I went on dates with women who aren't her, not that I would do that.

I'm feeling a sense of real-life happiness that is entirely new and wonderful to me and I don't plan on fucking it up. The future looks good with her in it.

 I've also  been a repeat guest on a internet radio talk show streamed on New Dissident Radio called Breaking Taboo. The show is archived on their site, you can download and  listen to all the recordings, not just the ones with me on them. The show's host, the multi-talented Lakota Phillips, also has a new show called Rebel Goddess.

Oh, and the Peanut Butter Conspiracy is pissing me off. There's been considerable media hoopla about the soaring price of peanut butter- the day I first heard this news, I went to my local store and found the store brand of all-natural (ingredients: peanuts, salt) PB was on sale for $2.00 per 16 oz jar.  A 5-lb bag of potatoes, on the other hand, cost nine bucks! Both items were more expensive than the low-end ground beef ($1.69/lb in bulk), which says a lot more about ground beef than it does about the Peanut Famine.

Before I forget: Never buy peanut butter that contains any added oil. A peanut is 50% oil by weight and there is no reason to add oil to PB- what food processors do is remove the healthy peanut oil ( which is sold separately as a commodity) and replace it with much cheaper industrial-strength hydrogenated and partially hydrogenated vegetable oils. The kind of oils that shorten your lifespan.

Read the label of your average Name Brand PB and ask yourself this: what part of the peanut does hydrogenated cottonseed oil come from?

Furthermore, if you have some extra time and really want to save money, make your own damn peanut butter. Here's how you do it:

-Throw peanuts into a blender or food processor. Add some salt or a touch of honey if you wish.

- Turn the device on.

-Turn it off and stir up the nuts.

-Turn it on again.

Repeat until you have peanut butter, which isn't really 'butter' at all. (It's really peanut paste, for Godzilla's sake!)

- Make someone else clean the blender.

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See ya on the radio!

Don't Make Me Hit You

It has been a long, long time since I beat the shit out of somebody just because they deserved it. In fact, I'm pretty sure the last time was the winter of 8th Grade and that the person was my brother- I had baked a batch of Christmas cookies for my Grandparents and my dirty rotten bother stole them and took them to his homeroom class for their Xmas party. When I discovered his misdeed, I punched him out as best I could, which really wasn't very much of a beating- I was plenty pissed, but he was still my brother and I didn't really want to harm him, I just wanted him to know that he fucked up when he messed with my Grannie treats. He needed a lesson in respect and he got one, albeit a totally wimpy version. I mostly sat on his back and punched his shoulders, if I recall...anyway.

Why am I telling you this? Because this morning I came as close to getting in a punch-up as I've been since I quit drinking, and it was all about respect. Or lack thereof.

A few weeks ago I was out on a date (with a woman that I'm still dating) and while we were out,  we ran into J, the guy who fills the snack machines at my office. J is a big fat Jamaican who I usually enjoy shooting the shit with when he makes his rounds- he's a funny , if a bit obnoxious chap. Which is fine.

He stopped and said hello to me and kept going, which was diplomatic of him. I was on a date after all, and it would have been rude to interrupt us...so far, so good, right? J is an alright dude, eh?

Well, I saw him this morning for the first time since that chance encounter  and he asked me a very rude 'dude' question. I generally don't get into that sort of discussion with guys, so I pretended not to hear him until he asked me a second time.

"No, nothing like that", I replied tersely. I had overslept and missed my shave, shower and coffee- I was in no mood for manly trifles.

Then he said something  that I really didn't like and won't repeat here.

"Look", I started in on J, "there was a time when I'd  have been OK with that. But that was a long time ago and I'm not an out-of-control fucked-up kid anymore. Before any of what you described happens, I want to be sure that I like and respect the other person. And vice versa. That takes time, it isn't a contest or a race, it is a long-term two-way project. That isn't what you are talking about. You are just talking about meaningless fuckery."

J looked at me as if I were crazy, and perhaps I am. Ten years ago, I never would have imagined that I would be dispensing angry, improvised lectures on  the virtues of chivalry to a chauvinistic Jamaican  truck driver in the break room of a high-rise office building.

"Women don't want to be respected", J told me.

Then he elaborated on how women really want to be treated. His description began with "Like pigs..." and got worse with every word. It was unbelievably ugly and it made me want to punch him, but the sad thing is, there are women who do feel that way about themselves- my mother was one-  and J had learned to identify that characteristic in women and to exploit it for his own personal gratification. He was a sexual parasite and proud of it.

 "You are turning bright red", observed J.

 He was right. I was so angered by his callous display of sexism and and gleeful tales of degradation that I was having what almost amounted to an out-of-body experience. I wasn't exactly sure what my body was going to do- it looked like I was getting ready to throw a punch at J, which would probably have been a big mistake, since he is a full foot taller than myself and outweighs me by at least 120 pounds.

So I walked away and went back to my cubicle to drink coffee and think about abusive men and the women that they attract. Abusive men always seem to have at least one girlfriend and/or wives, so there must be plenty of women with the requisite psychological damage needed to fill those roles. That really sucks.

My new friend is not like that. She's very pretty and of course I'm attracted to that, but it her person-ness  that has earned my respect. Out of that respect , I am not going to blog any details about her except for a few positive things that really took me by surprise:

- She's a good mother. That might sound like no big deal to some people, but I find it to be a very attractive trait. That's new to me.

- She'd probably laugh uncontrollably and question my judgement if she were to read this, but I think she manages her time very well. That says a lot about a person. A lot good.

- She remembered my birthday and is taking me out to celebrate it! Happy!

I spent my last birthday alone in a Fort Lauderdale hotel, stuck on a shitty business trip. I just checked my blog from 2009- I don't even mention my birthday at all, so I'm guessing I didn't do anything that year...in 2008 there's a brief , depressed mention but no celebration. I did find a short story I wrote- it is a dark piece, but also one of my personal favorites (reposted here). I'd forgotten about it...I bet I could publish at least two books if I went back through all my old archives. Later for that. My point is, my birthday is usually a non-event.

This year is a little different. I'm looking forward to my 45th birthday. Friday  I'll be engineering a live studio performance by a small Gamelan orchestra, after which I'll be treated to dinner by a beautiful woman...so that kinda rocks as far as days go.

Next week is our station's Fund Drive and I'll be engineering a LOT of live shows as our DJs pull out the stops during our pleading period- we don't have advertisers, so we rely on listener donations- without them, I wouldn't have been able to air this fabulous broadcast:


THE NEW BREAKFAST SNOB: 9/10/2011
Originally aired on WRIR-97.3 FM Richmond

Podcast here

Helios Creed- Dimension 5

King Crimson- Prozack  Blues  (live)

Brian Eno- King's Lead Hat

The Purrs- Feeling Fine

Be Bop Deluxe- Love With The Madman

Stackridge- Marzo Plod

Joni Mitchell- You Turn Me On (I'm a Radio)

Captain Beefheart- This Is The Day (live)

Pink Floyd- Pigs on the Wing

Mothers of Invention- Directly From My Heart To You

Angelfish- King Of The World

David Bowie- Beauty and the Beast

The Kinks- Powerman

Funkadelic- Nappy Dugout

The Stranglers- Go Buddy Go

The Tubes- I Was A Punk Before You Were A Punk (live)

Elvis Costello- Stella Hurt

Oingo Boingo- Whole Day Off

Crack The Sky- Skin Deep

Of Montreal- Everything Dissappears (When You Come Around)

Cursive- Making Friends and Acquaintances

Bird York - What Are You Running After?

Cat Dail- Squeeze Your Play

Elu- Beautiful Things

Kalliopi- Summer Is Over

Iron Butterfly- Stamped Ideas

Gong- How To Survive
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How Lil' Kim Gave Me My Groove Back

You probably wouldn't think that North Korea's megalomaniac  despot Lil' Kim would have much to do with my ongoing search for love, and 99.99% of the time that would be a good thing, because the less that Lil' Kim has to do with your love-life, the better.

To paraphrase Tom Robbins: "The song Love Is A Many-Splendored Thing  was not composed in North Korea."

But not long ago I started a correspondence with a young local woman who told me that  her dream vacation was to visit North Korea. In my book, expressing a desire to visit one of the most brutally oppressive nations on the planet is a really good conversational gambit, so I followed up on that.

She told me that N. Korea has been granting more Western tourist access lately, that of course it was all State-Propaganda-Doctrine-Dinners and visits to faked-up 'worker's paradises', but it is apparently dirt cheap and the food (taken from the mouths of starving children, no doubt) is supposed to be top-notch.

Plus, it will be on the last chance we will have to see a corrupt, crumbling ninth-world communist hell-hole up-close and personal while it is in mid-decline, as most of those opportunities vanished with the demise of the Cold War and  subsequent dismantlement of the Eastern Bloc.

Clearly, this was my kinda girl.

But before we could make our travel plans,  I met another young woman on line.  Of the countless hundreds of local women on-line, she was the only one who appeared when I  refined my search by adding 'atheist' as a descriptor.

The only one. One. One is the perfect number for me.

So we chatted on-line until dawn  and the next night we went out...we met the corner bar, where she had a beer and I had tea...it really doesn't bother me to be in bars (unless smoking is allowed), especially if I'm in rapt conversation with a lovely and utterly, unbelievably, engaging woman. Then we went to see our local minor-league baseball team play- which was her idea!- and had a great time sitting in the nosebleeds, watching people more than the actual game.  It turns out we are both NFL fans and are both just biding time until something happens on that particular miserable front...but a football fan! How cool is that?

We talked about our mutual 'dating' adventures and I told her that so far the second-most alluring dating offer I'd gotten was to tour North Korea, which I was actually sorta into.

My new friend then informed me that she'd been stationed in Korea while in the Army and that in her opinion there might be better vacation spots than North Korea...she might have included Turkish prisons or the interior of a live volcano on that list.

Clearly this was also my kind of girl.

After the game, we had more beer and tea and after the bar closed, we sat together on what passes for my front porch and shared our first kiss.

Neither one of us was in a particular hurry to say good-bye this morning, but we did. We sent each other simultaneous thank you notes and wound up chatting for hours, despite having just parted.

Life is getting better, it really is.

And I had a really awesome radio show too:

PODCAST HERE

THE NEW BREAKFAST SNOB, JUNE 4, 2011

The Kinks- Scum Of The Earth

BeBop Deluxe- Piece of Mine

Generic Tribe- Seven Pounds

Geraldine Fibbers- A Song About Walls

Stackridge- Spin Round The Room

Randy Newman- Back On My Feet Again


Captain Beefheart- Nowadays A Woman's Gotta Hit A Man

Happy Birthday- Birthday Party

Excesses- Klark Kent

Astronauts of Antiquity- Strangest Places

Green Man- She Moved Through The Fair

Melomane- Even Though You're Born Toulose

Cat Nights Begin-Funkadelicatessan

Frames- Live Forever

Concrete Blonde- Tomorrow, Wendy

Stefanie Seskin- I Just Keep On


Damien Dempsey- Patience


Claanad- The Other Side

Joan As Policewoman- Holiday

Monday Machines- Ruined Morning

Dropkick Murphys- Shipping Off To Boston

Eman and Friends- Come To Poland

Jefferson Airplane- 3/5 of a Mile in Ten Seconds

Loreena McKinnett- Mummer's Dance

Manda Mosher- Lay Me Down

Jen Foster- Broken

Scream Daisy- Bees


Leo Kottke- Nothin' Works

 .
Who knows what the future holds?

A Musing

I am appalled at the lack of progress I have made over the last 365+ days. I sat down with the intent to do some sort of "reflections" post; after reflecting, I have decided that "looking-back" falls under the category of "why bother?"

After all, very little has changed in my life since 2006:

A year ago, I was unemployed, destitute and heartbroken. I had quit my steady job, lured away by the promise of greener pastures- after crossing the stile, I found myself hip-deep in bullshit. Three days later I was unemployed.

I had also lost my Muse. My Muse was a female blogger, a fellow refugee from Gull Valley and someone with whom I felt an uncanny kinship- 'kismet' she called it.
It felt magical, she stoked my creative fires- I dedicated entire broadcasts to her- I even changed my Blogger template and set up a music site- serious stuff for a typically results-free slacker such as myself.

All for naught - it backfired actually, the music was the deal-breaker- and it was all to end in tears shortly before Christmas, 2006.

My Sunday morning show fell on Christmas Eve and I had planned to play songs by my Muse- I often played songs for her and sometimes she'd be listening on-line from her distant time zone...on X-mas Eve I was going to play songs composed and performed by her!

How many men get to give their sweethearts airplay for Christmas?

I don't know the answer to that question- only that it is one fewer than I had hoped. I got my "Dear John" the day before the show.

I played her elegant music anyway...it was a transcendent moment of beauty, longing and sorrow; alone in the booth with the lingering notes of my Muse's songs fading, falling...fading, falling...falling and gone...this, I thought at the time, is a feeling that I will one day inflict on a character in a novel that I have not yet written. Poor bastard, he.

I went home and took down all the blog art and images I had posted for the Muse. I deleted my entire music site- it was my songs that drove her away- I erased our emails, scrubbed her files and came very, very close to quitting blog altogether, the infamous Beta Blogger transition wasn't helping my mood...somehow, another blogger saw these actions and decided that I was making a public suicide announcement- he emailed my blogroll (but not me) to let them know about my "sinister plan"...according to him, I was going to kill myself on-air during my New Year's Eve show.

I found out about my own devious plot via an email from someone that I scarcely knew at the time- someone who had taken the time to actually read the words on my blog, specifically the words that said: " suicide is not something that I would do".

Unlike my unwanted meddler, my new pal understood that adding "not" to a sentence significantly changes the meaning of the sentence...nonetheless, they wanted to check up on me- they'd gotten a weird email concerning my nefarious radio offing and just wanted to make sure I was alright- I wasn't exactly alright, but I wasn't swallowing hemlock either; still, I'm glad they asked...

OK. I had to email my accuser...look, you are mistaken, I said. I hadn't planned on blogging it, but my heart is really fucked-up now...I am not, however, going to kill myself. Sorry for the mistake, but I plan on living. Yadda yadda...

He wrote back , calling me a liar. He claimed to have saved screenshots of my blog and said he had shared them with a team of highly-trained psychiatric professionals, who all agreed that I was a dangerous sociopath who should be stopped before I hurt myself...huh? Say what?

Dude, what sort of person has the time to save screenshots of other people's blogs and also has access to a team of "highly-trained psychiatrists "?
An inpatient at a private asylum would have time and access...just sayin'.

Anyway, this bullshit webdrama ruined the blogging part of that holiday, but it did serve to introduce me to one of my best blogpals ever, so the story actually had a happy ending.
Other good things followed:

-Shortly after the New Year, my old boss called and asked me if I'd come back to work- hell, yes! Having an income changed everything...I went back to the Firm.

-Before long, I'd found a new Muse. This one was from the Real North and she was certainly my True Heart...our brief friendship was one of the happiest moments of my sober life...this woman wrote lovingly heartfelt posts about obscure guitar FX and little-known but true Rawk legends...I was smitten. Again, endless hours on the phone seemed to indicate a longer future of some sort. She liked my CD. She was perfect.

"Come to me", I finally asked her. She said yes without hesitation.

At first.

When it came time to plan the trip,' yes' became: " Legal trouble...I can't get a passport. Can't come to the States."

At this time the media was widely reporting that it was taking Americans a very long time to obtain passports, so I decided I'd better get my application in post-haste...I was told to expect a wait of several months.
My passport arrived 10 days after I applied. Yowzah!

I called my New Muse: "Woo hoo! I'm on my way to see you!"

"You can't come here", she said.

"Hah! It arrived! I have a passport now. "

"I can't see you. "

Then she told me that she was angry at everything and everyone -except me- that she loved me, but I had to stay away. Forever.
Then she vanished. I don't imagine that I'll ever know what happened.
I hate not knowing.

A few months later I got laid-off from my job and haven't been able to find steady work since then. Another Christmas here with no job, no money and no Muse...but also no booze and no psycho-stalkers...it could be worse.

Several days ago my old boss called me- he stands to get a new job at a different law office and wanted to know if I'd join his staff if he should happen to get the job- hell, yeah! I hope he gets it.

Having an income would change everything- including deja vu.

So perhaps next year I will have my old job back, only at a new firm.

Perhaps a new Muse as well... I admit that I still carry torches, but I'm surrounded by lights...so if I decide to "snuff it", please know that I'm not talking about my life, I'm talking about my lights. There are many, many lights but I only need one.

Not that I dislike lights- far from it. I love lights and the shadows that come with them, but my Muse bulb is dark and it *ringles* when I shake it...it needs changing.
I need changing.

But not as much as I thought- after all, I did make it through last year without drinking (which would have been suicide)- and this year isn't nearly as bad as last year.
Not even close.
I was with someone who'd been drinking heavily the other night and just their smell was enough to make me feel ill...wow, I thought as I drove them home, this is how I used to smell every day.

Every God-damned day. Until it killed me.

I haven't touched a drop of booze since September 6, 2005. I had forgotten the exact date, but the collections agencies have been very helpful with sending dated reminders to me...09/06/05.

This morning I walked down the beer aisle and saw people stocking up...beer for the games, beer for their parties, beer to blot out whatever it is that needs blotting out...I saw these 10 AM brew-buyers and I wasn't envious of them. They looked sad.

Is that how I used to appear? I know the answer to that question.

Today I bought cat food, cilantro, potatoes and rice; then I went home and drank coffee. More coffee than any human ever should consume; still, it was just coffee.

Tomorrow I plan on making homemade stuffing with rosemary, almonds and cranberries; real mashed taters; pork-less beans and some sort of messy baked vegetable casserole, all of which I will take home with me on X-Mas Day in lieu of gifts, gifts being in short supply this year.

I have to be a bit careful with the ingredients because of my Grandmother's health- she would eat a deep-fried salt block if you put it on her plate, not because she's senile or stupid
(she's not) , it's just a Southern thing...we Southerners like our deep-fried salt blocks, preferably served with a saline-based gravy solution on top and half of a pie for dessert. I can't eat like that any longer- two slices of pie is all I can manage.

In the last 27 months I have had zero alcohol and consumed fewer than eight slices of pie; I have lost 50 pounds of fat and lowered all of my blood numbers into the "green" range...and to think that I started this post by lamenting my lack of progress. Idiot, I am.

I should change the opening sentence of this post, but I'm not going to. I've come a long way, but I am still making mistakes and that incorrect opening sentence is going to remind me of that fact.
When I achieve a state of personal perfection, I will come back and correct it. Don't stay up late waiting for that to happen.
Have a Merry Christmas instead.

Cymbal Systems and Simple Symptoms

Mike called me today. He wrote a song last night and had recorded the drums...would I come over and play guitar on it?

Sure. That sounds fun.

I went over to Mike's and set up my guitar- he gave me some headphones to put on. Mike clicked a button and the 'phones filled with the sound of drums...an odd beat he'd recorded earlier.

I started playing.

Sour notes and shattered chords spilled everywhere. It was a mess.
Stop. Rewind. Try again.
Screech.
Again...I was getting nowhere. Something was wrong.

"Mike", I said," I have no idea at all what you want me to play. Can you give me at least a hint?"

He looked at me as if I were crazy. What did I mean? Just play something...ready? Rolling.... Chaos ensued...chaos and failure. Everything I tried sounded terrible.

"What the fuck?", inquired Mike.

"Just make something up," he explained(doing air guitar), "like do veet veeeet veeet during this part and then whhooom slowly here, where the vocals sound like they should be (even though they aren't) , then go sorta dunn duuuun dun dun- all downs, y'know? in the third part ...and then hit the accents on the break and go back to veet veeeet veeet -and again to where the vocals should be- and then go whhhaaawhooooh....go whhhaaawhooooh four times at the end- there's a solo there and then end on veet. Got it?"

"Dude, I have no idea what the hell you just said."

I was stumped. Mike stopped the song.

"Man, you used to be able to make songs up...just make something up. Damn, you used to do that all the time- what the hell is wrong with you?"

I didn't know. I was frustrated. I'd been itching to play- I've had a lot of time to practice and I have a lot of fancy new guitar tricks to show off...without thinking, I started playing a manic, crazed improv, sans drums...hey check this out, I betcha didn't know I can play ten zillion notes per second...boodeley-boodeley-boodeley...whaawhhoooh! Shameless, it was.

"There! That's exactly what I want!", exclaimed Mike.

"You want heavy metal histrionics ? I'm cool with that. That stuff is a lot more fun to play than it is to listen to."

"No...not that stuff... jam like you just did, except with veet veeeet veeet etc instead of the Van Haleney thingie."

Then it clicked. This sort of thing, veet veeeet veeeet, used to make perfect sense to me...I would just make something up and repeat the process until there was music. For years I did this...one really shouldn't need more than a solid beat, some absurd pantomime and a few whaaawhooohs to make rock and roll.
Duh.
How could I forget that?
After a few hours we had the arrangement for the whole song worked out...I can hear the parts, it's just a matter of rehearsal and time. Veet, dunn duuuunnn , whahhawhhooom and all the rest still make sense to me- more than ever, really...contrary to popular legend, drugs and alcohol do not generally improve one's playing...I am much better at going veet veeeeeet veeet than I used to be- a good thing- I mean,what's the point in having an electric guitar if you don't go whahhhawooom boodeelee boodelee boodelee boowheeew?
It's not difficult or complicated, it's just a matter of attitude really.
Duh.
How could I forget that?

"Jeez", said Mike," I told you it was easy."

Yeah. It is. I keep forgetting that.


A month or so ago, I was invited to ...uhm...play music with a female friend that I have wanted to , ah, er... jam with for a long time...finally, I had my chance. I hadn't played music with anyone for a long time and I didn't know what sort of tunes that this particular person favored, so we found ourselves playing a standard 12 bar blues improv- again, it's a lot more fun to play than it is to listen to, if you hear what I'm saying...anyway, this was a good start except for one thing:
I couldn't get my....er...guitar to um...stay in tune, if you know wot I mean. My bar had no whammy...I had a form of stage fright, I think.

Finally, I had to admit to her that I was baffled. It had been so long since I had played music with another person that I had forgotten how to do everything, including tuning. Especially tuning. I would need some help.

"Don't be ridiculous," my friend said. "You just go like this...and this...there. Seems familiar now, doesn't it? Why don't you try singing a cappella for a while?"

Well, I put my mouth on that money and hummed a heavy metal version of the Star Spangled Banner until Old Glory saluted again, ya know what I'm sayin?
Duh.
Playing music is easy. How could I forget that?
Fuck the blues- we wrote some new songs...it's not complicated. Just make something up, oh yes...use your imagination. Whahhwhooohaoobweee! Repeat until music.


The difficult part comes after the song is over. By the time my friend and I had, um, rehearsed a few times, I thought we were a band. In my head, I started making plans for shows, tours...new CDs of songs yet unwritten- I was convinced that I had some great ideas and we were gonna make it big. I shared these dreams with the person I thought was my new band-mate, my star-in-the-making.

That's nice, she said, but she is a solo act. I could 'sit in' on a song here and there, but she didn't want me-or anyone- in her band right now. Too busy and all that...there were a lot of very valid-sounding reasons given.

That's fine, I said. I even believed myself when I said it.

And I might have still believed it if I hadn't been told that she is currently auditioning guitarists.
Some very bad ones, I might add. Not that I'm bitter.

Mary and Matthew

I stood on the crest of a moonlit hill, looking down at the sea of graves that separated me from my lover and I asked myself a question.
Is this worth it?
I didn't know, so I hopped the low iron fence and started across the cemetery that served as a short-cut to Mary's house.

Our house, but not for long.

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I met Mary when I was 19 and she was 30. It was at a club that no longer exists. She was short, auburn-haired and rather plain-looking; a brooding, neurotic drug dealer with a violent temper and a half-wild wolfhound named Gwen. My kinda gal.

I don't recall what was said when we first met-the music was horrible and loud- our first words were probably: "what? huh?" , but she grabbed my hand, pulled me out of the crowd and announced her intentions very clearly. We walked to her nearby house and , three or four months later, she decided that I should move in with her. I was living in a Dude House at the time, so I was ready to accept this offer. I told my roommates to rent my room to the next Dude in line and my belongings started making their way to Mary's home, one backpack at a time. Neither of us had a vehicle, but I didn't own much that wouldn't fit into a rucksack, so the move was made one day at a time, over the course of a month.

In the 30 days before I moved in I started not noticing a number of things that I should have noticed...Mary, for instance, had plenty of her own cocaine- yet mine was disappearing at an alarming rate- and Mary, who was a cook at a fancy hotel during the day, suddenly started working a lot of nights- but with no extra pay to show for it. In fact, the more she 'worked', the more money she had to borrow from me and the more of my blow vanished. Hmmm.
But I was 19 , stupid and unwilling to accept the fact that my girlfriend was trying to destroy me. And herself.

One afternoon I noticed a strange new painting in her living room. There was something familiar... had I seen it before?. I asked Mary about it. She gave me a curious answer:
"Oh, that. My friend stole that from the Museum. I'm holding onto it for him until things cool down."
It started to dawn on me that not only was my girlfriend a drug dealer, she was also a criminal.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The day before the move was complete, Mary called me at a friend's house.

We need to talk. Now.

Why?

I am in trouble. We are in trouble.

Are you calling from jail?

No. Just come over now. We won't see each other again until Sunday and this can't wait.

When I reached the other side of the graveyard, I crawled through a well-used hole in the chain link fence and stood at the end of Mary's street. I made a slow, circling approach, looking for police or FBI vehicles...the neighborhood looked normal. Mary didn't.

Mary looked insane. Her normally narrow eyes were wide with cocaine intensity as she told me the news: She was pregnant. I thought we'd been careful, but...

Wow. I was only 19 and I had some serious misgivings about making a lifetime investment with a woman who was revealing herself to be more and more dangerous every day. I was terrified, my mind was wrapped in tentacles of fear and doubt...this wasn't happening...couldn't be...oh, my God...
Suddenly, I knew.

Am I the father?, I asked.

I don't think so, she replied.

------------------------------------------------

With those words still ringing through my head, I found myself on the squalid basement doorstep of my friend Matt, who lived nearby. Matt was a junkie and he had knowledge that I needed.

"Matt, I need you to show me how to shoot up."
I threw a bag of coke on his table.

"Whoa...why? Are you sure? What's going on?"

I started telling him the whole sorry tale, but he stopped me.

"I know", he said. " She has been coming over here with that guy and shooting up. I didn't know it was your stash. Sorry."

"Wh...why didn't you tell me?"

"What would you have done?"

I thought about that question. "I probably would have hit you", I answered.

"You see?", said Matt.

"Well, fuck that bitch...just show me how to use the fucking needle and I'll be on my way- you can keep that bag." I had plenty of coke, more than enough to OD, which was what I wanted.

Matt looked at me and for a moment the jaundice seemed to lift from his eyes.

"No. I won't help you with this. Look at my life- is this what you want?"

As if on cue, a large rat crawled out of his kitchen sink and into a cupboard. It acted as if it knew the route well.

"Allan", he continued," nothing is worth this. Mary is a lost cause. I am a lost cause. Don't be a lost cause. Don't get into this shit...I will not help you do this. Put your coke back in your pocket and stick it up your nose or up your ass, but you are not sticking it in your arm, not here."

---------------------------------------------------------------

I didn't see Matt again for over ten years; I assumed that he had died, but he hadn't. During an afternoon stroll , I passed a house and Matt was perched on the porch, painting the windows. There was a ladder leaning against the side of the building.

"Climb on up!"

So I did. Matt had been clean for years and he looked great. He was getting married- or maybe he already had- I forget the details, but his life had turned completely around. Things were looking up for him.

I was doing pretty good too...I hadn't done coke for years and the drinking hadn't caught up with me yet. I was enjoying life. It was nice to see Matt. I had something to tell him.

"Matt", I said, "you saved my life back then. I never told you that, but you did. I don't know how to repay you."

"You don't", he told me.

"You don't?"

"No", he tried to explain. "I didn't do that for you. I did that for me. You don't owe me anything."

I didn't quite understand that at the time, but I do now.

It's never too late to say thank you.

Thank you.

Ungodly Ours

Two miracles to report:

A) My car is on the road again. Repair cost= $0.00. To say more would invite a jinx.

B) There are some things that a gentleman does not blog about. That didn't stop me from phoning a friend in a nearby state and giving her the details though ...I was absently watching football while I was babbling... Cleveland missed a last-second field goal by inches, first it looked good, had distance- 51 yards- then it bumped the vertical post, caromed off the horizontal crossbar , hovered in mid-air for what seemed like minutes and finally fell forward into the end zone, no good...no, they called it back...the judges ruled it first went through the posts, then bounced backwards off the back of the support beam and through them again...good for three points, which tied the game.
Good, no good, good again- it took the officials a looong time to sort it out...I was in the middle of describing my personal "yes/no/maybe/yes" scenario to my friend while this never-before-seen football spectacle unfolded on live TV.

Foreshadowing? We'll see.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last night I got an email FWD from God. It seemed that His messenger here at Fallentown-FM would be unable to host this week's Gospel Hour and hey, would I mind coming in an hour early and "getting my praise on?"

My what?

I suspect that God knows I'm an atheist. Perhaps making me do these Gospel shows at 6 am is His way of punishing me...perhaps it's my reward. The view from the top of the dung heap isn't half-bad...I can see my house from there.


Tones Of Gospel, Sunday Nov. 18:


Ray Charles- America the Beautiful
I got to 'sign on' to the public airwaves with Ray Charles singing 'America the Beautiful'.
That's pretty cool.

Aretha Franklin- What a Friend We Have In Jesus
One of my earliest and most memorable erections occurred when I was eleven years old. It was spurred by filmed footage of Aretha Franklin singing R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Ironic, eh?

Mavis Staples- Wade in the Water
Baptized in a holy font of burnt 7-11 coffee. Ow!

J.D. Steele Singers- How Should I See You Through My Tears?
This is from the soundtrack of The Gospel at Colonus - it was produced by Steely Dan's Donald Fagen - it's quite good. Got eyes? No?
Oh, right...

Johnny Cash- Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
Wow. More Cash to follow.

Sam Cooke- This Little Light of Mine
Eh. Filler.

Mahalia Jackson- Amazing Grace
Mahalia Jackson- Nobody Knows the Troubles
In 2006 I saw a Chicago Library exhibit featuring 'Blues Women'- there were some concert posters on display...man, Mahalia Jackson and Aretha Franklin on the same bill...what a show that must have been.

Clarence Fountain & Blind Boys - Lift Me Up (Like a Dove)
More from Gospel at Colonus...

Bill Anderson- The Rev. Mr. Black
This isn't about the Man in Black. Or is it? It's not.

Soweto Gospel Choir- Paradise Road
This band sure sounds good with coffee and sunrise.

Kitty Wells- Dust on the Bible
This woman sings about entering your house and running a white glove over your Bible, checking up on your piety.
There is a word for women like her- and it ain't 'Wiccan'.

Institutional Radio Choir- Lift Him Up
Great name.

Soweto Gospel Choir- African Dream
I think Jesus would like this band. It's a hope thing.

Loretta Lynn- On The Sweet Bye and Bye
Cash & Carter- Let the Circle be Unbroken
For Mom.
I didn't know I still had so much mourning in me.


Now.
Time to shift gears and do my regular program.

The New Breakfast Snob, Sun Nov. 18th:

Aphrodite's Child- End of the World
This song is describing a place, not an event, but it fits today's theme- whatever that is.
AC once released an album about Satan or something...it had a giant 666 on the cover, back when that still had shock value. I can't remember what that sounded like...this song is kinda wimpy...

Jethro Tull- Wind Up
Only a truly rotten bastard would play this song directly after the Gospel Hour.

Marianne Faithfull- Guilt
I know, I know...I can't help myself. The whole thing is out of my hands by now...what happens next is anyone's guess.

Johnny Cash- Personal Jesus
I may be broke, but I got Cash...there's a Cash song for every occasion.

XTC- This World Over
This sounds like the Police. End times over and out...

Kraftwerk- We Are The Robots
After the humans are gone, the world be controlled by the AI program from Civ IV.
Only then will we know peace.


The Stranglers- Paradise
"I went in search of Paradise, they said it would be good for my head"

The Kinks- Waterloo Sunset
"... they cross over the river... they are in Paradise..."




The Great Society- Grimly Forming
This was Grace Slick's band before Jefferson Airplane.
The song is about war protesters and the soldiers who shoot them...see, back in the 1960's there was this war in a place called the 'Nam...today, only one living person believes that Viet Nam was a 'good' war. Unfortunately, that man is our President.

Arlo Guthrie- Wheel of Fortune
This is for the Twin.

Chris Spedding- Breakout
The more music changes, the more it stays the same.

Pretty Things- There Will Never Be Another Day
When this LP, Emotions, was re-issued on CD, the label included a nice set of bonus tracks- the original LP was 'sweetened' with strings, horns, mellotrons and assorted production clutter intended to boost sales - I like the 'rough' mixes better.
There was another day, it turns out...

The Kinks- Jukebox Music
"It's all because of that music, that we're slowly drifting apart..."

Cocteau Twins- Evangeline
Why do I do this to myself?

Alan Parsons - To One in Paradise
Ah, dream too bright to last!

Damien Dempsey- I Believe in Love
Top 40. Really.

10 CC- Sand in My Face
Don't mock my Cherry Poptart beach towel.



Elvis Costello- Sunday's Best
It's tough on babies everywhere.

Randy Newman- Little Criminals
I bet Randy Newman would've been fun to get wasted with.

Nina Hagen- Lucky Number
Nina Hagen was so much fun to record with that her band recorded the music in Los Angeles and then sent the tapes to Berlin for Nina to finish.
I think she's hot.

Flaming Groovies- Have You Seen My Baby?
Randy Newman wrote this song. And yes, I have. I think she's hot.



Steve Hillage- Light in the Sky
Power chords and flying saucers from former Gongster guitarist. Motivation Radio!

Golden Palominos- Heaven
I should have played this during the Gospel Hour:

it feels good for a minute- all that shoving and shoving
all that screaming and moaning- but it all leads to nothing.
it feels good for a minute- all the promises sighed
all that whispering and crying- all that coming like dying


Genesis- Counting Out Time
...a more light-hearted approach to the same subject.

Neil Young- Welfare Mothers
Wow...you have more problems and less money than I do?
I think I'm in love.
Let's have babies!

Paula Cole - Happy Home

I never knew what to say to anybody,
I didn't know what to do, I was far too young
But everybody could feel the suffocation
Underneath a facade of a happy home

Paw- Seasoned Glove

Oh Daddy, where have your shoes been?
Please say that this is not my fault
Something I did-
You've been gone for such a long time
You've been gone at just the wrong time

Larry Graham- Easy Rider
Fightin' and Shuckin'!

Sixty Of My Best Friends

Hooray for tonight's extra hour of downtime!
-----------------------------------------------

Tomorrow morning will be the first anniversary of my weekly radio program, The New Breakfast Snob, which began as a 'one-time' only affair and soon turned into a sadomusical morning tradition- every Sunday I am awake at 6 am and on-air at 7 am, performing a two-hour tribute to my record collection- for a year I have been doing this...nuts, is what.

Today was a glorious fall day, perfect leaf-kicking stroll-taking weather...I had planned to spend the day brooding and mulling, but circumstance intervened and I found myself down at the station, substituting for another DJ- his show is mostly new music, something I don't know much about...I was literally pulling stuff off the shelves and googling info on the fly between songs...it was a lot of fun, I was tired and not feeling well, but I got some calls and messages that cheered me up:

#1: My date from the previous week called. We had been friends before I asked her out- on our date, I learned somethings I didn't know- it's no one's fault, but it's unlikely that we'll ever date...but it's very likely that we will remain friends, and that's more important in the long run, I think...not much time to talk, I'm on the air, but I'm really glad she called.

#2: A long-time friend calls to tell me that she's listening to the show, which reminds me...we've been friends for twenty years- it might be my imagination, but I have felt a shift in the way she treats me now...if I'm wrong, it won't be a big deal...the funny thing is, caller #1 is convinced that I am sleeping/have slept with caller #2. I haven't.
I get a strong impression that #1 and #2 have met , do not like each other and that I have something to do with it.
I'm such a loser that I can get two women to fight over me without actually getting laid by either one. I'm not especially happy with this unusual ability, but it's always nice getting calls from my pal; reminds me that there is an audience, ya know?

She also reminds me that I had a training session later that day...I had totally forgotten, but my friend brought it up..."it's you and two women today, eh?", she said...damn, how could I forget that?
The two women I was 'training' pretty much had it together; today they did a two hour program showcasing local female musicians and singers from the past 50 years- I was duly impressed with the foresight and research that went into it; everyone is a bit nervous on the mic, but they warmed up real good, yup- I wuz proud o' them gals. Seriously.
I'm responsible for what goes on during that show, and it's great seeing people show up prepared and excited. The enthusiasm translates well to radio.
They called it the "Yes , Ma'am" Show, heh, good banter...I asked them if they'd consider filling in for me tomorrow, as I'd like to sleep in- "No Sir!", they replied. Oh well.

I'm still sore over the way my little station was called "nonsense" at my Big TV interview...having a good time felt like revenge for those petty insults. It didn't look like anyone at Big TV were having fun. We don't get paid, but we don't need 'thick skins' either. (Usually)

Anyway, here's most of what I played. I missed few songs when the blog ate my post:

They Might Be Giants- With the Dark
Always good. Back after 10-15 years off, I think.

Kola Koca Death Squad-Power Stroke
Reviewer remark on CD: "I love the cowbell on #7!" Hell, yeah! Me too!
A DJ call: "I love that cowbell!" Yeah, me too...

Gay Dad- Joy!
For Joy. I don't know if her dad is gay...I doubt it.

Marionette- Your World
Fave local pals.

Frank Smith- Throwin' Rocks
A band, not a person. Rootsy. Good.

Stars- The Night Starts Here
Fuck. Four minutes of my life I wish I could have back.

Triffids- Suntrapper
From 1986, this CD re-release was first recorded in a sheep shearing shed 600km SE of Nowhere, Australia. I like this band, gotta get more.

Nouvelle Vague- Bela Lugosi's Dead
I like this band, but this version of the old Bauhaus classic just sorta bored me...

MGMT- Weekend Wars
I can't remember anything about this . I was explaining my vinyl fetish to a young woman, wasn't paying attention to the music.

Lovedrug- Doomsday & the Echo
By 'vinyl fetish' , I meant LP record albums - it's funny how often that gets mixed up with something else. That confusion could get interesting. Sadly, this music will not.

The Capes-Supergirls
Yep. Good powerpop. On the floor is OK.

Devandra Banhart- Samba Vex
This is bizarre. Further investigation required. The music, I mean.

Tullycraft- The Punks Are Writing Lovesongs
Silly String on rubber sheets.It sounds just like that.

New Pornographers- My rights v. Yours
Damn...this is crafty material. Slick and tight production, Beach Boys influences...interesting.

New Young Pony Club-Hiding in the Staircase
Whatever.

Arctic Monkeys- Brainstorm
I got this from a blogpal (Hi!) in the States. Love ya!

Empire Dogs- Whole Lotta Love
Back to Sweden, with love. More blogpallery!

The Blakes- Village Green
John Lennon.

Black Before Red- Underneath Gold
From Austin, TX. Catchy pop. Liked it.

The Lonely H- Meal
Hanson, but with more H. Avoid.

Alina Simone- Saw Edged Grass
Great voice, Michigan origin, I think. Add to "dig deeper" list.

Minus the Bear-Knights
It was OK.

Dragons of Zynth-Breaker
This sounds like something you'd have to be stoned to enjoy properly. Often, I find that I wind up really digging music that I initially don't 'get'...this might be that sort of thing. On the other hand it might just suck. Dig deeper.

Spoon- #5?
Finally, Spoon that I don't much like. It's still Spoon, but it's different somehow...the charm is weak on this one. Still, bad Spoon is better than most bands.

Tomorrow: More of Not the Same.

----------------------------------------------------
Special thanks to all the kindness and support I have been offered lately , but I think I'll be OK for now... I am deeply moved by the camaraderie I enjoy in the real and virtual world-it's the other 99.9% of the world that pisses me off.

Trying etc.

For years I was what is known as a 'maintenance drunk' and one of the things I was able to maintain was a body weight of 198 lbs., which made it impossible for me to fit
into the suit I'm wearing in the pic to the left.

Once, back in 2001, I drank eleven Natural Ice beers in the two hour period preceding a job interview for assistant manager at a large retail shoe store.At the interview I was drunker than a lovesick astronaut, but I somehow still got the job...on 9/11, 2001, I was promoted to store manager.


In hindsight, getting promoted on 9/11 was a bad sign.

By January 2002, the store's ownership and myself had reached an agreement: I would withdraw my unemployment claim and they would convince our regional manager not to file assault charges against me for throwing a Nine West boot at his head . He's lucky that my arm was in a sling at the time...seriously.

I am a very adaptive and capable person, but there are some jobs that I am wholly unsuited for; selling shoes, thank Godzilla, is one of them.

One thing that I know I'm really good at is putting books on a shelf. CDs too.

So I donned my suit and went to a job interview at the Public Library. The meet went really well, I thought. I was able to answer all of the questions easily and kept my two-person interview team smiling throughout- the atmosphere at the library was a lot more relaxed than I'd come to expect from my old job, which was in a truly uptight law firm.

The position I was seeking involves shelving books and little else.
After our session, I was told that I'm considerably overqualified for shelving books and that the position is only part-time. Would I still be interested?

Hmmm....

I asked about advancement from within. Mrs. J, the older woman who was interviewing me, told me she had started working PT in 1974 and was retiring soon...well, OK, then.
I'm officially interested!

I hope to hear back next week- in any case, it felt good to have an honest-to-gosh job interview. It has been a long time since I'd been to one, a real one anyway. Phone and web stuff...not so good.

It's also been a long time since I've been on a real date.
I have a date tomorrow night.
Dinner and conversation with someone I've known and liked for a long time. We met shortly before I quit drinking, so she's already seen me at my worst...tomorrow I hope to be at my best. My friend has seen me pull off some pretty amazing accomplishments( if I do say so) but to me the most amazing thing of all would be if she were to like me as much as I like her, which is to say considerably.

That's all I'm sayin'.

Nightmares, Pipe Dreams, Some Technical Notes and a Post-Coital Debriefing

I'm in desperate straits. My money is all gone, my car isn't expected to live much longer, the prospect of a new job seems to be all grin and no cat- other than the debacle at the music store, I haven't gotten one serious reply to any of my dozens of applications- not one.
I am getting more than nervous- I am getting scared.

Monday I called one of the agencies that I contract with. They aren't great with the pay, but usually have something - why no jobs?, I asked.

"We have you as inactive."

"What? I was there two weeks ago- I brought my passport in for my paperwork, took a PC test- inactive? Huh?"

"Who did you test with?"

"Morgan."

There was a pause. Mute. Un-mute.

"She doesn't work here any longer. Can you come back next week? We don't have anything this week anyway."

Aaarrgh. Sure, what's another week without income? I have 28 days before I get evicted- what's the rush?

One thing about being unemployed is that it gives one a lot of time to contemplate all the things one could do if one could ever get one's periods of financial security to synchronize with one's periods of leisure time.

If I could find a good job, I would save up and buy myself a vacation.

---------------------------------------

For three years myself and many others have been busting our unpaid asses to make our radio station the most successful non-profit, listener-supported, independent LPFM station ever.
This week begins our annual Fall Pledge Drive- as I write this, I'm waiting to hear from our station manager.
She is shopping for gear to replace what just broke.

I'm waiting to hear something like this:

"The new console is at the station, along with a box of new cables. Can you come down and install it?"

That will be music to my ears- literally!

I actually enjoy doing stuff like installing audio consoles. I'm also looking forward to something that isn't an Alesis USB MultiMix board. If you are shopping for a mixer, do not buy an Alesis MultiMix. Ours has been repaired twice and replaced once in the year since we bought it...all under warranty, but still...

We've been having endless equipment headaches and the timing on the latest breakage could not be worse. Somehow, the show will go on, but some of us are getting tired of literally duct-taping things together while watching the seconds count down on the studio clock...I feel like the character in a bad TV drama, trying to decide which wire to cut on a ticking bomb...5,4,3,2,1...live broadcasts are not for the timid.


----------------------------------------

For weeks, I've been having nightmares featuring endless chalkboards- old-fashioned classroom-style blackboards spiraling up and down like Escher's staircases, all covered in some sort of scrawl - letters, numbers...I can't tell.
When I wake up, the writing is lost.

The last time I had that dream, the slate had been wiped clean. Just plain blackish-grey with a light tan wooden frame...I think the ocean was in the background.

That morning I woke up in an unfamiliar place. I wasn't alone.

"...mmm...g'morning."

"...mornin' "

"Hey, let me tell you about this dream I had- I've been having- it's about you, I think..."

"About me? You dream about me? Really? Keep talking..."

"Well, yeah...mmm...it's the blackboard one I told you about...it's an equation, I think..."

"Oh, that dream...in that case, keep talking while I make coffee. Be right back."


Long stories are told...

"...so anyway, I've felt like I've owed you something from back then...something good, but it wasn't in me to give that... I was too busy fucking up everything I touched- even now, I'm afraid that I'm messing up your life...it's been bothering me for years..."

"Hey. Enough. My life has always been a mess. I was the one who fucked you over, if I remember...I was surprised that you still talk to me...oh crap, I gotta go get the kids from their dad..."

"But that dream, you see...last night... I..."

"Look, me and [husband] are trying to sort it out. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea..."

"No, not at all...it was perfect- see, the blackboard..."

"...but we can't do this again."

"...was blank. I think that means that we are even."

"Even?"

"Yeah."

"I like that."

Return of the Fling -or- The Devil is in the Decals

Today I had to report to the Employment Commission for a "re-employment interview."
I thought that meant that I would have to provide all the contact info I had collected from my job search, but it turned out to be just a formality- all I had to provide was ID in order to update my contact info- they had an old address on file and some letters they sent never reached me. I spent days making sure that I had my Peas and Queues in order, but the Jobs Lady never even asked about that- I was given a few pamphlets with helpful job-seeking tips (Show up on Time! Wear Clean Clothes!) and dismissed a few minutes later.

The strangest thing about the visit was the location of the office itself. The new Virginia Employment Commission office is located in the old State Farm building where I used to work.
Today's interview took place in the very same cube that used to belong to my ex-drinking partner 'Lenore'; the actual cube walls and filing cabinets were all still in place, the cabs even had the State Farm tags on them.

I could swear that the cube still had a trace of Lenore's tangy musk on it; a blend of Orangina soda, Stolichnaya vodka and sex. I used to love that smell... I hadn't thought about her for a long time... right now I'm tempted to call her, but I won't.
It would end badly, again. Lenore was married.

Pictured above is the very cube where I started this blog in 2004. The photograph to the left of my monitor is of Voltairine de Cleyre, a 19th Century feminist, anarchist and poetess. I had a hopeless crush on de Clerye in 2004 - hopeless because she died in 1912. Some of my first posts are about her...it was, and still is, typical of me to have a hopeless, unrequited crush on a dead anarchist...

On the weekends I was usually alone in the building- sometimes Lenore would drop by and we'd go to the Cold Harbor Inn for beers and then go back to the office and fuck around. Other days I'd just sit and watch DVDs that I rented from the shop down the road. I've had worse jobs.

Today, there is a 'job-seeker' computer kiosk where my cube used to be and the area is bordered by the VEC reception area- it's not nearly as much fun as it was in 2004.

Speaking of no fun, I've decided that I'm not doing myself any favors by being publicly hopeful or optimistic about anything. Ever.
Every time I say that I think something good will happen, it doesn't. It's a pattern of jinx.

It wasn't long ago that I was blogging that I thought I had a job lined up; that I had also managed to sell some radio ads and that I had repaired my vehicle. I even speculated that my grandmother was to get out of the hospital in the near future. I also had some private hope that I was nurturing...

I was wrong about everything.
-The job at the music store fell through.

-My radio client balked at the last second.

-I paid a Volvo mechanic 85 bucks to diagnose my car's problems.
His advice?
"Drive it until it dies, which will be soon, then sell it for parts. "
It's a rare car, a 1990 Volvo 780, and the seats are worth more than the engine, which is worthless. If I sold the seats, I could pay for the engine repair, but then I'd have nowhere to sit. Fuckity.

-My grandma's parts are all worn out and it's impossible to find replacement parts for a 1920 Appalachian. She's a rare car, my Granma- and a tough one too- but the repairs she needs are likely to kill her- her heart is too weak for more surgery and for the last few weeks it's been a terrible rollercoaster- one day she sounds good, has color in her skin and a strong heartbeat, the next day she's unconscious and being given blood almost as quickly as she loses it. As long as she has recurring hemorrhages, she has to stay in hospital, and she's not gone two days in September without needing a transfusion. The docs have been quite frank with us- this year has been incredibly hard on her, she's too weak for much more and there isn't any good outcome possible, only the inevitable. It's just a matter of time.

Of course, she was given a similar prognosis in 1990...and '92...and '93...and '96...you get the idea.

As for my private hopes? They didn't work out ...sigh. Perhaps I'll call Lenore and see if she's divorced yet...nah.
That fling is flung.
It was a bit discomfiting sitting in her old cube though. I knew the appointment was in the same building, but in her cube- with all the same furnishings? Even the same decals? Unfair, says I.

I can smell her now. I'd better cut the cord on my telephone and fill the wall sockets with caulk because that thing is becoming mighty tempting...

Robo Cop-Out

Irene was looking for RoboCop when we met.

"Excuse me, but do you have any RoboCop books?", she asked as she flipped through the boxes of comic books on the table separating us. I should have told her no, I was sold out - the actor who played RoboCop, which was currently in the theaters, was a guest at the Big Comic Convention I was working- but I was immediately attracted to Irene and her fishnet-based Victorian Gothic fashion sense. I wanted to keep her at my table as long as possible. To do that, I'd tell her anything, including the truth.

"Well, I don't have any 'Robo' books down here, but I have some Robocop stashed in my room upstairs."

Her black-lined lips twitched. Was she repressing a smile or a snarl?

"That is flat-out the worst pick-up line that I have ever heard."

Her stare was an icy dagger of laughter.
Laughter?

Ha, she was teasing me! I like this. Keep going...

"But, but...I do have a few. I figured I'd hold some back in case the prices went up during the autograph sessions, but if you want I'll run upstairs and bring one down for you during my next break. No extra charge, of course."

Oh shit. I've just revealed book-dealer secrets to an attractive stranger after ten seconds of conversation. Mata Hari would have had no problems with me.

Irene looked a bit disappointed. When exactly, she wanted to know, was my next break and how much was a copy of RoboCop: The Comics Adaptation going to cost her?

"Now, and your eternal soul, to answer your respective questions."

"Excellent!"

And it was. It turned out that Irene was a student at the art school back home- we were neighbors, in fact. We both agreed that this was a good thing and that we would pick up where we left off after returning to our mutual hometown. Where we left off was the floor, the desk, the tub....well, you get the idea.

I wasn't paying much attention to conversational clues at this point. I overlooked a critical warning sign when Irene referred to my cat as an "animal companion" and I, thinking she was being sarcastic, replied that I preferred the term "feline-American".

I was kidding. She wasn't, and we had our first argument, but we were at the stage in our fledgling relationship where such things didn't seem to matter. I didn't have any problem adapting to her excellent vegan cooking and she 'overlooked' my leather shoes...it was fine for a few weeks.

Until our Big Romantic Date.

I had recently sold some Silver Age Spider-Man comics to a local restaurateur who was also a Spidey addict, and part of our negotiations included a candlelight dinner for two at his restaurant. After making sure that the kitchen could prepare a proper vegan meal, I asked Irene if she wanted to dine out, all formal-like.

Hell yeah, she said, as long as it's vegan.

So we went. It felt great, being greeted at the door and escorted to our table by the owner, being told that we were "V.I.P.s" and to feel free to order anything we wished. We were a young, poor and strange-looking couple; neither one of us was accustomed to being treated so graciously by a 'straight' establishment. It felt good.
I was doing alright by Irene, I thought.

But during our meal, she kept staring at a woman a few tables over to my left. I should have said something, asked what was up...something...but I didn't. I was too busy enjoying the moment to notice how angry Irene was getting.
I wish I had, because before we ordered desert Irene finally stood up and approached the woman whom she had been glaring at all evening.

"Ahem. I can't help but notice that you are very proud of your fur coat. Well, I hope you are proud of all the animals who suffered and died in cages so you could prance around in their skins..."

"Well, I never...", the other, older woman stood up, " what gives you the right to talk to me..."

The woman's husband, older and much larger than me, also stood up. He didn't say anything, but his look was one of contempt as the two women started yelling at each other in the nearly full dining room. I tried to avoid his eyes.

"You murderous, evil bitch!"

"Crazy punk rock whore!"

"I'll fucking kill you..."

The entire dining room stopped moving, went silent and watched the argument escalate.

Clink, said a fork.

My friend, the owner, rushed over and stage-whispered to me: "Leave. Now."

"Irene! Irene!", I interjected, "we need to leave. Now. My friend is insisting that we go."

"Cunt!"

"Slut!"

On the walk back to her apartment I couldn't think of anything to say, so I sulked instead. I guessed, correctly, that this incident had cost me one of my best comics customers. I also felt the lurking specter of The End of my time with Irene.

When we got home, she started giving me crap about my leather shoes, my belt, the beef I had "hidden" in my freezer...I am a bit ashamed to admit that I wasn't the slightest bit prepared for this attack and I crumpled. I gathered up the things I had at her place and I went home. I spent the night alone with my beef.

A few days later, a mutual friend approached me. She said Irene had been "stressed" and needed to go back to her family for a rest period. She informed me that Irene wanted me to have something, but was embarrassed to give it to me herself, so she used our friend as proxy.

She handed me a comic book inside a plastic bag.

RoboCop.