Seaside Tiger

Parts two and three. New Epic.

2010-05-06T10:18:00.000-07:00

When is your season for peaches?

When will your lioness come home?

When I heard Marrisa open that door and couldn’t

open it.

When I heard her voice in Taylors and everyone

moved on.

When I heard Abe Lincoln say that it’s called

a break up because it’s broken.

When I heard the Wolf-man say that she let a

little doggie inside, but she wouldn’t

let him stay the night.

When I heard you say that you just can’t do this

anymore and you wrote it on a napkin

shaped like Santa Claus’ face.

Where have you been earthquake?

Where have all of your friends gone?

Walking and smoking and skinny then gone,

gone to that documentary where

all those girls went crazy

that spring break and you

almost didn’t make it

back and maybe I’ll

see you tonight oh

with your horse-

rider smile and

smoking and

gone and

gone.

Oh, there you are little earthquake,

Why do you come here when you know it

Makes things hard for me?

Your cabs here Chino,

but it will never be the same.

Summer came back by she left so much.

Sorry little dog,

Didn’t you see my flag in your yard?

Didn’t you see the fire you caused

in the field

and that guy

stomped it out?

Didn’t you see that fire you caused

at the model

home? And I lost

my model home

mix.

I fell asleep on my dream catcher again

listening to the Rosetta stone of pop music,

and I found my shoes and put them on

and made eggs all Sunday morning.

Remember, it is easy to put the needle

through the eye of the camel.

Do you remember that?

Do you remember the blue horse which was

held by cables to

the wall?

Do you remember all those bowls of beer?

Do you even remember little dog?

I still dream of you.

I still dream of you in my pool house and

waking up after that

first party, and

Marrisa was there drunk

and rambly walked out

the door.

And she never said a word.

And she never said a word, but Taylor is still talking.

The peaches are definitely ripe.

They drew first blood little dog.

And after Marrisa died I fought

but you knocked that hole in my wall.

That hole never left.

You did.

You’re soo cute when you’re slurring your speech,

but you’re still dead.

You’re still always dead but right there in my dreams.

Even if I didn’t go to your funeral or visit your grave,

I still care.

Part 1: Chino to New Port, or A New Wasteland

2010-04-08T19:48:00.000-07:00

There is a lion out there. Be warned,

Mr. Rot-Gut

On Rain-days, on Sundays

on your sexy Fridays...

Your lion is there, waiting, waiting

Waiting for you Mr. Rot-Gut

to find out that there are no more friends like Ryan.

Waiting for you

to find out that Chino is just a place

where the wolf-man is lonely, and you'll never sail to Tahiti.

Waiting for you

to find out that Summer left and Anna stayed.

Waiting for you

to find out what Walking the Dog really means.

Waiting for you

to turn into slim and run the ceiling

and run across the walls.

Mr. Rot-Gut, Summer is gone.

I love the summer, and have built a career out of it.

Songs of summer, and of beaches, and of not having a beach.

What does that mean? I say.

Keep your money folded and in the right fashion.

Music is not colors!

Music is not played that way mister Rot-Gut.

Mr. Rot-Gut.

Mr. Got-Rut.

Don't you know it's hard to be the wolf-man tonight?

Don't you know that?

Do you even know what that means? Lil dog?

Marissas dead, Mr. Rot-Gut

When you danced around in glitter paint,

sparkling and all beautiful, and crazy,

and you said no one put the M in Manchester.

You said that Marissa died in

Mexico, and the rest is lies!

F.L.P.T.

Mr. Rot-Gut.

Your lions out there

and Marissas

Dead.

Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta’s Fame

2010-04-06T09:23:00.000-07:00

I began listening to Lady Gaga’s record “The Fame” as soon as I began typing this sentence. The record is revolving on my turntable right this instant, however it is not playing at its normal 33 and 1/3 pace. It is playing at least a quarter too slow because I am fascinated by slowing down music on my turntable. It is the best thing you can do to music in my opinion. Playing a record slower than it is meant to be, brings out all of the best and worse parts of it. Wanting to write a review of this record, I decided listen to “The Fame,” and review it song by song how it sounds slowed down.

Just Dance:

When listening to the track slowed down, it opens to much more bubbling sounds that you just cannot find when played at full speed. The opening synth sound turns into a cosmic saw burning through the supposed dance floor that Gaga is apparently getting down on. You have heard this song on the radio over and over for the last year probably, because it was all over the charts when it first came out. I have to admit that I was sick of it to. Until I slowed it down. Gaga’s lyrics on the song become less abrasive and more like what I would imagine the serpent sounded like offering the apple. The track and its beat just melt together like butter into a sexy cornbread when it is unhurried. Really though, the best part of the song has to be that synth, God it sounds good.

Love Game:

“Let’s have some fun, this beat is…” sicker than when played at a normal speed. The synth again is a grinding beast, but the thing that shines is Gaga’s vocals. Slowing the record down has dramatically changed her tone and the overall effect of what she is saying. When she says that she is “educated in sex” you believe her. Her voice becomes like a leviathan of hotness. Think Scarlet Johansson meets Bridget Bardot trapped in the love game. Sultry is her voice and combined with the beat it is hard not to saunter around your room doing a slow dance. “Got my ass squeezed by sexy cupid,” and she means it. “Lets play a love game.” Sure Gaga sounds good.

Paparazzi:

This was my favorite song of Gaga’s when it first came out, and now at the slower speed, it has become one of my most favorite songs of the last ten years. Easily. Instead of harsh surrounding piano-synth sounds, the main instrument here is choppy and really adds to the atmosphere by combining somewhat karate chops of sound flavor. The synth notes come in and out of the beat with slow attacks. Gaga’s voice is incredible in this song as well. It almost sounds like the voice of a siren…only though if it was a siren floating down a lazy river.

Poker Face:

“Ma ma ma Mahh.” Slowing this song down helps to turn it into the soundtrack of some sort of bi-friendly carnival ride. This may be one of Gaga’s most popular songs, which is surprising because of its concept. She is telling her man that he can’t read that she is fancying a woman while copulating with him. “Russian Roulette is more fun with a gun,” says Gaga, but this song is more fun because of the slowing down. Her vocals become much lower, sounding at times like Morrissey and at other times like a disco version of Joni Mitchell. When she sings the hook at the end over and over again, it turns into less of a catchy group of words to more of a battle cry. It is very strange. “I wanna roll with him a hard pair we will be.” I believe that any group she is involved with would be hard, because slowed down she sounds like a force to be reckoned with.

Side B

Eh, Eh (Nothing Else I Can Say):

This song is a departure from the rest of the album. It had no radio play, probably because of its T.L.C. qualities. But the song is great because it boasts disco qualities with its Caribbean beat and the echo-y vocals really shine through. The song starts off with the lyrics “Cherry cherry, boom boom, Gaga,” foreshadowing the poppy nature of the song. Eh, nothing else I can say.

Beautiful, Dirty, Rich:

“We’ve got a redlight pornographic dance fight, systematic honey, but we got no money.” Ok, I believe it. This song is covered with lecherous slime, and I think that is its appeal. It seems like it was written in one of those stalls in a pornographic video cassette rental store on the south side of Wichita Kansas. Slowed down, Gaga sounds like she is singing the lines “Uh bang bang bang / bang bang bag/ beautiful dirty rich” from a dumpster behind a sleaze shop. And maybe she is.

The Fame:

The guitar is the star of this track, sounding like a Foreigner B side riff. Or, it may be more of a seventies glam-rock lead which matches the lyrics, “Give me something I wanna wanna be, retro glamour, Hollywood yes we live for the fame / doing it for the fame.” Slowing the song down is the only way the guitar has this effect. Normally it is not as triumphant. The bridge is written better than any song the Bee gee’s have written, and has a sort of slowed down Kylie Minogue echo-y effect. Gaga says in the song that fame is her teenage dream, and she’s doing to “make it tonight” and I think that this song is the proof of that; the title track to the album that made her famous, both called The Fame.

Side C

Money Honey:

The pre-chorus of this song descends like a snow leopard on a slick mountain. Gaga says “It’s good to live expensive you know it but / My knees get weak, intensive / When you give me kisses. That’s money honey.” And it is money. Her voice and beat, when slowed, moves down the scale with great care, and you can tell it was crafted to be the perfect pop song. Well, at least the most perfect pop song about being a mistress. The song fits well with the rest of the album, being about taking money from an older man in exchange for explicit things. But the best thing that is brought out by the slowing down of the record is the harmonies in the last thirty seconds of the track. They blend together in an outstanding fashion.

Starstruck:

This is the closest thing on the album to a Britney Spears song, or a T-Pain type jam because of the auto-tune that is altering Gaga’s voice. Her vocals sound extra-terrestrial, but the rapper has a smooth shine on his tone due to the descending tempo of the modified record speed. It may sound like a Britney song, but it still is much better than anything she has produced in a long time. At the end of the song, Gaga sounds like what I would imagine the soundtrack to a dinner party with the Talking Heads at Lil Wayne’s house.

Boys Boys Boys:

This is the most likely of her songs to be sung in a high school drama class. This is due to the Grease-like quality of the chorus. The best line in the song is “Love it when you call me legs,” because Gaga’s voice sounds like a ghoul when she sings it close to slow motion.

Paper Gangsta:

Apparently Gaga don’t want no paper gangsta, or so she says over and over in this song. What is a paper gangsta? According to the lyrics you need something shiny, a range rover heart, money for dinner, and diamonds. But, if you give them to Gaga they will be “melted into ice” along with your diamond thoughts. The piano in this song is great, and sounds like an old player piano that would be heard in an old western movie. This is a strange instrument to place in a dance song, but it works great. This song is like an old-west-disco minus the threat of tuberculosis.

Side D

Brown Eyes:

What do you get when you mix Michael Jackson, Elton John and a twenty-two year old Gaga? This song. It sounds like a choice cut from either Jackson or John, but there are some elements of Freddie Mercury sass as well. It is a ballad which is different than the other tracks on the album, but it does have a major guitar solo right in the middle of it. This is the only song where Gaga lets you see into her thoughts on things other than just fame and the things connected with it. This song is about loss and love, whereas the rest of the album is about gaining money and sex. Lots of sex. Even though the song is different it still fits, but listening to it slowed down, it could be right at home on an eighties power ballad greatest hits album.

I Like it Rough:

Apparently she likes it rough.

Summerboy:

This song is the ultimate jam, when slowed down. It starts with the line, “nowhere yah we’re goin’ nowhere fast,” but that’s not true. The song is going everywhere, even when it’s not so fast. The song’s chorus is magnificent. It touches on the same feeling of dirty disco pop that Rilo Kiley flirted with, only this is done much better by Gaga. It has everything for a summer jam; interesting lyrical flow, driving beat, synths, and wicked grooves. If you close your eyes while listening to the bridge, it takes you to a beach date where the only thing you may have to fear is crabs…”I’m a busy girl / Don’t have too much time / Hurry up before I change my mind,” hurry up, because you definitely don’t want to miss out. This Blondie inspired hit is the best way Gaga could have ended the album.

“A year from now, I could go away, and people might say, ‘Gosh, whatever happened to that girl who never wore pants?’ But how wonderfully memorable 30 years from now, when they say, ‘Do you remember Gaga and her bubbles?’ Because, for a minute, everybody in that room will forget every sad, painful thing in their lives, and they’ll just live in my bubble world.” Gaga said this to a New York Magazine columnist a few days ago, and I think that it sums up the album and her life, so far, pretty well. In this album and in her life she is trying to just make an experience for people. The fact that the record turned out to be good only helped her in making this experience more widespread. Will you remember anything about Lady Gaga in thirty years? Probably so, but not that much. But, if you listen to her record “The Fame” slowed down you will enjoy it so much that you may remember it for longer than if you just listened to it at its normal speed.

On Alligator Gar Fishing

2010-02-11T15:08:00.000-08:00

I have decided to put together a fishing trip for the spring, but this is not going to be a boring fishing trip like usual. I am not planning on fishing for the normal Catfish or Bass or Sun Perch. Oh no. I am after the monster fish swimming in Lake Clinton called the Alligator Gar.

The Alligator Gar normally grows to one hundred pounds and is about six feet long. That is just the normal size. Some have been taken out of the water weighing three hundred pounds and measure up at about ten feet in length. These are monstrous fish. In addition to being extremely large, the Alligator Gar also has a head that looks just like an Alligator. Sharp rows of teeth line their strong mouths, and these teeth look like sharpened pencils. Getting them on your line is not the most difficult part of catching them. Since they eat everything they can get close to; this is not hard. The difficult thing to do is getting them off your hook and line. When you pull them out of the water and up on land or into a boat the Alligator Gar swings its head and tries to bite your arms off. Or they try to bite your face off, or really anything off. Once they are in your possession, they are so violent that you have to either shoot it in its prehistoric head of hit it with a hammer to kill it because the fish will live for about two hours above the water if it needs to. They are terrible. This is what I am up against, and I cannot wait.

I have always loved fishing; I used to go for hours every day during the summer with my friends when I was in high school. We would have contests to see who could catch the most fish, and drink whiskey and smoke cigars while we waited for a bite. I had a friend that lived in a very rich neighborhood on the east side of Wichita which stocked their ponds with only the biggest Bass and Catfish. The great part about these ponds was that all of the rich kids, except for my friend, were too afraid to fish. I guess they would rather watch television or something else that they would not get dirty while doing, or they just did not realize that these fish were ripe for the picking. I don’t know. But we did have the ponds all to ourselves, and each day I would pull out about five giant Catfish and numerous smaller species, normally wining the competition. Many times I would stay up all night long on the weekends in order to get there in the early morning when the fishing was just right. This would usually end with me falling asleep on the sidewalk and awaking when the fancy wives of the neighborhood walked their tiny dogs over my tired body. Then I would get back to my fishing.

I had this casting net that I fished with sometimes, which is illegal I know, but is too much fun not to use. It is just too easy. The casting net is just a big mesh net in the form of a circle, with little weights lining the outer ring. You throw it with one hand connected to a string, which is connected to the net, and as it falls into the water it traps every living thing underneath it. Then you pull the string on your hand up and the net scoops the fish out of the water. One time I pulled the net up and it had twenty Bass, a good sized Catfish, and a Snapping Turtle all nestled together. It was almost a miracle, or a Christmas present to myself from the water, which is why I call this going “Jesus Style.” I think that is also because Jesus’ fishing friends in the Bible used this method. The casting net, however, will not work very well for my Alligator Gar fishing trip.

I have been thinking about using a rod and reel I have that my uncle gave to me to bring in the beasts, but I am not sure if it will hold up to the pressure of having a fish of this magnitude attached to it. He is my favorite uncle, and is a damned good fisherman, but it might not be strong enough if I catch a three hundred pounder. This is not likely, but could happen. I have been thinking that I might use a bow and arrow, because I have seen people use them on the internet and the results are more than favorable. The fisherman stands with his weapon loaded, and when the Alligator Gar comes to the surface for air, which they do because they have prehistoric lungs or something scary, he shoots them. This does not kill the dinosaur fish, the fisherman still has to do that with the methods discussed earlier, but it does piss the Alligator Gar off a great deal. I do own a bow, and a couple of arrows, but I think that I would rather handle my first fight with a confused and slightly mad fish rather than a really pissed off fish. Plus, I would have to tie strings to my arrows and my bow skills are really not what they used to be.

One time I went fishing with my grandpa at Grand Lake, and we did not catch a thing. That was all right because sometimes no fish want to eat, and so none are caught. So it goes. He did tell me a story about fishing trips he took when he was a boy. He grew up during the great depression in the thirties and his family did not have that much food hanging around, so fishing was a good way for him to help feed everyone or get a snack. He did not use a rod and a reel because his family could not afford one, he told me, so instead he used a potato sack; a large burlap potato sack. He said that he would wait for when the pond by his house flooded over and into the fields, and then the fish would get stuck in the ditches around the highways. Not small fish but giant Carp, which are kind of like Goldfish only they are bigger and they eat rotten bodies at the bottom of the water instead of flakes from jars. Being a young man, he needed a few people to help jump onto the back of these monsters and pick them up with the potato sacks. The only way to catch them was if my grandpa had a few friends with him, and these friends had to really want the fish as well.

This is why I need a crew also, and my crew has to be totally on point to catch the Alligator Gar. The way I see it, I will need someone to videotape the fishing trip for documentation purposes. This is essential because I would like to have evidence of the catch; fishing stories always get out of hand. I will have to have a cook lined up, because after I catch one I want to make a sandwich out of it. I heard in New Orleans that they can be fried and then put on a bun like Catfish, and I think that sounds delicious. Both of these positions have not been filled as of yet, but there is still time before spring. The one person I do have confirmed for the adventure is my friend Austin. He is going to be the killing squad; the Alligator Gar hangman. He is responsible for taking out the fish after it is caught, so it does not try to kill us for the two hours that it is alive on land. This was not decided because he likes to kill animals or anything weird like that, I think, but because he has a pistol. And if the pistol does not work well, then he also has a pair of samurai swords, but these are just for an extreme emergency.

The method of killing the Alligator Gar is strange to me; one can either shoot it, or hit it on the head with a hammer. It seems to me that this is just what happened the first time that someone caught one of these beasts and did not know what to do with the terrifying monstrosity of nature they had just encountered. I can’t imagine not knowing what an Alligator Gar is, and then all of a sudden having one on my line. I think that I would be so terrified that I would just shoot it or bash in its head. I am glad that I have seen a picture of one so I can realize what I am dealing with when I have one in front of me. It reminds me of what I read about the Aborigines and what they did when the English first came to Australia. They did not see the English when they were out in the water in huge boats because they had never seen anything like that before. They just looked out and over the boats; like they were not even out there floating. It took the English actually coming over and talking to them for the Aborigines to notice that they were real. I wonder if that is what happened when the first Alligator Gar was found. Because the first Alligator Gar caught had never been seen before, and it scared the fisherman so much, he shot it or hit it with a rock. If you have never seen an Alligator before, and then all of a sudden this fish is biting at you with huge jaws, then I think that you would attack it also. The Aborigines eventually did attack the English after they finally realized what they were, with bows and arrows and spears, but they did not succeed. This is no option for me.

The Alligator Gar sandwich is going to be tricky to put together; at least to make it edible, and taste well. There are many bones in their bodies that are tiny, but sharp like their teeth. Once the fish has died, the first thing that has to happen is to rid it of its entrails by cutting its scaly belly open and pulling them out with your fingers. This sounds bad, but not as much as the next step which is cutting off the fish’s giant reptilian head. This is another reason why I may need to bring the samurai sword instead of a gun. That would take at least one swoop to decapitate it, instead of many bullets. Once cleaned out, then the next step is to flatten the body with a rolling pin, or beer bottle, which I will have many empty ones. This will dislodge the bones connected to the spine. This is important because I do not want to bite down on one of those little pieces of shrapnel.

I remember once when I was little, eating Catfish with my cousin and like any little kid, I was eating it very fast when I bit down on the sharpest little bone in the fish. It went right through the gum-like part of the top of my mouth and just barely came out my nose. That was terrible, and I think that I blocked it out of my mind because I still cannot remember if it hurt or not. I am guessing that it did. The bones on the Alligator Gar would hurt worse though I am sure, because they are normally one hundred pounds and have a large bone structure.

When I think back to all of the fishing trips in my life, they are remembered with a sort of peaceful way about them; hanging around the lakes or ponds, telling stories about fish and girls, most not completely true, and drinking while bringing in the catch. Every one of them was enjoyable, as will my next trip be in the spring. Bringing down my Alligator Gar is not going to be as tranquil as the other fish in my past, but I think that it will be the most memorable. In fact, I know it will be the most memorable.

I am after the monster fish swimming in Lake Clinton called the Alligator Gar, and I will catch him, and then I will eat him.

Soul Break

2009-11-29T17:49:00.000-08:00

My friend Mike and I have been in a band since we were eighteen. The band is called Soul Blade and consists of Mike playing a very loud lead electric guitar and myself playing an old keyboard from the eighties. Our songs are pretty good, but most people think that the band is a joke band because most of the music is made by the keyboard, and because we drink way to many beers whenever we play or make our records. When we were about twenty-one, we booked a mini-tour of the Midwest and made an entirely new record of mostly cover songs. This tour was over spring break, and Mike put it together so that we could go to Springfield Missouri and I could meet his friend Warren.

Mike and I are pretty funny when we play shows. We are always drinking heavily, and we take it very seriously. Most of the songs that I write for it are soulful and I tend to sing them like I am a preacher, or James Brown. Mike just plays too loud, sometimes is on key, and is so tall that he can hang on the ceilings of any of the venues that we play. We left Wichita in the afternoon and headed for our first show in Joplin, but we didn’t know where the gig was that we were playing that night.

“We are playing at a house; I think it is a house, called the Cesspool Castle.” Mike said.

“Cesspool Castle?” I said, “What the hell is that?”

“Warren said that he had played there before, but mostly all the people that go to it are kids that are into metal and sniff paint and shit.” Mike said.

“Do we know the address to this castle?” I said.

“I figured we would just drive down this street, and look for metal kids and then set up our stuff and play.” Mike said.

Mike and I drove down the street that Warren had told him the castle was on, and after about thirty minutes we found it. There were about fifty kids wearing all black, and they had their faces painted like clowns.

“This has got to be the Cesspool Castle,” I said.

“If it’s not, then it will do.” Mike said.

The castle was definitely a cesspool. All of the walls, the floors, and the ceilings in the house were covered in the grossest colored white carpet I had ever seen. All of the things not covered in carpet were dripping wet with some kind of liquid that came from upstairs. We went in and played our set, just after a metal band had played some of the dumbest music I had ever heard. I don’t remember what the name of that band was, but there were five teenagers in it and one old man who did all of the shredding and trilling. We finished our set, and then tried to sell some of our new records that we had with us for gas money.

“Thanks a lot. We are Soul Blade, and we have some Cds for sell for two dollars.” I said.

“Why would anyone buy that for two dollars?” Someone from the crowd said.

It was time to go. The crowd did not like our music, and so we didn’t even wait around to get paid from the king of the Cesspool Castle. Mike decided that we should just go north to Springfield so we could meet up with Warren and hang out. I agreed and we left.

The drive to Springfield from Joplin took about an hour, and on the way Mike told me some stories about Warren. Apparently Warren had just broken up with his girlfriend at Christmas time and had been just hanging out in the same clothes, eating macaroni and cheese, and playing metal music with his band every day since the break up.

“He told me that he has been wearing short Hawaiian shorts and a wife-beater everyday just to see if anyone would notice.” Mike said. “He even wears it to work, but no one has said anything yet.”

“That’s hilarious.” I said.

“Yeah, he had been dating this girl named Sarah for like two weeks before Christmas, and on Christmas day he was hanging out with his parents and family and she called him like two hundred times. She filled up his inbox and everything. He ignored her because he was hanging out with his family and drinking whiskey, and then she showed up at his house at like three in the morning. Then she handed him a note on a napkin shaped like Santa Claus’s face that said “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He told her that he didn’t know what she was talking about, since they had only been dating for like two weeks. And then she left.”

“Weird.” I said.

“Yeah, then the next morning when he went to his house she was sitting in his house and had cracked the password to his email and was just sitting there reading all his shit.”

“What?” I said.

“Yeah, effing weird.” Mike said.

We made it to Springfield and drove over to Warren’s house, which was just a regular looking house with about forty bicycles tied up in the front of it. Our truck pulled up in front of the house, and Warren came walking out wearing the shorts and the wife-beater.

“What’s going on Soul Blade?” Warren said.

“Yeah!” Said Mike, giving Warren a giant sized hug.

“I got you guys some bikes, we’re going for a ride.” Warren said.

“What’s up Warren, I’m Zach.” I said.

“I know man, come on lets ride.” He said.

“Mike told me about Sarah man, that shit sounded weird.” I said.

“Not as weird as the date I went on last night. I went to hang out with this girl from my work who is a little older than me, but still real good looking. And after we had a few drinks, we went back to her apartment so she could change. While she was in her bathroom, I started looking at a photo album she had laying around, and I started seeing pictures from like the seventies with what had to be her mom in them. I mean, she looked just like her, you know? But I asked her if it was her mom and she said that it was her. Turns out, she is like forty-five.”

“No way. What did you do?” I said.

“I stayed the night, no big deal.” Warren said.

Right then Mike came up with some whiskey and about five Evil Eye cans, and handed them to Warren and me.

“Drink up, time to ride.” Mike said.

“When are we playing our show?” I said.

“We are going for a ride through Springfield, then you guys are playing a show in my kitchen and I’m going to make some macaroni and cheese and had it out.” Said Warren.

“Rad.” I said.

We went on a ride for about three hours, and drank way to many beers. The thing about Evil Eye is that it is a high gravity malt beverage, and it makes you go crazy. Most people can only drink one or so. We drank about four apiece. On the way back to the house to play, Warren told Mike and I another story about a girl he had gone out with the week before.

“Mike and Zach, check this out. I went out to the bar with this girl the other night named Jill that I had met at work and we started dancing. We had been drinking all night and she wanted to dance, so we did. I was totally cutting rugs, and I kept spinning her around, and the last time that I did she projectile vomited all over the place. It was like a constant stream of puke coming out of her mouth.” Warren said.

“What?” Mike and I said.

“Yeah. Best thing about it though, was that when I brought her back around to me she wiped her mouth off and kept on dancing like I hadn’t seen any of the puking.” Warren said.

“Ridiculous.” Mike said.

“Yeah. I just acted like I hadn’t seen it, and just went on dancing. I figured that my breath wasn’t that good either, so what did it matter.” Warren said.

“One time I went out with a girl that was a guy.” Mike said.

“Really?” Warren said.

“No, but that would have been funny.” said Mike.

“Well, you know what they say.” Warren said.

“No.” I said.

“Fuck Jesus.” Warren said.

“What? That’s what people say?” Mike said.

“Well I just did I guess.” Warren said. “I say it.”

We made it back to Warren’s house, and then started to play some songs. We were drunk already so Mike and I were ready to give it our all. While we played, all the people that went on the bike ride with us danced and drank and had a real good time. Warren made everyone macaroni and cheese dressed in his shorts and wife-beater, and served to them out of the pot that he had made it in.

The show lasted until about six in the morning, and then everyone passed out around Warren’s living room. When Mike and I woke up Warren was already at work, and we had to meet up with some friends in another city so we left. I’m sure that Warren will have some more stories to tell me next time Mike and I play a show at his house. I look forward to that, but I hope that he changes his clothes by then.

Food for Sleepy Spiders

2009-11-13T13:11:00.000-08:00

“It’s so useless,” she said, “to
put the food
and milk out in that spot.”
“Why?” he said.
“Why what?” she said slowly from her side of the bed.
“About food, and milk…”
“Maybe I was dreaming,” she said.
“About placing food places?”
“Maybe I was dreaming about
giving food and water to a
spider.” She said, followed up with an embarrassed whine.
“That rules,” he said, “That is very important.”

Letter I wrote to Chris Lovely, acting like Seneca, about the H1N1

2009-11-10T22:03:00.000-08:00

I am sorry to hear of your troubles with this modern ailment known to all of us as the swine flu, Christopher Lovely. I have heard of its fevers and the shake that it induces in the entire body, and it is truly unfortunate that it has taken its hold in you. I remember when I was younger I too was taken aback by a flu, though not as severe, and let me tell you that it was not very pleasant by any means. This was before we were to take our trip across the lands of Europe, and on many an occasion I felt an urge to cut my life short there and then, but I realized that there were times when even to live is an act of bravery and that this was one. Since we are good friends, and epically due to the fact that we were about to depart on our journey, I did not.
There is nothing, Chris, quite like the devotion of one’s friends for supporting one in illness and restoring one to health, or for dispelling one’s anticipation and dread of death. This is why I am writing you now. Your friends will help you through this flu, even though we had told you to get the vaccination shot, because we do not want you to take your own life because of the complications associated with the illness. If you did take your own life in a fit of troublesome pain, I do not believe that you would be passing away but passing on your spirit to me. This, Chris, would cause me great disappointment and many worries of the mind.
The pain caused by your infliction will be great, but you should put your whole heart into the fight against this most dreadful flu. Remember that a man is as unhappy as he has convinced himself he is. This is important; do not let your pain inflict upon your spirit as much as it is upon your body. Think of the pain and punishment that the ultimate fighters take to the face and the body generally! They are able to put up with this suffering only because of their desire for fame, and you must put up with your pain because of the desire to live! You may complain a lot of the pain, but I will ask you now if it will stop you suffering it if you endure it in a womanish fashion?
Another thing that will help is to turn your thoughts to other things that will get you away from thinking about your suffering from this piggish set back. Think about when we were in Spain and living as well as younger men could live. Call your mind to the times when you were courageous, like when you went out and found us food in the middle of the darkest night all by yourself. Also, think about things that you admire the most: Warren Zevon, sitting with friends talking throughout the day, and spending time with your canine friends. Remember that this flu only can place its grips on your body, not on your mind as well.
One more note on your sickness before I leave you time to recover. The doctors will surely tell you how you should eat now that you have been taken over with this hog of a flu. You will be eating things that you are not fond of, and that others would find unbearable if forced to eat the same. Remember, you may be eating like a sick man, but you’ll at last be eating in the way a healthy man should. A time of sickness is not a time for luxury. All you need to do is keep healthy and try to make it though this ailment, and if you live out the rest of you life in a good way, then whatever you have been expecting for some time will come as less of a shock.

Waiting for the Miracle with Leonard Cohen the day after Easter around 5.

2009-11-05T11:23:00.001-08:00

Just as

a snake peels his skin

as a spider sheds his covering,

I move slowly losing mine.

I have shed things that no longer

matter since I’ve advanced:

god, and other superstitiousness.

The Pink Ford Escort

2009-11-01T16:24:00.000-08:00

When I was working at a guitar store in Wichita, Kansas, a lady came in and tried to fix me up with her daughter. It was in the early afternoon and I was tired because I had already worked at two jobs that day. I was the guy who watered plants at a nursery, a sandwich artist, and a part-time guitar tuner and salesman. The guitar store was the best place to work because all I have ever really wanted to do was play guitar, and I got to, but the other employees were very challenging. David was the owner’s son and thought that he was the best thing to ever be created, and Andrew who was tall and quiet and the best friend to David.

When the woman came into the store, David and Andrew were trying to sell a bass to a man who was shopping for his son for Christmas. I overheard David tell the man that Peavey made a good bass for cheap and that it was just as good as a Fender. I was thinking about how untrue that was when she walked up to me.

The lady looked like Bret Michaels from VH1, not from the eighties. She had long blonde hair that was ratted up and sticking out from under her bandana. She was rough.

“Where are your beginners’ guitars?” she said.
“What kind of guitar are you looking for?” I said.
“I need one for my son, but I don’t need a nice one. He will not know the difference anyways.” She said.
“Electric ones are easier to play.” I said.
“Show me the cheap ones.” She said, “He is not going to care about it in a month or so, so I’m not going to spend the money on anything good.”

I showed her the cheapest guitars that we had. They cost us twenty dollars to buy from the factory, and we sold them for eighty dollars or so. This one was bright orange. I picked it because we had a new shipment of bright orange amps for a hundred dollars that would go along with it very well. I was trying to make this happen because I got paid by commission and needed that extra ten bucks badly. I was telling her about the guitar, and showing how much her son could rock if he had it. But, the whole time I was making my pitch, it seemed like she was more interested in me than the instrument.

“You need to meet my daughter; she’s not a slut or anything.” She said.

I had no idea what to do at this point; I wanted to laugh so much.

“I’d be glad to meet her sometime, what’s her name?” I said thinking that if I did meet her, then this lady would buy the guitar and amp.
“Her name is Kirstin and she drives a pink Ford Escort. She isn’t a slut though at all.”
“I’m sure she is not a slut.” I said, “What does she like to do?”
“She likes art, and goes to North High.” She said.

She was still in high school.

The lady did not buy the guitar then, but said that she needed to think about it more. She did leave with my phone number for Kirstin. She had to get it because we would have such a good time if we went out. I gave her the number thinking that the girl wouldn’t call me, but that the lady would remember how nice I was and come back and buy the amp and guitar deal. If she came back and bought the guitar and the amp, then she would need a tuner and picks along with more strings and other things. The possibilities were endless, and I would get a lot of money from the commission. When I got off work at six, I received a phone call from a number that I didn’t know.

“Hello?” I said.
“Hello is this Zach from the guitar store?” said a woman’s voice.
“Yes, who is this?” I said, thinking that it may be Kirstin.
“This is Laura, Kirstin’s mom; I was in the store today.” She said.
“Oh, how are you?” I said. “Were you calling about the orange guitar?”
“No. I just wanted to tell you that my daughter is really good for you, and in no way is she a slut. Kirstin also plays the French horn in the band. She is really artistic, and takes two art classes at her high school.” she said.
“Oh. Alright, well have her call me if she wants. Thanks for calling.” I said.
“She really is a nice girl,” she said, “I’ll have her call you.”

I was not expecting a call from Laura again, but she did call me one more time before I got a call from her daughter, Kirstin. I talked to her for a few minutes but it was late and she needed to get to bed. She asked me if I wanted to go on a date with her and see a movie. I agreed, but told her to get a friend and I would have one of my friends go also. A double date is the best way to have a blind date.

I asked my friend Mike to go with me on the date because he was tough and I was kind of afraid that the lady and her daughter would try to abduct me or something weird. Mike wanted to go because I had told him about Kirstin’s mom after she first called me. We were to meet Kirstin and her friend Meg at the downtown movie theater at seven thirty. We went to see some movie with Jim Carey as the star and it looked terrible. I did not want to go, but Mike and I did anyways.

We were sitting outside when a pink Ford parked and two girls got out.

“Are you Kirstin?” I said.
“Yes, and this is Meg,” she said, “and you’re Zach? And Mike?”
“Yep, let’s go see that movie.” I said.

The meeting was awkward, and I bought my ticket but not Kirstin’s. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. She was shorter than me, very skinny, and had the strangest gap in her top front teeth. Meg was about the same, but the gap was in a different place. Throughout the film, she kept talking to me at weird parts and asking me things that didn’t even matter. We had nothing in common.

“I didn’t know that this movie was about a man that kills children,” she said.
“Is that what this movie is about?” I said.
“I think so, have you been paying attention?” she said.
“A little bit.” I said.
“He is really funny,” she said. “I love Jim Carey.”
“This is definitely a Jim Carey movie.” I said.
“Do you ever watch The Simpsons?” she said.
“Doesn’t everyone watch The Simpsons?” I said.
“I’m not allowed to.” She said.
“How old are you?” I said.

The date was not going very well. Mike and Meg were not even talking, and I think that Mike was asleep for the whole movie. The movie ended but the girls wanted to do more with us. I had a bottle of whisky and a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon at my cousin Derek’s house so we went over there. The girls could only stay for a little while because they had to go to high school in the morning. I had to work with the plants, then sandwiches, and guitars the next day but those were things that I could also do hung-over. No big deal.

I started to drink the whisky and Mike and I got a little drunk and played music with my cousin. The girls both nursed their beers and then after about thirty minutes they said that they needed to go. Mike and I took a break from the whisky and walked them out to their pink car.

“I had fun,” I said.

This was more of me being polite than truthful.

“Me to,” she said.

She was being polite as well, but I thought that she was going to try to hang out with me again.

“Do you want to go do this again?” I said, thinking about that guitar and her mom and my commission.
“I don’t think that I can do this again.” She said.
“Do what again?” I said.
“We can’t date, I have a boyfriend.” She said.
“If you have a boyfriend, then why did you go to a movie with me?” I said.
“I just wanted a new dress and I am thinking that my mom will buy it for me if I go out with you. She doesn’t like my boyfriend.” She said, “But she liked you.”

And with that she got into the pink car to leave and never called me again. I never called her in the first place so that did not bother me at all. What did bother me was that her mom never came in to buy that damn guitar.

Birthday Haiku #1

2009-10-16T16:20:00.000-07:00

Eating birthday cake in bed,
listening to leonard Cohen.

First Story

2009-10-08T10:41:00.000-07:00

When I was eighteen I used to smoke cigarettes in bed, but only for one week when I decided it was no longer safe to be outside my hostel room in southern Spain. This was in the month of November and after four weeks of walking around aimlessly through whatever it was that Spain had to offer. I was staying in a one bedroom hostel owned by an incredibly old couple. My friend Chris was there as well and we were almost done with our three month tour of Europe. The room was stale even before the air in it had turned into an extension of my lungs and the walls where yellow with a dark puke-green tinge in the corner. There were no windows in this room, just Chris and myself with all our necessary travelling items.

The old lady spoke no English and I had neglected my Spanish long enough to have forgotten it completely, so we never spoke to one another. She was gone all day so this was no problem, but the old man never left the hallway outside my room. He sat on a chair watching baseball games on the television, and was a continuous chain smoker. He never moved off the chair, never ate, and never drank, he just sat there chain smoking and listening to whatever was said around him in hallway. He smoked so much indoors that it made me not feel so badly about doing it myself. I never smoke indoors; I always thought that smoking indoors is like firing a gun indoors, which is awkward and always ends poorly.

Drinking of course goes along with smoking, which is why I did that as well. My drinking habit quickly had increased since coming to Europe and I had become quite good at it. What I was drinking was a cocktail I had named Mostly Gin. Mostly Gin is a mixture of twenty ounces of gin then equal parts red and white wine, whisky, vodka, and cheap Spanish beer. This was stored in a forty ounce bottle, and all of it was stolen from the last hostel that I had stayed. It was a brutal brew. Once, at my last hostel, two young women stole it from my bag and drank three shots apiece. They threw up all night long and for the most part of the next day. Somehow I could handle it. I think this was because I had been reading “Hey Rube” by Hunter S. Thompson and listening only to songs by Warren Zevon. But, all the drinking and smoking and media I was surrounded by made me become quite paranoid. I could not sleep very well after the second day, and I stopped going outside unless it was absolutely necessary. Before I would venture out of my room I would make Chris check for the old man. “Is he out there?” I would ask picturing his smoke engulfed face, taking a drag myself while sitting on my bed. “Yeah, yeah he is,” Chris would answer quietly, because the old man was surely listening. “Damn,” I would let out between puffs.

By the fifth day, I knew that the old couple was spying on me. I would hear the old woman sauntering out through the house passing my room and stopping to listen and look through the key hole. I would sit on my bed looking right at the door and light another cigarette, then wait till she left before I moved again. I would get up, open the door, and check the status of the old man. He would always be down the hall with his baseball games and his habit. I checked to see him on my own because I had decided that I could not trust Chris anymore. I was convinced that he had been paid by my parents to take me on a train ride around Western Kansas that went through small towns where the people could speak different languages. Western Kansas and Europe look exactly the same, until you get to the bigger cities.

The sixth day I just sat on my bed smoking cigarettes from my last pack, and then went to sleep without doing anything at all. That night Chris fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand, but he woke up without doing any damage to himself. I was after that, terrified of smoking in my bed. And I had also decided that it was time to get the hell out of the hostel.

I woke up the next morning and Chris had had all of things packed and ready to go. He told me to do the same and I did. We were going to just run out and never look back, because I was still afraid of the old man and that old woman spy. “We need to go, now.” Chris said, “That old locomotive is gone from his post and I can’t see the woman.” I grabbed my pack and moved towards the door. “Is it safe out there?” I asked nervously. “Yes, yes it is.”